Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang

Hearing the princess’s question, spoken as if something must be done, I grabbed my head in confusion. What was she even talking about?

After thinking about it for a moment, a hypothesis came to mind.

Could it be that?

Was this some kind of bureaucratic procedure?

”Government-style work? Don’t tell me it’s that nonsense...?”

Any time the word “government” was involved, it usually meant having to show something to a higher authority. And naturally, that entailed endless formalities and ceremonial nonsense.

As a taesu—a provincial governor—he was essentially this era’s equivalent of a high-ranking bureaucrat. That meant he probably needed something presentable to show his superiors.

But if there was one thing I hated the most, both in my previous life and in this one, it was this kind of bureaucratic work.

A show, that’s all it was.

Back in my past life, I had suffered enough when some ridiculous law passed, forcing me to build an impractical breeding facility just to meet regulatory standards.

Taking a deep breath, I asked the princess:

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on reassuring the people rather than just putting on a show? If we just wait a few days, everything will settle down on its own. Wouldn’t it be better to ease their concerns first?”

I deliberately left some wiggle room in my tone, just in case she found it rude.

“But... it sounds like you do need something to show. Is there a particular method you had in mind?”

At that, both the princess and the taesu flinched, then exchanged startled glances.

They looked guilty.

It seemed I had hit the mark.

The two of them silently exchanged glances, as if communicating through some secret method. Probably a sound transmission technique.

After a moment, their silent exchange ended, and both nodded in agreement. Then the princess finally spoke, her tone carrying an air of reluctant acknowledgment.

“At first, I just thought of you as a young sohyeop, but you’re quite a bit sharper than I expected. Yes, you’re right. As you said, I do need something to show. How should I put this...? I wonder if you’d understand...”

And then, suddenly—

A creaking sound echoed through the reception hall.

That was strange.

Hadn’t the princess ordered everyone away?

Yet, the door was slightly ajar, and the sound of its rusty hinge echoed through the room.

—Creeeeak...

“Who’s there?! Didn’t I clearly say that no one was to come near until we were finished?!”

The princess snapped, her voice sharp as a blade.

I expected to hear someone stammering out an apology from outside.

Instead, what poked through the slightly opened door was—

Not a person, but two venomous creatures.

It was none other than Cho and Bini.

—Tsrrt?

—Tsrrrrr?

They tilted their heads sideways and peeked through the gap, antennae twitching curiously.

”Dad, are you still talking?”

”Do we have to keep waiting? Why is that lady yelling?”

They had been waiting outside with Yohwa, but I had told them to stay put until the conversation was over.

Clearly, patience wasn’t their strong suit.

“Apologies, Princess,” I said quickly. “The children grew impatient.”

“...Children?”

The princess’s confused expression made me anxious. I didn’t want them to get scolded, so I hurried toward the door.

“Guys, I told you to wait, didn’t I? Just a little longer, okay? We’re almost done.”

—Tsrrrrr... ”When is it going to end? This is boring!”

—Tsrrt. ”Okay, Dad.”

Bini whined while Cho nodded in understanding.

As the responsible eldest, Cho wrapped herself around Bini and pulled her away from the door.

I turned back to the princess and the taesu, only to find them frozen in shock.

Their expressions screamed, What did we just witness?

“...Did they just understand you?” the princess stammered. “And... did you just call them your daughters?”

“...Ah.”

Right.

Until now, I had only let them see Cho and Bini, keeping things professional. I hadn’t actually demonstrated their intelligence.

And I had just casually called them my daughters.

‘Should I show off a little? Eh, why not. Might as well give the royal family a treat.’

Feeling generous, I opened the reception hall doors wide and called out.

“Bini, Cho, Yohwa—come here.”

—Tsrrt?

—Kssst?

The three immediately gathered at the entrance.

Then, I called out to the others.

“Yeondu, Hyangi, Seoli, Bingi. And the baby. Moji and Soji, too. Introductions are overdue. These are my family.”

From behind Hwa-eun’s skirt, Seoli and Bingi emerged, carrying the baby on their heads as they rushed toward me.

