Hell's PT Number 8
"Alright, let's stretch before we eat."
I held up eight fingers.
"Welcome to hell. The exercise we're doing now is PT Number 8: full-body twist."
They had no idea. That something scarier than a tiger existed—guerrilla training. And that the meat they were about to eat might be their last supper.
"Full-body twist? Is that the secret technique for catching tigers?"
Choi Ga's eyes sparkled as he asked.
His gaze brimmed with anticipation. A peerless hero passing down martial arts. He must have pictured something straight out of a wuxia novel—a grand ultimate technique. Like Dragon Ascending to Heaven or Ferocious Tiger's Roar.
I smirked and nodded.
"Yeah. Master this right, and you could snap a tiger's waist. Of course, yours might snap first."
"We'll follow you to the end, Commander! Just give the order!"
The men clenched their fists, burning with resolve. Naive fools. Ignorance breeds courage, as they say. They didn't yet know why 21st-century Korean men trembled and had fits at the mere mention of "Number 8."
"Good. Everyone, shirts off."
At my command, the thirty men fumbled with their clothes.
Pathetic bodies emerged. Potbellies, protruding ribs, flabby flesh without a hint of muscle. Bodies like that on the battlefield? Perfect targets for a sword thrust.
"Spread out. Arms' length apart."
The inn courtyard filled up. Dust puffed into the air as the half-naked men stood solemnly in the center. Seo Baek-seol, watching from the sidelines, propped her chin on her hand from the porch, looking intrigued.
"Now, lie down."
"Lie down? Is this a lying-down martial art?"
"Yeah. The most comfortable position. Lie down first."
They hit the dirt on their backs. I paced between them, tapping my club.
"Legs together, knees straight. Hands clasped behind your head."
"L-like this?"
"Right. Nice and comfy, huh? Now, from there, lift both feet a handspan off the ground. Go."
They lifted their legs, clueless. At first, they looked relaxed. What's so hard about lifting legs while lying down?
"That's the basic position. Cadence is 'guerrilla.' Got it?"
"What's guerrilla mean?"
"Crossing mountains and rivers to take the enemy's head. No chit-chat—repeat after me. Guerrilla!"
"Guerrilla!"
Their voices boomed. Still full of energy.
I grinned and raised one finger.
"One."
I demonstrated, twisting my torso left and crossing my legs. They grunted, following along.
"Two."
Back to start.
"Three."
Twist the other way.
"Four."
Start position.
"On one-two-three-four, shout the cadence. Got it? Let's go. One!"
"One!"
"Two!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
"Three!"
"Four!"
"Guerrilla!"
So far, so good. They even giggled, faces saying, Is this martial arts or a dance?
But I knew the real terror came from repetition.
"Good job. Now, 100 reps."
"O-one hundred?"
"Too few? Want me to make it 200?"
"N-no, sir! We'll do it!"
It began.
The first 10 reps still had smirks. But past 20, the air shifted. Giggles vanished, replaced by ragged breaths and grunts of "Urgh" and "Ngh."
Abs tearing. Thighs burning. Unused muscles screaming.
"Don't drop those legs! Drop 'em, and we start over!"
My bellow made the sneaky droppers jolt and lift again.
"Thirty... two... ughhh..."
"Listen to those voices. Tough? A tiger's paw is a hundred times heavier!"
I prowled with my club, smacking sloppy hips.
"Twist harder! Like wringing laundry! No core tension?"
"C-Commander! My gut... it's gonna snap!"
Choi Ga yelled, face beet-red, sweat pouring like rain, soaking the dirt.
"It won't. I guarantee it. Humans don't die that easy."
I said coolly.
"Stop now, and you will die. Drop your sword on the battlefield 'cause it's hard? Tell the enemy slicing your throat, 'Hold up, gut cramp'?"
My roar seared into their brains.
In extreme pain, people either quit or grit through with spite. I wanted to draw out that spite from these ragtag thugs.
"Fifty... seven... guer... rilla..."
Voices like crawling ants. Some foamed at the mouth, eyes glazing.
Limit reached. Push more, and they'd faint or bolt. Time for the carrot.
"Sniff sniff."
I snorted loudly on purpose.
"Ahh, smells great. Baek-seol, meat done?"
Seo Baek-seol on the porch caught on quick.
"Yup. Boiling away in the pot. Milky broth—pure nectar."
Savory soybean paste and fatty meat scents wafted from the kitchen on the breeze.
Heaven's aroma in hell's training ground.
Nostrils flared. Glazed eyes refocused. Meat. Tiger meat, the world's best. Eat it, or lose out if you collapse.
"Hear that? Finish, get meat. Fail, no broth drop."
"Raaagh!"
Choi Ga roared, twisting viciously.
