Chapter 84
Chapter 84
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Side Story - Talent
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wonpyeong, age 6.
A boy living in a small village called Peach Fragrance Village awakened to his past life on his birthday.
"Am I really reincarnated in a martial world!?"
In his previous life, the boy had been someone who thrived on danger and challenge.
He'd tried just about every extreme sport out there, crossed the line between life and death more than once, and had been rushed to the ICU plenty of times.
"I figured if I lost, I'd just break even."
Living with death as a constant companion meant marriage was out of the question.
By his fifties, his body was riddled with titanium implants, his stamina shot, leaving him unable to pursue thrills anymore. He was drifting through a dull existence when a random internet ad caught his eye with an inexplicable pull.
"Who would've thought it actually sent me to a martial world."
Was this the power of that fixer?
And it wasn't even body-snatching. He had truly reincarnated, retaining both his past self and his new identity as Wonpyeong.
"Daddy!"
"Yes, my boy? What is it?"
That was why the boy could still act like a child. He scampered over to his father, who tended a small peach orchard, and made his request.
"I want to become a martial artist!"
Wonpyeong, age 7.
"Hup!"
"Horse stance builds your lower body like nothing else. Never skip it!"
The boy threw himself into training to become a martial artist.
His small village had no sects, just a local dojo that toughened bodies and taught basic techniques—plenty solid for building foundations.
"Always be mindful of your breathing! In martial arts, breath control is everything!"
The results were impressive.
In just one year, Wonpyeong's stamina had skyrocketed, and he'd shot up in size.
[I think I've got a pretty good constitution?]
According to the fixer's tales from his past life, everyone got at least one special trait.
In martial tales, constitution meant talent. And to Wonpyeong, his didn't seem half bad.
[As long as it's above average, I'm good.]
Still, no amount of talent could make him a transcendent martial artist.
"When I was young, I wandered the martial world and saw countless masters."
"Really, Master? Tell me about the masters!"
"Alright. Masters possess truly remarkable martial prowess. The first one I met was a swordsman who could slice twenty falling leaves in a single stroke."
This was an old-school martial world, not a new one.
"The Sichuan Supreme, Tang Moon-yeong, can fling darts from a hundred paces and hit between an enemy's eyes."
"The Yunnan Supreme, Shin Seol-man, carved words into cliffs with his sword."
"The Kunlun Supreme, Master Unhyeon, has a lightness skill that reaches the heavens, letting him leap cliff to cliff like a dragon dancing through clouds. They call it the Cloud Dragon Eight Forms."
A world where martial artists were superhumans, not transcendent beings.
Not every old-school tale was like that, but the world Wonpyeong was born into sure was.
"The Henan Supreme, Cheon Jung-mu, beat eight bears with his bare fists."
"Martial Alliance Leader Duggo Tak slices steel with his blade."
"The Supreme Martial Artist, Gang Ma-sun, is a monster who fought and won against a hundred tigers."
Even so, they were still within human limits—just barely.
Wonpyeong's dream of becoming a martial artist didn't fade one bit.
"Today we have a guest. Master Baekyul from Shaolin, who I owe a great debt to from my youth."
"Hello, sir!"
"Ho ho, such bright, fine children."
With the Shaolin monk visiting, Wonpyeong trained even harder than usual.
[Maybe he'll see my talent and let me join Shaolin!]
Oh, Shaolin means becoming a monk—no more meat from then on.
But if it makes me stronger, I can give up meat!
"Hm?"
As expected, Master Baekyul took notice of Wonpyeong.
"...Little one, may this old monk check your pulse?"
"Yes!"
The elderly monk gripped the boy's arm and closed his eyes, feeling his pulse for a long while.
"Ho, it's tense."
"What's wrong?"
"You were born with a Body Without Light."
The ominous name—body devoid of radiance—prompted the boy to ask.
"What's that?"
"Your stamina outstrips others, but you lack a dantian, or it's woefully small."
Master Baekyul looked at Wonpyeong with pity.
"You can never become a martial artist."
Wonpyeong, age 12.
"Wonpyeong, you finished harvesting the peaches?"
"Yes!"
Just before turning seven, Wonpyeong quit the dojo and helped with family chores.
Peach Fragrance Village lived up to its name with peach orchards everywhere, including his family's. Every morning, he headed to the fields with his parents.
"Hyaap! Hyaap!"
After midday, he slipped into the mountains alone to train.
He'd learned the basics at the dojo; solo practice was all he needed now. But recalling that day still stung his heart.
[That kid has no dantian.]
[Guess he can't be a martial artist then?]
[No dantian means no internal energy, no internal energy means no strength, right?]
Whispers from the other dojo kids.
Wonpyeong shook his head vigorously and dashed up the mountain.
"It's fine. I've read martial novels where protagonists got strong without a dantian."
