Real Sword Debut and Alleyway Thugs
"Senior Brother! I bought a real sword. Starting today, can I train with my own blade instead of the wooden one?"
"You bought a sword? Fine. But when practicing sword forms, stand in the front row. Disciples using real swords have to train up front."
Why's that? For the cool factor? Yeah, lining up just the guys with real swords out front would definitely look badass. Even the dojo cares about visuals. And with visual king Kim Geun-hyeop smack in the middle, the whole place levels up. What a star I am.
"Don't look back during training. If a beginner like you drops your sword mid-practice, someone could get hurt."
"Ah, got it."
Safety first, huh. And so, another day of intense martial arts training at the dojo. We started with external arts, then inner cultivation methods, followed by Liuhe Fist and the Three Calamities Sword Form. Honestly, the first three are basically mastered already. Fitness goes without saying. Inner arts can explode in growth later, so steady as she goes. Liuhe Fist? My taekwondo covers it. Naturally, all my focus poured into the Three Calamities Sword Form.
"Follow me!"
"Hah!"
"Yah!"
"Krah!"
I mimic the movements of Instructor Hong— a first-rate master—demonstrating the forms up front. But it feels totally different from before. The gap between a real sword and a wooden one is huge. Weight balance, grip texture, the sensation slicing through air—everything's changed, so it takes time to adjust.
"As expected. Your forms are sloppier."
Senior Brother, patrolling between us disciples, points it out.
"Ah, yeah."
"It's fine. Switching from wooden to real sword naturally throws you off. Take time to get used to it."
"Yes, Senior Brother!"
Then let's crank it up. These forms for two straight weeks—I've got the basics of swinging right down. Imagine: this ain't a bat, it's a real sword. Keep the blade steady, center your balance.
Shhwing!
The blade whistles through the air.
Thud!
My stepping foot roots like a tree. With a real sword in hand, even my mind sharpens. Sharpness— the echo of love? Wielders can cut themselves. But I didn't train for nothing. No basic slips for me, frame set with wooden swords.
Swoosh!
Getting the feel now. Training gains don't vanish. Weapon change? Back to peak quick.
"Like this."
Change hits. At first, I swung like a baseball bat. No power on the edge, full of openings. Haven't sparred yet, but big bat swings scream gaps. Facing one? Follow the forms, exploit easy.
Confidence surges from within, inner energy flows through meridians, powering the blade.
"Ahh."
Shiver. This 'strength'? Amazement at my own skill bursts out. Three Calamities this good— what's Ascending Sword Form? How mighty, profound? Dying to see it. Sword craving rises. Practicing feels so damn fun. Sword forms are real. Hyper-focused. Studied like this, I'd hit Seoul Uni. Aunt would've been thrilled.
Shhwing. Swing. Parry. Advance and thrust.
Screee!
Perfect form flow.
"Doing great!"
Voice from somewhere. My focus so intense, others sound distant. Wanna yokai hunt soon, test new sword and skills. Burning for it.
"Good work today! Pack up and head out! You've trained— eat well, circulate qi, rest deep!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes, sir!"
Training ends, head home.
Grip!
Body and mind drained, but healthier, stronger than ever. Days so fulfilling!
"Murim's starting to feel pretty good...!"
Keep this up! Just like this!
"Hey, waiter! Room for one!"
A man strides into the inn, bellowing. Aside from the waiter, few notice— but two murimins in the corner eye him keenly.
"..."
"..."
Their names: Chang Sam and O Su-man. Pretending to chat, they watch him head upstairs.
"That guy's... a murimin now, huh."
Chang Sam mutters slyly.
"Looks like it."
O Su-man smirks sleazily.
"Fresh out in the jianghu."
"Heh heh... yeah. Fresh meat."
To these bottom-feeders honed by street eyes, he's a recent outsider. No base, no connections— a drifter. Used to labor at Dahoebang, now sword at waist: scraped enough to go murimin.
