Dojeong Ironworks
Even after becoming the alley boss, Gu-sam never neglected his practice in fist and foot techniques.
“Is your arm all right?”
“Yes. It’s healed.”
Gu-sam casually swung his once-broken left arm through the air. His punches shot out and drew back cleanly, and the way he linked them into kicks was already decent.
Children healed quickly, the body keeping pace with each passing day as it grew. Still, if he hadn’t been treated in time, he would have been hovering at death’s door, and there was no way he would have recovered this fast.
“That doctor’s good.”
“Right? Old Man Seong at the clinic gave me needles every day and had me drink medicinal broth too. Ugh, you have no idea how bitter that stuff was. If I hadn’t hated drinking it so much, I probably wouldn’t have gotten up and started walking again so fast.”
It was an almost offensively spoiled complaint.
No matter how cheap the ingredients were, a single pot of medicine still cost dozens of coins. And it wasn’t like one or two doses would do the job.
For poor commoners, life meant lying sick and miserable without even being able to afford a single prescription, right up until the threshold of the underworld came into view.
Even getting acupuncture wasn’t cheap.
If the doctor hadn’t been a quack but an actually capable physician, then they would have burned through at least one or two silver taels. There was no way Gu-sam had paid that money himself.
“Be good to the innkeeper.”
“Yes. Once I make it big, I’ll really repay that kindness properly.”
Gu-sam and Bang Ho-jin trained in their footwork and fist techniques with dust flying everywhere.
I couldn’t help laughing at how the whole place had turned into a kind of rural martial hall, but then I found myself thinking.
What if I had refused when Gu-sam asked me to teach him how to fight?
Gu-sam would still have been getting beaten around, and the former alley boss, Bang Ho-jin, would never have been brought down.
Jang Ho-dal would never have found an excuse to beat Gu-sam either.
And if that had happened, I would never have learned that Jang Ho-dal had joined the Black Night Gang and was grinding his teeth, waiting for a chance to take revenge on me.
Not until the night he came charging into my home with a handful of Black Night Gang killers.
Even if I had somehow stopped that, the Black Night Gang would never have left me alone. I might have ended up fighting to protect the house until I died, or been forced to leave my hometown again.
Or maybe nothing would have happened at all.
Jang Ho-dal had only seventy copper coins in his purse. You don’t win money at a tile game unless you have skill.
Even if he had kept grinding his way through the gambling dens until his back bent and his hair turned white, it wouldn’t have been easy for him to scrape together even two silver taels for room and board.
Even on the day he was practically stripped bare, two robbers had still followed him. And even if money had somehow favored him and he had swept the table in a miraculous hot streak, he probably would still have been stabbed in his sleep and dropped dead.
And yet, looking only at the result, it was because he had helped Gu-sam that I had escaped disaster too.
When I thought about it that way, the cause and effect of life really was strange and uncanny.
At the same time, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
My hometown was no longer safe. From here on out, there would be more trouble with evil men like Jang Ho-dal, more grudges waiting to be drawn.
I thought of the two pathetic idiots who had been with him at the inn.
They were nothing special, and I hadn’t been the one who beat them personally. Men like that had no loyalty strong enough to risk their lives for revenge over a companion.
Jang Ho-dal had died in a robbery-murder. If anyone was going to be hunted for the killing, it would be the men who stole his clothes and saber.
Just to be sure, I checked around town, and as expected, that was how it had gone.
Jang Ho-dal’s corpse had been left in the back alley exactly as it was when the constables found it in the afternoon on patrol.
The officers called people over and identified the body, already swarming with flies laying eggs in the flesh.
Once it became clear he was just a filthy thug with no backing worth worrying about, they tossed him onto a cart and dumped him in the mountains. They didn’t even bother trying to find the killer.
There was nothing more to think about, but it still felt wise to stay prepared.
On a clear morning without a single cloud in the sky, I took out my saber, held it up to the light, and carefully checked the blade.
Washed with lye to strip away the smell of blood and polished with lamp oil until it gleamed, the blade still had nicks scattered across it.
