Three Years Ago
Three years prior, Mu Yun had just entered the first-rate realm.
At that level, if I've cultivated a demonic art, it'll be found out quickly.
Even at first-rate, a super peak expert could scrutinize him closely and almost certainly detect if he'd practiced a demonic art. With Hyeong-sanpa, the largest sect in central Honam at the time, right there, it was bound to come to light. Of course, mere possession of a demonic art manual was a serious crime warranting punishment. But since no one had died and he hadn't actually cultivated it, the worst he'd face was a year or two in confinement.
Yet his father, Cheon Jung-seo, burned another body that very day, passed it off as his own, and helped him escape.
There was only one reason Father Cheon Jung-seo did that. His eldest son, frail and timid, had been crushed by his talented younger brother and drowned in self-loathing, wasting years in brothels and drowning in liquor. When pressed on the truth, he'd denied it, but drunk on cheap booze and rambling incoherently, no one could believe him. It was only natural for his father to think, First, keep him alive.
Anyway, things weren't urgent now.
He's doing well.
After Mu Yun vanished, the household hadn't declined at all. If anything, thanks to his younger brother Mu Jin and his father's efforts, it had grown even larger. Mu Yun had only been a source of trouble. The two culprits who'd started the mess were just ordinary thugs he could overpower with his current strength.
Yet suddenly, a surge of resentment and boiling passion welled up in his chest. Mu Yun immediately wore a wry smile.
The fusion isn't complete yet.
To properly master the middle dantian art, Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong, his heart and body's intent had to align, backed by unwavering will. It was fine for now, but as he ascended to higher realms, the discrepancies and limits would show. He'd thought they'd nearly synchronized after a month of training, but recalling his family revealed they still operated separately.
That was how much suppressed resentment and regret filled his heart.
Mu Yun, once introverted and gentle, had started to twist after learning of his younger brother Cheon Mu-jin's hidden martial prowess. Afraid his worthless older brother would sink deeper into despair, Mu Jin had concealed it until they were seventeen. After that, the gazes of his parents and everyone in the estate—from pitying to disdainful—began to feel that way. His father's loving rebukes came across as malice, his mother's warm consolations as scorn for his inadequacy.
And when he learned the woman he'd harbored feelings for, Ham Eun-jin, liked Mu Jin, he'd started viewing even his closest kin as enemies.
Hoo! What a fool.
Mu Yun's sigh deepened.
One clear fact.
In the end, I have to go back and resolve it. There's no other way.
At that moment, Jeok Myo-ye's expression darkened as she watched Mu Yun's face. She'd jumped to conclusions from his sigh.
"It's that tough, huh? Yeah, I figured. Sorry for asking something so huge."
Mu Yun shook his head lightly after sorting his thoughts. It wasn't about money—the timing was the issue.
"Not right now. But within a few years, it'll be possible."
"Really? You can lend that much?"
"If I have time, yeah. I promise."
Jeok Myo-ye's radiant smile was her reply.
"Hoho! Alright! Then we gotta prepare step by step from now."
Yeom Jung-tak, sitting beside her, tilted his head.
"What do we need to prep in advance?"
"You think a brothel's just about cash? You need courtesans, performers skilled in song and dance, decent cooks too."
"How do we prep that here?"
"We got Yu-seon unnie. Gotta sweet-talk her early."
"Ah! That one—gold on top of killer voice and dance!"
"Yeah. We've gotten close lately. Gotta build that bond."
Mu Yun's eyes widened slightly.
"A courtesan here who dances well? Yu-seon?"
"Ah! You don't hit the brothels much, huh. She's the most famous in Chim-ju. Anyway, I'm dragging that unnie with me no matter what."
Mu Yun's gaze deepened.
Dance! Gotta check it out sometime.
If she's that good, seeing her would help judge. It was a favor from a friend—he'd at least pretend to try.
Mu Yun's eyes shifted to Yeom Jung-tak next.
"And you?"
"Me and lil' bro follow Myo-ye. Otherwise, she beats us to death."
"Nothing else?"
"Eh, decent martial art if ya got one. If not, whatever."
His younger brother Yeom Ri-ung nodded beside him.
"Same here."
Finally, Ak Mu-gil's turn.
"And you, deputy leader?"
"My dream's inn cook. If Myo-ye's opening a brothel, I'll sling grub there. Oh, and I'm good on martial arts. Talent's obvious anyway."
Mu Yun's eyes sparkled for a moment.
Talent's fine. Injury's the issue—why hide it?
In a month of training, Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong had reached the fourth stage. Beyond the third stage's initiation of middle dantian qi accumulation, it now circulated accumulated energy throughout the body. Up to here, sensation was key, and his past life's path sped it up.
But the fourth stage brought new effects. Heightened senses let him observe his own body's flow and even scrutinize those nearby. That's how he'd examined Yeo Hwi's body and optimized heart methods and arts. His mastery of visual, auditory, and tactile diagnosis stemmed from that.
The most precise was direct palpation against the pulse, but he could spot abnormal meridians in someone right in front of him.
A quick check would reveal the issue.
But he shelved the thought. No reason to pry if the man wouldn't bring it up.
Mu Yun quietly surveyed the four.
