Rigorous Training
Northern Dongjeong Lake. This area housed Agyangnu, the pavilion offering a panoramic view of the lake, and it connected to the Yangtze River's shipping routes, serving as a vital gateway for transportation and industry. At the heart of the region known as Aksanbuk-an stood the headquarters of the Dongjeong Prosperity Association—henceforth referred to as the Dongbeonhoe.
In a spacious, luxurious hall, a diverse group of people of varying ages and genders sat around a table. Among them was Gwak Sung, the deputy chief strategist overseeing operations in the Dongho commercial district.
Dressed in his usual impeccable and opulent attire, he looked markedly different today—unkempt in places, somehow gaunt and worn.
The man seated across from him shot him a mocking glance. "So the deputy chief suffered a setback, huh? Got done in by those Jang Gapae bastards?"
A man with bushy, hairy fingers chuckled and chimed in. "Who was it that kept stressing we shouldn't tangle with them recklessly? You tied our hands and feet so tight, Gwak Sung. Did you go off alone just to end up like that? Do you have any idea how much hell we've been through trying to keep the rumors from spreading? Huh?"
Gwak Sung scowled. He could tolerate it from others, but giving these ignorant fools ammunition to attack him was unbearable.
"Watch your words. I said we needed to approach them cautiously—not that we could never engage them at all. And I didn't lose to Jang Gapae."
"But you didn't win either. Thanks to that, those bastards are gonna keep strutting around even more from now on."
"That's—"
"It's a miracle the fight didn't escalate further."
The voice that cut off Gwak Sung's excuse belonged to a woman who had just entered the hall late. All eyes turned to the figure clad in flamboyant robes. A translucent veil draped over her entire face, obscuring her features and age, which only made her all the more alluring.
The mysterious woman continued. "We've just confirmed who's backing Jang Gapae."
"Who is it?"
Gwak Sung asked urgently. It was certain they had a massive force behind them, but its true nature had remained shrouded in shadows until now. Yet this woman's intelligence network was anything but ordinary. No matter the method, she had never failed to uncover what she set out to find...
After a deliberate pause, she uttered a single name.
"Sichuan Tang Clan."
A collective groan rippled through the room. Gwak Sung needed no explanation.
His suspicions had been confirmed, but there was no joy in it. Of all groups, one of the Eight Great Clans—the Tang Clan. If he'd known sooner, wouldn't he have prepared a more cautious strategy from the start?
Gwak Sung shook his head, dismissing the thought.
No. My strategy was sound. There were no flaws.
It was just that runt from Yi Gajang. The third young master had ruined everything with his provocations. Without him, they never would have clashed in the first place.
But at the same time, that boy had pulled him from the brink. Without him, Gwak Sung might have assassinated Jang Gapae's dwarf leader in secret—only to suffer a pyrrhic victory.
As Gwak Sung lapsed into thought, the confused group devolved into a cacophony of chatter.
"Why the hell are those Sichuan bastards pushing into Hunan of all places?"
"Who knows? Their greed is infamous—no end to it."
"Word gotten out that Dongjeong Lake is a goldmine?"
"We already have factions crawling everywhere, giving us headaches... Now one of the Eight Great Clans dives headfirst into our turf?"
"Elder Seok, where the hell is the Chairman at a time like this?"
Gazes shifted to the bald-headed elder who had been silently listening until now. With the Dongbeonhoe Chairman absent for an extended period, he was effectively the true leader.
Seok Ong spoke slowly, calmly. "No need to worry. The Chairman's absence is tied to this very matter."
"What do you mean 'tied to it'?"
"It's not just Dongho under the deputy chief that's the problem. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry turns around and bares their teeth with ambitions, allying with out-of-town forces and stirring chaos. Everyone's struggling. No choice in times like these. To minimize our bloodshed, we fight fire with fire—their way."
"So... you're saying the Chairman's away to join forces with an outside power? Which sect?"
Seok Ong smiled ambiguously. "I'll say only this: a force not inferior to the Sichuan Tang Clan. Perhaps even greater."
"...!!!"
"In any case, Deputy Chief Gwak, best you sit tight and do nothing until the Chairman returns."
"I was planning to anyway, but there's one thing you should keep in mind—"
"I mean nothing. Don't step out of line rashly."
Gwak Sung bristled at the interruption. "But Elder Seok, what exactly did I botch? And as for operations in the Dongho region, the one with full authority is none other than—"
"Deputy Chief Gwak."
Seok Ong's face was as serene as ever. But his eyes were razor-sharp, brooking no further argument.
"You don't look well. How about taking a vacation?"
