The Return of the Namgoong Clan's Granddaughter-Chapter 27

Unlike the previous day, the meal took place inside the Clan Head’s private hall.

Even before stepping into the building, laughter and the hum of cheerful conversation could be heard.

Ilhwa paused at the entrance before entering the pavilion, quietly listening to the sounds within.

“I gave those bastards a proper beating! Wasn’t I good, Father?”

“You need to learn to control your temper, Cheongsan.”

“Ah, I wasn’t asking you, Brother! Cheonghae, why do you always pick a fight with me?”

And then came more laughter—chuckling, giggling, bursts of joy.

It was the sound of a warm and harmonious family.

“....”

Ilhwa knew the owners of those voices. She had killed more than half of them with her own hands.

Each time that memory surfaced, it stabbed at a corner of her chest like a knife.

And she understood the source of that pain.

Guilt.

The guilt of approaching those she had killed as if nothing had happened... the guilt of blending into them as family.

Ilhwa thought to herself:

Feeling emotions really is a bothersome thing.

“You’re here.”

A voice called out without any sign of presence. Ilhwa turned her head toward the one approaching.

It was Seop Mugwang, the Wind Thunder God.

His eyebrows lifted slightly as he looked at her.

“You wear it well. Dress like that more often. You look lovely.”

“....”

“Now that you’re here, go inside. Why are you just standing there?”

He gestured with his chin toward the interior.

“The Clan Head told me to fetch you since you weren’t coming in.”

“I just... liked the sound.”

“The sound of what?”

“The laughter.”

The sound of laughter echoing from within.

“I’ve never once shared a meal with people I could call family.”

Not even once, in a very long time.

In her previous life, she had regarded the Blood Demon as a father figure, and the members of the cult as brothers and sisters. But she had never truly thought of them as family.

They had always eyed each other, waiting for the chance to kill. Even when someone died, it never left her feeling empty or hollow.

“Do you think... people get sad when family dies?”

The abrupt question made Seop Mugwang’s expression harden.

The girl who asked such an unfitting question for her age wore a face that was blank, utterly emotionless.

He knew from the Medicine Hall Master that her emotional dullness was a self-defense mechanism—and that made it all the more bitter.

He let out a short sigh, then suddenly crumpled his ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) face and flicked her hard on the forehead.

“What kind of kid talks like a little old man? Don’t waste your time on useless hypotheticals!”

“I was just wondering.”

Seop Mugwang shook his head firmly.

“If it were me, I’d use that time to train instead. Build up my strength, and protect my family with my own hands.”

“Ah...”

Ilhwa let out a quiet breath, as if something had just clicked inside her.

So that’s all it takes...

Just grow strong enough to protect them all.

That was why she had returned to the Namgoong Clan in the first place. And yet, somewhere along the way, she had grown complacent—forgotten her purpose.

Focus.

As the sudden clarity struck her, she began lightly slapping her cheeks—smack, smack.

Then, Seop Mugwang suddenly grabbed her by the arm.

“You...!”

His eyes widened at the cloth wrapped around her hand.

“You’re hurt again? Why?”

“I broke a vase by accident. I got a little cut while cleaning it up. It’s nothing serious.”

“You—!”

He looked like he was about to erupt, but drew in a deep breath instead. Still, the anger on his face didn’t disappear.

“This isn’t nothing. Not even close. You get that? Do you know how important your hands are to a swordswoman—?!”

He tried to hold it in, but the suppressed fury eventually burst out.

“It’s your body! If it’s your body, then treasure it! If you get a scar from getting hurt at your age, it won’t go away even when you’re grown! Any other kid would’ve been crying their eyes out over this!”

Ilhwa wanted to say that scars didn’t matter to her—but she kept it to herself.

For some reason, she had the feeling that if she said anything more, Seop Mugwang might actually breathe fire.

“...I’ll be more careful.”

At her obedient reply, Seop Mugwang finally let out his anger with a deep exhale.

“I’ll be watching you from now on, so keep that in mind!”

“Yes.”

“Now get inside! Go!”

Only then did Ilhwa step into the pavilion.

Maybe it was thanks to that exchange. Or maybe because of it. But whatever uneasy feelings had been swirling inside her—they were gone now, replaced by a quiet sense of disarray.

Inside the room where the meal was to be held, everyone had already gathered and was chatting among themselves—everyone except for Ilhwa.

As the door opened, the soft murmur of conversation abruptly ceased.

All heads turned toward her, eyes blank with surprise. The one most visibly taken aback was her father, Namgoong Cheongun.

“Welcome.”

Namgoong Mucheon was the first to greet her.

“There was quite a bit of noise outside the door.”

Ilhwa glanced at Seop Mugwang, who had followed behind her. He was still huffing, steam practically coming from his nostrils.

“It was nothing serious.”

But Namgoong Mucheon’s gaze was already on her injured hand.

He had clearly heard everything that happened outside.

Knowing that Seop Mugwang had already scolded her thoroughly, Namgoong Mucheon let out a long, heavy sigh—letting it speak for him in place of words.

