From Slave to Disciple
Thanks to that quack life-or-death doctor, I'd survived the brink of death. But that didn't mean I was fully recovered—after splashing around in the River Jordan once, my body couldn't heal that easily. Plus, though a miraculous bone-cleansing rebirth or something like it had happened to Ha-yeon's body, it had only strengthened to the level of a first-rate martial artist. All the energy meant for enhancement had gone straight to recovery, or so they said.
At least my recovery speed was top-notch now. The divine doctor had left with a quip that as long as my head stayed attached, I'd heal up fine anywhere.
"...Why's it daytime already?"
I'd spent a whole month sleeping my ass off, sick of it all. Eat, sleep, eat, sleep—that was my loop for thirty days straight. Only then did it finally hit me: Oh yeah, I'm alive.
"Not bad."
The doc said it was first-rate, nearing Peak realm flesh. That alone was solid growth. Sure, there were endless realms above it, and people often misunderstood—but a first-rate martial artist's body could take on a bear solo and win. They couldn't manifest sword qi, but they could smash wild beasts barehanded, and with a weapon, they moved like living siege engines even in heavy armor.
Inner energy? Pop an elixir, and you're good. Even Suck Star Great Law worked—draining from enemies was tricky, but securing qi for immediate use was no problem. The body was different. No matter how much you reinforced it with inner energy, your opponent would do the same. Ultimately, those with sturdy bodies got the most out of it.
And how do you toughen the body? Exercise. Natural bone-building and muscle growth. Slow as hell. But skipping straight to first-rate level meant I'd bypassed the mandatory physical training. Not bad at all.
Or at least, it shouldn't be bad. Otherwise, what was left for me? A golden egg? Nah, a golden-shitting duck? And a mountain of debt docs I'd pay off forever? No fucking way. I couldn't accept that.
So yeah, I'd saved a ton of time. I had to.
"I bought time with money. I bought time with money."
I brainwashed myself with that for a bit.
"Milord. May I enter?"
"Yeah. Come in."
The slave's voice came from outside. I'd ended up the debtor, he'd paid his off. Even in this mess, the math had to add up.
The door opened, and Cheong-yong entered in his Wudang Taoist robes. Ha-yeon gestured to a cushion.
"Sit."
"Yes. Excuse me."
"Body holding up?"
Standard check-in. No bullshit—both of us had been through hell, so it was legit.
Cheong-yong chuckled low, brewing tea himself as he replied.
"Would I presume to compare to milord? I'm fully healed—no need to worry."
"Yeah? Quick recovery. I remember your dantian and meridians got wrecked pretty bad."
"Sharp as ever. Master came by."
"Blue Cloud True Human?"
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Go on."
I was curious about that Cheong-un Jin-in guy who called himself a "true human," but no word meant he'd left.
"Rumors got twisted big-time—said I took down the Black Ink Faction Lord. My deepest apologies. Even trying to correct it just makes people call me humble..."
"Doesn't matter. You did your part, and hey, it's not like I got framed. Speaking of, your master's gone now?"
"Yes. He guided me briefly, gave elixirs helpful for my cultivation, then left."
"Too bad. Seemed like a high-realm guy; wanted to meet him."
"Master's swamped with duties, had to leave early—but he said he'd love a deep talk with milord."
Ah, he came while I was barely revived, sleeping half the day. What a shame.
"Ah, tea's ready. Have some."
"Yeah. Tasty."
"Good leaves."
"No wonder—you don't usually brew, but you had faith in the ingredients."
Light chit-chat. We'd covered the basics; time for the real talk.
"Cheong-yong."
"?"
"What? Why stare like that? Eyes aren't innocent enough?"
"No, milord—can't remember the last time you called me by name. Always 'slave this, slave that.'"
"Funny? Serves you right for swinging a sword at the wrong person. Build some patience next time."
"Unfair! Even Shaolin's abbot would've palm-struck you as a demon."
Palm... yeah. Come to think of it, since coming here, I'd used hands more than my sword?
Ha-yeon pulled out her hand, pondering. That booze buddy's technique was turning me into a brawler, dumbing down my style. Effective as hell, though—no reason not to use it. Annoying. Grateful, but it hurt my swordsman's pride. When would that high-performance sword art drop? Sparring with the slave didn't yield the essence I craved.
"What're you thinking?"
"Nothing. Anyway, Cheong-yong."
"Milord, call me like always. Whatever horror's coming from those lips has me shaking already."
"Quit whining... good work all this time."
"Milord?"
Cheong-yong shuddered like I'd given him goosebumps. Ha-yeon got irritated at the reaction.
"What? What's the freakout?"
"No, milord—are you really okay? That quack didn't botch the treatment..."
"Fuck! 'Good work'! Debts paid—you're free to go!"
What did this guy think I was? I'd treated him damn well for a slave. Regret not working him harder; too lenient, and now pissed.
"You did your job. That stab? Hell, you helped big-time—no debt left. Swordplay sucked, but stamina was solid—good eats?"
"..."
"End of slave life! Thought I'd milk ten years, but who saw this shitshow coming... tsch."
