19. Headwind (1)
It was bizarre.
For years, he had been blocked, unable to advance. The longer the stagnation dragged on, the more despair and rage consumed him. A heart demon had taken root over a clue that seemed just within grasp yet always slipped away. The more he struggled to overcome it, the deeper it burrowed into his marrow.
Such a simple thing.
Not long ago, the stagnant wall had crumbled.
Fortuitous encounters were said to arrive unexpectedly, but this one differed from mere chance. It was a martial principle forged from layers upon layers of accumulated experience. A profound insight gained only through endless cycles of process and failure.
It had come in an instant.
What in the world is this?
The heart demon embedded in his marrow had been vicious. Resisting it without succumbing had been his entire existence. He had thrashed desperately every moment to preserve his sense of self. Yet all that effort dissolved with absurd ease.
As the heart demon resolved, he transcended the pinnacle of the Demonic Realm. Though he still needed to heal the internal injuries it had wrought, he now felt confident enough to claim the title of the world's greatest. Pride swelled within him—he had completed a martial art no one else had achieved.
And yet, he delayed emerging from seclusion.
It was instinct.
It's not enough?
Internal injuries lingered, but with the completion of the Transcendent Demonic Realm, he had no rivals. Still, fear and terror made him hesitate to step out. A colossal divine presence loomed behind a veil, whispering that this level was laughably insufficient. Endless despair and dread.
At the same time, an inexplicable fury took hold, its origin obscure.
Resentment for revenge?
He found it odd. Who could possibly make him drown in defeat?
Even before the risk of qi deviation, he had prided himself on having few equals under heaven. The closed-door training had merely been preparation to become invincible.
Crunch!
It was humiliating. The desire to place the world beneath his feet writhed. Yet he chose to grit his teeth and endure.
Fear had subdued his ambition. Rage boiled at the reality of embracing that terror.
"I will surely repay this humiliation!!"
Though its source eluded him, he burned with vengeful fury.
He stepped out through the gate of the closed-door training chamber.
Hm.
His subordinates knelt outside, awaiting him. He hadn't sent word that his seclusion had ended. But it wasn't mere surprise at their prior positioning.
"You all too?"
"Yes!"
The response was curt, omitting preamble, but its meaning was clear. These were the cult's elite. Further gains should have been impossible, yet they had all perfectly transcended their realms.
One or two might be dismissed as personal insight or fortune, but the entire group had reached new heights. 'And resentment too.'
Was this mere coincidence? It might not be just him. If they had all gained the same insight and fury simultaneously, some trigger must exist.
A powerful bond had formed, etched into their marrow.
The man sought solitary dominance, but he wasn't reckless. 'I can use this.'
First, he needed to uncover and overcome the source of this inexplicable terror. For that, even more perfect preparation was essential.
'Time to verify.'
***
Ha!
A hollow laugh escaped—perhaps from sheer absurdity. Soon, cold fury surged.
It was a scheme to delay distribution of their main goods in Shaanxi Province and tarnish Jeokgeum Merchant Group's reputation. It wouldn't deliver a fatal blow immediately, but success was vital to seize an edge in future competitions.
He had mobilized even the money-devouring ghosts for this. The funds poured into Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop were no small sum. It was just a bit of borrowed prestige, but with Storm Rain, it had cost ten thousand nyang.
Preliminary investigations revealed that Jeokgeum's secluded young master—long mocked as a shut-in—was embarking on his first trade voyage. Snaring such a novice should have been easy.
How they learned of it, he didn't know, but his son had come demanding the task. He claimed he could roast Gu Cheon-woo alive with ease, exuding confidence.
As it was a major merchant group matter, Tak Jung-il had intended caution, but his son needed achievements as a sub-leader. He granted the chance to eliminate a rival group and build legitimacy for succession.
Everything was set. He had expected triumphant news.
Instead...
Hocheon Corps, assigned as support, returned with shattered dantians—cripples. And his son came back with broken legs.
To top it off.
"What the hell happened?"
"That bastard cut off Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop's limbs! It wasn't my fault!"
"You couldn't handle one punk and now spout nonsense excuses!"
"I'm not foolish enough to lie when it'll be exposed immediately."
Tak Jung-il pondered deeply. Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop were Peak Experts with prowess in joint attacks. The idea of a shut-in novice severing their limbs defied common sense.
But as his son said, the truth would emerge soon via Hocheon Corps.
'If it's true... impossible.'
Jeokgeum's secret weapon? Time made it implausible. A punk with zero martial foundation becoming an expert in two years? If possible, Peak Experts would litter the jianghu.
Even prestigious sects rarely produced them in droves.
"It's me."
"Enter."
He had summoned Hocheon Corps' leader before facing his son. The man paid respects and relayed what the deputy had reported.
