Chapter 14: I Think I'm Actually the Protagonist
Pa Cheon's startled yelp cut through the air.
"Why, why? Don't tell me……."
[Don't tell me?]
"That I'm actually blessed with a once-in-a-century talent?"
Anyone who's read a bit of wuxia knows the trope. When marveling at someone's talent, you'll often hear lines like, "A genius who appears only once every few years!"
It was the same in Return to the Murim. Especially for the Heavenly Demon of that era—they'd hype him up with phrases like "a talent never seen before and never to come again." Well, becoming Heavenly Demon in his twenties pretty much demanded those kinds of modifiers.
I looked at Pa Cheon expectantly, but he just whipped his blade tip back and forth. A clear denial.
[To think it could be this hopeless…….]
"……What was that?"
[I'm saying it's utterly botched. Didn't I tell you back in the cave? Spread your stance to shoulder width, fix your gaze, channel power to your dantian, and swing down in one breath.]
"I did that."
[How was that vertical? I've never seen anyone chop down in a zigzag like that.]
"Let me try once more. Once more."
I etched Pa Cheon's words into my mind again. I took my stance seriously and swung downward.
Whoosh—!
"That felt pretty decent this time, right?"
[If you hear wind whistling, it means the sword didn't take the shortest path.]
"So it's still a mess, huh."
[This is beyond ridiculous. Demon, are you under some curse? This is clearly my body—why…….]
Pa Cheon's reaction was ice-cold. If he had a face, I bet it'd be twisted in utter contempt right now.
I clutched my head with one hand.
"Why? What's the problem?"
There'd definitely come a time when I'd have to swing a sword for real. If even Pa Cheon saw it as garbage, absolute masters would laugh it off as total trash.
[Maybe it's because the changed body feels foreign, and you can't adapt.]
"Nah, that's not it. I can still act perfectly. Acting requires precise control over every muscle. Watch—I'm Sado Hwan."
[Hmm, your mimicry of me is indeed miraculous. Then why not treat the downward swing like an acting performance?]
"Why didn't I think of that? Solid idea."
I closed my eyes.
Back in reality, there were countless movies and dramas. I'd seen hundreds featuring sword-wielding characters. I started recalling them.
The single stroke of a swordsman fighting to reclaim his legendary blade.
The desperate swing to survive a blood-soaked battlefield.
The swift, stealthy, lethal cut against multiple foes.
Still with eyes shut, I gripped the sword tightly. Images of countless characters flickered across my closed eyelids—flowing, gathering, scattering.
"Hoo."
The moment I drew breath.
I swung downward.
Slash—!
Not the limp whoosh from before, but a sharp tear through the air.
[……Not bad.]
"Yeah?"
[Still sloppy. It feels like a clumsy mash-up of techniques from various schools.]
Pa Cheon hit the nail on the head. I'd drawn from scenes across multiple movies, after all.
His eye for martial forms was razor-sharp. According to Return to the Murim, Pa Cheon was a genius with forms, even if he couldn't channel qi properly.
"Acting really is my answer, huh."
It felt oddly bittersweet, yet satisfying. In reality, I couldn't prove myself through acting, but here in Return to the Murim, I could.
If you ignored the fact that every performance could cost your life, this world might actually be better.
[Remember that sensation and practice steadily.]
"Fine, whatever."
I shed my outer robe. The flashy thing flapped annoyingly with every move.
[Night's late. Midnight hour approaches soon.]
"Office workers stay up till then by default. Fun stuff always happens at night."
[No idea what that means.]
"Means I'm fine. My qi reserves are full anyway—no fatigue."
First-rate martial artists could thrive on four hours of sleep. Even with Sado Hwan's blocked meridians capping him at second-rate, his qi volume rivaled Peak realm. A short nap left me energized all day.
"Gotta have that grit to navigate this brutal world, right?"
[……Impressive enough.]
And so I swung the sword till dawn.
The next morning.
I'd swung all night and wanted to sleep in, but Sa Wol showed up bright and early, mercilessly. Couldn't show fatigue after "training," so I dragged myself up.