Gwak Sung swallowed hard. Seok Ong hadn't even twitched a finger. Yet a tremor coursed through the massive wooden table—a vibration building relentlessly. Staring at the ripples in his teacup, Gwak Sung forced out the words.
"...I'll follow your advice."
"Good."
"Still, there's one thing I must say. We need to pay attention to Yi Gajang."
"Yi Gajang?"
Gwak Sung briefly explained the events at Yi Gajang—his intentions in going there, how it went awry, and how the third young master had intervened in his fight.
But it seemed mere words weren't enough to pique their interest. Or rather, they earned outright scorn.
"What about some ruined clan head? Heh heh..."
The group snickered, paying no heed. Even bald-headed Seok Ong smirked faintly.
"Yi Gajang was mighty once, true. But it was a fleeting spark. A bizarre last will, internal strife, worthless heirs—it all piled up, and they've been powerless for ages, haven't they?"
"Of course. But the youngest I saw there—"
"How old are those brothers?"
The woman answered in place of the hesitating Gwak Sung. "Eldest is twenty-two, second is twenty-one. The mad youngest the deputy chief mentioned is even younger. Probably just turned fifteen this year."
"A fifteen-year-old boy..."
Seok Ong's tone dripped with amusement that wouldn't fade. The others wore similar expressions.
"Anyway, since Deputy Chief Gwak insists, how about Un Sa-nang takes a look? If time permits."
Unlike with Gwak Sung, Seok Ong's tone was polite. After a pause, the veiled woman nodded her hidden face.
"Yi Gajang... I'll check it out."
Seok Ong smiled in satisfaction, and the meeting shifted to other topics.
Gwak Sung clamped his mouth shut. He had no desire to bandy words with these distrustful, mocking fools any longer. He'd done his duty. Speaking more would only hurt him.
Jang Gapae, Tang Clan... and Yi Gajang.
The first two were thorny enough. But soon—very soon—Yi Gajang would become far more irritating.
He was certain of it.
The future's greatest under heaven, Yi Jinpyeong. To revive his family, he had much to do.
First, he reteach basic physical training to the new Yi Gajang warriors like Gang Ryong, along with the foundational fist and kick techniques underlying all martial arts. Things like punching and kicking.
Some questioned starting from such basics, but Yi Jinpyeong's instruction was deadly serious and strict. Any slacker or one reverting to old habits tasted his pipe.
With each gust of wind came thwacks, and the unconscious were carted off one after another.
The brutality chilled the rest to the bone. What choice did they have? No matter how grueling, they threw themselves into it wholeheartedly.
His brothers—eldest Jingang and second Jinun—stood at the rear, mimicking the warriors' training to set an example.
Jinpyeong's teachings were pure conviction, no fluff. Simple yet perfectly aligned with their prior martial insights, confirming the youngest's words: for the past fifteen years, he'd dreamed of their founder and first patriarch, the world's greatest martial artist, Yi Gyeol.
Otherwise, how could he have moved like that against Dongbeonhoe warriors?
After endless training left everyone collapsed, Jingang and Jinun slumped too. Their stamina was abysmal compared to others. They endured only from duty as Yi Gajang heads and the belated effects of the miraculous Byeokgokdan (actually pork belly force-fed while unconscious).
"Brothers. Up you get. We still have training left."
The grim reaper had arrived.
Jinun stammered, pale. "A-already? What? It's only the first day—maybe rest a bit first?"
"No time for rests. What'll it be? Qi circulation? Spear arts? Lightness skill? Golden bell? Pressure points?"
Desperately racking his brain, Jinun blurted, "Uh... qi circulation! Breathing exercises! Boosting inner power's the fastest path to mastery!"
"Good choices. But we can do those tonight. While the sun's up, let's keep moving. To prepare for sudden combat, we refine swordsmanship first. Alright! Draw your swords."
Then why ask?
Jinun shot pleading eyes at eldest Jingang. But Jingang was already rising, sword sheath against the ground—body trembling, yet resolute.
Impressive as it was, Jinpyeong just nodded impassively and asked, "What sword forms do you know? Any family techniques you can still perform, even if incomplete?"
Jingang hesitated before answering. "Jinpyeong, you might not remember, but Father passed young. We brothers had little time. We can only ape the forms—no grasp of the subtleties..."
"Doesn't matter. Anything you can show, even a little."
"One, maybe. Barely worth showing you."
"What's it called?"
"Cheongcheon Ilro."
Yi Jinpyeong's brows furrowed. As if hearing an unexpected name.
"Cheongcheon Ilro. Cheongcheon Ilro..."
Arms crossed, lost in thought. Jingang and Jinun had no clue why he was surprised.
Moments later, snapping out of it, Jinpyeong asked Jingang, "Brother. Can you demonstrate that sword form?"