Chapter 156: A Nonsense Dream or a Prophetic One?
Chapter 156: A Nonsense Dream or a Prophetic One?
Jin Ha-ryeong was being pursued.
Unable to shake her hunter, she finally channeled her lightness skill and leapt into the canopy of a towering tree. She crouched among the dense branches, stifling her breath, not daring to make a sound.
The pursuer sprinted past the tree, then skidded to a sudden, violent halt.
Like a predator catching a scent, the man slowly turned around. He tilted his head back, staring directly up into the leaves. His face was a terrifying void—a featureless, monstrous blank.
Ah! She tried to scream, but her throat was frozen. She threw herself from the branch and fled once more.
Just as the distance between them began to close, a figure suddenly blurred past her. The newcomer sprinted toward the monster and delivered a ruthless kick straight to its empty face.
With a dull thud, the faceless pursuer tumbled backward and vanished into nothingness.
The man who had saved her had long, flowing hair and a face obscured by a thick, unkempt beard. Where have I seen him before?
In the next heartbeat, the realization hit her.
“You’re that servant!”
The moment the words left her lips, Jin Ha-ryeong’s eyes snapped open. She had actually blurted the words aloud as she woke.
She rarely dreamed, and she had never experienced anything as bizarre as this. Her skin was drenched in sweat, her heart hammering as if she had truly been running all night.
Setting aside the nature of the chase, why on earth had that man appeared to save her? Was it simply because she’d been preoccupied with the fact that she’d mistaken a servant for his master the other day?
She recalled the bearded servant’s face. She had only seen him once, yet the memory was startlingly vivid. It was the exact face from her dream. Since she was usually terrible at remembering people, the clarity of his features felt unsettling.
“Are you alright?”
The voice of her guard, Chu Ho, drifted in from outside her door.
“I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”
“Your nerves must be frayed because of the Young Dragon Tournament, My Lady.”
“I suppose so.”
“Do not worry too much. No one can defeat you,” Chu Ho assured her.
“I’m going to rest more. Do not disturb me today.”
“Understood.”
However, a short while later, Jin Ha-ryeong slipped away from her quarters without Chu Ho’s knowledge. She found herself stepping back into the same inn where she had eaten noodles before.
The inn was packed. Everywhere she looked, the place bustled with martial artists gathered for the tournament.
Her eyes immediately landed on a man drinking alone in a corner. It was the servant from her dream. She had come here on a whim, thinking he might be present, and there he was.
She hadn't come for the noodles today. She wanted to see him—to confirm if he was truly the kind of person who belonged in her subconscious.
But she soon shook her head, letting out a self-mocking laugh. How ridiculous was it to come all this way to see a servant from some backwater sect just because of a dream? Just as she turned to leave, a voice called out from behind her.
“Are you here for the noodles again?”
She turned. The servant was standing, looking at her.
Because of his shout, the eyes of everyone nearby focused on her. A few people recognized her and looked visibly shocked. Realizing it would look even stranger if she fled now, she composed herself and walked over to his table, sitting down across from him.
Once seated, she ordered noodles and wine.
“I didn't think you would share a table with me,” he remarked.
“Why is that?”
“Because you learned last time that I am merely a servant.”
“Are you suggesting that because of my status, I wouldn't deign to eat with you?”
“Is that not the case?”
Seeing him ask so bluntly, the corners of Jin Ha-ryeong’s mouth curled into a thin smile. “It is.”
The man’s expression—one that clearly said I knew it—was so irritating that she felt compelled to continue.
“However, the reason isn't the status itself. It’s because people usually feel uncomfortable around me. When I sit in front of them, they find they can’t even swallow their food.”
“Ah, well, that’s a relief. I won’t feel uncomfortable at all.”
Jin Ha-ryeong stared at him. A servant acting this bold in front of the Murim Alliance Leader’s granddaughter? By now, he must know who I am.
He was a type she had never encountered. He was either incredibly ignorant or simply didn't care. Even the successors of the most prestigious Orthodox sects acted with extreme caution around her. They wouldn't even dream of asking such a sensitive question.
“You always seem to be alone,” he noted.
In truth, she didn't socialize well regardless of status. She preferred solitude and rarely enjoyed conversation. That was why her presence here felt so foreign even to herself. She had come because she thought her subconscious might have detected something special about him.
She stole another glance at him. His hair was unkempt, his beard was a mess, and his clothes were plain. There was truly nothing remarkable about him.
It was just a nonsense dream. Nothing more.
