I Became the Owner of the Heavenly Flower Palace-Chapter 65: The Meaning of a Single Sword

Jincheon was sharing tea with Ji Riik, the Sect Master of the Soaring Willow Sword Sect, and his granddaughter, Ji Yeongryeong.

“The damage was worse than I thought,” Jincheon said, breaking the silence first.

Yesterday’s attack had left part of the sect buildings in ruin. In the chaos, he hadn’t noticed—but now, under the clarity of daylight, the destruction was painfully clear.

“I’m sorry. It’s because of us...”

“That’s not so,” Ji Riik interrupted gently.

The aged sect master waved off Jincheon’s apology with quiet firmness. “The ones who caused this were those fiends. Young Lord Jincheon, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“But the fact remains that your sect was harmed...”

“And you were victims as well.”

Ji Riik’s voice held no room for debate.

“I may be old, but I’m not so far gone that I can’t recognize who bears the real responsibility.”

With age invoked, Jincheon found he had no proper reply. So instead, he spoke from the heart.

“Thank you. Even so, I can’t ignore the moral debt we owe. Please allow us to help however we can.”

Ji Riik, after a pause, gave a slow nod. “You have my thanks, Young Lord.”

“No. Thank you, Sect Master,” Jincheon replied, smiling as he lifted his teacup.

The black cord wrapped around his wrist was clearly visible—but neither Ji Riik nor Ji Yeongryeong commented on it.

Nor did they remark on the other end, which was tied around Ilyo’s wrist.

Then came the interruption.

“Young Lord.”

It was the calm voice of Neung Gayeon, Commander of the North Wind, standing quietly behind him.

“A group of armed men is approaching.”

Jincheon’s eyes narrowed. “Is it them?”

“No,” Gayeon answered—but her next words offered little comfort.

“But their hostility is unmistakable. About thirty of them.”

“Thirty?” Jincheon echoed.

That wasn’t just many—it was an overwhelming force.

“Exactly thirty-two,” Ilyo added.

Clack.

Ji Riik set down his teacup and rose to his feet.

His wrinkled hand reached for the sword resting beside him.

Ji Yeongryeong stood as well.

With his expression steeled, the aged sect master turned to his granddaughter.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” she replied with a bow.

Jincheon couldn’t just sit there.

He set down his teacup and followed, walking at Ji Riik’s side.

Behind him came Ilyo and Neung Gayeon, quiet ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) as shadows.

****

The main gates of the Soaring Willow Sword Sect groaned open.

Creeeeak.

The sound of the ancient hinges startled the disciples of the Iron Gate Sect.

They had dismounted at a distance and were approaching on foot, hoping for a silent ambush.

But they didn’t panic.

After all, there were supposedly no disciples left in Soaring Willow.

As if to confirm that, only five people emerged from the gates.

Ohh...

Ban Mu-ryang’s jaw dropped involuntarily.

Two of the women were stunning—beauties beyond anything he’d seen in his life.

One with raven-black hair stood still with a calm, composed face. The other radiated an aura of refined grace, every inch her posture oozing elegance.

Delicate foreign features, slender curves—everything about them screamed fatal allure.

“Huuhhh...”

Even Jang Cheok, the Ghost-Slaying Sword, couldn’t help but let out a breath of astonishment.

Ji Yeongryeong, famed across the land for her beauty, paled in comparison next to these two.

For a moment, he even forgot the original objective—scanning for signs of Wudang's presence.

“Heh. I’m changing the deal.”

Jang Cheok’s voice was low and slick.

His eyes gleamed with disgusting greed as he stared at Ilyo and Neung Gayeon.

“I want those two.”

“You don’t even know who they are,” Ban Mu-ryang, head of Iron Gate’s outer division, replied with a frown.

But his eyes, too, lingered on the women.

“We were going to silence them anyway, weren’t we?”

Jang Cheok was already aware of the Soaring Willow's “guests.”

Ban Mu-ryang had ordered their mouths sealed—killed, really. The simplest, cleanest way.

As Mu-ryang hesitated, Jang Cheok scowled.

“Fine, then. Just one. I’ll choose.”

Ban Mu-ryang’s gaze shifted to the man standing beside the two women.

Other than his expensive clothes, the young man had no distinguishing features.

