Ma Yu-gyeom
"Tell me, what did Seonu Jin say when he went along with those Miao tribesmen?"
At Ma Yu-gyeom's question, Ju Tae-gyeong stammered in surprise.
"Eh? W-well… he said that if we were ever to go deeper inside, we'd need information about that place…."
Ma Yu-gyeom's face hardened into anger.
"Exactly. To go deeper inside someday—
in other words, to strike at the Blood Cult—we must of course gather information about the jungle.
But you, a disciple of Jeomchang who should want to destroy the Blood Cult more than anyone, why—why in the hell did you not go with them at that time?!"
Caught off guard by Ma Yu-gyeom's sudden fury, Ju Tae-gyeong faltered.
"T-that's…."
But Ma Yu-gyeom didn't stop. He jabbed a finger toward the Seventh Unit, laughing and chatting in the distance.
"Look at them! Do they look like people possessed by the Blood Cult? Are you blind, fool?! To claim they've attached themselves to the cult's demonic lords? Seol Pung? Do you even know how many of those very lords he has slain, and yet you dare to spit such nonsense?!"
Ma Yu-gyeom despised Seol Pung—
but as a martial artist, he respected him more than anyone.
Perhaps that was precisely why he hated him so much: a man who wasn't even of an orthodox sect surpassing him in martial strength.
And yet, for a snake like Ju Tae-gyeong to slander Seol Pung—someone even Ma Yu-gyeom acknowledged—
his rage was uncontainable.
"Can your feeble mind not distinguish truth from envy? Instead of filling your lack with desperate training, you try to satisfy your petty jealousy by slandering others?!"
Snatching Ju Tae-gyeong by the collar, Ma Yu-gyeom leaned close, speaking in a low, venomous whisper only he could hear.
"Do you know when I feel most keenly that Jeomchang has truly been annihilated?"
Ju Tae-gyeong, pale and trembling, stuttered, "I-I don't know…."
Ma Yu-gyeom's killing gaze bore into him as he whispered:
"It's when I realize that even trash like you are among the few disciples of Jeomchang I cannot bring myself to cut down. That is when I feel the most wretched."
With that, he shoved Ju Tae-gyeong away and turned on his heel.
But as he stalked off in fury, his eyes flicked—
just briefly—
to Seonu Jin and Hae Cheong-yeon, locked in a dazzling duel.
Compared to Ju Tae-gyeong, they shone even brighter.
And oh, how bitterly he regretted that such talent was not in his grasp.
Walking alone back to his quarters, Ma Yu-gyeom's thoughts grew heavy.
Jeomchang needed talent to rise again.
Not garbage like Ju Tae-gyeong,
but true geniuses—like Seol Pung or Seonu Jin.
Yet Jeomchang's disciples couldn't even unite among themselves, let alone welcome new blood.
The knowledge weighed on him like lead.
And he knew why better than anyone.
'It's because of me.'
The reason Jeomchang's disciples remained divided was none other than Ma Yu-gyeom himself.
As the self-proclaimed successor, he lacked the prestige to unite them under one banner.
Yes… he did not have the support of all Jeomchang's disciples.
The greatest reason was, of course, that he was the son of Ma Won-ung, the previous sect master whose greed had doomed Jeomchang.
But if only he had been the undisputed First Sword of Jeomchang, they would have had no choice but to acknowledge him.
If only he had stood as the unquestionable representative of Jeomchang.
'But… I failed even that.'
Grinding his teeth, Ma Yu-gyeom clenched his fists.
Among Jeomchang's surviving disciples, there were at least two who were more widely recognized than he:
Sa Gun-il, the "Sword Dragon of Jeomchang" and captain of the Second Unit, and Je Won-yeong, the "Sword Tiger of Jeomchang," who served in another division of the Flying Dragon Corps.
If only they had supported him, perhaps the others would have fallen in line.
But they did not.
Sa Gun-il, ever aloof, refused to involve himself.
And Je Won-yeong despised Ma Yu-gyeom outright.
They had been bitter rivals since before Jeomchang's downfall.
