Private Lessons (3): Private Lessons in the Cave Prison
The cave prison was riddled with beehive-like holes in the walls. The young martial artists of the Murim's later generation locked inside looked surprisingly decent. They had no need for torture anyway—after all, they planned to crack open their skulls and take what they wanted. Far from mistreating them, they fed them well out of fear they'd die suddenly or take their own lives from neglect. Of course, that food and water was laced with plenty of San-gong Poison.
Especially the areas holding the Slave, Oryeong, and Yuryeong sisters—with my personal touch—were practically luxury suites, if you exaggerated a bit. Healthy minds made for easier skull-cracking, or so they said. Anyway, when I passed on that intel, the Slave approached the bars and whispered,
"My lady. The cave echoes—keep such information quiet..."
"It's fine. I've blocked the sound from leaking out."
"Then that's a relief."
As if I wouldn't prepare for that much. The only real risk was the Water Bandit Chief, but he was too engrossed in his new studies, scribbling away with his brush. The peak-level Intellectual Star had stepped out briefly to report success or failure to his Geukseongjihoe branch or whatever. Which meant none of the other Water Bandits—first-rate at best—could eavesdrop.
"So listen up. These Murim brats locked in here? Some day soon, folks'll come cracking open their skulls to claim those star nicknames of theirs."
"Is that possible, my lady?"
"Hell if I know. If it is, then yeah."
That's when Namgoong Ryeon barked defiantly from her cell. Her tone dripped with blatant distrust.
"No way in hell. Not even some freakish demonic art or sorcery could pull that off!"
"It's the truth, so what can I do?"
"You've been suspicious from the start, you bitch. Wandering around unscathed, no shackles, no San-gong Poison. Who knows if you're just pretending to reassure us while plotting something?"
"Well... Namgoong. You know they want the martial arts in your heads, right?"
"Yeah. Family arts too grand for filthy bandits like them."
"Exactly. So tell me—why do you think they're leaving you alone without torture or truth serums? Feeding you three square meals, managing you meticulously so you don't off yourselves?"
Namgoong Ryeon clamped her mouth shut.
"You know what, Namgoong? They always stuff livestock full. Gotta fatten 'em up for quality meat."
"Livestock..."
"Don't get comfy just 'cause it's not too bad for a kidnapping. They're banking on that. Won't feel so cozy when they drag you to the slaughterhouse and pop your skull open."
A voice piped up from the opposite side. Moyong Dan's voice from memory, mixed with shouts from Hwangbo Jung and Hwangbo Hye of the Hwangbo family.
"That's ridiculous!"
"Young hero! Please help us! On the honor of the Hwangbo family, we'll reward you handsomely!"
"S-sorry! I'll apologize for judging you by your looks...!"
Their voices were downright pathetic. No trace of the haughty young masters and ladies blooming with eloquence at the top of their clan's rosters. Peel back one layer, and they were just ordinary kids like anyone else.
Amid the chaos, only Yongcheong kept his cool, gripping the bars.
"My lady."
"Yeah."
"You can leave us behind."
"Last time I said that to you. Now you're saying it to me?"
"Indeed."
"Then you know my answer too. Right?"
"Haha. Then I'll just follow suit. Can't do it once and not twice, can I?"
Truth was, I'd racked my brains over it. Escape? Fight back? Crunching the numbers led to one conclusion.
"Wipe out the red-haired Intellectual Star, the Water Bandit Chief, and every last underling."
"Wouldn't fleeing be safer?"
"Thought about it. Too risky."
If the Intellectual Star's red head wasn't spouting bluffing delusions, we were dealing with a formidable secret group. Ones dangerous enough to crack open healthy skulls and read memories. Leave a loose end, and even those who didn't know us would sniff us out.
"Right now, the only ones who know our faces—you, me, the kids—are the Water Bandits in this cave."
Kill them all, and the case goes cold. Off the Intellectual Star too after he reports "mission success" to the local branch. Who'd bother cracking bandit corpses for memories? Even if the bigwig spawn snitched while alive, retaliation wouldn't be easy. Every org runs on results. If payback's too costly, a secret society's nature might let it slide. The fact they reeled in a guy like me suggested a loose, point-based network anyway.
"So listen up, all of you."
Sweep clean here, cover tracks, and no one knows. They'd just think some big incident went down. They seemed to hate exposure, so that might suffice. But the problem was...
"Hoo."
Ha-yeon stared silently at her hand. Pale and translucent, faint veins bulged beneath the delicate skin.
"Still... human bonds and all that."
What to do with our Gold Teacher...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Seven days passed. The Intellectual Star, that red bastard, still hadn't returned. World was vast, and their secrecy meant circuitous routes. Reports weren't just drop and done—you waited for confirmation. Especially to some distant Cheonggongseong or whatever. Back-and-forth letters alone would eat time. Secret societies always had that obsessive tic. Strip the secrecy, and what's left? No wonder they clung to it.
Musing on such trivia, I headed to my familiar nook in the cave. There waited Gold Ragol, in his ill-fitting black scholar's hat.
"Hahaha! You've come!"
"Yeah. Fix that hat. Class starts."
The lesson kicked off as always. After my instruction, he handed over the hat. Slipping it on felt like reclaiming a heartbeat of youth, hat alone. Maybe that's why I poked the makeshift bamboo desk's edge and spoke up.
"Gold Teacher."
"What!"
"How're classes treating you lately? Life force leaking out nonstop."
Gold Ragol's body was far from fine. A mangled corpse, barely held by some near-miraculous Earth Prisoner Star, flickering like a dying ember.
He smirked at that.