He looked like a spoiled heir dragging his lovers on a frivolous tour of the martial world.

Hmph. He’s nothing...

Mu-ryang judged the risk to be low.

Coming to Soaring Willow in the first place marked him as someone from a forgettable clan.

“So be it,” he said.

Jang Cheok’s mouth twisted into a wide, vile grin.

But then—

“What business does the Iron Gate Sect have here?!”

The voice cut through the air like thunder.

It was Ji Riik.

Despite his years, his voice carried the power to shake the ground.

“You slink here like bandits. Surely you aren’t here as honored guests!”

Ban Mu-ryang didn’t reply. He gave a subtle nod to his men.

The thirty-some Iron Gate disciples moved to encircle the gate.

Ji Riik’s brows furrowed.

“Listen, old man,” Jang Cheok said with a scoff.

Ji Riik didn’t answer, but Cheok pressed on.

“You’ve run this sect into the ground, and you still dare raise your voice? Maybe it’s time you knew your place and stepped aside.”

The wrinkles in Ji Riik’s face tightened.

“And what’s this? Calling yourself the Red Wolf—how pathetic.”

“Watch your mouth when you speak to the Sect Master,” came a sharp voice.

Ji Yeongryeong.

Her tone was ice.

“He’s not someone you get to insult.”

“Oh-ho,” Jang Cheok chuckled.

“Isn’t this the lovely Miss Ji herself? Still clinging to pride and blind to reality, are we?”

His laughter twisted into mockery.

“Still chasing that worthless sword of yours, I see. Tsk. You’d be better off finding a man with that pretty face of yours.”

Yeongryeong’s face remained calm, but the flash in her eyes said it all.

Jang Cheok clicked his tongue and sneered.

“Prideful, delusional, stubborn. No wonder you’re losing everything to us.”

“That’s enough.”

The voice that answered was young—but firm.

Jincheon stepped forward.

Cheok turned.

“You think you landed a clever blow, but all I hear is projection,” Jincheon said calmly.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” Cheok growled.

To him, Jincheon looked like just another clueless rich boy.

Jincheon replied smoothly, “The one who thinks the fool squandering a legacy and blinded by pride... is really just describing himself.”

“You arrogant little shit...”

“It’s true I know little of the martial world,” Jincheon admitted without shame.

“But one thing’s obvious—you’ve already abandoned the path of the warrior.”

Jincheon knew nothing of swordsmanship. Of martial paths. Of the so-called Way of the Blade.

But every martial artist he’d met—Gayeon, Ilyo, Ji Riik, Yeongryeong, even Gi Seoran and Po Eunryeong, who weren’t here now—had shown what being a warrior meant, not through power, but through how they carried themselves.

Jang Cheok did not belong among them.

Crack.

Jang Cheok gritted his teeth.

Fire blazed in his eyes.

He couldn’t deny it—he hadn’t broken through in over ten years. His “Ghost-Slaying Sword” was no longer a title of awe, but a sneer at his cruelty.

“You little bastard—”

And then—

Whoosh.

Something shot toward the Ghost-Slaying Sword, Jang Cheok.

He barely sensed it—his rage had dulled his instincts—and he failed to dodge in time.

Crack!

“Gah!”

The object struck him square in the forehead. It didn’t break skin, but the pain was sharp and sudden. Dizzy, Jang Cheok blinked and saw a small bead hit the ground near his feet. The kind of ornament a village woman might sew onto her blouse.

“You’re in front of the Young Lord.”

The voice was Ilyo’s.

Jincheon turned, startled. Ilyo flicked her fingers again.

“Don’t you dare move that filthy mouth of yours again.”

Fwhip.

A bead flew with a whistle, cutting through the air like a blade.

Jang Cheok drew his sword at once.

Hup.

His inner energy wrapped around the blade.

Though it hadn’t yet formed a visible aura like true sword-light, his energy-forged weapon was far beyond a simple steel blade.

“HAAH!”

Jang Cheok let out a sharp yell and slashed.

CLANG.

A shockwave burst out on contact.

And yet—he looked stunned.

It was just a bead. Just one tiny ornament.

And it rattled his whole body like he’d been struck with a war hammer.

“You hold your head too high.”

Tap. Tap.

Ilyo calmly flicked her pinky and ring finger in succession.

