The Promise
Before they left the cave, the Sect Leader spoke.
“Let us keep what happened in the cave a secret between the two of us.”
“Understood.”
Cheonhwa accepted the proposal without hesitation.
The cave on the cliff was a hidden place meant only for those whom fate had chosen. It was not somewhere just anyone could find—and neither was it a place whose location could be carelessly revealed.
I need to avoid drawing even more attention than I already have.
He was already under far too much scrutiny. If word got out that he had encountered such an opportunity, the weight of expectation would only grow heavier. Just imagining the flood of questions from people he barely knew was enough to make him shudder.
Together with Okwon Jinin, Cheonhwa descended the cliff and returned to the dormitory as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
The next day, when individual training time arrived, the martial arts instructor Inwol summoned him.
“Junior Brother Cheonhwa, I hear you have reached the fifth stage of the second level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong.”
“Yes.”
“From now on, I will teach you the Cheonhasamsipyuk-geom—the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven.”
“Instructor Inwol.”
“What is it?”
“Is it possible to postpone learning the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven?”
The unexpected question left Inwol momentarily taken aback, but he recovered and answered.
“It is possible. Reaching this point only means you are now eligible to learn the sword art. Why do you ask?”
“While the effects of the Chukgi-dan still remain, I want to raise my achievement in Gyunchon Chukgi-gong as high as I can.”
Cheonhwa was not gifted at juggling multiple pursuits at once. If he began learning the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven, he would inevitably pour himself into sword training for a long stretch. That would make it far harder to fully capitalize on the pill’s efficacy.
His plan, therefore, was to delay the sword art and concentrate entirely on external training for the five months the Chukgi-dan’s power would last.
…Or so the stated reason goes.
The plan itself was not a lie, yet a more urgent motive lay beneath it.
The intent I received from the Sword Scar’s spiritual will. Digesting that alone is already overwhelming.
For now the founding ancestor’s intent remained quiet, yet it was still unstable—liable to surge at any moment. To resolve it, he needed time to absorb the will slowly and carefully. If he took up another martial art before fully digesting it, the intent he had so painstakingly calmed might run wild and plunge him into qi deviation.
To prevent that, his true plan was to continue external training while circulating energy and refining the intent at every opportunity.
He concealed that true reason because of his promise to the Sect Leader.
Explaining the digestion of the intent would mean revealing the opportunity I gained in the cave.
The fewer people who knew a secret, the better. There was a reason the old saying warned that birds hear daytime words and rats hear nighttime ones. He did not distrust Inwol, yet the possibility of the information leaking was never zero. One careless word and the rumor could race through the entire Zhongnan Sect in an instant. A plausible excuse was safer.
“I have no objection,” Inwol said at last. “But there is one request I would like to make.”
“What is it?”
“Would you try performing the external training methods you have been doing in your free time during individual training hours as well?”
“I would welcome that, of course—but why the request?”
“You already know the entry disciples have been training with unusual fervor of late.”
Of course he knew. The one who had ignited that training craze was none other than Cheonhwa himself.
“The basic conditioning we teach entry disciples has never strayed far from the current methods.”
Full-body loosening, running, and horse stance. Aside from individual training, those three focused on flexibility, stamina, and lower-body strength. The only ways to raise the intensity were to lengthen the distance run or the time held in stance. If one wanted something harder still, the answer was to strap on sandbags the way Cheonhwa did.
“Varied training is not a bad thing, of course. It conditions the entire body evenly and accelerates the growth of the second-level art as well.”
“Then why has it not been done?”
“Because results come with time even without pouring extra effort into separate drills.”
What made that possible was the daily schedule of the entry disciples and the properties of the second level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong. Morning training, duty shifts—every part of an entry disciple’s routine was designed to feed naturally into cultivation. The second level of the art transformed that routine into physical conditioning. So long as one fulfilled the daily duties properly, the second-level achievement rose steadily on its own.
