The Sturdy Pen

Go Hyeon-woo sat rooted in place, legs folded in the full lotus position and eyes closed, without so much as a twitch of movement. Waves of qi rippled around him, stirring up a faint breeze, and the mana-dense air of the Special Meditation Room surged and swelled like a rolling tide.

How long had passed? By the time the pulsing of his qi had quieted and the breeze, gently ordered once more, had settled into stillness, Go Hyeon-woo slowly opened his eyes.

'It's morning.'

So began Go Hyeon-woo's day: waking in the Special Meditation Room after a whole night spent circulating his qi through measured breathing. A fistful of Inedia Pills emptied into his mouth, a protein shake downed in one shot, and his footsteps carried him off to the classroom.

Cultivating knowledge mattered every bit as much as cultivating ability, and so Go Hyeon-woo never skipped a lecture, attending each one without fail. Learning about monsters and dungeons, skills and traits, the countless varieties of items—every hour of it struck him as priceless.

When classes let out, he trained under the guidance of his mentor, a senior master of the craft, and worked through the practical evaluations assigned to him. By that point, a good half of the day was already behind him. And yet it was still too early for rest.

In the cracks between it all, he sparred with Han So-mi, wooden swords swinging. She still seemed none too keen on the arrangement, but once a bout began she never once went through the motions—she took it seriously from start to finish. When their blades had crossed their fill, Go Hyeon-woo would smile and say,

"Miss Han, my thanks for your hard work again today. Until next time, then."

"Hmph! The second the sweets run out, I'm not sparring with you anymore."

And off she would flounce with an indignant snort. Though by Kim Ho's account, he had handed over those sweets in genuinely extravagant amounts—a whole armful's worth—so Go Hyeon-woo suspected the supply was a long way from running dry.

Next, he would sit down alone in some quiet spot and sink into meditation. Classes, mentoring, conquest battles, sparring—a time to chew over and put in order everything he had learned and experienced that day.

The moment he judged things sufficiently sorted and opened his eyes, the Bodhidharma Statue set down right in front of him would enter his field of view. A statue carved by some nameless master craftsman; Kim Ho had obtained it in the Black Snake Gang and, in a display of rare magnanimity, lent it to him. Even a brief once-over of it back then had granted him an insight—enough to see him through White Snake's trial of three techniques. Given time to observe it properly, he might well gain more than that.

"……"

Go Hyeon-woo stared dead into the statue's smiling face. One day would end with nothing gained and the hours simply wasted; on another, he would catch the barest glimpse of the outermost fringe of the martial principles hidden within it; and on yet another, the insights came so plentifully that, swept up in the thrill of it, he leapt to his feet on the spot and whirled into a flourishing sword dance.

By the time he came back to himself from a long staring contest with the statue, night had deepened and the world outside had gone black. From then on, he would settle into the very center of the Special Meditation Room and give himself over to qi circulation once more—until morning broke all over again.

Training, and then more training, without end. It was a punishing march that could have driven even the hero-dreaming students of Dragon Slayer Academy to throw in the towel. And yet, for Go Hyeon-woo, these days were the most joyful of his life. When had he ever felt so unmistakably, day upon day, that he was growing stronger? The phrase "leaps and bounds" might have been invented precisely for this. If days like these went on unbroken, he could bear the aches of training with a smile for the rest of his life.

'I must remember to thank Brother Kim.'

And in proportion to his delight at growing so fast, so too did his gratitude toward Kim Ho—the man who had laid the very foundation of that growth—deepen still further. Looking back, there was not a single thing on the list that hadn't come by way of his help: the Season Pass for the Special Meditation Rooms, the Sturdy Clip, the Shamanic Sword, the mentoring, the Bodhidharma Statue, the sparring with Han So-mi……

Kim Ho had called it all "fair payment"—the price of entering dungeons with a comrade he could trust at his back, someone who would fight for him with his life on the line. But Go Hyeon-woo could not accept that accounting. Lending a hand when a friend was in need was only right and natural, and a true martial artist ought to be glad to stake his life on a clash against the strong. What was owed to him was no payment at all—rather, it was Kim Ho who deserved the thanks for opening up the opportunity in the first place. Strip away all those obvious things, and what exactly had he ever done for Kim Ho? Try as he might, it always felt as though he took more than he gave.

