Mancheon Asks His Master (4)
Was he indirectly calling my practice of the Dog-Beating Stick Technique beggar-like? ...Nah, probably not. I still didn't know much about my master, but from everything I'd seen so far, he wasn't the type to beat around the bush.
So that meant he was saying I was actually doing well. But where? I couldn't wrap my head around it. How could I call myself good at something I didn't even understand? My pride wouldn't allow that.
I scowled, clearly unconvinced, and Master let out another good-natured "Heh heh~" as he rose from his seat.
"Heh heh~" – one-trick pony.
Master spread his legs wide, left arm extended in front, right arm behind his back. Then he suddenly widened his eyes and rolled his body sideways in a panic.
Left, right – no concern for dignity as he tumbled across the dirt, smearing dust into his long beard.
He sprang up, swinging both arms crisply to parry and block some invisible foe.
But soon enough, he was sweating bullets like he was being pushed back, leaping backward with ridiculous dodges to evade the onslaught.
That's when I finally got it. Sparring. Master was sparring with an unseen opponent.
Shadow boxing.
It wasn't that my skill made the invisible foe visible. Each of Master's moves conjured the enemy into existence.
Like a master pantomimist crafting an invisible wall for the audience, a true expert manifests even the unseen foe.
The opponent was smaller than Master. Sword? No, too short. Polearm? No – a spear!
Fierce spearwork relentlessly pressed Master. I knew little of spear arts, but even I could tell this guy was a monster.
Weaving six tricky variations without mercy, denying Master any chance for a proper counter.
As Master slapped away spear tips barehanded, growing his defense, the foe spun the tip in circles, herding him relentlessly. Master scrambled to block, his hands drifting farther from his body.
It was a trap. Fixated on the circling tip, his torso defense gaped open.
Just as desired, with the body exposed, the foe yanked back – then thrust fiercely at Master's heart.
The power was like a venomous dragon bursting from a churning, muddy lake, jaws agape.
...Could you even dodge that?
Caught in the enemy's ploy, heart offered up. No escape. Checkmate.
I thought it was over, but Master had anticipated the spinning tip would lead to this. He flopped straight backward, barely evading by a hair.
One second – no, a fraction slower, and the spear would've pierced his jaw and skull.
But... he dodged. Impressive, sure. Really ugly, though.
Master belly-flopped like a frog, then flipped to brace for the next assault, rolling like a donkey in the dirt to escape the furious spear barrage.
"Kuh... heh... pfft!"
I knew I shouldn't, but that 2-meter hunk rolling like a goofy donkey broke me. Laughter exploded out after holding it in all this time.
Laugh fail.
"Heh heh~ You think it's funny watching your master get thrashed, brat?"
My laughter ended the shadow spar. Master dusted off the dirt, speaking in his usual kindly, upright tone.
"What I just showed you is the Lazy Donkey Roll. When there's no way to dodge or block, you roll like a donkey to evade."
Yeah, it looked pathetic, but rolling's legit as a dodge – proven by the nightmare difficulty of the Souls series and solid physics.
...So why show it suddenly? Bragging he could do it too?
"I showed you this because there's one key thing linking Fierce Dog Blocking the Road and Lazy Donkey Roll. Guess what it is."
A commonality between Fierce Dog Blocking the Road and Lazy Donkey Roll?
What could it be? One's a staff technique, the other's evasion. Where's the overlap?
...No. Master doesn't waste words. This was his way of dropping a hint, betting I'd figure it out.
And I would. 'Cause I'm Sima Mancheon, genius who deceives even the heavens. No dumb side character here.
Dog-Beating Stick Technique – Fierce Dog Blocking the Road = When a feral dog blocks your path, handle it somehow.
Lazy Donkey Roll = Roll like a lazy donkey. Ultimate evasion when dodge or block fails.
Break down the meanings, compare – boom, obvious link.
Didn't even need genius mode. Overdid the flair.
"The one thing linking Fierce Dog Blocking the Road and Lazy Donkey Roll is improvisation."
Master nodded, pleased.
"Right. Fierce Dog Blocking the Road means improvise your way past a feral dog blocking the path."
He borrowed my staff, conjuring a massive, snarling feral dog.
"For a wandering beggar with no home, who's the biggest threat? Wild dogs."
Untamed packs are wolf-like. To them, a lone, unarmed beggar is prime chow.
"Bandits skip beggars with nothing to steal. Dogs don't care – beggars are just meat."
Invisible but palpable: a huge, ravenous wild dog before Master, crouching to pounce.
Thwack!
Master struck first, thrusting the staff spear-like at the nose. Then pummeled the stunned beast mercilessly.
Seemed random, but he read every twitch, swinging to disorient completely.
As the dog scrambled on hind legs, Master swept low – cracking legs, toppling it, then unleashed a waterfall of strikes.
Or maybe a downpour. Either way, the fearsome brute blocking the path was routed.
"Fierce Dog Blocking the Road isn't rote forms. It's improvising against the foe in your way to carve a path."
"So when you said I was doing well..."
"You kept seeking your own path, never giving up. And pulled it off, more or less, despite the flaws."
Master taught with his kindly, steadfast voice.
"Mancheon, when a massive, evil foe blocks you, the real key isn't mighty techniques. It's refusing to quit, always hunting an opening. Never forget that."
That evening, Master's techniques and lessons looped in my head.
Couldn't sleep, rolling on the bed till I snapped – snuck to the backyard, drilling Fierce Dog Blocking the Road endlessly.
The sweltering summer cooled to a crisp dawn. As chilly breeze dried my sweat, I mastered it.
And caught a summer cold – the kind dogs dodge.
It was summer, after all.
I snuck an extra bowl of Mother's nourishing chicken porridge – packed with premium herbs and fowl – and headed to Master.
Entering the familiar ruin, there he was: wielding a long branch in sword forms.
Over 2 meters of majestic frame, innate power – his bold, flawless, domineering swordplay? Wait, staffplay? Dunno. Epic anyway.
I perched on a nearby rock, watching till he finished.
But another style followed. Equal power to the first, yet totally different.
The prior was bold and refreshing; this was heavy, imposing, every stroke regal and precise, emperor-like.
I gulped, mesmerized – then a third emerged.
Utterly distinct from the domineering opener or weighty second. Honestly, mismatched with Master's burly build.
It was beautiful.
First time swordplay struck me as art. And suddenly, sweet plum blossom scent wafted.
Hallucination, probably. Swordplay smelling like plums? Nah.
But no illusion. As Master's gorgeous forms peaked, plum blossoms bloomed.
For a moment, my vision filled with an ethereal plum grove, fairies and immortals dancing amid.
No! No! Wrong!
Snapped back: ruined yard, dead trees, rocks. No drugs, yet hallucinations? Ghost-level nonsense.
"...Smells like savory chicken porridge."
Master smiled kindly as always, but I couldn't play normal anymore. Ignorant of the Murim world? Not that ignorant.
Master wasn't just some hidden expert.
Trembling, I had to ask.
"...Master, who the hell are you?"