The Heavenly Demon Copies Martial Arts
Jin Gabok’s foot snapped up into Jin Gaseong’s face.
CRASH!
Jin Gaseong clutched his swelling jaw, staring up in blank confusion.
Jin Gabok adjusted his grip on the sword at his waist—its sheath firmly locked in place.
“They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but when the hell are you going to grow up? I leave the village for a few days and even here you pull this kind of shit again?!”
“B-Brother!”
A sheathed sword was, strictly speaking, still a steel-cored club. Jin Gabok began thrashing Jin Gaseong with it without a shred of mercy.
…
I stayed silent and simply watched. Arms folded, I leaned against the wall, studying the layout of the room, the surroundings, and finally the face of the man currently beating his own brother half to death.
[A mixture of humiliation, shame, and embarrassment, I’d say.]
Mumyeong added dryly. He was thinking the same thing I was.
[Whether he’s only putting on this show because the Host is standing right here and he needs to save face, or whether everything we never knew about has simply piled up until it exploded… either way.]
I gave a small nod at Mumyeong’s calm voice.
Jin Gabok looked down at the barely twitching ruin that was his brother, then lifted his head. Jin Gaseong’s hangers-on flinched under that gaze. Raising the bloodied sheath, Jin Gabok roared at them.
“I told you clearly, before I even went to bring you back, that you would never do this again! And yet you couldn’t wait five minutes before gathering this pack of thugs just because you think you’re strong now—smearing my name in the dirt!”
“G-Gabok hyung, that’s—”
Jin Gabok snarled and readjusted his grip on the sword.
“I’ve put up with it until now, but I can’t take it anymore. Today I’m going to beat that habit out of you for good—!”
My hand closed around the rising tip of the sheath.
From my shoulder down to my wrist, crimson afterimages of Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong scattered into the air.
Jin Gabok spun around, eyes blazing.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“I have no desire to interfere in another man’s family affairs,” I said, meeting that burning stare without flinching. “But perhaps you should settle this later—after you and I have finished speaking.”
“I apologize for showing you something so disgraceful and for the rudeness. But.” Jin Gabok’s jaw muscles stood out like cords. “I’m barely holding myself back from demanding an accounting from the man who reduced my brother to this state. I suggest you stop provoking me.”
“…Is that so?”
“So let go! Before I send you flying!”
“Send me… flying?”
A spark flared somewhere deep inside me. Reason and instinct locked horns in my skull.
Then Mumyeong’s voice cut through, cold as winter steel.
[I’m not telling you to endure it forever.]
[But think of the goal. If you want to survive in the jianghu, you have to train yourself to set emotion aside and look only at the reality in front of you. I’ve said it before: I have absolutely no desire to die.]
…
[No one is perfect. But people can improve through their mistakes. That is what makes us human.]
I clenched my teeth until they creaked.
Jin Gabok would never have noticed the faint crackle of lightning that rose from the tips of my toes. The crimson seed swelling at the edge of my pupils withdrew. My eyes returned to pure black.
Jin Gabok’s eyes flew wide.
“I told you—!”
Power flooded his forearm as he tried to wrench the sheath free of my grip in one violent motion.
CLUNK.
The sword did not move a hair.
“Huh? The sword…?”
A flicker of panic crossed one of Jin Gabok’s eyes. He looked at me.
I spoke calmly.
“I’ll take that earlier remark as a momentary lapse caused by family feelings, and let it pass. But that was the first and last time.”
A hairline crack spider-webbed across the sheath under the pressure of my fingers.
“I am Bi Ryu of the Blood Death Sect. If you continue to treat me with this level of discourtesy, I will not restrain myself either.”
Jin Gabok’s pupils dilated.
“My Cheonryubon sheath… the smith swore even a wild beast couldn’t break it…”
“I will ask one last time, politely.”
Through the strands of hair falling across my face, I lifted black eyes to his.
“Would you do me the courtesy of reversing the order slightly—speaking with me first, and settling your family matter afterward?”
There is a saying that conversation between people is like tossing a ball back and forth. Answer emotion with emotion and the other party only grows more emotional in return. That is where the metaphor comes from.
Fortunately, Jin Gabok was a reasonably rational man. My calm response seemed to reach something in him; the fury drained away. When he told Jin Gaseong they would “talk about this later,” the younger brother and his crew looked like men who had just been dragged back from the gates of the underworld. At the same time they kept shooting me glances full of desperate gratitude.
[Judging by their reactions, he is usually soft-hearted—yet when he decides to discipline someone, he shows no mercy at all. A martial artist through and through, I suppose.]
That was Mumyeong’s assessment.
Before Jin Gaseong’s pack withdrew, they pooled every coin they had and cleaned the inn in a whirlwind of activity. Jin Gaseong himself snatched the broom from the waiter’s hands and scrubbed until not a single speck of dust remained. They promised to pay for every broken dish and piece of furniture, then fled with their tails between their legs, clearly terrified that lingering even one more second would bring Jin Gabok’s full wrath down on their heads.
A freshly wiped table was set in a quiet corner. Jin Gabok and I sat across from each other.
Whoosh.
Folding screens were drawn around us. I looked up in mild surprise; the waiter poked his head through with an embarrassed smile.
“You’re important guests. We thought you’d appreciate a little privacy. The management already approved it—no extra charge, so please don’t worry.”
“Ah…”
In that short span the way people treated me had completely changed.
Clack.
