Chapter 25
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: What Can You Do? (5)
They couldn't overcome their curiosity.
A chest full of martial arts manuals. Open it, and you could browse as many secret techniques as you wanted.
The old woman was an extraordinary master.
The chest contained all thirty martial arts she had cultivated.
Master even one properly, and you could become a supreme expert like her.
It was a chance to turn your life upside down. Who in their right mind would pass up an opportunity like that? It was a stroke of fate you couldn't find even if you hunted for it.
Fortunately, the old woman wasn't home. No telling where she'd gone, but she'd stepped out right after lunch. A perfect chance to pore over the manuals freely, without even glancing at her mood.
As she left the house, the old woman had said,
“Choose wisely, and it'll become something you've nurtured with care. Choose poorly, and it'll be trash to toss away. You make the calls. I'll leave it out all day—flip through whenever the mood strikes.”
She'd already given blanket permission to browse freely. No reason to hesitate.
“Sorry, but I'm first!”
Fox was the first to open the chest.
Sure enough, nearly thirty manuals were neatly stacked inside, just as she'd said.
Fox eyed the one on top.
Overlord Fist!
Didn't even need to open it to know it was a fist technique manual.
He flipped it open, revealing the next.
One Branch Sword Method!
The sword score of the legendary swordsman known as One Branch Swordmaster. Legend had it he'd wielded a mere tree branch instead of a blade, roaming the martial world and toppling countless masters with it.
One Branch Swordmaster was a sword tiger of myth.
Even the Fox of Bireung Mountain had heard the tales. No true martial artist hadn't.
“Hah!”
Fox was too stunned to speak.
The chest brimmed with techniques that stoked insatiable greed. Every one was an unparalleled art, as the old woman had said—ones where even a lifetime of devotion might not unlock their pinnacle.
Then how unfathomably mighty was the old woman, who had conquered them all?
Fox quickly skimmed the thirty-odd volumes. He stared them down, unblinking.
Deep down, he wanted them all... wanted to haul off the entire chest...
He understood her warning perfectly. Let even one leak into the jianghu, and blood would flow like rivers. Fail to master it or lack the skill to guard it, and you'd die a dog's death on the spot.
'Still, I'm taking them all!'
Instead of picking one, he resolved to memorize every last one.
Wild Boar peeked at the manuals too.
The chest overflowed with arts that would tempt him. Over five perfectly suited his heavenly strength alone—all built on it as foundation.
He liked them. But he closed the chest.
He'd trained in the martial arts. Learned them the orthodox way. Hours on basics, fists and feet, weapons— all drilled solid.
He'd forged a rock-solid foundation.
And now this opportunity arose.
The old woman dangled thirty manuals. But his prize dwarfed it: free reign over four hundred in the Martial Camp's scriptorium.
Time had been plentiful then.
She promised to rush one through in a month.
How pedestrian that sounded.
Martial Camp disciples got elite treatment. Pick a manual from the scriptorium, train under ten masters' intensive guidance. Every motion dissected.
Ample time.
The final Martial Camp phase lasted a year—not for new learning, but reviewing old arts through duels.
He'd honed himself there for thirteen years.
Those years, shared with ten others in the Fourteen Caves. Back then, they were his world.
Then, in the year of Im-in, the masters cleared him for emergence. He entered Martial Camp's ultimate trial.
Im-in year... That was when he met Hanbi at the Camp.
Hanbi had trained in Eight Caves, he'd said.
The character for eight sounded just like “fortune.” He remembered ribbing Hanbi as the “Fortune Cave kid.” Envy tinged it, a little.
He got what the old woman meant.
These chest manuals? Unattainable mirages. In a month, maybe scrape one or two forms. For him, already deep in his path? Pointless.
Wild Boar was content with the glimpse.
Content knowing what she'd trained—and how profoundly.
Four Thousand Four never touched the chest.
Post-lunch, he'd slept straight through. Could a man slumber that long? Looked like sleep had claimed him utterly.
No opening it, then.
Naturally, the Fox of Bireung Mountain claimed them solo.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain enjoyed privileges.
Wild Boar and Four Thousand Four sprawled on straw in what was little more than a stable.
That was their quarters.
The Fox, even in a crumbling shack, had a proper room.
Not their pick—the old woman assigned it.
Obvious favoritism.
Small mercy: neither Four Thousand Four nor Wild Boar gave a damn.
