“An honor to see you again, Thousand-Handed Buddha.”

The Sect Leader of Mount Hua, No Un, approached, exchanging greetings with the Shaolin Abbot, Beopgong.

Watching the two, Tang Munryong’s gaze carried a glint of sharpness.

Beopgong inclined slightly toward No Un.

“Amitabha. I am glad to see you well again, Jade Plum Sword.”

“Haha, and has the Venerable Abbot remained in good health?”

Their words were light, without weight or hidden meaning. Both knew well that there were too many ears listening and eyes watching nearby.

“Hey—look at the size of that one. Doesn’t he look like a rock, solid and unyielding?”

Someone approached Tang Munryong, who had been eavesdropping on the two’s exchange.

It was Peng Yeopmyeong, the Clan Head of the Peng Clan.

Disturbed in the middle of his focus, Tang Munryong did not bother to conceal his irritation.

“Are you talking about me?”

The towering figure with a massive, hardened frame could only be Peng Yeopmyeong.

At Tang Munryong’s pointed remark, Peng Yeopmyeong blinked in confusion, glanced about, and then burst into booming laughter. He smacked Tang Munryong’s back with a heavy thump.

“Hahaha! As if it could be me? I may be a bit large, but hardly enough to draw such notice!”

Noticeable. Extremely noticeable.

His voice was so loud that the wide courtyard itself seemed to rumble with its echo.

“I was talking about that monk. The one standing so firmly by the Shaolin Abbot’s side.”

The one Peng Yeopmyeong pointed to was Shaolin’s foremost disciple, Do Won.

Tang Munryong had heard of him, but this was the first time he saw him in person.

Had the Namgoong Clan not provided the visiting roster upon their arrival, even he would not have realized that the man was Do Won.

“It seems the Wudang Sect has not come after all.”

Peng Yeopmyeong muttered as he glanced around the Celestial Guesthouse courtyard.

Of the Five Great Clans and the Nine Great Sects—fourteen major powers of the Central Plains—only the Wudang Sect was absent.

It was unthinkable that the Namgoong Clan had failed to send them an invitation. Their absence meant they had refused.

“This gathering alone is enough to be called an alliance, but still, their absence is a shame.”

Peng Yeopmyeong clicked his tongue.

At that moment—

“It has been too long, Clan Heads.”

The head of the Jegal Clan, Jegal Semun, approached with his younger brother Jegal Myeong, offering greetings.

“Have you both been well?”

“It has been a while, Clan Head Jegal!”

Peng Yeopmyeong extended his hand.

Jegal Semun hesitated for a moment before taking it awkwardly. Peng Yeopmyeong immediately swung it up and down in great sweeps.

“How have you been?”

“Y-yes... without much trouble. Haha...”

“And this must be your famed younger brother.”

At Tang Munryong’s words, Jegal Myeong stepped forward and bowed politely.

“It is an honor to meet the Clan Heads of the Peng and Tang Clans. I am Jegal Myeong of the Jegal Clan.”

“A pleasure.”

Tang Munryong shook hands with him as well.

“I hear you devised all of the Jegal Clan’s mechanism formations.”

“I only try to contribute what little skill I have for the clan’s sake.”

“Little skill? The Jegal Clan’s mechanisms are the finest in the Central Plains. I have long wanted to meet you.”

“Indeed! You didn’t show your face at the last gathering, and yet here you are today.”

After exchanging greetings with Jegal Myeong, their talk remained light and trivial, mindful of the many ears and eyes about them.

But then—

“By the way... did you, perhaps, attend the Sword Emperor’s funeral?”

Jegal Semun posed the question quietly. Both Peng Yeopmyeong and Tang Munryong’s expressions darkened.

Peng Yeopmyeong shook his head.

“Attend? I only heard after it was already over.”

“The same for me. By the time the news reached me, it was finished. Did your clan attend?”

It was natural to think they had, since the Jegal Clan resided in Hubei, close to Anhui.

“I did not.”

Jegal Semun shook his head.

“When I learned of the Sword Emperor’s passing, the funeral was already done.”

The two Clan Heads looked startled.

“What? That close, and the news arrived so late?”

“I cannot make sense of it. I assumed the Jegal Clan surely attended.”

After all, their clan had long shared closeness with the Namgoong Clan.

“I believe it was the Namgoong Clan itself that delayed spreading the news.”

