The Murim's Lost Direction
Drowsiness creeps in, but I cannot sleep. Today is a very special day, after all.
"So-so, take care!"
"I'll remember!"
"You'll come back, right?!"
Today is the day Yi So-so leaves for the academy. The children who were usually close to So-so wave their hands toward her as she boards the carriage. One of them is me.
What surprises me a little is that the 'academy' So-so is heading to is not a scholarly hall for learning letters, but the Martial Academy. No wonder they said the Hyeongsan Sect was coming—it must have been to see So-so.
My interest does not lie with So-so, though I feel sorry for her as she bursts into tears. My skin is trembling.
—A sharp sting. My skin aches. Even without being told, I can tell. Paeng Muk-do told me to forget yesterday's events, but how could something like that be easily forgotten? I have not properly studied martial arts, yet I am certain. That presence is not something that can be created in a single day.
The martial artist standing beside the carriage would at best match Chil-akgeom Paeng Yong-su in skill; defeat seems unlikely.
So-so calls out to her friends one by one, offering her farewells.
"Yeon-hui! Yeah! I'll come visit often!"
"Deok-bae! Stop bullying the kids! If I hear that again, you know what'll happen, right?"
"Ye-rin! I didn't want to say this until now, but you're uglier than me!"
"Min-su, just go already."
So-so's provocative words spark a noisy uproar as if in rebuttal. And then…
"What are you looking at so intently, Sect Leader Yi Yeon-baek?"
"Ah, it's just that a child has been staring at me without blinking."
"A child, you say?"
An inner disciple of the Hyeongsan Sect turns his gaze in the direction Sect Leader Yi Yeon-baek is looking.
"Staring? But his eyes are closed."
"No. He is clearly seeing me."
"Hmm…"
The inner disciple in blue robes folds his arms and tilts his head, but Yi Yeon-baek narrows his eyes.
He is measuring me.
It was a mad thought. If Yi Yeon-baek had even muttered such words, his disciples would have jumped in shock. Who is Yi Yeon-baek? He is the proud sect leader of the Hyeongsan Sect, a top hundred expert of the world who earned the title Museugeom by cutting down one of the Twelve Demon Heads.
Truly intriguing. He does not seem to have learned martial arts at all, yet who is he comparing himself to?
Now that I look, an oddly wrapped bundle is strapped to his back. The shape is that of a sword.
A blind boy who has stepped onto the path of martial arts, who has never trained yet already holds a weapon in hand.
He had accompanied them for a change of pace since a friend's daughter was entering the Hyeongsan Sect, but he had ended up seeing a truly interesting child.
Just then, Yi So-so shouts from the carriage.
"A-rang! Stop eating acorns already!"
At those words, the boy who had been blind smiles faintly—hee-hee—and waves his hand.
So, your name is A-rang.
It probably means nothing, but there is no harm in remembering it.
"Let's go."
"Yes."
At Yi Yeon-baek's words, the carriage slowly pulls away. So-so waves her arms even more vigorously until she grows smaller and eventually disappears completely. The children then disperse.
Only I remain. Of course, I stayed because I have business to attend to.
I slowly enter the inn. It is a shabby, small establishment run only by the widow and So-so. Normally it would have been dangerous, but since So-so's father, who had returned, was a mercenary of some renown, his old comrades have been protecting the inn.
"Is the lady here?"
When I call out, So-so's mother emerges from the kitchen. Since the door had been locked in the morning, it seems she planned to open the inn starting from lunch.
"…Ah, it's you, Yeon."
The auntie's tone is not good. I know the reason. I had already guessed it.
She never raised or sheltered me, but she did feed me. Even if So-so claimed it was payment for labor, I know that is not even half true. Therefore, it is only proper that I speak first.
"I will stop working starting today."
"So…?"
The auntie's voice rises slightly.
"Yes. I plan to find new work and go there."
"…"
The auntie approaches slowly, as if she has seen through my lie.
"…Yeon, it's true that I don't find you very likable. But there's no need to lie. How could a blind person find work?"
With a pitiful expression, she grabs my shoulders and speaks.
"If you have nowhere to go, being sold to a brothel isn't so bad. There are occasionally male patrons who visit brothels."
"…"
"Or I can get you a less painful poison. Eat that."
"Auntie…"
I tightly close my eyes. She offers ruin disguised as comfort. Is this good, or evil? Or hypocrisy, or malevolence? The worst part is that both are correct for me.
Even more frightening is that the auntie is sincerely 'considering' me.
"…Don't worry, Auntie. I won't approach So-so."
Therefore, I too must show consideration. So-so's future is practically guaranteed. But if some dung fly keeps buzzing around her, it would only diminish her standing. I know. I understand. I don't want to admit it, but what can I do? This is reality. I also wish for So-so to do well, so how could I cling to her and live off her? If I were to live that way, it would be better to bite my tongue and die.
"Please do so."
So-so's mother tightly—squeeze—grabs my hand. She earnestly hopes my words are sincere. In response, I also tightly grasp the auntie's hand.
