Chapter 124
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 124
Chapter Title: Disciple
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Of course, even So-hyang didn't just toss the young boy straight into the underground arena the moment he became her disciple.
First, she coolly demolished the shack where the siblings lived, then processed the firewood she'd chopped earlier as a demonstration and built them a proper house.
Next, she fitted out clean bedding, leisurely filled the children's bellies, and let them rest.
"...Is it really okay for us to eat this?"
"Oppa, quit your bullshit and eat while you can."
"No, hey! Manners exist for a reason...!"
"Exactly. I went to the trouble of preparing it, so if you act all burdened, it makes me sad. Eat up and enjoy it."
For the boy, she served the dongpo pork and meat noodles he'd always craved, along with a whole roasted pig.
"...Hold on, a whole pig?"
"Aw, c'mon, it's just a piglet. At your age, you gotta polish off this much."
"...A whole pig, you say?"
For his little sister, Mok Dang-hwa, she prepared relatively mild porridge and broths, taking her weakened stomach into account, plus softly boiled vegetables and meat.
"I... I kinda can't eat any more..."
"Now, now, you have to eat well to get healthy. Just ten more spoonfuls?"
"...Isn't that a ladle?"
She hauled out all the top-quality ingredients she'd stashed in bulk in her White Realm spatial storage and fully replenished their nutritional deficiencies with her full culinary prowess.
"Master, enough already... No, don't give me that pitiful look—I'll eat, I'll eat...!"
"Heeeek, heeeeeek... Can't fit another bite..."
There were a few minor whimpers and groans, but nothing serious.
Then she filled the tub with warm water, soaped them up, and scrubbed their bodies clean.
"Nuuuuueeeeng..."
"Ahaha, feels good, doesn't it?"
For the sister, she gently massaged away the bedsores from years of lying down, along with her weakened joints and muscles, to reshape her body.
"Kuaaaaaah!!!"
"Oh dear, those muscles are seriously knotted. Let me loosen them up nice and refreshingly?"
For her disciple, she tenderly nursed the worn-down cartilage and torn muscle fibers from extreme overexertion.
A nonstop parade of luxuries they'd never experienced—or even dreamed of—in their lives. In just a few days, the siblings' complexions improved dramatically.
Fluffy, vibrant skin; glossy, flowing hair; naturally corrected posture in their waists and shoulders.
Once she'd bought them new clothes to wear, they looked so respectable that no one would ever guess they were back-alley born.
The boy's sister, Mok Dang-hwa, stared at the bronze mirror So-hyang had given her, unable to hide her bewilderment.
"Eh... this is... me?"
From the moment she could remember, her appearance had been like a withered, scrawny tree.
Her base features were decent enough to draw leers from the black path thugs, but her frail health ruined it.
Dry, cracked skin; prominent dark circles under her eyes; hollow, vacant gaze—an utterly unappealing girl.
Now she could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the pampered girls from wealthy homes she'd secretly envied.
Meanwhile, the boy—Mok Chong—was awestruck for a slightly different reason.
"...My wrist... doesn't hurt?"
Detecting and scouting foes could be patched over with divine sense somehow, but bearing those near-miraculous feats fell squarely on the boy's body.
Day after day, he'd unleashed handiwork and footwork more fluid and stealthy than your average warrior just to steal and survive—pure self-abuse.
Chronic aches and bone-deep fatigue had become his daily companions at some point, but now they were gone, clean as could be.
All in three days.
The sun had set and risen just three times, yet every trace of their gutter-struggle lives had been wiped away.
The culmination of every scrap of knowledge So-hyang possessed: rehabilitation, physical therapy, spiritual energy qi treatment, medicinal cooking—all mobilized and synthesized.
"Phew, now you look presentable!"
Seeing the kids plump up and brimming with vitality, So-hyang swept the siblings into a tight, adoring hug.
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The immediate crisis was averted, and his sister's treatment would proceed gradually over time.
Which left one task: train the boy and guide him to revenge.
"Come at me."
"...Pardon?"
"We'll start with sparring. Come in earnest."
"...Pardon?"
So-hyang crooked a finger toward the small dagger tucked in the boy's bosom.
"R-Really... fight for real?"
An awkward grip and stance, uneasy eyes—the picture of what happens when you hand a kid that age a live blade...
"Of course. Go all out—with killing intent—"
She was diving into real combat from the jump because she'd pierced the mask and seen the beast slumbering beneath.
In moments, the boy's eyes shifted. Like a feline predator, he sprang elastically off the ground, lunging at So-hyang with bared fangs.
No yells, no emotional flare-ups. Divine sense fully extended to lock on the foe, then a razor-sharp strike at the instant's gap.
In that, So-hyang saw the boy's life story.
"Hoo."
Orphaned young, no reliable backing, plunged into the back alleys.
Not solo—he had a sister, a glaring weakness to protect.
And she was a strikingly pretty girl, bedridden invalid to boot.
He'd bowed and scraped as low as possible to survive, but he'd been backed into no-retreat corners more times than he could count.
What choice was there? When push came to shove, you bite.
Cornered rat bites the cat; tiny dagger severs the enemy's windpipe.
Always the underdog against bigger kids or adults, he'd internalized the truth: kill or be killed.
"Hahk, hahk, hahk...!"
"Alright, that's enough."
Every desperate thrust and swing of his dagger cleaved only empty air.
Maxed-out focus in such a brief clash had left his body and clothes soaked in sweat.
Too drained to stand, he collapsed. Smiling beside him, So-hyang nodded in satisfaction.
"Impressive as expected. You've got real talent."
"...Not even a graze?"
"Hm? For my disciple—who hasn't learned proper martial arts—slicing my hem would be the weird part."
The praised boy looked far from satisfied, unaware of what So-hyang meant by "talent."
Not qi-absorbing innate frame or constitution, nor comprehension for formulas, nor martial prowess—but purer, essential martial talent.
A few swings in, utterly spent; he'd instinctively funneled every ounce of bodily reserves into that one burst.
In a word: a gift for desperate, do-or-die brawls.
"Your habit of thrashing wildly in bad spots makes stamina management iffy... but this passes muster."
Flat on his back, catching his breath, the boy had a more pressing question.
The tales street storytellers spun of murim folk; the raw stuff behind black path warriors' superhuman feats.
"...So, no internal arts manual?"
He'd be lying if he claimed he hadn't hoped for some cliffside cave elixir yielding a peerless heart method and a millennium's worth of inner power.
"Ah, our school's arts are a bit unique? You can't build inner power in your current state."
Hardly a full school—no faction name even—just the broad strokes of a sword path lineage.
Entry demanded not dantian formation or qi pathway setup for inner power, but acquiring a weapon that made one half-body, half-god.
"I'll forge your weapon later. For revenge right now, do it as a plain mortal."
"...Pardon?"
The boy doubted his ears.
So this master before him was saying...
"Fight the Black Snake Sect without martial arts?"
"Yep? They're not exactly crawling with transcendent masters. Should be fine."
"???"
He stared So-hyang down, wondering if she was for real.
"Hm? Something wrong?"
Realizing she was dead serious, he started seriously regretting becoming her disciple.
"Now I've gauged my disciple's level, shall we find a fitting real-combat opponent?"
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"Waaaaaah!!! Kill him!!!"
"Fuck! That bastard copied him and got his wrist sliced!! Slice the little shit's wrist too!!!"
"Heeey!!! I bet on you!! Pull off an upset!!!"
In the end, the boy got hurled right into the heart of the underground arena.
"Dog... f-fuck..."
Is this for real?
[Hey, focus on the opponent right in front of you! One slip and your head gets smashed?]
Really, is this for real?