The Drinking Buddy's Gift
Seol Ha-yeon thought about the gift her drinking buddy had left behind. This must be Murim, huh? At least there won't be any boring days.
"Mm."
Her muscles trembled. She'd pushed this frail body too hard—what the hell had she done to tire out so fast? Still, she'd finished them off quick, so a good night's sleep ought to fix her up.
With that in mind, she sat back down at her spot.
"Ah."
Then she stood right back up. Looting the loser's pockets was the winner's right and honor, after all. She yanked the straight sword and straight blade from the chair and the corpses, shook them clean, snatched the baldric they'd been wearing, strapped it on, and roughly tied the weapons to her hips on either side.
Krr. This heavy weight at my waist, the friction of the scabbards rubbing against my skin with every move. Body heavy, but heart light.
She rifled through their pockets for cash too. But one thing she was really hoping for was missing.
"Where's the martial arts manual?"
What the hell? Earlier at the drinks, Heon-u had explained that for martial artists, their techniques were like their very lives—they always carried them personally. If you died and lost it, that just meant your skills weren't up to snuff.
So where the hell's my manual?!
Disappointed, Ha-yeon headed back to the drinking table. Heon-u stared at her blankly, so she slammed the table like she was making a point.
"Buddy. Why no martial arts drop from the loot?"
"Hah, no. Huh. You."
"Don't dodge. Why no manual in their pockets?"
"Hah...! Isn't it obvious? Whatever they knew was probably just third-rate trash techniques anyway. That Yeon Family guy's Yeon Family Sword Method—it's the go-to art for the whole clan, so no way he's carrying it around."
"Then what was all that you told me?"
"Wanderers like me carry our arts close, but unless it's a one-person lineage, even those sects don't tote the manuals everywhere."
Fine, shoulda said that up front. Got my hopes up for nothing.
"Tch, what a letdown. You cover the tab tonight. Or we split it?"
"Fun show, so I'll foot it all."
"Oho... Heon-u, you really know how to read the room."
But this was the exception. Watching Heon-u call the waiter for more drinks, Ha-yeon pondered. People died right in front of everyone, yet no one batted an eye. Back home, sure, fights broke out in taverns, but no one straight-up tried to kill each other.
But here... everyone looked shocked, panicked, terrified at the death—but no one did more than that. I'd been bracing for a chase with the guards.
"Simple. It's Murim business."
"Murim business. Sounds so magical, that word."
"The folks at On-ryang Guest Inn came to eat, not avenge grudges. To ordinary civilians, it's just one martial artist killing another. No one pities a wolf killed by a tiger."
What's a martial artist, anyway? Treated like a whole different species...
"And their revenge isn't the inn's problem."
"What about the law? The state? They handle security, get touchy about murders that aren't their own kills. Old geezers rust anything without a blade in their hand."
"Officials and martial folk don't cross paths. Well water doesn't mix with river water."
"You got some disease where you die without fancy words?"
"...It's so famous, not knowing it would be weird."
Got the gist. Let's not poke each other 'cause it'll hurt bad—live and let live, more or less? Not hard to grasp. Too bloody to go to war, too close and creepy to ignore—a massive hostile neighbor right next door. We call that a neighboring nation. Flip side: Murim packs nation-level force and authority.
Of course, that's not all. Neighbor nations always war too. Plenty reasons for this awkward coexistence. Maybe war between Murim and the state hadn't broken out yet—they're catching breath, prepping to slit throats. Or maybe they're essential to each other, can't cut loose.
"This world's pretty intriguing."
"Personally, you're the most intriguing to me."
"I do have that mysterious charm."
Anyway, back to it.
"Like I said, revenge is the government's job? No—Black Mountain Faction and Yeon Family business."
"They'll come swarming."
"Beaten in front of this crowd? Damn right. From now on, you're their sworn enemy under the same sky... Your family and friends get tangled in the grudge web too."
"That's a problem."
Real problem.
"Get your close ones outta here fast. Leave the city."
"No choice. Sorry you got dragged in."
"...Huh?"
"Knew better than to drag my drinking buddy. Tch, might not cover it, but I'll pay the full tab."
"Hah."
Why the sigh? Yeah, felt bad.
"What, mafia or something? Martial artists this petty?"
"Dunno 'mafia,' but yeah, that's Murim."
"Hm, buddy. Not the time for drinks? Your friends or family might get hit 'cause of me?"
"Don't worry. Mine are far off, untouchable."
Heon-u added,
"Ah, 'course one very close by."
