The Wudang Zealot's Inquisition
Back in the day, I, Seol Ha-yeon the fanatic disciple of the Wudang Sect, fancied myself one of the top ten strongest in the whole world—if I could just barely scrape by. Sure, there was a ton of fine print, but what can you do? In my old world, I strutted around claiming to be the strongest, only to end up dead. Dying once teaches you humility, apparently. Of course, excluding me, they were all ancient old monsters who'd lived long lives, so if we'd started on equal footing time-wise, it would've been different. While I was born into a wretched family of a lowly race, swinging around a beat-up old sword and causing a ruckus, those guys had been learning the best stuff from childhood. Strip away race, family, and all the artifacts wrapped around their bodies, and I'd have crushed them all. The more I talk about it, the uglier I feel... anyway, enough of that. Point is, what Ha-yeon wanted to say was this.
"Feels like it was made for close-range weak-ass mages to learn."
Ice coming from my hands and mana drain? What the hell is this? Nothing but skills that battle-loving spell-slingers would carry around. If Heon-u, who'd left, heard that, he'd probably say it was just because my beatdown of that Yeon Family punk at the inn impressed him, so he optimized a hand technique skill set for me. All qi arts look pretty similar anyway, so if I was jealous, I should've said so earlier. Would Heon-u even say stuff like that? Anyway.
"This isn't what I expected."
In Ha-yeon's world, the aura cultivation methods knights used were pretty straightforward. Aura—what they'd probably call ki or gang qi here—an endless refinement of it. A knight's true flower wasn't armor or fancy sword hilts; it was aura. Body enhancement, ranged attacks, armor, offense— aura handled it all. So knights' progress wasn't in swordsmanship but in aura development, pushing their auras into the realm of magic, while the subtlety of sword arts and research into forms vanished. Only rival aura or magic, sharing the same roots as mana, could pierce it. So how fast, how widely, how densely and precisely could you unleash it? That divided knight ranks back home, and I don't think it was wrong. Just... the growth path in my drinking buddy's murim world differed from my homeland's. Hence, disappointment.
I was curious how techniques obsolete in my world had evolved here, but these so-called martial arts reeked of familiar homeland vibes. The explanation didn't match the arts I got at all. I'd hoped for profound martial secrets, not aura cultivation methods.
"This is magic."
Straight-up magic. Not some wordplay like "cold aura" or "aura that sucks in enemy power"—it was rooted in actual magic. Magic dressed in a knight's shell, maybe mixed with shamanism.
"Especially Suck Star Great Law—that's blatant energy drain..."
Disappointment. Major disappointment. And I'm a sword guy—why are they all hand-based? Who the hell boxes like a monkey instead of using a good sword? Bare-handed fighting is trash with no real combat value. Short range, fragile human skin—you strut against armed foes, and you'll get turned into ground meat skewers without landing a punch. No overwhelming firepower or advantage up close either. Knights wrapping aura help a bit, but only a bit. Short range stays a fatal flaw, and weapons break? Replace 'em. Hands break? You're done.
Knights grab spare swords if weapons snap; no spare? Then guard up and go hand-to-hand. But starting bare-handed like a brain-dead gorilla? Arm shatters, and you're begging for a painless death, neck out. Fist-fighters even block with raised guards using bare hands? Once, I was so baffled watching a knight windmilling punches that I asked: Are you blocking with your arm or your ancestors'? His reply? "If your sword severs this arm, this hand, it's just my training's lack! This arm and hand are my sword— a knight whose sword breaks has lost!" Pretty inspiring, gutsy, romantic even. So moved, I took his head instead. Arm intact, so he didn't lose—just vital functions stopped.
"As references, though, nothing beats 'em."
Not my taste, but the martial manuals my drinking buddy left? Manuals fits. High quality. Perfect for boosting my level, especially White Hand Devil Skill—the more you train, the tougher your body, hands, and arms get. Suck Star Great Law is handy as a versatile support anytime. Decent haul despite the griping.
"Eh, whatever. A street rat like me can't be picky."
Think of it as getting artifact-like tools for slashing magic with a sword—barely passing grade. The writings have reading value, quick power fill for my lacks. Can't toss 'em.
"Training methods are rough... but I can tweak to my taste."
Both look like they need humans as practice dummies... cocky manuals, ordering train this way, cultivate that way. I adapt to methods? No—methods adapt to me.
