I Became the Owner of the Heavenly Flower Palace-Chapter 63: Neither Enemy nor Ally

Jincheon and his party returned to their lodgings.

Thud.

The door shut, and the moment it did, Neung Gayeon, the North Wind Commander, and Ilyo, the Palace’s chief attendant, both dropped to their knees and bowed their heads before Jincheon.

Their beautiful hair spilled across the floor, disheveled—but they paid it no mind.

They said nothing.

They simply knelt in silence, heads lowered before Jincheon.

Like criminals awaiting judgment.

Jincheon’s expression soured.

He could guess why they were doing this.

Right now, they believed they had failed to protect him—and were awaiting punishment for that failure.

But... was it really all their fault?

“...Sigh.”

Jincheon let out a long breath before speaking.

“Commander Neung. Ilyo.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Yes.”

They responded in hushed voices. Jincheon continued slowly.

“This matter is largely my fault. I insisted on splitting the escort and allowed only the two of you to accompany me.”

Just as that strange woman had said, the one who had chosen to divide the escort was Jincheon himself.

He hadn’t truly thought of himself as the Palace Master. Part of him had relaxed after returning to Zhongyuan. Another part was preoccupied with the idea of when and how to slip away unnoticed.

“You both did everything you could to protect and rescue me. If anything, you deserve a reward.”

“...May I speak...”

Swish.

Ilyo hadn’t even lifted her head when Jincheon raised his hand—and she fell silent immediately.

“I’ve made my judgment. My decision stands. I won’t entertain objections.”

His tone was resolute, unyielding.

Rustle.

Ilyo and Neung Gayeon bowed even deeper, accepting Jincheon’s words.

Seated in a chair, Jincheon gazed down at the North Wind Commander.

Her hair, hanging down from her bowed head, shimmered faintly in the light as it touched the floor.

“Commander Neung.”

“Yes.”

She answered, but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

Jincheon asked her,

“Who were the attackers?”

“...We cannot say for certain.”

“Any suspicions?”

“I fear my foolish thoughts might cloud your wisdom, Young Master. And speaking of such matters is strictly forbidden by palace law...”

“Commander Neung.”

Jincheon cut her off.

His eyes grew cold.

“They tried to kill me.”

His life had been threatened.

With Jincheon’s safety at risk, what use were palace laws or regulations?

No doubt she’d just bring up the ‘Red Dragon’ again.

“Answer me.”

It was an order.

“Who do you believe they were?”

Neung Gayeon hesitated—but not for long.

“...To the best of my limited understanding, only four forces in the world could carry out something like this.”

Still kneeling, she spoke.

“The Violet Mist Sect of the East. The Grand Water Pavilion of the South. The Hyo Seol Tomb in the North. And the Golden Dragon Altar in Central Zhongyuan.”

Jincheon had never heard any of those names in his life.

“Who are they? Enemies?”

“...Neither enemies nor allies. That is a matter to be judged by the Red Dragon. By palace law, I have no right to declare them either.”

Something about that rubbed Jincheon the wrong way.

‘...Neither enemies nor allies?’

That only meant the situation was complicated, entangled in all kinds of history.

But that wasn’t the problem.

‘What about the attack, then? Not just me—they went after that old man, too.’

It was natural to be suspicious. At this level, calling them “enemies” wasn’t a stretch at all.

And yet they still insisted: neither enemy nor friend.

And now she was saying that, unless one was the Red Dragon, even discussing the matter was forbidden by law?

‘How the hell does that make sense?’

It didn’t. Not even a little.

One thing was clear: this wasn’t something that could be judged based on isolated incidents.

“Then you’re saying no one but me is allowed to speak on this matter?”

“...The Oracle may speak.”

At that, Jincheon’s brows furrowed.

‘Her again?’

Not that it was strange.

The Heavenly Flame Palace was practically a religious order, and the Oracle was one of its two central pillars.

It wasn’t irrational.

Jincheon just really, really didn’t want to face her again.

He looked at the bowed Commander Neung in silence.

Through the veil of her hair, the black band tied at the nape of her neck stood out starkly.

“Ahem.”

Feeling oddly awkward, Jincheon cleared his throat before continuing.

“Commander Neung.”

“Yes.”

“During the conversation, they mentioned something called a ‘Divine Artifact.’ They said even the eyes of the heavens couldn’t see through it.”

That strange mist, the way he’d been drawn toward them like he was entranced, the emotions he’d felt around that woman—none of it made sense.

Clearly, the so-called Divine Artifact had something to do with it.

“Even with that, you can’t identify them?”

“There are many objects in this world referred to as Divine Artifacts. But in the truest sense of the term, such artifacts are extremely rare—and scarcely understood.”

Just as he expected. A bit disappointing, but Jincheon didn’t show it.

“Does the Heavenly Flame Palace have any?”

“Yes.”

That piqued Jincheon’s interest.

A Divine Artifact? How could he not ask?

“What kind?”

“There are several... but the most important is your own Wrath, Young Master.”

Involuntarily, Jincheon lowered his gaze to his chest.

The red orb—Wrath—still rested quietly there.

‘This thing? The orb I’ve been carrying around is a Divine Artifact?’

He nearly let out a dry laugh—but at the same time, it made sense.

