Becoming Dok Sabu's Disciple
“A natural death… so that's the realm of the Ten Perfect Assassin.”
Won Seung feigned admiration, but inwardly he was baffled.
They hype up the Ten Perfect Assassin for something as basic as that?
Won Seung had grown up in the Won Mansion until he was six, absorbing all the sinister rumors swirling around the capital's officialdom. Those were the hot topics whenever the maids gossiped.
Of course, he'd heard the behind-the-scenes whispers about all sorts of people who died under mysterious circumstances—cases with no clear culprit, lost in a maze of confusion. There were more than a few like that.
If that's the case, then the government's crawling with Ten Perfect Assassins.
Unaware of Won Seung's sneer, Jang Gyo-du continued.
“Once you become a Ten Perfect Assassin, your treatment changes completely. You can do whatever the hell you want. Crave indulgence in wine, women, song, and food? You can dive in for ten days straight. Want to sleep on a bed of gold? They'll deck out your bedding with it.”
Won Seung just stared blankly, and Jang Gyo-du realized his mistake. How much could an eleven-year-old kid, raised in isolation deep in these mountains, know about debauchery or the allure of gold?
Jang Gyo-du cleared his throat with a gruff hem-hem.
“What I mean is, even special-grade assassins get respect and fear from everyone. But as a Ten Perfect Assassin? You live exactly as you please. Eat whatever you want, whenever you want.”
Tailoring his words to a child's level, Won Seung nodded.
“But why tell me all this? Are you saying I should aim to become one?”
Jang Gyo-du nodded and pointed to Won Seung's evaluation sheet on the table.
“It's not a lack of martial prowess that makes it hard to become a Ten Perfect Assassin. Their martial arts are top-notch, but they fall short in poetry, calligraphy, painting, music, or strategy. You, though? You've already earned top marks in poetry, calligraphy, painting, music, poisons, lightness skill, hidden weapons, and strategy. Smart kid with real talent.”
“Huh?”
Won Seung was stunned to hear he'd gotten top marks in lightness skill and hidden weapons. He'd only put in minimal effort to scrape by at the bottom—tenth rank or so. Top marks? Something had to be off.
Won Seung didn't know it, but there was a little rigging at play.
Jang Gyo-du frequently asked the instructors about Won Seung and other trainees he favored. The sharp ones inflated evaluations for his pet projects.
Jang Gyo-du's face turned stern.
“Don't doubt it. The instructors' assessments are spot-on. We just need to build up your martial arts, so we've placed you in the Courage Unit.”
The Courage Unit was for kids strong in physical labor.
“The Courage Unit will focus on sword, saber, fists, and other martial arts. Excel here too, and you can become a Ten Perfect Assassin. Slack off and fail to keep up? You might die in the process…”
His intent was clear, laced with a hint of threat. No matter what, he'd package Won Seung as a Ten Perfect Assassin and graduate him.
Won Seung let out an inward groan but replied,
“So you're saying I'm Ten Perfect Assassin material right now?”
“If not… you'd better die. Fall short of expectations, and I'll be disappointed. Who knows what I'll do then.”
Jang Gyo-du's eyes turned vicious. Won Seung bowed his head politely.
“Thank you for the high regard. I'll do my utmost, despite my shortcomings.”
Of course, he had zero intention of becoming a Ten Perfect Assassin. He was just scared Jang Gyo-du might snap and smash his skull on a whim.
Jang Gyo-du grinned, satisfied.
“Good. Now get out.”
Won Seung left the office.
Jang Gyo-du stared at the evaluation sheet, brimming with hope.
Even a puddle can birth a dragon.
A dozen years ago, headquarters had been losing ground to their rival assassin group, Haeyeonmun. They made a massive investment: five training camps, churning out special-grade assassins every two years in rotation.
This one—under Jang Gyo-du—was the fifth and final. The first four had graduated assassins after ten years, but two camps had already wrapped up.
Results were underwhelming, leaving headquarters bitterly disappointed. They'd gotten plenty of first-rate assassins, but compared to the funds poured in, it was a failure.
The first camp took in a hundred kids; only sixteen survived. Luckily, they produced one special-grade. Without that, the other camps might've shut down.
The second camp, graduating this year, failed to produce a special-grade. Learning from the first's brutal toll, they eased training: thirty-one assassins, eighteen first-rate. Still, half a failure without a special-grade.
Headquarters wanted special-grades. Haeyeonmun had three.