Two more beads flew.

Jang Cheok snarled and slashed again.

CLANG.

He deflected it—but had to step back. Twice.

Each bead carried stronger energy than the last.

The final one, launched with her weakest finger, was the worst of all.

KANG!

With a shattering sound, his blade snapped and flew into the sky.

Jang Cheok buckled.

“Urgh!”

Blood exploded from his mouth. A clear sign: he had suffered internal damage—serious damage.

Ban Mu-ryang, head of Iron Gate’s outer division, didn’t hesitate. He yanked out his saber and shouted.

“Attack! Now!”

They were outnumbered—but the enemy was powerful.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Mu-ryang, a veteran of countless battles, sensed this might be their last chance.

Tap.

The elite disciples of Iron Gate surged forward, swords and sabers drawn, charging in unison.

Ji Riik and Ji Yeongryeong moved just as quickly, drawing their blades without a word.

And then—Neung Gayeon spoke.

“How bold.”

Swish.

She made a light motion with her hand. Like swatting at a fly.

The result was anything but light.

“Guh!”

“AAARGH!”

The charging disciples crumpled all at once.

Their blood and energy trembled in disarray. The inner power they had drawn up reversed violently through their meridians.

Swords and sabers scattered, clattering shamefully across the dirt. The disciples collapsed to the ground, twitching and writhing in pain.

Even Ban Mu-ryang wasn’t spared.

“Urghhh...”

He dropped his saber and hit the dirt, choking on agony.

Rustle.

Neung Gayeon lowered herself into a graceful kneel before Jincheon.

“I acted without permission. That offense—”

“It’s fine,” Jincheon replied quickly, snapping out of his daze.

Then, noticing Ilyo had dropped to her knees as well, he added, “You too. It’s all right. Get up, both of you.”

The two women rose quietly.

Jincheon glanced at Ilyo’s hand.

There were no beads. Her pale, slender fingers were bare.

Only the black cord remained, tied neatly around her left wrist.

Heh... heheheh...

A strange, breathy laugh made Jincheon turn.

Jang Cheok was sitting in the dirt, laughing.

“So that’s what it is. A master, huh? Yeah, sure. If you're that strong, you can do whatever the hell you want. Do whatever the fuck you want...”

The bitterness in his voice was half-mocking, half self-loathing.

Then his eyes shifted.

“But not you two.”

His gaze fixed on Ji Riik and Ji Yeongryeong.

“You really think Soaring Willow will stay in Luoyang after this? When the borrowed power fades, you’ll fall just the same...”

Step.

Ji Yeongryeong walked forward, her sword still drawn.

Without pause, she approached the man slumped in the dirt.

Then she spoke.

“Every sword carries meaning.”

Jang Cheok scoffed.

“What a load of—”

He never finished.

Yeongryeong’s blade came down without hesitation, imbued with her inner energy.

Slice.

“AAAAAGH!”

His scream tore through the air.

His right arm hit the ground, severed cleanly. Jang Cheok stared at the blood spraying from his shoulder, unable to process what had happened.

But the pain made it real.

“Kh—khuh—guh...”

He clawed at his pressure points, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

But the wound was too wide. The injury too deep. He couldn’t channel his energy.

From above, Ji Yeongryeong looked down and said coldly:

“This sword means we’re enemies now. Thanks to you, we finally understand.”

“Uuuugh—argh—FUCK! Fuuuuuuck!”

Jang Cheok clutched his ruined shoulder, howling like a beast.

Yeongryeong turned her back on him without a word.

Her expression as she walked away was cold and unflinching.

“...She’s got a good sense of justice. I like her.”

Neung Gayeon’s whisper made Jincheon flinch.

He hadn’t been able to watch. He’d turned his gaze away.

Her words struck him all the more because of it.

He glanced at Ilyo—but her face was calm, as if none of this was unexpected.

Then he looked again at the bloodied ground.

At the Iron Gate disciples twitching in the dirt.

At Jang Cheok, broken and defeated.

Thud.

The Ghost-Slaying Sword collapsed, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Blood spread beneath him, staining the dirt red. A life had shattered in mere moments.

Jincheon had expected something like this... but it still rattled him.

Bitterly, quietly, he turned his back.

No one said a word.