Whether he sensed her thoughts or not, the man remained at ease.
“Ah, my Young Master made it to the finals as well,” he said.
She had heard the rumors. Chu Ho had mentioned a dark horse causing an upset. It was likely some rural sect that had done nothing but train in seclusion, ignorant of the world’s power balance. That would explain how they had blundered their way into the finals. Looking at this man, who was naive to the point of being oblivious, she felt she could guess the atmosphere of his sect.
“The Young Master might end up facing you, My Lady. Oh, did you know? I heard people have actually died in the finals. Please, take good care of our Young Master!”
“For a martial artist to die on the stage is an honorable death,” she replied coldly.
“Isn't it a wrongful death rather than an honorable one?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no place safer for a martial artist than a sanctioned arena, is there? There are rules, a referee, and thousands of spectators. No one can launch a sneak attack. And yet, to die in such a controlled environment? Isn't that a terribly pathetic way to go?”
She felt his logic was sophistry, yet she couldn't find a rebuttal. She had never looked at it from that perspective.
“You speak like a martial artist,” she observed.
“I did learn some swordsmanship, after all.”
“You must have a generous master to teach swordsmanship to a servant.”
“Yes, I learned from a truly terrifying person. Probably the most terrifying person in the world.”
Jin Ha-ryeong scoffed inwardly. How many people has he even met to say such a thing? Has he ever encountered a true master? Then again, in whatever village he came from, his master might very well have been the local terror.
Her gaze shifted to the sword at the servant’s waist. “Why is the scabbard wrapped in cloth?”
It was bound tightly in common cotton. Usually, this was done for two reasons: by ronin traveling through harsh terrain to protect the wood, or by those seeking to hide a precious blade.
“I did it to look cool.”
“Then shouldn't you have wrapped it in fine silk?”
“It’s cool precisely because it’s not silk. The key is to look like you haven't tried too hard.”
As she looked at him in disbelief, the man went a step further.
“I heard Dongho Lake is beautiful. Would you mind showing me around sometime?”
He had to be insane. This was the moment where she should scream at him, demanding to know who a mere servant thought he was talking to.
Why am I just sitting here?
Is it because of the dream? No. She told herself it was because she didn't want to be the kind of arrogant brat who mistreated those of lower status. Her grandfather loathed it when his family became the subject of such gossip. Yes, that had to be it.
“Then, I will be sure to show you another scenic spot I know,” he added, as if her silence was an agreement.
Did this man truly believe such a moment would come? Just because they had shared a table twice, he was acting as if they were planning a sightseeing trip. She let out an involuntary sigh. It was her mistake for coming here.
“What is your name?” she asked, her voice laced with irritation.
“Just call me 'Servant,'” he replied.
This man was pushing her patience to the limit. “That would make me look far too ill-mannered.”
“It’s Geom Yeon. The 'Yeon' for smoke, not the one for fate. I’m just here for a bit, then I’ll vanish like smoke.”
The man gave a broad, easy grin. Jin Ha-ryeong thought he was certainly full of character for a mere servant.
Just then, someone called her name.
“Ha-ryeong.”
A young man approached. It was Song Tae-gun, the son of the Blue Dragon Unit Leader. He was her only real friend, having grown up with her since childhood. The moment she saw him, Jin Ha-ryeong felt a flash of flustered heat.
“You came for noodles,” Song Tae-gun said with a smile. He knew her tastes well.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I was passing by, and some customers mentioned you were inside. I see you’ve escaped Guard Chu again.” Song Tae-gun looked at the man sitting with her. “And who might this be?”
Jin Ha-ryeong hesitated, the words catching in her throat.
At that moment, the man stood and offered a formal fist salute.
“I am Geom Yeon of the West Blade Sect in Gansu. My senior brother has advanced to the finals.”
“Ah! The West Blade Sect? Then your senior must be Seo Dae-ryong?”
“That is correct.”
“I heard he’s been causing quite a stir. It is an honor to meet a disciple of such a remarkable sect.”
“My senior is indeed remarkable. I’m just here to cheer from the sidelines.”
“Young Hero Geom, you seem far more remarkable than your senior,” Song Tae-gun joked.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Are you not sitting here with my friend? Do you know how difficult that is? Even for me, a lifelong companion, getting her to share a meal is a challenge.”
Jin Ha-ryeong snapped at him, “Stop talking nonsense and go. I’ll see you later.”
