Chapter 668: The New Semester Has Begun (2)

Qing did not know a man named On Bihu.

Had he once been vicious under his clan, then suddenly repented, doing good while wandering?

Or, as the eldest son of an unorthodox house, had he served as the sole brake, piling up good deeds—only to shave them down with misdeeds once outside, leaving him with the present number? She couldn’t tell.

There was also the rough principle of karma she’d guessed at.

A number that mixes utilitarian and consequentialist thinking to judge a person—she didn’t particularly like it.

But wasn’t that why it was trustworthy?

A strict, inhuman evaluation by a fixed standard, independent of someone’s circumstances or the warmth they inspire—you could call that rational.

If so, at the very least, a man bearing blue numbers right now could be given one chance—no, should be given one.

Having set her thoughts, Qing parted her lips.

“So, young hero.”

And that... sounded off the moment it left her mouth.

“‘So, young hero’” makes it sound like calling a very small person. But “So, great young hero” also sounds odd.

Then if there’s “So, tiny young hero” and “So, great young hero,” can I call the middle point just “young hero”?

“I have already heard that you, young hero On, have cut ties with your house; the crowd here just now booed and condemned you for it. That is the will to sever yourself from an unrighteous house even at the cost of disgrace. Isn’t it a bit harsh to demand the feud of a house from such a man?”

“T-that bastard! He was born, raised, cured of illness, stuffed with rare elixirs, and even taught martial arts—all on wealth our house was robbed of! H-how—how is that supposed to be harsh!?”

So Eumjo’s voice trembled with fury.

Still, for a wronged and enraged man, he was making a fairly coherent argument—this was So the young hero who—

“And now what? Righteous-Proper Martial Academy? If that bastard becomes an expert, who benefits but his damned house? If they clamp their mouths shut about what they’ve done and live like saints because they ‘produced an orthodox expert’—son of a—damn it!”

Mm. Thought about it for a second and out popped “damn it.”

Truth is, Qing sympathized with So Eumjo’s words.

If all it took was to “let him out” because he “left the family,” then you could just cut loose whoever you wanted to spare and call the grudge done—couldn’t you?

Besides, even if being born to such a house wasn’t his fault, he claims he survived childhood illness, and on top of that, if he’d been stuffed with elixirs—then why did he run like some third-rate warrior, limping and tumbling?

Granted, no matter how wealthy some never-heard-of city’s house might be—was it Eomchang?—how fine could their elixirs have been?

Qing looked down at On Bihu.

The look meant: Do you have anything to say?

“S-so. I—I’m sorry, s-so, because I was born? Because I used the house’s wealth?”

At that, So Eumjo snapped his gaze down at On Bihu, eyes brimming with killing intent.

“That’s all you have to apologize for!?”

“I—I didn’t know our house’s prosperity was entangled with your house; and I have already cut ties with my house, so i-in that case, if someone is to apologize, it should be the head or my grandfather, not me—”

“You call that—”

“No no no! I mean—that is—since you seek vengeance, I can’t apologize on behalf of the house. I’ve heard nothing from the On House, but if you’re driven to this, they must still be doing vile things. If I apologize for the house’s evils, it becomes ‘the On House apologized,’ yes? S-so the very fact of an apology would favor you in how it looks, and I can’t do that.”

It was rambling, but it told you exactly what sort of person On Bihu was.

If he, here, apologized as the house, So Eumjo’s stake against the On House would shrink.

“We apologized anyway,” they could say.

“I’m not saying I did no wrong—I, uh, not representing, not in place of—no—that is—uh—substitution? No. Right—standing. I have no standing to say anything between the On House and your side. Right. I lack the standing, do I not?”

“You cur...”

“Y-you say I lived by using wealth your house was robbed of—then if I find a way to repay what I used—yes—h-how much must I repay?”

At that—grit—

So Eumjo ground his teeth hard, then whipped his body around, face flushed scarlet, and strode off.

The gathered crowd, their excitement gone flat, scattered this way and that.

Among them, the man who had hooked a scabbard at the pursuer’s neck had a face that nagged at recognition—who was he—almost there—ah! Nangya Tea! Candidate for Nan-hwa’s husband!

We’d crossed paths a few times, and Yura Dal, that nine-sections wanderer uncle, still hadn’t given up—so he might yet become the husband of a Divine Lady’s Gate outer disciple, might he not?

Qing was just reaching out to say hello when—

“Ai—ow...”

A groan.

On Bihu’s shoulders slumped; the tension finally seemed to be draining.

Then, “Huh!”—as if something occurred to him.

“Thanks to Benefactor’s aid, this Jang Bihu’s life was spared! I am grateful for the grace of life-saving!”

He bowed with a formal clasped fist.

Qing blinked. “Jang Bihu?”

“Having cut ties with the house, I thought I should sever the surname as well... So I figured I’d take the most common Jang.”

On Bihu—no, Jang Bihu—answered so, then hastily added:

“By any chance, are you on your way to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy test site? If it’s all right, may this small one guide your road—or, rather, may I have permission to guide you?”

“I’m fine with it.”

Qing looked left and right.

Seol Iri gave a slight side-to-side shake of the head.

Jin Jangmyeong shook her head.

It’s not enough for me to be fine with it; the party’s opinion matters.

And Jayeo is still a minor, so no vote. If Jayeo wanted a say, Jayeo should have been the guardian—not the ward.

Then Jang Bihu confessed in a voice that crawled.