“But recently, with more disciples approaching training with real zeal, the old methods have begun to feel insufficient.”
And just then Inwol had learned that Cheonhwa was practicing a new external training method.
“I would like to create a new training system based on the external work Junior Brother Cheonhwa has been doing.”
“You put it politely, but what you really mean is that you want to experiment on me before teaching the others.”
“You could see it that way. Still, it will not be a loss for you.”
“True. Having an instructor correct me is far better than training alone.”
The second-generation disciples who served as instructors possessed real talent for teaching. Even if their knowledge of external methods was incomplete, their experience and insight more than made up for it. Above all, having someone nearby who could point out faulty posture was a genuine boon.
“Very well. I look forward to working with you for the next five months.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
The two of them shook hands for mutual gain. Their goal was to complete the second level within five months and advance to the third.
I feel as though I am forgetting something… Is it just my imagination?
Something nagged at the edge of his mind, yet he could not recall what it was. It had felt important, but the shock of receiving the founding ancestor’s intent had left his thoughts in disarray.
Whatever it is, it will come back to me in time.
Unable to dredge up the memory, Cheonhwa chose to set it aside—never knowing what fruit that choice would later bear.
Time flowed on.
The spring that had brought the swallows home from their long journey gave way to summer, and then to the threshold of autumn. The heat had not yet fully retreated when Cheonhwa stood on the training grounds, deep in external practice.
Instead of sand, the pouches at his waist were filled with iron filings. Across his back he bore a log; heavy boulders hung from ropes at either end.
The boy lowered himself with agonizing slowness, then rose again, the boulder-laden log still across his shoulders. The slightest loss of balance would have brought the crushing weight down and collapsed him. Only the precise regulation of his body through intent made the feat possible.
Threads of will wrapped every limb and joint, moving his frame at a constant, unwavering speed while holding perfect equilibrium. Sweat streamed down Cheonhwa’s face as he concentrated on controlling the intent; heat radiated from his entire body. His legs, planted on the earth, trembled finely—proof that his overtaxed flesh had reached its limit. Even drawing breath felt like agony.
The desire to fling the log aside and simply collapse surged up, yet he crushed it with will and refused to stop moving.
At last he conquered the weight and stood fully upright.
Cheonhwa steadied his breathing and carefully set the log down. Inwol, who had been watching from the side, helped clear it away.
“Well done. And congratulations. You have completed the second level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong.”
Only then did Cheonhwa notice the change in his own body. His sweat-soaked training robes clung to him, outlining a form that was no longer a child’s. Lean and spare of excess, it was the body of a true martial artist—the fruit of every grueling session he had endured.
“You have worked hard as well, Instructor.”
“You did all the hard work.”
“Without the equipment you prepared, finishing the second level would have been impossible.”
The iron-filing pouches at his waist, the boulder-strung log on the ground—every tool used in the external training had been crafted by Inwol. Without that help, the path to completion would have taken far longer.
At Cheonhwa’s praise, Inwol offered a bright, open smile.
“And without you, Junior Brother, I never would have been able to organize the training methods this thoroughly.”
Over the past five months the two of them had systematically refined the external conditioning. They had begun with sandbags and ordinary drills, then progressed to iron-filing pouches and custom-built apparatus. They had determined which exercises at which intensities yielded the best results. Thanks to that work, they now possessed clear standards for teaching the other entry disciples.
“Of course, no one can simply copy the regimen Junior Brother Cheonhwa followed.”
“I agree. Without a Chukgi-dan, training the way I did would wreck a body.”
The rapid progress had been possible only because of the pill. Even with the pill, few could push themselves as ruthlessly as Cheonhwa had.
Looking back, it was an absurd forced march.
Inwol recalled Cheonhwa’s training. Every session the boy had driven himself past his limits. The pill’s effects were real, yet the intensity had been enough to damage the body under any normal circumstances. The custom equipment had been built precisely because the existing methods no longer satisfied him. Small wonder they called him the most relentless of the third-generation disciples.
