Chapter 6. The Legend of the Ten Perfect Assassins
Dok Sabu held poison arts lessons every three days.
When he wasn't teaching the children, he was constantly researching something. Clearly, he was developing new poisons.
Even after finishing his training, Won Seung couldn't rest. He sorted various poisonous herbs as Dok Sabu instructed or boiled decoctions that reeked horribly. He used to practice the Cheongmyeong Simgong after dinner and fall asleep at sunset, but by the time he finished Dok Sabu's errands, the sun had already set.
He had no choice but to practice the Cheongmyeong Simgong and go to bed after midnight. The technique calmed the anger burning in his heart, so he couldn't skip it.
Dok Sabu wasn't as finicky as he'd expected. He was mostly quiet and sometimes stared at Won Seung with strange eyes, but he seemed like a man lost in his own thoughts.
Dok Sabu's quarters were much warmer than the children's dormitory and the bedding was cozy, so Won Seung was satisfied. He just had to watch out for the poisons.
Won Seung used a corner room in the log cabin as his bedroom. On the first day he moved his things, he had carved four lines into the headboard of his bed. Now winter had come again. As he added another line to the bedpost, Won Seung thought to himself.
"It's been almost five years already. I'm eleven now."
Then he worried that his family in the capital might have forgotten him.
Ten years could change mountains and rivers—would they even recognize him?
The next morning.
While Dok Sabu was out for a walk, Won Seung slipped into his bedroom and stood in front of the bronze mirror. He saw the figure of a skinny boy who looked like a ghost. Even Won Seung barely recognized his own face.
'That's right!'
Won Seung turned around, dropped his pants, and checked his butt in the mirror. There was a red birthmark on his right cheek, shaped like a map. It had been there since birth, so his mother would surely recognize it.
"What bizarre nonsense is this?"
He hurriedly pulled up his pants and turned to see Dok Sabu standing at the door with a look of utter disbelief.
"My butt was itchy, so I was checking if I had a pimple."
"Filthy brat."
Dok Sabu scowled but didn't scold him harshly.
"More importantly, Master, your complexion looks terrible today. Shouldn't you rest?"
Dok Sabu's face seemed especially dark today. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Don't talk nonsense. Go fetch some water."
When Won Seung brought the water, Dok Sabu pulled out a pill and popped it into his mouth. Won Seung figured the master must have some chronic illness.
'Well, yeah. A guy that fat has to have some health issues.'
Dok Sabu didn't like the way Won Seung was staring at him intently.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I think you should lose some weight, Master."
"What?"
"You look dignified and all with the extra flesh, but it must be hard to move around."
Won Seung's sudden concern left Dok Sabu dumbfounded, and he cackled—kekeke. The boy had no idea what life lay ahead and was worrying about others.
"Enough nonsense. Go train."
Won Seung let out an "Ah" and bolted out the door. Being late for training meant hell.
Dok Sabu sat in a chair by the cabin window, watching Won Seung go for a moment before muttering to himself.
"Lose weight? Cheeky little punk…."
In truth, his health was in a gravely serious state.
He had been struck by a lethal poison in a duel with a longtime rival. He didn't even know how many more years he had left.
By reputation and skill alone, Dok Sabu wasn't the type to serve as an instructor at an assassin training camp.
He had come here hoping to tend to his body and perhaps find an heir to carry on his legacy.
But upon arrival, he realized he'd been wrong. The children, selected for their innate aptitudes, couldn't keep up with his teachings.
Poisons were intricate and complex; one needed exceptional intelligence to master them. To inherit the lifelong study of a poison grandmaster like himself required genius-level intellect.
Dok Sabu had lived with the pride of reaching the pinnacle of poison arts. He couldn't tolerate some half-baked disciple pretending to be his heir. Better to take all his knowledge to the grave.
He was half-resigned when Won Seung appeared. Dok Sabu had been observing the boy. He was sharp-minded and talented. But he needed to gauge his character—whether he'd betray his master later.
Over the past few months, Won Seung had served him diligently and even fretted over his health, which softened Dok Sabu's heart a bit.
'He's not a total lost cause.'
Having navigated the jianghu's darkest intrigues, Dok Sabu knew better than to judge by appearances alone. But he had to decide soon.
Time was running out for him.
* * *
That spring, when Won Seung turned eleven.
Jang Gyo-du gathered the children and delivered a speech from the platform.
"The training so far was just the basics. From now on, you'll train in groups. Of course, dormitories will be reassigned by group. And starting today, the girls will have separate quarters."
Until now, boys and girls had bunked together by number order, but as they grew, they were separating them.
Jang Gyo-du called out numbers and assigned groups.
