Half Ganggi
Damn it all…
He had eaten the thing because he was starving, certain it was some heaven-sent opportunity. But no—it was yeong-gi. Spiritual energy.
It might not sound like a problem, yet even the finest opportunity in the world—swallowing the inner core of a legendary spirit beast, chewing down spiritual herbs—was no different from virulent poison if the body was unprepared or if one did not know how to handle it. Fail to refine it, and the meridians would burst. You would die.
Even for someone who had once worked with spiritual energy, the Jegal Mun-Hyeon of the present had no foundation ready to receive it. He had never formed a spiritual body.
According to the Ascension Method he had mastered in a previous life, one first had to pass through the refining process of returning the energy to purity through cultivation, then use that energy to form a yeong—a jade-like pearl. That creation was called the Origin Pearl in the Ascension Method: the bead that became the foundation upon which spiritual energy could be stored.
Pour spiritual energy into a body that had not yet formed an Origin Pearl, and the dantian could shatter. The sheer magnitude of the power was one issue; more critically, it was a force that ran on an entirely different track from internal energy, and the body simply could not endure it.
And Jegal Mun-Hyeon, having swallowed the bamboo rice, had just taken that monstrous power into himself.
Ascension was beside the point. He had to worry about dying on the spot.
There was only one way out. Since he could neither absorb it nor control it, he would have to force the spiritual energy into a separate space and seal it there.
But a human body was not a chest of drawers. How many spaces could there possibly be for stashing different kinds of power?
He would have to create a new one. The middle dantian—the chamber he had never opened for lack of internal energy.
At minimum, essence, qi, and spirit—the unity of body, mind, and will—had to become one. When a martial artist who had reached that stage circulated energy in meditation, three flower buds were said to bloom above the crown of the head: the Three Flowers Gathering at the Crown.
He had never seen it himself. How was he supposed to look at flowers blooming on his own head? Nobody held up a mirror during meditation. And unless you opened your eyes while circulating energy, you would not see them even if someone did. He only knew the saying because everyone else repeated it.
Ordinarily, that stage also brought Body Reformation. New wine in a new skin, as the saying went.
But he had nowhere near that kind of internal energy. He was only at the Intent stage… so he used the spiritual energy that had already entered his body.
Odds of success? He would have to try it before he could promise anything. It was the only method available. Even if it killed him, he had no choice but to attempt it.
After agonizing effort, he finally forced the middle dantian open and sealed the spiritual energy inside.
His entire body felt as if it were coming apart.
Because the method had not been proper, Body Reformation never came. Thank heaven for that. Only fools who knew nothing thought Body Reformation was a blessing. Had they ever felt their bones writhing of their own accord? Had they ever experienced their shell being peeled off whole? That was true hell.
In any case, he finished circulating his energy only after crossing the border between life and death several times over.
Yet when focus returned to his eyes, the world they reflected was wrong.
The bamboo forest…
It had been lush and green. Now only a dull, yellowed clay color remained—and within it, two figures.
Mujin?
It was him. And some bastard stood in front of the kneeling man, about to smash him across the head.
At that rate, his skull would split open.
In the span of a blink that stretched into an eternity, Mun-Hyeon’s eyes snapped fully open.
Mujin is going to die to some murdering thug?
His mind blazed clear. That filthy, dogshit son of a bitch—daring to kill the disciple who had inherited his final teachings?
Rage surged up so violently that Jegal Mun-Hyeon did not even stop to think. He seized the Eunhangon and swung.
A golden flash lanced out.
The man who took the sudden blow to the torso folded double and was hurled violently away.
But what was this?
A rush of power that had surged out of him—stronger than sword qi, weaker than true ganggi… a strange sensation altogether. The spiritual energy must have torn through his body so thoroughly that his internal energy had twisted into something bizarre.
Should he call this… half ganggi?
He could name it later.
Regardless—
“Mujin!”
Having driven the assailant back, Jegal Mun-Hyeon went straight to him.