If this red orb, which had transformed an ordinary man like Jincheon into the Palace Master of the Heavenly Flame, wasn’t a Divine Artifact, then what was?

Even if the meaning was slightly different.

‘Hmm.’

Thinking back on it, it was strange.

That vibration /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ he’d felt back then—that strange sensation like Wrath was crying—was that... real?

Swish.

Jincheon lifted a hand and gently touched the spot over his heart, feeling the orb beneath his robe.

He waited quietly.

But... nothing.

No particular feeling at all.

‘...I don’t know.’

Back then, he hadn’t been in any state to think clearly.

He couldn’t be sure if what he saw and felt had been real.

“Commander Neung. Raise your head.”

She hesitated.

But soon, she obeyed.

Rustle.

She lifted her face.

Even with a sorrowful expression, she still carried herself with elegance.

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“You saw the light that danced along my blade, didn’t you?”

Jincheon remembered it clearly.

Neung Gayeon had shed tears—not when she confirmed he was alive, but the very moment she saw that light ripple from his sword.

And, as expected—her shoulders trembled slightly.

But Jincheon wasn’t going to back down.

“What was that? Was it the so-called sword aura that warriors speak of?”

That old Taoist from Wudang had insisted it wasn’t—but Jincheon remembered.

That light had cut the enemy.

And even he had heard of sword aura before.

Storytellers always went on about it: how a master’s blade could cut people from afar, slice through anything.

“No.”

Neung Gayeon’s voice was sharp. Almost cold in its finality.

“It was not.”

“Then what was that light?”

Neung Gayeon’s long lashes trembled ever so slightly.

She didn’t answer. But Jincheon didn’t press her.

After a pause, the North Wind Commander finally spoke.

“...It’s not something I dare speak of.”

Swish.

Her black hair slid over her shoulder and pooled on the floor again as she bowed even deeper.

“In all humility... I beg you to ask the Oracle.”

Jincheon frowned.

The Oracle. Again.

But he couldn’t push any further.

The way Neung Gayeon remained bowed made it clear: any more questions would be pointless.

“...Fine. I understand, for now.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, and both Gayeon and Ilyo lowered their heads even more deeply.

Jincheon looked down at them, a sour expression on his face.

“Commander Neung.”

She answered again—he’d lost count how many times now.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they’ll try to attack again?”

“I can’t say.”

Fair enough. Of course she couldn’t know what the attackers were planning.

“Then let me ask this—can you stop them? If something like that happens again... will you be able to protect me?”

A vital question.

Depending on their answer, he might have to completely rethink everything—

like returning to Seoan and reassembling the scattered escort unit.

“...If certain conditions are met, yes.”

“What conditions?”

“You must not stay more than three steps away from me. If you must separate, hold Ilyo’s hand.”

Jincheon blinked in disbelief.

Hold hands? With someone? Like a child?

And with Ilyo, no less—a woman as elegant as she was beautiful?

It was ridiculous.

“No, that’s... that’s a bit much...”

He trailed off, clearly flustered, then asked with an awkward look:

“...Do I have to hold her hand?”

“You may hold a cord between you instead. But the cord must be at least one ch’i wide, and no longer than five steps in length.”

Now that was oddly specific.

Jincheon paused.

‘A cord...’

Still absurd, but less awkward than holding hands.

He glanced at Ilyo. Her head was still bowed. He couldn’t read her expression.

“Ilyo.”

“Yes.”

“Can you prepare a cord like that?”

“...Yes.”

Her answer came a little late, which gave him pause—but he chose to ignore it.

After all, what grown adult would be thrilled about being tethered to someone else?

“...Sigh.”

Jincheon exhaled.

Then turned back to Gayeon.

“Commander Neung.”

“Yes.”

“Will you protect me?”

With firm resolve in her eyes, the North Wind Commander bowed her head and answered,

“With my life, I will protect you.”

“Ilyo.”

“Yes.”

“Will you protect me?”

Rustle.

Ilyo lowered her head.

Her silky hair spilled across the floor.

“Yes.”

One word. Quiet and brief.

But it held all the sincerity in the world.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to ease Jincheon’s anxiety completely.

‘Well... what choice do I have?’

He had no one else to rely on besides Gayeon and Ilyo.

It was far too late to return to Seoan and summon back the escorts.

He couldn’t begin to imagine the consequences of that.

For now, he had no choice but to trust the North Wind Commander’s strategy—

and Ilyo, who accepted it without hesitation.

‘If things go wrong... I guess it’s just fate.’

He thought it almost instinctively now.

But this time, the usual resignation didn’t sit right.

Jincheon suddenly realized: things were different now.

He wasn’t in the same position anymore.

‘Tch... I can’t even run away now.’

His fallback plan—to slip away when things got bad—

was no longer an option.

No, the problem wasn’t escaping.

Now, even separating from Ilyo or Neung Gayeon meant worrying about another ambush.

And the worst part?

A creeping guilt.

They were this committed to protecting him—willing to put their lives on the line—

and he’d been planning how to run off at the first sign of trouble.

That contradiction gnawed at him.

So much that his expression froze into something cold and conflicted.

And so, the night deepened at the Soaring Willow Sword Sect.