Won Seung noticed something as he looked at the divided children. The groups were formed based on their strengths.
Groups for the nimble ones, the strong ones, the smart ones, and those skilled in poetry, writing, painting, and music. The girls were sorted similarly, with only three in the strong group.
To his surprise, Won Seung was placed in the strong kids' group.
'Why am I in the strong group? Shouldn't I be with the smart or agile ones?'
Suddenly, he recalled what Dok Sabu had said.
Jang Gyo-du planned to give him special training to make him a Sipjeon Salsu.
'He's putting me where I lack to fill my weaknesses.'
This meant grueling training ahead.
His mood soured instantly. He didn't want to become a Sipjeon Salsu—or even a regular assassin. As a mischievous kid terrorizing the maids back home, he'd never even thought about killing anyone.
But he couldn't object. They'd probably smash his head in.
Or...?
If they wanted to raise him as a Sipjeon Salsu, maybe they wouldn't kill him recklessly. That thought gave him courage.
He timidly raised his hand.
"What?"
Jang Gyo-du asked with a cold glare.
"I like poetry, writing, painting, and music."
"So?"
"I'd like to study that more."
Jang Gyo-du glared at Won Seung for a moment before saying,
"You. Stay after. Follow me."
Won Seung regretted it immediately.
'What did I do?'
The children followed their group instructors, while Won Seung trailed Jang Gyo-du.
Jang Gyo-du's office was naturally in the upper compound, off-limits to trainees. Won Seung was probably the first child to enter.
Once inside, the instructor plopped into his chair, pulled out Won Seung's evaluation sheet, slapped it on the desk, and said,
"Serving Dok Sabu has made your guts hang out your belly, huh? You dare object?"
"No, sir. I just asked if I could do what I'm good at. Wouldn't it be better to build on strengths?"
Won Seung replied politely.
Jang Gyo-du bellowed with a savage glare.
"Do what you want? Do you even know where you are?"
Won Seung hesitated before answering.
"Not exactly... but isn't it a place that trains assassins?"
Jang Gyo-du scowled.
"Dok Sabu must've blabbed. Yes, we train assassins. Not a place where you do what you want."
As Won Seung expected, Jang Gyo-du didn't resort to violence.
Instead, he admonished him.
"Heard of the Sipjeon Salsu?"
"No."
Won Seung feigned ignorance, even though Dok Sabu had told him.
"The Sipjeon Salsu is a legendary figure in the assassin world. If he sets his mind to it, he could kill even the emperor."
Won Seung gaped in pretended shock. Inside, a chill ran down his spine. He pictured himself as a Sipjeon Salsu, ordered to assassinate the emperor.
'Kill the emperor? That's like carrying dry grass into a fire pit.'
His legs trembled. The greatest assassin, Jing Ke, went to kill Qin Shi Huang and ended up dead himself. Emperors were that hard to kill.
Unaware of Won Seung's inner turmoil, Jang Gyo-du continued.
"First-rate assassins are rare enough to count on one hand, and special-grade ones number only three or four per era. A Sipjeon Salsu has never appeared."
"Why is it so rare?"
Won Seung asked incredulously. A Sipjeon Salsu was still just an assassin. Why make such a big deal?
Jang Gyo-du was dead serious.
"As the name says, it's someone proficient in ten fields, with assassin tactics reaching the heavens."
"Ten fields? Is that what matters?"
"Of course."
Jang Gyo-du spoke in a tone laced with enlightenment.
"Proficiency in ten fields means he can adapt to any situation."
Won Seung didn't get it. What did ten skills have to do with being an assassin?
"With ten fields mastered, he can disguise himself as anyone. What's most crucial in assassination? Getting close without raising suspicion. That's half the battle won."
Won Seung nodded. That's why Jing Ke carried the client's head to approach Qin Shi Huang.
"Even more importantly! Mastery of ten fields means supreme intelligence. The ability to devise advanced assassin strategies."
"Advanced assassin strategies?"
Wasn't assassination just stabbing with a knife or poisoning?
"That's for lowlifes. Even first-rate assassins have style in their kills."
Won Seung was flabbergasted the more he heard. Style in killing?
Pride lit up Jang Gyo-du's face.
"Back in my prime... I was first-rate."
Ah, so you were an assassin too. That's why you beat those kids to death. You're gonna die by my hand.
Won Seung cursed inwardly while plastering on an admiring expression.
"A first-rate assassin is one where the target realizes just before death."
"Special-grade must be even higher, then."
"Naturally. Special-grade means the target never figures out how they died. Killing without a trace is incredibly hard."
"So what realm is the Sipjeon?"
"The target dies, but no one suspects murder! That's the Sipjeon realm—making death seem perfectly natural."