"Of course. You and So-so are my benefactors."
* * *
To fill my hungry stomach immediately, I head toward the beggar. Every day he spins the same pedantic tale.
"Evil is demonic, and righteousness is orthodox!"
It is an irrefutable truth. That is why it is boring.
—Haam~, a child yawns.
—Nod, a child dozes off.
There are various reactions, but the beggar ignores them and continues.
"After the Great Orthodox-Demonic War, the situation changed rapidly!"
A story I have heard hundreds of times just to get acorns.
"The Nangong Clan lost the Imperial Sword Style, and the Four Heavens lost the Ten Thousand Flower Rain!"
And for the first time, I ask the beggar a question.
"Then what did the Paeng Clan lose?"
""""…""""
Several children glare at me for interrupting the flow. It is only natural—when the story is already long and uninteresting, a question would only make it longer. However, the beggar is different. For the first time, he looks at me.
"The Hebei Paeng Clan?"
"Yes."
"Hmm…"
The beggar strokes his unkempt beard and answers.
"The Paeng Clan lost the saber. In a way, it might be the most fatal loss for them."
"You mean they lost their weapon?"
—Thwack!
"No!"
The beggar slaps his knee and speaks.
"The Five Elements Single-Edge Saber! They lost twenty-seven of the thirty-two forms afterward! They were already missing the first five forms and in the middle of restoring them—this is fatal!"
"So they lost everything."
"That's right! The Paeng Clan is finished!"
"Wouldn't the clan head or the grand elder know? Couldn't they restore it?"
"Tsk tsk, restoration is an extremely delicate and time-consuming task. Even if one or two people step forward, verification alone would take decades. In the meantime, the clan's power would naturally weaken to the extreme."
"I see."
Now I understand why Paeng Yong-su uses a sword instead of a saber.
"Those who face reality and abandon the saber for the sword, and those who ultimately cannot abandon the saber, will be divided…?"
At my muttered words, the beggar's eyes light up.
"Child, what is your name?"
I answer the beggar's question.
"Yeon A-rang."
"A-rang… A-rang, is it…"
The beggar repeatedly mutters my name. Then he takes out a handful of acorns from his robe and scatters them on the ground. Pointing at me with his finger, he says,
"Everyone except you, pick one each and go."
At those words, a flustered child cautiously approaches and picks up an acorn from the ground—choosing the plumpest one. Once that starts, the other children no longer hesitate.
"This one's mine!"
"Hey, I got that first!"
"Get lost! The one who picks it first owns it!"
Acorns are not that big to begin with—they are all similar—yet even in this situation, they criticize, hit, and blame each other while trying to distinguish the good from the bad.
And the beggar—chuckle chuckle—laughs and asks me, who is sitting properly.
"How is it?"
"It's noisy."
"Then what do you think about changing places?"
"…Let's do that."
The beggar and I stand up at the same time. Whether we do or not, the children continue to fight over the acorns.
* * *
A bamboo grove with no sunlight. The beggar, who had not opened his mouth on the way, lies on a wide rock and looks up at me.
"When did you lose your eyes?"
"Five years ago, on a winter day when snow was falling."
"Who taught you that strange footwork?"
"Given my situation is no different from a caterpillar's, who would have taught me? I learned it on my own."
"Good heavens… Then who taught you that sly way of speaking?"
"……"
I thought I had spoken with some courtesy, but it seems it was quite grating to hear.
"I spent five years clinging to the inn and living off scraps of favor, so naturally I learned how to conduct myself."
"Cut the nonsense. It only makes me angry."
"…Yes."
I swallow hard. This is a situation anyone would notice unless they were a fool.
"Could it be… that you are a master, elder?"
"Eh? Why do you think that?"
The old man, who had been scratching his buttocks and yawning, widens his eyes slightly. And I speak my thoughts without holding back.
"Because the aura you give off is different."
"Aura?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think that?"
When he was giving his long speech, he was utterly ordinary. It was boring, and like the other children, I had only wished for time to pass quickly. However, from the moment he threw the acorns, something felt strange.
"When you threw the acorns, the sound of them falling was uniform."
What convinced me was the path to the bamboo grove.
"Your footsteps were also uniform."
"So… sound…?"
The old man looks at his own feet and wiggles his toes.
"Hmm…"
Soon, he exclaims in admiration.
"I thought you were talking nonsense when you said aura, but you meant 'dignity.'"
Then he strokes his chin. Looking at A-rang as if he is seeing something truly intriguing, he opens his mouth.
"I don't know what you're mistaken about, but I am not a martial artist. I brought you here just to finish the story."
"Ah… uh… is that so?"
I am flustered. I thought this was a true opportunity…?
"Stop with the foolish thoughts and speak your mind without holding back. What do you think of the current Murim?"
I do not quite understand the old man's words.
"Elder, I am merely a blind man, not a martial artist. If I cannot discuss martial arts, how would I know about Murim?"
"That is not what I meant."
