I Became the Owner of the Heavenly Flower Palace-Chapter 61: Petty and Insignificant

There were many empty rooms in the Soaring Willow Sword Sect.

In fact, it wasn’t just that there were many rooms available—the entire building Jincheon’s party had been led to was completely deserted. Ji Yeongryeong had brought them to it herself.

The place was well maintained but clearly old, and not a single presence stirred within. Thanks to that, Jincheon and his companions enjoyed the rare luxury of claiming three entire rooms for themselves.

That night, they were invited to dinner by Sect Master Ji Riik. Only Ji Yeongryeong joined them.

There weren’t even any disciples sharing meals or quarters on the premises.

After dinner, having rested briefly, Jincheon stepped out into the training yard.

Step. Step.

“It must have been a thriving sect in the past...”

The Soaring Willow Sword Sect lay eerily still beneath the night sky, the silence so complete it was almost chilling.

During the meal, servants had appeared to pour wine and serve dishes, but they too seemed not to live on the premises.

“Has the sect fallen into decline?”

A bitter taste welled up in his mouth.

These were people with enough character to earn the endorsement of a Taoist from Wudang.

Their sword teachings—though Jincheon himself wasn’t particularly well-versed—didn’t seem lacking either. And yet, here they were, hollowed out and faded.

“Well, I’ve got a mountain of my own problems...”

In truth, he wasn’t in any position to worry about others.

He hadn’t even decided yet whether to stay in this life or get out while he still could.

“Phew.”

Jincheon let out a sigh.

And turned his gaze, startled. As expected, he locked eyes with Sunday.

“Is there something you wish to command?”

She asked politely, hands folded, expression calm. Jincheon gave her a faint smile.

“No, nothing. Thank you.”

This was the trouble with the Heavenly Flame Palace.

Every little gesture of Jincheon’s triggered such intense reactions. Wasn’t a sigh something a man could let out in peace?

“Focus. Don’t let your guard down.”

He reminded himself.

Maybe he’d relaxed too much after arriving in Zhongyuan and successfully reducing his guard detail.

Sunday bowed her head, and Jincheon turned away, quickening his pace.

Step. Step.

As always, even though he walked with Sunday and Neung Gayeon beside him, the only footsteps echoing in the quiet night were his own.

Not long after, they arrived at the training yard Ji Yeongryeong had pointed out.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t large.

Though darkness cloaked the surroundings, someone had already lit a brazier, making it just bright enough for practice.

That had to be Ji Yeongryeong’s doing.

“Will you bring me the sword?”

At Jincheon’s words, Sunday lifted the wooden box she’d been carrying and offered it up respectfully.

Clack.

The lid opened, and the Heavenly Flame Palace’s sword, Wind and Cloud, gleamed within.

Jincheon gripped the hilt.

The feeling of the familiar handle in his palm—it was like a long-lost piece of himself returning home. Slowly, he drew the blade.

Srrrng.

The cold glint of the steel stole his breath for a moment.

He gazed at it in silence.

The edge was clear and sharp—beautiful, even.

Crackle, crackle.

The soft sound of the brazier burning nudged him gently back to the present.

He took a deep breath.

“Phew...”

He calmed his mind, casting out his thoughts.

The fallen state of this once-proud sect, the mountain of issues still unresolved in his own life—none of it had a place in this moment.

Swish.

Under the starlit sky, Jincheon assumed the starting form of the Yongcheon Sword Art.

With the sacred incantation blooming instinctively in his chest, he moved without hesitation.

Shhhk.

The beginning flowed into the next form.

Each technique came as if destined—no resistance, no effort. His movements grew bolder, sharper.

Step. Whirl.

He shifted his footing and moved.

The sword followed his motion.

Or perhaps it was the sword that led, and Jincheon who simply followed in its wake.

The line between blade and man blurred. The boundary between heaven and earth dissolved.

Whether he was the Provisional Master of the Heavenly Flame Palace or a failed scholar-turned-trader didn’t matter anymore.

