Chapter 1
The Greatest Sword Among Wanderers
A title meaning “the finest sword among Wanderers .”
It was a name earned by Baek Yang-hwi after wandering the martial world for over a decade since leaving his family.
But Yang-hwi never liked the nickname.
“Damn idle gossipers are the real problem. Slap ‘the greatest sword’ in front of anything and suddenly it’s legit?”
Like Best Sword of Sichuan, Best Sword of Wudang, or even Best Sword of Hubei.
“At this rate, we’ll probably get some punk from a back-alley gang calling themselves the Best Sword of the Black Market. They’ll brawl among themselves and crown some guy ‘Best Sword of the Black Serpent Sect’ or whatever.”
Trailing behind him on the mountain path, his wanderer companion Baek Li-Chudal chuckled.
“Still, hyung-nim, how many can say they’re called ‘the greatest sword’ while being a mere drifter? Honestly, it must feel good, right?”
“Chudal, oh Chudal, the guy with a name that sounds like a ‘pathetic river otter.’”
Baek Li-Chudal—Chudal for short—fumed.
“It’s Chudal as in ‘to chase’ and ‘to reach’! It means I never lose track of anyone within a hundred li*. A master tracker!”
“Yeah, Chudal. Ever wonder why it’s a hundred li and not a thousand or ten thousand?”
“……”
“That’s your level, buddy. Just a hundred-li grade guy.”
“Tch! That’s no way to talk to your sworn brother!”
“Why not? I say worse to myself. I’m still stuck with nothing but ‘The Greatest Sword Among Wanderers.’”
His tone was light, even amused—but self-mockery laced his words.
Chudal snorted.
“And yet you’re already considered a top-tier master before even hitting forty.”
He was sure of it—if his sworn brother ever showed the full extent of his martial prowess, people would’ve given him an even grander title.
“No point playing humble. I see right through you.”
“You caught me?”
“A guy from a third-rate clan not even forty years old, already in the realm of the transcendent? You think that’s normal?”
What’s more, Yang-hwi had accumulated enough wealth for three generations to live like kings.
So all this humble talk just sounded fake.
But still—
“It’s not enough. If I want to raise a third-rate family to the level of a noble martial clan, there’s still a long way to go.”
That was Yang-hwi’s dream. His goal.
To elevate his lowborn house into one of the prestigious families of the martial world.
“You really are stubborn, hyung-nim. Wandering for twenty years just to create new martial arts and build up wealth?”
Yang-hwi gave a small smile.
“Pathetic, right? Then how about this—why don’t you invest all your savings in this poor hyung of yours?”
“Hey! That’s the money I’ve been saving to finally get married, you greedy bachelor! What kind of twisted scheme is this?!”
“I’ll make you an elder of the Baek Clan in return.”
“I could walk into any backwater sect and still get better treatment than that!”
Yang-hwi shot right back.
“Where’s a guy who’s only good for a hundred li gonna find that kind of honor? Just come join our clan already, man!”
“Not happening!”
“Then how about this? From the reward we get from the Namgung Clan for this job—I’ll take seventy, you take thirty.”
“You’re really out here spewing nonsense today, huh?”
“Oh, but here’s the kicker.”
Suddenly, Yang-hwi stopped walking.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.
“You still haven’t noticed, have you?”
Chudal’s body tensed.
“Wait… you mean—?”
“Yep. Get ready.”
Shhhinnng—!
Both Yang-hwi and Chudal drew their swords at the same time.
The surrounding bushes rustled, and more than ten black-clad, masked figures emerged.
‘Eleven. Judging by their presence, they’re well-trained. But why go so far as to ambush us with a full surround?’
Without letting his doubt show, Baek Yang-hwi spoke with feigned ease.
“Is black the fashion in the Green Forest these days?”
“They say you’re the best sword among Wanderers. Your senses are sharp, too.”
“My swordsmanship may only rank me as the best among Wanderers, but my nose? That’s top-tier nationwide. The stench was unbearable. Isn’t that right, Chudal?”
Baek Li-Chudal jumped right in.
“Hehe, you’re right, hyung-nim. I’ve been smelling something nasty for a while now—looks like it was just their ugly faces all along.”
“I think they know it too. Why else would they wrap their heads up so tight?”
“If you ask me, their faces are just as rotten as their stink. That’s why they’re hiding ’em.”