"I understand your intent. You are asking what I think of the current Murim, adding the injustices I have experienced while living. The answer is the same for that as well."
"You cannot discuss martial arts…?"
I nod.
"The ones who gouged out my eyes were street thugs, and the one who let me live was the girl at the inn. There were no martial artists in my life."
"So you have no grudges or debts toward Murim."
"That is correct."
"Then what does the 'sword' strapped to your back mean?"
"This is…"
I fiddle with the cloth wrapping the Geoyageom and trail off.
"I don't know why you have a sword, but it is a symbol of a martial artist."
"Even street thugs carry swords, don't they?"
"Are you a street thug?"
"……"
I cannot refute the old man's words.
"As long as you carry a sword, the world will only ask you in binary terms. Are you a thug, or a martial artist?"
"…What is the difference between the two?"
"Justification."
"Justification…?"
The old man points at the Geoyageom and speaks.
"If a thug wields a sword, it is surely for evil deeds. However, a martial artist…"
"Is different?"
"You must believe they are different."
"Why?"
"Because this is the orthodox faction. Justification is not limited to what one cuts down; it can also be divided by the reason one holds a sword. That is why I want to ask: for what reason did you come to hold a sword that does not suit you?"
"……"
I had no particular thoughts. If So-so left for the academy, there were only two choices left for me. To be sold to a brothel, or to take poison. I hate both terribly.
—Clench. I grip the cloth wrapping the Geoyageom and bite my lips as I mutter softly.
"Because I want to live…"
That is all I wished for. Even if this sword were to kill someone, I wanted to eat my fill.
"Hoo… It is not grand. I just want to live ordinarily, eating sword rice like everyone else."
"Ordinary… That is a funny thing to say."
"Yes. Please think so."
I turn my back to leave the bamboo grove. No matter what this old man says, this is the only path left for me.
"Wait."
The old man speaks to me as I turn my back. But I ignore his words and move forward.
"I said wait."
Before I know it, the old man is standing in front of me.
"Are you crying…?"
"…I'm not."
I turn my head. Who said I was crying?
"Hoo… So, the reason you picked up the sword is because you want to live warmly and eat your fill?"
—Nod.
"Nothing more, nothing less."
—Nod.
"Then I will ask just one more thing."
"……"
"Will you not regret it?"
—…Nod.
"Haaaa……"
The old man scratches his dandruff-filled head and lets out a low sigh.
A blind man picking up a sword—his future is obvious, so how could an adult not stop him?
Murim is a place where even seeing one step ahead is difficult. And yet, blind? And an orphan with no backing? This is dangerous enough to make even ordinary people who know nothing of martial arts shake their heads.
But I cannot forcibly stop him either.
The old man hurriedly wipes the corners of his eyes with his forearm as he looks at A-rang. There must be deep darkness within him.
I didn't originally plan to do this… but I can't just let this pass either.
The old man looks at A-rang.
"Clearly, I asked what you think of the current Murim. You said you were not worth answering the question."
"…I did not say I was not worth it."
"This brat talks back."
—Thud!
"It hurts."
"I hit you so it would hurt. Anyway, that is what I think. The current Murim has lost its way."
People often say that the waters of the Yangtze must flow. "Right now, the Yangtze has stopped. It cannot even grasp where the current should flow. The orthodox faction, the demonic cult, and even the unorthodox faction—all of them."
"You mean they lost the justification you mentioned earlier."
"Yes. The war ended too easily."
"…What do you mean?"
The old man snorts and adds,
"The Great Orthodox-Demonic War erupted from the accumulation of grudges on both sides. Even if the Heavenly Demon's head was cut off and the alliance leader declared victory, is that truly the end of the war?"
No. If the conflict between orthodox and unorthodox was an ideological clash that could be compromised, the conflict between orthodox and demonic was an ideological clash that could not be compromised.
"They must have been desperate to even devour each other's flesh and blood. But they could not. Why do you think that is?"
"Because something more important came up."
—Thwack!
"That's right!"
The old man claps his hands and speaks.
"They lost their secret manuals and martial scholars. They tried to burn the enemy's house, but their own house burned down completely instead."
*Scholar-type martial artist. This is a big problem! If we don't clean this up quickly, the sect and the clan will be ruined!
"The funny thing is that the orthodox, demonic, and unorthodox factions all suffered the same. Why?!"
"Their interests aligned. Right after, the war ended, but the burned secret manuals and the dead martial scholars will not return."
"Thus, the anger with nowhere to go and the unresolved grudges turned toward the 'common people.'"
"In the end, martial artists who lost their justification became no different from thugs."
"Exactly! That's it!"
The old man claps his hands and then thrusts his face toward A-rang.
"Even current martial artists do not know where to go or what their justification is. However, you declared that you picked up the sword because you did not want to starve. In that sense, you are truly a proper 'martial artist.' That is why I will tell you."
—Gulp. At the old man's final words, strength enters my hands.
"…What?"
—Grin.
"The basics."