So Ma Yu-gyeom had tried, again and again, to raise Jeomchang's name on his own strength.
But lately, he could no longer deny the truth:
'Alone… I cannot do it.'
He needed the recognition of at least one of them.
Especially the foremost—Sa Gun-il, the Sword Dragon.
Thus, Ma Yu-gyeom resolved himself.
If it would revive Jeomchang, he no longer cared if he was recognized.
What mattered was not him, but the sect.
And so, he turned his steps toward the Second Unit's quarters.
As always, Sa Gun-il was seated in meditation beneath a tree beside his quarters.
Ma Yu-gyeom strode up without hesitation.
"Gun-il. We need to talk."
Sa Gun-il, born and raised in Jeomchang like him, was his peer.
From childhood, they had been close friends, never bothering with seniority.
Opening his eyes slowly, Sa Gun-il looked at him.
A silent gaze that asked, What is it?
A gaze that said he'd rather not speak.
Ma Yu-gyeom sighed deeply.
Old memories surfaced.
Once, despite their differences, they had always been together—true friends.
'Yes… we were, once.'
At least until Sa Gun-il's father, Elder Sa Woo-yong, began opposing the policies of Ma Yu-gyeom's father, Sect Master Ma Won-il.
Where Ma Won-il prized Jeomchang's profit above all, Sa Woo-yong demanded the duties and principles of an orthodox sect.
And so they had clashed, time and again.
Young Ma Yu-gyeom had condemned Elder Sa as a dreamer who didn't understand reality.
At least, until Ma Won-il's greed destroyed Jeomchang.
Gathering his courage, Ma Yu-gyeom spoke.
"Gun-il. For Jeomchang's sake… I need your help."
No one could know how much pride he had swallowed to say those words.
The old Ma Yu-gyeom would never have imagined it.
But Sa Gun-il merely showed the faintest flicker of surprise.
No answer.
Not enough.
Taking a breath, Ma Yu-gyeom pressed on.
"Help me, Gun-il. We cannot let Jeomchang crumble like this. If you wish, I will name you sect master. I will devote my full strength to supporting you. But please, for Jeomchang's sake—move with me!"
Even the ambition of being sect master, he could now abandon.
All for Jeomchang's revival.
At last, Sa Gun-il spoke, slowly.
"You've changed, Yu-gyeom."
Hope sparked in Ma Yu-gyeom's eyes.
"Then you'll…?!"
But Sa Gun-il shook his head.
"I'm sorry. Even if you've changed, my answer is the same. I will not move for Jeomchang's revival."
Rage erupted.
"What nonsense is this?! Not for me—but for Jeomchang's revival—you refuse? Are you saying you would betray the grace of the sect?!"
But Sa Gun-il only murmured, his expression strangely forlorn:
"The sect's grace… Yes, I cannot betray it."
"Then why…?!"
Cutting him off, Sa Gun-il asked quietly:
"But Yu-gyeom… does Jeomchang truly deserve to rise again?"
"…What did you say?"
Stunned, Ma Yu-gyeom froze at the question—and at the grief in Sa Gun-il's eyes.
"I have wrestled with this countless times. How could I not? This sect was my home, my parents, my life. But no matter how many times I reflect, the conclusion is always the same: Jeomchang does not deserve revival."
Ma Yu-gyeom's fury boiled over.
He ripped his sword free with a ringing shhhhk!
"Do you hear yourself?! You dare claim our sect is unworthy?! Explain yourself—or I will cut you down where you stand!"
Sa Gun-il looked at him sadly.
"Who was it that coveted treasures not theirs, that bullied and slaughtered the weak for greed? Who, through that monstrous avarice, delivered Yunnan Province to the Blood Cult, sending countless innocents to their deaths? And yet you think Jeomchang has the right to rise again?"
Ma Yu-gyeom bit his lip.
Then, forcing the words out, retorted:
"That was the fault of a few! How can you deny the entire legacy of a pillar of the orthodox Nine Great Sects over the mistakes of a handful?!"
Sa Gun-il gave a hollow laugh.
