An Extra Rice Cake for the Hated One
There's an old saying that goes something like this.
Give an extra rice cake to the one you hate. But why, exactly, would you give a rice cake to someone you can't stand?
So they'll choke on it and die, maybe?
"Mao?"
She looked up at me from where she sat quietly rolling out dumpling wrappers, same as always. And just so there's no misunderstanding — wrapping dumplings was something she did because she enjoyed it.
I had never forced her. She was half-Chinese anyway, wasn't she? Besides, I'd spent ten years in the Central Plains myself, and Koreans have always loved dumplings.
Though, to be honest, I was getting a little sick of them.
"Yes, Master."
"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any rice cakes, would you?"
"Rice cakes? Shall I make some? We're out of glutinous rice, but I can manage."
"Yeah?"
Mao Mei seemed to remember something.
"Ah — I do have some rice cake slices left. Want me to make rice cake soup?"
"Sure. Can you get it ready now? We've got a guest."
"Yes. Just a moment — it won't take long."
Kim Hui-seong's eyes lit up with expectation the moment he heard I was serving rice cake soup.
It wasn't actual rice cake in the proverbial sense, but feeding him soup and sending him on his way would do. Who knew? Maybe he'd bolt it down too fast and get a stomachache.
For some reason, everything about that guy just rubbed me the wrong way.
"Oh my, a full meal on top of everything? Then I'll gladly accept."
"Isn't the polite thing to refuse at least once?"
"Come on — turning down a free meal in a world like this? That violates apocalypse etiquette."
Enough of his nonsense. A man this unreadable was someone you had to keep your guard up around.
Red Fox — Hee-su — was rough, but at least she was transparent.
Being transparently rough was its own problem, though.
"…So what's this about? I was under the impression the personnel requisition was proceeding without any issues."
"Of course. Among all the shelters, Eclipse Shelter is the finest. Lowest incident rate, too."
He finished speaking and pulled out something that looked like a cello case.
Inside, nestled in neat packaging, lay a single sword.
A sword? I hadn't properly used one since returning. Who even carried a blade like that these days?
In the movies, people went around lopping off zombie heads with Japanese-style katanas, but the truth was those swords were weaker than you'd think.
In the hands of someone who truly understood the blade, sure — but otherwise, the steel would simply snap.
I drew it from its scabbard with a soft rasp of steel.
Weight.
Length.
Edge.
Temper and spring.
Superb. A good sword wasn't merely strong.
If all you wanted was sharp and durable, a machete would serve you far better.
"…A masterpiece. Does anyone even use swords like this anymore?"
I meant the praise sincerely.
"It's a relic, actually. Not a modern forging."
Looking closer, I could make out characters etched into the blade: Yongcheon. I'd heard that somewhere before.
"They say it belonged to General Im Gyeong-eop. Have you heard of it?"
"Ah — I remember. Wasn't this sword reported lost…?"
"Well, yes. The thing is, this isn't an ordinary blade. It's one of those legendary swords — the kind that cuts through iron like a radish."
A legendary treasured sword could block Sword Qi without even coating itself in energy, and with only Sword Qi applied, it could turn aside Sword Gang.
That meant its wielder could pour every scrap of inner power into pure swordsmanship — faster, more precise than ever before.
There was talk of unity between man and blade, of the sword of the heart, and other such nonsense, but even masters of that caliber would stake their lives on a weapon like this. A true masterpiece was always worth having.
With a sword like this, I wouldn't need to obsess over Sword Qi at all.
"Hah. Impressive. I'll be honest — I want it."
Call it the inevitable greed of a martial artist. I never expected a single fine blade to shake me this hard.
Suddenly that punchable face of his looked almost handsome.
"…It's hot. Here—"
Right on cue, Mao Mei arrived carrying two bowls of rice cake soup.
"…We've still got some pheasant left, right?"
"Yes. Shall I stir-fry it and bring it out?"
"Please. He's a valued guest, after all."
Kim Hui-seong seemed delighted by my sudden hospitality, blowing on the steaming soup and eating with gusto.
Take your time. I'll throw in the pheasant for you.
"Whew — Mao Mei's cooking is something else. Anyway, Raven? You know there's no such thing as a free lunch."