"Hah. What, did we agree to swap personal sob stories?"
"Don't wanna? Fine, Water Bandit."
"Teacher, you idiot. Whatever—won't change anything, so I'll tell ya. Bottom line... fuck, does this look fine to you?"
"Nah, that's why I asked, moron."
"This body had no clue!"
He slapped his knee. Then stomped irritably and continued.
"It's not. Prolonging a corpse with the Earth Prisoner Star."
"What?"
"Simple terms: the Earth Prisoner Star's not me—it's this thing."
Gold Ragol shed his robe. Crude wooden and iron prosthetics—utterly alien to this world—filled my view.
"Me? Like a sheath for the Earth Prisoner Star's sword."
"That worthless tool's the Earth Prisoner Star."
"Ha! No wonder the Intellectual Star looks down on me! He sees kin in these steel scarecrows, not me!"
"The life force drain?"
"Innate essence... pity, but shattered dantian can't be fixed, they say. Who knows if it's to tame me or truth."
"Leashed, huh."
"Yeah. Fuckin' Gold Ragol's a collared mutt now!"
This org was a bigger mess than I thought. Hell, maybe Geukseongjihoe was just a real club.
Fuming, he kicked the ground.
"That's why I pinned hopes on you. Non-Murim studies might mend this broken vessel."
"Still leaking now, huh."
"Yep. This Gold Ragol dies slow but sure—faster than most."
A Hwa-gyeong master could barely handle the essence loss. Up close, beneath taut skin and muscle withered a desiccated man. The scary part? Those prosthetic arms pulsed with undeniable vitality, like living things.
"Your arms. The Earth Prisoner Star."
"Aaah yeah! These damn limbs keep changing me!"
"No thought to ditching 'em?"
"Nah. What'd be left? Quadruple amputee? This cursed Earth Prisoner Star's my prison. Can't remove it myself—makes it worse."
Earth Prisoner Star—true to the name, arms like shackles and cage. Fusing deeper, gaining life, parasitic survival.
I tsked and nudged his shin.
"Daddy. Off. Earth Prisoner Star's contagious."
"Graaah! You bitch, insulting your master!"
"Shut it, Teacher. Lesson time."
And so it began. Naturally, it didn't go smoothly. I kept glancing at his veiny, bulging arms; he kept flicking my forehead for the distraction.
"Gah! Those arms are fuckin' annoying."
"Think you're the only one?!"
"Sitting's boring. Wanna clash for real?"
"Sparring?"
"Yeah. Field trip learning."
"Good."
Soon we gripped weapons, facing off. Laughable—we'd been out for blood days ago, now sparring like pals.
"Kek."
"Why laugh, bitch?"
"Nothin'. Way of the world. No eternal enemies."
"Cloud-gazing nonsense. Brain fever?"
"Should I just gut this Water Bandit and make sashimi?"
"Spouting shit proves you're this king's Royal Teacher!"
This spar: strictly taught techniques only. Builds skill that way. We charged—no holding back.
I seized first strike. Jeongjungdong-infused blade arced slowly at his side.
"Haha! Still slow!"
"You told me to swing slow."
"Slow but trace the unerring path!"
"Easier said."
Sword arc—familiar horizontal slash, but this slow? Never. Awkward swing clipped his eerie prosthetic.
Clang! Tiny scratch. Regrew like flesh.
What the hell is that thing.
"Here comes this king's Heopseongdaebeop you taught—taste it!"
"Moron, spirals ain't everything. Think attraction, not just suction."
Feedback mid-clash, as intended.
"No! Infuse intent into the blade! You're not one with the sword!"
"Shut up, bandit."
Correcting stances amid blows. Results felt fresh.
I pondered: 'Murim swordplay's ascent.'
Swords just cut fast and true. My homeland's truth. Rarely infused swings with intent beyond killing urge.
"Lacking! Slow but unerring arc!"
"...Hng."
Blade path: point to line to point. How infuse intent? Express, sure—but contain it?
"No. Wait."
Clang! Graaah...!
Prosthetic met blade, sparks flew. Ha-yeon's eyes gleamed.
"Point-line-point. Swordplay."
Can't fill intent, but color it? If colorable, how far? Emotion on blade.
Most familiar: killing intent. Cold, honed malice. Deeper than blood—crimson.
Swing.
Splurt!
"...Wha?!"
Gold Ragol recoiled, clutching deep gash on arm.
...Prosthetic bleeds?
Swing again. He hurled harpoon from waist.
Now I matched its path.
Clang! Azure resolve-colored harpoon parried by malice-clad blade. No right-angle warp this time—reclaimed.
"Ha."
I exhaled shortly.
"Got it."
Emotions: intangible, guessed at. Forge to edge.
Jeongjungdong's essence. Malice-shaped: invisible dagger.
"Your Jeongjungdong take is killing intent?"
"Probably. Yours different?"
"Hahaha! This king's wholly unique. Different read, same core—how to explain?"
"You got results too?"
"Yes. Sparring you gripped the trick to staunch leaking essence."
He extended hand. Faint Heopseongdaebeop attraction, variant of mine.
I clocked it.
"Waves."
"Your vortex attraction; this king's wave-formed pull."
"Think it'll work?"
"With your help, yes."
Ha-yeon drew silently, slashed. Malice incarnate gashed arm deep. Progress from week ago, but short of hopes.
"Lacking."
"Like this king for you."
"Seems so."
I sheathed wordlessly. He stowed gashed prosthetic.
How long this weird bond? Slow end might have savor.
"Gold Teacher."
"What, Royal Teacher."
"To the classroom."
"Good."