Counting to Twenty

The time that remained, I spent in special training buried in the mud.

Muyeong-sintu's instruction was brutal in a completely different way from the Eight Guardian Deities' Asura.

"That's not it! Ease the strength in your legs! Empty your mind!"

I went flying through the air and tumbled through the mire.

“…!”

The deeper the difficulty climbed, the deeper the mudflat sank. Buried in the muck of a vast open yard, hands clasped behind my back, I forced my footwork with desperate focus.

The sludge clung like a thousand catties. The slightest movement and it wound itself around my whole body. I drove my arms and legs with everything I had, yet I moved dozens of times slower, as if time itself had thickened.

What had begun at knee height now rose to my shoulders. One twisted step and I would sink to the tip of my nose and drown.

Mud sprayed in every direction with every thrash of my hands. It rushed mercilessly into my startled, wide-open eyes, mouth, and nose.

Kh—!

Panic hit. Before I knew it I had unclasped my hands and was clawing desperately to crawl out of the bog.

"You little—!"

Muyeong-sintu shot forward like lightning.

A flash of a low kick slammed square into my face.

"Ghk—!"

"Don't unclasp those hands! Don't use internal energy! You think this training is so you can show off your power?!"

I sank into the mud again.

"Kh—! Hrk—! Hup—!"

"Lift your heels! Don't plant your heels on the bottom!"

I forced my mind back under control. I put power into feet that wanted to float free, rose onto my heels, and pivoted fast on the balls of my toes. I fought to find the hard floor beneath the muck and plant my soles, to reclaim my center.

Through the black surface of the mud, Muyeong-sintu's wrinkled face flickered in and out of sight.

"Power in the thighs! Lose it and you drown! You want to die?!"

He hammered corrections at me without pause.

"I told you! Work the footwork in separate pieces like that and you're dead! How the hell have you survived this long moving like that?! Huh? Trying to brag about your reflexes? Dodge! Why aren't you dodging?! You can't even dodge this?!"

He kicked my thrashing head again and again.

"On straight lines, Hyeol-yeong-mu-hwan-sin-sul! On curves, diagonals, mid-range using terrain and objects—Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong! Then at ultra-close range, Polar Night! These three types of footwork have to melt together until they move as one single art! It isn't just the Opening Gate of Polar Night that's the problem! Your body is refusing to fire Polar Night because there's no system locked in your head yet! Again!"

He stomped the crown of my head and drove me under until even my skull was buried in the sludge.

"Again!"

I kicked off the bottom and surged up.

"Puhah—!"

"Again!"

I crushed the grit between my teeth and chewed it. Hands still clasped behind my back, sunk to just below my Adam's apple, I pushed my absolute maximum speed—starting from Hyeol-yeong-mu-hwan-sin-sul, flowing into Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong, and finishing with Polar Night's opening form.

Black flame bloomed. My body went hazy. More than half my torso tore through space and tried to burst up out of the mud pit—

—and then the timing tangled with a Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong that had fired without my meaning to. I smashed face-first into a transparent wall and bounced.

"Gyaah!"

"Moyong Bi! Get up!"

This time I had been running at full power when I hit. The impact was enormous.

Muyeong-sintu raised a hand.

"I told you—zone out and you die! Fire Polar Night! Fail five steps and you're dead!"

His fingertip pointed at me. Heaven and earth shuddered as the mechanisms engaged.

Stone pillars began closing in from every side in the shape of the character for "well," double serrated blades meshing and vibrating madly along their lengths.

I dodged a blade-pillar sweeping sideways, left muddy handprints as I vaulted another. I bent my waist back—

—and blue sparks flew as an entire chain bolted to the wall was sheared clean through by the saw teeth.

Every blind angle sealed. The last pillar came on. It was a killing stroke no ordinary line of movement could ever escape.

"Nngh—!"

I tore my eyes wide.

A savage peal of thunder—and my body vanished in a single black bolt of lightning. I reappeared five steps behind the pillar that had been lunging for me, ripping space open again—only to slam face-first into the transparent wall and ricochet hard.

I shot away like an arrow and crashed into the cavern wall. Gravel cascaded down the stone.

"Hah—! Hah—! Hah-hah—!"

With a groan that felt ready to burst my chest, I forced my head up. Sometime without my noticing, I was clear of the mud pit. Solid ground pressed under my backside.

A little way off, at the edge of the mire, Muyeong-sintu stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching me.

"Heh heh… Well? At least five steps that time, right?"

"…"

He muttered toward me.

"Something that took me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ten years… Is this brat actually a genius?"

A bead of sweat traced down his temple. His face held a complicated look.

"This can't be explained by the martial-copying ability alone. You need innate combat sense for something like this… And because he sincerely has no idea how gifted he is, he's become a monster without even the slight carelessness a genius is supposed to have."

"Muyeong-sintu?"

His hands and feet blurred.

Something hammered along my knee joints and waist—and the next instant I was on my feet.

"W-what is this—"

"Exactly one ke of rest, then training resumes. Looks like half measures won't cut it with you."