Jegal Semun turned to his younger brother.

“My brother looked into it and found not only our clan but all the sects faced the same.”

“What? Then none of us here actually attended the Sword Emperor’s funeral?”

“That is correct.”

Peng Yeopmyeong’s low sigh seemed to weigh down the courtyard of the Celestial Hall.

A silence spread like frost.

Those gathered were not only clan heads and sect leaders but martial masters themselves—keen of hearing and sight. All had heard Jegal Semun’s words.

“My brother says that nowhere in the Namgoong Clan were there signs of mourning for the Sword Emperor’s death.”

For a clan head and one of the Central Plains’ foremost masters to die, even after the funeral there should have been lasting traces of mourning.

Yet within the Namgoong estate, not even the simplest white cloths, so easily found across Anhui’s streets, could be seen.

“Even if they cleared it away for this Assembly, to erase every trace? It was as though they sought to wipe his death from memory itself.”

And even beyond that, the strangeness abounded.

The funeral had been brief, the common folk beyond Anhui barely knew the Sword Emperor had passed...

“This man... is jesting too far.”

“Are you implying the Sword Emperor yet lives?”

The air of the courtyard grew heavier still.

“Yes. That is what I believe.”

The answer did not come from Jegal Semun, but from Jegal Myeong.

Semun, unable to bring himself to say it, at last nodded reluctantly.

Peng Yeopmyeong let out a sigh.

“That would be pleasant indeed. If the Sword Emperor were to appear alive before us.”

His laugh followed, but unlike before, it was strained.

When the laughter died, silence returned once more.

And then—

All heads turned as one.

From the rear of the Celestial Hall, Namgoong warriors emerged bearing heavy coffins.

The faces of those who recognized them hardened at once.

“Coffins.”

Their shapes, their scent of herbal incense used to preserve bodies—there was no mistaking them.

And not one, but a line of coffins without lids.

As the warriors carried them to the courtyard’s center, those standing near drew back instinctively.

Whose corpses were these?

What meaning lay in revealing so many coffins here and now?

Confusion rippled through the assembly—until the unthinkable occurred.

“T-that...!”

Peng Yeopmyeong pointed to the top of the Celestial Hall steps, stammering, speechless.

But it was not only him.

Every gaze in the courtyard fixed upon the same point, gripped by shock.

For there, just as Peng Yeopmyeong had half-jested moments earlier, the Sword Emperor himself appeared.

Namgoong Mucheon.

From the highest step, he looked over the gathered leaders and descended slowly.

Against the vast Celestial Hall and the clear blue sky, the Sword Emperor’s descent was monumental, almost unreal.

“Am I seeing a ghost?”

Someone muttered in disbelief.

Midway down the steps, Namgoong Mucheon halted. His gaze swept over those assembled, and he bowed briefly.

“I thank the heads of clans and sects who have traveled so far to Anhui.”

His voice rolled across the courtyard, calm and deep.

There was nothing of the dead in him.

“You seem shaken. Before I speak, allow me to apologize for the confusion my death has caused.”

“Is this truly... a living man?”

Peng Yeopmyeong stared dazed, as though spellbound. The others felt the same, unable to believe though their eyes beheld him.

“As you see, I am alive and well.”

“Then why feign death?”

“I will tell you that now.”

At his gesture, the Namgoong warriors set the coffins down with a dull weight.

“This is what I risked my life, even disguising death, to recover.”

The faces of the gathered leaders froze as they peered into the coffins.

They knew them. How could they not?

“This... this is your shame. The shame of your clans and sects alike.”

The long-lost corpses of their ancestors.

Disappeared long ago, yet never found. Hidden away, hushed, their loss a secret none dared reveal.

“These... how...?”

“...Khm.”

The Celestial Hall’s courtyard stirred uneasily.

None among the powers gathered could claim their ancestors’ remains had not vanished. None stood blameless.

“Do you mean to threaten us with this, Sword Emperor?”

Someone asked, thinking he sought leverage in exchange for returning them.

But Namgoong Mucheon shook his head.

“If I meant to threaten, would I so openly lay down my cards before you?”

He knew well these bodies were their weakness, their vulnerability.

But—

“I have no intent to coerce. I am here to ask.”

The murmuring stilled. Every gaze fixed on Namgoong Mucheon as he looked each leader «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» in the eye and began to speak.