“S-so—the truth is, I drank Scattered-Air Poison.”

“Ah. So that’s why it got—uh—unsightly. Not that you, young Jang, were unsightly.”

“No. I was probably a bit unsightly...”

It wasn’t an offer to guide them—it was a plea to take him along.

Well, now the pieces fit.

Between a rich house’s eldest son and a ruined house’s child, somehow the martial ranks were reversed.

And a still-young warrior who’d drunk Scattered-Air Poison—on seeing a man with a sword charging him—could only be terrified and run.

“I did work to save your life; if you catch a blade somewhere now, that’d sit wrong. Kids, right? All right—take the lead.”

“Y-yes! Thank you—thank you!”

The Righteous-Proper Martial Academy exam grounds were busy with preparations.

So busy that no one was even taking a turn on guard—they’d simply shut the gate.

Had they barred it? Qing tugged carefully—screeee—and the door opened.

Before the exam even opens, only staff should be coming and going—but still, this was a bit much.

In a vast drill yard, laborers hustled, hauling huge stone blocks and iron plates.

What? Stone rooms or iron rooms? Did I come to the wrong place? No—if I followed the guide, perhaps young Jang got the site wrong?

If not for a familiar face, she’d have thought this was the wrong place for real.

But a figure just under 7 ft tall, hugging a thick iron bar and moving it—how could that not stand out?

“Hey, Jegal!”

“This voice—Sister!?”

THUD! The heavy iron bar—a metal post more than a bar—hit the ground.

“Long time, Jegal. We saw each other last year, right? Lemme see—did you get thicker?”

“Ordinarily, if we met last year, one wouldn’t call it a long time, Sister.”

This was the spirit of the Middle Plains—of the continent.

On a land this wide, seeing someone last year and again this year doesn’t count as “long.”

“Sister Seol, good to see you as well. And you have more with you?”

“This is Jin Jangmyeong—youngest among Divine Lady’s Gate’s second-seat disciples, personally my junior. And this is Jayeo. My daughter.”

“Your daughter? You mean—your daughter? You couldn’t have married in the meantime—hm. And this person?”

He stopped himself from probing deeper—a mark of the man in Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society who handles the brainwork.

Not talk for in front of a child.

“This one’s Jang Bihu. Says he’s here to take the exam?”

“Oh dear. Examinees are forbidden entry.”

“Drank Scattered-Air Poison and needs time to detox. Can’t he stay a bit? Also—what’s the ruckus? What are all these stones and iron bars?”

“Materials for the basic-ability test.”

“And you’re hauling them yourself? No—more like, you took it upon yourself.”

“As expected, Sister, you are occasionally brilliant! Indeed—what better chance to train the muscles used in real combat!”

What’s this “occasionally brilliant”?

“Brilliant” means one’s thoughts and judgment are clear and smart.

“Occasionally brilliant” means stupid the rest of the time, doesn’t it?

This brat used to sneak the digs in; now he’s getting brazen.

“But Sister—candidates receive a demerit the moment they enter early.”

“Gasp.”

At that, Jang Bihu, who’d been standing awkwardly outside the talk, went pale.

“Huh? Why? Shouldn’t you at least post a warning?”

“On the contrary—we withheld notice on purpose. If someone slips in to scout the inside, or, without going so far as a bribe, tries to curry favor with drink or snacks, we can assign a demerit.”

“Ah. So that’s why all the guard shifts are pulled? Hm—then isn’t this an entrapment op? Or not?”

“Entrapment—what a choice phrase! I believe I catch your meaning. Hm. Still, this gentleman has unavoidable circumstances. Before others catch on, he can pretend to be a laborer and leave. Sweat, a pounding heart, blood circulating—detox will hasten.”

“Yessir—thank you!”

“Ask the folks behind that door there what needs doing.”

With that, Jang Bihu gave Qing another crisp clasped-fist of thanks and carefully headed for the door Jegal Ihyeon indicated.

Shrewd as ever—earning goodwill while getting work done—Jegal Ihyeon was beyond capable.

In this, he could be promoted to Seol the Merchant class!

“But—you didn’t say ‘don’t tell anyone.’ Is that another entrapment?”

“In truth, not a single examinee has been caught yet, has there? With everyone afraid of being overheard, they’re minding even their tone; who would blatantly walk in? That’s how most of Sima Chunbong Sister’s schemes go. They don’t hit. Still, it saved manpower.”

Qing called some sisters by surname—Sister Seol, Sister Jin—but Sima Chunbong was “Chunbong Sister.”

If others heard it, they might think there was something special there, but Qing could guess the reason.

She just hated being called the other way, so they called her this way.

Also, it turned out the Jegal and Sima lines were famous lifelong rivals.

“Are you serving as an instructor too, Jegal?”

“Ah! So you came for an instructor role, Sister? Granted, having a Harmony expert serve as squad leader would be odd. But—will you be all right? Hm. Well, teaching and martial level are separate, so you might actually do—ow.”

SMACK. Jegal Ihyeon clutched his own forehead.

Spoil a brat and he gets cheeky, he does.

It wasn’t a nuclear forehead flick with the Art’s subtlety—just a simple knock—so nothing too destructive.

“I’m not exactly confident—but I figured I could at least handle the Junior Division.”

“The Junior Division instructor?”

Jegal Ihyeon’s brow furrowed.

“Isn’t something off in what you’ve heard? The Junior Division instructor has already been preselected.”

And Qing’s face, at long last, made that expression.

“Eh?”