No internal energy? Train techniques and body twice as hard.
"Hone external arts, grow my body more, then join a sect. If they won't take me, wander the martial world."
Challenge martial artists to spars, build experience and skill—eventually, I'd become a master.
"I can make it happen."
The boy's dream lived on.
Wonpyeong, age 18.
Never missing a day of training, the boy had grown into a fine young man.
"Father, Mother, I want to see the world."
"You rascal! You mean become a martial artist! Do you think I don't know you haven't given up on that!?"
His mother tried desperately to stop him.
If he had talent, maybe—but she'd heard he was dantian-less chaff. She wouldn't let him chase the impossible.
"If you die out there as a vagrant, this mother won't sleep a wink!"
"Dear, enough."
"But honey!"
"How can we stand in the way of our son's chosen path?"
Wonpyeong's father soothed his wife and gave their only son a gift.
"Here, take these."
"These are..."
"One's an iron sword from the Yang clan's forge. The other's a wooden sword carved from a peach tree struck by lightning. Happened when I was a boy in our orchard."
Both hilts were engraved with "Wonpyeong."
"Go. See the world and come back."
"...Thank you!"
The next morning, before leaving the village, his father handed him something.
"First harvest peach this year. Eat it on the road."
The peach was sweet and delicious.
Wonpyeong, age 21.
"What a fine-looking fellow, all show and no substance."
"A dantian-less nobody wants to be a martial artist? You're joking!"
"You dare try to scam me? Don't you know no internal energy means a hundred years of external training is worthless!"
For three years, he wandered the martial world, knocking on sect doors.
"Get lost!"
But nowhere would take him.
"No dantian means no martial artist!"
"Please, just one chance!"
"Wasting time on you is the real loss—scram before I thrash you!"
Many judged by his looks alone.
Tall and sturdy, he seemed prime disciple material—until they checked his body and found the empty chaff.
"Fancy shell, no dantian. Like a man without balls. Your nickname's No-Balls Duke! Hahaha!"
He endured mockery and scorn.
But Wonpyeong never quit.
"A duel? If you insist."
"Don't blame me if you get hurt."
He challenged countless martial artists.
Hoping real fights would build experience and strength—but it was hopeless.
"You're awfully weak."
"Ho, this weak? Let's stop. One tap and you'd drop dead."
"Trying to make me a murderer? Enough of this!"
Even in old-school martial world, artists far surpassed ordinary folk.
Not child versus adult, but beast versus man.
[No dantian means no martial artist after all!]
His resolve began to crack.
"Ugh!"
"Daddy!"
"Should've handed it over quietly, huh?"
One day, voices from an alley drew him in.
A gang of seven ruffians harassing a merchant and his daughter.
"You thugs! What do you think you're doing!"
Not a martial artist, but he couldn't ignore injustice.
"Just some nobody, huh?"
"All brawn, no backbone."
"Hey, take this. Iron sword—sell it for cash."
Outnumbered, he was soundly beaten.
"Ptoo! Look before you leap next time. The magistrate here hates killing, so you live—but try again, and you're crippled."
"Take the wooden sword too?"
"No buyers for wood. Toss it."
"Let's go."
After the ruffians left, Wonpyeong wept.
"...I can't even beat one thug with all my strength!"
The merchant and girl had fled during the fight.
At least he saved them, he consoled himself, turning to leave—when they returned.
"Officers! Over here!"
"Where are the ruffians!"
After the bailiffs took statements, they bowed to Wonpyeong.
"Thank you for saving us!"
"Ah, great hero..."
The merchant's daughter blushed, wiping blood from his lips with her sleeve.
"Are you alright? Your wounds look bad. Please, let me tend them."
"Uh, uh."
He hadn't felled the thugs.
But he'd won the girl's heart.
Wonpyeong, age 25.
Back home, he married the merchant's daughter.
"Grandpa!"
"Ho ho, what a strapping lad! He'll make a fine martial artist!"
He had a child. He found joy in ordinary life as a family man, not a martial artist.
[Couldn't become one, but I can be a good husband and father.]
One early morning, tending the peach orchard, something bizarre happened.
"!?"
The scenery warped before his eyes.
Space twisted like a vortex in the orchard's center, and a man emerged.
"Whew, wonder what this world's like."
A young man in white robes spotted Wonpyeong and waved with a bright smile.
"You're the one? Reincarnated here?"
"Wh-who are you!?"
"Ah, no intro. Name's Shin Woo-jung. Fellow Earthling, like you."
An unimaginable guest.
"Original name's too rustic—call me the Invincible One."
Wonpyeong, age 26.
His routine shifted: work by day, train a few hours at night.
[I was born with a killer body. Hit top of the world at ten, transcended to immortal now.]
A year since meeting the fellow Earthling, the Invincible One—his words echoed clear.
