The Murim Alliance
"Hahaha! To think you would copy my sword form and swing it right back at me!"
Geuk Cheonrang laughed heartily, looking down at Sanwol lying flat on the sickbed before him.
Sanwol forced a bitter smile, fighting back the throbbing aches that pulsed through every inch of his body. The duel held at the Murim Alliance's public sparring grounds had reached its conclusion. Though Sanwol had put up a surprisingly fierce fight, in the end, the victor standing tall with both feet planted firmly on the ground was Geuk Cheonrang. As for the spectators who had packed the stands, they had long since dashed out to spread word of the spectacle they had just witnessed across the city.
"So, how fares your body?"
"Well... there isn't a single spot that doesn't hurt."
When you were in pain, honesty was the best policy if you wanted proper treatment. Too many fools had crossed the river of no return trying to look cool and acting tough when they were bleeding internally.
As Sanwol grimaced at the sharp sting and confessed his current condition, Geuk Cheonrang's gaze deepened. He had been curious about how the boy would react in combat, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected him to copy his sword form and unleash it on the spot. And though Cheonrang had fought under all manner of self-imposed handicaps, hadn't the very sword he wielded ended up shattered?
"The sword form you mimicked is one that demands, at the very least, the martial prowess of the Transcendence Realm."
"Do sword forms come with prerequisites like that?"
"It is less a prerequisite and more a matter of one's vessel," Cheonrang explained. "Only by reinforcing the flesh with internal qi refined enough to manifest Astral Qi can one unleash the form in its true entirety."
The most fundamental way a martial artist utilized internal qi was physical enhancement. Yet even physical reinforcement was stratified by realm; the gap in qi manipulation between the Peak Realm and Transcendence—distinguished by the gulf between Sword Qi and Astral Qi—was akin to the difference between a child and a grown adult.
In the end, higher cultivation truly reigns supreme.
Sanwol nodded, struck once more by that inescapable truth of the martial world. Then, a sudden question struck him.
"Wait a moment. Didn't you refrain from using any internal qi during our duel?"
Geuk Cheonrang had shouldered two major handicaps when crossing blades with Sanwol. Had he not, the match would have ended in the blink of an eye without Sanwol even realizing how he had been defeated.
"Indeed. I held a blunted blade, and I did not reinforce my flesh with internal energy."
"Then how were you able to execute that form so effortlessly, Alliance Leader?"
If the form required physical reinforcement capable of forging Astral Qi to perform properly, Sanwol had done just that—pumping his internal qi to bolster his body before mimicking and executing the technique. Even so, his flesh couldn't withstand the strain, leaving him in this pathetic, battered state. Yet Geuk Cheonrang had executed the very same technique purely with his physical body, showing no sign of strain whatsoever. What accounted for such a vast disparity? Sanwol couldn't help but wonder.
"Do you truly believe the form I used against you was complete?"
"...Pardon?"
"While undergoing the Rebirth of Bones and Marrow did elevate my physical vessel tremendously, even I would struggle to execute the true, unadulterated form without drawing upon internal qi."
Sanwol stared in stunned realization. The technique he had barely managed to copy at the expense of his own muscles and bones was merely a diluted version—watered down just enough to be executed with raw physical strength alone!
"Above all," Cheonrang added, "had I unleashed the complete form, you would not have lasted an instant. You would be lying here with multiple shattered bones right now."
There was no arguing with that. From the moment Geuk Cheonrang began swinging his sword, Sanwol had been completely on the back foot, utterly incapable of mounting a proper counter. If even those watered-down techniques had driven him to the brink, what would have happened had a complete form come crashing down on him?
He certainly didn't become the Murim Alliance Leader for nothing.
Even so, the harvest had been bountiful. Through this invaluable clash, his combat instincts felt sharper than ever before. He had learned how to read an opponent's trajectory and how to formulate an instantaneous response. And if he had to name the single most precious gain from the fight, it was undeniably Geuk Cheonrang's diluted sword form. Though it was a pity that it was a degraded version simplified for bare-handed execution, one had to remember that the "bare body" in question belonged to a master of the Profound Realm.
