Swordmaster Fallen into the Murim World
The famed Swordmaster of the empire who had plummeted into the murim world was dead.
That was the conclusion drawn by Seol Ha-yeon, a mere girl who carried the memories of that otherworldly swordmaster.
Of course, it wasn't some noble resolve to adapt to her given name and circumstances now that reincarnation was just reincarnation. Far from it.
"No need to inherit a loser's name."
Everyone suffers petty defeats in life now and then, but who gives a damn about the name of a guy who got squashed by a meteor out of nowhere? Losing is fine, but dying ends it. He'd gone beyond defeat in that all-out brawl with the Demon King straight into permadeath, so clinging to his old name like a sore loser would just be lame.
Besides, the Demon King had wiped out all his connections anyway, and he'd always been the carefree type with no real attachments to life.
Probably some folks would miss me if I died, but nobody who'd actually shed tears. A few assholes who'd spit on my corpse and call it good, though.
The only regret was not being able to go back home and bash their skulls in.
"Should've lived a bit more recklessly if I'd known this was coming."
She had no idea why she'd ended up attached to this unfamiliar world—let alone in this child's body. Maybe reincarnation was real, and she'd been lucky enough to recall her past life. Or perhaps she was just a clingy ghost.
"Doesn't matter either way."
The cause was a mystery, but the result was right there in front of her. No point denying it. The original soul of this body—Seol Ha-yeon—was nowhere to be seen, so who was there to claim ownership?
From the moment she'd accessed the empire's Swordmaster memories, she'd sensed this body was on its last legs, riddled with disease and unlikely to last more than a couple days. Saving its life was payment enough.
Saying she'd taken the body as repayment for saving its life sounded kinda sleazy, but whatever.
Truth was, without an owner, this shell had no options beyond turning into a vegetable. "Finders keepers, right?"
So she shelved the whole past-life drama. What mattered was that she'd gotten a second chance, and the info in her head about this world was firing up her sense of adventure.
Especially the knights, warriors, and their martial arts of this place.
Ha-yeon's small lips curved up to her ears in a grin.
"Haa... Magic's on the decline, but knightly arts have evolved to fill the gap... Perfect."
It felt like her nonexistent dick was standing at attention. Learning was fun—well, not the boring academy crap like math or history, but the fields she actually cared about. A whole new genre in her lifelong passion and hobby? No way she could hold back.
"Knights with loyalty and iron will beat the hell out of those quickshot mages spamming spells like premature virgins."
In that sense, this body was a jackpot. This world was packed with fun stuff that made her forget her barbaric, magic-spamming homeland entirely!
"Heh, alright then. First things first."
Lots to do...
The owner of this body, the girl named Seol Ha-yeon, had lived in abject poverty. Nothing special there. Her dad was a back-alley thug, her mom a courtesan at Hong Sang-gwan, so the kid had inherited their broke-ass life.
But they must've hated passing that poverty on. Blood ties made dumping her a hassle, yet every look at Ha-yeon stirred pointless rage.
Parents are mirrors to their children—and vice versa. Staring at a kid who perfectly reflected their own wretchedness fueled self-loathing.
And self-loathing is a flame that burns you from within. Too cowardly to burn themselves, those pathetic adults projected all their hate onto the mirror instead.
Their little daughter, little more than a reflection of them, endured as they obsessively prodded old burn scars from some earthquake, weeping all the while.
Tragically, Ha-yeon had been too young to rise above it all.
One day, she caught a common illness anyone could get. Her parents cheerfully skipped brewing even one dose of medicine for her.
And the result? Well...
"Pathetic."
Heartbreaking, sure, but a dime-a-dozen tragedy. Still, having inherited this life, maybe it was time to tie up loose ends, murim-style? Or whatever.
"A proper gentleman repays what's given, one way or another."
She'd claimed the whole body, so paying that debt was only fair. One snag, though: this 'Seol Ha-yeon' had no real desires or dreams. No burning revenge against her abusive parents, just a vague wish for vague happiness, living in quiet gloom as a virgin.
"That's why I hate sob stories. Boring and pretentious."
Whatever—she'd figure that out later. Food first. She'd already sifted through the girl's memories, so no hang-ups on how to act. Grab the emergency cash stuffed in her shoe sole, hit an inn, spit out the ingrained Central Plains dialect (awkwardly at first), and done.
Scanning her memories for the tastiest spot, she headed to On-ryang Guest Inn.
"Whoa."
Every step along the way was a nonstop wonder for Ha-yeon. Architecture and clothes utterly unlike her homeland. This exotic scenery proved human civilization could evolve in such wildly different ways—sensations no mere memory-read could capture.
