The Assassin Master's Disciple

Crack. Pop.

Uncheon twisted his waist left and right, working the stiffness from his body until it grew limber again. It was true his inner energy had grown far stronger of late, yet he had not been able to push his physical training with the same intensity. His father had always insisted that a strong body was the only vessel capable of sustaining great power for long, and he had never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let Uncheon forget it. Experience, too—he had learned its true worth only after leaving home and tasting real combat in the Central Plains. To keep inner energy flowing without falter, the flesh itself had to stand firm beneath it.

Starting with the smallest joints and working outward to the large ones, he moved lightly, waiting for the lesson to begin.

I wonder who will be teaching me.

Uncheon had decided to learn the martial arts of the Yaweol Sect. He was not one of their own, yet for the next two years, while he carried out their missions, openly using the sword techniques of the Namgung Family would only invite needless suspicion. When he laid the difficulty bare before Gong Hwaseon, she had devised the solution herself. Of course she could not simply hand the sect’s arts to an outsider on her own authority; the consent of the Twelve Assassins was required. She summoned a council at once, and under the approval of the Inbyeok Assassin every voice fell into agreement—even that of Miyu Assassin Ha Jiryeon, who had never wanted Uncheon inside the Yaweol Sect at all. No: she had been the most enthusiastic of all. Her reason was simple. She was certain Uncheon would break under the training of the master they had chosen for him and flee before it was finished.

Elder of the Yaweol Sect, Yo Chusang.

Who was he? Former member of the Twelve Assassins, the most revered of the previous generation’s killers, and now an elder of the sect. Revered by every assassin of the Yaweol Sect—and just as thoroughly avoided. A man of eccentric temper whose training was said to be worse than torture. He possessed a gift for gnawing at a man’s nerves, for no one ever knew when or how the next ambush would come.

A formidable elder indeed.

For several days Uncheon had received nothing from Yo Chusang but pure physical conditioning—no assassin arts of the Yaweol Sect at all. Even within the Namgung Family he had never endured bodily training this severe. Yet that was only the beginning.

That sound…

A faint whistle brushed his ear.

Above!

In the same instant Uncheon stepped forward. It was footwork and yet not footwork—nothing more than a single simple stride. With that light step he slipped past the attack. An old man appeared at his side.

“Well dodged. But what do you mean to do about your waist?”

Elder Yo Chusang of the Yaweol Sect reversed the dagger in his hand and drove it toward Uncheon’s right flank.

“I already knew, sir. Feints meant to make me drop my guard no longer work on me.”

Uncheon had read the direction of the old man’s movement from the mere sound of air parting. Before the dagger could touch him he retreated exactly one step. There was no reason to waste three or four when one would do.

This man’s every motion is precise to the hair’s breadth.

He slipped aside lightly, already anticipating the next assault.

Thwip-thwip-thwip!!

Three strikes followed exactly as expected, and each time Uncheon answered with nothing more than a single perfect step. Yo Chusang’s face twisted in disbelief. In the murim there was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a saying—One Step Under Heaven. Watching Uncheon move, the words rose unbidden. With only a single pace the boy had rendered every attack into nothing. Was such a thing even possible?

“Tsk. No matter how I look at it, the Namgung Family has birthed a monster.”

“My elder brothers in the family can all do at least this much.”

“That was a joke, I hope?”

It wasn’t, actually.

To Uncheon the feat was nothing remarkable, so he himself did not realize it—but he had already reached a realm that left Yo Chusang clicking his tongue in awe.

“Of course they could dodge. But this… you truly don’t understand, do you? Are you claiming those brothers of yours could evade my strikes using pure physical movement alone, without a scrap of inner energy?”

“That much I honestly don’t know.”

The deep creases on Yo Chusang’s face grew deeper still. When he had first been told to teach a scion of the Namgung Family he had assumed it was a jest. After several days he realized the boy was no ordinary talent, and the absurdity only grew. He had grumbled toward Sect Leader Gong Hwaseon more than once.

“I still can’t fathom what the sect leader was thinking when she took you in.”

“I offered because I felt I owed her.”

Yo Chusang knew the circumstances, of course. The boy’s remorse proved he was not entirely without conscience, yet he had still swallowed the entire Cheon-eum-su, and whether the present arrangement would prove gain or loss for the sect remained impossible to judge.

“What worries me is whether I ought to teach you our sect’s arts at all.”

“You needn’t worry on that account.”

“Tsk tsk. I wish I needn’t.”

Yo Chusang led Uncheon to the training ground. He intended to forge an assassin, not a martial artist; therefore the first lesson would not be assassin techniques but the assassin’s fundamentals.

“What did I tell you is most important to an assassin?”

“Concealing the body so the enemy never detects you.”

“Correct. Approaching without being noticed is the most basic of basics. To do that you must either suppress your inner energy so perfectly the target cannot sense it, or master a method of concealment that lets you hide the body itself. That is why I have survived so many missions without dying.”