Song Tae-gun looked like he wanted to linger, but seeing the cold aura radiating from Jin Ha-ryeong, he bid them a smiling farewell. “Let’s have a drink sometime, Young Hero Geom.”
“I would like that.”
Once Song Tae-gun was out of earshot, Jin Ha-ryeong turned on Geom Yeon.
“Why did you lie and say you were his junior disciple? Did you think I’d be embarrassed to be caught sitting with a servant?”
To be honest, she did feel that way. When Song Tae-gun asked, she had been momentarily paralyzed. She had hesitated to introduce him as a servant. He had hit the mark, and the sting of shame made her lash out.
“Strictly speaking, it wasn't a lie,” he said calmly. “I am a servant, but since I learned martial arts from the same sect, I am also a junior disciple, am I not?”
“One instance of sophistry is enough.”
Jin Ha-ryeong stood up abruptly and swept out of the inn.
That night, she had another nightmare.
This time, she was dangling from a jagged cliff. The servant appeared again, reaching out his hand to save her.
Waking at dawn, Jin Ha-ryeong looked down at her palm. The sensation of holding Geom Yeon’s hand was vividly etched in her mind. It felt less like a dream and more like a prophecy.
“You crazy woman, what is wrong with you?” she whispered to the empty room.
She knew the answer. It was because she was doing things she had never done in her life. She pulled the covers back over her head, but sleep refused to return.
*
Seo Dae-ryong’s first opponent in the finals was the successor of the Jangpyeong Sword House, a prestigious family from Fujian.
“Want to practice with me?” I asked.
“With you, Pavilion Master?”
Seo Dae-ryong was stunned. It was the first time I had ever offered to spar with him.
“It would be an honor.”
“Follow me.”
I took Seo Dae-ryong to the secluded mountain clearing where I usually trained.
“Even your choice of training grounds is different,” he remarked, looking around. “How did you find a place like this?”
It was a wide, open space enclosed by natural rock walls, with only one entrance. It was the perfect place for martial arts—one only had to worry about a single direction.
“Train here from now on,” I told him.
“No, you should be the one training here, Pavilion Master. The quality of our martial arts is worlds apart.”
“Is that so?”
“Pardon?”
“I think your training—staking your life and future on this tournament—is far more valuable. If you’re the heaven and I’m the earth, then I’ll accept that.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Seo Dae-ryong said, “but that doesn't change the order of heaven and earth. And even if it were flipped, I wouldn't feel particularly good about it.”
I smiled. Yes, this is the kind of man to have as a right hand. It wasn't just about strength. It was about having someone who made you feel good just by exchanging a few words—someone who spoke his mind with total sincerity.
“Did you see the successor of the Jangpyeong Sword House fight?” I asked.
“Yes. He was excellent.”
“Objectively speaking, you’re at a disadvantage.”
“Since you say so, Pavilion Master, I’m definitely going to lose.”
I nodded honestly. He couldn't overcome the difference in years of formal training. Furthermore, he hadn't fully inherited the Blood Heaven Blade Demon’s techniques yet, and he couldn't freely unleash his demonic energy in public. It was a difficult fight in every sense.
“Now, I’m going to mimic the techniques of the Jangpyeong Sword House. Consider me your opponent!”
“Yes, sir!”
I adopted the stance of the Jangpyeong successor and faced Seo Dae-ryong.
He lost again and again. I didn't go easy on him. With every round, more bruises bloomed across his body. There were moments when his life was genuinely in danger, but he refused to yield.
“Please, one more time!”
Seo Dae-ryong tried every method he could conceive. He exhausted every possibility, pushing his body to the limit. I silently repeated the duels, waiting for him to find the answer himself. I didn't give him the solution.
Even if he ended up losing the match, he had to find the path on his own. The mission was important, but this moment—a turning point in the life of 'Martial Artist Seo Dae-ryong'—was more vital.
We practiced through the night. By dawn, Seo Dae-ryong was exhausted, but his eyes held a light I had never seen before.
Four double-hours before the final match, I forced him to stop.
“Sleep,” I commanded, even though he insisted on training until the end.
Seo Dae-ryong, who claimed he wouldn't be able to sleep because his nerves were on edge, began snoring the moment his head hit the dirt. I woke him up half a double-hour before the match.
“Do you feel refreshed?”
“Yes. I feel like I might actually live. But Pavilion Master... what should I do?”
“Why?”
“I had a dream that I lost the match.”
Looking at Seo Dae-ryong’s miserable face, I grinned.
“Well then, shall we go find out if that was a nonsense dream or a prophetic one?”