The Elite Few
The eyes of the applicants waiting at the back went wide with astonishment.
“The Commander himself?”
“Why... and against the Sword Idiot, of all people?”
“What in the world is happening all of a sudden?”
Amidst their bewildered murmurs, Dokgo Jin stood face-to-face with Lee Cheongil.
“Lee Cheongil, why did you apply to our squad?”
Lee Cheongil swallowed hard before replying.
“Because the swordsmanship the Dragon Tiger Plaque Master—no, the Mad Tiger Squad Leader—displayed against the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader left a deep impression on me.”
While not an untruth, his decisive reason lay elsewhere. The 'Sword Idiot' Lee Cheongil was nothing more than an outer court guard. For someone of his modest station, becoming a warrior in an elite combat unit under the Five Banners of Northern Heaven was an extraordinary opportunity—a gamble where he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Then all the more reason to test your blade against mine, wouldn't you say?”
Lee Cheongil froze. “That is...”
“Let us make a wager. If you can show me proper swordsmanship against me, I will accept you into the squad on the spot.”
At Dokgo Jin's offer, Lee Cheongil bit his lower lip.
“...Understood.”
Shring!
Lee Cheongil drew his sword once more. In stark contrast, Dokgo Jin merely stood motionless, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
“Come.”
Even with Dokgo Jin's invitation, Lee Cheongil could not bring himself to make a reckless move. His pupils quivered violently.
Impossible.
Dokgo Jin was simply standing there. Yet to Lee Cheongil's eyes, the sight was entirely different.
There are... no openings?
This was the first time he had ever experienced such a thing. There had been a distinct reason why Lee Cheongil had never mounted a proper offensive in past spars: he saw so many flaws in his opponents that he could never decide where to strike. Unlike his relentless stubbornness toward sword forms, his indecisive temperament had always crippled him in actual combat. Moreover, as an opponent moved, their flaws shifted from moment to moment. Paralyzed by hesitation, he would fall back entirely on defense, losing every single match.
Lee Cheongil had been born with a singular sight that could not be bought for a thousand bars of gold. Yet because he stubbornly clung to basic sword routines, virtually no one recognized the gift slumbering within him.
Dokgo Jin, however, had seen through his uniqueness after observing him for mere moments. It was partly due to his own keen discernment, but above all, because he had once known someone remarkably similar.
Hyeon-ah...
Dokgo Hyeon, Dokgo Jin's one and only brother.
He, too, had been born with those very same eyes. The only difference was that Dokgo Hyeon had been born into the Dokgo Clan—once revered as the World's Greatest Clan—and that his elder brother was Dokgo Jin.
“I see too many flaws! What am I supposed to do?”
“Whoa! You don't have any openings at all, Hyung! How is that even possible?”
“Hyung! Hyung! Stop burying your face in books and come watch my Six Harmonies Sword Technique!”
Dokgo Hyeon had harbored that same fierce obsession with basic forms, constantly chasing absolute perfection. It was an idiosyncrasy born of possessing the Divine Eye, an innate perceptual gift that instantly laid bare any flaw or imperfection.
Its limitation was just as clear: against masters whose martial realm vastly eclipsed one's own, the Divine Eye was utterly blind. Yet if harnessed properly, it offered an incomparable advantage in cultivating the martial dao.
Unfortunately, Lee Cheongil had never learned how to leverage his strength. No one had ever taught him. Such was the tragedy of a warrior cultivating in isolation without a proper master.
Dokgo Jin deliberately pushed memories of Dokgo Hyeon from his mind and focused on the young man before him.
Lee Cheongil was desperate in his own right. Unable to find the slightest crack in his opponent's posture, he began circling, shifting slightly to the left and right. Dokgo Jin turned his body in tandem, matching each subtle shift.
If you truly possess the same eyes as Hyeon...
Dokgo Jin deliberately allowed a faint gap to show near his chest.
Lee Cheongil's sword shot forward on pure instinct.
What happens when a traveler, parched from wandering the wastes in search of water, suddenly discovers a single puddle cupped in stone? He lunges to drink without a second thought.
Yet it was poisoned water.
Claaang!
With a deafening shriek of colliding metal, Lee Cheongil's body was hurled into the air before crashing heavily onto the stone ground. In the span of a single breath, Dokgo Jin had drawn Extinction and batted the incoming blade aside.
Thud!
“Ugh!”
Watching the young swordsman collapse ungracefully to the floor, a flicker of intrigue sparked in Dokgo Jin's eyes.
I intended to send his sword flying from his grip.
Yet even after taking such a violent shock, Lee Cheongil had refused to let go of the iron sword in his hand.
He truly is like him.
“Good work,” Dokgo Jin said quietly.
Lee Cheongil offered no reply. With shoulders slumped in dejection, he dragged himself backward.
The sparring evaluations had concluded.
While a few, like Wang Saeng, had been accepted on the spot, the vast majority had yet to hear of their fate. Even so, the remaining candidates seemed remarkably at ease. With only sixty men left standing, they assumed at most one or two would be weeded out. Many believed the sparring matches were merely a ceremonial rite of passage to gauge their abilities.
