Deep Night, Growing Ever Stronger
A roaring bonfire blazed fiercely into the deep night. Burp! Burp! The one belching nonstop was none other than Yi Gajang's dodu, Gang Ryong. His belly had swollen like a mountain from devouring so much meat, and his face, flushed beet-red from the booze, looked ready to burst.
Staggering to his feet with great effort, Gang Ryong hoisted his cup high and bellowed.
"Young master! Our young master!"
The bucktoothed chief steward Gwak Yeonyong, his hair a tangled mess, raised his own cup in echo.
"Young master. Our young master..."
But his voice trailed off into a feeble mumble. No surprise there—he was on the verge of passing out himself.
Gang Ryong ignored him and roared even louder.
"Anyway, our little young master is the best, I tell ya! Booze hits like a hammer! Smokes that pipe like a boss! And his martial arts? Fuckin' insanely good!"
"Insanely... good...!"
"Hey, you bastard Gwak Chief Steward! Didja see it? Our young master... he straight-up flew into the damn sky! Riding clouds, riding the wind... like a goddamn immortal soaring through the heavens! You see that? Where the hell else you ever seen a sight like that? Hey, you lot! You see it?"
Dead drunk, Gang Ryong rambled on unchecked. But among the warriors who'd gathered for the rowdy feast, not a single one remained sober enough to answer. Even Gwak Yeonyong, who'd stuck it out till the end playing along, finally crashed to the ground with a thud.
Now, the only one left was Third Young Master Yi Jinpyeong, wearing a faint smile.
Gang Ryong, who'd been spinning in circles with cup in hand like he was dancing, locked eyes with him. The hairy brute flashed an uncharacteristically sheepish grin, gulped down his drink in one go, and bowed deeply on the spot.
"Young master. My revered young master. Truth be told, this man Gang Ryong only followed you at first 'cause I was scared shitless! Yeah, maybe to avoid getting killed, or 'cause there weren't no other options! But now? It's different. Every day under you—one day passes, two days, three... and with each one, I feel it in my bones. Me and my men, we're changing completely. The dreams inside this body just keep getting bigger!"
"Your body's actually gotten bigger too. All that meat you scarfed down solo."
"Young master, don't big dreams deserve big eats?"
"Oh yeah?"
"This man Gang Ryong's gonna make a big confession here. Our young master, who believes in me and leads me—you, I love!!"
"Ugh, what a clown..."
"And that's not all! The great First Young Master and Second Young Master, who respect me and embrace my worthless past without a care—I love them too! Respect 'em! Huh? Where'd those two young masters go, anyway? At a moment like this?"
"...They weren't here from the start."
"Anyway, young master! Young masters! Please, please lead us lowly folk to those lofty heights. Let this man Gang Ryong and our brothers keep dreaming big! Everyone, do you believe? We believe!"
Gang Ryong rambled on solo for a good while. He slammed his head to the ground in a few grand bows, then—snore—passed out cold.
Left utterly alone, Yi Jinpyeong gazed down at the "fallen in battle" Gang Ryong with a look of utter disbelief. The twenty warriors sprawled in a circle around the bonfire were no different.
"Weaklings... I didn't even ply 'em with that much booze."
He chuckled softly. Fair enough—he'd driven them mercilessly over the past week. Ripping out their bad habits, forging them into proper martial frames... it had been brutal tempering. But necessary. For their survival. To become warriors worthy of Yi Gajang's name.
Just one week in—but stack those weeks, and massive change would follow.
He crossed his legs, facing the bonfire. Closed his eyes, steadied his breath. He blew gently on the inner spark, drawing up a thread of qi.
A refreshing energy stretched awake, like wind or water, circulating through every meridian, sweeping out impurities. He gathered it at his fingertip.
Drip.Drip.
Black droplets formed at his finger and fell to the earth. A way to purge the alcohol all at once—like expelling poison from the body.
The world's greatest, Yi Gyeol, had enjoyed his drink back in the day and been untouchable besides. But booze lingering in Yi Jinpyeong's frail frame? No good.
And his day wasn't over yet.
