The Results of Closed-Door Cultivation
Three days had passed since the physicians were brought in from the Kim Clan of Sacheon. They must have worked hard without slacking off, because many of the sick had shown clear improvement over those three days.
"I think it's about time I headed out."
Haahm. As I stretched and said it, Seonhwa, standing beside me, looked flustered.
"Already? Wouldn't it be better to stay and keep watch a little longer? There are still so many who are sick."
"That's true, but we can't just sit around waiting for every last one of them to recover. We've done what we came to do."
Worried the physicians might bolt the moment I left, I had already pressed coins into their hands. There was no reason for me to linger here any longer.
"But....."
Seonhwa grabbed my sleeve and looked up at me, gripping tight. What's gotten into her all of a sudden? Don't tell me she hates the idea of parting with me. I thought we'd settled all this before—apparently she still isn't over it.
"Is it because you don't want to leave me?"
"......"
Sigh. Guilty as charged.
"You know I don't have a choice. But I'll come visit often. I promise."
"......"
Not a word. It felt like we'd been thrown back four years, to when she was just as silent as this.
"Anyway. It's already decided, so pouting won't change anything, will it?"
".....No, Young Master."
Her face made it plain she wasn't convinced in the slightest, but there was nothing to be done about it. As long as I couldn't bring her into the clan, I had no choice but to send her home.
Having coaxed and soothed Seonhwa into grudging acceptance, I shouldered my pack and made for the village entrance, where Ansong was already waiting.
"Is everything ready, Young Lord?"
"More or less?"
He glanced at Seonhwa, who was still clinging to my sleeve, and smiled.
"I suspect you'll be the first and last person anyone ever follows around like this, Young Lord."
What the hell is this guy going on about all of a sudden?
I was shaking my head at him and had just taken my first steps when it happened.
"Thank you!"
"Young Master! We will never forget this kindness!"
"Next time you visit, I'll treat you to a full ten-course table!"
It was the same scene I'd witnessed when leaving Seonhwa's village. In my previous life I'd never been treated like this, so I still couldn't help feeling a little awkward about it.
Still, it seemed rude not to acknowledge them, so I gave a vague wave of my hand.
I don't know if I'll ever come back here. But if I do, I hope the village will be full of smiling faces when I arrive.
"It was hard work, but seeing how much they adore you makes it all worthwhile."
Ansong said this while rubbing the bags under his eyes. Fair enough—the man hadn't slept properly for the first two days after we arrived. I'd let him sleep off an entire day yesterday, but he was probably still running on fumes.
"Good work."
Feeling genuinely grateful, I offered him a word of thanks, and Ansong pinched his own cheek with a dazed look, as if checking whether he was dreaming.
"Is something the matter, sir?"
"Like what?"
"Normally you'd snap something like, 'Two sleepless nights and you're whining? And you call yourself a Peak Realm master?'"
This little bastard.
How did he know that?
I'd been about to say exactly that, then felt a little guilty and changed my words.
I really do need to watch my mouth around Ansong from now on. Keep this up and the rumors will spread.
How long had we been walking? Before long, Ansong stopped in his tracks and said we'd soon have to climb into the mountains, where there were no proper roads.
"What's wrong?"
"Isn't that a person over there?"
Following his words, I sharpened my sight, and there it was—a lone figure standing squarely in the middle of the road. Even from a distance, it was clear the man was unusually tall.
"Not a bandit, then. A peddler?"
"Probably, sir."
"Perfect timing, actually. I could use something sweet."
"Come to think of it, you always loved yugwa pastries as a child, Young Lord. Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through, sneaking out to buy them for you—"
Mmph! Mmph!
A mouth that spouts useless nonsense has no place on a bodyguard.
Clamping my hand over Ansong's mouth, I sent a whisper of qi straight into his ear.
'You're due for a refresher course in discipline, I think.'
'What did I even do to deserve this?!'
Ansong shot back his own whispered transmission, brimming with indignation.
'Not knowing when to shut up is your fault, isn't it?'
Just as Ansong and I were trading barbs—
'Killing intent!'
The moment I sensed it, I dropped into a combat stance. Ansong's hand found his sword hilt almost in the same breath.
"Young Lord. The peddler we saw just moments ago."
"An assassin?"
"Yes. It appears so....."
Somewhere along the way, the peddler had vanished from sight. And yet the killing intent in the air was thickening around us. Anyone could see the peddler was our man.
"Protect Seonhwa first. However much training she's had, the aura I'm feeling is at least Peak Realm or above. If a fight breaks out, she'll get caught in it."
"You're not in good shape yourself, sir. Let me hold him off—you guard her."
"What? But—"
"Consider it a field test of the clan's techniques. No need to make a fuss."
Shreng!
Handing Seonhwa off to Ansong, I was the first to draw my blade. The instant the sword left its sheath, the killing intent that had spread wide across the area contracted and focused entirely on me.
"Mujin! I can fight too!"
Seonhwa cried out, gripping her sword. She clearly wanted to be of help, and against common bandits I might have let her—but this was a different league entirely.
"Ansong!"
"....Yes, sir."
Ansong drew Seonhwa back, and with that, the killing intent sharpened until it was unmistakable. The prelude to an attack.