“M-Mun-Hyeon gongja?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“Thank goodness. I’m so glad you woke in time.”
You idiot—is that what you say right now?
Mujin was already covered in blood. His hair hung wild; his clothes were caked with dirt and torn to rags. He did not even have the strength to stand. He kept letting his head droop as if lifting it were too much.
And still he said thank goodness…
Mun-Hyeon’s chest ached for no good reason. How could he not understand? Mujin had protected him. While Mun-Hyeon was deep in energy circulation, Mujin had fought the attacker so that he would not be harmed.
“I released the fourth seal, but it still wasn’t enough.”
“What?”
You crazy bastard. So he had decided to die.
How long had it even been since he unlocked the third seal, and he was already opening the fourth? Even a body of steel would not have endured it. His joints would have shattered piece by piece; his meridians would have burned as if cauterized. Mujin had fought through that pain—and the agony of his demonic nature had almost certainly been worse than anything the enemy inflicted.
“It was so hollow. So powerless. I never knew I was this weak…”
Despair filled his voice.
You’re not weak. That cursed bastard was strong. He might even have been a half-immortal.
Yet a faint smile still clung to Mujin’s lips—as if, even if he died, saving Jegal Mun-Hyeon was enough.
“He was strong. He didn’t even look human. He was… like a monster, like a demon… the line between good and evil was so thin I could barely see it.”
Mujin tried to describe the opponent he had faced.
“He was…”
Even unable to hold himself upright, he forced the words out. Jegal Mun-Hyeon frowned. He was trying to be useful somehow. Stupid kid…
“Rest for a while.”
“Gongja-nim.”
“That’s enough.”
At the light touch of Jegal Mun-Hyeon’s smiling hand, Mujin’s eyes slid shut. Mun-Hyeon had sealed his pressure points. In a state where even the strength to speak had to be conserved, there was no other choice. Then he restored the fourth seal. The demonic energy was spent for now, but once it began to fill again, Mujin’s present body would never be able to control it.
His teeth ground together.
Looking down at the peaceful face of the sleeping man, Mun-Hyeon felt a rage he had never known. This was the first time. The first time he had been saved by someone else.
Those damn orthodox bastards. Truly.
The children of the Jegal family were the same, and so was Mujin. Weak as they were, their sense of justice overflowed until they were all desperate to help, desperate to rescue.
It made him angry. Angry that he had leaned on someone. Angry that he had become someone else’s worry. Angry that his own weakness had finally become a burden on another.
With a face gone blank and hard, Jegal Mun-Hyeon turned his head.
“You… stay right there a moment.”
Where his glance fell, the man who had been struck by the force of the Eunhangon and driven into the ground was already rising and walking toward him. His skin was a deep, livid red, strange scale-like growths rising from it; a long beard hung from beneath his chin… Whether he was a man or an immortal was unclear, but that he was something that made Mun-Hyeon’s blood boil was certain.
Jegal Mun-Hyeon looked at him coldly, then gathered Mujin into his arms. He meant to fight, and he intended to move Mujin far from what would become the battlefield. Fortunately, the red-skinned man stopped walking and simply watched.
Laying Mujin down at a safe distance, Jegal Mun-Hyeon, face grim, carefully constructed formations. He laid a Diamond Formation close around the body, then a Nine-Section Defense Formation beyond that. And then again… he added formation after formation that could shield the interior from physical force—until not even a crawling ant would be able to touch Mujin’s body.
The assailant glanced over from time to time, but he never moved. He simply watched Mun-Hyeon work.
Gratefully… and infuriatingly…
Only when he felt a little more secure did Jegal Mun-Hyeon return and face the man.
“What the hell are you?”
The man spoke as if he had been waiting for that single question.
“Strange. Judging by the fact that you cannot even perform Tae-sik—Embryonic Breathing—you are no cultivator. So how did a human body manage to control the energy of the Spirit Chamber? And that power just now—what was it? Neither spiritual energy nor anything like it, and yet it struck my body. You truly are a bizarre creature.”