If they trained the entry disciples at the same intensity, the children would collapse within a day. The external regimen for the others would therefore be set several steps below Cheonhwa’s own.
“That is enough for today. You have sweated heavily—eat and drink well. And above all, change your clothes before the next duty period.”
“If I don’t, the Medicine Hall Head will somehow hear of it and come running with a beating.”
“Elder Danwon’s scolding is… terrifying, yes.”
Inwol actually shivered at the imagined roar of the Medicine Hall Head. Among the great elders of the Zhongnan Sect, none was more feared than Danwon.
“I will take my leave, then.”
After exchanging farewells with Inwol, Cheonhwa headed for the dormitory to change. He drank from the water flask he had prepared and quietly reviewed the fruits of his training.
First: completion of the second level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong.
The body that had finished the second level through external work was utterly transformed. At this level he could subdue common ruffians bare-handed—and even handle a small beast like a wild dog.
The knowledge brought him quiet joy. It meant that if he ever found himself in the same desperate situation as before, he now possessed the strength to overcome it alone.
And entry into the third level.
Reaching the third level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong carried special weight. From that moment, one became eligible to learn martial arts superior to the four foundational arts of entry disciples. For that reason, attaining the third level was often called the minor achievement of the mind method.
Other gains that sprang from the progress of the body art.
In the course of completing the second level he had learned a great deal. Above all, the precision with which he could direct his body through intent had improved beyond comparison—largely because external training had allowed him to observe exactly how the intent acted upon flesh. The medical texts he had memorized at the Medicine Hall had helped enormously as well.
As the way he used his body changed, so did the force that rode upon his techniques. Waste vanished; every motion became clean. That refined power generated through the flesh was called jing, and releasing it was called balgyeong—Jin Release. The name sounded grand, yet in essence it was simply the efficient use of the body. Even the basic forms of martial arts already contained the principles of Jin Release; they simply went unnoticed because most practitioners’ force was still too weak. Jin power grew only through constant training. There was no other path.
In Cheonhwa’s case, his external work had unintentionally served as Jin training as well.
They say that once you can properly use Jin Release, your level is no different from a true named disciple’s.
Among the entry disciples, those who possessed the skill of a named disciple could be counted on one hand. That Cheonhwa had reached such a height owed much to the intent absorbed from the Sword Scar’s spiritual will. Within that intent lay knowledge and experience of many kinds; the greatest share belonged to Gyunchon Chukgi-gong and the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven. Fully comprehending the intent sealed within the formulas had transformed the quality of his training.
Thanks to that, I finally understood what Senior Uncle Jinhyun meant.
Back when Cheonhwa had only just learned of intent and the mind’s consciousness, Jinhyun had handed him a martial manual and offered advice: if he grasped the meaning contained in the formulas and the purpose of the art, he would reap excellent results. It had not meant merely to perceive the intent within the formulas. It had meant to take one step further and cultivate body and mind in accordance with that intent.
Martial arts achieved their full power only when body, true qi, and mental image locked together. Therefore, when one polished mind and body to match the art’s intent, the power of every form rose dramatically. Having grasped this principle, Cheonhwa had refined himself to suit the four foundational arts of entry. As a result, not only Gyunchon Chukgi-gong but also the Five Elements Fist and the Nine Palaces Footwork had advanced greatly.
Now that Gyunchon Chukgi-gong has reached the third level, I should begin learning the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven tomorrow.
As he considered what to train next, the vague sense that he was forgetting something returned. Before he could identify the missing memory, a girl approached.
Yeonhwa spoke.
“Let’s spar, as we promised.”
“……Ah.”
At her words the long-forgotten promise crashed back into his mind.
The promise that they would spar once he reached the third level of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong.
Cheonhwa’s expression hardened. As if to mirror the turmoil in the boy’s heart, a wind between summer and autumn shook the bushes. The promise he had completely forgotten arrived like an unexpected ambush.