About two handspans back from the tip, a fine crack had been running along the steel. That was the part I had repaired a year ago.
I hadn’t bought this saber with money.
I had come by it by chance in Jiangxi, about half a year after learning the Nameless Saber Technique in Zhejiang.
The hilt and sheath were plain and black, but the blade was long and narrow with a gentle curve, well suited to a saber style built around cutting.
It fit my height and arm length perfectly, and whenever I used the Nameless Saber Technique with it, it always felt as though the saber produced more force than my own skill should have allowed.
The balance was good too, so even after long bouts of swinging it, my wrist and shoulder didn’t tire as badly.
A sharp weapon was always destined to break someday when it was hammered and crossed in the middle of a bloody fight.
It had picked up nicks and cracked a few times over, but I hadn’t been able to find a replacement saber, so I’d kept repairing it and using it.
That seemed to have reached its limit now.
Feeling reluctant, I gripped the blade on both sides and pressed. The fine crack split open with a sharp sound.
On the day I had ambushed Jang Ho-dal, it had only collided once with a broadsword and cut through a body, and even so it had ended up like this.
Next time, it was bound to break. If I didn’t want to regret it after taking a blade to the body, I had better put aside my attachment and get a new one.
The dagger with the hand-length blade was still fine.
The cowhide chest protector that had taken several stray blades for me over the last two years was so heavily patched and stitched that it hung in tatters.
If I forced myself to wear it, it would only be uncomfortable; I couldn’t expect the kind of protection it had once given me.
My final hidden trick was a bamboo tube about as thick as two finger joints.
It didn’t look like much, but it was a lifesaver that had pulled me out of danger more than once when I’d been cornered on all sides.
I filled it with lime powder, sealed it with cloth and candle wax, and hid it on my left arm. Whenever I was surrounded and the situation turned desperate, I would swing my arm and fling the lime powder into the faces of the men rushing at me from the sides or behind.
It wouldn’t kill them, but it worked beautifully.
Once it got in the eyes, that was the end of it. If white powder suddenly sprayed through a fight, everyone would think it was poison and back off in panic, ruining the attack.
Then, while the powder was still settling, they wouldn’t dare come close. I would take down the man in front of me and slip away fast while the enemy hesitated.
A lifesaving trick didn’t need to be grand or flashy.
Anything that could catch the other side off guard and make them hesitate would do. It could be a provocation that asked after their parents and stirred them up, or it could be a handful of shit thrown in their face.
The bamboo tube was filled with lime powder, wrapped in cloth, and sealed with candle wax.
I tied the tube to my left arm, strapped the dagger to my ankle, hung my longsword at my back, and took my purse before leaving the house.
*
In the old days, my hometown didn’t have a single blacksmith shop.
Whenever a farm tool broke and needed repair or replacement, you had to travel a long way to the nearest city.
Now there were no fewer than three smithies. Two of them made farm tools.
There was only one place that specialized in swords and blades.
Dojeong Ironworks
The sound of hammering rang loud as I stepped into the alley. Business seemed good, because the ironworks building looked fairly respectable.
The main gate was closed, and beyond the sales counter beside it, the hot interior of the workshop was clearly visible.
Four blacksmiths were gathered around the anvil, hard at work.
A middle-aged man in his prime years examined the state of a block of metal and turned it this way and that with tongs, while the other three took turns hammering it.
They must have worked together for a long time, because the rhythm was seamless, natural as water flowing downhill.
With every strike, the red-hot surface of the metal split and bursts of sparks flew in all directions.
It was always a sight worth watching, and while I stood there quietly taking it in, a young blacksmith walked over.
“Welcome. Looking for something in particular?”
His sleeves were rolled up. Beneath them, the muscles of his bronzed, sun-darkened arms stood out in rough ridges. He had a solid build and broad shoulders.
He looked exactly like a martial artist who had trained in external hardening.
He might really have been training in it, too. A smithy was a business that dealt with martial artists, after all.