.........
I hate meddlers. Most don't realize they're nuisances, meddling without considering your side or feelings under "advice." Smart folks who give real, life-changing advice don't meddle. Sages know life's joy is groping lovers' breasts and chugging booze. (Note: I'm a meddler sage-wannabe, curiosity-driven busybody. On-ryang Guest Inn proves it.) I love sticking noses in others' business but hate getting it—classic tribalism.
So I read meddlers well, especially shit-stirrers. This guy's face screams religious zealot or stubborn knight.
"Muryangsubul. May I ask about what you're holding?"
"This? Uh, probably a pig?"
"Heh...?"
A youth in black-and-white robes and hat approached. Eyes smiling, but not; hands behind back, ready to draw.
"Real pig."
"I see."
No metaphor. Not calling bandits subhuman pigs—just a literal wild boar, shrunken.
"Then, may I inquire if that pig's body lacks even a handful of vitality and life force?"
"Corpses drain of blood and weaken. Speaking from experience."
"Absurd. You expect me to believe that?"
"Why do people ignore truth for self-delusions? Your speech shortened—let's go casual? Be friends."
"I saw clearly with discerning eyes. You stole that beast's life with Suck Star Great Law."
Ha-yeon paused, startled. How'd he know? That obvious? If counters were widespread, unexpected counters or exploits could hit. I don't know how to counter it.
She grinned awkwardly. "Pretty famous, huh."
"Suck Star Great Law forbidden for ages, dynasties changed—yes. Neck could fly any second."
"Huh?"
"Assuming you spared humans, your final line. Repent."
Ha-yeon's eyes blanked. Recalling: Taoist robes, speech—why inquisitor mode? Repent? Next, cross from hand, Deus Vult? Taoists seek nirvana, no? Religion weak here? Memory wrong?
"Repent... Buddha's golden glow in memory."
"I—no, this one is Cheong-yong, first-generation disciple of Wudang Sect."
Wudang, so follow quietly—no blood. Ha-yeon clueless. Authority scares the knowing. Heon-u's faction/danger guide? Skipped—boring.
"Nice to meet you, Cheong-yong? Seol Ha-yeon here. Friends?"
Misreading as intro, she waves, grinning, hand out for shake.
Cheong-yong's gaze lingered on her pale, fine hand. Soft, pleasant to... no.
"Mu, muryangsubul."
Ching! Sword draw. Shake rejected as blade—Ha-yeon's eyes narrow.
"Hey, monk. Rejecting my handshake? No etiquette shakes with swords?"
Handshakes matter. Refuse offered one (unless shit-covered)? Same as 'I hate you, eternal enemies, dance forever.'
Cheong-yong hesitated, re-assumed stance.
"How share shake with Suck Star Great Law user?"
"Even war, envoys cross; handshakes happen. Baldy."
"...This one from Wudang Sect, not Shaolin."
"Yeah, you precept-breaker. Etiquette and manners drowned in yuja tea, punk."
Cheong-yong's head spun. Mocking or clueless?
Ha-yeon's thoughts: Monk or Taoist—same church branches worshiping top god Buddha. Rivals plenty. Old world's monotheist bias. (Taoist baffled.)
"You're the bad one."
"Never seen proper talk from such mouths."
"Think. Would you shake with demonic Suck Star Great Law cultivator?"
True. Shake with her? All say you're mad. Even master Cheong-un Jin-in stabbed a hand offered by a White Hand Witch. Better grab blade than drain hand?
Her face so wronged, I'm confused.
"...That bad, monk?"
"Not monk—anyway, yes. That bad."
Ha-yeon's face sours. Damn drunk buddy dumped black magic? Drain spells fit dark side.
"Understand? No worry—path unknown, momentary lapse. True Ones purge meridians, dantian, impurities; three years wall-gazing as cook suffices."
"True Ones?"
"Yes. Elders of high enlightenment will safely..."
Ha-yeon's brow twitches. Self-'True Human' nutjob den. Empire called natives savages, dirt-eaters—not inhuman. Hitler regime's racial purge vibes here? Wudang: religion-mad Hitler cult?
No more talk. Buddha-top god worship cult—how far?
"Show Buddha's might."
She draws sword; Cheong-yong's face hardens.
"If choosing severe punishment, no choice."
"I don't mind the booze."