The Martial World Exists
Pushed open the heavy soundproof door to the Hunter Association president's office. A massive air purifier hummed deafeningly, but it couldn't fully erase the stale cigarette stench and exhaustion permeating the room. Park Jin-cheol, the Association president, was slumped deep into the sofa in a wrinkled shirt he hadn't changed in days. Bloodshot eyes. Scruffy beard. It was the same horrific state from the early days of the Gate Shock, when he'd commanded the front lines without sleep for three days straight.
I flopped onto the opposite sofa.
"Old man. You're still alive, huh."
"Seeing as how your mouth's still running, looks like you got some good rest."
The president rasped back, shoving a thick binder across the table. Loot recovered by the Hongryeon Guild. An analysis report on the bizarre ancient tome discovered in what seemed to be an ecosystem from a wuxia world dungeon.
"Our research team and linguists pulled an all-nighter on this. Bottom line: the script in that book is a pictographic form extremely similar to ancient Chinese characters—hanja. Subtle differences in grammar and stroke shapes, but nothing that hindered inferring and decoding the meanings."
I flipped open the binder. Next to scans of the original tome were dense Korean translations and annotations. Sections where the paper had rotted away or was stained with blood beyond legibility were left as stark black blanks.
"What's it say? History book? Magic spell tome?"
"Closer to physical training methods than magic."
The president downed the cold coffee on the table in one gulp.
"Tae-ho. You ever read any wuxia novels?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's not nonsense. That tome is unequivocally a Martial Arts Manual."
My finger halted mid-page-turn.
"Gathering qi—or mana in their terms, I guess—in the dantian and circulating it through the body via breathing techniques. Footwork for shifting weight and stance. Sword trajectories and forms infused with energy, all detailed meticulously. Huge chunks are damaged, so we've only pieced together about thirty percent, but it's crystal clear: techniques designed for destruction and killing."
The president tapped the table with his finger.
"One of the researchers tried mimicking the translated footwork. I smacked him down on the spot. You know the qigong deviation trope from wuxia novels? Botch the energy circulation, and your meridians twist up or your heart explodes."
"Wise call."
"This proves your hypothesis spot on."
The president leaned deep into the backrest, exhaling a heavy sigh.
"A wuxia world with real martial arts and internal energy exists beyond the gates. That manual came from warriors in that world. Not just monsters—their knowledge and civilization too."
What we'd thought was just a monster-spawning disaster had civilizations akin to humanity on the other side, cultivating martial arts and passing down manuals.
"Wish the fantasy-side worlds would drop solid intel like grimoires or spellbooks. That immeasurable gate in Osaka seems like it's from there, but... the Japanese are so tight-lipped, who knows if they'll share."
The president muttered, pinching his brow. Grand international politics and otherworldly civilizations. None of that was my concern right now. I closed the binder and hopped up.
"Old man. Email me the translated text file."
"What for? I warned you—I mean it. Don't even try it out of curiosity. With your monstrous mana reserves, a half-assed martial arts attempt could blow the whole Association HQ sky-high."
"Yeah, yeah. Got it. Just looking. We're done here, right?"
I threw on my jacket half-heartedly. The president's wrinkled face, eyes closed against the fatigue, looked especially pitiful.
"How long since you went home, old man? Your wife's gonna lock you out."
"Beats me. I'm swamped, so quit yapping and get lost."
He shooed me out with a wave. Ignoring his gruff dismissal, I slipped out of the office.
Penthouse, my room. Sat at the desk, staring hard at the monitor. The translated Martial Arts Manual PDF from the Association.
Can a human body really do this?
On paper, it sounded absurd. But the itch in my limbs was unbearable. I stood, moved to the center of the room, and took a light deep breath. I'd told the president I'd just look, but I had to test its efficacy myself. Of course, my explosive mana filling my entire body was thoroughly sealed—no movement from it. Pure physical motion only, replicating the manual's forms.
Right foot half-step forward. Bend the knee, drop the center of gravity low and long. Twist the waist counterclockwise, extend the imaginary sword grip in a diagonal upward slash. Force from the toes climbing calves and thighs, through hip rotation, to shoulder, elbow, wrist—a seamless kinetic chain.
"Huh."
My eyes widened. The motion, awkward in theory, felt impossibly natural. Human skeletal and muscular structure optimized to the limit: minimal effort for maximum lethal impact. Perfect power transmission.