"Sixty! One! Sixty! Two!"
Human desire: simple, powerful. Hunger beat pain. Competition kicked in too—can't lose to the guy next door.
"Seventy... eighty..."
The yard was pandemonium. Dust choked the air; steam rose from their bodies. No longer ragtag thugs—they were desperate beasts clawing for survival. Or meat.
"Ninety-nine! One hundred!"
"Guerrilla!!"
The final shout erupted; they collapsed as one.
"Hah... hah..."
"Thought... I was dead..."
No one rose. Not a finger twitched. But their faces were odd—twisted in agony, yet laced with triumph.
I clapped.
"Well done. No stragglers—all passed."
A few smirked at the praise.
"Anyone who can stand, kitchen. First come, first served."
Corpses twitched like zombies, crawling if needed. Sheer will.
A massive iron cauldron hung before the kitchen, logs blazing, white steam hissing from the lid gap.
Seo Baek-seol lifted the lid.
Whoosh—
Thick steam unleashed a meaty explosion. Tiger sukiyaki simmered in soybean broth, with rice porridge laced with greens.
"Line up! Bowls out!"
At her call, the men formed orderly lines. Hard to believe these were the guys dying moments ago.
I ladled heaping meat into bowls.
"Eat up. Fat to flesh, meat to muscle."
"Thank you! Dig in!"
Hands shook holding the bowls—muscle spasms or emotion, who knew.
They plopped anywhere in the yard and shoveled it in.
Slurp, chomp.
No words. Just chewing and gulping. Hot broth filled empty stomachs; color returned to their faces.
Choi Ga stuffed a huge chunk, chewed, and teared up.
"Commander... best meat ever born."
"Knew it. Your sweat's the seasoning."
"This the tiger's power? Body's heating up!"
"Yeah. Tomorrow, 200 reps with that energy."
"......Pardon?"
Choi Ga nearly dropped his spoon.
"Kidding. Tomorrow we wreck the legs. Squats—got something good."
They tilted heads but focused on their mouths. Poor bastards. Tomorrow, legs like jelly, shitting themselves.
I ladled my own bowl and sat on the porch. Seo Baek-seol joined, ledger open.
"Today's food alone took two seom of rice. At this rate, tiger profits gone in two months."
Worry in her voice, but not her face. She'd seen it too—the potential in those sweating, disciplined men.
Not parasites, but future assets.
"Don't worry. Money holes opening soon."
"Where? More tigers?"
"Nah. Can't dry up the tigers—save 'em."
I slurped broth, wiped my mouth.
"The magistrate's office."
"Pardon? The yamen?"
"Damyang magistrate. Rumor his coffers are fat."
Her eyes widened.
"You gonna rob the yamen? That's rebellion!"
"Who said rob? Legit investment."
"Investment? From that corrupt pig?"
"Make him. Who am I?"
I flexed my fist.
"Power draws wealth. And we've got cause."
"Cause?"
"Prepping to smash the pirates. Protecting the country—who's the traitor if he won't help?"
She shook her head in disbelief, but a sly smile tugged her lips. Secretly thrilled what madness I'd pull for cash next.
Dinner ended; stuffed men spread mats in the yard and flopped.
"Aigoo, my back..." "Can I stand tomorrow..."
Moans carried new vigor. Not defeat, but raw life.
I watched, lost in thought.
Thirty. Way too few. But if 30 became 300, then 3,000?
Imjin War's early woes weren't lack of troops. No elite fighters who knew how to fight. Farmers with spears fled at musket cracks.
These guys? Different. Endure hell training, absolute obedience. And I'd teach 'em victory's taste.
"Choi Ga."
He jolted to rise from his mat.
"Stay down. Got a question."
"Yes, Commander. Ask away."
"You know more thugs in nearby villages, towns?"
"Tons. Famine—starving everywhere."
"Spread word tomorrow. Come here, get meat, get made into men."
"Got it! I'll bring my buddies!"
Scale up. Absorb Damyang's scum, then all Honam toughs.
War hits, they'll turn bandit or starve. Turn 'em to soldiers. Best relief and prep I could do.
Night deepened. Full moon lit the yard. Snores chorused.
I stood, gazed at the stars.
Phase one done.
Capital secured, core troops formed. Next: weapons.
Clubs won't stop wako. Need gunpowder, cannons. Need an engineer.
One nearby. Gunpowder nut, weapon genius. Turtle ship designer.
Na Dae-yong.
Tomorrow, hunt him. My might plus his tech? War changes completely.
"Wait for it."
I clenched my fist.
"Joseon's seas to Admiral Yi Sun-sin. The land's ours."
Cool night wind soothed my hot brow. Tomorrow: busier, louder.