"Milord."
"Good work. Eat well, live well—we'll cross paths again."
I figured he'd be thrilled. Ten years as a servant? Who'd want that? Especially after days of near-death bullshit with a shit owner like me.
He's soft-hearted, might miss me a bit, Ha-yeon thought.
"...Milord!"
"Shit, you scared me. What the hell?"
Didn't expect this. Ex-slave jumps up, kowtows hard.
"I want to serve milord forever!"
"...Why?"
Why the fuck? No reason came to mind. Sparring on demand, piggyback rides, dragging to a brothel he hated. Then crazy shit there, chased for three days straight. Where the attachment?
...Listing it out, yeah, I'm a total asshole.
Ex-slave looked dumbfounded, like realizing a forgotten truth. 'Why didn't I see it?' expression.
Ha-yeon kicked his shin irritably—it grated.
"Asshole. Fix that face."
"...Ahem! Despite the incidents, serving milord—I have no regrets... or so I thought."
"Tons of regrets just flashed by. Sane now?"
"Honestly? Yes."
Good—ex-slave's head back to normal. Thought the "slave" chant enslaved his brain too. Power of titles, huh.
"But."
Not done yet.
"Days with milord were... deeply enjoyable."
"Huh?"
"Skills grew under guidance, rare experiences I couldn't have elsewhere."
"That's nostalgia beautifying bad memories."
"Plus, following milord taught what even Master couldn't: true righteousness."
He tapped his chest.
"What, big chest—impressed?"
"I learned xia from milord."
"Xia?"
"I thought xia meant the weak aiding the strong, justice incarnate."
"Isn't that standard?"
"But experience showed the world ain't easy."
Cheong-yong reminisced. His old hero vs. his new one.
"Xia means pushing your beliefs to the end."
"Hm. Extreme example: guy sincerely thinks eating people is right and just—is he xia?"
He shook his head.
"There must be a baseline good. Even if some suffer, others must be saved and happy."
"Yeah, yeah—you're good at spouting embarrassing shit casually."
"Milord showed it with actions, not words."
"...Shit, no comeback."
Headache. Why so many lately? Two puppies not enough—now this? Past life's sins catching up?
"So. Conclusion?"
"I want to follow and serve milord. Much to learn."
"I'm not that good. Didn't see me slice folks? I'd kill kids if needed."
"If milord does evil, I'll call you out then. Help you repent."
Ha-yeon shuddered. Psycho. Sane psycho. Madness gleamed in clear eyes.
Chills hit; she scooted back.
"Milord taught me xia! Xia! Great ring, right? I wanna be a steadfast hero like you!"
"Argh! Get out! Stay back!"
"Milord! Let's spread xia in murim! Two great heroes roaming free!"
Ah... life.
And sometime later, glad tidings came.
"Black Ink Faction's wiped out, milord."
"...Yeah?"
"Lost their lord and an elder—natural end. Young lord dead too, no heir."
Good. No grudge left for me, but those guys? Overflowing. Perfect timing.
"Ready?"
"Y-yes, sis!"
"Hubby!"
"Yuk-ryeong extra points!"
"Yay!"
Today: long-delayed funeral for Black Ink Faction Lord Wang-jiak.
Beaten by me ages ago, stuck in his coffin while I groaned a month. Now healed, time to send him off nice.
"Launch it."
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
Twins giggled, heaving the coffin to the riverbank. Oil packed tight inside for good burn—not just corpse dumping.
Kid twins dumping a body coffin? Spooky.
Watching, grateful benefactor Pyeong So-geon from Pyeong Clan muttered hollowly.
"Who'd think the Black Bear would go like this? Life's unpredictable—human lives so fleeting."
Cool words, but not funeral-appropriate? Whatever—coffin settled safe on water. Ha-yeon lit the pyre site, pushed it off quietly.
"Whoa, burns nice."
"...Why this funeral, milord?"
"My homeland burned warriors' bodies on ships. Northern tribe custom, bit far north."
"I see."
Stuffed flowers in for comfy trip—should sail fine? Hm... suddenly pissed. Made me like this, yet peaceful send-off? Infuriating.
"Hey! Wang-jiak! Die pretty! Crawl out that coffin lid, and I kill you myself!"
There. Relieved.
Pyeong So-geon and slave shook heads ashamed, but fuck it. Relief now.
"Let's go."
"Yes, milord."
"Hubby."
"Yesss!"
Time fades all; Wang-jiak's bare-handed Black Ink empire would bleach quick. Humans forget easy—story remnant's mercy enough.
Sure, sounded grand—but some tales don't fade. Folks love stories.
"Hey, heard? Wudang's Cheong-yong killed Black Ink's Black Bear, Wang-jiak."
"Haha, that Azure Dragon? This generation's latebloomers got bright futures."
First: righteous newbie sending a Super Peak fiend to the afterlife.
"Know this? Nam-chang's Black Mountain Faction and Yeon Clan... wiped by a Suck Star Great Law demon."
Nam-chang massacre by some archfiend.