But here? Four special-grade prospects. And if we get a Ten Perfect…?
A sleazy smile crept across Jang Gyo-du's face. His hard work was paying off. Sure, he'd learned from the prior camps' trial-and-error, but who cared?
This would be outstanding success—and hefty rewards. He could already picture his promotion to a high post at headquarters. Mood lifted.
I'll make a Ten Perfect Assassin and use it as my stepping stone!
He was confident in Won Seung's potential.
Martial arts can be drilled. But brains? You're born with 'em. That kid has to become a Ten Perfect Assassin.
A fleeting thought: maybe snag some spirit medicine for him? Then he recalled Dok Sabu.
Dokgoe could bolster Won Seung's body and boost his internal energy, right?
He shook his head vigorously.
Asking Dokgoe for spirit meds? He'd end up a puddle of blood.
Best hope Won Seung played poison boy well and earned Dokgoe's favor.
After grouping into units, Won Seung's days grew even harsher.
The instructors, having watched the Courage Unit kids for four years, handed them fitting weapons right away.
Won Seung got a longsword. Among shortswords, sabers, daggers, and more, the longsword was the trickiest.
He was adept at throwing darts for hidden weapons and wielding daggers. Giving him a longsword as primary? Because Ten Perfect Assassins needed arts to face peak experts head-on and win. Warriors favored longswords or greatswords, so train accordingly.
Other kids got longswords too, so no one clocked Won Seung's special treatment.
He'd learned entry-level forms like Three Star Sword and Six Directions Sword, so swordplay wasn't alien. Longsword kids learned Spectrum Sword Art. True to its name, it featured swift, precise strikes.
Mornings: sword training. Afternoons: miscellaneous skills.
Learning never ends, huh…
He'd already covered poetry, painting, music, poisons, hidden weapons, lightness skill, swimming, stealth—yet more piled on endlessly. Some made him wonder, Why the hell learn this?
Blacksmithing, cooking, woodworking? Fair enough—for disguises as chefs or carpenters. Fun and useful. But this? No way.
Learning embroidery and sewing—women's work—Won Seung grumbled nonstop.
Kids hated mechanisms and formations most. Grasping principles, breaking them? Brain-meltingly tough. No skipping, though.
Instructors threw kids into real traps and arrays. Pitfalls killed some; formations lured others off cliffs. Learn or die—ruthless as hell.
Even the brutal winter couldn't halt the training. Hiding in snow pits for three days and infiltrating beneath frozen rivers—it was a nightmare.
That winter alone: over ten dead. By spring, sixty kids left. Forty gone in five years.
Instructors buried the dead on a low hill visible from the dormitory. No mounds, no stones—who knew who lay where? Just dust to dust.
Kids shuddered at the hill, dreading their own graves there. Through this hell, Won Seung's rage deepened, hardened.
“Cough, cough…”
Spring came; Dok Sabu's cough worsened. Winter cold lingered.
Won Seung decocted daily tonics with licorice, ginger, and Dok Sabu's herbs.
“It's warmer now—why isn't your cough improving, Master?”
Handing the bowl, Won Seung asked. Dok Sabu scowled. Post-winter, he felt his lifespan shortening.
No more hesitation. He drained the tonic, handed over a medicine pouch, eyed Won Seung.
This kid…
Could he carry on, avenge against the Poison King?
Won Seung's talent was impressive. Assassin path was the snag. Headquarters wouldn't let go of a cash cow like that.
Meant endless kills, eventual capture, death. Even as Ten Perfect, failure loomed. His poison arts would die with him.
No choice. Too late to leave, scour the world for a disciple. Doubt he'd find better anyway.
“Rinse the bowl by the well and come to the apothecary.”
Won Seung washed it, headed over.
Dok Sabu unwrapped a thick bundle of five books in plain cloth.
“I've taught you poison basics in class. Enough to handle most poisons out there, kill unseen. But peak experts? Tough.”
“Peak experts immune to poison or something?”
They're not made of iron—why wouldn't it work?
“Peak experts have hyper-acute senses, internal energy beyond mortal ken. Keen smell and taste make poisoning hard; even if ingested, they expel or suppress with qi. Seal the toxin away, then strike you down.”
“Gotta feed those guys something guaranteed.”
“Exactly.”
Dok Sabu held up one book.
“These five contain my lifetime of poison research. Start reading today—burn them into your brain. Master them, and not even True Realm or Transformation Realm masters will shrug off your poisons.”
“Whoa!”