"Pardon…?"

He turned his back. After a moment of silence, as if sensing my blank stare, he whirled and bellowed over his shoulder.

"You called me your second master! I'm trying to teach you everything properly like a master should—you got a problem with that?! Or is a thief like me not good enough to take as a teacher?! Huh?!"

"N-no, sir!"

I hurriedly straightened from my half-crouch and clasped my fists in salute.

"I will give it everything I have."

"You're an unofficial orthodox brat saying you'll go fight the Heavenly Demon Cult's strongest monsters—men who've been rolled through hell on the front lines—as their representative. Lose and you really die! Especially now that you've stripped every last scrap of footwork I had left!!"

"Yes, sir!"

He jabbed a finger at the mud again.

"Bah—voice full of energy. Doesn't even sound like you need the full ke! Get in!"

"…"

I plunged once more into the bog that rose to my throat.

Later he even chained my hands so I could not unclasp them behind my back.

And so the remaining time flowed past.

"Do the clothes I prepared fit you well?"

After that merciless training, the mud never had a chance to dry on me. I washed under the rock seepage dripping from the underground cliff face. I washed my hair. I changed into the clothes Muyeong-sintu had readied.

I tightened the guards at my wrists. The leather-and-iron guards and boots from the old Ju family raid had been repaired and re-repaired until they could no longer serve. In their place I strapped on the thick leather protectors he had given me—chest and shins. Over them I pulled on black martial robes. I cinched the fluttering waist tight with a sash, then layered a silver sash over that. Last of all I wound the protective dharma wheel he had handed me—the one that warded off instant death—around my brow and let my bangs fall to hide it.

"Yes. Fortunately."

"Good. This is a small gift from me. Take it."

What he held out was a dagger the length of a handspan.

"This is…"

It carried a bluish sheen. But it was no ordinary blade. For the full week I had been here I had seen it until I was sick of the sight. One edge was a plain straight edge. The other was double-arrayed serrations set in opposing directions.

He flicked a fingernail against the teeth.

"Try pouring internal energy into it."

I looked from him down to the dagger. From my dantian, along the meridians, I pictured hot internal energy flooding into the steel.

A hair-raising whine rose. The counter-rotating double serrations meshed and began to tremble finely.

Watching it, Muyeong-sintu said, "Living here, tinkering with the White Lotus Demon Sect's mechanisms… I figured I could miniaturize some of them."

I lifted the blade and slowly scraped it along the wall.

A roar like bone and flesh being ground filled the air as the stone sheared away without mercy. At that almost pitiful cruelty I cut the flow of energy.

"The consumption is enormous."

Even that brief run had drained nearly half a gapja of internal power.

He nodded. "The cutting power is monstrous, though. Honestly I wondered about scaling it up into a greatsword, but mechanisms are mechanisms. No human could supply the energy, so I kept it small. Forged from White Lotus–era iron, so the durability is on another level. No elegance, no clean single-cut satisfaction—more like a butcher's tool, truly vicious. But if you're talking pure cutting force, it may be the finest weapon in the Central Plains. Not to your taste?"

I shook my head at once.

"It's the first blade I've ever truly owned. I'll use it with gratitude."

I sheathed it near the guard on my left wrist and lashed it fast. I shook out my hand. The solid weight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠recalled the days I had worn the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet.

"Hoh. Not exactly a greenhorn of the jianghu, and this is your first blade?"

"Yes."

Ridiculously enough, it was true. Under the wheel of fate I had clawed so hard just to stay alive that I had never owned even the personal sword any third-rate martial artist might keep. Ordinary blades lost their edge or snapped before they could last two or three real fights. On that road through hell, a cherished weapon had been a luxury.

Muyeong-sintu said, "Then all the more reason to name it. You know the famous saying? Name your first beloved weapon and it will live long."

"There's a saying like that?"

"Of course."

I thought for only a moment, then opened my mouth.

"I'll call it Myeolseom."

"Myeolseom… Annihilation. Suits it. Good. Moyong Bi—then you're ready?"

I looked at him. He was already moving quickly among the White Lotus mechanisms, checking the formation laid into the floor.

Mumyeong murmured a quiet note of admiration. In the short time we had shared, Muyeong-sintu had shown deft hands in far more than footwork. He could work the many White Lotus legacies left in Sam-bi-dong, and through endless probing and analysis—without a single annotation to guide him—he had learned to dismantle and adapt certain mechanisms at will. Among them were devices that could partially mimic the spatial sorcery the present-day Blood Sect employed.

"I'll explain only once, so listen well. Miss even a fraction and death will be standing right in front of your eyes."

With taut nerves I set both feet onto the formation spread before me.

Tuning them, Muyeong-sintu spoke at speed.

"From here I am sending you to the city nearest Cheonsubaekryeonsa. I wrestled with it for days, but in the end this gives you the best odds of living—and the lowest odds of walking straight into the death-fate that opens the moment you face Jeokmaryeong."

"So death still hasn't fully left me?"

