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Chapter 16
“Everyone, leave us.”
“…Yes, sir!”
At Bator’s order, the servants shuffled out awkwardly. Even Marianne and Nerlin only hesitated until the last moment before reluctantly following.
…The atmosphere felt less like a room and more like a grave.
And at the center of that tension was my eldest brother, who opened his mouth with a chill in his voice.
“I heard you were joining the Valley of Trials.”
As always—straight to the point, never sparing words.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And yet, here you sit… doing this?”
He tossed something at me.
It was the embroidery I’d been stitching each night—part training, part pastime.
“To think you can’t even grasp a sword properly… and instead waste your time with this.”
His voice was cold, restrained, but tight with suppressed anger.
To a son of a sword-wielding house, embroidery—something fit only for women—was unforgivable.
And in truth, this reaction was only natural.
“Do you even understand what it means to enter the Valley of Trials?”
“I know it well, brother.”
“You know, yet you choose a needle over a blade. Laughable.”
It had been years since we last met, yet he felt as familiar as if we’d spoken yesterday.
My brother had always been harsh to me… but that was his way of showing care.
He stepped closer, his towering frame—at least a head taller than mine—casting a long shadow.
“No, you don’t know. For the blood of House Pador, the Valley of Trials is no mere contest for children. It is a proving ground. You are not just Deyan—you are Deyan Pador. Every action you take becomes the reputation of this house.”
…He spoke well.
Perhaps I should just listen a little longer.
“The Valley is the first stage where the children of House Pador prove themselves. It is never to be taken lightly. We have always emerged victorious. Father did. I did. Even our second brother did.”
His gaze flicked to the embroidery on the floor, brows furrowing.
“That is how we have been acknowledged as masters of this land. But you—”
His eyes grew colder.
“How lightly did you decide to enter the Valley of Trials?”
I looked at him silently.
My brother was… truly an impressive man.
He was only twenty-five, and already seemed a figure capable of carrying the entire house.
But perhaps he had no choice.
In any great family, the eldest son bore the crushing weight of responsibility.
He had lived under that burden, striving harder than anyone to protect the house.
For a moment, old memories stirred.
He was warm at heart.
No matter how cold he acted outwardly, he always cared for me, the youngest.
Perhaps he came here today because he was worried for me.
Worried that if I went to the Valley, I’d be injured—or worse, shamed.
Then as his younger brother, I should at least ease that worry.
So I answered calmly,
“I didn’t take it lightly, brother. I know exactly what the Valley of Trials means.”
Too well, in fact.
Because this time, the Valley carried a different weight.
I must win.
For it was here that the seed of our family’s downfall would be sown.
My brother closed his eyes briefly before replying.
“You’re still acting like a child. At your age, this is disappointing.”
“Isn’t it a little unfair to be disappointed without even seeing for yourself, brother?”
His brow twitched—he hadn’t expected me to talk back.
“Are you truly confident?”
“Of course.”
“Then prove your effort to me.”
“How?”
He drew his sword.
In an instant, the room filled with his mana.
The pressure crushed down, choking, suffocating.
To think he could produce this much power at his age…
Had I met him back in my days as a late-stage rising expert, it might have been troublesome.
It was like staring at the young days of Huashan’s Sword Immortal himself.
“If you do not step back, I’ll acknowledge you.”
With those words, his figure blurred—then the sword closed in.
At first it was but a small blade, like a child’s toy. But with each step, each swing, it grew—larger, heavier, until before my eyes it loomed like the sword of a giant, filling my vision entirely.
What it carried was raw, murderous fighting spirit.
If I didn’t retreat, the force alone seemed enough to rip me into a thousand pieces.
Shhhhhk—!
The gale from his swordplay tore my hair loose, strands scattering.
But did he really think that the Shadow Lord of Jianghu would be cowed by something this trivial?
I merely crossed my arms, watching the sword’s fury in silence.
“…That’s enough, isn’t it?”
“……”
The giant’s sword vanished, and in its place stood my brother, sheathing his blade.
He stared at me in silence, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“You… what have you been doing all this time?”
“Well, perhaps something with that embroidery you scorn so much.”
“……”
Silence stretched between us. Then my brother exhaled and tilted his head back, a weary gesture.
“So this… is what it means to be a son of House Pador.”
He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Fine. I won’t stop you.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
“…?”
“If you’re going to participate, then you must pass through the Valley of Trials. That is the token of trust we owe to the people of this land.”
“Of course.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
It had been so long since I last saw him smile.
“That embroidery… it was finely done. I didn’t know you had such skill.”