Seven xiaolongbao, a plate of stir-fried eggplant, and a flask of plum wine appeared in front of me.
“I didn’t order these.”
“Those are from the ladies over there.”
Beyond a gap in the screens, several courtesans waved with sheepish smiles. The same women who had left earlier with scornful remarks when I refused their advances.
“I knew my brother was a wastrel, but looking at this… it must have been far worse than I thought. For them to feel this relieved…”
Jin Gabok’s expression was pure bitterness as he watched it all. I quietly poured plum wine into his cup.
“And you?”
“I don’t drink.”
“…Truly unique. A man who doesn’t drink.”
I had heard that line more times than I could count. Pouring tea into my own cup, I answered briefly.
“It isn’t that I dislike it.”
“Then?”
“The road ahead of me is still nine thousand li long. I don’t have the luxury of even a single sip.”
…
I had no idea how he interpreted those words. He simply lifted the cup of plum wine and studied me in silence.
Gazing at the steam rising from my tea, I said,
“Someday—whenever the day comes that I finally drink—
…
I think that will be the day true peace arrives in my heart.”
Jin Gabok’s topknot swayed lightly. He rolled up his sleeves and drained the cup in one long pull. With a short sigh he refilled it.
“I’m a man obsessed with the martial path myself, yet here sits a true asura. The world really is vast.”
“You flatter me.”
“Do you know why I agreed to speak with you at all?”
He drank again. Neither of us touched the xiaolongbao sitting between us. Beyond the screens the inn gradually filled once more with noisy patrons. Inside our little enclosure, a quiet stillness began to settle.
“I couldn’t say.”
“It may sound arrogant, but apart from my own blood, I only sit alone and talk with men I have acknowledged.”
…
“To be honest, you surprised me.”
He lifted the sword from his waist and rested it across his palm.
“When I lost my temper earlier and tried to fling the sword free, even I was startled. I thought I had put far too much force into it in the heat of the moment—some inner energy as well. An ordinary man would have been thrown across the room and injured. And yet.”
Jin Gabok looked straight at me.
“The sword didn’t move a single inch. As if it were jammed into a boulder the size of Mount Tai.”
I took a silent sip of tea.
“I had heard about you through Cheongunryong’s messenger pigeon, but that was the moment my prejudice against the Blood Death Sect cracked. I had always thought assassins were nothing but cowards who only preyed on a martial artist’s openings… yet here you are, a terrifying expert in your own right.”
“There are people in our sect far more skilled than the likes of me.”
“I have a decent eye for these things, and you…”
Jin Gabok gave a short laugh.
“Your humility has gone too far. You’re already this strong and you still don’t know where you stand in the jianghu? Even if I was caught off guard, you caught my raised sheath. Do you truly not understand what that means?”
…
At my lack of reaction Jin Gabok let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“…I was only making conversation, but from the atmosphere it seems you really don’t know. Is the Blood Death Sect that closed off?”
He wasn’t wrong. I had wondered for some time now—objectively, where did I rank in this martial world?
There is a common hierarchy people use when discussing a martial artist’s realm:
Third-rate.
Second-rate.
First-rate.
Peak.
Transcendent Peak.
Transformation Realm.
And finally the Profound Realm—reached only by Guardians and those absolute masters of the jianghu who have received Heaven’s choice.
Most martial artists who train hard can, at best, reach First-rate: the level where one can infuse a weapon with qi even if they cannot yet project it externally.
And among the people I had killed, there had definitely been First-rate fighters.
When I broke through the Blood Cult’s Heavenly Net Formation, the ones who died in my hands had been throwing sword qi from their blades. The same was true of the men who chased me inside Cheonsubaekryeonsa when I pursued the impostor posing as a secretary—they had come to silence me permanently. They were no ordinary assassins. I had clearly seen blue sword qi coating their short blades.
It had been a desperate fight, but the important point was this: even in a one-against-many situation, I had cut them down.
Not one-on-one.
One against many.
I had learned more than once how completely different those two things were. Ask any martial artist which is easier to handle—a single high-level master with a live blade, or a swarm of lower-tier fighters surrounding you from every direction with live steel—and even a seasoned warrior would hesitate. They are entirely different fields of combat, as different as fire and water.
And I had survived them both.
A memory surfaced of the idle talk I used to hear from street gossips when I was still crawling through the capital’s underbelly.
In the old stories there was a Daoist who climbed and descended the Jade Void Peak of Kunlun Mountain barehanded as if it were a daily stroll. One day someone asked him how he managed to reach such a remote and treacherous summit. The Daoist answered:
‘If you simply keep your eyes on the ground at your feet and concentrate on taking one step at a time, before you know it you will find yourself standing at the peak.’
My heart gave a hard thump.
I remembered the days of scraping by at the bottom of the capital. I remembered being beaten and driven out without ever managing to enter even a minor sect. I remembered the three hundred days—and then another hundred—of desperate struggle in the darkness of Amyeondong.
The beginning had certainly been luck. The Heavenly Demon’s power to copy martial arts was an absurdly advantageous ability from the start.
But that was only the trigger.
I could say it with certainty now.
I had achieved all of this myself.
In this merciless reality, these results were mine.
“It may sound ridiculous coming from me, but if I judge coldly…”
Jin Gabok looked at me with deep, measuring eyes.
“You have, at the absolute minimum, stepped into the Peak realm. In the entire jianghu, among martial artists of your age, there are not even ten people at your level.”
