Nangahyeopjeon
The city of Wuhan had been turned completely upside down.
It did not take long for Sanwol to realize this fact. Everywhere he went, people were clamoring about Nangahyeopjeon, frantically demanding the next volume and scouring the city for information about the author. To be precise, they were searching for the physical person behind that information; finding the name itself had been easy enough once people started asking around.
Yet all anyone had managed to discover was that the author of Nangahyeopjeon was a young man named Sanwol. A vague description of his appearance circulated by word of mouth, but verbal accounts were notoriously unreliable beyond the broadest strokes. On top of that, Sanwol was hardly a public figure. Though an expert of the Peak Realm, he preferred a quiet, leisurely life over chasing glory and heroic deeds.
Right now, that very same Sanwol was grinning from ear to ear, thrilled to discover just how popular his comic had become. Crowds everywhere were clamoring for copies. By any metric, it was a colossal hit. If there was any miscalculation on his part, it was merely that the reaction had exploded far beyond his wildest expectations.
"Uncle Kang, do you have a moment to talk?"
"Hm? Well, look who finally decided to show up! You haven't shown your face in two whole months!"
"I ran out of living expenses, so I went on an escort mission to Anhui Province for a bit."
Sanwol had come to visit the man he was closest to in Wuhan: Bookseller Kang. Their friendship hadn't formed because Sanwol was a frequent customer, but rather because he had chased off the thugs and ruffians who constantly harassed the shop whenever business was good.
"Tsk, tsk. Then I take it you have no idea what that comic of yours has done to Wuhan."
"Actually, that's exactly what I came to hear about."
Kang's eyebrows twitched the moment he laid eyes on Sanwol, greeting him with a gruff scowl. Responding nonchalantly, Sanwol let out a soft chuckle and walked over to the shelf where the five copies of Nangahyeopjeon were kept. But when he arrived, he stopped. Wooden bars had been installed over the shelf, looking for all the world like a miniature jail cell—and only around the single row holding the five volumes of Nangahyeopjeon.
Why in the world had he barred this section alone?
As if reading Sanwol's bewildered thoughts while the youth ran his fingers across the wooden slats, Bookseller Kang let out a deep sigh.
"Thieves. Too many bastards trying to snatch them. That's why I put up the bars."
"What? Over a simple comic book?"
"A simple comic book, he says! You have no idea the absolute madness this city was in while you irresponsibly vanished off to Anhui for two months!"
Bookseller Kang scowled fiercely, clearly reliving the chaos. Judging by Sanwol's blank expression, the boy still had no clue what an earth-shattering thing he had created. And so, Kang began recounting the events of the past two months, explaining just how wild Wuhan had become over a single illustrated story.
"To be fair, nobody paid any attention during the first week. No one even bothered to figure out what a comic book was."
"Well, that makes sense."
"Right. But on the tenth day, everything changed."
Kang's shop was one of the most prosperous bookstores in all of Wuhan. He carried everything from novels and erotic prints to historical chronicles and the assorted diaries of nameless travelers. With an overwhelming volume of books and a collection so eclectic that neat categorization was entirely pointless, the shop had naturally flourished. Consequently, his clientele was extraordinarily diverse. Street urchins and scruffy vagrants rubbed shoulders with high-ranking officials and scions of renowned clans.
"Tell me, do you know why Wuhan is considered one of the most prosperous cities in the Central Plains today?"
"Isn't it because the Murim Alliance headquarters is here? I can't imagine why else so many people would cram themselves into a sweltering furnace like this."
"Exactly. The Murim Alliance—a coalition forged by the luminaries of the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Families."
"Everyone in the realm knows that, but what does it have to do with my comic?"
Why bring up the Murim Alliance out of the blue? As Sanwol tilted his head in confusion, Kang clicked his tongue and shook his head—not in denial, but with the exasperated disappointment one reserved for the hopelessly dense.
"You know the Namgung Clan, don't you?"
"Of course I do. The family of the Sword Emperor, Namgung Gojeok, famed for the Sovereign Sword Form. One of the Five Great Families."
"Their Young Patriarch came by. He read Nangahyeopjeon, got so completely blown away that he started singing its praises to high heaven across the entire city."
Kang glared at him sharply, his gaze practically shouting, Do you finally understand the situation now?
Yet for that brief moment, the glare failed to register. Sanwol was entirely captivated by the realization of just what kind of colossal force had thrown its weight behind his comic. The name of the Five Great Families, and the Namgung Clan in particular, was anything but light. In terms of prestige, they bowed to no one; when it came to swordsmanship, they were widely whispered to be the unrivaled first among the five clans. Moreover, the young patriarch was already famous throughout the martial world under his moniker: the Tyrant Sword Divine Genius, Namgung Mugyeol.
"Wait, why would a nobleman like that even read a comic?"
"How should I know? Probably got bored after training and wandered in! Regardless, with the Young Patriarch of the Namgung Clan raving about how brilliant it was, how could people not pay attention?"
Only then did Sanwol piece together how Nangahyeopjeon had swept through Wuhan. The tiny snowball of a recommendation cast by the heir of one of the Five Great Families had rolled forward, picking up speed as it passed through the other young prodigies of the Murim Alliance before crashing into the common folk.
