The Belt of Protector Ryu
“Wow, this belt with its dark luster is a bit large, but it looks sharp. Thank you.”
“You damn brat… You think that’s just some simple trinket…?”
Hunched in the corner, Maho Seonin muttered under his breath. His face looked like it had aged another ten years in the space of a few minutes.
“Damn it, damn it… Just you wait till I make another bet. How the hell did something this absurd even happen? I was just going to palm him off with some decent-looking sword and call it even.”
The way he kept muttering made him sound less like a living man and more like a lingering grudge.
Still, I had no real idea what this thing was even for.
There’s got to be something to it. Mumyeong has never pushed me this hard to take something before.
Mumyeong never acted without reason. There was definitely something here.
The moment I picked it up, Mumyeong had fallen into complete silence again and hadn’t said a word since. With Maho Seonin right in front of me, I couldn’t exactly start talking to the voice in my head either.
“You idiot. I told you, didn’t I? That thing only works if you have at least two gapja of internal energy. A little brat like you putting it on is just—!”
A deep, resonant thrum rolled out as crimson lightning crackled and sparked, resonating with the belt.
“Huh?”
Maho Seonin’s eyes went blank.
I was trying to look calm, but I was just as startled.
It’s sucking in my internal energy?
The spiritual energy I’d gained through the Heavenly Hundred Ginseng had been thrashing around in my dantian like water forced into a vessel far too small, constantly on the verge of overflowing. It was an enormous amount of internal energy absorbed far too quickly. Even a body rebuilt on the foundation of the Heavenly Demon’s physique was struggling to contain it.
Mumyeong had said that if I took the time later to circulate and refine it properly, there wouldn’t be a problem. The issue was that I didn’t have a proper, efficient internal energy cultivation method to work with. The one Pahwanggun had taught me was nowhere near enough.
Normally, people built up vast internal energy over long years with refined methods, or—if they came from a proper lineage—received carefully tempered energy passed down from their elders. Cases like mine were almost unheard of. Asking someone for help would only invite questions about where the energy came from, so I’d been stuck grinding my teeth over it.
So this is what it was for.
It felt like pouring water onto dry paper. Starting from the leftmost of the seven beads, each one shifted to a bluish glow one after another, filling up like water jars. Two beads filled completely, and the third reached just under halfway before everything stopped.
With a soft clatter, the slightly loose belt cinched itself snugly around my waist as if it had been tailored for me.
“My body…!”
Vitality surged through every limb. A cool, refreshing sensation wrapped around me. More than anything, my lower body—centered on my waist—felt incredibly light and full of energy, as if I could take flight at any moment.
“Good heavens. At that age, enough internal energy to activate the Belt of Protector Ryu…”
Maho Seonin muttered, completely stunned.
“Young hero… which sect do you come from?”
His tone had completely changed. The man was eccentric enough to only ask now.
“Just some nowhere place of no importance.”
There was no need to say more. The internal energy I currently possessed had nothing to do with my origins anyway.
Whether he took my words in some other sense or not, Maho Seonin rose and stroked his beard. The earlier look of bitter regret—as if his most precious treasure had been stolen—was gone.
“Well… if you have the qualifications to make proper use of it, then I suppose I don’t mind.”
Even so, a faint trace of lingering attachment remained in his voice.
“How did you know the Belt of Protector Ryu was among those items, young hero?”
“I just… felt drawn to it.”
That was the best answer I could give.
“Drawn to it, you say. So the old saying that artifacts choose their masters was true after all.”
Fully convinced now, he clicked his tongue while stroking his beard again and again.
“What exactly is this thing? Its proper name and uses.”
“It is said to be the belt once worn by Protector Ryu, the legendary Guardian and right hand of the founding cult leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult. I, Maho Seonin, guarantee it is the genuine article.”
Mumyeong had clearly recognized it. That was why he had told me to choose it.
[….]
He still said nothing. If he had simply explained that it was a Heavenly Demon Cult relic, I would have understood immediately. Instead he stayed silent until I discovered the truth myself. He never changed.
“Even though Protector Ryu possessed the most formidable internal energy within the cult, the powerful presence and aura that inevitably radiate from such energy were said to be as faint as those of a frontline assassin.”
Maho Seonin pointed at the jewels set into the belt.
“I had only speculated before, but today confirms it. Each of those seven beads can store roughly one gapja of internal energy. Once stored, no one can sense it, allowing the wearer to reveal precisely as much—or as little—of their true power as they intend. And when more than one bead is filled, a special property is said to awaken.”
“A special property?”
Maho Seonin sat on the edge of the bed and continued.
“By dividing and storing the energy, it becomes far more stable to control, and the massive presence is split and reduced to almost nothing. On top of that, it elevates footwork techniques—especially lightness skills—to an absurd degree.”
Perfect. By the narrowest of margins, I had chosen the absolute best option.
My mind flooded with pure exhilaration. These were the two things I needed most right now.
I had to hide the internal energy that had swollen far beyond what was safe to show. Walking around with every card face-up was a fatal liability if I wanted to survive. The trump cards I could reveal when necessary were precisely this gapja of internal energy seething with lightning and fire.
And the second thing: for survival, footwork came first.
If I ever got the chance to learn something in Ha-mu-gwan, the first advanced martial art I intended to master was footwork. Nothing was unimportant, of course, but I had learned more times than I could count just how desperately I needed to be able to run fast. When I first took a blade in front of Cheonsubaekryeonsa, when I fought Pahwanggun, when Moyong Gangcheon mocked me in that ravine—if I’d had faster feet, everything might have been different. Luck had kept me alive so far, but in the worst case I needed to be able to extract my body and live to fight another day. This was exactly what I wanted.