Watered down or not, it's still the martial art of the Number One Under Heaven.
Sanwol's current realm was still too low to decipher the mental imagery imbued within the technique. Even without that spiritual depth, however, this single form was leagues beyond the Three Powers Sword Art he had cultivated so far. If he continued training his body until it could effortlessly endure the physical strain of this form...
"So then, what favor do you wish to ask of me?"
"Pardon?"
Sanwol blinked, struck dumb, and could only stare up at him. Cheonrang chuckled at the boy's bewildered expression and tapped Sanwol's forehead with an index finger.
"Did you not propose a wager at the very end?"
"...Did I... win that?"
"Strictly speaking, no," Cheonrang replied with a grin. "Your blade never touched me, and I never actually agreed to the wager in the first place."
It was true. Geuk Cheonrang had never accepted the bet. And even if he had, Sanwol had shattered Cheonrang's practice blade and collapsed unconscious before he could follow through. He had failed to fulfill his own condition—that his blade must touch Cheonrang's body. While the odds of winning had been minuscule from the start, a pang of regret lingered. I broke his sword; if only I had managed one more swing, would it have touched? Naturally, someone of Cheonrang's caliber would never have allowed a direct hit, but Sanwol couldn't help a quiet inward sigh.
"However," Cheonrang continued, "you showed great goodwill to our Alliance, and thanks to you, the Murim Alliance is enjoying unprecedented prosperity, is it not?"
"Th-Then you mean...?"
"Let us call the wager your victory. To a martial artist, a sword is an extension of the body, after all."
What a windfall!
Sanwol barely managed to stifle the urge to cheer at the top of his lungs. He had never dreamed he would actually secure a favor from Geuk Cheonrang himself. Whether aware of Sanwol's racing heart or not, Cheonrang spoke on with easy warmth.
"Besides, crossing swords with you was quite an enjoyable diversion for me as well. Both as a fellow martial artist and as a devoted reader of Nangahyeopjeon."
Reaching into his robe with a benevolent smile, Geuk Cheonrang retrieved a metallic medallion trimmed with brilliant gold and set it down beside Sanwol's pillow. Sanwol turned his head stiffly to inspect it. Its radiant, exquisite craftsmanship left no doubt: this was no ordinary trinket. Before Sanwol could voice his curiosity, Cheonrang answered it himself.
"It is a VIP Guest Medallion issued by the Murim Alliance. More precisely, it is the highest tier—one personally bestowed by the Alliance Leader."
"What?! A-Aaargh...!"
A VIP medallion issued only to honored guests of the Murim Alliance—and not just any guest token, but one exclusively granted by Geuk Cheonrang himself! The moment the staggering weight of the object sank in, Sanwol jerked in shock, triggering an immediate mutiny from his overtaxed muscles. A pathetic groan slipped past his lips as he slumped back onto the mattress.
Geuk Cheonrang chuckled at the boy's comical writhing, then reached into his wide sleeve once more and produced a small wooden box. Without a shred of hesitation, he flipped open the lid and brought its contents directly toward Sanwol's mouth.
"Take this. We wrapped you in bandages soaked in medicinal decoctions, but damaged meridians take quite a while to mend on their own."
"Thank you, Alliance Leader."
Nestled inside the box was a spiritual elixir of unmistakable rarity. The moment the lustrous, rounded chestnut-brown pill drew near his lips, Sanwol opened wide without a second thought. Like a mother bird feeding a chick, Cheonrang popped the elixir straight into Sanwol's mouth.
To Sanwol's surprise, it possessed no taste whatsoever. It melted away like a firm jelly dissolving in warm water.
They say good medicine is bitter to the tongue... so what gives?
The instant that thought crossed his mind, an unprecedented torrent of true qi surged into his meridians. Realizing that while good medicine might often be bitter, not all exquisite elixirs tasted terrible, Sanwol snapped his eyes shut. Now began the work of desperate concentration: guiding and absorbing every drop of the elixir's medicinal potency. Just as Cheonrang had said, with a tempest of pure energy circulating through his meridians, his injuries would heal in no time.
