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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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Where did it all go wrong?
I only wanted to avenge my parents.
Demonic cultivators are evil. They deserve death.
That belief hasn’t changed even now.
Whether demonic or wicked, those who sin must be punished.
I’ve lived by that conviction all my life.
Even after being taken in by Kunlun, earning the title “Okhwa,” and being named the greatest woman in the martial world—I never doubted my creed.
But… a fundamental doubt has taken root in me.
Who decides who is “evil” and who is “demonic”?
Someone I saw as evil might, in truth, be good.
The Sword Saint was proof of that.
The Sword Saint was a good man. To the bone. The fact that he didn’t kill me proves it.
That’s why it hurts.
I, who preached righteousness more than anyone, ended up committing atrocities myself. The thought disgusts me.
I feel sick.
A nausea born from deep self-loathing.
Honestly, I want to hang myself right now and end this torment.
But I can’t.
Even if I have the slightest shred of conscience left, I mustn’t.
Because the Sword Saint asked me to.
“Just… live.”
“Isn’t that what Kunlun always teaches? To live freely, like an immortal.”
“Then live and atone. However you must, just… live.”
I must never overlook this. Even in death, I must uphold it.
Now that I say it, it sounds contradictory—but it’s not wrong. I must honor his request.
Above all… if I understand the Sword Saint’s suffering, I have no right to complain about my own.
“And… life itself is suffering. Death is the blessing that ends it. If you truly wish to be punished, don’t seek Yama in the afterlife—atone in this world. That’s the path that helps everyone.”
“Life is suffering.”
Those words linger in my mind, stabbing at my chest.
It feels like a dismissal of his own life.
The Sword Saint still lives in agony.
Because people still curse him.
For me—who once cursed him without a second thought—to end my life now, just because I feel a shred of guilt?
“That’s just selfish…”
I remember the night I gathered my disciples in the Kunlun quarters, announced my departure, and changed my clothes.
More precisely, I remember the deafening roar that shook the mountains.
“This damn martial world!! I should’ve never saved it!!”
Even now, recalling that shout makes my chest ache.
It’s unbearable. Too unbearable.
The Sword Saint was, along with the Divine Monk, the most righteous person I’ve ever known.
If the concept of “Absolute Good” existed, he would be its embodiment.
Yet now, that very hero who saved the martial world screams in regret.
How much pain must this world have caused him?
All I feel is guilt.
“Ugh…”
The Sword Saint groaned in his sleep.
Even now, he was sweating, trapped in some nightmare.
I quickly pressed a cold towel to his forehead.
He wasn’t injured, but…
Is he on the verge of qi deviation? The thought worried me.
“I’m sorry, Sword Saint.”
“Hup… huu…”
“I want to tell you how I feel… but that would only burden you.”
When I first entered the Taiyuan Jin family’s quarters, I was shocked.
The Sword Saint, leaning against the wall in deep slumber, was covered in blood.
When I realized it wasn’t his own, I sighed in relief—but my heart refused to calm.
It can’t be helped. This is the karma of my sins.
The guilt I must carry for the rest of my life.
“Mmm… ngh…”
His sweating worsened.
The towel had grown warm, so I reached for a fresh one—when I caught his sleep-talking.
“F-Father……”
His father? That would be Namgung Cheon, the former patriarch of the Namgung family.
I heard he died a decade ago, killed by the Blood Sea Demon.
Is he dreaming of reuniting with his father?
I smiled faintly at the thought—until I noticed his expression twist in distress.
“Please… stop…!”
What did he want his father to stop?
I should’ve changed the towel, but my ears perked up.
Seeing him suffer like this made my heart ache.
Tomorrow was the final day of the tournament—he should be resting.
Not that he had any matches left.
“Confucius said, ‘A kind father begets a filial son…’”
……Confucius?
The Sword Saint often quoted Confucius, but even in his sleep?
“Mencius said, ‘Harmony between husband and wife…’”
“……”
“Please… pull yourself together……”
With that, he fell silent again, drifting deeper into sleep.
Every time he whimpered, my guilt twisted inside me.
But I couldn’t leave his side.
“Rest well… Sword Saint.”
All I could do was…
“I’m sorry.”
…pray beside him.
Pray desperately that he would find peace.