“That’s a solid theory. Hahaha!”
“Not just solid—it’s a hundred-li-level theory, hahahah!”
The two cackled, trading mockery and insults without restraint.
Some of the masked men visibly twitched—unable to contain their anger.
That was the moment Yang-hwi and Chudal had been waiting for.
They sprang into action instantly.
Their targets: the two masked men who had let their emotions slip.
Thwack!
“Urgh!”
One of them was struck down before he even had a chance to react—sent off to meet his maker for his lapse.
Yang-hwi quickly raised his sword to block a slash coming from his flank.
Clang!
“Chudal, go!”
“Got it!”
Using Yang-hwi’s shoulder as a springboard, Chuda leapt high into the air, breaking through the encirclement and activating his light-footwork technique.
His figure vanished into the forest in the blink of an eye.
Yang-hwi shouted after him with feigned bravado.
“Whew! That guy Chudal, his movement technique’s second to none. If you don’t want word getting out that you ambushed us like cowards, you better catch him fast, boys.”
One masked man gave a hand signal, and nine of the figures broke formation to pursue Chudal.
Only one remained—the one who seemed to be their leader.
‘Well, that’s unexpected.’
Yang-hwi had planned to shatter their formation and scatter them to create chaos. He hadn’t anticipated they’d leave just one behind.
“They do call me the Greatest Sword Among Wanderers. You feeling confident?”
The masked man silently drew his sword.
“Ah, so you use a sword too? Judging by the look of you, I’d bet someone out there calls you the ‘Best Sword’ something-or-other too?”
“……”
No reply.
Is he mute? Guess I’ll have to make up my own title for him.
Yang-hwi smirked.
“Wearing a full mask in this blazing summer heat… You must be the Best Sword Among the Ugly! The ugliest swordsman alive!”
“……Turns out you’re not the Greatest Sword Among Wanderers. You’re the Greatest Mouth Among Wanderers.”
“Ahh, yes. My tongue is lethal. Want me to show you what else it can do?”
Yang-hwi suddenly changed tone.
“Why is the Namgung Clan sending assassins after us?”
He didn’t analyze the enemy’s footwork, nor observe any sword techniques. He didn’t even sense internal energy through qi waves.
But Yang-hwi already understood everything.
“...As I thought. You’re dangerous.”
The masked man removed his covering.
And Yang-hwi froze in shock.
“You’re—?!”
In Korean, “Greatest” means “the best” or “number one.”
Which is why there can only be one true Greatest in the World.
The Most Prestigious Clan Under Heaven—Namgung Clan.
The man before him was the young clan master of none other than the Great Namgung Clan.
“Young master… what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Namgung Cheon-yeong, the young master of the Namgung Clan, responded with a somber expression.
“We couldn’t just stand by and watch the Baek Clan—once one of the Five Great Families—recover their lost supreme martial arts.”
That was the real reason Baek Yang-hwi had left his family to wander the martial world.
To recover the secret martial techniques that had been lost to time.
“You didn’t just reach the transcendent realm using third-rate martial arts. You went further—your depth of mastery has entered the domain of divine technique. I’m sorry, Greatest Sword Among Wanderers.”
Rather than ask how he had discovered the truth—despite Yang-hwi having always hidden his true skills—he simply let out a short scoff.
“Well, I did pull off something amazing. After all, I succeeded at what even the great Namgung’s young master couldn’t.”
‘Though the price was steep—facing qi deviation and going through hell to survive it.’
If not for the internal damage that incident caused to his blood vessels and meridians…
He might have reached even higher.
Still—
“To think the mighty Namgung Clan would take such interest in a mere third-rate martial family… Is this thoroughness the real secret to becoming the Strongest in the World?”
Namgung Cheon-yeong didn’t deny it. He only offered a bitter smile.
“Jiangxi and Anhui are too close. We couldn’t afford to ignore it.”
“And by removing your mask, you’re saying you fully intend to kill me.”
“It’s also my way of showing respect.”
“So—you’re confident you can?”
Namgung Cheon-yeong said nothing. But silence was answer enough.
And it made sense—after all, when people spoke of the one destined to become the Greatest Sword in the World, his name was always first to come up.
‘A genius who’s already surpassed his own father—the current clan leader—in mastery.’
