Martial Arts Ain’t That Big of a Deal

The head of a great faction, one of the Sixteen Noble Clans, had died. Such a death, in any form, was bound to bring about changes in the flow of an era.

Especially when that death was caused by external forces.

This banquet, in a sense, was a gathering meant to address those changes.

However, regardless of the reason, the factions that had spread across Zhongyuan had now converged upon a single pond—the Namgung Clan.

It was an incredibly rare occasion for most of them to gather in one place. Whether or not they truly came to mourn was irrelevant; a political battlefield was inevitable in such a setting...

“Oh, Senior Heo Do, you’re here too.”

Seo-jun, however, took a step back from all those undercurrents and simply enjoyed the banquet.

Such a thing was only possible because he had already surpassed the limits of humanity and reached the state of Haegyeong.

A Haegyeong martial artist only needed to concern himself with others at the same level.

In other words, there weren’t many people here who were worth Seo-jun’s attention.

After all, those gathered here were not the Lords of the Sixteen Noble Clans, but merely their elders.

Of course, behind them stood Haegyeong martial artists, but Seo-jun was not the type to be overly concerned with such things.

“So, you know those terms like Jeommechu and Jeomechu that people use these days? They aren’t just random slang for young people, but actually—”
“Hoh… That’s quite concerning.”
“What is?”
“I think I’ve been using that phrase at least once a day since that day.”

Heo Do-jinin stroked his beard in shock. Seo-jun couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“No way, you really liked it that much?”
“Well, I may be a bit old, but I still try to keep my mind young. After all, isn’t that necessary for progress in martial arts as well?”
“Oh-ho, when you put it that way….”

The banquet hall was filled with representatives from almost all of the Sixteen Noble Clans.

Of course, if every single mourner from those clans had attended, the number of people would have been overwhelming, so only a few representatives had come in their place.

Even so, it was a gathering of fourteen out of the sixteen factions, with Kunlun and Peng Clan being the only absentees.

The sheer number of attendees was still far from small.

“So, then, why is it that the Imperial Family sent you instead of the Third Prince?”

At Seo-jun’s question, the Emperor chuckled.

“Well, it looked interesting, didn’t it? When this many people gather, something fun is bound to happen.”
“What a foolish man.”

Clicking his tongue, Seo-jun used Hogongseobmul (Elemental Telekinesis) to pick up a dish from across the hall. It was Mao Tofu—something Chun-bong quite liked.

“Here, Chun-bui, say ‘ah~.’”
“I-I don’t need it.”

Chun-bong, wearing a sulky expression, used her chopsticks to snatch the floating tofu from the air herself. Then, pouting, she shot Seo-jun a telepathic message.

[What are you doing in a place like this?]

And yet, she quickly stuffed the tofu into her mouth.