Adventure of Namgung Cheon 1

Namgung Cheon gathers himself beside the broken threshold. Smoke drifts through the tea house, veiling the blood-dark floor and the alley where the hooded traveler and wounded courier disappeared.

A young adult man, his weathered tan skin visible above the collar steps through the smoke, lean and straight-backed, with a narrow face, tied black hair, and a charcoal traveling coat. No crest marks him. A plain sword hangs in his hand.

He stops just beyond the threshold. His eyes follow the Namgung jian’s guard, edge, and angle with unsettling precision, as if reading a text written in steel.

The newcomer raises his plain blade into a balanced waiting posture. He does not advance, leaving the broken doorway open behind him and the next move entirely unclaimed.

The brazier hisses behind Namgung Cheon. Outside, retreating footsteps fade into the cold capital night while the swordsman waits without blinking.

Namgung Cheon settles into a ready guard, the Namgung jian steady despite the shallow cut on his forearm. A faint smirk touches his face as he waits in the smoke.

The smoke-shrouded swordsman steps in, his plain blade gliding toward Namgung Cheon’s centerline. Namgung Cheon yields half a pace, reading the attack through its changing angle.

When the swordsman’s arm extends, Namgung Cheon turns the jian and cuts across the exposed sleeve. Steel parts cloth and leaves a clean, controlled wound along the opponent’s arm.

The swordsman retreats beyond the broken threshold, clutching his injured arm while keeping his blade raised. Blood darkens his charcoal sleeve, but his gaze remains keen.

Namgung Cheon steps inside the swordsman’s reach. His jian snaps against the plain blade with a sharp ring, twisting it from the man’s grip as the wounded forearm flares with pain.

Before the disarmed swordsman can recover, Namgung Cheon drives his heel into the fallen weapon. It skids across the floorboards, spinning beyond the broken threshold and out of immediate reach.

The smoke-shrouded swordsman lowers his empty hand and does not pursue. Namgung Cheon’s sleeve is darkening at the forearm, and his grip carries a hard tremor from the exchange.

Namgung Cheon turns from him and crosses the ruined tea house. The courier’s map rests inside his robe, its route pointing toward the mountain pass and the kidnapped princess.

He steps into the cold capital night, following the direction where the hooded traveler and wounded courier vanished, while the disarmed swordsman remains behind in the smoke.