Meanwhile, Moji and Soji, who had been curled up on my shoulders like decorations, stirred at the mention of their names.

And when Hyangi and Yeondu wriggled out from behind my neck, the princess and the taesu nearly fell over in shock.

Hyangi rubbed her cheeks against me.

Their eyes bulged so far I thought they might pop out.

‘This is something you’d only see with a VIP ticket to a venomous creature zoo, but I’m showing it for free. The princess should be grateful.’

As I entertained that thought, the princess, still looking utterly baffled, finally spoke.

“F-Family...? You mean actual family?!”

“Yes,” I replied casually. “As you can see, I am a man obsessed with venomous creatures. Naturally, they’re my family.”

At that moment—

The princess shot up from her seat.

A wide smile spread across her face.

“You’re obsessed with venomous creatures? Is that true?!”

“...Yes?” I answered hesitantly. “I suppose you could say I am.”

Why was she suddenly so happy?

‘...What’s going on?’

“I was worried for nothing!” she beamed. “Then I suppose our conversation will go much more smoothly!”

“...Huh?”

Before I could react, she turned to her father.

“Father, I believe this sohyeop is the perfect person to help me. May I have a private audience with him?”

“...What?!”

Her father looked just as baffled as I was.

But the princess’s face was lit up with pure joy.

‘...Why do I have a very bad feeling about this?’

***

Later, in a Private Meeting with the Princess

Everyone else had been dismissed.

Now, it was just the two of us.

And my gut instinct had been right.

The princess lowered her voice and spoke in a hushed, serious tone.

“What I’m about to tell you must remain an absolute secret. If this leaks, your life could be in danger. Understood?”

‘Dammit. I knew this would be trouble...’

In every drama I had ever watched, secrets in politics always led to bad things.

For a moment, I hesitated.

“...C-Can I just not listen?”

The princess flashed a mischievous grin.

“That’s not an option. Hehe. If I don’t tell you, you might not help me. And besides, you need to understand me first.”

“I—I’ll just help you, no need to explain. So, what do you need me to do?”

But she shook her head, her expression turning haughty.

And then, in a voice filled with authority, she commanded:

“This is an imperial decree. Listen carefully.”

“...”

She had pulled the royal card.

I had no choice but to listen.

And as I sighed in resignation, the princess’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“It all began when I was six years old. That was the first time I saw the golden-threaded sword strapped to a royal guard’s waist...

And that...

That was when my obsession with swords began.”

***

“Hwaaaaah!”

Princess Yu Ji-ryong’s earliest memory of a sword was accompanied by tears.

“What—what is happening?! Why is the princess crying!?”

The Empress’s sharp rebuke rang out at the sound of Ji-ryong’s cries.

Still sniffling, Ji-ryong pointed at one of the imperial guards.

Born as the sole legitimate heir of the Empress—the most beloved consort of the Emperor—Ji-ryong had received the Emperor’s absolute favor from the moment she was born. Even though she was a princess, her tears alone could bring about the downfall of anyone who caused them.

But of course, six-year-old Ji-ryong was far too young to understand such things.

The imperial guard, pale as a ghost, immediately fell prostrate on the floor.

“P-please kill me, Your Majesty! The princess asked for my sword, but I feared she might hurt herself, so I—”

“The sword?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is that true, Princess?”

Still sniffling, Ji-ryong nodded in response to the Empress’s question.

She had seen it—the sword with golden embroidery gleaming under the light.

She had simply wanted to wear it around her waist.

“Swords are dangerous. You cannot have one.”

The Empress’s words, spoken with finality, seemed to quell Ji-ryong’s desires.

Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.

A few days later, however, Ji-ryong accompanied the Emperor to observe the imperial guards’ training.

And that was when it happened.

Her young eyes were captivated by the dazzling formations of the guards.

It was mesmerizing.

Right then and there, she turned to the Emperor and made her request.

“I want to learn the sword!”

The Emperor blinked in surprise before laughing heartily.