Fox monopolized a room fit for three or four. They crammed a drafty narrow shed, straw mats their beds. Ripe for gripes. Yet not a murmur—baffling.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain didn't turn down the kindness.
'Grab whatever you can.'
In his spotless room, he started committing the old woman's left-behind manuals to memory.
He was sharp. Razor-sharp.
Half a day in, and five volumes down already, by the look.
'Damn, hate to waste this. Just for today... Hope Grandma's late... Gotta nail at least ten.'
Then—as if overhearing—the door flew open. In strode the old woman.
“Chosen yet?”
“No. Can't tell what's best.”
“Looked too much. Never heard of 'gazing breeds greed'? More you see, bigger the hunger.”
“I wanna pick careful. Wild Boar and Four Thousand Four don't care... Night's fine, choice by morning?”
The old woman blurted,
“Girl, that greedy.”
“......!”
Fox froze, eyes blinking blankly.
“What? Figured I'd miss it? I worked your body over. Checked the sinews and bones. Nothing where it counts, mush where it should be steel.”
The Fox of Bireung Mountain's hand flew to her chest instinctively.
She caught herself quick, dropped it. Cool as ice.
“Girl traipsing Nineteen Hells. Tsk!”
“Quit with the 'girl' already!”
“Call a girl 'girl'—who's complaining? You ain't?”
“Please!”
“Please what?”
“Teach me martial arts.”
Fox's eyes blazed blue, venom dripping from every word.
“Never said I would.”
“These? Useless.”
Fox shoved the chest at the old woman.
“Teach me one to flatten Grandma in a single blow. Nothing less.”
“Kekeke! That tone. Now I catch the girl scent.”
The old woman grinned.
She'd favored the Fox of Bireung Mountain for a reason. Not some prodigy—just a woman, so a softer bed.
No ill will from the old woman.
The Fox knew. How keen her instincts—how miss the undercurrents? “Girl” dissolved every puzzle.
Still pissed her off.
Girl! She couldn't be—yet was!
Swoosh!
The old woman lunged, hand outstretched.
Fox yanked back. Too late—her wrist locked in an iron vise.
The old woman shut her eyes.
Sssss!
Cool energy flowed through the pulse.
Somehow, her grip soothed the mind. Eyes drifted shut on their own.
The old woman released.
Emptiness crashed in—like dropping something vital. A lost grasp on something essential.
Fox creased her brow unwittingly, eyes snapping open.
The old woman—face grave, unlike before—spoke.
“Your womanly spirit's bottled too tight. Suspected as much. Cleared my afternoon to check.”
Her outing? For Fox.
“You know your affliction?”
Fox nodded.
“That it's incurable?”
Fox nodded again.
The old woman's lips twitched. Words on the tip of her tongue. Unspoken.
Fox guessed them.
'You know you've got two, three years tops?'
Fox's shoulders sagged. Tension flooded out in a rush.
Her body deflated.
Someone who knew her—body, soul—better than she ever told another.
“Hoo!”
Fox stifled the heaving breath. Tears welled, unbidden. She clamped them down. No spill.
Forgotten, for so long.
The body. The girlhood. The ticking clock...
All shoved aside.
Body trapped in Nineteen Hells, mind eased free.
Vanguard's lead to the world? Bliss. Fresh air. Wandering free...
Vital flaws? Time erodes them, wanted or not. If clinging? Fine. Death loomed soon—live wild till then.
Just don't prod the wounds... Old woman stabbed true.
Fox ground her molars.
“One-strike Grandma-killer. Got it? Or not?!”
“Got it.”
“Teach.”
The old woman slid the manual chest back.
“Right here. Study through the night. Report dawn. I'll check if you nailed it.”
She'd clocked the memorizing.
Spot good from bad by glance alone? No such thing. Martial arts demand sweat to judge. Insisting on study? Code for rote.
Still, she offered them. Green light to memorize.
Unheard-of leniency. Masters never indulged it.
Fox needed battle-ready art for month's end. Life-or-death, no friendly bouts.
Greed? Useless baggage.
The old woman said,
“Girl or boy—irrelevant. Jianghu's got both. Long life? Blades don't care. I judge your frame alone. These, your fill...”
She tapped the chest.
“Tomorrow, a movement art not here. I'll forge you into history's finest scout. Keep up the month.”
She extended her hand. Took Fox's.
Not for pulse this time. Warm palm to warm. Sharing heat.
Fox gawked, dazed.
The old woman meant it. Every word from the heart.