The Birth of Il Cheon-jo
"You talk too much."
"What? Are you talking to me, you brat?"
Looking at the spearman who was raising his eyebrows in anger, Ilyang casually beckoned with his finger.
"If you have a problem, come at me, you idiot. Stop flapping your gums."
"You... you arrogant little shit..."
As the spearman took a heavy step forward, his face flushing a deep crimson, the surrounding vagabonds naturally stepped back a few paces.
In the world of vagabonds, such displays of strength were commonplace. It was, in a sense, a standard form of greeting.
"I am the great Blood Wind Spear, Yang Cheon-jo. What is your name?"
"Ilyang."
"Ho? So you're the one they call the Flame Fist!"
The spearman's mouth split into a wide grin. His foolish thoughts were far too easy to read. He wanted to leave a strong impression on their employer while taking this opportunity to show off his skills to the other vagabonds during the escort mission.
And he probably thought I looked like an easy target to boot.
However, this wasn't a bad development for Ilyang either. He was well-accustomed to this sort of thing, as it happened almost every time he accepted a commission.
Ilyang clenched and unclenched his fists, tilting his head slightly as he spoke.
"How about the loser becomes the winner's servant for the duration of this escort mission?"
It was a practical proposal. Having a slave to tend to his needs throughout the journey would be quite convenient.
Speaking of servants, the face of the jeomsoi back at the inn crossed his mind. The boy had put on such a sorrowful show of tears, lamenting that today was their last day together. Impressed by his spectacular acting skills, Ilyang had found himself pulling out his pouch to leave yet another tip before departing.
"Ha... A servant? Look at this crazy brat. You won't learn your lesson until your limbs are broken. Then again, kids your age never damn well listen."
"Scared?"
It was a short, simple provocation, but its effectiveness was absolute. Excellent value for the effort.
A thick vein bulged on Yang Cheon-jo's temple.
"Bullshit. Kid, if I lose to you, I'll call you father."
"Deal accepted."
Ilyang smirked. Adding such a useless condition to the bet only proved that this fellow wasn't cut out to survive long in this world.
Right then.
Whoosh—
The spearman lightly swung his weapon, tearing the air with an ominous, sharp sound.
Oh?
Ilyang's eyes shifted slightly. It was unexpected. Quite apart from his lack of situational awareness, the man had clearly received proper training from a reputable source. He was a genuine expert.
"I'll let you have the first move. This is what you call the magnanimity of an adult, kid. Mwahahahaha!"
Looking at the overly confident spearman, Ilyang's lips twitched. He lightly shook out his hands and spoke.
"Get ready to serve your new stepfather."
Ilyang snapped his fingers, casting a spell on the ground beneath them.
2nd-Circle Magic: Grease
Wind-Attribute Magic: Feather Step
It was a 2nd-circle spell designed to reduce the coefficient of friction within a very narrow area to near zero. Normally, casting required drawing a magic circle with mana and channeling energy to manifest the phenomenon.
But not for me.
Ilyang had surpassed such limitations long ago. A spell of this level could be cast in the blink of an eye, even with his eyes closed.
Still, one might not be enough.
Simultaneously, Ilyang cast a second spell, applying a wind-attribute magic to his own body. As his physical form grew weightless, his lunging figure shot forward like a cannonball, sliding across the ground as if on ice.
"Huh?"
It was a bizarre movement that resembled neither traditional footwork nor lightness skill. Entirely unprepared for Ilyang's ghost-like maneuver, Yang Cheon-jo gasped and hurriedly thrust his spear forward.
"Hyah!"
Shwek—
Despite his panic, his solid fundamentals shone through as he unleashed a remarkably sharp, snake-like thrust. However...
Predictable.
Ilyang leaned so low he was practically parallel to the ground, slipping past the thrust like an eel. He slid right into the spearman's blind spot, closing the distance as effortlessly as a child stepping into an embrace. Then, facing the pale, terrified spearman, he delivered a swift uppercut.
The blow connected cleanly with the chin.
Crack—
With that single strike, the light vanished from the spearman's eyes. His consciousness was instantly severed.
Thud—
Watching the spearman collapse to the ground like a discarded rag doll, Ilyang turned to the senior escort, who was staring blankly at the scene.
"As you can see, there are no serious injuries."
"S-so it seems."
The senior escort, Jo Chang, swallowed hard as he looked at Ilyang. Bronze Plaque vagabonds were considered first-rate experts in this region. What did that make a boy who could knock such an expert unconscious with a single blow?
He is even stronger than the rumors suggested!
From the escort agency's perspective, this was cause for celebration. It was a long-distance journey, and they had just secured an incredibly powerful asset.
And we managed to hire an expert of this caliber for the price of a mere Iron Plaque!
This was an incredibly profitable deal. He could already picture the delighted faces of his superiors.
Meanwhile...
"I am Jang Geoi. I hold a Bronze Plaque."
"Nice to meet you. I am Ilyang."
Now that Ilyang had proven his strength, the other vagabonds quickly stepped forward to introduce themselves.
"Pleasure. I am Yeong Ho-myeong. My brothers in the martial world call me the Gale Blade. I also hold a Bronze Plaque."
"I'm So Il-hyeon. Known in the Murim as the Fluttering Flower Sword. Also Bronze. But man, that was some skill. I'm actually quite impressed."
"The opponent was simply too easy," Ilyang replied casually, brushing the dust off his sleeves.
The genial So Il-hyeon widened his eyes in surprise.
"Whoa~ that was pretty cool. Still, the Blood Wind Spear is a fairly well-known expert around these parts."