And Sanwol's deduction was spot on. Namgung Mugyeol had raved about Nangahyeopjeon to his circle of fellow prodigies, and curious during their downtime, they had flocked to Kang's bookstore. All five of them had sat shoulder to shoulder, devouring a volume on the spot. The sheer, unprecedented thrill of the medium had struck their minds like a bolt from the blue.
A trend was like a wildfire on an open plain: once lit, it spread with frightening speed and proved nearly impossible to extinguish. What had begun as a niche obsession within the Murim Alliance quickly grew into a craze embraced by all the martial artists lingering in Wuhan. Though entirely unintended by Sanwol, it had ignited a phenomenon akin to modern bandwagon consumption. And because the common people always hung on every word and habit of the martial elite, the craze that swept through the warriors soon reached the hands of ordinary townsfolk.
So that's why everyone in the city knows about it.
The moment he got back, he would have to draw the second volume without delay. With countless readers practically screaming for the next chapter, Sanwol finally resolved to commit to serialization. For the readers who had spent two agonizing months waiting without a single word of promise, it was an immense stroke of good fortune.
"Some lunatics showed up waving bags of silver, demanding to buy the display copies outright," Kang said, grumbling. "At its worst, people tried to slip into the crowd and just steal them."
"Sounds like you had a rough time."
"You have no idea! And you handed copies to Storyteller Jang and the tavern waiter, didn't you?"
"I did. Publicity works best when more people are spreading the word."
"Well, thanks to you, those two have been raking in coin hand over fist. I heard people were eating every single meal at the tavern just for a chance to read a few pages."
Because of its sensational popularity, anyone in possession of a copy had lined their pockets nicely. Sanwol had expected interest to build only after a few volumes had accumulated, but to think the very first installment would trigger this kind of frenzy... Swallowing his sheer disbelief, Sanwol turned to leave the shop.
Behind him, Bookseller Kang cleared his throat loudly, making sure he was heard.
Realizing the man still had something to say, Sanwol paused and glanced back over his shoulder. Kang hesitated, fidgeting and humming around his words before finally blurting it out.
"So... when do you reckon the next volume will be ready?"
When would the next chapter drop? To Sanwol, this was hardly a difficult question. In his past life as a manhwa artist, he had heard it thousands of times. If anything, he had spent just as much time badgering other authors for daily updates on their novels and comics.
"Well... I'd say next month at the earliest."
Since it was a black-and-white comic that required no coloring, all he had to do was draw out the story he had already outlined. As for mass distribution, he could churn out duplicates using his duplication ability without relying on ancient printing presses. A skill he once dismissed as a useless white elephant had found an astonishingly perfect use.
After a quick mental calculation of the timeline, Sanwol gave his answer, and Kang's face brightened as he nodded vigorously.
"Right, of course! I've been thoroughly enjoying Nangahyeopjeon myself, you see. I'll make sure it gets the prime spot and push it as hard as I can, so please leave the next volume to my shop as well!"
Even without the plea, Sanwol had intended to do so anyway. A comic was still a book after all, and a bookstore felt like its natural home.
"I'll do that."
"Thank you! I'll have the best display ready, so bring it by whenever it's finished!"
Leaving the enthusiastic Bookseller Kang behind, Sanwol stepped out into the street and made his way toward a local tavern. After wrapping up an escort job, it was practically tradition to share a celebratory drink with fellow escorts.
However, as dictated by the timeless cliches of martial arts tales, taverns were doomed to be trashed from time to time—invariably by mindless martial artists picking fights with one another.
Unfortunately, today, the stage for that classic trope happened to be Sanwol's favorite tavern.
"For men who strut around calling yourselves the Four Heroes of East Lake, your skills are utterly pathetic."
A middle-aged swordsman who appeared to be in his forties sneered down at a young man kneeling before him, clutching a bleeding flank. Gritting his teeth in humiliation, the youth pressed his left hand over the wound, yet refused to let go of the sword in his right. Behind him, three other young men stood tall with imposing momentum, matching the moniker of the Four Heroes of East Lake.
"Do not get cocky merely because you brought down our youngest!"
"Indeed. Our youngest is merely the weakest among us!"
Sanwol paused at the entrance, tilting his head. Those lines sounded remarkably familiar. Where had he heard that before? Still, watching a fight was second in entertainment value only to watching a house fire, so he lingered near the doorway, casually spectating the duel between the Four Heroes and the middle-aged swordsman.
"Is that so? Now that one has fallen, do the remaining three intend to gang up on me?"
"Gang up? Ridiculous. Did we not just tell you? Our youngest is merely the weakest among us!"
Then, like a forgotten memory bursting back to the surface, Sanwol suddenly realized why the scene felt so uncanny.
"Just as he said! From here on out, I, Chain-scythe Cho Ryeogon, shall be your opponent!"
The weakest among us. Chain-scythe someone-or-other.
Of course it sounded familiar. It was familiar because Sanwol was the very person who had unleashed those lines upon the Central Plains in the first place.
"Wait... hold on a second."
Those were verbatim lines from Nangahyeopjeon.
Utterly dumbfounded, Sanwol let out a hollow, helpless laugh.