It was an absolute misconception.
After conferring briefly with Dokgo Jin, Tang Pung-yeong stepped before the assembled martial artists.
“I will now announce those who have passed.”
“First... Shin Pyeong of the Iron Soul Unit.”
“Yes!”
Standing among the applicants, Shin Pyeong pumped his fist in quiet celebration. Although Dokgo Jin had promised not to poach warriors from the Iron Soul Unit, there was nothing to be done when one chose to apply of his own accord.
Tang Pung-yeong continued reading from the roster, calling out twenty-two names in steady succession.
And then:
“This is the final member.”
“Wait, already?”
While the applicants exchanged bewildered glances, Tang Pung-yeong uttered the last name.
“Lee Cheongil.”
“Ah...!”
As Lee Cheongil's face filled with overwhelming emotion, Tang Pung-yeong closed the ledger and spoke in a clear, detached voice.
“That concludes the list. We thank you all for applying to the Mad Tiger Squad. Everyone whose name was not called may depart.”
The rejected candidates stirred in collective shock.
“What?!”
“Isn't that far too few people?”
Tang Pung-yeong replied without the slightest hint of emotion. “That is a matter for our squad to decide.”
“A combat unit with fewer than thirty men? Are you serious?”
Several shook their heads in disbelief as they turned to leave. “What in heaven's name is he thinking...?”
Once the rejected applicants had cleared out, only twenty-four men—including Mok Woo-jeon—remained standing on the training grounds.
“Is this... really everyone?”
“Could there be others recruited through different channels?”
“I know, right?”
As the new members whispered among themselves with dazed expressions, Dokgo Jin stepped forward.
“I am Squad Leader Dokgo Jin.”
He clasped his hands in a formal martial salute. In response, all twenty-four bowed deeply in unison.
“Greetings, Commander!”
Twenty-four pairs of eyes fixed intently on one man: Dokgo Jin.
“You who stand before me are the entire roster of the Mad Tiger Squad. Furthermore, I have no intention of recruiting anyone else.”
Murmurs rippled through the ranks.
“I do not know if you are aware, but every combat unit under the Five Banners of Northern Heaven receives roughly the same operational budget, regardless of its size. Our fledgling Mad Tiger Squad is no exception.”
Heads tilted in confusion. If a combat unit commanding hundreds of warriors received the same budget as the Mad Tiger Squad—which totaled a mere twenty-five men including its leader—what did that entail?
A sharp-witted warrior caught on, his eyes gleaming with realization. “Does that mean... the monthly stipend distributed to each individual member will be far greater than in other squads?”
A faint smile touched Dokgo Jin's lips. “Precisely.”
“Ohh!”
Low gasps of excitement erupted across the yard. Martial artists though they were, they were still flesh-and-blood men. When it came to wealth, more was always better.
“This is a total windfall!”
“Who knew an elite few would have such an advantage!”
Yet their jubilation was short-lived. Dokgo Jin's next words fell over them like ice water.
“However, the silver you actually hold in your hands will be far less than that of any other unit.”
“...Pardon?”
“I, too, shall not take a single copper of my commander's stipend.”
Before their bewilderment could turn into outrage, Dokgo Jin drove the point home.
“Every scrap of surplus funds will be spent purchasing spiritual elixirs. And those elixirs will be distributed entirely to you, the members of this squad.”
Silence slammed down upon the courtyard.
“If anyone finds my plan disagreeable, you are free to leave right now.”
Not a single soul moved.
A regular supply of spiritual elixirs was worth immeasurably more than a handful of silver coins. To any warrior burning with the desire to become stronger, it was an offer impossible to refuse.
“We are an elite few,” Dokgo Jin declared, his voice cutting through the crisp mountain air. “Twenty-five men must overpower forces numbering in the hundreds. To accomplish that, every single one of you must become incomparably stronger than you are today.”
His gaze swept over them like a whetted blade. “Will you walk this path as warriors of the Mad Tiger Squad?”
Mok Woo-jeon was the first to answer, stomping his foot with such force the stone slabs beneath trembled.
“By your command! I shall follow the Commander's will!”
An instant later, a thunderous roar from twenty-five throats shook the training grounds.
“By your command!”
Dokgo Jin had not selected them merely by assessing their current cultivation. Had that been his sole criterion, an unpolished rough like the Sword Idiot Lee Cheongil would never have made the cut. What Dokgo Jin had seen was the burning hunger raging within their chests—and the dormant potential waiting to be forged.
One year. Within that span, I will transform them into a force that rivals—no, utterly overwhelms—any unit in the Northern Heaven Alliance.
Once the reverberations died down, an awkward silence settled over the training yard.
The twenty-five men were a disparate assortment. Though the fire in their eyes was unmistakable, they shared little else. They did not know one another's names, martial arts, or temperaments. While time would naturally mend such divides, to Dokgo Jin—who sought to forge them into a cohesive shock force as swiftly as possible—waiting passively was an unacceptable waste.
