Chapter 536

Two Dragons Pavilion.

It was a word I had never heard before—utterly unfamiliar. And yet, I understood it instantly.

‘The masters of the Two Dragons Pavilion.’

That referred to me and Cheongpung.

And the next moment, a calm yet powerful voice flowed from between Ma Jong-hak’s lips.

“Blazing Fire Dragon Jin Taekyung. Step forward.”

The tone, the atmosphere—both had changed.

The playful demeanor of a friend who used to joke around was nowhere to be seen.

The person standing before me now was neither the Supreme Sword nor the Sword Saint Ma Jong-hak.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and respectfully cupped my fists toward the leader of the Murim Alliance.

“Jin Taekyung of the Taewon Jin Clan greets the Alliance Leader.”

A light stirred in Ma Jong-hak’s gaze as he looked at me.

“For many long years, the Taewon Jin Clan has been a symbol of honor. They fed the hungry, cared for the sick, and never hesitated to fight when the Central Plains were in danger.”

Three hundred years. A full three centuries.

The roots of the Taewon Jin Clan were deep and firm—worthy of being called a noble house. It may have swayed, but it was never uprooted. It may have stumbled, but it never strayed from the righteous path.

“Two years ago, in the winter, you personally slew Jin Baekyang—the Sword of Huayang, your blood relative and the clan’s Grand Elder. Head of Eunyoung Pavilion. Why?”

The one who had stood silently until now—Song Ho, the Thousand-Faced Fox and master of Eunyoung Pavilion—spoke with a firm expression.

“Because he was a traitor. He had long since acted according to the will of Dark Heaven. He betrayed not only the Taewon Jin Clan but all of Murim.”

“Are you certain?”

“I stake my life on it.”

There was no need to wager one’s life.

Because there was no one here who didn’t already know.

No—anyone even slightly in tune with the affairs of Murim already knew the truth.

So then, why spend precious time discussing what everyone already knows?

I already had a guess.

‘To remind everyone again. And to make them accept it.’

Even now, Ma Jong-hak’s ongoing words weren’t solely directed at me.

The true target was the two dozen giants seated throughout this vast grand assembly hall.

“A year ago, here in Henan, the Grand Sacred Assembly was held. The grounds of Shaolin were stained with blood from Dark Heaven’s assault. What did you do then?”

Without hesitation, I answered Ma Jong-hak’s question.

“I fought.”

“And why was that?”

“That is…”

I suddenly stopped speaking.

‘Why…?’

It wasn’t because I didn’t know. It was because I had never thought about it before.

‘Why did I?’

For a long time, I thought of myself as a selfish opportunist—but I was never a cold-hearted man devoid of blood and tears. When someone is dying before your eyes, there’s no time to calculate gains.

That day, when Shaolin was soaked in blood, there were no question marks in my head. Only exclamation points. I ran with those feelings—and I fought.

I answered in a voice that felt refreshing.

“I never gave it any thought.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was something any person should naturally do.”

“Something any person should naturally do, huh…”

Ma Jong-hak quietly repeated my words, then looked at his disciple and grandson with a faint smile.

“Pung-ah. And you?”

“Sir?”

“Were you not afraid of death?”

Cheongpung, who had been staring blankly with clear eyes, stammered out a response.

“I was scared. I had never truly thought about death before.”

“Yet you still went to Shaolin. Why?”

“…Regret.”

“Hmm?”

“I think I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life if I’d run away back then.”

That’s when it happened. The voice that had been mumbling grew clear.

“I felt like I’d lose something more important than my own life.”

That’s right. Even when fighting the Blood Lord, the kid had said the same thing.

He got slashed, torn, and bled heavily—screaming in pain—but he never backed down. Even knowing he stood no chance, he kept charging in.

‘What is it? Why the hell are you all acting like dying first is some kind of honor?’

To the Blood Lord, who asked with fury and confusion, Cheongpung smiled brightly and answered:

‘If I run… I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.’

I know what that regret is.

Maybe, more than the fear of death, it was the fear of a lifetime spent with that regret—alone—that weighed heavier on me.

“Regret… huh…”

Ma Jong-hak muttered softly, then turned his gaze to me.

“And you?”

“You mean me, sir?”

My answer to that question hasn’t changed since the very first day I became a hunter.

Letting out a soft chuckle, I replied.

“Death is always scary. I’m afraid of dying.”

Was I too honest?

Ahem. A few people who had been quietly observing the situation let out awkward coughs, their discomfort obvious.

But Ma Jong-hak’s faint smile only deepened.

“To overcome the fear of death and help someone in peril—that is what it means to be [a true warrior of justice].”

The coughs ceased.

Silence instantly spread throughout the hall.

Then, someone sitting with a slouched posture suddenly spoke.

“To think something is the right thing to do… and to actually do it—those are worlds apart. Yet you two acted without hesitation.”

There was warmth in the voice.

The Fire King Jeok Cheon-Gang’s eyes were clearly smiling as he looked at us.

“That is [humanity].”

Humanity and justice. Justice and humanity.

