Private Lessons (4): Private Lessons and the Centipede's True Face
After each of us had grasped the initial clue to the enlightenment we sought, my lessons with the Water Bandit—no, with Gold Teacher—proceeded in an entirely different manner.
"Teacher, if you can't grasp this part..."
"Heh, Gold Teacher, isn't struggling with two-digit multiplication a bit much? You think I'm some damn math tutor or what?"
Having obtained the clues to the enlightenments we each desired, we had no leeway to delve in other directions. It was time to tenaciously dig into and research the leads we'd found.
The subtlety of Jeongjungdong that I'd discovered differed from Gold Teacher's interpretation of Jeongjungdong, so from here on, it was truly up to each student's individual capabilities.
The same held true for Gold Ragol.
He had mimicked and refined my Heopseongdaebeop in his own way, so I could offer simple advice at best, but any direct help or explanation that shook his resolve would only be a hindrance.
Occasionally, we confirmed each other's progress through brief spars—that was all.
"Kuhahaha!"
The attractive force gathered in Gold Ragol's hand began absorbing the surrounding qi in waves, like ocean swells—different from mine.
"How about it, Teacher!"
"A shame. It only pulls in qi from a distance—nothing like my physical attraction. The suction's weak too."
"That's because you're the monster, Teacher. How the hell did you do it?"
"You're the one I don't get. Like this..."
I extended my hand, drawing in the water droplets squeezing in from all directions with the attractive force of Heopseongdaebeop and hurling them away. The droplets pierced the cave walls with lethal force.
"Infusing the subtlety of Jeongjungdong into each tiny droplet? I can barely manage it with a single sword."
"Jeongjungdong is the pinnacle of ascent techniques, my greatest strength—naturally."
"If you submerge in water and fight underwater, no one could match this. Not unless they first scoop out the water with attractive force."
"That's why even when the Murim world and the imperial court dumped me into the river, those cowards feared diving in after me! Kuhaha!"
Our achievements grew day by day.
After the spar, Seol Ha-yeon and Gold Ragol returned to the classroom, crouching down.
To rattle off the results of this spar, reflections, shortcomings, and improvements.
"Bring more charcoal. No chalk around here?"
"We have ink and brushes."
"Nah, it'd drip."
It had started as a casual attempt to recreate the atmosphere of my hometown school.
Before long, the characters scrawled across the walls of the spacious cave dubbed our "classroom" had filled the space.
We couldn't bear to erase them, so the pitch-black script stretched to the ceiling, creating an atmosphere like some demon-summoning ritual.
"Heh. The vibe's gotten eerily ominous."
Sensing the same thing I did, he scanned the wall script before scribbling on the remaining blank space.
Still atrocious handwriting—more like drawings than letters. Anyone seeing it would think a primitive was painting ancient cave art.
"Sigh."
Scritch-scratch.
Seol Ha-yeon too sought out the scant remaining margins and wrote.
Notes and records held meaning simply by existing.
Reading them back one day might reveal new perspectives unnoticed at the time.
Scritch-scratch.
"Gold Teacher."
"What."
Scritch-scratch.
"Your arms okay?"
"Never thought you'd worry about my body, Teacher—I'm touched to tears."
"Shut your trap, asshole. They've been looking more alive lately. That Intellectual Star had to know—didn't he say anything?"
"Nope. That parasitic monster-repelling aura you mentioned? Tried it, and they got even more biological. Survival instinct, maybe. Do prosthetics have survival instincts?"
"Then you're being used. What if one day eyes, nose, and mouth sprout on that arm and it goes, 'Give me your body, uwaaa!'?"
"The moment I remove this Earth Prisoner Star, this king becomes a cripple with just one leg."
"Oh dear, didn't think of that."
Scritch-scratch.
"Teacher."
"What."
"How far have you mastered the subtlety of Jeongjungdong?"
"Haven't filled the well, but water's pooling at the bottom."
"The moment water pools, no matter how shallow, it's a well. You've entered the basics of Jeongjungdong—further development is this king's domain no longer. Press on."