Two hours later, the Sword Saint awoke from his short slumber.
After reaffirming my oath of servitude, I followed him to the tournament grounds.
—
### “Do you truly refuse to compete?”
“……Yes.”
“Let me say it again—the Sword Saint’s false reputation is not your fault.”
“I-It doesn’t matter…! Martial arts are meant to uphold righteousness and chivalry, but this…!”
“Sigh… Cheong-ah. Think once more. The tournament’s finale is here—how can its star refuse? After all your years of effort?”
The Divine Monk, as usual, spoke gently to Cheonhwa, who crouched in the corner, her dark-blue bangs covering her face.
But his words didn’t change her mind.
“This… This tournament is meaningless……”
“In-seok.”
“Some used forbidden techniques… Someone suffered irreversible wounds… I’d rather this tournament never happened……”
“That’s your opinion. The world may disagree.”
“The martial world itself is rotten…… The Sword Saint’s so-called crimes were all lies…! Everyone knew, yet stayed silent……!”
“……So you won’t compete? The honor of our sect rests on you.”
“Honor… in this corrupt world? It means nothing……”
“Even so—”
“And… Grandfather, you heard it too last night……”
“……”
Cheonhwa’s words brought back the memory of the deafening roar that shook Wudang the previous night.
“This damn martial world!! I should’ve never saved it!!”
A brief cry—but one he would never forget.
Undoubtedly, it was the Sword Saint’s voice.
“How betrayed must he feel… for a hero who saved the martial world to say that……”
“……Very well. Wait here. As the host, I must attend.”
“Yes… Be safe……”
Since last night, Cheonhwa hadn’t moved from her corner.
She seemed to doubt her own martial arts and honor.
With a heavy heart, the Divine Monk sighed and left the Wudang quarters.
Though he partly agreed with her, duty called.
When he arrived at the arena, hundreds of spectators buzzed with chatter.
“Did you hear that roar last night?”
“How could I not? Out of nowhere—ugh, my ears still ring.”
“Never heard anything so loud. Was it some master of sonic arts?”
“Could be. If someone like the Sound Venerable was here… But why scream like that?”
“Who knows what goes through the minds of eccentrics?”
Most had no idea the roar belonged to the Sword Saint.
‘The Sword Saint… is over there.’
The Divine Monk quickly spotted him.
With his striking appearance, he was hard to miss.
‘Wolhwa isn’t here… Poor girl. But why is Okhwa with him?’
The Sword Saint and Okhwa were in the Taiyuan Jin family’s tent.
The Kunlun disciples nearby looked somber.
Duty first—the Divine Monk stepped onto the central stage.
“Today marks the final day of the long-awaited Seven Flowers Tournament.”
Though only two days had passed, the tournament had already been marred by disgrace.
Aside from the match between Taiyuan Jin’s Wolhwa and Wudang’s Cheonhwa, there had been few notable duels.
And too many unsavory incidents.
“However, regrettably, our Cheonhwa has withdrawn due to poor health.”
The announcement stirred discontent among the crowd.
“What nonsense! We waited just for this!”
“The duel between Tang Family’s Poison Flower and Wudang’s Cheonhwa was the main event! What’s the meaning of this?!”
But no matter how they protested, the choice was hers.
They could rage, but they couldn’t force her to fight.
“……Thus, the Poison Flower, Lady Dang So-baek, advances by default. Fortunate indeed—to reach the finals without a single match.”
“……Huh?”
From the Tang Family’s tent, Dang So-baek—seated beside the Poison Venerable—blinked in disbelief.
Even for someone as cunning as her, this was unexpected.
Of course, the crowd erupted in protest—but what did it matter?
Rules were rules. She had practically won by doing nothing.
‘What luck… Did I use up a lifetime’s worth just surviving death once?’
As Dang So-baek smirked to herself, a man from the Hwasan Sect’s tent stood and shouted.
“Hold it! Our sect leader has an announcement!”
It was Dokgo Goopae, the “Tiger of Hwasan,” his face stern.
“Speak, Dokgo Goopae.”
“As of yesterday, two of our disciples have been expelled! Thus, we request the removal of the Sword Dragon and White Flower from the Nine Dragons and Seven Flowers!”
“……!”
Except for a few—including Byeok-ak—the crowd gasped.
