Chapter 12. Jeokhyeolsan!
‘Maybe it’s possible after all.’
Dok Sabu thought as he gazed at Won Seung, slumped unconscious.
Even someone with a single circuit of internal energy—one full cycle through the meridians—had to devote a full ten years or so to pure meditation just to grasp a slim chance at breaking through the Ren and Du meridians.
And even seizing that chance didn’t guarantee success. Failures often suffered side effects that plagued them for life. So how many would invest a full decade in something with such faint odds?
That was why countless experts with more than a single circuit went through life without ever achieving it.
The only other paths to breakthrough outside normal meditation were rare spirit pills or beast cores, forcing the channels open with overwhelming energy.
But those required heavenly luck, and failure meant even worse consequences—crippling martial arts, loss of sanity, or permanent disability.
Won Seung’s breakthrough in both Ren and Du meridians was a freak alignment of coincidence and fortune, leaving even Dok Sabu stunned.
A moment later.
Dok Sabu shook his head, lost in thought.
‘No. I lost to the Poison King fair and square. No point dwelling on it.’
As death loomed closer, his obsessions were fading.
Living with Won Seung had taught him the preciousness of these moments. The happiness he’d never known in his life felt infinitely dear. With his lifelong fixation on poison waning, he didn’t want the boy—like a grandson to him—dying in a duel with the Poison King.
“Ughhh…”
Won Seung groaned, thick sweat oozing from his body. It was a sickly yellow-black, eerie fluid.
The toxins inside him were purging through the meridian breakthrough.
‘Not the time for this.’
Dok Sabu rushed to the apothecary room, grabbing herbs and tossing them into a tub before pouring water over them. The liquid turned milky white.
He stripped Won Seung and eased him into the bath, then slumped against the tub’s edge, exhausted.
“Cough, cough!”
His frail body rebelled at the sudden exertion, leaving him gasping.
The milky water clouded over in seconds, drawing out Won Seung’s toxins more thoroughly as it soaked into his skin.
Even in his daze, Won Seung felt a refreshing energy sweeping through him.
How much time passed? When the water turned fully murky, Won Seung’s eyes fluttered open.
‘What the hell?’
He’d taken Dok Sabu’s medicine, started circulating his energy, and blacked out. Now here he was, naked in a tub.
Sitting up, a foul stench assaulted his nose.
“Urk.”
Won Seung pinched his nostrils and bolted upright at the reek from the filthy water.
“What’s this stuff?”
As he grimaced, realization dawned. Dok Sabu hadn’t just taught him poison arts. In spare moments, he’d shared martial knowledge and tales of the jianghu’s top masters—essential for survival.
Won Seung’s understanding of martial arts was broad, and he’d long been curious about Ren and Du breakthroughs.
Once opened, they allowed six automatic Minor Heavenly Circuits a day, doubling cultivation speed compared to others.
“Master! My Ren and Du meridians broke through!”
Won Seung leaped for joy, but Dok Sabu tossed him some clothes.
“Fool, cover yourself first before you go bouncing around.”
Won Seung dressed hurriedly and bowed deeply.
“Meeting you must’ve been my great fortune. Massive internal energy gains and now this breakthrough—you’re my benefactor, Master.”
“You gonna keep it to words? I’ve been starving all day; I don’t even have the strength to talk.”
Dok Sabu grumbled.
“Hold on a sec.”
Won Seung’s own stomach growled—he hadn’t eaten either. He dashed to the Upper House kitchen. It was late, deserted, but he quickly reheated leftovers and brought them back.
Master and disciple sat across from each other, sharing a quiet late supper.
“When did you break through your Ren and Du meridians, Master?”
“What’s it matter to you?”
Dok Sabu had forced his breakthrough in his mid-fifties, after amassing over a decade beyond a single circuit, using poison. Ten years earlier, and he’d have outstripped the Poison King as a poison master.
He’d lamented that defeat for years, but now he spoke of it flatly.
Won Seung chewed a piece of pork thoughtfully.
“Anyone my age ever done it?”
“Don’t get cocky. Meridian breakthroughs and martial realms are different beasts. Remember those I said you must never fight?”
“Yeah. Ten Great Experts for starters, plus sect leaders and family heads.”
“And among them, the ones you absolutely can’t face?”
“Blade King and Poison King.”
“Right. The Blade King holds a grudge against me; if he learns you’re my disciple, he’ll kill you on sight. The Poison King clashed with me over the title of supreme poison master, so he’d likely come after you too.”
The jianghu saw it as natural for disciples to inherit their masters’ enmities. Won Seung realized taking a top master as teacher could endanger his life. Curiosity piqued.
“You have a lot of enemies, Master?”
“More than most. I’ve killed plenty. So until you reach a certain level, don’t reveal you’re my disciple.”
