Nightmare
Nightmare *Trigger warning: those who dislike such descriptions, please skip to the wavy line.*
"Seriously, that level of skill and he's a Pang?"
"Wow, he's really weak. What a waste of good bloodline."
Images he'd desperately tried to erase from his mind now replayed frame by frame, as familiar as ever.
Am I dreaming right now?
It felt like the stories from his childhood were repeating all over again.
"The influence of talent is infinite, and effort cannot overcome the realm of talent."
"…This child has no talent for sword arts. No, it seems he has no aptitude for martial arts at all."
From a young age, he'd built powerful outer power through physical training, then layered inner energy onto his blade for devastating sword techniques.
It was the alpha and omega technique of the North Sea Pang Clan—but not for him. No, not for Yujin. He had zero talent for sword arts.
Actually, it wasn't the sword arts themselves. The root problem was far more fundamental: inner power.
Yujin had a body that couldn't use inner power.
"I just can't understand how he can't use martial arts."
"Isn't he just some mongrel kid? The Pang Clan head stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the Invincible Sword of the Moyong Clan, Moyong Hwi, but it seems even a great bloodline can't overcome dirty blood."
It always boiled down to criticism turning into outright condemnation. The cause of his blocked meridians remained a mystery.
Even drawing from game knowledge, there was no special mention of it.
But who cared about the process? The result was clear: in the wuxia world, a body unable to cultivate inner power meant you were doomed to be weeded out.
'Why? Why can't I do it?'
His head knew the truth, but Yujin couldn't let go of his lingering attachment. He threw himself into outer power instead.
Luckily, not all his efforts were in vain. Yujin was from the North Sea Pang Clan, known as the hellspawn race of the wuxia world. Blood was blood—unlike inner power, he had considerable talent for outer power. In the end, he achieved accomplishments in it that no one could match.
…Of course, those very efforts only proved the insurmountable limits of his body that couldn't handle inner power.
As a kid, he'd thought relentless training might improve things eventually. But years passed, and that hope faded.
It had been a year since he'd lost to an outsider disciple in sparring, and now fragments of memory showed him losing even to low-tier unorthodox warriors.
"What a fucking shitty experience."
With a direct lineage member getting beaten by street thugs from the unorthodox sects, his siblings had cut ties long ago. Even his mother and clan head, who used to comfort his dejected younger self, now deliberately looked away.
But it was okay. He had her.
"Yujin, you worked hard again today, huh?"
His childhood friend and lover, Namgung Yeona. She'd been with him since they were kids, his spiritual pillar.
"Good job."
She'd stroke his callused hands, acknowledge his hard work, and hold him. Every time, tears would well up, washing away the pent-up sorrow.
Yeona accepted Yujin as he was, even when everyone else shunned him.
Chatting with her eased the isolation of the world.
– "It's getting dark—that's the perfect night sky for this. Come on, Yeona, hurry!"
"Okay!"
One day, he'd dragged her by the hand to an empty lot on the village outskirts.
Yujin had prepared an event to express his gratitude: fireworks.
Gunpowder was strictly controlled by the court, but weak civilian versions for festivals were quietly overlooked.
Still, kids handling it wasn't allowed. He'd stumbled on this beautiful sight while traveling outside the city and couldn't resist showing it to Yeona, risking punishment later.
'I hope Yeona likes it.'
Yujin had no martial talent, but his hands were skilled. He'd craft gifts for her by hand.
This fireworks display was the same.
Of course, as reality crushed him and societal views soured, they drifted apart. Now it was a distant memory.
But one thing was certain: at least back then, he'd been happy.
His beaming smile in the memory proved it.
"Ready?"
He lit the fuse connected to the bamboo tube packed with gunpowder.
As it burned shorter, it exploded with a bang, scattering fireworks across the night sky.
They stared, entranced by the harmony of light and dark.
"Wow, so pretty."
With his meager skills and no standing in the clan, this was all he could offer her.
Yet her pure joy made all his hardships feel trivial, washing away like flowing water.
The smuggled materials were limited, so the show ended too soon.
"This is my first time experiencing something like this."
Still, the afterglow lingered in her eyes long after.
A gentle breeze brought a final pleasant smile.
"It's the most beautiful flower anyone's ever given me. Thank you, Yujin."
Her smile was so captivating he stared blankly.
"When I grow up to be a great man, I'll show you an even bigger, flashier fireworks show."
"Really?"
"Of course. I'll learn more, master more, and definitely show you."
"Promise!"
Childhood Yujin making a promise he could never keep.
Yes, at least until then, they'd trusted each other completely.
An ancient, hazy memory he couldn't pinpoint—now a painful bond he wanted to cut away. But he had no desire to taint even those innocent days.
Yet the memory twisted, confirming the shattered trust.
"Y-Yujin? Wh-what is this place?"
Thud.
"…How."
The turning point that plunged Yujin into the abyss: witnessing his fiancée's affair at the post-graduation gathering.
Crack. Like shattering glass, cracks spread from the edges of the memory.
Yeona with Moyong Shin—the fragments filled with her image, quickening Yujin's breath.
Noise flooded his vision like vertigo, mind reeling.
Why? Why the fuck?
The clinging pair looked filthy, repulsive.
"…Yeona."
Answer me.
"Yeona!"
Answer me!
"You fucking bitch!"
Hah, hah.
He jolted awake, gasping for breath.
Old memories mashed together into a nightmare projection. So vivid they felt real, not dreamlike.
His body had slept, but his mind hadn't rested—unpleasant fatigue hit late.
Drenched in cold sweat, his whole body chilled.
[Are you alright?]
Hendrick van Demer looked at him with concern.
[Did I talk too much yesterday? If that's why you had a bad night, I'm sorry. I'll hold back from now on.]
"No, just a nightmare."
He stripped off his damp clothes, finally shaking the nagging unease.
Trying to forget the bad dream by thinking of something else, his mind kept circling back to her betrayal.
What to do? He rubbed his face against the wall, dry-wiping.
One thing was clear: in this shitty worldview, Yujin wasn't the only victim. Nor were those two the only perpetrators.
Silhouettes from game illustrations flashed by.
This world wasn't trustworthy. Especially in relationships.
Staring blankly at ceiling cracks, dawn was still a ways off.
Leaning against the wall to ease invisible fatigue, Hendrick, who'd been circling nearby, spoke up.
[Sorry if it feels pushy. Still, I think preparing against those bastards quickly is best—but condition management matters too. What do you say, rest today?]
"Nah, missing one night's sleep won't kill me. Gotta do what needs doing."
Survival on an uninhabited island—most details had faded, but one stuck: the Rule of 333.
Humans survive 3 minutes without air, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food.
Day two with no supplies stockpiled? Things would get rough. Move while there's leeway.
Hendrick mentioned wild berries on the trail outskirts, shellfish on the beach-end rocks, fish to catch.
No freshwater was the issue. Had to secure drinking water somehow.
Body tired, but mind sharp—no more sleep coming.
Double-checking his condition, he forced himself up.
The target feels a sense of kinship with you.
Favorability +10 (16 / 100)
'Huh?'
In his groggy state, he belatedly noticed the system alert.
Something inexplicable with favorability: it involved Hendrick.
Did I do something? Just slept and woke up, yet favorability rose. He glanced at the ghost.
[What's up? Something wrong?]
"Oh, nothing."
Hmm, what the hell? Good is good, but it nagged.
[Seems those bastards went back to the forest. We can move now.]
"Ah, yeah."
With Hendrick looking unchanged, he could only scratch his head.