With a soft sweep of his hand he pointed to one corner of the training ground. There lay a small pool just large enough for a grown man to submerge.

“Hiding underwater is one of the perfect forms of concealment. Today’s lesson is breath-holding. You will remain beneath the surface for half a ke.”

“…Can a person truly hold their breath for half a ke? Even drawing on inner energy doesn’t let you breathe freely. It helps, but—”

“Once you learn the assassin methods of the Yaweol Sect it becomes possible. Especially the concealment art I teach. First, however, I will see how long you last on your own. Get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in.”

“Yes.”

Uncheon stripped off his upper robes without hesitation and stepped into the pool. He drew a deep breath and sank completely beneath the surface. Yo Chusang watched him disappear, then smiled.

“Heh-heh. This should be entertaining.”

Rrrrumble.

At that moment a thick iron plate nearly a full handspan deep slid across and sealed the pool shut. No human strength could shatter a slab of that weight.

“Passing out once won’t do him any harm.”

Yo Chusang stepped onto the iron plate, expression bright with amusement. Beneath the water, Uncheon reached up and felt the black shadow that had fallen across the surface.

Just as I thought… he sealed it with iron.

He already knew what the old man had done, and that the plate would not open until he lost consciousness. He could have tried forcing it upward with inner energy if matters grew desperate, yet Uncheon chose instead to hold his breath as long as possible. Eyes closed, mind focused, he stopped all breathing.

Time crawled. Pressure built in his chest. He longed to burst free and drag air deep into his lungs. Breath grew ragged; his once-clear mind clouded; his body began to go limp. Then something stirred within him. Whether it was inner energy or something else he could not tell, yet his thoughts sharpened to crystalline clarity.

It feels as though I’m breathing the air already stored inside my body.

In this state half a ke would be nothing; he could easily last more than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a full ke.

What is this strange power? It’s not as though I swallowed rare medicines from childhood the way Brother Gunchun did…

The only thing that came to mind was the fleeceflower root he had eaten by mistake as a child and nearly died from. Uncheon settled into a comfortable posture at the bottom of the pool and simply waited for the iron door to open.

Half a ke passed. Yo Chusang stepped down from the plate.

“By now he should be out cold and floating.”

The iron slab slid aside; the pool gradually reappeared.

Huh?

Uncheon’s body—which ought to have been floating unconscious on the surface—was nowhere to be seen.

Surely he hasn’t drowned…?

Yo Chusang thrust his face toward the water in alarm.

Hah!

A dark silhouette suddenly shot upward from the depths. The startled elder stumbled backward. Uncheon’s head alone broke the surface.

“A-are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“You held your breath for half a ke?”

“Yes. I simply held it.”

“…Did the Namgung Family teach you some special breathing method?”

“No. If you’d opened it even a little later I wouldn’t have managed.”

“…”

The last claim rang false. The boy’s breathing had not been labored in the slightest upon emerging. Uncheon’s voice rose again.

“Once I learn the concealment art I should be able to stay down even longer.”

“Ah… very well. Come out for now.”

Watching Uncheon climb from the pool, Yo Chusang felt greed stir in his chest.

A tempting boy. If only he weren’t a scion of the Namgung Family, I would teach him properly…

When he first heard that a Namgung youth would spend two years taking assassination contracts for the Yaweol Sect, he had wondered what sort of madman had appeared. Yet after only a few days of watching the boy’s extraordinary talent, the desire to teach him thoroughly rather than merely skim the surface kept growing stronger. Such gifts were rare even within the Yaweol Sect itself.

“To an assassin, the art of concealment is nothing less than an art form.”

“An art form…?”

“Indeed. Ordinary martial artists like you meet face to face, and the stronger simply wins. That is the law of the strong. But we assassins and killers move with calculated precision so that even under the worst conditions we produce the best result—like crafting a beautiful sculpture.”

“Ah… that’s magnificent.”

“…”

“I mean it sincerely.”

“Do you wish to learn?”

“If I can, of course. There is no single correct path in this world, is there?”

Yo Chusang looked straight into Uncheon’s eyes. In those clear pupils he felt not falsehood but genuine intent.

“There is a problem if you wish to learn the true concealment art—Sal-ui-gong.”

Even though he longed to teach it, one obstacle remained. Uncheon read the difficulty in the old man’s mind at once.

“I simply need to take you as my master, is that it?”

“Hah. Quick on the uptake. But a direct descendant of the Namgung Family truly wishes to become my disciple?”

“Is that not allowed?”

“The one who should be saying it isn’t allowed is you, not me.”

Even as he answered, Yo Chusang could scarcely believe it and pressed again.

“Surely you already have a master who taught you martial arts within the family. Becoming the disciple of an assassin will not be easy.”

“I have none.”

“What? Then how did you learn?”

“I learned from my uncles, the Hall Masters. I never took a formal master.”

Doubt flickered across Yo Chusang’s face. He knew well what sort of martial family the Namgung were, and that their youths had to pass the three training halls. Yet the arts learned there could never have produced the formidable power Uncheon had already displayed.