“What level exactly?”
“Hmm…”
Dok Sabu mentally tallied those with grudges against him. Too many to count; it grew tedious.
“At least Hwa Gyeong—Transformation Realm.”
“Eek! Transformation Realm? That’s Ten Great Experts territory!”
“You need it to survive the Blade King’s sword.”
The Myeonggeon Dan fiasco, combined with the breakthrough, had netted Won Seung another decade’s worth, totaling around forty years now. Enough to project sword qi.
But realms weren’t just about raw energy. Body, energy, and insight from experience had to harmonize.
Won Seung figured he was at least Ultimate Peak. Dok Sabu cackled as if reading his mind.
“You’d still lose to a first-rate fighter right now.”
“No way! Look at my energy reserves.”
“Think stacking firewood makes the hearth warm itself? Energy’s just the logs; skill is the spark. Without control, even a century’s worth is useless.”
“Ah, right.”
Won Seung nodded.
“Plus, you’ve never killed anyone. No life-or-death experience means your energy’s unproven.”
“Master, that’s not fair.”
Won Seung grew serious.
“Forgot what kind of training I’m in?”
“Hmph! Think assassin drills hold up against real masters?”
“I’m gonna be a Ten Perfect Assassin. The legendary kind.”
“Still just an assassin.”
Dok Sabu snorted repeatedly before continuing.
“Jeokhyeolsan obsesses over the Ten Perfect Assassin to boost their rep as an assassin sect, but it’s overhyped. And if you become one, they’ll throw you at impossible targets—top masters. Higher risk of getting killed yourself.”
“That’s my worry too. But Jang Gyo-du acts like he’ll kill me if I fail, so no choice but to push for it.”
Won Seung sighed gloomily.
“No need to fret. Master supreme poison arts, and barring the Ten Great Experts, no one touches you. Keep at it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dok Sabu had casually dropped Jeokhyeolsan’s name, but Won Seung didn’t pry. His mind raced, though.
‘Jeokhyeolsan… Grim name. So this is their assassin farm?’
He wondered why Dok Sabu knew the place’s true nature but hadn’t spilled.
‘Is he with Jeokhyeolsan?’
Other instructors—script masters, sound experts, mechanism makers, blacksmiths, carpenters—left after lessons. Dok Sabu stayed.
But his tone suggested otherwise. Curiosity burned, but he held back.
He didn’t want to put his master in a tough spot.
‘Jeokhyeolsan…’
Forgotten rage and hatred billowed like storm clouds. They’d stolen his precious childhood decade.
True, he’d gained martial arts and vast energy thanks to Dok Sabu. Without him, he might be buried on that Lower House hill.
The next morning.
Jang Gyo-du arrived early. Won Seung had crashed at dawn and was still asleep.
“How’s No. 50?”
“Alive.”
Dok Sabu, leaning on his staff, settled into a yard chair.
Jang Gyo-du sat opposite.
“What happened?”
“I had him tending my poisons lately; must’ve inhaled some. Normally no issue, but that Myeonggeon Dan complicated it.”
“Hmm. No more Myeonggeon Dan for him, then.”
Jang Gyo-du frowned.
Ten Perfect Assassins needed deep energy reserves. Before the trainees turned sixteen and left at sixteen, they had to hit twenty years’ worth.
One more dose would’ve done it… but maybe Won Seung had lost energy instead?
“No damage to his internal energy?”
“Hmph! I used my precious poison pills to detox him. He gained twenty years out of it—blessing in disguise. Remember, he owes me his life.”
Jang Gyo-du’s face lit up. Won Seung’s path to Ten Perfect Assassin was clear now.
‘Lucky bastard. He’ll make it for sure.’
He stood and cupped his fists.
“As expected, your skills are legendary, elder. I owe you—fine liquor soon.”
Dok Sabu waved him off irritably, shooing him away.
“Tell No. 50 to rest today; training resumes tomorrow.”
As Jang Gyo-du left, Won Seung emerged from the bedroom.
The breakthrough brought unexpected perks. His bulging Solar Meridian points had receded, his build subtly shifting to look like a total novice. Identical to gaining a single circuit’s energy.
“Today’s all poison arts study, then.”
Dok Sabu seemed increasingly rushed lately. Won Seung knew he was feigning calm—the coughs worsened daily, his health declining.
Putting on a front for Jang Gyo-du had left Dok Sabu hacking up a storm.
“I’ll grab breakfast first.”
Fetching food from the Upper House kitchen, Won Seung suddenly recalled Swolhyeol San. Circulating energy, he found no trace—the shedding process had purged it.
‘Hmm. Feels like I cracked its antidote?’
To not lose the insight, he served Dok Sabu then bolted to the apothecary room.