"This region must have very generous standards."
"Pfft, haha! You're a lot more amusing than I thought."
Thus, Ilyang established his position among the group, conversing naturally with the other vagabonds while Yang Cheon-jo remained unconscious.
A moment later, the spearman finally began to stir.
"Ugh... What on earth just happened..."
Ilyang squatted down in front of Yang Cheon-jo as he struggled to sit up, matching his eye level. When Yang Cheon-jo finally focused and saw Ilyang, a flash of pure rage crossed his face.
"You... you bastard, taking advantage of my guard being down to launch a cowardly surprise attack..."
"Call me Father."
"...What?"
"You can call me Dad if it feels more natural."
"..."
Yang Cheon-jo's eyes flickered violently, like a candle in the wind. Only now did the memory of the bet they had made before the duel rush back to him. Yet, he could not bring himself to utter the word 'father.'
...Did I really lose to a kid like this?
His opponent was a mere child, barely half his size. Yang Cheon-jo desperately cast his eyes around for help, but the other vagabonds only smirked, watching the spectacle as if it were a highly entertaining show.
Damn it! I must have been out of my mind. Why did I say something so foolish...
His master had warned him countless times to watch his mouth, yet he had gone and caused trouble once again.
Regardless of the spearman's internal despair, Ilyang curled his lips into a light smile and whispered in his ear.
"Son. From now on, your name is Il Cheon-jo."
"..."
Overnight, his surname had been forcibly changed from Yang to Il.
"Make sure to remember your new name. Oh, and I never skip breakfast, so don't forget to prepare it for me every single day. I especially like warm tofu, so keep that in mind."
"...!"
As the other vagabonds chuckled at the sight of the dumbfounded Yang Cheon-jo, the escort agency's preparations finally drew to a close.
"It seems the preparations are complete. There will be a brief ritual followed by the departure ceremony, so please follow me, warriors."
Suppressing a laugh, the senior escort Jo Chang led the gathered vagabonds toward the main training ground of the Jinseong Escort Agency.
As they walked, everyone present shared the same thought.
Perhaps this escort mission would turn out to be far more entertaining than they had anticipated.
Of course, the Blood Wind Spear, Yang Cheon-jo, strongly disagreed—though naturally, no one cared about his opinion.
* * *
The Bright Moon Sword, Song Gwang-sik.
As the Chusal Daeju of the Namgung Clan, he had fought desperately a month ago to save his subordinates from an expert of the Mansi Sect.
After pushing himself to the absolute limit to cover a two-day journey in a single day and join forces with the experts of the Namgung Clan's branch family, Song Gwang-sik had been utterly dumbfounded upon arriving at the scene.
There were no corpses of his subordinates to be found.
Instead, the monstrous young girl of the Mansi Sect had been reduced to a pile of charred, shattered charcoal.
Without even having time to process his confusion, he had followed the markers left behind, rushing frantically until he finally reached Giyang County, where he reunited with the deputy leader of the Chusal Dae, the Storm Sword, Na Han-il.
"What happened here? Are you alright?"
Na Han-il stared blankly at the deeply concerned Song Gwang-sik. The first thing he noticed was his leader's severely chapped lips, followed by his disheveled hair and dust-covered robes.
This was a man who was usually so fastidious about cleanliness that he would slip away to wash even during stakeouts. Seeing him in such a wretched state made Na Han-il feel strangely emotional. Looking up at the ceiling, Na Han-il let out a soft chuckle and offered a light joke to break the tension.
"It seems it wasn't my time to die yet. You really never know with life. I made such a dramatic, heroic stand at the end, only to survive like this. Man, I'm dying of embarrassment right now."
"You crazy bastard. You're alive, that's all that matters. Who cares about embarrassment?"
Song Gwang-sik sank onto the edge of the bed, massaging his aching limbs. For the past two days, he had traveled without consuming a single drop of water, pushing himself to his absolute limits to reach this place. He had exerted himself so severely that he had actually sustained minor internal injuries despite not engaging in any combat.
"Miraculously, the other guys are safe too. It seems they were busy saving their own skins while their deputy leader was out there dying. I don't know how it makes sense that they don't have a single scratch."
"Our boys certainly have grit. Even if their sense of hierarchy is complete garbage."
Relieved to see Na Han-il speaking so normally, Song Gwang-sik let out a wide grin, even as his split lips began to bleed. Na Han-il smiled back like a madman.
"By the way, I saw that the support troops from the branch family arrived. Did we request backup for nothing?"
"It's fine. Those guys get to take a nice stroll and pocket some decent hazard pay. They're probably thrilled. Besides, they're handling the cleanup at the scene, which means I don't have to write a single report. It's a win-win."
"You look like you're about to collapse yourself, Leader. Why don't you grab a bed in the next room and get some rest? Business must be slow for this physician, because there are plenty of empty beds."
"Listen to you. 'Leader' this, 'Leader' that. Weren't you just calling me 'Gwang-sik hyung' earlier? I thought we were practically brothers. There's a ten-year gap between us, you know."
Na Han-il avoided his gaze, looking slightly sheepish.
"Well, that was an emergency. We're not in a rush right now, are we? Besides, isn't it normal to throw around some curses when things get desperate?"
"Sigh... When did our Chusal Dae become so undisciplined? Back in my day, kid, I wouldn't have dared to even step on the shadow of the previous Chusal Daeju."
As Song Gwang-sik began to launch into a lecture about his glory days, Na Han-il quickly opened his mouth to cut him off.