Leaving the snoring warriors, he rose and headed through the halls to the deepest part of the estate—the bamboo grove.
Along the narrow path, the grand Mugeukjeon Hall loomed under the moonlight. Where his brothers Yi Jingang and Yi Jinun trained day and night.
The ex-Hwang Sabang warriors needed occasional breaks to loosen their tension. Having lived wild lives till now, adapting to Yi Gajang's relentless daily grind was tough.
Yi Jinpyeong's decision to grant these feast-and-fun times at least once a week was for that. Give 'em sickness, then the cure—or carrot and stick, as it were.
Judging by Gang Ryong and the others' attitudes, it was working well enough. They'd been diligent in training even before.
Decent raw stock from the start.
But his brothers Yi Jingang and Yi Jinun? No such slack for them. They were the ones to lead Yi Gajang—held to stricter standards than anyone.
Approaching the hall. Whoosh—whoosh— The ceaseless swing of swords, and faintly, Second Brother Yi Jinun's voice.
"Huff. Huff... Big brother. I really feel like I'm dying. How about a short break?"
Moments later, Yi Jingang replied—breathless like Yi Jinun, but firm as iron.
"Can't do that. But we're still far from hitting our reps, aren't we?"
"Y... yeah! But my arms and legs feel like they're gonna fall off..."
"Didn't Jinpyeong say it? You won't die in training. Trust and follow."
Yi Jinpyeong smirked. He could die, actually. Though he'd never let it happen.
Yi Jingang was handling the harsh push surprisingly well. Yi Jinun looked strained but ready to follow his eldest brother's lead anywhere.
'Got more grit than I thought. Pride too.'
At first glance, he'd pegged them as pathetic fools who'd ruined the family he'd built. But now he knew: They'd just been crushed by impossible circumstances. Talent and temperament weren't lacking.
Though that excessive mercy and soft-heartedness? Had to fix it somehow...
Whoosh—whoosh—
"Feels like I might actually die... Huh? Wait!"
"What's wrong?"
"Big brother. Don't you smell... sniff sniff... meat somewhere?"
"You and your nonsense... What meat? Quit daydreaming and swing that sword one more time."
"Right? Our dear little brother wouldn't be chowing down without us, would he?"
Damn. He'd purged the booze, but not the meat scent clinging to his clothes.
And they caught it just nearing the hall? True dog noses?
Qi to his fingertips stirred a light breeze.
A breeze grazes the body and soul.
A gust swirled around him along the wind's flow, hands sweeping to intensify it into a vortex. Dust and odors on his clothes were whisked skyward and gone.
His personal trick for always staying fresh.
"Ahem."
Deliberately making his presence known, Yi Jinun's chatter cut off. Only panting sword swings filled the air—faster now, but meaningless to Yi Jinpyeong.
He could tell from the sounds alone: effort, soul in the blade, growth speed.
Nothing fancy from his brothers. Just basic steps forward, repeating fundamentals. Foundation for towering heights—like what he taught the subordinates.
But their absorption and results? Leagues beyond the others.
Wonder if they realized it. Reason he separated them: Same lessons, vast gaps in progress? Bad for morale.
'Truly descendants of this body...!'
Yi Gyeol nodded contentedly. Then realized: If innate talent from blood alone, the family wouldn't have fallen this far.
He opened the doors casually. The vast space reeked of sweat. His brothers advanced step by step, swords flashing.
Pretending not to notice him—like kids before a stern master. And neither felt out of place in their roles.
Whoosh—whoosh—
Draw down per step, thrust, upward slash... Blade wobble reduced from start, stance steadier.
But far from enough.
Hiding his satisfaction, Yi Jinpyeong unleashed sharp critique.
"Not with arm strength, I said! Link your waist the instant your foot plants, infuse your breath. Swinging like that won't cut a single blade of grass."
First, gently.
"Where's your gaze? If my words scatter your focus that easily, how'll you unleash the sword fully? Sense surroundings passively—focus solely on the blade now."
Growing firmer.
"Concentrate, concentrate! Get your head in the game! You here to play?!"
Very strongly...