Rehabilitation Training (1)
“I’ll stand guard for you!”
Three days had passed. Hye-ryeong spoke up the moment she saw how visibly I’d recovered. I nodded at her offer without hesitation.
It wasn’t the kind of meditation that required a guard, but having one was still better than nothing.
I tore my eyes away from her back and settled into a cross-legged position. Even knights in the West sometimes meditated this way. Not all of them, of course, but when the body sought the most natural posture, it often ended up here.
Isn’t this what they call “all paths lead to the same destination” in murim?
...Enough. Stop overthinking and just meditate.
I began slow, measured breaths. Mana breathing—the same process the East called tonap. My mana core was completely empty, so I had to gather aura first. Circulating through the full heavenly circuit was out of the question.
Inhale. Exhale.
With each simple motion, mana from the surroundings began to flow into my nostrils. It felt faintly alien.
Was this the difference between Western and Eastern mana?
At least it wasn’t so incompatible that breathing itself became impossible. That was a relief. If the arts I’d learned had been unusable here, I would’ve been in serious trouble. I was at the Peak realm by murim standards; being told to start from scratch would have been hell.
Even if I joined the Haenam Sword Sect as a disciple, I wouldn’t magically learn practical swordsmanship with the press of a button like in a game…
...That’s enough for now.
I ended the meditation and checked my condition. A trace of aura had returned, bringing a faint vitality back to my body. I tried standing up slowly. Everything ached, but I could manage. Then I took a step forward. Walking was fine. Running still felt awkward, but possible.
Yeah. A knight really does need aura.
“Ah, are you all right? Shouldn’t you stay seated a little longer?”
“I’m fine. Don’t make a fuss.”
“You’re really tall up close!”
She barely reached my chest—about a foot of difference. I gauged the gap while looking down at her.
Pretty normal, all things considered. I was already on the taller side even among Westerners. Back when I first possessed this body, people had called me a beanpole.
“Does this mean you can walk around outside now?”
“Who knows. That’s not up to me—it’s up to the sect leader.”
Wandering freely through another sect’s grounds was considered rude in murim, wasn’t it? Even with Hye-ryeong shielding me, there was no need to draw unnecessary stares. I was still an outsider, after all.
Until my body fully recovered, I had to be careful.
“Then I’ll go ask Master for permission!”
Hye-ryeong darted out of the room in an instant. I’d only dropped the bait and she’d already taken it. I sat back down on the wooden platform with a sigh. Standing too long still left my body heavy.
“Feels like the old days…”
It had been the same two years ago.
Like I’d gone back to being a bottom-rung recruit.
A strange feeling washed over me as I opened and closed my fist.
Permission came faster than expected.
A few areas were off-limits, but that was only natural. I had no reason to visit the elders’ quarters or the archive holding the sect’s secret manuals. I didn’t plan on trying to access them later, either. Stealing them wouldn’t let me learn anything, and getting caught would make me a public enemy of the righteous sects. The mere accusation of stealing from the Nine Great Sects was reason enough for that.
“This is the dining hall!”
I looked around the hall Hye-ryeong led me to after passing several nameless buildings. Mealtime had already ended, so it was mostly empty, though not completely deserted. I ignored the occasional glances and followed her inside.
She guided me straight to a suitable seat. As the sect leader’s youngest disciple, she moved without hesitation. I watched her with mild disbelief, noting how little she seemed to care about others’ opinions.
“Cook! Two servings over here!”
“Got it! Wait right there—I’ll whip up a feast even the Son of Heaven would be shocked by!”
A hearty laugh echoed through the hall.
“Cook Jeong’s food is amazing! And he always gives generous portions…”
I half-listened to Hye-ryeong’s chatter while scanning the room. Whether she noticed or not, everyone inside was watching me while pretending not to. The awkwardness in the air was palpable.
Most gazes were curious, though a few carried clear wariness. Only natural, given I was an outsider—and a saekmok-in at that. I paid them no mind and turned back to Hye-ryeong.
“Yesterday I was with my senior and Disciple Myeong-un…”
“Who’s Disciple Myeong-un?”
Another unfamiliar name. I didn’t know the Haenam Sword Sect’s disciples.
“He’s Elder Cheon’s disciple! He’s friends with my senior…”
“Youngest! Are you bothering the guest again?”
The cook’s shout cut through Hye-ryeong’s endless chatter. She puffed out her cheeks in protest.
“I’m not bothering him! He’s a guest, so I’m just being hospitable…”
“You’re making him uncomfortable. Sometimes knowing when to stay quiet is part of proper hospitality!”
“R-really? Ah, sir, you… you don’t actually dislike my talking, do you…?”
Hye-ryeong glanced at me nervously.
“I’m enjoying it, so don’t worry about it.”
Since the sect leader had asked me to look after her, I couldn’t exactly tell her to shut up. Besides, her chatter was genuinely helpful—it gave me information about the sect.
I didn’t know if I needed to memorize every minor relationship in Haenam, but… it might come in handy someday. No harm in remembering.
“I brought plenty, so eat up! With that frame of yours, you’ll need a lot to keep it going!”
“Thank you.”
Can I even finish all this?
A lavish spread appeared before me alongside the cook’s booming laugh. Far too much food for just the two of us. I reached for the tower of dumplings first—the safest option among all the unfamiliar dishes.
After a few tries, I managed to pick up a fist-sized dumpling and took a bite. Rich, oily meat filled my mouth.
Delicious.
The seasoning was strong, but that made sense for a martial artist’s meal. People who trained and sweated every day needed plenty of salt.
I moved on from the dumplings, sampling one unknown dish after another. Many looked too heavy for a patient, but my Westerner’s stomach was sturdier than it had any right to be. If this much food could upset it, I would’ve died long ago.
I kept eating until nearly everything on the table was gone.
“That was excellent.”
“Wow, you’re really good with chopsticks! I heard foreigners aren’t great with them!”
“I learned from a Central Plains friend.”
“You’ve got quite the appetite!”
“It’s been two years since I last had a proper meal.”
Eating real food in medieval Europe had been harder than watching Muslims beg for their lives during the Granjean massacres. Rock-hard bread. Oat porridge. A few pathetic scraps of meat floating in soup with tiny vegetable pieces. Getting enough meat even once a month was rare. After becoming a slave, it had been nothing but oat gruel.
This was the first real meal I’d had since possessing this body.
Murim was the best.
One more reason to bury my bones here.
“You’ve been through a lot! Come back anytime you’re hungry—I’ll cook you another feast!”
“Thank you.”
“Then let’s go for a walk!”
Hye-ryeong sprang to her feet like a puppy begging for a walk. I didn’t mind. I needed to digest anyway, and it was a good chance to scout the sect’s layout. If possible, I wanted to borrow a wooden sword from her too. I couldn’t get an arming sword or bastard sword here, so I had to get used to murim blades as soon as possible. Even if it meant pushing myself, I needed to regain my feel for combat.
“Do you think I could use the training ground?”
“The training ground?”
“I haven’t moved properly in too long. I want to loosen up a bit.”
“The outer training ground should be free at this hour! I’ll take you there!”
“Thanks.”
Our next destination was decided.