Private Lessons
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
I'd landed a gig with some nameless secret society. Not sure if "gig" was the right word, but whatever—I'd done it.
It looked fun, and back then, it was the best option on the table.
If I'd stuck it out to the end, my pitiful reserves would've been drained dry way faster than I'd thought.
With nothing but Chimtogyeong internal clashes in my arsenal, if Geum Ra-geo had gone for a straight-up, by-the-book weapon duel, I'd have been a step behind.
But the red-haired pirate messing around with his secret society games alongside Geum Ra-geo had been dazzled by my flashy show. Mistaking me for a bona fide Hwagyeong powerhouse, he was rolling out the red carpet treatment.
I wasn't there yet. Sure, maybe an imperial Swordmaster, but as the total hack Ha-yeon? I could've gone toe-to-toe with Geum Ra-geo—or even that red-haired bastard—in a fair scrap.
Of course, I had zero plans to set the record straight.
"Hahaha! Another round!"
"Whoa, you can hold your liquor, huh?"
Geum Ra-geo shoved a bronze cup brimming with booze my way. We knocked back our shots, then chomped through the snacks with gusto.
The red-headed pirate was right there with us, naturally.
"So, what's your crew called? That society or club or whatever—spill the name."
"This isn't some trifling club, miss. I am Jigeokseong of the Geukseongjihoe."
"Star? Like, star?"
"Pardon?"
Geum Ra-geo snorted a laugh and tore into a chicken leg.
"These clowns name themselves after the Thirty-Six Heavenly Gang Stars and Seventy-Two Earthly Sha Stars. Hilarious bunch. Taking names from those ominous 108 evil stars? Their ambitions scream off the page."
"And yet the Pirate King joined up, didn't he?"
"Damn right. For the record, I'm Jisuseong."
I nodded along. These guys are deep into the cosplay.
Any organization with bombastic titles was usually just a circle-jerk of back-patting sycophants. Like neighborhood kids calling themselves the Archduke of Gluttony or Demon King of Wrath while playing war games. Similar vibe, just scaled up because adults were involved.
The difference? Unlike edgelords yelling "darkness" into the void, these fuckers had the skills and motive to back it up.
Sounds fun.
"Alright, Jigeokseong."
"Yes?"
"What's my codename?"
"Eh?"
"My star name or whatever. Can't it be something cool like Superstar?"
"You haven't formally joined yet. Though I can tell you're aiming for an Earthly Sha star over a Heavenly Gang one."
"Fair enough."
Didn't matter to me. All that Heavenly Gang-Earthly Sha crap was boring and pretentious anyway. A nickname just needed to roll off the tongue and sound badass.
But first, something was nagging at me. I swirled my cup casually, playing it cool and aloof as I asked,
"So, why'd you kidnap those kids?"
"To rip the martial arts out of their heads, obviously. We targeted Nangong Clan, but lucked into Muadang's Blue Dragon too."
"How? FYI, torture won't work."
People crack under pain. Beat a guy's ass with a red-hot iron club, and even the world's toughest man would sob, "Waaah, I lost! No one beats the fire club!" like a little girl.
But folks had a common misconception. Torture opened mouths—it didn't guarantee truth.
The clueless spewed lies to escape the agony; the informed bullshitted just to see you fuck up, since verification was impossible. If you knew, you wouldn't be torturing in the first place.
Jigeokseong—the red-haired pirate—chuckled at my words, like it was the dumbest thing he'd heard.
"Child's play. Cheongoeseong pries open their minds personally, then Cheongongseong's eyes pierce a thousand ri to read their innermost secrets. More than doable."
"Pfft!"
"Gah! You crazy ice witch, spewing booze on your king!"
"Damn, your crew's stacked, huh? Talented bunch."
How the hell does that work? Is there a magic tower in this world? I thought it was all sword-one-trick tech trees.
"Routine for us. Those two are ultra-cautious, though, so once confirmed, another Earthly Sha star will arrive from HQ to take the kids."
Only one reason he'd spill all this: We're that strong—don't bother scheming, just play nice. Had to be showing his hand first.
"Your pals pack a punch, eh?"
"Heh. Feeling our might now? That's the Geukseongjihoe for you."
"That strong, why stay a secret? You could rise as a full faction—no one'd touch you."
"We'd love to match the Nine Great Clans, Five Great Families, or even the imperial house... but it's not quite enough."
"What?"
"Just accept there's a reason. Join formally, take a star name, and you'll learn."
"Got it."
Bullshit. I downed my drink, shooting Jigeokseong and Jisuseong cold glares.
The commie-pirate cosplayer and Geum Ra-geo. If I didn't wipe these two out quick, the kids would end up corpses.
No way I'd let the ones I'd saved float down the river like trash at these bastards' hands. Sneaky backstabbers like them didn't leave bodies intact—they burned flesh, ground bones into porcelain, or scattered joints everywhere. Secret society rules.
That's why secret societies should stay kid games.
"Situation's urgent—gotta prep. Head to the local branch for confirmation and the leader's orders. No more drinks."
"Kek. Go on, Jigeokseong—you're up."
"Says the gold branch head. You carry Jisuseong yourself, but bigger resolve's needed to contain that leaking congenital true qi."
"...Cheeky bastard, getting bolder despite being mere Chojeoljeong."
"Your prime? Maybe. Now you're barely clinging on as Jisuseong—what's there to fear?"
"Damn. How'd I end up with assholes like this."
With that, Jigeokseong vanished.
Slated for death soon, but hey—might as well cheer him up. I offered my cup.