[Dimension shift tracks souls like ours. That's why I popped up here. Man, the spiritual energy here's murky. Old-school martial world, huh? Poor you. I came from new-school, had a blast.]
He swung the wooden sword.
The one his father gifted in his reckless youth—sweeping away stray thoughts.
[No dantian, right? Wanted to gift a fellow something, but no use teaching arts to chaff.]
Some born with bodies primed for strength.
Others, effort wasted on worthless flesh.
[Here's some wisdom! Swing that sword hard! From my man-sword unity days, blades have will! Might work here too—who knows, you could unite too.]
He knew life was unfair.
Yet facing an immortal dimension-hopper boiled his blood.
[They say knowing ain't liking, liking ain't enjoying. So enjoy it. If not, call it fate.]
Why not born in his world?
Why not his body?
Why not his luck?
[Anyway, gotta go. What to play with here?]
So he swung harder.
"Enjoy it? Fine. I will."
Defiance burned.
Wonpyeong, age 30.
Rage faded. Defiance too. No negativity left in his swings.
"What's the point of anger? It just burns me up."
Instead, he truly enjoyed the sword.
The cool whoosh through air, the plummeting strike, the familiar grip.
"You've been training sword lately? Check this out."
"Father?"
"Friend gave it to me."
The art: Three Disasters Sword Technique.
Basic third-rate stuff, common in tales—and rated the same here.
"Bought it for four taels of silver. Practice diligently."
"...Yes."
Scam or not.
Plain or not.
"Thank you."
"Neglect family, I take the wooden sword."
"We'll train together."
"Fields too."
"I'll remember."
It was the heart that mattered.
Wonpyeong, age 35.
Full, devoted days.
Family first, orchard never neglected.
"Mount Tai Press."
Evenings, back mountain for sword practice.
"Horizontal Sweep of Heaven's Armies."
One form: a thousand swings.
"Forward Finger Thrust."
Three forms: three thousand.
Took ages at first. Late nights to dawn, sometimes oversleeping hurt work.
"Joyful."
Five years on, he finished before moonset.
"Listen up, my tale."
No rushing home—instead, chat with the sword in spare time.
"Young Phong helped today. That little sprout grew so fast, tears welled up unbidden."
The Invincible One said swords had will.
Just wielding a willful being? No.
Build bond like old friends, sharing stories.
"Second clings to big brother's hand with fern-like fingers, toddling after. Folks might think he birthed him."
"You're getting old, Father. Mother too. Miss those health foods from my old world."
"Heard about the Invincible One? Unified martial world, top dog now. Ha, impressive! Immortal stuff's easy for him. Oh, no gum here? Gum's like..."
He even named it.
"Talk more next time, Heavenly Peach."
Wonpyeong, age 40.
"Father passed. Mourning took time."
He unfolded forms on the back mountain, ever-swinging sword.
"Hoo."
Swift yet heavy blade danced as rain poured.
A downpour blurring vision.
"Sorry for not swinging you lately."
He descended, feet crunching parched earth.
Wonpyeong, age 45.
At some point, strange sensations arose.
"Mount Tai Press."
Swinging, he couldn't tell if he led the sword or it guided him.
"Horizontal Sweep of Heaven's Armies."
No need to distinguish. Just savor the moment.
"Forward Finger Thrust."
Wonpyeong, age 70.
Time flowed long.
Mother, wife gone first. He lived with children, deciding family affairs as patriarch.
"Feng, you take over."
"What about you, Father?"
"I'll train with my friend."
Only first few years.
Handing reins to eldest, he climbed the back mountain daily.
"Ho ho, like this feels right."
"Ah, this path brings more joy, no?"
Villagers fingered his muttering Three Disasters forms as senility.
"What's this or that to me."
Feeling the sword's will, he trained quietly.
"Horizontal Sweep of Heaven's Armies."
One form sliced fifty falling leaves at once.
"Mount Tai Press."
Downward strike halved a sudden wild boar.
"Forward Finger Thrust."
A distant charging tiger's brow pierced.
"Though a mere fake art, our wills forged a new path."
He saw the world's flow.
Sword-will paths, life's currents, space's streams.
Mystical power near divinity, yet no boasting.
"Joyful."
Just the moment.
Wonpyeong, age 80.
Dire rumors reached Peach Fragrance Village lately.
"The Invincible One, called Supreme, assassinated the Emperor."
"What? Didn't His Majesty invite him decades ago?"
"Dreamed immortality, summoned the 'immortal'—went south. Emperor called him a fraud, tried to exile... but."
Rumors snowballed.
"Invincible One's gone mad, slaughtering everywhere!"
"Why?"
"Who knows! Lunatic now!"
Blood seas trailed him.
Refugees brought worsening tales, drawing near.
"Father, we must flee."
"Grandpa, run!"