“Come. Sit.”

Namgoong Cheongun motioned for her to come closer.

Under the gaze of those gathered, Ilhwa took a seat beside him.

— You’re truly, truly beautiful. I nearly didn’t recognize you.

Namgoong Cheongun gently clasped her injured hand beneath the table.

— Is your hand alright? Tell me how it happened later.

— Yes.

“Introduce yourself.”

Ilhwa turned to look at those seated around the table.

They showed no signs of surprise at her appearance, likely having already heard the story from Namgoong Mucheon before she arrived.

“Hello.”

A sharp sniff.

Namgoong Cheongsan abruptly turned his head away.

“I’m Seolhwa.”

A soft sigh followed somewhere in the room.

They had found the child they thought was lost forever.

Before they were rivals fighting over the position of Deputy Clan Head, Namgoong Cheongun, Cheonghae, and Cheongsan were brothers.

Could they possibly not feel joy, now that the first niece they ever had had returned alive?

“Welcome back, Seolhwa. I can still see the child you once were in your face. You’ve suffered much. It’s a relief that you’ve returned safely.”

Namgoong Cheonghae, the second brother, was the first to speak. Sitting beside him were his wife, Yeon Soran, and their two sons—Soryong and Woong.

“Introduce yourself, Soryong. Though you were born in the same year, she was born six months before you—she is your older sister.”

Soryong frowned.

He had always been treated as the Namgoong Clan’s eldest grandson.

Now, with the sudden reappearance of a cousin thought lost forever—who was now being called his sister—it was hard to feel welcoming.

“Soryong.”

“...Nice to meet you.”

Even though his father had clearly emphasized that she was his elder sister, there was no recognition in his tone.

Namgoong Cheonghae looked slightly flustered and was about to scold him, but Yeon Soran spoke up a bit faster.

“Woong, you should say hello too.”

Ilhwa’s gaze naturally shifted to the second son, Woong.

“Yes, Mother. Hello, Sister Seolhwa. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Woong.”

His voice was cautious but carried genuine warmth. Unlike his brother, he greeted her sincerely.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m really glad you’re back.”

Ilhwa nodded, thinking that her round-faced, round-eyed cousin was truly endearing.

“Thank you.”

After exchanging greetings with Namgoong Cheonghae’s family, it was now Namgoong Cheongsan’s turn.

Ilhwa looked at him.

The largest of the three brothers, his build even surpassed that of Namgoong Mucheon.

Namgoong Cheongsan noisily wiped his sniffles with the back of his hand and greeted her in a booming voice.

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“You were the guest in the Celestial Guest Courtyard? I was shocked! Do you remember this uncle giving you piggyback rides when you were little?”

His wife, Moyong Yeonhwa, poked him in the ribs.

Unlike the massive Namgoong Cheongsan, Moyong Yeonhwa was small and delicate in build.

She looked far too fragile to have any strength at all, and yet her light poke made Cheongsan wince and let out a grunt of pain.

Moyong Yeonhwa took over with a soft smile.

“It’s such a blessing to see you healthy again, Seolhwa. I was so surprised when I heard you came back on your own. You’ve grown into such a lovely young lady.”

Perhaps it was seeing the dressed-up Ilhwa that brought back the memory of the girl she once was—her smile flickered with melancholy before vanishing again.

“Come visit our residence sometime. I have many things I’d like to give you.”

As she spoke, she gently stroked the head of the child sitting beside her.

“This little one is Hwarin. You probably haven’t met her before. Hwarin, say hello to your big sister.”

Namgoong Hwarin, the youngest of the group, was five years old. Since Ilhwa had disappeared eight years ago, the two were meeting for the first time.

Though we did meet in my past life.

But even then, it had been a brief encounter—Ilhwa barely remembered her.

Hwarin clung shyly to her mother’s arm, her gaze fixed on Ilhwa.

“What are you waiting for? Say hello.”

Moyong Yeonhwa tried to sound stern, but Hwarin only buried her face into her mother’s sleeve, too embarrassed to speak.

Yeonhwa gave a sheepish smile.

“She’s terribly shy. I’m sorry, Seolhwa.”

“It’s alright.”

They’d be living under the same roof from now on anyway. There was no need to force closeness here and now.

Just then, Namgoong Hwarin picked up a candied hawthorn skewer from the food laid out on the table and held it out to Seolhwa.

The attendants had thoughtfully placed the treats closer to Hwarin, knowing her age.

“Oh my. Is that for your sister? Seolhwa, Hwarin says it’s for you.”

Since they were seated too far apart, Moyong Yeonhwa took the skewer from Hwarin and passed it to Ilhwa.

Ilhwa received it almost reflexively.

It caught her off guard.

It had been decades—across two lifetimes—since she had received a gesture of kindness with no strings attached.

...

Still holding the candied skewer, Ilhwa looked over at Namgoong Hwarin.

Hwarin, still hiding behind her mother’s sleeve and peeking at Ilhwa, smiled shyly the moment their eyes met—then quickly ducked back behind the fabric.