"Says the guy whose life force is leaking everywhere—trim that first."
"That's why this king's crouched here scribbling like an idiot!"
Scritch-scratch.
"Teacher."
"Yeah, Gold Teacher."
"Intellectual Star's been gone seven days and nights—two full weeks. He leaves for long stretches like this and returns around the same time. Probably soon."
"If we're just watching, fine—but replies mean messages going back and forth, waiting... Time adds up. Not weird."
"Should be soon. A day or two off, maybe."
"Yeah? When he shows, ask why your prosthetics bleed."
"Planning to. Even in those circumstances, implanting this parasite in this king's body—outrageous."
Scritch-scratch.
"Gold Teacher."
"What, Teacher."
"Do you want revenge on this world? Or are you just laboring to repay a life debt?"
"Hate Murim, hate the imperial court. Geukseongjihoe is much the same. Just using each other since we need to."
"Like you and me?"
"Different."
"How?"
Scritch-scratch.
"You gave this king unstinting teachings. Whatever your motives, or even if just one method among needs, every lesson rang true."
"Like it?"
"Loved it. You scratched exactly where it itched—like if we'd met sooner, I'd have yielded my Water Bandit throne."
"Your business tanked anyway. Hey, spill—what made you block the river and pull that toll bullshit?"
"Knew you'd ask. Did the Mountain King gig—why not me?"
"Wow. Just 'cause you felt like it? No backstory, no epic tale?"
"You're something else."
Scritch-scratch.
"Well, led to this mess—but met you, so fate, right? Like a dirt-poor fisherman's son diving a waterfall for suicide, snagging a martial arts manual. Life finds a way."
"Nah. Guys who think 'I'll survive somehow' always die. Speaking from experience."
"Is that so."
"Yep."
Scritch-scratch.
"One thing I hid from you, Teacher."
"What."
"Earth Prisoner Star needs all four prosthetic limbs for completion. I'm incomplete—one leg's the original from birth."
"Not even a chimera—what's that mean? So they want the last leg replaced too?"
"Yes. But I refused. Lose the final leg to their Earth Prisoner Star, and what's the difference from a puppet dancing to their will?"
"Those guys are bold. Where'd they dig this up?"
Scritch-scratch.
"Intellectual Star swore full Earth Prisoner Star would stem the qi drain—kuh! Bullshit. Better to die."
"So?"
"Got a lead. Found new knowledge to perfectly seal the leaking qi. Apply your refined Heopseongdaebeop to my body—suck it right back in."
"What bullshit. Cast Heopseongdaebeop on yourself to recycle leaking life force? Perpetual motion?"
Filling every blank space, our hands were soon pitch-black with charcoal. Clothes and faces smudged too—probably looked ridiculous to outsiders.
Finally, Gold Teacher and I faced off over the last remaining blank spot—a fist-sized patch.
Halfway through, we could've used paper or moved spots—but momentum carried us here.
We eyed each other briefly.
"Teacher."
"Gold Teacher."
"Yield it to this king."
"Hand it over nicely."
Oh? This bastard.
"Plenty of space outside. Fetch leather or something."
"You do that, Teacher."
"Heh, this Water Bandit punk."
"Yield peacefully—no bloodshed!"
"Screw it."
I yielded the blank to the homeowner. The least charity for our bond.
"Share if you figure anything out."
"Will do!"
Leaving Gold Teacher crouched and scribbling, I felt a faint vibration rumbling through the cave floor.
Something massive sloshing, scraping the rock walls.
A boat at the island dock.
Sure enough, there stood the red-haired Intellectual Star with a faint smile.
Spotting Seol Ha-yeon, he waved cheerfully.
"It's been a while. Where's the Earth Prisoner Star?"
"Somewhere."
"Rejoice—we've confirmed our success. The council's sending three Earth Corpse Star-grade members to retrieve the live captures."
"No Heaven Vault Star or Heaven Horror Star?"