His face darkened.

"Half. Still half. It hasn't peeled away completely."

"I see."

Radiant light began to dye my body.

"Running smooth."

Watching the glow, he went on. "Where you're going has plenty of martial artists, but ordinary civilians sit at an overwhelming density. Imperial regulars are thick on the ground too. Not many fools will do anything too crazy out in the open there. Bury yourself in the crowds, walk half a day straight, reach the border zone, and you live. Use this sketch map."

With a tight expression I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠burned the rough map he handed me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into memory.

Something occurred to me.

"Come to think of it—you once said that if I spoke a certain line at the right moment, it could become the spark that might shift the death hanging over my fate, even a little."

He did not deny it.

"I did. And the moment to say it is now… but this is awkward."

"Awkward?"

He drew the Great Rakshasa Jade from his robes, checked it once more, and spoke.

"Yeah. I wondered if the phrase meant for you might change again with time, but it's still the same. Honestly I want to take your side, but this time even I can't tell whether it'll help or not. Rare cases like this do crop up now and then."

"…"

"So choose. I've already pushed interference with the law of cause and effect as far as it will go. There's only one thing left I can give you."

He held up two fingers.

"One—maybe wasted effort, but you trust even a slim chance and take from me a single piece of advice that might change the future. Or—"

His hand pointed the other way. There sat a sack near to bursting with gold and silver coin.

"—you take that as travel money. One or the other. This looks like the last scrap of causality I'm allowed to touch for you."

"…"

At those simple words it would have been a lie to say I did not waver, foolish as it was.

I'll live through this scrap of nothing!

Happy birthday…!

In one corner of my mind rose the old noodle shop from my childhood. Even then I had been content with the broth alone—because there had never been money.

Treasure I could never touch in a lifetime of earning lay there in a sack like so many stones.

I drew a deep breath.

"Please give me the advice."

"You won't regret it? Even I have to say this line to match the prophecy, but I don't know how much real effect it'll have. Honestly, before I even speak it, it already sounds like nonsense to me. How this is supposed to help…"

"It doesn't matter. I… that is, I—"

Wrapped in the hazy radiance, I felt myself blurring from the fingertips first.

"I still—I absolutely cannot die yet. Even a single fen of probability is enough. I'll choose the path that lets me live, even if it's a field of dog shit, over the sweetness right in front of me."

The color of the light was different, but this was unmistakably the same kind of art as the Blood Sect's spatial sorcery I had seen in the war against Ilmanhyeolje.

"…Funny saying this now, but."

Muyeong-sintu looked at me with complicated eyes.

"Of every martial artist I've seen in this jianghu, you're the most human of us. Which is exactly why it hurts more."

"…"

"All right. I'll tell you. The advice you traded the gold and silver for is—"

The ground began to tremble. The art was taking hold.

"After the transfer completes—no matter what! No matter what. Count out loud to twenty, and only then take your first st—!"

Like incense smoke, everything before my eyes scattered at once.

It felt as if someone had thrown a great black cloth over my head and seized my skull to shake it hard.

The black cloth tore away.

What I saw next was a street I had never laid eyes on in my life.

"What the—"

At first I thought someone had upended a basin of water over me. From my parched shoulders to the crown of my head, a violent downpour soaked me as if it had been waiting.

The one mercy was that the new martial robes Muyeong-sintu had given me shed the rain; only the surface darkened a shade, and I was spared looking like a drowned rat.

"Cheap, cheap! In honor of the Lower Realm Festival—!"

"Ugh, what a cloudburst in the middle of the festival!"

I stood in a cramped alley so narrow my shoulders nearly brushed the walls. Ahead lay a main avenue. Along that avenue moved a sea of people. A beat later the clamor flooded my eardrums without end.

"…I really made it!"

Only then did I understand that the spatial art had succeeded—and that the life-or-death gamble had begun.

"Where… where is this? I was told a city about two days from the outermost edge of Cheonsubaekryeonsa…"

At first I was a little dizzy. I started to take a step—

—and locked in place without meaning to.

"Twenty breaths…?"

Honestly, I felt played. What kind of word game was this? The thought even crossed my mind that I should have taken the gold and silver after all.

I hesitated in the driving rain.

…Nothing to lose but the stake itself.

Standing in the downpour, I muttered,

"One, two, three… ten… fifteen… twenty."

Naturally, nothing changed.

"Damn it. Figured."

I decided to drop the last of my attachment. The one small mercy was that the rain was easing off for the moment.

I strode quickly out of the back alley. A cloth shop came into view ahead. I spoke to the owner.

"Pardon me. Could you tell me where this is?"

The proprietor eyed me oddly—soaked through, rain still dripping off me.

"What kind of man walks around without even a common rain hat, taking the rain full on, then shows up at the Lower Realm Festival and asks where he is like it's the first he's heard of the place…"

"I have my reasons."

"Reasons… Fine. If you say so."

Still tilting his head, he gave a short answer.

"This is Gwando. The place where every cargo route narrows like the mouth of a gourd."