This bastard knew her name? Had he been watching Mao?
"…More soup?"
"No. Just one job. Do it, and the sword is yours. Oh, and we've got quite a few blades like this, you know. Most Awakeners in this country are psychic types — not many sword users. Even our commander can't handle a blade."
Damn it.
Of course it wasn't free.
But they didn't use swords?
"Is that so? You seem to know your way around a blade yourself, Hui-seong."
"Me? Ahahaha. Just a hobby. A hobby~"
A hobby? That was a lie. The man was a thoroughly trained martial artist. He might not have inner power or cultivated energy, but pure external martial skill alone made him no weakling.
If this guy ever gained either an Awakening or inner power, he'd become a monster.
"…Fine. Let's hear it."
"Please do accept if you can. Let our commander get a little rest, yeah?"
Once I'd heard him out, it didn't sound like my kind of work.
The sword was tempting, but I was going to turn him down.
Then he said the next part.
"Oh, right — the commander mentioned that if you refuse, you'll be taking responsibility for that night."
"………"
"Ah, and she'll help you find your family. So? You'll do it, won't you?"
That night.
Those two words snagged me so hard I barely registered the rest.
"W-wait — matters between a man and a woman should be handled by the people involved—"
"What are you talking about? I mean the commission."
Kim Hui-seong left.
I accepted the job he'd described. And no, I had not caved to Hee-su's blackmail.
Honestly, it was unfair. I clearly remembered the two of us drinking ourselves stupid, but everything after that was a blank.
The problem was that other soldiers had seen me coming out of her quarters, and the rumor that we'd spent the night together had spread like wildfire.
Hee-su wanted me to take responsibility for that.
She couldn't actually mean she wanted us to date… right?
I preferred women who were gentle, cute, full of charm — that sort.
"Master? I'd like to join the commission as well."
Mao Mei was always looking for ways to prove her worth.
Ever since forming her dantian, her external martial arts had advanced by leaps and bounds with each passing day.
I'd mainly taught her hidden weapons techniques, and she'd adapted them — incorporating poison the way the Sichuan Tang Clan did.
I'd forbidden her from brewing any toxin without an antidote, and she understood exactly why.
Poisons without antidotes were never to be used. There was the risk of the user being poisoned themselves, but more importantly, a poisoned enemy was a source of all kinds of useful information.
She wasn't just itching for a fight… was she?
"…You may have to take a life."
"That's fine, Master. Do you think I've survived this long by accident?"
"Fair enough. That's the kind of world this is."
I couldn't keep her locked in a greenhouse forever, shielding her from everything.
She needed real combat experience too.
Apparently one of the shelters in the area was on the verge of rebellion.
More precisely — it might be, so someone needed to take a look. The Hound could crush it in an instant if they moved in force, but Kim Hui-seong wanted this handled quietly.
"All right. Get ready. But do not make the first move, and do not take a life unless the situation is critical."
She nodded in silence.
Uncle Kim brought out a bottle of beer — homebrew. I'd expected it to taste rough, but the consensus was that it beat anything from before the collapse.
Proof that cottage industry wasn't always a bad thing.
"Here, have a drink."
"You know I don't drink."
"Come on, beer's not real liquor. Mao Mei? You want one too?"
Mao Mei's eyes sparkled. Huh. This kid?
"…Yes, please…"
She knocked it back in one go. Well, damn. She could hold her liquor.
Chuckling like a man who'd just slipped his youngest daughter her first drink, Uncle Kim spoke up.
"…Still. I always figured you didn't care much about the wider world. Why accept a proposal from the Hound? Don't tell me it was just for that sword."
I wasn't about to pretend a masterpiece blade held no appeal.
I'd lived as a half-measure of a martial artist, but the hunger for legendary swords, peerless techniques, and rare elixirs ran deeper than ordinary people could comprehend. A true martial artist could remain indifferent to gold, jewels, and peerless beauties.
But put a divine pill, a secret art, or a fine weapon in front of him, and his eyes would spin.
Even so.
"Of course a masterpiece is wonderful. I've always wanted one. Axes and machetes are inconvenient, after all. But that's not the only reason."
My people didn't interrupt. They waited patiently for the rest.
