Paranormal Link - 12
"Wanna give it a try, huh..."
Inevitably, like any martial artist worth his salt, I gave Blanca's body a once-over first. Her frame and bones were solid enough. Long limbs that'd serve her well for sword work. Oh, and by the way, it's best not to say that kind of stuff out loud. Everyone hates it.
I was about to ask her age when I figured it didn't matter. But curiosity got the better of me.
"How old are you?"
"...Out of nowhere? First you eye me up and down... What's that about?"
She was just plain curious, but she shielded her body and backed away a step, like she'd felt a master's gaze. This kid had some real talent.
"Can't a guy be curious?"
"...I'll be 19 after my next birthday."
"Ah, got it."
Yeah, I really shouldn't guess women's ages anywhere. I'd pegged her at late twenties, easy. It's fine if they talk young—no harm there—but guess high, and you're in for it. Glared at by every woman around. Sometimes even tears. That's like a —a killing secret art. Don't give 'em an opening.
Anyway, nineteen was pretty damn late to start martial arts. But hey... swordsmanship? Age doesn't matter for that. Swinging a blade as a hobby—ain't that romantic?
"Normally it'd be the nine bows ceremony, but I'm no formal lineage holder. More like a senior brother, so we'll skip it."
"...You say the weirdest stuff sometimes. What's a nine bows ceremony?"
"Bowing nine times. Between master and disciple."
"...Sounds like something out of an old comic. So, big bro Isan, you got a master too?"
Master. The word brought a few faces to mind. Excluding the mummy-like old hag Brain Demon who taught nothing useful with her orthodox stance. Lady Moyong, Moyong Cheol, the Alliance Leader, Abbot Gongjo, Na Hwa... Little Spirit. All folks who'd taught me a move or two.
"...All dead by my hand."
The words slipped out before I knew it.
"...!"
"Kidding."
I grinned at her wide-eyed shock and offered the hilt of the sheathed dagger.
"Draw it."
"...It's safe, right?"
"A sharpened blade that's safe? Don't worry—learn right, and you won't cut yourself."
What kind of idiot slices themselves on their own sword? Hesitating at my words, Blanca gripped the hilt.
"Escape Fate Blade Art."
"Huh?!"
Shring.
She flinched in surprise, and with a chilling ring, the dagger slid halfway out.
"The name of that beautiful art you wanted."
"It has a name?"
"The tech you're obsessed with has names too, right? Techniques get names."
"...What does it mean?"
Did a killing technique need meaning? Just an act of swinging a blade to kill—don't slap a name on it and pretend it's profound.
That's what I thought. But Lady Moyong and that bastard Cheol saw it different. And since this art was originally Cheol's...
'A blade art to escape fate. Cool, right?'
Couldn't even escape the fate of losing to me, that clown.
"Means a blade art that escapes fate."
"Fancy."
"...Yeah."
"But cool."
"..."
Shring. The short dagger came fully free.
"Got me hooked."
"Yeah, the original owner'd be thrilled."
Hey, Moyong Cheol. You watching? From some world a realm away... or maybe a dimension. Anyway, some beauty from a far-off neighbor world's praising your blade art. Be happy.
"But... what'd you mean earlier?"
"...Huh?"
"You know... that thing? No-leaving-the-whatever. That day you came up to the roof saying you were exercising."
"..."
Did I say that out loud? I'd thought it, but guess it slipped.
"No outsiders. Means don't take it outside the gate."
I pondered how to explain, then spoke up. This wasn't the martial world anyway—no big deal.
"Outsiders watching training's taboo. They might steal the art. So, only pass it to those inside the gate."
"Inside the gate?"
"Like... family, or same sect folks... something like that?"
"..."
Her face flushed red, like you could hear the kaaa of steam.
"H-Here!"
"Hey!"
Her full-power thrust nearly skewered me. You don't kill your master! That's filial impiety!
Chaeng!
I snatched the trembling dagger from her shaky hands and sheathed it quick. Blanca bolted through the rooftop door.
...Misunderstanding, huh. If she really wants to learn, she'll come back tomorrow or the next day. I can clear it up then.
Alone on the now-quiet rooftop, I drew the dagger again.
...No plans to build a martial sect or school here. But teaching brings insights, they say. No reason not to try. Getting stronger, advancing realms... I'll need it someday. Building steady when you can ain't bad.
No formal stance. Arms hang natural. Loose grip on the blade.
"Didn't hear me?"
I turned.
"No outsiders."
I called out to the presence I'd sensed in the corner since midway through the talk. Faint, almost ghostly aura. But piercing clear through it—a sharp, stabbing energy spreading around. A woman.
"Hello."
Clean face, oddly pristine against her ragged clothes. She greeted me standing there.
"Can't say hi today. About to train. Head down?"
"You let Blanca watch without a word."
"Told her. No outsiders."
"Tell me if I wanna learn?"
I shook my head at her smiling question. Among the martial world's many taboos, no outsiders wasn't a big deal to me. If it was, I wouldn't have let her watch my training.
Honestly, I don't see myself as righteous sect or orthodox cultivator. To me, a sword's a sword, a favor's a favor, a grudge is a grudge. Nothing more.
That's demonic path thinking, and I know it. But even I agree with one righteous banner: . Talent doesn't trump virtue; don't teach the inhuman.
In that dog-eat-dog martial world, rolling like a dog, I always thought: Give power to inhumane trash—not even worth the word—and blood flows. That blood pools into a blood calamity.
"Ever hear of don't teach the inhuman?"
"...First time."
"Don't pass arts to the inhuman."
"..."
Smooth as a painting, the smile faded from her face.
Silence fell.
"What’s that mean?"
Her lips parted slow. Her faint presence sharpened, that stabbing energy zeroing in on me.
"That I'm not human?"
Glass-bead eyes stared straight.
"Nah. Judge character before teaching. What folks call humanity."
"...Humanity."
A smile—not factory-fresh, but bitter at the edges—touched her lips. Then back to painted-on perfection.
"Blade in inhuman hands brings bloodwinds."
I stared right back.
"...Like you?"
Her sculpted, humanless face asked.
"Like me."
We stared, and smiled.
"So... you think you're qualified?"
"Least I won't look for it in others."
She shut her mouth at my answer. So I did too.
We gazed in silence. She smiled; my reflection in her eyes didn't.
Felt like a mirror. And mirrors always move opposite.
Silence broke. Her lips moved.
"Guess I'm in the way. Better go."
I hadn't answered, but she kept on.
"Train hard."
Door shut. Finally alone.
...Thought it'd turn to blades. Hell if I know her game. Why she's here, what she wants... who she wants dead.
Like a slaughter ghost stirring calamity, but a different flavor of unstable. That the psychotic they talk about?
"Long way to go... so far..."
Sighing at my still-skinny arms and crappy tripod legs, I muttered.
Then, I began the Escape Fate Blade Art again.
Slower. Near-stopped.
Under the pollution-gray sky, distant city lights hazy in faint moonlight, the art to escape fate—who knew its meaning—continued.