'This is a debt I will be repaying for a long, long time.'

Go Hyeon-woo renewed the resolve in his heart. For a disciple of the Cheonpung Sect never forgets—neither kindness nor grudge.

"Here, take this."

Go Hyeon-woo caught the object Kim Ho abruptly thrust toward him, pure reflex. Only after accepting it did he get a look: a small, slender box, no bigger than his palm.

"What might this be?"

"Yours."

Kim Ho replied as though it were nothing, tipping his chin at the box as if to say, hurry up and open it. Half wondering what the man was handing over this time, half curious in spite of himself, Go Hyeon-woo lifted the lid. Inside lay a single pen, unmistakably high-class at first glance—a capped design, its whole body steeped in a subdued black luster.

"Hoh."

Go Hyeon-woo was a martial artist to the bone, hardly the sort to set store by stationery—and yet at the sight of this pen, a small gasp of admiration slipped out of him before he could stop it. One look was enough to tell it was no ordinary article. As he stood gazing blankly at it, a single fact suddenly dawned on him. The overall blackness had made him take it for some other metal entirely, but—

"This is Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron, is it not?"

The [Hall Master's Treasure Chest], wrested from the Black Snake Gang only after every hardship it could muster—and the Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron pulled from it, with Seo Ye-in's staggering luck added on top. This pen had been crafted from precisely that material.

Kim Ho gave a nod, then produced a short baton carrying the same muted ink-black sheen. It appeared to be his newly built weapon.

"There was a bit of material left over after I made this one. Seemed a shame to let it go to waste, so I put in a private commission with the blacksmith ajusshi—ahem, with a senior craftsman."

"Hmhm……"

His tone was offhand as ever, but Go Hyeon-woo knew it could not have been nearly that simple. Master craftsmen were not men with hours to spare; a few polite words were never going to coax extra work out of them. Some manner of bargain had almost certainly changed hands. And unbelievably, even that was not the end of it.

Kim Ho pointed at the clip fastened to the front of Go Hyeon-woo's uniform—

—and then pointed at the pen in his hand.

"Take that and that, and put them together."

"……?"

Puzzled, Go Hyeon-woo examined the pen closely, and sure enough, an exquisitely machined groove, tiny as could be, had been cut into the cap. As if in a trance, he fitted the clip into place—and it seated itself perfectly, as though the two had been made for each ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠other from the very beginning. Had merging the two items been the design all along? Marveling at Kim Ho's handiwork, Go Hyeon-woo called up the item description—and gasped a second time, quite against his will.

"Such incredible……!"

With Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron as the material, some of this had been foreseeable from the start. Even so—it was A-rank, of all things. It was the highest-graded item Go Hyeon-woo had laid eyes on since coming down from the mountain.

The Sturdy Clip's "Weapon Durability Protection" had certainly seemed to help, though he had never felt the effect all that keenly; he had only vaguely suspected it worked hand in hand with the Feathered Snake Shamanic Sword's already formidable durability. But now that "Weapon Durability Protection" had become "Weapon Damage Protection (C)"—a protection with an actual rank attached—C being by no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠means a low grade, he doubted he would ever again see his Shamanic Sword shatter, no matter how ferociously he chained his techniques together.

And besides—a pen it might be, but a pen forged of Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron. Considering the metal's hardness, it was more than sufficient to crack a man's skull open; it would serve admirably as a sidearm. But the item's performance was one thing. For Go Hyeon-woo, whose sense of indebtedness toward Kim Ho had been quietly piling up, the Sturdy Pen was not a gift he could greet with unalloyed delight. He wore a wry smile.