When you were selling weapons to ruthless bastards who had no qualms about running off with your money, picking fights, forcing their way through with sheer bluster, and outright extortion, it was essential to have some measure of force yourself.
I turned my back, drew my saber, and held the blade out with both hands.
“Can you repair this?”
The young blacksmith narrowed his eyes as he checked the crack.
“Boss! Could you come take a look here?”
After finishing what he was doing, the middle-aged man shoved the metal back into the furnace and stood up.
He had the square, hardened face of a man who had spent his entire life working iron.
The ironworks master wiped the sweat from his face and took the saber in hand. His eyes gleamed with interest as he gauged its weight and examined the blade.
“A two-handed saber... Haven’t seen one of these in a long time.”
“Can it be repaired?”
The ironworks master shook his head at once.
“I could force it back together, but the moment it strikes another weapon, it’ll shear apart worse than before. If you don’t want to earn the resentment of the man using it, I’d advise against such a foolish job.”
“Do you have a saber this length in the ironworks?”
“None like this. The blade is similar to a willow-leaf saber, but this one’s much longer and the spine is thicker. The curve is steeper too. It would carry a strike beautifully. Jong-su, bring me that one we made before. The two-handed willow-leaf saber.”
The young blacksmith who had greeted me went inside and came back carrying several sabers.
“This is the longest blade we’ve got in the ironworks.”
I took the willow-leaf saber, turned, thrust toward the entrance, and swung it around a few times.
Just from how well the balance was set, I could tell these smiths were skilled. The hilt was also long enough to grip with both hands.
But the spine was thin, so it didn’t carry force as well as my saber. The reach of the tip was also about a handspan shorter. If I had to relearn my sense of distance in actual combat, it would be a real headache.
The other broadsaber they showed me was about the same length as the willow-leaf saber, but only the tip curved slightly.
“Would it be all right if I looked around a bit?”
“Show the customer around.”
“This way, please.”
Following Jong-su, I passed through the workshop and entered the inner room.
Every wall was packed tight with all kinds of blades. There were only a few swords; the rest were all sabers.
The first thing that caught my eye was an absurdly large greatsaber. Then there was a broad saber so bulky I couldn’t even tell whether it was a blade or a crescent halberd. The tiger-tail saber was sleek enough, but that was all it had going for it. I didn’t like the shape, and the hilt was too short.
Most of the display rack was taken up by broadswords of various sizes.
“You’ve got a lot of broadswords.”
“They sell best.”
“Our main customer is Yongcheon Escort Agency, and most of the escorts buy broadswords.”
The broadsword was a weapon favored by small fry and low-level thugs in the jianghu. I had never seen any real experts using one.
It was the right length, easy to carry, and it was perfect for men who had never even smelled actual martial arts and only knew how to bludgeon forward with brute force.
It was also good for butchering pigs and chickens, cutting food, and chopping wood, so it made sense for escorts to prefer them.
Even when the blade picked up nicks or cracks, its broad body meant it was unlikely to break.
But if it met a true expert or an experienced blade user, all of those advantages turned into weaknesses that shortened its life.
As the edge widened toward the tip, the center of gravity moved farther from the hand. It was good for swinging with force, but poor for rapid changes of direction.
That also made its reactions slower, and its patterns easier to read.
Just by looking at it, I could tell it was more than a handspan shorter than the saber I usually used, so I had no interest in it. Then something unexpected caught my eye.
“That’s a nine-ring saber. May I look at it?”
“Right here.”
The nine-ring saber Jong-su took down from the rack was no different from a broadsword. The only difference was that holes had been punched through the spine and nine rings attached.
I took the nine-ring saber into the yard and gave it a light swing. Suddenly I thought of the legendary rumors I had once heard in Zhejiang about the Divine Wind Nine-Ring Saber.
On impulse, I stamped my right foot into the ground, twisted my lower body and torso together, and slashed out with the broadsword. As I snapped my wrist, the rings rattled wildly.
When the thrust was done, I stared hard at the rings. Unlike the rumor, nothing happened. I tried it a few more times, but it was the same.
