Bankruptcy? As If, You Bastards! (4)
The next dawn.
Wooooooong.
Chung Myung quietly contemplated his own body.
His dantian.
The dantian that had once been small and feeble beyond measure had now begun to settle into place. And the qi gathered within it had grown to the point where he could clearly sense its shape and presence.
Woooooooom.
Even as he inhaled, the qi he had amassed resonated and purified his body.
Clear, limpid qi.
As someone who had lived for decades with inner power flowing through him, Chung Myung had never once seen qi so transparent and pure gathered in his dantian. Its quantity was still too small to exert any great force right now, but if those clear currents kept accumulating, they would one day wield power greater than any inner force in the world.
"...When."
After finishing his circulation, Chung Myung twisted his face in disgust.
Power greater than any inner force, my ass. Mount Hua was about to go under right now—what the hell was he supposed to be waiting for?
Forcing down the irritation that kept bubbling up, Chung Myung began to assess the situation.
Let’s sort this out.
Mount Hua’s problems were piled up to the heavens. If he had to list every single issue one by one, he could use every sheet of paper in the sect and still not finish. But among them, the three most pressing were these.
"No money, no martial arts, and no talent."
Well, then it was just ruined, wasn’t it?
Even thinking about it in vague terms had been awful, but now that he laid it out plainly, his stomach twisted even harder.
So which of those was the biggest problem?
Talent.
Chung Myung’s thinking was simple and clear. Money could be earned, and martial arts—he could simply give them what he had. Of course,
Where the hell did you even get this martial art?
slipping through that question without a sound would not be easy, but that was only a matter of process.
But talent—there was nothing Chung Myung could do about that with brute force alone.
It wasn’t as if he could run into the marketplace to kidnap any kid who happened to look promising and bring them back to save Mount Hua. And talent wasn’t something you could tell just by looking at someone.
If that were possible, all the great orthodox sects would be scouring the world with their eyes blazing for children to snatch up.
So first, use what we’ve already got.
Chung Myung clenched both fists.
What good would it do to curse the fact that they were poor? The priority was to make proper use of what they had first.
It was an undeniable fact that the third-generation disciples did not seem especially gifted, but if there wasn’t enough, you filled in the gaps, and if something was broken, you fixed it and kept using it.
"Of course, I never had any disciples."
An old memory surfaced.
When he had grown old enough to be asked to take on disciples, the sect leader senior brother had asked him a question.
"Chung Myung."
"Yes, Sect Leader Senior Brother."
"It’s about time you took disciples. How do you think a disciple should be taught?"
"What’s so hard about that?"
"How?"
"First you beat them. Even a dog, if you pound on it until it’s about to die, learns to walk on its hands. They’re still human—how much worse can they be than a dog?"
"...Let’s talk about this later."
And after that, the sect leader senior brother never brought up disciples with him again.
"I didn’t expect I’d end up taking on this many disciples at once."
Chung Myung’s lips slowly curled upward. If anyone had been watching that smile, they would have called it an evil grin without hesitation.
"...I’m sleepy as hell."
"Why the hell are they making us gather this early in the morning?"
"Great Senior Brother, this is a bit much, isn’t it?"
Yoon Jong quietly closed his eyes.
Just shut up already, you bastards.
Mount Hua’s discipline was fairly strict, but these kids still hadn’t shed the filth of the secular world. They weren’t the sons of high ministers or nobles, but they had all grown up in families prosperous enough in their own regions, and because of that none of them were used to discomfort or hardship.
So after only half a day since that club-beating, they were already spitting out complaints like this.
Yoon Jong slightly lifted his head and looked toward Jo Gul. At least Jo Gul seemed to have sensed the atmosphere and kept his mouth shut.
Still.
The others hadn’t completely failed to read the room either. That was why they had all gathered here without missing a single one, even while grumbling and complaining, at this damn dawn.
Yoon Jong glanced at Baekmae Hall with a sour look.
Where the hell did that monster come from?
The memory was vivid.
Chung Myung, looking like some vengeful demon, swinging the leg of a chair and sending more than thirty kids flying in an instant.
Brrr.
Just thinking about it gave him chills.
"...But who the hell is that guy, anyway?"
That single question voiced everyone’s thoughts.
"He was absurdly strong."
"I didn’t even see him get hit once."
"There were over thirty of us. Could those be the kind of hands the senior uncles have?"
Who knew?
But one thing was certain: among the third-generation disciples, not even one person could imitate him, even in the roughest way.
"If the guy who entered the sect yesterday is that good, then maybe he really learned martial arts somewhere else?"
"Hey. Even so, this is ridiculous. We haven’t just been lying around all this time, you know?"
Everyone was thrown into confusion by a situation they couldn’t understand.
Even Yoon Jong, the oldest here and the one who had spent the most time living at Mount Hua, couldn’t make sense of what had happened. So what about the younger ones?
"What if we rush him again?"
"..."
Whoever said it, the remark stirred the mood.
"Could we do it?"
"Maybe last night we were just flustered and that’s why it happened..."
"And if we fail?"
"..."
That was a chilling assumption. Everyone turned their heads. Jo Gul stood rigidly at attention, but his mouth was the only thing moving.
"If you don’t want to get your asses beaten to a pulp, shut the hell up and do what you’re told."
