Paranormal Link
That old martial arts tale about the master who tried to handle his business with samadhi divine transformation and ended up shitting himself to death? I mentioned that one just before. But do you know about the martial artist who tried replacing sleep and rest with meditative breathing and fell into deviation madness?
Unless it's some extreme demonic art, most martial techniques follow the natural way. Even the bloodthirsty, battle-hardened techniques of the unorthodox sects or the formalized imperial palace arts—though I've never actually seen anyone using those. ...Why haven't I seen anyone using imperial palace arts, you ask? If I had, I wouldn't be just a public enemy of the martial world; I'd be a traitor to the entire Central Plains.
Ninety-nine percent of the techniques I've seen belonged to guys I killed or people who died because of me. For the record, the remaining one percent is my own unique style.
Anyway, point is, I was exhausted to the point of death.
Meditative breathing does recover fatigue, sure, but it can't fully substitute for sleep. No wonder the way underlings kill masters is by relentless pursuit and ambushes, denying them any rest until they slip up.
Hoo... I let out a long breath and ended the session.
Knock knock.
Almost simultaneously, a knock echoed at the door. Not that the timing was perfect—it was just that I'd stopped meditating when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
My inner energy was about half recovered. Enough that I wouldn't drop dead in one hit, leaving me a chance to counterattack. That was plenty.
...Another bad martial artist's habit.
I caught myself thinking that and gave a wry smile as I opened the door. Just as I'd sensed from the faint presence, there she was—the woman in question.
"If you called 'cause you're lonely, hard pass."
I threw that jab, referencing that one night when she'd leaked killing intent while seducing me, but she didn't react much. Just stared at me with that faint, mask-like smile.
"Let's head to the rooftop. You said you're off today, so it should be empty."
Without waiting for my reply, she turned and walked off.
I recalled the message she'd suddenly sent me on my way home and followed without a word.
Up the stairs in silence, through the door in silence, onto the rooftop in silence, then silently gazing at the rundown wasteland that barely qualified as a night view.
"......"
"......"
Where'd the person who said she had something to say go? Standing awkwardly next to her as she stared at the depressing "nightscape" with a gloomy air was getting embarrassing.
"Is the child of a killer a killer?"
After a long wait, she finally spoke. Her dry tone made it hard to tell if it was a question, a lament, or just mumbling to herself.
"......"
"......"
Confused, I kept my mouth shut, and she turned to stare at me intently. That's when I realized it was a question.
"Can't say who, but..."
Most times I start like this, it's about Yung-Cheol.
"There was this guy whose mom was a famous unorthodox master. Like most unorthodox leaders, she was an exceptional killer."
I paused, expecting her to ask what "unorthodox" meant, but she just stayed quiet, as if urging me to continue.
...This is no fun to talk about.
I grumbled inwardly and kept going.
"True to form, she didn't give a damn about her kid or her husband. Hell, it seems the husband wasn't exactly thrilled about the relationship either."
I skipped the part about him being some sect heir who got caught in misfortune. Unnecessary, and not the kind of tragedy you blab about.
"The kid grew up getting beaten by his mom. They say his dad tried to stop it and got beaten to death for his trouble."
"......"
She looked so damn gloomy with her lips pressed tight that I tried livening things up with some energy.
"Alright~ Here's the question! What do you think that kid grew up to be~?"
"......"
"...You can make that face too, huh? Fine, quit staring like that."
I wasn't sure how close her expression was to a real one, but the way she looked at me oddly resembled Blanca. Or maybe it didn't. To me, harboring suspicions, it just felt that way.
"He became an outstanding hero."
I continued to her silently staring, waiting for more.
"Outstanding enough to survive my blade a few times."
Though he ultimately got tangled in some bizarre twist of fate and lost his life. I didn't add that—it wasn't important here.
"Does the child of a lunatic suffer from madness?"
Her next question was clearer.
She wasn't expecting some profound truth. I'm just a swordsman; what I hone is a twisted study of compressing the world's principles onto an unproductive blade tip. I have no grasp on truth, and she knew that. What I say is just my experience, my cases.
"There was this really nasty woman."
Unfortunately, not Yung-Cheol this time.
"A real bitch. Her dad was obsessed with his ancestor's ghost, and her brother? Hands down the craziest bastard I've ever seen. Definitely not a wholesome family."
"......"
"But she didn't go mad. Evil woman, sure, but not insane."
She kept staring at my face. Not sure why she looked at me like that, I shut my mouth for a beat, then opened it again.
"Point is, you never know. It seems likely, but it's not guaranteed."
The countless unorthodox leaders and demonic cult fiends. Ronin who betrayed as easily as breathing. Stubborn sects and clans that crumbled from within faster than anyone. With them, if the head's rotten, the rest follows.