Right now, none had grand ambitions as martial artists. No need to teach them powerful arts. They might change during training, but he wouldn't push it. As with him and his friends, higher realms inevitably brought losses.
For now, moderate growth. That's best.
A bit faster than average would suffice. Martial arts weren't everything in life, even for martial artists.
Three months later, at Cheong-ho Bang's training grounds. A spot reserved solely for squad leaders.
The watching squad leaders' hands dripped with sweat. Their wide eyes frantically tracked the sword scattering sparks with each clash.
Kaang!
Kang! Kang!
Gasps of shock erupted from their entranced stares.
"Gasp! That was close!"
"Dangerous!"
"Whoa! Dodging like that!"
Admiring grumbles leaked out here and there.
"Damn! Too thrilling to watch."
"What's wrong? Not our first rodeo."
"I know. Three months of this. But my heart races every time—driving me nuts."
"Kekeke! Fair! That's no spar. It's kill-or-be-killed."
Ak Mu-gil glared at his opponent and gritted his teeth. As in the past months, he'd erased the thought that it was the gang leader. Today, he'd achieve his goal no matter what.
Slice his hem.
Even without martial ambition, this was too much. Not fighting spirit—pure stubbornness.
In three months, he'd changed beyond belief. All thanks to the leader revising his heart method around damaged meridians, plus tailoring forms to his body. He'd been puzzled at first, but now? No doubts. Head knew it, body felt it.
But now it grated into frustration.
How's he always baiting danger yet I can't even nick his clothes?
Today he'd vowed at least a graze, but near the end, still nothing.
One final form left.
This time for sure!
Ak Mu-gil unleashed a sharp kiai, slashing down with full power.
"Tahat!"
A faint smile tugged Mu Yun's lips.
He's improved.
Among the four siblings-in-arms, Ak Mu-gil had the standout talent. He just wouldn't show it.
Through Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong training and deliberately risky spars moving his steps, Ak Mu-gil had transformed. Initial stubbornness evolved into a martial artist's resolve, glimpses of his hidden warrior's will shining through. He didn't realize it yet.
That intensity filled every bout.
He'll speak if needed.
Until then, this sparring sufficed.
The onlookers whispered among themselves.
"He's amazing, right?"
"Who?"
"The leader. Dodges the deputy leader's sword the instant it nears—like magic."
Everyone knew now, even if they hadn't at first.
"He does it on purpose. Real combat practice."
"Who doesn't know? But deputy's improved tons, yet always whiffs—so that's why."
"True. I used to hold my own with deputy, but now? Can't last ten exchanges. Damn!"
"But isn't it weird?"
"What?"
"We spar with leader too. Why only those four get the intense version? Special training?"
"Idiot! Of course. They're sworn brothers basically. Such nonsense."
"Yeah? Maybe I'll ask to join."
"Don't. Plenty got shot down first."
"What? You too?"
"What choice? Got rejected hard."
"Won't do it anymore?"
"You're why he does it, but honestly, I begged on my knees. He just said this."
"What?"
"'This training suits you. Got more to say?'"
"Same for me then."
"Yeah. Don't bother your gut."
"Still, life's better thanks to leader lately. Thought he was bluffing—'Flee if danger hits when I'm gone'—but he handles everything else."
"Damn right! No one's messing lately. Even Chim-do-bang tails tuck knowing leader steps up. Kekeke!"
Ak Mu-gil, charging forward, panted harshly.
Change! That's all.
Decision made, he kicked off, arrowing forward.
Tadak!
Whiiik!
Storming right to Mu Yun's front, he surged his momentum in one breath. A lifetime's honed sword descended dazzlingly, laden with its master's will.
Shuuuuk!
Hwan-u Sword—a blade art chasing utmost speed amid flux. Lightning-fast, it targeted the shoulder vital.
Even if Mu Yun got hurt this time, no retreat. Teeth clenched, he poured every ounce.
Boooung!
Shyik!
Suddenly, familiar unease shook Ak Mu-gil's mind. The leader's serene eyes, lake-calm, unmoving as ever. Relief and grit surged together.
Come on!
As Ak Mu-gil's sword sliced toward shoulder and chest, Mu Yun's arm finally stirred.
Whiric!
His leisurely fist rose to block the path.
Shuuk!
Clashing?
Ak Mu-gil amped his power, slamming down harder. Only way to hold trajectory through impact.
Shaaeak!
Then, illusory afterimages rippled in Mu Yun's flow.
Sararak!
Alarm bells rang in Ak Mu-gil's head. Warrior's instinct screamed.
Again!
Indeed—no clash followed the sharp whoosh. Sword cleaved empty air.
Unforeseen, his motion faltered slightly.
Danger.
No time to think; instinctively withdrawing—Mu Yun's fist flashed like sunlight on water.
Ak Mu-gil intuited. Same as last time.
Again!
The heavy fist's touch landed on his right shoulder.
Kuuk!
Deflated chuckle escaped.
Still far off.
He dazedly lowered his sword. But his lips curled up. Veins writhed like worms on his forehead.
Someday!
Not mere grit—a martial artist's spirit began to emerge. One of the four was inching toward the warrior's path.