“You wish to learn the sword? Well then, if the princess desires it, she must be allowed to learn! I shall assign you a fine instructor.”

At the time, the Emperor hadn’t thought much of it.

Perhaps he believed it was nothing more than a child’s fleeting curiosity.

And so, he gave the order to the commander of the imperial guards:

Teach her whatever she wishes.

That was how her training began.

Her first lesson, however, was deeply disappointing.

She had imagined wielding a radiant sword, gracefully executing dazzling techniques—just like the guards.

But what the commander handed her was—

A wooden sword.

A tiny one at that—barely one and a half feet long.

“A... wooden sword? It’s too short...”

“Princess, all warriors begin their training with wooden swords,” the commander explained patiently. “If one were to wield a real blade from the start and get injured, it would be disastrous. Once you are skilled enough, I will personally request the Emperor to grant you a real sword. But first, you must become accustomed to this one.”

“Really!?”

“Of course. Now, let’s start with basic strikes—”

The commander seemed ready to teach her something basic.

But Ji-ryong wasn’t listening.

The moment she grasped the wooden sword, she closed her eyes.

Instead of paying attention to his words, she focused on recalling the movements she had seen the guards perform during training.

And then—

She began moving.

At first, she stumbled. The weight and balance of the sword were unfamiliar.

But as she repeated the motions, it began to feel natural.

When she finally stopped, satisfied with her own performance, she looked up—

And found the commander staring at her with wide, astonished eyes.

“W-warrior talent...!”

“...Warrior talent?”

The news of Ji-ryong’s talent quickly reached the Emperor.

Upon hearing it, he was overjoyed.

Even though she was a woman, the fact that she was a once-in-a-generation prodigy thrilled him beyond words.

And so, the Emperor bestowed upon her a real sword.

From that day on, Ji-ryong was allowed to learn swordsmanship freely.

Yet, as time passed, she began to notice something... off.

The more she trained, the more she felt—

This sword technique... isn’t mine.

At the age of twelve, she asked the commander:

“Why does it feel like the imperial swordsmanship isn’t mine?”

“Not yours, Princess?”

“Yes.”

The commander fell into deep thought, his expression serious.

After a long pause, he spoke cautiously.

“Even among swords, not all are the same. Every warrior has a sword that suits them best. Princess, I believe the imperial killing sword style may not be suited for you. Rather, you may be better suited for the Daoist or Buddhist sword techniques.”

The imperial sword arts—practical, efficient, and designed for killing.

But the commander had observed something different in her movements.

Ji-ryong wielded the sword not to kill, but to seek understanding.

Her path was more aligned with the swordsmanship of Daoist wanderers or Buddhist monks—those who sought enlightenment rather than destruction.

So she made a decision.

She would learn their ways.

She first explored the imperial archives, studying the Daoist and Buddhist martial arts texts.

As she practiced, she found herself naturally gravitating toward Buddhist techniques.

It was a fortunate choice.

The Daoist sects would have undoubtedly refused to teach a princess, citing their doctrine of no ties to the imperial family.

But Buddhism...

Buddhism would not reject her.

Because if she joined them, she would cease to be a princess.

If she were to renounce her worldly status and become a nun, even the Emperor could not interfere.

And so, she devised a plan.

She disguised her true intent as religious devotion, visiting temples across the Central Plains, pretending to offer prayers.

But her true goal was Emei Sect (Ami-pa).

Yet, when she arrived at Emei—

She was rejected.

The nuns were terrified of offending the imperial family.

“Has His Majesty given permission for you to become a nun?” they asked.

When Ji-ryong hesitated to answer, they immediately refused her.

And so, disappointed, she had no choice but to return to the palace.

Until—

Fate intervened.

On her way back, she stopped at a secluded hermitage.

That night, restless and frustrated, she snuck away from her attendants, climbed the back mountain of the hermitage, and unsheathed her sword.

She simply wanted to swing her sword to clear her mind.

And then—

Shing.

Shing.

The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn.

She instinctively followed the sound—

And what she saw stole her breath away.

