The blue-tinged mountain ridges, the howling mountain wind, the monsters of the Jianghu, his own insignificant self, the load on his back that carried the weight of one person—no, a coffin... Heon Wonchang was regretting it. The Jianghu of geniuses was hard to bear.
Not just their martial talent, but the aftermath as well.
‘Why did I get myself involved?’
He shook his head. He was holding different demonic swords in each hand. His jet-black sleeves kept stroking the sword hilts.
His cherished sword, Chun-gak. Man Hwi’s Winter Dream Sword. Winter Dream was much longer.
From the start, Chun-gak was made to suit the arts of an assassin, while Winter Dream was a common iron sword meant for all-around use. At the same time, it felt to Heon Wonchang like the gap between himself and Man Hwi. The longer it was, the more burdensome it became.
The trembling of Winter Dream, which started resonating violently as soon as it drew near Chun-gak, was exactly like that. It felt like it was going mad. Maybe this was why the peerless swordsman of the unorthodox path had wielded it right before his death.
Its spirituality was incredibly dense. Since he needed to soothe Winter Dream, Heon Wonchang cautiously opened his mouth.
“You lost your parents young, yet you’re still so cheeky.”
Woong!