The ice-cold, heavy Belt of Protector Ryu at my waist continuously sent a subtle chill along the meridians of my lower body, deepening the refreshing sensation.
The only footwork I currently possessed was the most basic technique of the Kongtong Sect—the Hwan-yeong-dae-sin-bo. Even if it was the most elementary of techniques, I wanted to layer the belt’s power onto it and try it out as soon as possible. In the past I had never even properly learned a third-rate footwork technique.
“Thank you truly, Master Maho Seonin!”
“Just go already. Let’s never see each other again.”
Maho Seonin flopped onto the bed and waved me off. He looked thoroughly sick to his stomach.
I clasped my fists in a formal salute, bowed, closed the door carefully, and stepped out. I wanted nothing more than to find an empty clearing or some place free of prying eyes and test the footwork immediately.
My stomach let out a loud growl.
No… food first, maybe.
Thanks to the Heavenly Hundred Ginseng I hadn’t collapsed, but I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in nearly a month. My body was a complete wreck and was screaming for food. Once I became aware of the crushing hunger, it twisted my gut so hard I could barely stand.
Right. No need to rush.
I hurried down the stairs. At the bottom—
“Over here! Our damn cheeky little shit of a younger brother!”
“….”
Moyong Ryu was waving me over with a lavish spread already laid out on the table. After the way I’d snapped at him earlier, I’d assumed he would never speak to me again. I’d half expected a clean declaration of war. Instead the sly, curly-haired bastard was grinning as if nothing had happened at all.
“Hungry? I figured we should celebrate you passing the promotion exam, and they said if you pay they’ll cook whatever you want, so I got everything ready. Come eat. You probably haven’t had a real meal the whole month of the exam.”
“I distinctly told you—”
My stomach chose that exact moment to roar again. I clenched my teeth and growled.
“Don’t talk nonsense. You think I’m crazy enough to eat anything you give me? Who knows if you poisoned it.”
Even so, my eyes refused to leave the food on the table. Moyong Ryu noticed, of course; his eyes still curved into crescent moons.
“Reeeally?”
At this point the man was basically a human raccoon—sly, shameless, and completely unbothered.
“So…”
Honestly, I had never seen food like this before. Embarrassing as it was, it was completely new to me. My mouth was flooding with saliva. I wanted to try it. How could anything smell that good? All kinds of noodles, fried rice, duck, fish. The fact that every person nearby had stopped talking and was staring at the table while drooling told me that even young masters from decent families rarely saw a spread like this.
“S-so if you thought you could poison me and succeed with a little temptation like this, you’re m-mistaken…!”
“Ah, enough!”
Moyong Ryu thrust a palm out and cut me off.
“An empty stomach before a meal makes everything irritating! People fight over nothing in that state all the time! I know how it is!”
“….”
“And what’s this about poison? Ha, this little shit. Hey, look at this. Look.”
He clicked his tongue, tore a drumstick clean off a smoked roast duck, and waved it right in front of my face.
“Kid, suspicion is fine, okay? But putting poison in food this expensive and high-class? What a waste. See this?”
Grease dripped from the duck leg in his hand. He shoved it into his mouth at lightning speed and kept talking without pause.
“Seriously. Your big brother goes out of his way to take care of you and this damn brat—look how fresh these vegetables are. Poison in here? Look at these noodles. The color’s perfect. Poison? Do I look like I’m clutching my throat and begging for my life? Honestly, this little shit has a face like dogshit and a suspicion complex worse than the third elder of the three great families. Tsk tsk.”
He snatched up a wine bottle, put it to his lips, and drained it in one go.
What the hell is this guy’s real identity?
My head was spinning. I couldn’t get a read on him at all. With most people you could see their goal and respond accordingly. This one was completely opaque.
While I stood there awkwardly, Moyong Ryu suddenly clapped his hands as if he’d just realized something.
“Ahh. Maybe there just isn’t enough food? Chef!”
At his shout, the cook who had been frantically working in the kitchen came rushing out.
“Add some more dishes here.”
“Yes, young master. What would you like?”
Moyong Ryu looked at me and grinned.
“Bring a whole lot of meat.”
“Meat?”
“Yeah.”
…This bastard. Don’t tell me.
“There’s someone here whose lifelong wish is to eat meat until he bursts.”
I stared at him blankly. He winked at me.
Back when I first met Jin Muje and Moyong Ryu in the training group, we had introduced ourselves. I barely remembered what Moyong Ryu had even said. Yet he had remembered the offhand remark I’d made about wanting to eat meat until I was stuffed.
Until now there had only been people who hated me. People who wanted to kill me. People who wanted to look down on me. Because of that, this felt completely foreign. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know what expression to make.
I really don’t get it.
I had assumed it was some scheme. But why? No matter how I thought about it, there was nothing to gain from this. In a world where I had always calculated loss and gain before every action, his behavior was too hard to understand and far too unfamiliar.
“Hey, you beggar-looking bastard, stop hovering. You’re ruining our young master’s appetite. Looking at those rags, who knows what minor sect you crawled out of.”
The cook gestured dismissively at me as I stood awkwardly in front of the table.
“Ah. S-sorry…”
I stepped back without thinking. It was a reflex carved into my soul after more than a decade of living on the bottom.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Huh…?”
“This food was prepared for you. Why are you backing away?”
The one holding my shoulder was Moyong Ryu. Our eyes met. He was a little shorter than me.
His voice turned cold.
“Don’t step back.”
This was the same man who always wore that sly grin. When he first threw pointless provocations at me, when he argued with Pahwanggun about not wanting to share a room with men, when we traded punches and ended up doing headstands side by side—he had always worn that teasing smirk.
“Hey, chef.”
The face he turned toward the cook now was an expression I had never seen before—completely blank.
“What did you just say to my younger brother?”