"Heh, headache having a screw-up buddy?"
"Like you said, time to wrap this up... Night stroll before we get too drunk?"
"Real far, right?"
"Mm, fresh night air with all this grass?"
Ha-yeon breathed deep. Cool grass scent settling in the dark, damp earth—perfect for "drinking in the fragrance."
Heon-u inhaled big too, smirking.
"Not bad."
"So, what's next for you, Heon-u?"
"What I wanna know. What're you planning? Got a place?"
"Nope."
Never did, so no worse off.
How long on the dirt path? Village lights appeared; they stopped.
"That work?"
"Get a room at least."
No need to hesitate then. Plenty cash from looting Black Mountain and Yeon pouches. Bonus: swords to stick 'em with if they try shit.
They got rooms, bantered a bit, drowsiness hit. Exhausted Ha-yeon spoke first.
"Yaaawn. Sleepy. Bedtime. You too."
"..."
"What."
"You're diving into Murim, huh, Ha-yeon?"
"Still hung up?"
Heon-u shook his head.
"Nah. Stronger than I thought, and... disaster-magnet brain. Yeah."
"Just say crazy. Crazies don't go crazy twice."
"Right. One loop fixed you—two and you're sane. No issue."
"Oh, this punk. So?"
Her buddy chuckled low.
"Nothing. Your type—you'll fight whether you want or not."
"Don't wanna? Don't. Threaten with a blade, might as well slice the arm off—that's what the strength's for."
"Fate and grudges don't cut clean."
"Why untangle knots? Hands hurt."
"Then?"
"Cut 'em. Or buy new thread."
"Must be nice, easy life."
"Then groan forever."
Hm, booze making us emotional. He noticed, awkward face. Raise voices now, we'd brawl.
Screw it, sleepy anyway—crash.
"Night."
"...Sleep well."
"Yeah."
They split to rooms. Ha-yeon flopped on bed, muttering.
"This asshole'll ghost by morning."
Spot on. Hungover groan waking up, books piled by her head.
"Huuuugh."
Drinking buddy bailed without goodbye, rude as hell. Whatever, not meant to last. Just clicked well, shame.
"See ya someday, or not—whatever."
But gifts left, check 'em. Books by her pillow.
One by one:
[Hand technique turning hands pale white]
Weird name from the jump. White Hand Devil Skill? Heon-u'd snort if he heard, but gone long gone. No Murim knowledge, Ha-yeon read it straight.
"Mm, need refs for this world's martial arts... but this?"
Too lame-sounding.
"Skip, next?"
[Energy drain sucking in qi]
Suck Star Great Law. Sucking stars, huh. Kinda lewd. Under the two books, a note:
Saw you won't die easy, so jotted Murim basics.
Basic factions, dangerous folks, etiquette, etc.
Serious advice: Know when to quit. Grudges pile unseen. Draw a blade? Be ready to hack the corpse too...
— Heon-u
More scolding than guide, pissed her off. Treating her like clueless kid. Last line too.
Fuckin' backseat driver. Next meet, make him pay tab.
"Hah, whatever. Let's peek."
If buddy had a conscience, no trash arts. Head pounding from mixed drinks, but her mental fortitude was master-class. Empire-renowned Swordmaster—earned bread with sword, but no brute. Smart guys wield best; peak proves it. Her brain average, but experience and wits filled gaps.
Whole day nose-deep in Suck Star Great Law and White Hand Devil Skill, sun dipping. Gnawing packed dumplings, she summoned an eye window. Poured booze casual, reached—
"O. Ice."
Frost bloomed on the cup. Flaky rim, thin ice floating on booze, melting in. Half-expectant, half-thrilled gulp: crisp booze taste.
Not stopping, tore dumpling, scattered under bed. Shitty inn, mouse roommate seized chance—splat. Pale white hand grabbed; mouse thrashed, bit futile. White Hand Devil Skill effect? Nah, deflated rat-balloon couldn't dent human hand.
Throat-thin mouse-skin. Suck Star Great Law.
Tiny qi speck—no dantian muddle. No intent to absorb, she cycled via White Hand Devil Skill—walnut-sized ice ball.
Righteous elder seeing this? Instant blade-draw murder: "Kill the mad White Hand Witch mastering to 3-star in a day!"
Too bad—elders hate wandering, future demon lord swirled booze with frozen finger.
"Hm."
Drained bottle down gut, Ha-yeon muttered bored. Lips twisted disappointed.
"Why call this martial arts? It's magic."
This world's martial artists? Wizards with swords, not staves. No doubt.