A woman.

Wearing Buddhist robes, yet with long flowing hair.

A sword dance under the moonlight.

Blades slicing through the dark.

Leaves caught in the wind of the sword’s movement, swirling around the woman before gently falling.

Ji-ryong stood frozen in awe.

That was what she had been searching for.

Then—

The woman’s sharp voice ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) cut through the night.

“It is improper to watch another’s training without permission! What kind of master do you have, that you do not even know such basic manners?!”

Startled, Ji-ryong bowed her head.

She had never learned such a rule—

But more than that, she wanted to learn from this woman.

“I—I have no master. That is why I lack such teachings. I apologize.”

“...No master?”

“I was entranced by your sword. Please, I beg you—teach me!”

Ji-ryong performed a martial artist’s salute, her posture flawless, just as she had been taught by the commander of the imperial guards. She had hoped to join Emei Sect, and demonstrating proper etiquette was essential.

The woman studied her intently before breaking into a faint smile.

“You ask for instruction without even knowing who I am?” she mused. “Very well. Draw your sword and come at me. It is always good to guide the younger generation.”

What followed was like a dream.

In the imperial palace, there had never been anyone with whom she could truly exchange blades. Even when sparring, her opponents would never counterattack with real intent. It had been boring—far too safe.

But here, her opponent did not hold back.

The first time her robes were sliced—when the cold steel of the woman’s blade brushed against her cheek and drew blood—Ji-ryong felt a thrilling shiver run down her spine.

A battle where her life was truly on the line.

This was exactly what she had been searching for.

Clang! Clash!

“You blocked that? Then try blocking this—Great Compassion Thousand-Hand Sword!”

Changg! Crack!

After dozens of exchanges, Ji-ryong’s sword—the very one bestowed upon her by the Emperor—shattered in two.

She stood there, trembling from the impact, her fingers still clutching the broken hilt.

Then, the woman’s voice reached her.

“Give me your wrist.”

Ji-ryong obeyed, offering her wrist as if entranced.

The woman grasped it lightly, checking something before nodding in satisfaction.

“As I thought! You possess exceptional talent. Your internal energy is pure and refined. There is some lingering killing intent in your swordplay, but that is likely due to the techniques you were taught.”

She paused, studying Ji-ryong with a keen gaze.

“You claimed you had no master. Was that the truth?”

Ji-ryong, still dazed, nodded without hesitation.

At that, the woman smiled.

“Is that so? Then, tell me—would you like to become my disciple?”

Ji-ryong’s breath hitched.

The woman continued, her voice steady.

“I am Lotus of the Sword Pavilion, the Eleventh Sword Queen of Botaram in the Southern Sea.”

Ji-ryong’s eyes widened in shock.

“S-Sword Queen!?”

She had, of course, heard of Botaram before.

But she had set her sights on Emei Sect because she had believed Botaram to be far too closed-off, a place where disciples were accepted only under the rarest of circumstances.

She had given up on it long ago.

Yet now, standing before her, was the master of Botaram’s Sword Pavilion herself.

There was no hesitation.

Ji-ryong dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground in the deepest bow of gratitude.

For the first time in her life, she had found what she had been seeking.

“Th-thank you! Thank you, Master!”

The woman chuckled.

“Then, as my disciple, you must offer me the proper grand kowtow.”

“Yes, of course! Master, please receive my bow!”

She performed the full ceremony, bowing deeply in the traditional fashion.

It was only after she had finished that her new master spoke again.

“Good. Then, at sunrise, we must inform your parents that you have become my disciple. Tell me, where is your home?”

Ji-ryong hesitated, rolling her eyes as if trying to find a way around answering.

Then, reluctantly, she admitted:

“...The imperial palace.”

“...?”

Her master blinked.

After a brief moment of silence, she seemed to regain her composure and asked, “Ah, so your parents work in the palace? What is their rank?”

Ji-ryong fidgeted slightly before finally mumbling her response.

“...The Emperor.”

Her master’s eyes widened in disbelief.