"A few mistakes, you say. And you, Yu-gyeom? You are the son of the man who made them. Could you, even now, stand before all the martial world and confess Jeomchang's sins? Could you kneel and beg forgiveness from every innocent who died because of our sect's greed?"
Ma Yu-gyeom's face hardened.
Sa Gun-il pressed on.
"Yunnan was delivered to the Blood Cult. Countless lives were lost—are still being lost—because of Jeomchang's greed. Could you admit that, openly? If you could, I would recognize you as sect master this instant. I would devote myself entirely to Jeomchang's revival."
It was everything Ma Yu-gyeom had ever wanted to hear.
But he could not answer.
His throat worked soundlessly.
Because it was not so simple.
To admit Jeomchang's guilt would be to seal its fate.
If the martial world knew Yunnan was lost to the Blood Cult through Jeomchang's greed, they would never tolerate its revival.
So he tried to deny it.
"You go too far. How can you place all blame on Jeomchang? Were not all the martial artists who flocked to Yunnan, driven by greed for treasure, also guilty? And any apologies can be made once Jeomchang has risen again!"
Sa Gun-il smiled bitterly.
"Do you remember, Yu-gyeom?"
"…Remember what?"
"Your father, Sect Master Ma Won-il. Whenever my father opposed his schemes as straying from the righteous path, your father always said the same thing: First, Jeomchang must grow strong. Only then can we uphold righteousness. If a pillar of the Nine Great Sects lacks strength, what meaning has righteousness?"
Ma Yu-gyeom remembered as well.
Hadn't he, too, once derided Sa Gun-il's father as nothing but a stubborn dreamer for opposing his own father?
Sa Gun-il gave a hollow laugh and continued.
"Look at us. Jeomchang abandoned the righteous path in pursuit of power—yet in the end, we lost the very strength to protect Yunnan. If Jeomchang's purpose was to be Yunnan's pillar through strength, then what purpose do we serve now that we are weak? Do we still call ourselves a righteous orthodox sect? When, as you said yourself, we were just as greedy as the rest? Were we ever truly orthodox at all?"
Ma Yu-gyeom could not answer at once.
He had never expected that Sa Gun-il carried such torment.
And he had no rebuttal.
Sa Gun-il rose to his feet.
"Yu-gyeom, you resemble your father, Sect Master Ma Won-il, very much. That is why I…."
He trailed off, gazing at Ma Yu-gyeom with heavy eyes, then turned away.
Ma Yu-gyeom burst out, voice cracking.
"Don't act like you're above it all, Gun-il! You're still a disciple of Jeomchang! Fine—let's say Jeomchang sinned, as you claim! But what then? If you abandon the sect because of its sins, is that not a sin itself?! Are you saying you'll betray your sect under the excuse of its sins?!"
Sa Gun-il let out a deep sigh, answering without turning back.
"I am a disciple of Jeomchang. And so, I will give everything to exact vengeance on the Blood Cult. But if, in my lifetime, that vengeance is fulfilled…."
He turned, eyes weighted with sorrow, and finished:
"…then I will cast aside everything I received from Jeomchang. Even if you kill me for it, I will not resent you."
And with that, he left.
Ma Yu-gyeom could not bring himself to stop him.
For in a way, he understood the torment in his words—
to exact vengeance, yet never revive the sect.
Ma Yu-gyeom returned to his quarters with a heavy heart.
Yes, Jeomchang had sinned.
But he had never truly dwelled on it.
No—he had avoided thinking about it.
All he ever thought was: I am a disciple of Jeomchang, therefore I must restore it. I am the son of the former sect master, therefore I must become sect master.
But today, Sa Gun-il had shaken the very foundation of those beliefs.
He exhaled a long, weary sigh.
"Huuhhh…."
Unlike other captains, Ma Yu-gyeom lived in a detached house.
It suited his solitary nature—and his private affairs.
As he opened the door absentmindedly, he noticed it was unlocked when it should have been shut.
Already unsettled, his irritation spiked. He pushed the door open sharply.
"I told you not to come here uninvited anymore."
There, seated demurely on his bed, was a woman.