He didn’t see the blue moon above or the scattered starlight glimmering around him.

Only the sword remained. Only the sacred words filling his spirit.

He forgot even himself as he surrendered to the dance.

Hwooom—

Even as the final technique neared, Jincheon’s blade didn’t slow.

When the end came, it only marked another beginning.

The end was the beginning.

There was no distinction between the two.

Tap.

Thus, the Yongcheon Sword Art continued—again and again, flowing like a mighty river, grand and unrelenting.

How many times now? The final technique concluded once more.

Jincheon swung the sword behind him, resting it along his lower back.

The sword was sheathed, and his breath began to steady. This time, the end did not lead into another start.

“Phew.”

Exhaling, he lifted his gaze.

“That was... magnificent.”

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The praise came from North Wind Commander Neung Gayeon, like a sigh she’d been holding in.

Jincheon glanced at Sunday.

Though faint, there was a smile resting on her lips—and Jincheon didn’t miss it.

“Guess I did well.”

No one hates an honest compliment.

Jincheon had already enjoyed the training itself, but having someone from the Heavenly Flame Palace approve as well—now that was rewarding.

Smiling with quiet satisfaction, Jincheon began to return Wind and Cloud to its scabbard—but paused.

“Ah. I was supposed to think about the meaning of the sword...”

Tap.

But it was already too late. The sword had vanished into its sheath.

Jincheon hesitated.

“Should I... start over?”

He’d meant to reflect on what Ji Yeongryeong had said—about “the meaning of the sword” and “the intent behind each technique.”

But the moment he started moving, it had all vanished from his mind.

He’d been utterly immersed.

Which wasn’t necessarily bad—it meant he’d trained with focus. But still, without reflection, there could be no growth.

“What now?”

He was just beginning to consider drawing the blade again when—

Ding-la-ring.

A sound echoed at the edge of his hearing.

It might have been a small bell. Or a stringed instrument like a guqin. The notes echoed on, long and strange and otherworldly.

Swish.

Without meaning to, Jincheon turned his head.

Fog surrounded him now.

Sunday and Neung Gayeon were gone.

Even the brazier, once crackling loudly, had disappeared.

But Jincheon didn’t find it odd.

As in a dream, where everything feels natural—he accepted it just as it was.

Ding...

The sound rang again.

And Jincheon, before he even realized it, began to walk.

Step. Step.

Ding-la-ring... ding...

The sound kept guiding him.

He walked and walked, but could not tell if he was getting closer or farther from the source.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking.

It felt like a completely unfamiliar place had swallowed him whole—like he was wandering inside a dream.

Ding...

A soft, graceful note filled the air—and in his vision appeared a woman.

In front of an ancient, weathered building, she sat quietly on the stone steps, eyes closed, cradling a small instrument in her arms as she played.

Her hair spilled like silk, her flowing robes shimmered like butterfly wings. The scene shimmered with an ethereal, dreamlike air.

Swish.

She raised her head and looked at Jincheon.

And smiled.

“Ah...”

Like someone who had been waiting a long, long time, she lit up with joy at the sight of him.

Her smile was like something from a dream—soft and hauntingly beautiful.

“You’ve finally come. The new Palace Master of the Heavenly Flame.”

She was a stranger—he had never seen her before.

And yet she recognized him.

Jincheon could only stare.

The woman gently furrowed her brow and added,

“But... a little disappointing, isn’t it? So petty. So insignificant.”

The words came close to insult.

And yet they pierced Jincheon’s chest like a blade.

That he had fallen short of her expectations—that she was saddened by it—cut him deeper than he expected.

Woom...

His chest trembled.

And then—a new voice reached his ears.

“But of course.”

A man appeared behind the woman.

A hulking figure with a pitch-dark complexion, broad-shouldered and scarred, he made no effort to hide the mockery in his eyes as he looked down on Jincheon.

“What greatness could possibly come out of the Heavenly Flame Palace?”

His voice was thick with derision, each syllable a sneer.

“It’s pathetic, really—seeing the Heavenly Flame Palace reduced to pinning its hopes on something this pitiful.”