"You have my gratitude always, Brother Kim. And yet, to keep receiving like this... it sits ill at ease with me."

Kim Ho's brow creased, as if he found the objection genuinely baffling.

"'Keep receiving'? How do you figure that math? We went into the Black Snake Gang together—your share of it ought to come back to you."

"It does not. The Bodhidharma Statue alone was more than enough for my share."

"I lent you that for a little while—how is it 'more than enough'?"

"Lent, yes. But what you truly gave me, Brother Kim, was the chance to gain enlightenment. It was worth staking my life, and then some."

"Hm. If you say so."

Seeing not the slightest sign of Go Hyeon-woo bending, Kim Ho hummed in thought for a moment—and then the corners of his mouth drew up, as though he had arrived at a very simple answer.

"Then just think of it as an advance payment."

Advance payment—the idea being that from whatever they claimed next, Go Hyeon-woo's share was to be considered settled in pen. Whatever that something was, nine times out of ten it would be dungeon loot. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Which was to say: they would be going down into a dungeon before long.

"Now that is welcome news indeed. We are going below, then?"

"Yep. There's something I need to go pick up."

"Gladly. If you have need of my sword, you need only say the word."

"Yeah?"

Kim Ho flashed a grin at him.

"Then tonight."

Late that night, Go Hyeon-woo and Kim Ho set their feet toward the Dungeon Hall. Shin Byung-cheol was already waiting at the appointed place. He idled through his days with unrivaled slackness, but a commission he would carry out to the letter. Almost in the same instant that Shin Byung-cheol sensed their approach and looked over, Go Hyeon-woo offered his greeting.

"Brother Shin."

"Aigoo, my valued customers! And how was dinner this evening, hmm? There we are—take these, please!"

Rubbing his palms together, Shin Byung-cheol put on his best sales-floor smile, then handed each of them an [Anonymous Badge] and a second-year's tie pin. The recognition-scrambling magic in the badges would keep any seniors they happened to cross from looking twice.

Kim Ho pinned the badge to his uniform and asked,

"You're not about to walk us straight past the seniors three times in a row again, are you?"

"Aish, of course not! Who do you take your senior for? I'll take you down so smooth you won't so much as brush past a single rat! At your service!"

"Didn't you say something awfully like that last time?"

"Aiish, this time it's for real! Just try trusting me once!"

So grandly declaring, Shin Byung-cheol took point, gesturing for them to follow. Guided along by him, the party trod down the spiral staircase, veering now and then into a different passage, sinking deeper and deeper underground.

Walking along behind that thinning, patchwork crew cut, Go Hyeon-woo broke the silence.

"Your guiding has grown genuinely deft, Brother Shin. You are a different man from before, in more ways than one."

The first time Shin Byung-cheol had led them down to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the underground floors, he had stopped every so often to agonize over whether to choose the right-hand passage or descend the left-hand staircase—the whole business had given off a distinctly lost air. Now there was barely a trace of hesitation, and his pace downward was quick enough to be called a light jog. The praise went straight to his head.

"You think I haven't been ferrying a team or two down here every day lately? At this point I'm basically a veteran, no?"

"Hah hah hah."

The one lingering regret was that this time, too, they remained humble pedestrians. They were neither blessed with Dang Gyu-young's uncanny stealth skill nor with Chae Da-bin's knack for knocking magic-engineering equipment offline, so the elevators were out of the question. Cheap is cheap for a reason, as the saying goes: hire a first-year guide, and the quality was bound to slip. As it happened, though, both Kim Ho and Go Hyeon-woo were the sort to shrug off such trifling inconveniences so long as they could get into a dungeon at all—and so they simply trudged on down, step after step.

And then, at last—Floor D. The moment they arrived at their destination, a portal greeted them, its maw yawning open in sinister invitation.