“I’m still surprised myself. If you ever want one, brother, I’ll make it for you.”
“……”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t deny it either.
Very much like him.
With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Once alone, another image of my brother rose before me, like a phantom.
‘Run. Don’t think of revenge—just think of living, little brother…’
On that bridge, he had stood alone, blocking endless waves of enemies.
Even drenched in his own blood, unable to move, he fought so that I wouldn’t suffer a single scratch.
I will never forget that.
I had always thought of him as harsh, merciless.
But when the family was under siege, I finally understood what he wanted to leave behind. And by then, it was too late.
Amid the burning manor, my brother did not care for heirlooms or estates. He thought only of protecting me.
And I—using my frail body as an excuse—had done nothing but complain.
What could be more foolish than that?
Don’t seek revenge, he told me.
Just live.
Because he didn’t want to see his younger brother throw away his life for vengeance.
Back then, I was nothing. A sickly weakling of House Pador, unable to do anything alone.
How could someone like that possibly avenge a fallen house?
So at that time… I did as he said. I ran.
But not now.
Now, I will not flee.
This house is my battlefield—a ground from which I will never retreat.
And I will show him. I will show them.
What it means when Deyan Pador decides to change fate.
As the memory of my brother faded, Marianne and Nerlin poked their heads cautiously through the door.
“Young master… may we come in?”
“Of course.”
The moment I gave permission—Bang!
“……?”
Marianne and Nerlin were knocked flat as a pile of servants tumbled in after them, one body after another.
Seems they had all been terribly worried.
“You don’t need to fret. Get back to your duties.”
And yet, no one moved.
This was… a little embarrassing.
“My brother already gave permission. It’s fine.”
“Really?”
“I knew the eldest young master would allow it!”
“Of course! He’s such a kind man.”
The same servants who had clamped their mouths shut in my brother’s presence now chattered freely.
And so, our embroidery circle resumed its cheerful, familiar atmosphere.
When we finally finished, Bator stepped forward and handed me a small note.
“What’s this?”
“The eldest young master asked me to deliver it.”
“…?”
‘Go to the Pador Forge. Get a sword of your own.’
…My brother, as ever, so blunt with his words.
Still—perfect timing.
I needed a proper weapon anyway. Time to go and get one.
.
.
.
On the road to the blacksmiths’ quarter.
“So we’re finally going to see the famed blacksmiths of House Pador?!”
Jayvolg was more excited than I was—the one actually seeking a weapon.
A sword-fetishist, that one.
I had tried to slip away quietly, yet he somehow sniffed it out and insisted on tagging along.
“Yes, we’re going… but could you rein in those eyes of yours?”
“Huh? My eyes? What about them—?”
“…Forget it.”
No use talking to him.
In the distance, smoke rose thickly from a cluster of forges. We were close.
To know a forge is thriving, one need only look for the smoke.
And here? The smoke billowed like storm clouds. An easy sign of quality.
A great house never excels in only one field. True prestige demands balance—every craft refined.
And for a martial family, nothing was more vital than weapons. House Pador would naturally sponsor its smiths, sparing no effort to secure rare materials and fine arms.
Other noble houses were no different.
“We’ve arrived.”
The coachman called out.
Jayvolg leapt from the carriage with the glee of a child at his first market fair.
“Let’s go!”
“Enough. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Ahahaha!”
“Stop it.”
“Ahahahahahaha!”
“I said stop it!”
Only after I sealed his pressure point with a flicked needle—locking his meridians—did peace return. Jayvolg flailed wildly, trying to undo the block.
At last—silence.
I should have done this from the start.
“Consider it silent meditation practice.”
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll undo it after we’re finished. Stay still.”
“Mmmph! Mmmphhh!”
Ignoring him pawing at his lips, I walked on toward the forge.
Waiting for me was a man in stiff leather garb, clearly prepared for my visit.
“Welcome. I am Chris, the blacksmith appointed to guide you.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ll be in your care.”
“Then this way, please.”
We entered the forge, a structure shaped almost like a great tree: a wide central hall, with side paths branching into specialized chambers.
Chris led us to one such section.
The floors were spotless. Weapons neatly arranged. Gleaming display cases that spoke of wealth and refinement.
This was no common workshop—clearly, only the elite were admitted here.
“From the lord himself to the eldest young master, every member of House Pador has passed through this forge. Even the sword you carry, young master, was made here.”
At that, I glanced at the ornamental sword at my waist.
Not a bad blade.
The smiths’ skill was guaranteed. These weapons could be called masterpieces anywhere.
Looking around, I had to admit—they were fine.