"Too busy for direct visits—situation not that dire."
"Must be chaos outside by now. Ships carrying Murim young masters and ladies vanished."
"But what can they do? Who knows where the Changjiang swept them? Heh, can't scour that vast riverbed inch by inch."
Indeed.
This place: a subterranean cave utterly severed from the outside.
Dock on a forested island shrouded in thickets, squeeze through a tiny hole—only then the natural cavern.
Hard to find, enter, or exit.
The din and blood reek echoing inside? All drowned by the roaring Changjiang above.
"Intellectual Star."
"Speak."
"Any nickname for me yet?"
"Still under review."
"Heard from Gold Teacher—the last leg, where is it? The remaining Earth Prisoner Star part."
"...You heard that much? Quite close now, eh?"
"Three weeks in this damp cave—bonds form, good or ill."
Emotions pile up mingling with people.
Whether softly like snow or musty like dust depends on the company.
"Where's the last leg?"
"In storage—ready for Gold Chief's change of heart."
"Huh. One more question."
"Yes."
One final query, then done.
The fishy damp was wearing thin.
"You open skulls, read memories."
"Correct."
"Pondered it—how can humans do that?"
Probing deep consciousness for memories? My world had such research.
Mages and states saw the value instantly—endless studies.
Commercialized around the third White Tower Lord, I think? From inaugural to third.
"Haha, that's our council's strength."
"Impressive. Deep history, huh."
Murim had no such tech.
Gold Ragol mentioned hypnosis via drugs on broken minds—crude at best.
Mental magic: piled on vast wealth and failures.
Such massive research doesn't hide easily.
Genius backed by nations, trial-and-error for mental/memory systems to practicality? How many generations?
Yet this guy claimed one person wielded what took three generations to commercialize.
Monopolized uniquely here.
How?
Were my world's mages all shit-for-brains?
"Possible?"
"...Pardon? Think it's bluffing?"
"Nah. You're confident—that's why."
"Then why."
"Mental magic's history: failures, error reduction. Duh—humans aren't wired to read minds. Born unable."
Opening, reading minds.
Attempting innate impossibility—failures inevitable.
Even my Sky Walk—Murim's Air Step—born from countless knights plummeting.
Humans wingless, yet flying—failures expected.
Tech evolution's due process.
But creatures designed for flight from birth: birds, winged insects.
No failures—genetically engineered for it.
So.
What do we call beings designed from birth to pry open others' memories? Like birds fly, fish swim—naturally.
"If such exist. Genetically wired to fling open minds."
"Strange words. From overseas, got it."
"I call 'em monsters. Here, yokai. You?"
At those words, Intellectual Star's body twisted grotesquely.
His human head tore free; something evoking cervical vertebrae and ribs erupted in a blood fountain.
A reddish centipede.
"Idiot. Transform out of sight."
I swung my sword.
Couldn't even react—head barely emerged, legs flailing.
Killing intent can't be ignored—must be met somehow.
The crimson killing intent trajectory infused with Jeongjungdong's principle sliced the reddish centipede into cute star shapes.
Schwick. Schwick.
Each time a segment surged over the severed head, I cleaved it.
One exit, sword blocking—segments fell severed.
The chopped centipede head gaped wide.
"Kieee! W-wait!"
"Yeah. Die."
Star-sliced, yet talking. Monster vitality, huh.
Had he fought as centipede from start, headache.
Reason not to transform in plain sight.
Met only patient foes who waited till now.
"Die."
"Wait!"
"Talk fast. Affiliation, name, valuables—in order."
"What'd we do wrong! Humans drove all non-humans from the continent to Wa—hundreds of years...!"
I swung.
Good monsters are dead ones.
No mercy for lamenting woes over truth.
"Wow, got it. Not curious at all."
The mangled head lost vigor, slumping.
"Monster sob stories don't touch me. Can't stir my soul."
Well then.
Monster playing human: diced.
Wonder what Gold Teacher's doing—peek time.
Hope he's still human.