Turning back to the men, he said, “Tonight, we dine together.”
“...Pardon?”
“Rigorous training begins tomorrow. For today, sharing a meal and learning each other's faces comes first.”
With that, Dokgo Jin turned on his heel. After exchanging hesitant glances, the warriors scurried to follow behind him.
A corner of the Guest Hall had been reserved for their gathering.
Before long, steaming bowls of knife-cut noodles were brought out one by one from the kitchen. Thick, ribbon-like noodles carved swiftly from a block of dough rested in a rich, simmering broth, garnished with generous slices of braised meat—rustic, yet deeply satisfying.
At first, nobody spoke.
Amidst the sporadic clatter of wooden chopsticks, Wang Saeng was the first to break the silence.
“Amitabha. But Commander, are you not partaking?”
There was no bowl set before Dokgo Jin.
“I am fine.”
“Why not?” Shin Pyeong chimed in. True to his origins in the Iron Soul Unit, the young warrior was utterly blunt.
“Just eat.”
Dokgo Jin's gaze slowly drifted over his men. The way they held their chopsticks, their seated postures, the fleeting exchanges between neighbors—on this first night where twenty-five strangers gathered under one banner, he had chosen observation over sustenance.
Uncertain expressions flickered across the warriors' faces. Under their commander's unblinking watch, none of them could tell whether they should sit at attention or simply dig in.
Mok Woo-jeon was the first to grasp Dokgo Jin's intention. Scooping up a generous mouthful of noodles with his chopsticks, he remarked gruffly, “You can assess your men while you eat, Commander.”
Dokgo Jin said nothing.
“Staring at them like that, how do you expect anyone to digest their food properly?”
A brief silence fell over the table.
Dokgo Jin smiled faintly.
...He's right. I was being inconsiderate.
Waving toward the innkeeper of the Guest Hall, he called out, “Bring another bowl of knife-cut noodles over here.”
At that moment, Wang Saeng slurped up a mouthful of broth and chimed in nonchalantly, “Amitabha. Even the Buddha never skipped his alms.”
Smothers of laughter escaped from various corners of the room. Lee Cheongil coughed repeatedly to stifle a chuckle, while Shin Pyeong turned his face away, grinning. Only Wang Saeng remained blissfully unperturbed, continuing to inhale his noodles. Thanks to his brazen remark, the stifling tension finally melted away.
When his steaming bowl arrived, Dokgo Jin picked up his chopsticks and asked in a relaxed tone, “Let us begin with the warrior seated furthest to the left.”
“Pardon?”
“What martial art are you most confident in?”
Feeling the commander's gaze, the warrior cleared his throat and answered, “The sword.”
“The saber for me.”
“I specialize in hidden weapons...”
One by one, the answers flowed around the table. Dokgo Jin merely nodded or asked the occasional follow-up question; he neither offered critiques nor passed judgment.
Before long, their voices began to rise in volume and confidence.
Where they had hailed from, how they had first picked up a weapon, and why they had chosen to apply to the Mad Tiger Squad. What had started as deferential replies to their commander soon blossomed into lively chatter among comrades.
Laughter and clinking bowls filled the hall.
Amidst the growing warmth, Dokgo Jin emptied his bowl in silence, committing every single face to memory.
Twenty-five men.
Different origins, different arts, different temperaments. He had to smelt these disparate fragments into a single, unbreakable blade. And beyond that, he had to hone each of them into a warrior capable of matching a hundred.
I will accomplish all of it within one year.
Reaffirming his resolve, Dokgo Jin set his chopsticks down.
“Excuse me...”
Lee Cheongil spoke up hesitantly.
“Commander... what discipline are you most confident in?”
The hall fell abruptly silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward Dokgo Jin.
Dokgo Jin looked at Lee Cheongil for a quiet moment before answering plainly. “The sword.”
“I am a swordsman as well, but...” Lee Cheongil scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish.
“Did you not experience it firsthand during our spar?”
“That is true, but your skill was so overwhelming that I wondered if you had other hidden arts tucked away.”
“Of course I do. I have studied various martial arts beyond the sword.”
Lee Cheongil's eyes widened with fascination. “What other arts have you mastered?”
“You can find that out on the training grounds tomorrow.”
Hearty laughter broke out among the squad.
“Hahaha!”
Dokgo Jin did not laugh, but pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
“Assemble at the training grounds at the hour of the Dragon. Do not be late.”
“By your command!”
Their unified salute echoed through the rafters of the Guest Hall.
Watching Dokgo Jin's retreating back, Shin Pyeong drained the last drops of soup from his bowl and muttered to himself, “Maybe he was born to be a commander after all, rather than just an ordinary squad member.”
Dark Sky Martial Emperor
Author | Jeong Cheon
Publisher | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd.
Managing Editor | Editorial Department
Publishing House | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. – Dream Books
Address | 7th Floor, Gwangseong Building, 28 Bongeunsa-ro 114-gil, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
UCI | G720:N+A063-20260403145
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