"...Sahyung Jo Gul."
Of all the third-generation disciples, Jo Gul was the strongest, and even he was trembling.
Crazy bastards.
What?
Rush him again?
They’d only stop talking like that after getting punched once and pinned into the ceiling. Jo Gul was fairly confident in his own skill. Even if Mount Hua had declined compared to its former days, Jo Gul was still the kind of talent any sect would call a genius.
After all, martial arts were something people learned. Even without enough instruction or outstanding techniques, he was confident he could at least handle disciples from most prestigious sects.
That confidence had been launched clean over Mount Hua and into the endless sea by a single punch buried in his jaw.
That was not someone you could judge by ordinary standards.
"Then why did you tell us to prepare all this stuff?"
The third-generation disciples tilted their heads at the strange tools laid out before them.
"Exactly. What’s it even for?"
A long wooden pole, and a large, sturdy pouch big enough to fit a human head and then some. And then—
"Why are we supposed to prepare piles of sand and gravel? And why a sewing kit?"
"How would I know?"
While everyone muttered and grumbled, the door suddenly flew open.
"...!"
Silence fell.
Every muttering mouth shut at once, and all eyes fixed on the doorway. Soon after, Chung Myung shuffled out.
But the expression on his face was full of annoyance and irritation.
Why the hell are you the one annoyed?
If you’re annoyed, then don’t call us out here!
Chung Myung sauntered out and stopped, lifting his head to sweep his gaze over everyone once.
"Are you all here?"
"Yes!"
"Keep it down. You’ll wake the senior uncles."
"..."
Crack. Crack.
Chung Myung rolled his head left and right once, then spoke in a flat tone.
"Anyway, from now on we’re going to be living together, right? I don’t know how things will turn out, but maybe some of you will end up spending your whole lives as same-generation brothers here."
I’m going home even if I die.
I’m descending the mountain. No matter what it takes, I’m descending!
Even those who had accepted the initiation and resolved to bury their bones at Mount Hua as true disciples found themselves changing their minds all at once.
"But to me, you guys..."
Chung Myung grinned.
"Are way too weak."
"...!"
"...!"
For those who trained in martial arts, there was no insult more humiliating than being called weak. Even people who had only learned enough martial arts to think they’d return home and live as merchants could not endure that word.
"Grrr..."
But the problem was, no one could refute it.
It was coming from a man who had knocked over more than thirty people by himself without being touched once, not even grazed. Even if the sky were red, they couldn’t deny it.
"Well, I think so too. Martial arts aren’t the whole of life. But you all came here determined to learn martial arts at Mount Hua, didn’t you? If that’s the case, then you should become stronger. Right?"
"..."
"So from today on, you’ll train with me every dawn. Sounds good, doesn’t it?"
Like hell it did, you bastard!
Looking at Chung Myung’s shamelessly cheerful face, someone raised a hand.
"Go ahead."
"Do we really have to do this?"
Chung Myung looked at the questioner with a sullen expression, then turned to Yoon Jong.
The rigidly frozen Yoon Jong hesitated a moment before answering.
"Since not everyone was there back then..."
"Ah, right."
There were some who hadn’t been beaten.
There were also people who hadn’t taken part in the initiation. They may have heard about it, but there were always people who couldn’t fully grasp the situation just from secondhand accounts.
"Can people who don’t want to do it go back in?"
"But why do you keep speaking so casually when you’re clearly a newcomer? You should at least show some manners."
Chung Myung nodded as though the point was valid.
"Right. People should have manners. Speaking of manners, I have no intention of getting stronger, and I don’t plan to train either. Hand up!"
When a hundred people gather, there are always one or two who have no sense at all. When those one or two raised their hands, a few others who had been wavering slowly followed suit.
About a dozen or so.
"Good. Good. Martial arts aren’t the whole of life. All right, you can go inside."
"We can go?"
"Of course."
Yoon Jong and Jo Gul’s faces went pale.
You stupid bastards. It’s not “go inside”—it’s “you can go inside”!
They’re walking straight into hell of their own accord. Grand Elder Lord, please watch over those idiots.
The kids, who knew nothing, smiled brightly and walked into Baekmae Hall. Chung Myung followed them in, smiling just as brightly.
Clack.
The door shut neatly.
"...!"
No one dared say a word, all of them staring at Baekmae Hall.
Unexpectedly, no screams or shouts came from inside.
But—
That...
Yoon Jong saw it clearly. The great hall of Baekmae Hall was trembling faintly. He didn’t need to see what was happening inside to know.
Only a very short time passed.
Creeeak.
The door slowly opened again.
And out of it, the children came running with faces as if they had seen a ghost. Then, like lightning, they rushed back to their original places and stood stiffly at attention.
"Tsk."
Chung Myung came out while rolling his neck and spoke again.
"Anyone who doesn’t want to train."
"No one!"
"I said keep it down. You’ll wake the senior uncles."
"No one."
"Hah."
Chung Myung clapped as if moved.
"This instructor is very pleased with your eagerness to become strong. Mount Hua’s future is bright. So I’ll make you stronger by any means necessary."
"...!"
"Let’s begin."
Watching the sun rise in the distance, Yoon Jong clenched his eyes shut.
He didn’t know whether Mount Hua’s future would be bright, but theirs was dark beyond all measure.