His grown family urged.
Even Wonpyeong nodded secretly.
[Can't beat the Invincible One. He's an absolute from new-school.]
Rumors matched.
Wave hand—crimson energy topples mountains.
Swing sword—sever peaks.
Pound fist—upend earth.
"Against heavenly disaster, what can man do!"
Abandoning ancestral land for flight—then.
"Down!"
Great-grandchild toddled over, hand outstretched.
"Eat peach!"
"..."
One small peach.
Off-season, wind-fallen maybe—dirt-caked, unripe.
"Yes."
Wonpyeong bit in.
Sour as could be.
"Truly delicious."
"Hmm."
"Been a while."
At village edge, the Invincible One frowned at waiting Wonpyeong.
"Who?"
"Your fellow Earthling."
"Fellow? Oh, wait—you! That guy from before! Too old, didn't recognize."
Invincible One unchanged.
First meeting feigned; now true self, flippant tone.
"Ha! Mortal life is pitiful! So, what? Begging mercy for old times' sake?"
"Just curious why you're doing this."
"Ah, no biggie. Time to shift dimensions. Even for me, not easy."
Palm opened: blinding white elixir.
"Needs tons of innate essence. New-school world's got spirit energy, beasts, herbs. Old-school? Nada."
"So you're slaughtering for it?"
"Bingo. Human innate essence works here too. Don't worry! Fellow perk—sparing your village."
Wonpyeong raised Heavenly Peach.
"I won't allow it."
"..."
Shock brief.
"Uahaha!"
Invincible One burst laughing, tears streaming.
"You? Old-school born, dantian-less?"
"Can't let you harm people."
"Hey, I said I'd spare you and the village."
"Can't face heaven doing that."
"Really..."
Face hardened.
"Tried being nice, now you see me as a sucker?"
Then grinned again.
"I'll carve birth-difference into your bones."
Like cat spotting mouse.
"Wow! You're amazing!?"
Fierce battle followed.
One-sided for Wonpyeong.
"How? Man-sword unity? Rare even in old-school!"
Resonating with blade, reading flows, striking.
Impressive, but no match for new-school immortal.
"Fun. I'll use sword too!"
Fight only possible because Invincible One held back.
"Calls it Eternal Annihilation Sword. Sentient blade, swiped from immortals' realm."
Distant refugees watched.
Wonpyeong teetering on death; Invincible One toying—barely a fight.
"Come on! Try harder! Not even cutting your wooden sword!"
Yet Wonpyeong's stamina waned.
Old body straining, he entered no-mind trance.
[I hear your voice.]
Heavenly Peach spoke.
Keep going, you'd die.
[That one's voice too.]
Eternal Annihilation Sword: agony under tyrant's rule.
[He's wielding you.]
Invincible One no unity.
Just brute force dominance.
[I see it—the flow.]
Familiar flows sharpened.
[To me, sword is flow.]
Saw path to Invincible One.
Victory's end glimmered, but too far for his stamina.
[Heavenly Peach, I beg. Forge the flow drawing all I have.]
Sword silent.
[Pleading, old friend.]
Path opened.
"Come on! Got more? Show it! Holding back—no lightness, spells, arts. Give me a scratch at least! Want me to take a hit?"
Words ended.
Wonpyeong unleashed lifetime form.
"Forward Finger Thrust."
Path to immortal.
Piercing space via flow, striking true.
"!?"
Invincible One vomited blood.
"Wh-what!?"
Youth withered instantly.
"How!? My primal soul!? Sliced—my soul!"
Crumbled to dust.
"Impossible..."
Wonpyeong fared no better.
[All innate essence spent.]
Instinct knew: life exhausted.
Touching unreachable flow cost everything.
[Don't grieve too much.]
Heavenly Peach mourned.
Sword asked: regret?
[Regret? Who wants death?]
Why fight then? He offered life.
[Village peaches—best on continent.]
Wonpyeong smiled.
[Wanted folks to taste them.]
Family raced toward him in vision.
[Sleepy.]
Bright light.
Loved ones waited: father, mother, father-in-law, late wife.
[Ah.]
Awkward smile, he walked in.
[Sorry I'm late.]
On the continent stood little Peach Fragrance Village.
Famed for peaches, it held two graves drawing martial artists.
[Grave of the Murder Ghost]
[Evil Doomed to Eternal Hellfire Torment]
[Sealed Yokai in Immortal Guise]
One nameless.
They spat or urinated on it each visit.
At the modest grave by the peach orchard edge, they bowed humbly, reverent.
[Supreme of the World]
[Martial God]
[Sword Immortal]
[Supreme Hero]
[Grave of Wonpyeong]
Long after, the buried wooden sword sprouted into a massive peach tree.
Its fruit, far sweeter—called Heavenly Peach, peaches from heaven.