"Whew..."
"It seems your absorption concluded smoothly."
After roughly two tea times had passed, Sanwol opened his eyes with a refreshed countenance, having refined the vast majority of the elixir's true qi into his own internal energy. From a single pill, nearly all of his damaged meridians had cleanly regenerated. What was more, his total internal energy reserve had swelled dramatically. It had reached a volume sufficient for him to proudly proclaim himself a late-stage Peak Realm martial artist.
"I shall take my leave now," Cheonrang said, dusting off his robes. "Once you have finished recuperating and decide what favor you wish to ask of me, bring that guest medallion and visit the Murim Alliance."
"Understood. Take care on your way back, Alliance Leader."
"Haha! I appreciate the thought."
Geuk Cheonrang let out an amused chuckle, as if he had just heard an entertaining jest, and strolled out of the chamber. Puzzled by his reaction, Sanwol pondered it for a moment before the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
Wait... a Peak Realm nobody groaning on a sickbed just told the Profound Realm's Number One Under Heaven to 'be careful' on his way home?!
A wave of burning embarrassment flushed his face crimson. Reflexively, Sanwol tried to kick his bedsheets in mortification, but the violent protests of his abdominal and leg muscles immediately crushed the rebellion.
For the record, a full recovery took an entire week.
Once fully recovered, Sanwol returned to his estate, and daily life resumed its familiar rhythm. Or so he thought.
"What? You had books stolen?"
"Aye. Don't know what kind of bastard did it, but they made off with one copy of each volume of Nangahyeopjeon."
Kang Seokho, visiting the estate for the first time in a while, delivered the startling news: the copies of Nangahyeopjeon Volumes 1 through 3 kept safely at Muho Bookstore had vanished.
The bookstore owner wore an expression of incandescent fury. The iron bars installed over the bookshelves had been severed with terrifying precision, leaving no doubt that a thief had slipped in under cover of darkness. Seokho had asked around the entire neighborhood to find out which son of a bitch was responsible, but there wasn't a single lead. It was as if the thief had vanished into thin air or melted into the earth—not a living soul had caught a glimpse of them.
Having listened to the whole tale, Sanwol fetched replacement copies and handed one of each volume to Kang Seokho.
"Take these for now. I'll have someone discreetly investigate this comic thief, so please just take care of yourself, Uncle."
"Aye, thanks. When you get down to it, they're your books, and here I am, a grown man careless enough to let them get pinched... Bah!"
"I've got stacks of books piled to the ceiling anyway. As long as you're healthy and unharmed, Uncle, that's all that matters to me."
"Hmph, you always know just what to say, you brat."
Clearly touched by the boy's concern beneath his gruff exterior, Kang Seokho offered a faint smile before departing the estate.
Left alone, Sanwol pondered the thief's identity and motive for a moment before deciding to conduct an inquiry and wait. After all, high-demand goods like Nangahyeopjeon attracting sticky fingers was hardly surprising in the Central Plains, and track-and-trace in this lawless, primitive era of Murim was an exercise in futility. The best they could do was beef up security at Muho Bookstore and keep an eye on the black markets where stolen copies of Nangahyeopjeon might be fenced.
"Ssssp... Is someone badmouthing me behind my back?"
Even after setting the countermeasure in motion, Sanwol's expression remained clouded. It wasn't the nagging sensation of having forgotten something important; it was a strange premonition, an ominous inkling of an unprecedented storm brewing on the horizon.
I need to advance my cultivation realm as fast as humanly possible.
And so Sanwol resolved to devote himself even more intensely to his martial arts training. While it might have seemed like a leap in logic, in the Jianghu of the Murim, might was the only law that truly mattered.
Unfortunately, he wasn't granted the luxury of secluding himself in cultivation right away.
"Young Master, the foundation work for the comic teahouse has been completed."
Now, duty called—he had a construction site to inspect.