Intrigue sparked. Next form: Pivot on left foot, spin half-turn to slash at an enemy behind. The moment momentum carried the rotation.
Snap.
Flow broke. Missing footwork and gaze direction led to an awkward freeze mid-air. Forcing the next page's motion felt like skipping stepping stones—muscles screamed and stiffened.
"Whew..."
I relaxed the stance and stood straight. Faint sweat beaded my forehead. Pure physical exertion, no mana, yet two motions drained immense stamina.
"One thing's sure: no bullshit. The intact parts are buttery smooth—chillingly so."
A vicious urge clawed up my throat. What if I channeled my overwhelming mana into this perfect killing arc? High-density mana blade with this footwork. Gangnam's skyscrapers might get bisected wholesale.
I clenched my fist. Hold back. Incomplete trajectory with explosive energy could backfire—uncontrolled mana shredding my veins. Plus, my body was an aberrant full-body core, no dantian.
"Calm down. Don't wanna blow the penthouse."
But curiosity about pure physical feasibility lingered. Was it doable thanks to my S-rank body, or ergonomic enough for anyone with training? Needed a test subject. Opened the door, crossed the living room.
Bang.
Flung open Ha-eun's door without knocking. She was sprawled on the bed, snack bag on her belly, cackling at variety shows on her smartphone.
"Hey. Busy?"
"Nah? What's up."
Ha-eun replied listlessly, eyes glued to the screen.
"Then get up and try what I show you."
Stepped to the bedside, demonstrated the manual's first stance: low center, waist twist, sword extension. She glanced over her phone and snorted.
"What're you doing? Dancing? Some idol challenge? Lol, this is hilarious."
She sat up, opened her camera app, and aimed at me.
"Hold still. Gotta film this for the net. 'Cute S-rank Hunter's Idol Dance.' Views gonna explode."
Messing around. Flicked my finger lightly.
Whoosh!
"Wha—hey?!"
Her phone flew from her hand, caught in invisible mana grip, and smacked against the ceiling.
"My phone!! Dude! It'll shatter if it falls!"
"Shut up and get down here. Copy that motion. Nail it or the phone stays up there forever."
At my icy threat, Ha-eun pouted and reluctantly slid off the bed.
"Ugh, such a pain. Like this?"
"Right foot half-step. Bend knees. Twist waist."
She grumbled but followed. Disaster. Center of gravity scattered, ankle buckled on the twist, shoulders rigid—arm arc stiff as a branch.
"No, hips more clockwise. Eyes on fingertips."
"Ow, why! Feels like my bones'll snap!"
Pressing her hip to correct, she shrieked in panic.
"This possible with human joints?! Aaaah! Cramp in my inner thigh! Kang Tae-ho, you're insane?!"
She collapsed to the floor, clutching her thigh and groaning. I stared down impassively. Experiment over. Results clear.
"Good enough. Stop."
Lowered the phone smoothly onto her belly.
"What the hell. Twist my joints then toss my phone like it's nothing? What was that?!"
Ha-eun yelled, fuming, but I ignored her whining and turned to leave.
"Doesn't concern you. Rest up."
Her indignant curses chased me as the door shut, but I brushed them off. Back to my room, sank deep into the chair. Propped my chin, reviewed the experiment.
Impossible for normals.
Ha-eun was stiff, sure, but the forms pushed human joint range to the brink. Only for those trained from childhood—muscles, joints honed, bones remodeled for martial arts. My system's transcendent durability let me mimic without issue.
Absentmindedly picked up the pen on the desk. Twirled it between fingers, lips curling.
Trajectories transcending human limits. Layer my mana and imagination atop this physics-perfect foundation. Say, concentrate energy at pen tip, unleash dozens of slashes into the void.
"What happens if I add mana circulation to that motion."
Gathered a speck of blue mana at the pen tip—grain-of-dust size. Mimicked the manual's sword arc, lightly stabbing at the notebook on the desk.
Fwaaah!
Instantly, blue mana bloomed from the tip, warping the air, tracing a five-petal flower shape for a split second before vanishing. A flash of old wuxia romance crossed my mind.
"Plum blossoms really blooming, huh."
I chuckled, tossing the pen onto the desk. In this headache of a world's secrets, finding a toy to evolve my power made for a not-bad Sunday evening.