The man’s contempt for the Palace poured out without pause.

Jincheon found his voice utterly grating.

“Don’t be like that. He is the Red Dragon, after all.”

The woman’s voice was soft as music.

But only for a moment.

The dark-skinned man cast a long shadow over Jincheon and said, “You don’t become the Red Dragon because someone decides you are. A dragon is born, not named. And this man—he’s no Red Dragon.”

He wasn’t wrong. But Jincheon still found his voice intolerable.

The urge to silence him—to shut that mouth once and for all—stirred deep within him.

“That’s why I said we should’ve killed him sooner. Is there really anything left to confirm?”

The man’s words made the woman frown slightly.

And even that expression seemed oddly delicate. Wistful. Almost sorrowful.

“Don’t be petulant. The Palace Master of the Heavenly Flame boldly scattered his guards. ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) How could we not be suspicious? I thought for sure it was a trap.”

She let out a quiet sigh.

And somehow, it felt like Jincheon’s heart was crumbling in his chest.

“It was nothing more than a foolish man’s foolish decision.”

Woom.

His chest throbbed again.

The woman, gazing softly at Jincheon, spoke once more.

“It was nice to meet you. But now, it’s time...”

That was when it happened.

BOOM.

A thunderous explosion echoed from somewhere far away.

“My, my.”

The woman spoke, her tone laced with faint amusement.

And yet her smile remained perfectly serene.

“Already broken, is it? And here I thought those artifacts could hide even from the eyes of heaven. You must have had quite capable subordinates.”

Her eyes glinted—razor-sharp, no longer dreamy.

She added, “For someone so petty and insignificant, I mean.”

Wooooom.

A powerful surge radiated from Jincheon’s chest, snapping his mind into razor focus.

What is this... what’s happening?

He didn’t know why he was here. Couldn’t remember how he’d wandered all this way.

But one thing was perfectly clear.

They are enemies.

The beautiful woman before him. The monstrous man behind her. They were the same.

There was not a trace of kindness in their eyes.

Only hostility. Cold and clear as polished steel.

There was no time to feel confused. No time to analyze what was happening.

All of that could come later—if he survived.

Wuuuuum.

Louder than the beat of his own heart, something deep within Jincheon pulsed.

It was the divine orb, Wrath.

And then, like a goddess descended into the mortal world, the woman spoke in a voice soft as a dream.

“Kill him.”

The words didn’t suit her face. But the hulking man nodded without hesitation.

“Gladly.”

Step.

He began to walk forward.

From behind his back, he drew an enormous sword.

Srrrng.

It was so massive that, in his hands, it somehow looked small.

Jincheon clenched his teeth and shouted.

“You—who the hell are you?!”

He needed time. He needed someone to hear.

His voice rose louder.

“Why are you doing this to me?!”

“You don’t deserve an answer.”

The man’s tone was cold and final.

There wasn’t even mockery in his gaze anymore.

“If you had a shred of sense, you would’ve stayed holed up inside that old palace. Collecting your predecessor’s remains—now that would’ve been a fine excuse. But this...”

He kept approaching. And he was huge.

Like a mountain walking toward him, crushing the earth beneath its weight.

“You stepping outside was a foolish mistake. And dying here—well, that’s the fate of the foolish and insignificant.”

He raised the massive blade with a slow, deliberate motion.

In his grip, the sword shimmered with a black, oily gleam.

Jincheon didn’t even have time to think. He drew his blade on instinct.

Clang.

With a clear ring, the sword Wind and Cloud emerged.

For a moment, something flickered in the man’s eyes.

“Oh? Wind and Cloud, is it? Fine sword...”

He said it with ease, like an afterthought.

“But it found the wrong master.”

He might’ve been right.

Because the tip of Wind and Cloud, gripped tightly in Jincheon’s hands, was trembling violently.

The man’s eyes lit up.

And then the great black sword came crashing down on Jincheon.

BUUUUK.

A jagged, dreadful slash of black death split the air, rushing toward him.