"This region has the Hound — a warlord faction — and the government forces standing opposite them. They cooperate when they have to, but at the root they're hostile powers.
What decides the balance of power is people — numbers. But resources are limited, so each side has its designated shelters. If even one of those shelters flips to the government, the scales tip."
Uncle Kim nodded as if he understood.
"I see. So they're trying to side with the government? And then?"
I shook my head. An open defection would be a declaration of war — immediate conflict. Neither side wanted that. They were barely holding the line against the rift zone in Pyeongchang as it was. Nobody had the luxury of fighting other humans.
"Not quite. It's more that a faction willing to defy the Hound could emerge. The Hound wants to snuff that out before it starts. Handle it as quietly as possible. And I don't want a war breaking out in this area either."
"Makes sense. You could handle it quietly… Anyway, watch yourself. Even you don't have an answer for a stray bullet."
I planned to leave the moment the Hound found information on my family.
Which meant this region needed to stay as stable as it was now.
I had been shot before.
A non-through-and-through, at that.
People said a clean penetration didn't hurt as much as you'd expect — more like having a red-hot greatsword shoved through you. In my case, the round had lodged and stayed.
Like someone taking a sledgehammer to your back.
Something in that neighborhood.
Being unable to form Sword Qi wasn't entirely a disadvantage.
You could say my efficiency with inner power was higher than other martial artists'. In a crisis, I could unconsciously wrap my body in reinforced energy and harden it.
It wasn't true protective aura the way true masters used it, but a rough imitation was within reach.
Before coming to Eclipse, I'd stayed with the Hound for a while. I'd gone on an operation with Red Fox — Lee Hee-su — and thrown my body in the path of a sniper's round meant for her.
Surviving that shot was how I earned the name Raven.
Crows have that undying image, don't they?
Normally I spent my nights in quiet energy circulation, but on nights when the moon was full like this, I had to cut it down.
On any other night I would have stepped out with a machete or an axe. Tonight, I drew the Yongcheon Sword.
Steel whispered free of the scabbard.
My Woo Sword stood at the seven-star realm. The original name of the technique was the Three Calamities Sword Art, but I'd taken to calling it the Woo Sword on my own.
In the Central Plains, my achievement had clearly been below three stars. Conventionally, any sword art that surpassed the five-star realm could bloom with Sword Qi.
I'd figured I was still well under five.
But after returning to Korea, at some point my sword had begun displaying a mastery of seven stars or higher. Maybe beyond even that.
That final realm — close enough to touch, yet forever out of reach — always shimmered just ahead of me.
The man in the bamboo hat from the Central Plains.
That terrifying duel with a true master.
I had definitely grasped something about the sword that day. Even then, I'd thought five stars was the most I could claim.
Then I returned, opened my eyes, and found zombies and demonic beasts pouring out of a rift straight at me.
I fought them until I blacked out, and when I woke, my sword had reached the seven-star realm.
I needed a catalyst — something to shatter whatever seal had been placed on me.
My master had said it: try cutting down that moon.
I still didn't know what those words truly meant.
Slowly, I raised the sword above my head.
A soft rush of air.
The blade carved through the sky.
Neither fast nor slow — a path of pure steel. And for a heartbeat, something like an illusion seemed to hover before my eyes.
Just for that single instant—
the moon was cut in two.
I'd been aware of the faint presence a short distance away for some time. Mao Mei, most likely.
Zombies no longer posed any threat to that child.
Which was why she spent her days and nights out gathering wild greens and medicinal herbs without a second thought.
I studied the Yongcheon Sword once more.
"…Gear difference really is everything."
Mao Mei had no intention of tailing her master.
The moon was simply bright, and something in a corner of her heart felt hollow tonight, so she had stepped out onto the night path for a breath of air. That was all.
Master is training.
She could see Hyeon-woo practicing.
Not wanting to disturb him, she killed her presence.
What a beautiful sword.
A faint, whispering hiss of steel through air.
Illusion? Delusion?
For a single instant, it looked as though the round moon hanging in the sky had been sliced clean through.
One motion.
In that single movement, Mao Mei sank into a realization of the sword's true essence.
It was nothing other than no-self.
Hyeon-woo knew she was there, but chose not to acknowledge it. That small consideration called forth a miracle.