"Folks here love spices and grass-boiled water, huh."
It felt like a real adventure, like her first step into a dungeon or wandering beyond the empire into foreign races' lands. Rediscovering that thrill and passion lifted her spirits. They said age hardened the mind toward the familiar, but a young body seemed to rejuvenate the soul too.
"Freshly woven, top-quality soft fabrics today!"
"Veggies so fresh they could flop right off the vine! Just a light stir-fry in oil, and you won't miss meat!"
Especially hearing the Central Plains tongue—understandable in her head but still unfamiliar—tickled her curiosity. And with her skin tanned just like theirs, she'd briefly wondered if these people were some goblin subspecies. (Racist? Maybe.) She kept it to herself, sharing their body and all.
"This must be how explorers felt seeing redskins in the New World for the first time."
Now they bowed to imperial order and got classified as human, but back then? Endless debates on whether to call them people. Ha-yeon figured it was just paperwork—the treatment stayed cotton-picking level.
Lost in such idle thoughts, a flashy sign soon entered her view.
"On-ryang Guest Inn."
The oversized, gaudy sign screamed the owner's ego about status and rank. The building's exterior was just as flashy, and memories confirmed the food matched. Perfect for a monumental first meal in this world.
Shwish—
She parted the beaded curtain called a portiere and stepped in. No surprise: packed to the gills, proving its popularity. Exotic spices and unfamiliar dish aromas assaulted her nose.
Ha-yeon plopped into an empty seat and called the server.
"Server! Come here."
"Aigoo, what'll it be, miss?"
Waiters existed in every culture, huh.
"Memories say the dark-braised pork here is killer. Bring some."
"Yes'm. Anything else?"
"Wanna order booze too, but kid body means no memory of trying it. Got a menu?"
"?"
The server's face twisted oddly. Ha-yeon pondered, then nodded in realization. A minor hiccup from body-mind disconnect—her sentences came out weird too.
"Dry gin. Ice, half a lemon squeezed. Stir three times."
"Miss?"
---------------
Minor communication snags aside, they sorted it out. Servers were pros at decoding garbled orders anyway.
Figuring booze was wanted, the server pushed pricey stuff to milk this odd customer.
Ha-yeon played dumb and sat tight.
"Head knows it, but my homeland tongue keeps slipping out."
Propping her chin, she sorted her thoughts.
She'd died and latched onto Seol Ha-yeon's body like a parasite ghost. But that didn't change her goals.
Her top hobby? Training. The euphoria of growing stronger with each session, that vain thrill of superiority. That's what hooked her.
She'd lived happily and richly back then. Swinging a sword for fun led to sword auras and Swordmaster rank—no material lacks after that. (Minus the periodic need to slice people for pay.) Hard to find a healthier hobby-job combo.
So her excitement for this world's murim and martial arts peaked.
"Body's itching. Feels great."
Imagining the unique sword styles evolved by this world's powerhouses made her mouth water. Wanna grab any rando by the collar and challenge 'em to a duel right now.
But frail body, no sword—fill the belly first, then act. She had that much sense. One death was embarrassing enough; a second would have all her past kills roasting her in hell.
Imagine: "The chick who turned girl not only died screaming but twice? Lmao."
Home and lodging worries flickered, then vanished.
"Hungry? Eat. Sleepy? Crash. Simple."
Roughing it wasn't so bad. As she thought that, the server returned—no dish, not even an empty plate. Ha-yeon stared blankly at his work-smile.
"Inn's packed, no seats left. Mind sharing with that gentleman over there?"
"Go ahead."
Words came before thought—because there was none. She wasn't the brooding type; meals were best shared with chatter.
"Aigoo, thank you! This way, sir."
Only then did the joiner clasp hands in greeting and sit, smiling.
"Thanks, miss. Gut's stuck to my spine."
"Best thank-you's with this, right?"
Ha-yeon's fingers mimed knocking back a shot. The handsome young man nodded.
"I'll buy the first round. Name's Heon-u."
"Yeah, sure. Introductions are for sophisticated civilized folk."
"Usually, yeah."
"I'm Zeke—er, Seol Ha-yeon. So, friend, you swing a sword?"
Her gaze dropped to his waist. A sword brazenly displayed, no hiding. Only crazies brought blades to a diner like this—the obvious kind etched in even a kid like Seol Ha-yeon's head: a murim warrior.
Nothing beat firsthand intel from field operators.
Murim had so many curiosities.
"Huge murim buff here—spill the tea while we feast."
"Quirky speech, miss. Fine by me; beats eating alone."