Paranormal Link-11
I quickly slipped out of the bustling streets, then changed course straight for Blanca's secret base in Iron Valley. Naturally, there were no pursuers. After all, what chance did a few greenhorns have against someone like me—who'd survived heavenly nets of pursuit, all sorts of flawless formations, thousand-mile tracking hounds, and assassination squads, and even carried the title of Public Enemy of the Martial World?
I entered the half-finished building, set my gear down near the entrance, and waited for a good dozen minutes or so. Then I heard footsteps, and Blanca appeared.
"Hah… huff…"
She must've run here lugging her own load, because she came right up to me gasping for breath, dropped her stuff on the ground like it was trash, and plopped down on her haunches. The sun had set while I waited, and in the dim moonlight, her sweat-slicked, flushed skin glowed with a seductive sheen.
"You need more exercise."
"Huff… what the hell were you thinking?!" Blanca yelled at me without even catching her breath.
"Thinking about what?"
"That asshole from earlier! That guy's fa—"
Here, she glanced at me cautiously before continuing.
…Why's she checking my reaction?
"…He's a rookie, sure, but his dad's got some pull."
"What, is he a corporate heir or something?"
"Not that, but… his dad's an executive at a corp."
"Oh…"
That could be a pain in the ass, for sure. Back in the day, the martial world was full of all sorts of grudges and ties, but the most exhausting ones were those tangled up with factions. You know, clans, the Nine Great Gates, alliances, leagues, bands of brothers—big groups like that. Unlike personal beefs, messing with someone from a faction didn't end with just taking out the guy himself.
Beat one down, and next come his brothers, fellow disciples, sworn bros. Then cousins, martial uncles, superiors… and before you know it, folks from allied factions show up, and eventually the whole damn clan, sect, or league piles on.
So when you tangle with those types, you either hide your identity or make damn sure there are no loose ends—kill and silence, as they say. Dead men tell no tales.
"…Your face looks so fierce. You aren't thinking something weird, are you?"
"Not at all?"
If I wanted to settle it peacefully, I'd just put the bastard in some humiliating spot where he couldn't even open his mouth. I licked my dry lips with my tongue while pondering that peaceful option, and Blanca's suspicious glare softened a bit.
"Anyway, I get what you're worried about. But those guys don't even know who I am, right? They probably didn't even realize I was with you… Why are your eyes so wide?"
I couldn't help asking because she was scanning me up and down with this pitiful look.
"You think they can't find someone that distinctive…?"
…Is that so?
I'd covered my face with the gear, so they couldn't have seen it. And they even asked if I knew her?
Was I being too casual, or was she overthinking it?
"Well, maybe I dragged you into it for nothing…"
"Don't worry too much. At least it felt good, didn't it?"
I tossed a half-joking line to reassure her as her face darkened further.
"…Is that what matters right now?"
"But it did feel good, yeah?"
"……"
Blanca clamped her mouth shut at my words, then muttered faintly, "…A little."
I didn't know the full story, but it seemed like the guy had done something to her back in school. Probably why she'd dropped out, too.
For the record, I don't tolerate school bullying or class discrimination. There were no schools or classes in the martial world. At least not for me. So anyone who pulled that crap in front of me, whining about status while texting… well…
“……”
Seeing me go quiet made Blanca's face darken again, so I shook off the thought and spoke up.
"That's all that matters. Listening to you, that prick sounds like bad luck anyway. Must've been real bad if even you wanted to hit him."
As I flexed my three-legged grip, she let out a snort of hollow laughter and turned her head slightly.
"Anyway, if that guy comes looking for me, don't sweat it. I won't say shit about knowing you unless there's a blade at my throat."
"…So you're saying you will talk if there's a blade at your throat?"
She asked in a dumbfounded tone, so I replied confidently, "Nah, no one's putting a blade to my throat."
///
I said it all confident-like, but truth be told, I hadn't even hit Peak yet. Hell, I hadn't reclaimed even a fraction of my past life's prowess, let alone proper sword aura.
For reference, sword aura here means both sword techniques and the energy drawn from the blade.
I'd gotten a lead on speeding up my energy circulation with that trick from Papa, but my internal energy hadn't grown much beyond what I'd gathered in Wells Town. It wasn't like I was worried about causing blackouts by sucking in ambient electricity to build thunder energy.
Well, that was a concern too, but the real reason my internal energy wasn't growing was a prerequisite issue.