Shuaak!
Sure enough, a hidden blade came flying in from my left in the blink of an eye. Having anticipated it, I swept my sword out the moment it entered range and batted the projectile away.
Tiing!
Sasak!
At the same instant, something burst out of the undergrowth—the assassin I'd mistaken for a peddler.
Teeong!
My blade met the assassin's in a resounding clash of steel.
The struggle locked us into a contest of raw strength, so I drove even more of my internal energy into the blade. Feeling the surge, the assassin seemed rattled—he broke contact and retreated.
He'd realized I stood at the Peak Realm, it seemed.
And so we settled into a brief standoff. I made no move to speak to him.
'Who sent you?' 'What are you?' None of it. Those questions were all pointless. He wouldn't answer anyway, and I had no reason to drag things out.
A single look at his appearance and bearing told me everything I needed to know.
Tall frame, bulging muscles. A broad saber for a weapon. Face wrapped in cloth. Black martial garb.
It was the textbook image of an assassin.
Except for a few things.
Most assassins tend to be short. Their whole profession is hiding who they are, and height makes them conspicuously easy to spot, so employers generally shy away from hiring big men. And those bulging muscles, paired with a broad saber? Equally strange.
Assassins, as a rule, avoid heavy musculature—it slows them down. By the same logic, a broad saber is too bulky to be quick, and above all, it's a nightmare to carry around concealed.
Put it all together, and the conclusion was clear: this man was not a professional assassin. And yet his skill was Peak Realm?
Which meant, first of all, that Choe Chunghon probably hadn't hired him. If it were Choe Chunghon, he'd have sent professionals.
Just as I struck Choe Chunghon's name from my mental list, the assassin, having recovered, came at me again.
Whatever the case. All I need to do is test the clan's techniques.
With that thought, I received the assassin's blade head-on. And the sword passed clean through my body.
Swiii.
"!!!"
As the blade swept through where I'd stood, it carved away nothing but my afterimage.
Defying the Archer Bow.
The very first clan technique I had ever learned—and in my personal opinion, the hardest of them all to master.
While the assassin's attention was still snagged by the phantom, I leapt clean over his head.
"Damn—!"
The assassin groaned, realizing too late what had happened, but my descending strike was already upon him. The moment my blade came down, the ground around him caved in, as if some invisible weight were pressing down on that patch of earth alone.
KU-GUNG!
"Kuheoak!"
Great King's Heavy Pressure Sword—one of the Wang Clan's inherited techniques.
A sword art that spreads qi wide through the surrounding air and then drives it downward with the blade. Simple in principle, yet impossible to learn without mastery of qi manipulation and staggering physical strength.
Dropping to one knee, the assassin rolled clear of the technique's reach.
"Heok... huk....."
Now that he'd escaped, there was no reason to sustain the Great King's Crushing Sword, so I recalled my qi. The instant my stance settled, I charged.
After a strike like that, his condition had to be a mess. This was the moment to press him.
CHAENG!
Our blades collided again. The assassin was clearly struggling, barely able to put any force behind his strikes.
How many exchanges had there been? Then the assassin began steadying his breathing, and his sword turned fierce once more.
Well, well. He really is a Peak Realm master.
To take that blow square and still have strength left over.
Chae-chaeng! Chaeang!
Once the assassin fully recovered his rhythm, the exchanges reached a perfect stalemate. That wasn't the outcome I wanted, so I answered immediately with the Infinite Revolving Advancing Sword.
The Limitless Reversing Sword was a blade art built on the subtle principles of dual polarity. I spun the internal energy stored in my dantian into a spiral and flooded it through my whole body, then pushed that rotating qi into the very core of the blade and held it there.
Chang! SHWAK!
The instant my sword touched the assassin's, a blade of qi raked across his shoulder.
"Kkh...!"
The assassin let out a short grunt and swung again. And the same thing happened all over again.
With every clash of steel, fresh wounds opened across the assassin's body—while I felt nothing but ordinary fatigue, no real threat at all. The reverse-feedback of the technique never triggering was proof enough of that.
"What in the hell kind of sword art IS this?!"
He must be going mad with frustration. If I were in his shoes, I'd have thrown a tantrum too. Merely touching blades sent sword-qi swarming over his body—by my own assessment, it was an utterly absurd technique.
Finally, the assassin broke off and leapt far back.
"Heok... heok... khk! I never imagined you'd be this strong....."
"What? Not what you were told?"
When I finally spoke for the first time, the assassin glared at me with bloodshot eyes.
"Shall we have a staring contest, then?"
"Bastard!"
Losing ground to someone who had only just come of age must have wounded his pride terribly.
"Try blocking this one."
Swaaaaa.
What was with the empty posturing? Then I saw it—qi began gathering around the assassin's broad saber. Sword-force. A geomgang.
So, sword-force, is it? Before I came to Dansewon, that alone would have terrified me. Now it stirred nothing in me at all. If anything, my heart raced at the thought of shattering it head-on.
What would happen if I took this qi, dyed it a deep azure with Ho'yong Singdan, and condensed it into sword-force of my own?
Starting now, I intended to show that assassin exactly what that looked like.