Chapter 246: The Wudang Mountain Conference
The first day of the conference concluded with a surprising declaration from Yu Yudo, the head of the Kunlun Sect. The atmosphere was too charged for any meaningful dialogue to continue.
Fortunately, Yu Yudo had only left the Southern Pavilion, not the Wudang Sect entirely, leaving room for negotiation.
Yu Yudo had no desire to abandon Mount Kunlun. For him and the Kunlun Sect, leaving was the lesser of two evils.
As the day ended and the second day of the conference began, a positive development occurred.
Ilseonja, the head of the Zhongnan Sect, who had been absent due to the theft of the sword of the Sword Saint Yeodongbin, appeared at the Southern Pavilion.
With a weary expression, Ilseonja apologized, “I was delayed by an urgent matter within my sect. I ask for your understanding.”
The addition of one more person didn’t change the course of the meeting, but it was enough to shift the mood. Curiosity about the direction of the conference was palpable.
Seonuja, the head of the Huashan Sect, casually inquired, “I heard about the unfortunate incident in the Zhongnan Sect. Has it been resolved?”
Seonuja’s voice and expression seemed earnest, but there was a hint of amusement and interest that didn’t go unnoticed.
Anyone of rank knew the tension between the Zhongnan and Huashan Sects.
Ilseonja mumbled, “We’ll recover it soon enough.”
“Ah, I’m sure you will,” Seonuja replied, his smile growing wider—not one of sympathy, but of mockery at the misfortune of losing a prized sword.
Ilseonja wasn’t one to back down. With a sly grin, he retorted, “Seonuja, this isn’t the time for you to be laughing.”
“Who said I was laughing? I’m deeply saddened by the news of Zhongnan’s loss,” Seonuja feigned innocence.
Ilseonja whispered, “No need to pretend, Seonuja. On my way to Wudang, I encountered a Huashan disciple.”
“A Huashan disciple? For what purpose?”
“They seemed to have a message to deliver…”
Ilseonja left it at that, his smile more sinister than before.
Soon after, a Huashan disciple, breathless and weary, entered the conference room, signaling something serious had occurred.
The disciple was older and appeared to have surpassed the pinnacle of martial arts, indicating the gravity of the situation.
The heads and leaders present sensed the urgency and refrained from reprimanding the intruding Huashan disciple.
Seonuja asked, “What is it?”
The disciple, still catching his breath, silently conveyed a message to Seonuja, ensuring confidentiality. However, a few managed to decipher the message from his lips: “Library.”
The situation was clear. The Huashan Sect’s library, containing the essence of their martial arts, had been raided.
This was more severe than the theft of the Yeomji Sword from the Zhongnan Sect.
Seonuja felt dizzy, staggering as he rose. “Something has come up. The Huashan Sect must temporarily withdraw from the conference. We’ll return as soon as possible.”
Ilseonja, despite losing his sect’s treasured sword, didn’t seem too displeased. The Huashan Sect’s greater misfortune was a small comfort.
However, the other attendees felt a growing unease. The timing of the thefts at both the Zhongnan and Huashan Sects was too coincidental.
As the heads and leaders debated whether to return to their sects, the Tang Mujin group exchanged glances.
“Namgung Myung is taking advantage of the situation.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t get caught.”
“If he does, remember, we have nothing to do with it.”
The second day of the conference ended with a sense of restlessness and little progress.
The third day dragged on with little advancement. Yu Yudo continued to advocate for a preemptive strike against the Demonic Cult, but his calls went largely unheeded.
The heads and leaders gathered at Wudang had spent the past two days weighing the pros and cons, and had already decided on their course of action. Changing their minds would be difficult.
Yu Yudo found some solace in Ilseonja’s support for attacking the Demonic Cult first, though it wasn’t out of concern for the Kunlun Sect.
Ilseonja feared that if the Kunlun Sect fell, the Zhongnan Sect would be next.
The conference was not only stagnant but also distracted. The thefts at the Huashan and Zhongnan Sects had left everyone anxious.
The threat of the Demonic Cult was a distant concern, while the unknown thief—now dubbed the “Phantom Thief”—was a present danger.
As the atmosphere grew tense, those advocating for a preemptive strike, especially Yeongheoja, grew anxious.
It had taken years to organize this meeting. If they missed this opportunity, striking the Demonic Cult before it became a threat would be nearly impossible.
As the third day seemed to be ending without resolution, a presence was felt outside the Southern Pavilion.