That's why I'd deliberately stopped accumulating more.
Don't birds fly high by not going too far? …Or was it the opposite?
Either way, the point is: to reach higher realms, you need proper preparation. And that prep ties into the three essentials of martial arts.
In those days, the martial world called them jing, qi, shen—essence, energy, spirit—but strictly speaking, that's a Daoist classification. Not wrong, just aimed at a different goal. I'm not trying to become an immortal, so from my view, it's heart, qi, body.
Heart, qi, body. Heart is the mind—spirit and enlightenment. Qi is the internal energy built through circulation, my neigong. Body is the vessel for heart and qi, including the techniques etched into it.
Those are the three pillars of martial arts. To ascend to higher realms, they must harmonize perfectly—no shortages, no excesses. True balance is the longest path that's also the shortest shortcut. The surest way to go farthest and highest.
You can force a breakthrough by excelling in one and dragging the others along, but you'll hit a wall at the extreme. By then, you've skipped the insights needed, and overcoming it takes too much time and effort. At that point, your human lifespan won't cut it, so people fall into heart demons, demonic arts, or evil sorcery.
I talk like I know it all, but I was one of those who hit that wall. All this? Straight from the Thunder Demon old codger… no, the Thunderclap Sword Sovereign. And it's what I painfully realized only after facing the wall myself—something I couldn't understand or empathize with back then.
Too late by then, but even an idiot learns from death… I wasn't one crane among chickens, but maybe one among five. Dying got me something.
The final wall from my past life—the one I couldn't cross. This time, I'll fill the gaps beforehand and climb over. Even if slower, it's the fastest, highest path.
Long-winded, but summary: this body's too shitty. So even with enlightenment ready, I'm slowing my energy accumulation to let my body catch up.
Summary done!
"…Double… the… amount… done…"
I finished the last move, sweating buckets. I shook out my skinny arms—which barely gained any muscle despite all this outer training—and picked up the short sword I'd set aside.
Outer training done; next, sword practice.
…My modded Escape Fate Sword had way too much killing intent, like I'd mentioned once. Practicing swordplay these past few days drove it home: my techniques were all lopsided. Pure power, dominance, speed—rushing, overwhelming styles.
Even if extremes meet at the top, you need some understanding first, right?
So this life, I'll cover what past-me neglected.
…Half a gamble, but Papa's back-alley acupuncture made my energy control more efficient. Something I never tried before.
That's the gist of what I've been mulling over during training. So from today, no more Thunderclap Sword Sovereign's Escape Fate Sword Art. Time for Moyong Cheol's Escape Fate Blade Art.
Instead of slashing, cutting, smashing enemies in a whirlwind… make it flow soft and return like water.
The blade art I'd seen hundreds—maybe thousands—of times was etched perfectly in my mind. I have the forms; now fill them with intent.
A sword art utterly different from day one unfolded.
Slow at first, savoring each move. Recall the sequence forward, then rewind reverse.
Back at the starting stance, unlike day one, I unfolded the blade art again, slow and deliberate.
The more I did, the slower it got. Forms perfect, yet somehow more elusive. So I slowed further, chewing it over, digesting, dissecting.
When it all blurred into nothingness and the blade stopped—
A gasp slipped out before clapping: "Whoa…"
Blanca stood there, mouth agape, hand half-raised awkwardly. Looked like she'd meant to clap but forgot.
"Something…"
She'd sneak up to watch sometimes after peeking on day one, all curious. But today, she seemed more shocked than ever. No—moved.
"Hm, impressive."
"…So I wasn't impressive before?"
I sheathed the blade in one motion and asked; she flailed her arms in panic.
"No, no! That's not it… um… hard to put into words… It felt more…"
"More than usual?"
"Beautif— no, not that."
…Beautiful works too. Why not?
She shook her head like it horrified her, pondered, then said, "Cool."
"……."
Ah, so that's why that Moyong Cheol bastard was popular with the ladies. Blade art that tugs at girls' hearts. Too late to uncover martial world's dirty secrets. Should expose him—womanizing scum with his swordplay.
"…Anyway, it felt different from usual."
She was still dazed, admiring, while I grumbled inwardly.
…Maybe skip training this? Felt like his stock was rising, not mine. Pissed me off.
"Usual swordplay was kinda scary. Like it'd slice you even without touching."
"……."
"It was cool to watch normally, but this…"
She added with a hum, "Makes me wanna try it too."