They were similar, yet different—brief words, yet heavy with meaning.

People often say this:

That those who do not fear death are the true martial artists.

But those who stand firm in the face of death and carry out humanity and justice—

The world has a different name for such people.

“[Hero]…”

That whisper escaped someone’s lips—and yet, it echoed louder than anything.

And then, with a faint smile, a middle-aged man with graying hair began to speak.

“A hero, huh. That’s a word I quite like.”

His body wasn’t large, yet his hands were disproportionately big and thick. Only then did I realize who the middle-aged man was.

‘Fist King Eon Hwapyeong.’

A relic of a distant past—his clan, the Jinju Eon family, had been brutally crushed during the righteous sects’ power struggles. The last of his line, he had lived reclusively in a nameless mountain peak. But when news came that a hundred thousand demon soldiers had invaded the Central Plains, he joined the Murim Alliance without hesitation.

‘Do you know why the Fist King is such a big deal?’

‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

‘Old man once asked him—said his clan was destroyed before he was even born because of the righteous sects. Asked if he had no pride left. Said, “How many here even understand justice and humanity?”’

‘You really have no tact, huh.’

‘Shut it and listen. What he said next was the real gem.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said it didn’t matter.’

‘What?’

‘Just like that. Said none of it mattered. He came simply to help. And the moment the Great War of Justice and Evil ended, he vanished like a ghost. No matter how I think about it, that guy was the real deal. Hahaha…’

And now, that very Fist King Eon Hwapyeong was smiling at us. It was a smile filled with warmth.

“To act on what is right as if it’s natural. To overcome fear and move forward. That’s what makes a true [hero]. Absolutely.”

He nodded in satisfaction—and he wasn’t the only one.

All around us, people looked at Cheongpung and me with soft gazes.

Especially a few familiar faces—there was a visible, heartfelt gratitude in their eyes.

‘Ten-Thousand Venom Shura Tang Sadok.’

Though his complexion was still pale, likely not fully recovered, he stood straight with eyes glinting with green light.

When our eyes met, the corners of his wrinkled lips twitched slightly. Then he suddenly opened his mouth.

“This old man, as the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan, would like to speak.”

All eyes turned to him at the sudden declaration. When Ma Jong-hak gave a slight nod, his raspy voice followed.

“The heads of the Murim Alliance bear a weighty responsibility. Outstanding martial skill is a given, but they must also possess wisdom gained through experience. Entrusting such a role to young ones not even in their thirties seems too much.”

His unexpected words stirred slight unrest throughout the room. A few people’s expressions subtly shifted—some with joy, others with displeasure.

However…

‘It’s not just Korean you have to hear out to the end.’

And the words that followed confirmed my hunch.

“However, the Blazing Fire Dragon Jin Taekyung and the Volcano Dragon Cheongpung are exceptions.”

“These two fought against Dark Heaven in Shanxi, in Henan, and in Sichuan. They demonstrated what justice and humanity truly are. Both I and my clan owe them a debt we could never hope to repay.”

Voices of agreement rose from several parts of the hall.

They came from sect and clan leaders who had crossed paths with us personally, or through Jeok Cheon-Gang and the Taewon Jin Clan.

Even those with no direct ties nodded without hesitation.

Bolstered by their reactions, Tang Sadok continued in a firm voice.

“If these two are entrusted with high office in the Murim Alliance, who would dare question their qualifications or defy the Alliance Leader’s command?”

That line—delivered with particular emphasis—caused several people to furrow their brows. One of them was the head of the Zhongnan Sect, the Wind Sword Lord.

Tang Sadok, casting a slow glance over the room with his green-glinting eyes, respectfully cupped his fists.

“As you can see, there will be no objections. Alliance Leader, you need not worry. Simply issue your command.”

Even before anyone could voice dissent, he had shut down all controversy with a single stroke.

And his opponent wasn’t just anyone—but the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan, known across Murim for never backing down.

Though the clan had suffered greatly due to the Sichuan Blood Cult, it remained one of the Five Great Families—its power and prestige undiminished.

“Uuuh…”

A low, entranced murmur slipped out from someone’s mouth.

Then a voice shattered the brief silence.

“Blazing Fire Dragon Jin Taekyung. Volcano Dragon Cheongpung.”

Ma Jong-hak, gazing warmly at us, continued.

“Come to think of it, I never asked you two directly. Do you wish to join the Two Dragons Pavilion?”

That was when it happened.

Ding.

– Would you like to join the Murim Alliance?

A system prompt appeared before my eyes.

Neither Cheongpung nor I hesitated for long. We exchanged a glance, and as if of one voice, we answered:

“We will.”

“Then I hereby give the official command. From this moment on, the two of you shall belong to the Two Dragons Pavilion, reporting directly to the Alliance Leader. Each of you shall serve as a Pavilion Lord and may select your own members…”

The rest of the words did not reach us clearly.

No—it was that we could no longer hear them.

Ding. Ding. Ding, ding!

A cascade of bell sounds erupted in my ears, echoing without pause.