Plus, I was starving. We'd arrived at the inn last night, but after So In-gyeol puked up a basin of blood, my appetite soured—no dinner.
I washed up quick and headed to the main hall for breakfast. Could've eaten in the annex, but Cheonhwa Inn's premium floor view was surprisingly decent.
To me, fresh from a world of skyscrapers, this place felt alien without high-rises. A five-story building stirred faint memories of heights.
I sat at the table; Sa Wol and Tak Horak stood naturally.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
Sa Wol bowed her head. Tak Horak started to sit the second I spoke, then caught her glance and stood back up.
This was the problem with Demonic Cult folks. Strength ruled, so underlings instinctively watched superiors. Even top fighters ended up as servants.
This is what I need to tackle.
Sa Wol had handled every dirty job for the Sado family, yet her lowly origins meant no respect as a true warrior. No wonder they planted gu poison in her heart.
Shura Sado. As the name implied, the Sado family was ruthless and vile.
Sa Wol craves compassion.
But the Sados stripped even that from her. Her grudge made perfect sense.
Definitely need her on my side.
As a fake Super Peak master, I needed real Super Peak muscle. Toss Sa Wol a few opportunities, and she'd climb there herself. She was a genius rivaling the Heavenly Demon, after all.
"Sit. Table's big enough."
At my insistence, Sa Wol finally sat, hesitating. Sharing a table with me felt awkward. Tak Horak plopped down instantly, face screaming he had something to say.
Honestly, Tak Horak creeped me out a bit. Unlike the novel version I knew, this grown man idolized me like a god. Every word I said earned awe—made me scared to speak.
Can't ditch him, though.
Sa Wol bought my act for now, seeing me as a master, so she held back. But one slip, and she'd strike without warning—warriors loved throwing their lives away.
Tak Horak was my insurance. He'd block her first couple attacks at least.
"Shall I take your order?"
The waiter arrived right on cue.
"This inn famous for beef noodles, roast duck, bamboo leaf liquor? Dumplings sell well too?"
"How did you know?"
The waiter gawked. Predictable. Wuxia inns served those four staples. Some side novel sold jjajangmyeon, but no way here.
"Three each, then."
"Got it!"
As the waiter left, Tak Horak jumped in.
"Young master. Heard an interesting rumor last night."
"Rumor?"
"Sword Saint's taking a disciple."
"……Maeng Wi-hak?"
"Yes. Young warriors across the jianghu are buzzing."
I was genuinely shocked.
What kind of man was Sword Saint Maeng Wi-hak?
A hypocrite who'd sell his soul for supremacy. If there was a single bean, he wouldn't share—he'd devour it and steal yours.
That Maeng Wi-hak taking a disciple? Absurd.
Something's off.
Maeng Wi-hak wasn't the type for disciples. He'd hire grunts for chores.
The Soul Swap Great Law?
In the original Return to the Murim, it succeeded. But my meddling failed it.
Maybe that rippled outward.
"A disciple……."
"They say no matter the background, as long as you have talent—the jianghu's boiling. Half a year to apply, given how vast it is."
"Spies everywhere, then."
"Shall we send some?"
"They probably will."
Waste of time, though. Murim Alliance's intel was insane, and Maeng Wi-hak's ability sealed it. Like Un Yeop Ja, he could see qi with his eyes.
Even gathered human qi—inner energy—couldn't fool him. One glance revealed your cultivation. That's why he ruled as Sword Saint and orthodox top dog.
My counter. Best avoid him.
Planning to debut as an Eastern mystery man—Heavenly Demon Divine Art qi in my gut? He'd gut me on sight.
Of course, the jianghu was massive, and Maeng Wi-hak rarely wandered. Odds of meeting were slim.
Slim, right? Don't let clichés kick in here.
I'm no protagonist.
We were about to eat when.
Thudding footsteps—several men stormed up the stairs.
They radiated hostility aimed straight at me. Fine robes, sturdy builds screaming trained martial artists. At the rear: pale-faced So In-gyeol.
"You! The bastard who hexed our Somyeongjang's young master with evil sorcery!"
Ah.
Clichés don't miss like this.
I think I'm actually the protagonist.