Martial Arts Are Too Easy (2)

I've experienced gates vanishing plenty of times before.

But back then, I was always just a porter trailing after the murim folks.

This was the first time I'd ever seen the message pop up myself.

'I'm really awakened now.'

Strangely enough, this moment—staring at these words—hit me harder than even mastering that martial art earlier. It finally felt real.

Maybe when those murim guys would stare into empty space, muttering stuff only they could hear, I'd felt more left out than I'd realized.

'The murim folks.'

I'd forgotten about them amid the boss monster chaos, but there were murim warriors from Dobongpa who'd entered this gate with me.

When a gate disappears, everyone inside gets ejected back to the original entrance.

So unless they'd died in the meantime, running into the Dobongpa crew again was inevitable.

The gate vanishes, and the scenery before my eyes warps.

Then, in my remaining good eye, I spot her face—the bitch who'd tried to kill me outright.

A black surge of emotion boils up from my chest.

What pissed me off most was that she was wielding the sword she'd stolen from me.

Hell, looked like she'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even bashed someone with it. Who the fuck does she think she is, turning my sword into some used-up piece of trash?

Ah. Aaaah.

This fucking sucks.

And my left eye still wouldn't focus. Had it gone completely blind?

Objectively speaking, I should be grateful for my situation right now.

After all, I'd cleared the gate and survived. The Black Spot Disease that had tormented my body for so long was gone. I'd even picked up some amazing martial art.

So losing one eye? In the grand math of gains and losses, maybe I could generously shrug it off.

But for some reason, disgust flooded every inch of me.

This fucking sucks. I'm pissed. I resent her.

It felt like something pitch-black was churning wildly inside me. I spat it out—raw and vile—as profanity.

"Give me back my sword, you fucking bitch."

Nam Yeon's eyes went wide.

For a split second, something rippled inside her. Maybe a shred of guilt.

"…I don't know who the hell you are."

But even if it was guilt, Nam Yeon chose to bury it herself.

"I'm refusing. This is my… my find, my stuff."

"That—!"

I kick off the ground.

"Why the fuck—!!"

I draw the sword.

"Is your find, your stuff!!"

I clash with Nam Yeon.

"!?"

The instant we collide, Nam Yeon feels a massive shock.

'What the hell kind of inner energy…!'

When murim warriors clash, they sense each other's inner energy.

Usually it's something like pure, turbid, strong, weak.

If someone's cultivated a unique art, it might feel icy, scorching, or laced with poison.

But this '仙女' beauty's energy was none of that.

It felt like peeking into an impossibly deep ocean—vague, endless.

A chilling dread that her own energy might get sucked into that abyss.

"Kuh!"

Nam Yeon ignores the unidentified blackness for now and unleashes Dobongpa's familiar palm technique.

Tiger-Taming Palm. Characterized by clawing fingers—Dobongpa's basic art.

Not as advanced as her earlier Tiger Shadow Immortal Palm, but more comfortable for her.

Kuooooong…!!

Her palm strike meets the peach-haired beauty's sword. She avoids the sharp edge, slamming the flat with her palm.

That alien energy surges again.

But at the same time, Nam Yeon senses something off.

'What is this?'

She realizes it quickly.

'This woman… doesn't know any swordsmanship?'

Nam Yeon had tested her deliberately—using a form easy to counter with a sword.

"!"

But the beauty doesn't counter. She just barely retreats.

And her sword grip was shaky too.

'For real. She knows zero sword arts!'

A cruel smile twists Nam Yeon's lips. Laughter bursts out.

"Ha! Hahaha!!"

Her palm slams into the beauty's side.

"Guhk!"

Pain explodes from her ribs.

'Damn it…!'

Couldn't dodge. Too fast.

With one eye busted, her vision had blind spots, no depth perception. It felt like watching a camera feed on a screen—distances didn't click intuitively.

"Haha! You worthless slut acting all high and mighty!!"

Nam Yeon runs her mouth again.

Raw hatred boils in my chest.

Should I ditch the sword and hit her with Black Darkness Apocalypse Palm like against the boss?

But no—that had to be my last resort.

I'd realized it.

This insane rage I'd felt since then. The hatred. Gut-twisting depression. Vengeful disgust at the world itself. Urge to destroy.

This wasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

It was residue from that art's despair-filled heart image, seeping into me.

Just two swings, and I was already like this.

If I tapped it again to fight Nam Yeon, the heart image might swallow me whole.

Couldn't let that happen.

If it did, the 'me' I knew—Cheon Do-yeon—would vanish. Just a monster fueled by someone else's revenge left behind.

I wanted revenge on Nam Yeon.

But after that, I wanted to keep living—as myself, holding onto my own heart.

At least this sword was a named blade, fitting my hand like it was custom-made.

Even flailing it desperately without knowing shit, I was blocking her attacks here and there.

But to beat her? Obvious what I needed.

'I need swordsmanship!'

I flick open the gallery in my mind while parrying her palm. Check messages too—maybe someone else taught me something.

'Don't need it!'

'Fuck off, peddler!!'

'Manggeum-geo!?'

The infamous third-gen heir of Oseong Group, one of the five great chaebols of the empire. A murim celebrity.

'You finally showed up!'

And he's offering exactly what I need—a sword art. How could I not be grateful!

Manggeum-geo had split it up for a reason.

The art he sent: Three Talents Sword Art.

It was martial, sure—but infamous as the absolute lowest, most pathetic, weakest one out there.

Just three moves: horizontal slash, vertical slash, thrust. That's why only three images—the entire manual.

Like begging for food 'cause you're starving, and he tosses you one or two grains of rice while cackling.

'What a fucking asshole!'

But.

An old man in white training robes turns to me.

Such a frail, low-level kid—how did you make it here?

What a shame! If you'd come stronger, I could've shown you deeper secrets.

Take this much at least!

The old man draws his sword and moves three times.

Dances three dances.

The essence ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of every sword under heaven packed into those three motions.

But aaaah, can I even replicate it perfectly?

My lips curl into a grin.

'Got it—swordsmanship!'

I grip the sword.

Stand zheng—perfectly upright, perpendicular to the earth.

Raise it high, then slash straight down.

Three Talents Sword Art, First Form: Vertical Slash.

Before the blade even finishes its arc, I already know.

The fight with Nam Yeon is over.