But there were unorthodox warriors who kept their honor, demonic cultists who turned on their own, ronin who staked their lives at the end. Heroes who rose from fallen sects and clans.
Strangely, humans are seventy percent water, yet unlike water, they don't always rot predictably.
"Not absolute, anyway. That's how it goes."
"...Looks like another long night. What do you say?"
She suddenly smiled and said it. No idea why that came up after our talk.
"We can't have that."
I rejected her temptation, same as always.
"And more importantly, Blanca banned that kinda thing in here."
"Oh? Too bad. You seem like you'd actually be warm."
With a hazy smile, she crossed the rooftop to the edge. Leaning on the waist-high parapet with her arms crossed, she gazed at the city.
"Long ago, I had a daughter."
Her eyes went distant, as if peering into a far-off past, and she spoke.
"Back then... I was still close to human."
Maybe remembering our rooftop chat about inhuman monsters, she gave a bitter smile.
"Or maybe even then, only my body was human."
She pulled back her leaning torso, turned to me, looked at her hands, and slowly caressed her body—from her neckline down her chest and belly. Her hand fell limply away.
"Now, even this... I feel nothing."
Her face was coldly rigid, unsure what expression to make.
"...What was I talking about?"
She glanced at me, then went, "Ah," as if remembering.
"Right, I had a daughter."
She'd been in a very unstable state when the girl was born and, due to "unavoidable circumstances," left her at an orphanage. It was a freezing day, but no choice. After that, she tried her hardest not to look for the child. Whether from shame or fear her self-control would hit rock bottom, who knows.
Then one day, visiting the orphanage where she'd abandoned her, they said no such child existed. She thought I'd killed her or something. Time passed after losing the girl, and one day...
She spotted a shockingly familiar child on this very street. A child who felt impossibly familiar, a connection that never broke for a single instant, evoking longing.
Even if she is, no need to reveal it.
She's living happily now, after all.
"So why tell me all this?"
I'm a total outsider on this. Sure, I've taught Blanca a few moves, but not formally. I'm just another boarder passing through, one who might be a bit closer than most.
No need to share her past with me. Especially if she won't tell Blanca.
"Isan."
She looked straight at me in response.
"Does that blade art really let you escape fate?"
Her question brought Moyong Cheol to mind—the man once called Escape Fate Blade.
"Every martial art carries intent. Learning it means striving to realize that intent."
Even if it's just loaded onto a blade tip, that's true.
"The original master of the blade art I taught Blanca... he created it because he wanted to change his fate."
Escape Fate. Shedding destiny's shackles: Even if I'm a killer's child, I won't become a killer. Even if parents and child are fated by heaven, I'll escape that shadow.
That was the Escape Fate Blade Art's intent.
"Did that man change his fate?"
Moyong Cheol again. The Moyong Cheol who couldn't escape my sword. Couldn't escape my pressure points. Couldn't escape Moyong young lady's side. Couldn't escape death in the end.
The hero called Escape Fate Blade Moyong Cheol.
"More or less."
"That's why I'm telling you this—I have a favor to ask. Teach it to Blanca properly."
"...No doubts? Just swinging a sword changes grand fate?"
"But it does change something. In my life... nothing but this cold chrome has ever struck me as beautiful. Intricate metal frames, neural circuits, the pinnacle of tech..."
Staring at her hand, she continued, then looked at me. A smile bloomed on her face.
"Thanks to you, I saw something beautiful, Isan. Something truly beautiful, unlike the obsessions I had... have."
"......"
"I don't want Blanca to end up like me. Whether she's my daughter or not."
Her face, turned toward me as she pleaded, was the most human I'd seen.
"If what you have is truly worth learning, I want you to teach her."
"...At this point."
I took in her face and continued.
"You could learn alongside Blanca."
"......! Ahaha..."
Her eyes widened in surprise at my words, then she laughed and shook her head.
"I gotta go now. Vacation's over..."
She trailed off wistfully, peeled away from the parapet, and approached me.
"Least tell me your name? Never properly introduced yourself."
She was suspiciously friendly but never formally introduced. I pointed it out, but she ignored me, drawing close and placing a hand on my left cheek.
Her face, wearing a playful smile, came nearer.
Honestly, back in the martial world, I wasn't popular with beauties—hell, not even regular women (assassins aside)—so I wouldn't call my experience vast, but...
...Ah, so this is the cyberware flavor.
A sharp sting hit, and holographic text floated in my vision.
The letters faded from my sight, and the lukewarm feel of artificial skin vanished at the same time.
"Let's not meet again, Isan."
Her hand finally left my chest, she turned, and vanished from the rooftop.
And from the next day on, she never came for sandwiches.