Curious eyes turned to the sliding doors of the pavilion.
No one expected anyone to return at this point.
Two figures entered, drawing the attention of those who had been idly sitting.
The focus was on one of the newcomers, a man in his early fifties with a pale complexion and sharp features.
The moment they sensed his presence, everyone instinctively reached for their weapons.
Except for the Wudang disciples, everyone’s swords were stored in the armory, leaving their hands hovering uncertainly at their waists.
No one recognized the pale man, but they couldn’t look away.
The reason was simple: his martial prowess was beyond the pinnacle, clearly in the realm of the extraordinary.
Tang Mujin was equally surprised.
“An extraordinary master not among the Six Masters?”
There were three possibilities: a reclusive master like Hwayeonsinni, a martial artist from the unorthodox sects, or one from the Demonic Cult.
“Unlikely to be a reclusive master. Someone would have recognized him. So, either unorthodox or Demonic Cult.”
As Tang Mujin pondered, the pale man spoke lightly.
“Ah, I didn’t expect such scrutiny for being late.”
Gulseon, who knew of no such extraordinary master, asked, “Who are you?”
“I am So Gyu-un, the new head of the Gongdong Sect. In my wandering days north of the Yellow River, I was known as Baek Yaho, the White Night Owl. Call me as you wish.”
Baek Yaho. The name suited him well.
No one present had heard of Baek Yaho.
The head of the Wudang Sect, Yeongbojin, asked calmly, “Pleased to meet you. But it seems no one here knows you. Can you prove you’re the head of the Gongdong Sect?”
“The Gongdong Sect has no official seal, but I can demonstrate the Seven Forms Fist and the Demon Subduing Palm. If anyone wishes to spar, we can do so after the conference. If necessary, we can duel outside Wudang.”
His confidence suggested he had mastered the Gongdong Sect’s martial arts. It was unlikely an unorthodox or Demonic Cult martial artist would boldly enter Wudang.
Many Gongdong Sect members had backgrounds in unorthodox sects, leading to low recognition outside.
Even the previous head, Muryangja, wasn’t well-known until he became head.
Though not fully trusting Baek Yaho, the attendees were somewhat reassured.
Now, attention turned to the man beside Baek Yaho.
He was less noticeable, his martial prowess seemingly unremarkable.
Yet, some recognized his face.
Tang Mujin’s group and Yeongbojin knew who he was.
The head of the Taeui Sword School.
After the previous head’s death at Nogunsan, he had taken over at a relatively young age.
Dang Mujin had once sought him out to kill him, but the man had escaped, abandoning the Taeui Sword Sect, and thus, Dang Mujin had failed to finish the job.
Baek Yahyo introduced the man to the others. “This here is Yang Gwak, the former master of the Taeui Sword Sect. Though the sect no longer exists, and calling him its master might be a stretch, fate has brought us together. He seems to know something crucial that you all should hear.”
Yang Gwak glared at Dang Mujin, his eyes burning with a deep-seated grudge.
It was a moment when the same stories had been repeated endlessly for three days, and no one else seemed eager to speak up. This allowed Yang Gwak to naturally take the floor.
“I am not as accomplished as you all,” he began. “I am embarrassed to even call myself a warrior, let alone a master. But there is something you must know, and I stand here today, risking much, to tell you.”
Dang Mujin rose from his seat, ready to interject, but stopped himself. The atmosphere wasn’t one where he could easily silence Yang Gwak, and he was curious about what the man had to say.
“You’ve been discussing future plans based on the stories of Eoryong,” Yang Gwak continued. “But there’s something you need to consider first.”
“And what might that be?” someone asked.
“By coincidence, I have a personal vendetta against Eoryong. Over the years, I’ve tracked his past actions to understand who he truly is.”
Unexpectedly, Yang Gwak didn’t embellish his story. His demeanor was straightforward, almost excessively honest. He admitted to pursuing Eoryong out of personal hatred.
This candidness made the others more inclined to listen to him.
Dang Mujin watched Yang Gwak with a skeptical eye, but Yang Gwak didn’t shy away from his gaze as he might have in the past. Instead, he stared back with intensity.
It wasn’t the look of someone who wanted to destroy Dang Mujin and then live comfortably. It was the look of someone who wanted to rush headlong into ruin together, willing to sacrifice his own life just to leave a mark on Dang Mujin.
Yang Gwak began his tale. “First, let me tell you about Eoryong’s master.”