"Then, Chang Sam. Shouldn't our seniors teach him what the jianghu's really like?"
"O Su-man, you're spot on. Exactly."
Initiating rookies is senior duty. And juniors footing the bill after? Natural. Third-rate thugs and bullies, but they fancied themselves plenty skilled for this punk. Just a peasant laborer last time. Squash him now: loot his cash, steady side hustle.
Chang Sam and O Su-man plot to jump Kim Geun-hyeop. No backup, weak laborer-turned-murimin. Prime prey.
"Whew. So damn sore."
Mornings: manual labor. Evenings: martial training. Both brutal. Gotta scarf high-cal grub, circulate qi, crash— or I'll drop dead. Even modern folks overwork to death; murim? Worse.
Thinking that, trudging dark streets.
Swish.
Two shadows emerge from an alley ahead.
"..."
...What the fuck? Popping out like that on purpose?
Heighten guard, try passing casual.
"Hey, you."
"Yeah, you."
Calling me. Gut screams: fucked.
"What?"
Play cool, scan 'em. Dark, hard to see. Normal clothes. Swords at waist— murimins, these fuckers. Spot that, see their eyes. Greed and superiority gleaming!
They want something. Ninety-nine percent cash and loot!
Extortion thugs here to shake me down!
"Short tongue? Cocky little shit."
"You just became a murimin, right?"
Grinning creeps. Read the smile: murderous grin. Killer's aura only vets carry. Psycho murderers!
These jianghu killers gonna rob and off me. Realization amps panic, heart pounds, cold sweat.
"So, what do you want?"
Voice steady, calm.
"Want? You arrogant worm!"
"Whoa, easy. Just wanna chat, right? Yell and the kid spooks."
"Ptoo! Yeah."
Don't give a shit what I say. Classic killer vibe. Senses screaming: run?
"C'mon. Don't stand there— come with us somewhere quiet. We're jianghu seniors, got tips for ya."
"Kekeke, yeah. Pay tuition, we'll teach anything."
Bullshit, fuckers!
"Tuition?"
Money word snaps me alert! Killers maybe, but not faction— they'd flash affiliation first.
Thump thump!
Heart races, brain accelerates. Deduce: waited here. Planned ambush, scouted. But for trash me? If strong, just jump. Investigated? Know no backup— claim authority easy. Didn't. Not faction. Targeting me means they're trash too.
"..."
No third guy. Just two punk-ass thugs with swords. Run? Now.
"Yeah! Tuition! Pay up, seniors teach how to survive!"
"So come quietly. Good for you. Seniors like us? Safer jianghu."
"Won't diss our face and refuse, right? Do that, you're dead!"
Flee. Smart. But...
"..."
This ain't Earth— murim. Run? They'll track, call me coward, hound forever. No way. No guarantee I outrun anyway.
Brain blasts order!
Thud. Grip hilt.
Shing! Draw.
Heavy iron in hand. Heart races, head spins. Terror chills extremities, contrasts hot body— dizzying. But stand firm.
"Hm...?"
"Huh?"
Stunned voices. Right... no running. Key's fighting spirit. Spirit!
"You fucking bastards...!"
Defy! Fight!
"Hah...! Hah!"
That's it! Murim crawls with these punk thugs. See? Days after sword, targeted. Newbie mark. Give in every time? Fuck no! Worked ass off killing yokai— who takes my cash?!
"You dogshit fuckers dare threaten me?! Wanna die?!"
Me! I slaved days, slaughtered yokai nights— who steals that?! Earth me never took shit! Want mine? Pay blood!
Roooar!
Rage boils, lower belly ignites. Energy surges body-wide. Veins pulse blood vividly...!
"Y-you crazy rookie fuck! Wanna throw down?!"
"Kuh... kuahaha! Fun! Fresh bug draws blade on us?!"
"Know what drawing on us means!"
"Drew it— no mercy! We'll kill you!"
Kill my ass—
"Kill who, you fucking bastards!!!"