Tak Jung-il's worries deepened. He had half-accepted it as truth already—his son wasn't dumb enough to lie for short-term relief.
Still, Jeokgeum's punk killing Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop? And breaking his son's legs plus shattering Hocheon Corps' dantians—all by one novice?
'So that's how it is...'
It defied merchant logic. Tak So-pyeong, sensing his ploy had backfired, hurriedly offered his view. Letting this slide threatened his position. His father tolerated no failure, regardless of reason.
"How could he kill Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop without a master or killer technique? Just two years ago, Gu Cheon-woo was a pale scholar. Would someone with that skill meekly endure the insults?"
"Your excuse has merit."
Despite the displeased tone, Tak So-pyeong inwardly sighed in relief. The phrasing invited more—his father's test.
He had noted Hocheon leader's nod. Anticipating this, he had coached the deputy and members before arriving. With dantians lost, sowing discord against Gu Cheon-woo was their only path in the group.
'As if it'll go your way, punk!'
Gu Cheon-woo had clearly tried pitting him against his men to shake them internally. He wasn't naive enough for such crude schemes.
"He killed the famed heroic Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop with vile killer arts and insidious traps. That's the truth."
"Jeok Baek-sang-hyeop as heroes?"
"To me, they were greater heroes than any."
"Well, being called heroes matters more than truth."
Truth was irrelevant. Public fame shaped reality.
Jeokgeum's punk had proven somewhat extraordinary, but Tak So-pyeong, intoxicated by his own ploy's "success," failed to see the bigger picture.
'Still useful for now.'
A merchant proved worth through utility. Failures without value had no place.
"Hocheon leader, for the group's honor, richly compensate our precious members who sacrificed their warrior lives—their dantians."
"We are deeply grateful for the leader's benevolence!"
Not noble sacrifice, but pragmatic value. Hocheon knew this, fueling their desperation.
'Good.'
***
"Hyungnim!"
"What?"
"What did I do wrong?"
"You're innocent."
"Then why?"
"Success is stamina."
'I've never heard that one.' The protest fell on deaf ears.
Accepting hyungnim's suggestion to build stamina before proper studies had been a mistake. The line about great scholars mastering both civil and martial arts had appealed. Smart in books, strong in body. A scholar who looked frail but surprised with strength—the epitome of a hidden genius!
Looking back, it felt less suggestion, more command. Meeting hyungnim's eyes had crushed refusal. Only inevitability remained. In that moment, hyungnim was a divine incarnation.
"You've rested enough. Let's begin."
"My legs won't move."
"Want me to make them? It's not hard."
"Moving now."
Victory pose after jumping jacks. Odd for training, but he followed hyungnim.
The start was easy. I can do this, he thought—naively, as reality hit soon after.
Over ten, the strain and pain far exceeded imagination. Muscles tearing fiber by fiber.
"Light two hundred, then rest."
"...Nothing light about even one!!"
"Light."
Ten exhausted him; two hundred in fatigue? Death wouldn't surprise.
But he couldn't complain. A prepared instructor had just breezed through two hundred beside him.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
High-level mastery? For Ga-bok, it was routine. Basic compared to his hellish evolved jumping jacks cheer.
No clue where learned, but young master's lower body training was infernal.
Yet he couldn't quit.
'It builds a solid foundation.'
Brutal, but results shone. Morning thigh checks filled Ga-bok with pride. A man's symbol was thighs. Second young master would soon revel mornings too.
'Three cheers are a breeze now.'
Adapted, he now did them unprompted. Body reacted automatically. Skipping left him sluggish, tired. Plus, shared pain was halved—solo was dull; together, fun.
Ga-bok watched the second young master with eagle eyes.
"Young master, second young master's knees have loosened by an inch."
Bad form: invalid, plus one rep. Two hundred demanded perfect posture, zero error.
"Young master, second young master's breathing faltered by an inch."
Posture and breath were key. Ga-bok repaid what he'd endured. Second young master's pain was his joy.
The expressionless perfectionist twisted in agony—pure satisfaction.
"Excellent."
Cheon-woo rewarded diligent Ga-bok. Warriors craved advanced techniques.
"Handstand first, then reverse jumping jacks cheer."
"Wait, what?"
"Imbalance strains the body. Master it, and no man lacks."
"When do I learn martial arts then?"
"When feet move like hands."
Feet are feet, hands hands. How to handle business with feet? Ga-bok couldn't grasp equal utility.
Yet his body handstood, reversing jumping jacks.
Oddly, young master's serious commands rejected refusal. As if his flesh belonged to young master.
Ugh! Even one hurt. Anyone calling it mere inversion got their mouth torn. Too grueling.
Why? Breathing flowed backward. Layman in martial arts, but he knew breath was inner power's base.