"Branch head, cheers?"
"Fuck it. Cheers."
Clink! Cups met.
Behind my beauty's facade burned murderous pupils like evil stars. Eyes holding the calm before a kill, before the storm.
Hmm.
But Geum Ra-geo wasn't a total idiot—he wouldn't fight fair like last time. Guess I'd have to reveal my hidden cards.
I topped off his empty cup the second it hit bottom.
"Drink up. Booze fixes the blues."
"Hmph. Think consolation from a wench like you does shit for this king?"
"But booze consoles, right?"
"Spot on! People can't comfort people, but liquor can! Bottoms up!"
"Yeah!"
Fun guy. Sensing the vibe, he filled mine with baijiu and thrust it forward.
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Booze was the best. Refill empties, cheers for fun.
We drank and drank till we were sloshed, clinking not cups but pig legs, yelling cheers.
We'd drained every jar. Geum Ra-geo scratched his flushed-red nose and asked,
"Ice witch."
"Whaaat."
"What was that? Y'know, the swirling, sucking in my qi thing."
"Heupseong Daebeop?"
"Bull. If that was Great Star Absorption, it'd be called Divine Absorption. Just raise your hand and yoink the opponent's qi, mess with their energy control and stance? Top-tier."
True. Activating it refilled my mana like crazy while siphoning sword qi, disrupting blade aura control? Pure debuff on them, buff on me—dirty, cheating perfection.
That's why I spammed it. Best support skill ever.
"My modded Heupseong Daebeop. Something like that."
"Kuh. Signature ultimate or what?"
"My turn. What was that? Snagging my back in a blink."
"You don't know? Really from outside the martial world, huh."
He stood, buzzed and swaying, then blurred behind me in a flash.
"That. What cheaty bullshit is it?"
"Hic. From Tianzhu or Yueguo or whatever. Basic for any Murim expert."
"Fuck?"
Everyone used that? Shocking. Did that mean flashing my back to every master from now on?
Why was Ihyanghwanwi a high-level vet passive?! Made no sense!
"Damn, Murim's no joke."
"Nope. Hic. Third-rate crap? Maybe not. But high-tier divine arts or advanced manuals? Prerequisite."
His explanation: Moves like Ihyanghwanwi predated techniques. Masters who knew it turned it into footwork for supreme arts—aka ultimate techniques.
Unlock high-skill trees with Ihyanghwanwi, Gungsin Tan-yeong, etc.
Easy to grasp—my home world had analogs.
"Fuck, insane. Spill more."
"Ahem. Anyone pour for the king?"
"Coming right up! Lay it on thick!"
Geum Ra-geo cackled and dove in.
"Prerequisites vary. Muadang's famous Jeunjong? Need Deungpyeong Dusu and Dapseol Muhyeon first. Huashan's Plum Blossom Twenty-Four Sword? Hit Ihwa Jeomok mastery."
"Ooh!"
Owning top manuals wasn't enough. Prime the skill set first.
"Divine arts sometimes teach 'em naturally. Shaolin's Yeogeun Sesu Gyeong turns your body diamond-hard just by practicing."
Deep arts unlocked higher mysteries via "early insight, late mastery."
Exactly what I want.
"How to snag one?"
"Hahaha! Dream on. Arts granting insights like Ihwa Jeomok? Shen Gong—monopolized by the haves."
"Fucking ladder-climbing everywhere."
"Tell me about it!"
"You're a broke-ass like me. To all the have-nots in this world—cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Clink!
Booze loosened walls between us.
Bam! I slammed the table, whining,
"Fuck! Why me? Born to a whore mom and deadbeat dad! What if I'd popped out a fancy womb? Why's the parent lottery such shit?! God, publish reincarnation odds!"
"Same here, damn it! Born a beggar's fisherman's son!"
"Fuck, Geum Ra-geo! You get the broke life too?!"
"Fuck! You too? Ever grilled bugs with mud and weeds 'cause no food?!"
A twinge of kin-slight turned to shared bitching.
Pathetic sight, but who else to unload on? Close friends spare each other pain—no dumping woes or black history. Better with randos like him—no stakes.
Crude, loud, vulgar—that's the vibe.
"Ugh, revolution time. Wanna unleash red revolution on Murim."
"What's that?"
"Dunno? Iron Blood—Cheolhyeol Geukma here. Some clerk's ideology."
Debating drunken nonsense seriously.
"Hey, that Bow Body Bullet Shadow thing."
"Speak human!"
"Racist prick. Gungsin Tan-yeong!"
"Right!"
Feedback on techniques.
"The kids I brought—O-ryeong and Yuk-ryeong? Might catch cold; toss 'em blankets. You nabbed 'em."
"Haha! Sure! You raising 'em for snacks?"
"This river rat's farting from the mouth."
"Ice witch hauling kids? Everyone'd think that!"
Talk veered to skills inevitably. Sword-for-a-living types like us hungered for new tricks.
Gently probing for know-how...
"Yo, river rat."
"What."
"We ain't girls gonna scratch and probe. Spill it."
"You are a girl."
"Asshole, not that. You know what I mean."
No thirst despite the booze—just refreshment. Or satisfaction. Learning's joy, and we were profs in each other's curiosities.
Staring, we synced.
"Wench."
"What, river rat."
"Thinking what I'm thinking?"
"You too? Me too!"
Eyes gleamed with oily desire. We could fill each other's gaps. Past beef? Irrelevant.
"Be my master! I'll crown you royal teacher!"
"Let's start an academy. One student, one prof—but I can double as principal."
Ah, situations aside—business first.