But that didn’t mean Yang-hwi was the type to be cowed by such a title.
“I spent eighteen years rebuilding our family’s lost Heaven-Shrouding Sword. If I’m going to test my ‘Emperor Sword Form’—the finest of all sword arts—there couldn’t be a better opportunity.”
A fierce grin curled across Yang-hwi’s lips as he lunged toward Namgung Cheon-yeong.
Chaaaang!
A thunderous clash rang out—the beginning of a duel to the death.
It lasted two whole hours.
Over a thousand sword exchanges.
And then—finally—an end.
Thwack! Thwack!
Two sickening, wet impacts.
One heart—pierced by a blade.
One arm—severed cleanly from the shoulder.
“Guhh!”
Namgung Cheon-yeong coughed up blood-tinged foam, his hand trembling violently as it reached toward Yang-hwi.
The hand that had reached as if to grab Yang-hwi’s throat instead fell limply onto his shoulder.
“I… I’m sorry…”
The light faded from Namgung Cheon-yeong’s eyes. In that moment, Yang-hwi pulled his sword from the man’s heart.
And then, he collapsed. His legs could no longer hold him up.
“Like hell you’re sorry.”
So what—say sorry after doing something unforgivable, and that makes it okay?
If apologies fixed everything, why would the martial world even have the concept of justice?
Yet even as he thought this, a deep sense of fulfillment welled up in Yang-hwi’s chest.
‘I won.’
He had defeated the Best Sword of the Namgung Clan, Namgung Greatest Sword—a man raised since childhood on rare elixirs and peerless martial techniques—with nothing but the sword of a Wanderer.
The Greatest Sword Among Wanderers had proven himself.
He had shown the world that the restored martial art of his clan was truly one of the greatest in existence.
‘Now I just need to deliver it back home…’
But then—
“Young Master!”
“You bastard!”
The black-masked men who had gone after Chudal had returned.
‘…Chudal.’
In one of their hands—Chudal’s severed head.
He had hoped that, since the real target was him, Chudal might have gotten away.
But no—they hunted him down anyway. They didn’t want to leave any witnesses.
Yang-hwi staggered to his feet.
Namgung Cheon-yeong had not been an easy opponent. His own body was wrecked.
But still—
“You know what? Chudal’s only dream in life was to get married.”
Shhhhnk!
In a single flash, Yang-hwi sliced off one attacker’s head.
“And you killed him? Aren’t you afraid of a bachelor ghost’s grudge?”
Slash!
A sword stabbed into his gut. But in return, he drove his own blade straight into the man’s heart.
“Kill him! Attack together in six directions!”
“You morons. This isn’t some earth-burrowing technique. How are you gonna coordinate a six-point strike without magic?”
Two swords stabbed into his back—but he still managed to shove his own blade into their mouths.
Only six remained.
Yang-hwi’s “Heaven-Shrouding 108 Sword”—unleashed a dazzling flurry that painted the forest in light and death.
“Chudal… Chudal, you poor bastard with the name that means ‘pathetic river otter’… Are you watching this?”
Shkk! Shkk! Shkk!
Five of the six fell.
Yang-hwi was gravely wounded—too hurt to even take another step.
Only one enemy remained.
“Come on. Come at me, bastard.”
Bloodied head to toe, down on one knee and barely breathing—yet Yang-hwi’s aura was demonic.
“U-ugh…”
Maybe that’s why. The last man didn’t charge.
He ran.
“Tch. Way to ruin the moment.”
Gathering the last of his internal energy, Yang-hwi threw his sword.
The flying blade pierced the fleeing man through the back.
Thud!
The man collapsed.
Only then did Yang-hwi let go.
His body finally relaxed.
“Chudal… I’m sorry.”
If you’re going to avenge me, you’d have to bring down the entire Namgung Clan… and that’s just not realistic, is it?
Strength drained from Yang-hwi’s entire body.
With every drop of blood he lost, his consciousness dimmed.
“I… have to… get back… to the clan…”
But even keeping his eyes open was now impossible.
His vision darkened completely.
* * *
The cave reeked of mold, filth, and the stench of wet, rotting earth.
Vile as it was, the place felt strangely familiar.
Because this was where Yang-hwi had first gained a family.
Huh… so it’s true what they say about seeing your life flash before your eyes. Wait, does that mean… I’m about to see Father?