I had seen countless smiths, countless weapons in my past life.
Weapons, I knew well.
Especially from my time in the Tang Clan, famous for their variety of arms.
As the saying goes, “A temple dog learns to chant verses after three years.” After decades of observing blacksmiths at work, I could judge at a glance what kind of weapon I was looking at and its purpose.
How clear the ringing of the steel.
How deftly the quenching was done.
The Sichuan Tang Clan prized weapons above all else.
So much so that other sects mocked them:
The Tang Clan cares only for ornament, not for themselves.
Of course, every fool who mocked them ended up kneeling beneath the Tang Clan’s blades.
At last, we came to a chamber where an old man hammered steadily at steel.
Clang—clang—clang.
When Chris entered, the old man stopped mid-swing and snapped his head around.
“Chris? What did I say about disturbing me while I’m working?”
The elder’s glare made Chris shrink back, despite his rank, forcing him to muster his composure.
“It’s not that, sir. I’ve come to introduce someone.”
“Someone…?”
The old man’s gaze turned to me.
For a moment, it felt like he was peeling me apart, layer by layer.
Oh?
Trying to judge me, are you?
Then I’ll meet you head-on. I held his gaze, unflinching.
Go on—see if your measure can reach me.
“…Hmph.”
The old man studied me silently, then his eyes flickered, surprised.
“So. House Pador has a child like this?”
Informal speech?
A blacksmith of House Pador, addressing me without honorifics… no matter the age difference?
Who was this man?
I couldn’t recall him. That meant I must have met him when I was very young—if ever.
“I am Deyan Pador, son of the current head of House Pador, Ciel Pador.”
“Oh…?”
The old man chuckled, then strode toward me with heavy steps.
He compared his height to mine, then suddenly burst out laughing so hard his throat bobbed.
“I made your cradle when you were still a newborn. And look at you now—grown so tall!”
“…?”
His thick, calloused fingers—like the joints of an iron cauldron lid—gripped my shoulder, kneading it. He tested me as though I were a piece of raw metal brought into his forge, then smiled.
This old man…
He had reached the pinnacle of his craft.
There are such people—no martial power, yet masters in their chosen field.
Their instincts are sharp. Their ability to discern people, uncanny.
“I am Baktor. Your father and I—we’ve been friends since we were children!”
“Ah…!”
At once, I bowed my head.
If he was my father’s friend, then failing to show respect would be the true disrespect.
“My apologies for not recognizing you sooner. I am Deyan Pador.”
“Of course, I know who you are. Hrrh-hrrh-hrrh!”
Seeing that Baktor had not introduced himself properly, Chris hastened to explain.
“This is the former chief smith of the Pador Forge. He personally crafted not only the lord’s blade, but also the swords of many renowned knights.”
A vague memory stirred.
Yes, my father had once spoken of him.
‘Isn’t this sword beautiful? That’s Baktor’s life’s masterpiece. One day, I hope you too will wield a blade forged by him.’
Indeed.
I remembered now.
Looking around at the weapons arrayed in his forge, the truth was obvious.
Every one of them was a lethal masterpiece, capable of stirring rivers of blood if unsheathed.
Any one of them would serve me well.
Proof of that stood beside me: Jayvolg, drooling like a dog at the sight of them.
But they weren’t for me.
Such things would suit clans like the Namgung Family, obsessed with grandeur. My path was different.
Baktor noticed the way I scanned the forge, and his face grew confident.
“Your brother told me. Speak. I’ll make what you ask.”
“Yes, what I need is…”
I explained to him the weapon I had once wielded during my years in the Tang Clan: the Amryeong Bido (Shadow-Spirit Daggers).
His head tilted further and further, as though I’d asked for something bizarre.
“…Not a sword? Are you certain that’s what you need?”
“Yes. Without a doubt.”
“Hmph. In all my life, this is the first time someone of House Pador has requested anything other than a sword.”
Though skeptical, he picked up his hammer.
And swiftly, just as I described, he forged the weapon.
“Is this what you meant?”
“Perfect.”
Before me lay twelve dark daggers, shaped like the fangs of a beast.
At least enough to complete the set.
Compared to the greatest smith I once knew—Mui-iljang, the peerless craftsman of Jianghu—these fell slightly short. But that was only natural. Baktor’s craft followed a different grain.
Iron wires were looped to the rings at each hilt, allowing the daggers to fly free like butterflies. There were more refinements I could add later, but for now, this was enough.
I had my weapons.
Now it was time to prepare in earnest for the Valley of Trials.
---The End Of The Chapter---
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