"Yeo-gyeong."
Mae Yeo-gyeong—vice-captain of the Fourth Unit, and until recently, his lover.
Her eyes were sunken with dark circles, her expression desolate, her body hunched in on itself.
"Captain… please…."
Her voice was desperate, but Ma Yu-gyeom's expression remained cold. He swung the door wide.
"I told you before—what remains between us is only captain and vice-captain. I'm tired. Leave my room."
But someone who had come with such desperate eyes would not leave so easily.
"If I did something wrong, I'll fix it, Captain. Please… give me one more chance."
Ma Yu-gyeom sighed, exasperated, forcing his temper down.
"Yeo-gyeong. You've done nothing wrong. You were a good woman. In fact, until I met you, I had never stayed with anyone more than a year—you know that. But my feelings have cooled. And feelings don't need a reason. Accept it. The more you cling, the more pitiful you become."
His words were partly true.
Mae Yeo-gyeong was beautiful, worthy. Unlike his past flings, he had stayed with her for over a year.
But he had never intended permanence.
He had always thought to end it one day—
why else insist she keep calling him "Captain"?
That day had come.
But her heart could not be the same as his.
Especially not someone like Mae Yeo-gyeong—
introverted, lonely, starved for affection.
She broke down, weeping, falling to her knees.
"Captain, please! Don't abandon me. I'll do anything you want. Anything. Just please…."
At last, Ma Yu-gyeom's patience snapped.
This kind of clinging was what he despised most.
Already unsettled, he gave up on gentleness, turning his back.
"Tch. In the end, you're just another woman who soils the last memory. Enough. If you won't leave, then I will."
He moved toward the door.
Behind him, she sobbed brokenly.
"Captain… please… I can't live without you… please…."
Her collapsing voice made him stop, sighing.
He knew she was fragile.
As a child, she'd been abused by her parents—
left starved for affection, clinging to those she trusted.
And Ma Yu-gyeom had been her first man.
The first she had opened her heart to despite her mistrust.
So of course she could not accept his cold, baseless change of heart.
He had known this, too.
That was why he'd dragged things on even after his heart cooled.
Until he could no longer endure it.
Ma Yu-gyeom exhaled, forcing calm.
He couldn't prolong this out of pity.
He only wanted to end it gently.
But when he turned back, she was already trembling, fumbling at her clothes—trying anything, everything, to make him stay.
His voice was cold, though softened slightly.
"Yeo-gyeong, listen. What you're doing now only lowers your own worth. You are a fine woman. Cherish yourself. Even without me, you'll soon find someone else."
He turned again.
He had said all he could.
Relief washed over him.
Then her voice rang out, shrill and trembling.
"It's because of Miss Tang, isn't it?!"
He froze.
The words caught him utterly off guard.
He turned, incredulous.
"…What did you say?"
Mae Yeo-gyeong glared, tears burning in her eyes.
"Miss Tang! Tang Yeo-eun! Don't think I don't know! You love her! No matter how much you look at her, she will never come to you! It's a hopeless crush!"
Ma Yu-gyeom's eyes glinted with fury. His words dripped like venom.
"Your delusions are intolerable, Yeo-gyeong. I see now you cannot remain in my unit. After this conference, you'll transfer. I'll inform the commander."
He left, slamming the door.
But his face was more twisted than when he'd faced Sa Gun-il.
He clenched his teeth.
He had never thought he'd shown it.
How had she seen through?
And suddenly, her face rose in his mind.
That brand seared into his heart, never fading.
At first, it was curiosity—
the daughter of Sichuan Tang Clan, a connection that could aid Jeomchang's revival.
But unlike other women, she never spared him a glance.
Proud, beautiful, unyielding.
Stronger, even, than he—the so-called "Sword Hawk of Jeomchang."
At some point, she had become the only one his gaze sought.
It enraged him.
Shamed him.
He tried to bury himself in training.
He sought other women to forget.
But nothing erased her.
Her name carved deeper with time.
As dusk fell, Ma Yu-gyeom gazed blankly at the darkening sky and muttered hollowly:
"Damn it all…."