Once, long ago, Yang-hwi had been a starving orphan—the youngest member of a beggar gang—until he’d been kidnapped by criminals and nearly sold into slavery.
That had been his fate at the time.
And the man who changed that fate… was his adoptive father.
Baek Mu-ryang, also known by the title “Peerless Benevolence.”
He was the head of the Baek Clan in Wuzhou, Jiangxi Province, and was regarded across the martial world as the foremost man of righteousness and chivalry.
Father will be here soon. He’ll purge the criminals and save me… just like he did back then.
Even in a daze, Yang-hwi relived the memory.
“Child, you’re free now. Go—return to your life.”
But even after being rescued by Baek Mu-ryang, Yang-hwi hadn’t moved.
He had no place to return to, no reason to leave. A beggar’s life meant anywhere he laid his head became his roof under heaven.
To that boy who stayed behind, his future father had asked:
“Why do you not leave?”
What did I say back then? Something like… I’ll move when I’m about to starve, so don’t worry about me, sir. Just go.
And then, just as in the memory, Baek Mu-ryang spoke again:
“I offered help in the name of chivalry, yet your suffering remains. How can I ignore that?”
Baek Mu-ryang had knelt on one knee in front of the boy.
“What is your name?”
Even thirty years ago, on that very day, Father had asked that question.
The memory was too vivid—more real than it should be.
And Yang-hwi answered instinctively.
“I don’t have one. I’ve just been called this or that since I was a kid.”
“To be born a person and not have a name… Hm. Perhaps this too is fate. Then how about this?”
Baek Mu-ryang reached out his hand.
“We met in this dark cave, but I hope your life from here on shines bright. I give you the name Yang-hwi—‘shining sun.’ Take my family name as well: Baek Yang-hwi.”
His hand was calloused and rough, yet it felt inexplicably warm and gentle as it filled the boy’s view.
“I feel a bond with you, Yang-hwi. Will you become my son?”
On this very day in the past, the nameless boy once called “hey you” had gained both a name and a family.
“Yang-hwi, this is the Baek Clan Estate. From today, it’ll be your home.”
Clean clothes. Warm food. A gentle father. Adorable siblings.
Happiness like this—he’d never once known it since the day he was born.
Naturally, Baek Clan Estate became the most precious place in the world to Yang-hwi.
“Hwi, my dream… is to see our Baek Clan rise again as a great noble house, one that commands all of Jiangxi.”
One day, while drinking with him, Father had quietly shared his dream.
That dream became Yang-hwi’s own.
From that day on, he worked tirelessly to help his clan rise to the ranks of the Great Houses.
But…
“With our martial arts alone… no matter how talented I am, to reach mastery in just three years? The depth of the Baek Clan’s techniques was simply too shallow.”
That’s right. The Baek Clan’s inherited martial arts were only third-rate at best.
And the essence of a martial family lay in its martial arts.
How could a clan lacking in fundamentals ever climb to noble status?
“After a lifetime of wandering, I finally created a technique worthy of being called divine… but what’s the point now? I couldn’t even pass it on—I just died.”
Damn it. If I knew this would happen, I would’ve come back sooner.
But something was wrong.
He could feel death approaching—yet the memory wasn’t ending.
Why isn’t the vision stopping? I should be dead by now…
And then, it came.
[Defy the heavens and rewrite fate.]
[The flow of the heavens has bent, altering destiny’s loop.]
[Return, correct it, and let the river flow rightly.]
[Go back. Fulfill what you desire.]
A voice pierced not just his ears, but his very soul—like a branding iron burned into his spirit.
Yang-hwi realized it in an instant.
This wasn’t a memory. And that wasn’t some illusion of his father.
“I’ve… gone back in time? But how…?”
Mesmerized, Yang-hwi stared at the youthful face of his father, Baek Mu-ryang.
It felt real. Too real.
“Father…”
“Yes, from now on, this Baek Mu-ryang is your father. Hahaha!”
He didn’t understand how or why.
None of this made sense.
But if…
If this truly was another chance…
‘Then this time, I’ll do it. I’ll achieve my wish—our dream.’
‘I will raise the Baek Clan to become the greatest noble house in the world. I swear it.’
-- The End OF The Chapter --
[TL: li- Li or ri is a traditional Chinese unit of distance.
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