Geumri tilted his head and rambled on.
Cultivator? Tae-sik? Mun-Hyeon had no idea what he was talking about.
“Ugly bastard talks too damn much.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I’ve got plenty of questions for you too, now that we’ve met.”
The immortal of Dongho. He might know something about the Ascension Method. He might even be one of the half-immortals who had once come hunting Hyeoncheon. Mun-Hyeon had wanted to ask why they had tried to kill him—and what the true Ascension Method really was.
But his insides were boiling like water in a cauldron set over a roaring fire. The questions he wanted to ask, even his thoughts, would not line up. Something scorching kept surging up; he felt as if he would not cool down until he had torn the bastard’s limbs off and bathed in his blood.
To hell with it. He could find another one and ask. It didn’t have to be this one.
Sparks leapt in Jegal Mun-Hyeon’s eyes as he tightened his grip on the Eunhangon.
Hiss.
When he took a step, white steam rose from the ground as if the earth itself had been scorched.
“You immortal bastard.”
“……?”
“Take a beating first.”
No need for questions. He was known for being cold-blooded—and right now he was furious. Whether it was that bastard’s face or Mujin’s wounds, he could not say.
Killing intent coiled around his body like a savage whirlwind and then exploded outward. Tendons stood out stark along his forearms. Step by step, slowly, without setting any limit, he unleashed his energy until a vast pressure crushed the space around them—comparable to the Dominion Step of his previous life. The symbol of fear. Absolute dignity made flesh.
He did not have the power he had possessed then; he could not warp space itself. But the fury and the aura in those mad eyes were the same as when ten thousand demons had prostrated themselves and the world had trembled.
Boom!
He stopped at a proper distance, lowered into a blade-ready stance. As the internal force pouring into the Eunhangon passed its limit, Jegal Mun-Hyeon’s eyes turned as clear as glass beads while he stared at Geumri.
And then—
“Pfft. What exactly do you think you’re doing? Trying to avenge that one from earlier?”
Of course he was. When a younger brother is struck, the elder steps forward. When a son is struck, the mother does. When a disciple is struck, the master does.
“Don’t. Just because one attack happened to land by chance does not mean a mere human can fight a cultivator.”
An infuriating bastard to the last. Mun-Hyeon still did not know what a cultivator was supposed to be, but talking as if he had already won before the fight even started—
“You measure long and short by crossing blades, you son of a bitch!”
The foot that had been pressing the ground lifted. The power he had gathered, held down, and compressed exploded like a volcano.
Heavenly Premonition Steps unfurled at their peak, and the Eunhangon, following the path of his hands, contained every form of the Lesser Heavenly Star Sword.
“Insignificant creature…”
A thin smile on his lips, Geumri unleashed a dragon’s cry and swept his hand through the air. Wind rose; dirt and stone mixed thickly and came flying like hidden weapons.
His body was cut. Stones struck him and throbbed. But there was no such thing as a battle won without wounds.
Jegal Mun-Hyeon swung the Eunhangon toward the place where he felt the enemy’s energy, with the force of a single stroke that would cleave all things in two.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
The wind was sheared apart. Stones shattered. And still his vision remained blocked. The enemy attacked from within the dust he himself had raised, as if hiding inside it, riding the wind.
Countless times already. Mun-Hyeon swung until his arms felt ready to fall off, yet nothing met the Eunhangon. The bastard dodged like a rat.
But if one swing was not enough, he would swing twice. He would stack flash upon flash, and if that still fell short, he would add hands and feet.
Today, no matter what happened, he intended to thrash this dog of a bastard until the dust flew even in the rain.
Whether the thing was human or not. Cultivator or half-immortal.
A man who always achieved what he set out to do. A man who, once he fixed on a goal, knew no path but the straight line forward.
That was who he was—Jegal Mun-Hyeon, who had once been the Heavenly Demon.