The White Flower, Dokgo Goo-geom, had been seen using forbidden techniques—but the Sword Dragon?
“This is an internal matter, so I won’t explain! But know this—they no longer exist in this world!”
Perhaps because it was Dokgo Goopae—the “Tiger”—no one dared question him.
After a sweeping glare, he sat back down.
An awkward silence followed, broken by the Divine Monk.
“Ahem. We’ve heard the Venerable’s words. Now, let us proceed with the remaining matches. Namgung’s Thunder Flower and Kunlun’s Okhwa, please step forward.”
The crowd’s faces soured.
The outcome was obvious.
Okhwa would win, Dang So-baek would take second by default, and Namgung Sua third.
Nothing was duller than a predetermined match.
Just as the spectators slumped in boredom—
“Divine Monk.”
“Okhwa? Why hesitate?”
Okhwa, seated in the Taiyuan Jin tent, spoke flatly.
“I, Okhwa, formally withdraw from this tournament.”
“……!!”
Shock rippled through the crowd, including the Divine Monk.
Okhwa was a guaranteed champion.
First Cheonhwa, now Okhwa? Suspicious indeed.
“May I ask… why?”
Okhwa gestured vaguely toward the Sword Saint.
“I am unworthy to compete.”
‘So… something happened between her and the Sword Saint too.’
Perhaps, like him, she had learned the truth and felt the same crushing guilt.
Though comparing their senses of justice was pointless—hers was undoubtedly heavier.
‘If so… no wonder she can’t fight.’
“Understood. Remember—this decision is final.”
“I know.”
Turning from Okhwa, the Divine Monk thought of the last remaining flower.
Namgung’s Thunder Flower—Namgung Sua.
“Then, Thunder Flower and Poison Flower, please come forward. We’ll proceed directly to the finals.”
Dang So-baek and Namgung Sua stepped onto the stage.
Namgung Sua’s eyes were lifeless.
“Bow to each other.”
Dang So-baek clasped her fists.
Namgung Sua stood rigid, unmoving.
“……?”
Before the confusion could settle—
“…I withdraw too.”
Her quiet words froze the two in place.
“Thunder Flower. If you do this—”
“…This was all pointless anyway.”
“S-Sua? What’s wrong…?”
“Sorry, Mother. You must’ve been looking forward to this. Don’t be too disappointed. I’ll show you plenty when we return home. Though it’ll just be demonstrations, not duels.”
“W-Wait, Sua, are you alright? I’m genuinely worried—”
“I’m fine. I’ll take my leave now. Congratulations on your victory, Lady Dang.”
“……Huh?”
Tap, tap—
As Dang So-baek stared blankly, Namgung Sua descended the stage and headed straight for Yu So-eun.
“……”
Another long silence.
Three out of four finalists had withdrawn—an unprecedented farce.
“W-Well…”
The Divine Monk floundered briefly before forcing the ceremony onward.
“Haha. Whatever your reasons… the winner is clear.”
He grabbed Dang So-baek’s arm—her face still frozen in disbelief—and raised it high.
“The winner of this Seven Flowers Tournament is—the Poison Flower, Dang So-baek!”
“……Huh?”
No one cheered—not even Dang So-baek.
Then, from the restless crowd—
“This is a joke!”
Jeers erupted like wildfire.
“What kind of tournament is this? Not a single proper match!”
“You’re mocking us! The Tang Family rigged this!”
Boos, curses, accusations—none of it changed the result.
Dang So-baek had won by the rules.
“Didn’t see this coming.”
Winning brought no joy.
She had no attachment to life—what meaning did victory hold?
At best, it was mildly amusing.
“…Guess I’m burning through a lifetime’s luck at once.”
Whoosh—!
Just like on the first day, the crowd hurled snowballs.
Thud—!
“……”
Dang So-baek, of course, dodged—leaving the Divine Monk to take the barrage alone.
He endured it silently, understanding their frustration.
“This is outrageous! Do it again!”
“Poison Venerable! Dang So-baek! What underhanded deal did you make?!”
The angrier they grew, the more snowballs flew.
“Ugh, disgusting. I’m leaving.”
“Never coming back to this farce!”
Some stormed off in disgust.
Thus ended the Seven Flowers Tournament—forever remembered as the worst in history.
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