Well, of course it was. This wasn’t the Divine Wind Nine-Ring Saber.
Feeling awkward for no reason, I grabbed one of the rings with my hand and tugged it.
“Why are the rings attached to this thing?”
“Because it’s a nine-ring saber.”
That wasn’t wrong. It was a nine-ring saber because it had nine rings on it. Just as a martial artist was a martial artist if he killed people and took their money.
I looked everything over, but there wasn’t a single blade I really liked. In the end, I decided to order one made for me.
“Could you make a new one exactly like this?”
Staring at my saber, the ironworks master nodded.
“Yes. Give me a month, and that should be enough.”
“A whole month? If you melt this blade down and use it, you wouldn’t even need to refine the steel.”
Knocking a finger against the saber’s blade, the ironworks master narrowed his eyes.
“Even if I use the iron here, this is still something I’ve never made before, so I’ll need to study it a bit. Where did you get this?”
“I happened to get it by chance.”
The way martial artists acquired weapons was obvious enough. They bought them, or they killed someone and took them.
The ironworks master must have guessed as much, because he didn’t ask any further about the source.
“Whoever made it, he was quite a skilled swordsmith. With a saber this long, the balance usually leans toward the tip, but this one holds itself in perfect equilibrium. The blade is narrower than most sabers too, yet it offsets the weight created by its length just right. Even so, the edge itself is remarkably strong.”
I knew that already. Over the last few years, I’d had more than enough chances to experience and test the strengths and flaws of this saber.
That was precisely why I wasn’t just buying another one and was trying to have a new blade made instead.
“It looks like the maker reduced the width of the blade and instead altered the strength of the edge and the spine that bears the force of clashes with other weapons so the blade wouldn’t chip or break...”
Listening to the ironworks master’s meticulous, admiring analysis, I began to feel a little uneasy.
“Is it... difficult to make the same one?”
Offended by my lack of faith, the ironworks master frowned and glared at me.
“No. It’s possible. It just takes a lot of work.”
“How much will it cost?”
The ironworks master thought for a moment before speaking.
“Leaving aside the iron, I’ll take exactly five silver taels for the labor.”
Any martial artist who didn’t know the market would probably be furious and call it absurdly expensive, but custom work was always like that.
Even blacksmiths who truly knew how to make swords and blades were rare.
If you were foolish enough to chase only the cheapest place and your blade snapped, leaving you to die in vain, the money left in your purse would just go to someone else.
If you wanted to keep roaming the martial world for long, you could go hungry, but you had better carry a weapon that wouldn’t fail you.
“All right.”
I couldn’t go around barehanded until the saber was finished. I needed something decent to wear at my side.
Without much to think about, I chose the willow-leaf saber they had shown me first, the one most similar to my old blade.
“Five silver taels.”
The willow-leaf saber had no patterning at all, on the blade or the sheath. There was nothing special about the steel either.
And yet it still cost five silver taels. Of course, I wasn’t being ripped off.
A useful weapon normally started at two or three taels. It took a lot of steel, and a master smith’s labor cost a lot too.
“When I come back for the saber I ordered, can I sell this one back to you?”
“Of course. Since the price is the same, you can hand this over and take the saber. Of course, if the blade is nicked or damaged, you’ll have to pay extra.”
“Fine. Do you happen to have something like a chest protector?”
It might seem unlikely they’d have one here, but the cowhide chest protector I had used before had also been bought from a smithy in Hunan.
I had heard that in Jiangxi, where evil sects held sway, blacksmiths secretly made lamellar armor and repeating crossbows while evading the government’s gaze.
Seochon did not seem to be at that level yet.
“A chest protector? You mean armor? There’s no way a blacksmith shop would have something like that. We’re not the army.”
“Good to hear.”
I paid the five silver taels and strapped the willow-leaf saber to my waist.
It was shorter than my old saber and balanced differently, so it felt quite unfamiliar, but if I carried it long enough I would get used to it.
Since I was already in town, I decided I might as well have some tea before leaving, so I headed out to the street and made my way toward Poongcheon Inn.