TOTG 3

Chapter 3

“Son, what kind of books do you want to read?”
“All of them.”

That answer made Sowol smile.
Her son’s eyes, shining not with hesitation but with pure curiosity, pleased her deeply.

The library was vast—large enough to rival the main hall of an entire martial sect.
Tens of thousands of books filled the space, floor to ceiling.

She didn’t even think, “Is this really a five-year-old?”
If he was the child of her and Cheongjin, then of course it made sense.

“Then shall we read them together?”
“Yes. I’d like that.”

Cheongun was never much of a talker.
Even before his death, he’d been quiet, and after being reborn, that tendency only deepened.

After all—

Words, once spoken, cannot be taken back. Listening is often far more useful than speaking.

Cheongun began selecting books one by one.
There was nothing this library lacked.

While secret arts of great clans were naturally absent, the martial techniques taught to sect heirs were all here.

But these held little interest for Cheongun.
He had lived them already, in another life.

Having once created his own martial art to compensate for his crippled body, he’d studied nearly everything there was.

What he sought now was one thing only—
a way to overcome the side effects of the Heavenly Mind Art (Cheonui Sim Gong).

“…None, it seems.”

The Heavenly Mind Art had few drawbacks.
At least, for Cheongun himself.

Its only flaw—

‘The flow of internal energy accumulates too slowly.’

Even though forming his dantian at age five gave him a decade’s advantage over others, that was still not enough.

Had it not been such a peerless art, he wouldn’t have learned it in the first place.

“What’s wrong?”
“Ah! You startled me.”
“Oh my, now you finally sound like a five-year-old.”
“…You scared me, Mother.”
“Hehe, there’s the old Cheongun again. What are you looking for?”
“Just… something that looks interesting.”

Something “interesting,” he said.
Could this massive library truly fail to satisfy him?

“Hmm… Shall Mother show you something else then?”
“Something else?”
“Yes. Some very rare books.”
“Okay.”
“But promise to study hard.”
“I will.”

Study, huh?
Did he really need to?

“The pursuit of knowledge does not always lead to good.
Curiosity can turn into greed, and greed blinds one to their limits.”

Still, there was no rush. He had time—plenty of it.

“By the way, my son—don’t you want anything?”
“Want… something?”
“Yes. Most kids your age have lots of things they want.”
“Hmm…”

Many things flashed through his mind, but the need was clear.

“…A sword.”
“Hm?”
“A sword.”
“…A sword?”

Sowol blinked in surprise, then smiled softly.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to prepare one immediately.”
“Thank you.”

A boy who wasn’t cute—but competent.
Sowol preferred that kind of son.

“Tell the blacksmith to forge a sword for Cheongun.”

At her command, a shadow appeared out of thin air.

“As you command.”

In the next instant, the figure vanished.

Sowol watched her son’s reaction closely.
These shadow guards specialized in stealth and assassination—ordinary masters couldn’t even sense them.

But Cheongun didn’t even flinch.

“Our son doesn’t startle easily, does he?”
“A bodyguard, right?”
“You knew?”
“No, not at all.”

His emotionless eyes simply returned to the books.
Sowol’s heart swelled with joy.

“To have a son like this… it’s the greatest fortune of my life.”

And so, Cheongun’s days found a rhythm—
reading by day, cultivating by night.

Though the Heavenly Mind Art was slow, his inner energy grew pure and clear.

A few days later, the sword arrived.
That was when change entered his routine.

‘An iron-black sword… for a five-year-old?’

It was forged from black iron (Heukcheol)—something that would be a treasure for most adult warriors.

“It’s only temporary, so I had it made from black iron. Is that okay?”
“Yes. It’s perfect.”
“Perfect, he says. Just like his father.”

Would he swing it around proudly, as his father hoped?

“Will you try it out now?”
“No. I’ll finish what I was reading first.”
“All right.”

Even while cultivating, he constantly reflected.
His child’s body was still weak—nothing like before.

But so what?
He still possessed all his experience and mastery.

Suppressing the urge to test it immediately, he took the sword and headed to the training ground.

The vast yard was empty; only he was permitted here.

Two men, Kangro and Baekjin—the previous clan leader’s guardians—sat on the roof, sipping wine.

“Isn’t that the young master?”
“So it seems. They say he’s talented, but… we’ll see.”

But their words stopped midair.

Cheongun’s sword began to move.

At first glance, they were basic swings—horizontal, vertical, a simple thrust.

Yet to their eyes—

‘This… this can’t be a beginner’s swordsmanship.’

Every movement carried balance, precision, and flow.
The sword’s path was too perfect, too refined.

When he finally stopped, silence lingered.

“This is dangerous…”
“Indeed. Dangerous—except for the Cheongeum Manor itself.”

A prodigy had appeared.

But Cheongun frowned.

“My body’s still too weak. Time to start physical training.”

For most children, that would be too early.
But not here—
not in Cheongeum Manor, where any wound could be healed overnight.

“Cheongun.”

His father’s voice broke his focus.

“Yes, Father.”
“A guest has arrived. Let’s go.”
“I’m coming too?”
“Yes. Go prepare with your mother.”
“All right.”

A guest?
That was rare enough.

And if his father, the clan head, was personally welcoming them—this was no ordinary visitor.

“You don’t ask who it is?”

Cheongun paused, then turned slightly.

“Who it is matters less than the fact that Father is meeting them himself.”

Cheongjin smiled in satisfaction.
This child always gave the answer he wanted—calm, measured, precise.

“Then go on. Ah, how was your sword?”
“Good. It’s black iron, right?”
“It should serve you well.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Did you swing it yet?”
“Yes, just now.”

Cheongjin almost asked to see, but stopped himself.

“All right. We’ll look at it after the guest leaves.”
“Yes, Father.”

Not long after, the guests arrived.

Their steps were light as mist, movements elegant as flowing clouds.
Even the wind seemed to follow their grace.

“So this is Cheongeum Manor… truly wealth beyond an empire.”

But beside the refined elder stood a boy—Cheongun’s age, perhaps—wearing an impatient scowl.

“Tch. Still just a den of money grubbers.”
“Mind your tongue. This is their home.”
“…Yes, Father.”

It was only the path to the main hall, yet even walking it took time—so grand was the estate.

“Welcome.”
“It has been too long. Congratulations on the birth of your son.”
“Not at all. To see the Taoist of Mount Kunlun here today is an honor.”
“Haha, you flatter us. This is my disciple—greet them.”
“Greetings. My name is Juhyukjo.”

An arrogant tone.
The master frowned, but the boy didn’t care.

Still, Cheongjin’s face remained composed.
He only found it amusing—cute, even.

After all,

His own son had never shown even that much childishness.

“Please, come inside. You must be hungry—let us dine first.”
“We are grateful for your hospitality.”
“Thank you.”

The enormous doors of the main hall opened.
Inside waited only family—Cheongjin, Sowol, and Cheongun.

The atmosphere carried weight, like the gates of a fortress parting open.

And thus began the meeting that would ripple through Cheongeum Manor’s fate.