“Everything else I learned separately from my father.”

“Your father… you mean Hanpung Naengsim, Law Enforcement Hall Master of the Namgung Family?”

“Yes.”

“With talent like yours, far stronger teachers could have taken you. Not that I mean your father’s skill is lacking.”

“There are simply too many brothers in the family stronger than I am.”

“…”

Yo Chusang found the claim hard to credit.

Good heavens… just how many monsters must the Namgung Family possess if a boy like this doesn’t even stand out? At any rate, it seems there is no obstacle to accepting him as a disciple.

“If you become my disciple you may suffer unexpected disadvantages once you re-enter the murim. I am an assassin by origin, after all.”

“Have you committed many evil deeds in the murim?”

“I have done nothing shameful. I am an assassin of the Yaweol Sect and I simply carry out the contracts our sect accepts. Beyond that I never kill indiscriminately.”

“Then I have no objection. Anything else is a burden I will bear myself. The choice is mine, after all.”

“Well now…”

“And becoming your disciple does not mean I become a member of the Yaweol Sect. I have only agreed to stay here for two years.”

Yo Chusang sank into thought. The boy could become his disciple without belonging to the sect.

True enough. Taking a disciple does not automatically place him under the Yaweol Sect’s banner.

There was no need for Uncheon to become a formal disciple of the Yaweol Sect itself. And a disciple from the Namgung Family promised to be far more entertaining.

“Very well. I will teach you Sal-ui-gong, the supreme pinnacle of concealment that I know.”

Uncheon assumed a respectful posture, then bowed deeply toward the old man.

“Disciple Namgung Uncheon greets his master.”

“And I, Yo Chusang, accept you, Uncheon, as my sole disciple.”

They agreed to keep their master-disciple bond secret for the time being. Neither saw any need to raise a clamor over the matter. Yet Yo Chusang found himself wanting to pour into Uncheon every insight of Sal-ui-gong that he had never shared even with the assassins of the Yaweol Sect. He could not help it. The boy’s talent was simply too brilliant.

As Uncheon absorbed the concealment arts with startling speed, the question that still nagged at Yo Chusang rose once more.

There are people more gifted than my disciple? And more than one of them?

No matter that it was the Namgung Family, he found it hard to believe anyone could surpass the youth now lost in training before his eyes. His own concealment method was so harsh it could rightly be called torture of the body. The practitioner had to hold an unnatural posture without moving for half a shichen. Countless Yaweol assassins had failed to endure it. Yet Uncheon completed a full shichen of the same training as though it were nothing.

Is it possible… this boy doesn’t even realize how gifted he is?

The thought had merit. Whatever he learned he applied at once, and every time he performed it he still claimed his skill was lacking.

Even now he already surpasses the concealment I myself display…

Yo Chusang scanned the surroundings with a hawk’s gaze from high above, searching for his disciple. The boy’s expression was far too sincere for mere humility.

Where has he hidden?

The possible hiding places lay within a radius of barely ten jang. Yo Chusang sharpened every sense—hearing, smell, even the faint brush of air across his skin. The most suspicious spot was a boulder broad enough to conceal an entire body. Beside it stood an ancient tree so thick that three grown men linking hands could scarcely encircle its trunk.

First…

Whoosh!

Yo Chusang’s form dissolved into white mist that scattered in every direction.

…Nothing. Of course. If he were easy to find it would not deserve the name of Sal-ui-gong.

Hiding where no concealment seemed possible—that was the true stealth of Sal-ui-gong.

Then… here.

Yo Chusang launched himself straight upward from where he stood. Beneath his feet lay his own shadow. Hovering in midair he looked down at the place where that shadow had just been. On the ground where the shadow shrank, a minute movement flickered.

He taught himself how to hide inside a shadow even though I never showed him?

Disbelief still on his face, Yo Chusang descended and called toward the earth.

“Come out!”

Ssshhk.

The ground stirred faintly; Uncheon’s form rose into view. Yo Chusang looked both astonished and proud.

“No one has already taught you the art of concealment, I trust?”

“I simply thought it might be possible, so I tried. But you found me at once.”

“It was clumsy. How could I possibly fail to notice?”

“I hid as carefully as I could…”

“Still, well done. Looking at this level of skill, I believe my disciple is born to be an assassin.”

Yo Chusang clapped Uncheon on the shoulder in praise. Had any member of the Yaweol Sect witnessed the gesture they would not have believed their own eyes.

With this boy, it may actually be possible to master Sal-ui-gong completely.

Even he himself had never fully perfected the technique, yet Uncheon seemed capable of it. Two years later, when Uncheon left the Yaweol Sect, it would not matter. Sal-ui-gong was the supreme pinnacle of assassin arts, called the ultimate secret of killers. Once Uncheon learned it he would forever remain Yo Chusang’s disciple and a guardian of the Yaweol Sect.

If this boy can truly master Sal-ui-gong, then that too must be heaven’s will.