A Lesson in Manners
How many times had I died?
I had stopped counting somewhere around the three-thousand mark.
He had told me to block just a single strike, and three thousand deaths had passed without me succeeding.
No, wait.
It wasn't just three thousand.
Since I stopped counting after that, it must have been well over three thousand.
I had simply given up trying to remember because it was too much of a hassle.
I had forced myself to forget, but if I had to guess, wouldn't it be at least double that number?
Perhaps even more.
I had died so many times it was terrifying to think about.
It had been brutal enough to make me want to wipe it from my memory.
"…Sigh… Fuck…"
A curse slipped out naturally. It had been so long since I last spoke that my own voice sounded foreign to my ears.
"Sickening bastard."
Grind!
My teeth ground together of their own accord. I could speak in the Spiritual Dream, so I could hear my own voice there, but…
"What the hell is his deal?"
Even then, you need someone to talk to. I couldn't just keep talking to myself, so I had spent most of the time with my mouth shut.
If you were to ask why I didn't talk to the opponent in the Spiritual Dream…
Why else?
Because the bastard wouldn't speak.
Why did he keep his mouth so tightly shut?
I had tried talking to him hundreds, thousands of times.
But more than half the time, he killed me before I could even open my mouth.
And even when I did manage to say something, he just killed me without a word.
He was a complete psychopath.
He was tall but lean.
His eyes were completely lifeless, yet his killing intent was incredibly intense.
Seeing as he didn't speak a single word, he might as well have been a beast.
"Sigh… Damned bastard. Lunatic. Piece of trash."
I ground my teeth and kept cursing. I couldn't stand it, wondering whose youth this could possibly be.
"I hope he gets torn to shreds. I hope he burns to death. I hope he steps on dog shit—"
Right in the middle of my rant, someone cut me off with a sour expression.
"—and gets it all over his shoes."
Even so, I didn't stop talking.
The ghost, Yoo Chun-gil, stared at me with a disgruntled look.
I looked back at him and spoke.
"What?"
"So what? It's not like I was talking to you, old man."
I replied, dripping with irritation.
"Oh? Really?"
I replied with mock innocence.
"No wonder he was such a bastard. I was wondering who he took after."
Obviously.
I had been dying to curse him out.
Now that we were talking about it…
"Old man, are you actually insane?"
"How could you make me face a guy like that?"
"You shameless, dog-like bastard."
"You son of a bitch."
I couldn't help myself. I really couldn't.
"How did you expect me to deal with that?"
It had been thousands of times.
It was several times more than my first Spiritual Dream.
And what's more…
It took that long just to block a single strike.
It wasn't even a proper exchange of blows, just a single strike.
I had to die thousands of times just to block that one move.
Even Yoo Chun-gil seemed a bit embarrassed by my interrogation, letting out a dry cough.
"…That guy was twenty?"
That terrifying monster was only a few years older than me?
He looked so haggard that it was hard to tell his exact age, but still.
That was just ridiculous.
Which meant…
This old man was already that much of a monster at age twenty.
Only twenty.
The same age as Dang Ye-ran, and younger than Dongnyong.
I had never felt a shred of fear looking at those two.
Yet Yoo Chun-gil's younger self had filled me with pure terror.
And that was him at twenty?
If he really was twenty…
Why did he look like that?
What was with that haggard appearance? When he was fifteen, he was a giant, but by twenty, he had actually shrunk and become lean. It was bizarre.
Just as I was about to ask about it…
Yoo Chun-gil spoke with shameless pride.
"Oh? So as long as the result is good, everything is fine?"
"You son of a bitch."
"Then stop acting in a way that makes me want to curse."
At my words, Yoo Chun-gil replied as if he were the victim.
He was right. Unlike the last time, I had instinctively known I could wake up from this Spiritual Dream whenever I wanted.
I had endured it knowing that.
Why?
Because of my pride.
I was pissed off. I had entered the dream determined to see who would win, and I refused to turn tail and run.
So I endured it with sheer grit.
And finally, just before my mental state completely shattered, I broke through and ended it.
Besides, I had plenty to say on this matter.
"It wasn't something that could be solved just by repeating it over and over."
Yoo Chun-gil fell silent. Because I was right.
"…He was using sword force. How was I supposed to win against that just by trying repeatedly?"
The twenty-year-old Yoo Chun-gil was using sword force.
It meant he was an Expert-realm martial artist. And I couldn't block that single strike.
Why?
Because sword force can only be blocked by sword force.
Since I couldn't manifest sword force…
I didn't have the capability to block his strike.
In that case, what did I need to do to overcome that Spiritual Dream?
The answer was obvious.
I had to use sword force too.
I had to manifest it myself.
For someone who wasn't even an Expert to manifest force…
It would be considered utterly absurd by the common sense of the Murim.
But…
I already knew the solution.
I had already experienced it.
The sensation of manifesting force with my own body back when I was only a First-rate martial artist.
Thus, the moment I realized he was a martial artist who used sword force, I understood the purpose of this Spiritual Dream.
Block the strike.
Yoo Chun-gil had framed it that way, but…
This was actually…
'Manifest your sword force.'
That was the true test.
Because to escape the Spiritual Dream, I had to manifest sword force.
Blocking the strike came after that.
If I couldn't manifest force, I would be sliced apart regardless of whether I tried to block or not.
I had never known a sword could be sliced through as easily as tofu.
What a crazy monster.
Just thinking about it made me sigh.
Having to die so helplessly thousands of times.
…Still.
The silver lining in all of this was…
That I succeeded in the end.
Fwooooosh!
A brilliant light bloomed at the tip of my sword.
I narrowed my eyes as I gazed at the deep blue light.
What did he say the name of this martial art was?
Was it Gwangwolseomgyeong?
While the first and second forms of the Blue Moon Sword Dance were actual sword techniques…
The third form is purely sword force.
The third form was nothing more than manifesting the light.
The force infused into the blade.
I had manifested it myself. The color was beautiful, as if it held the moonlight itself.
Its flickering form was the definition of brilliant, but…
"…"
My gaze as I looked at it was rather indifferent.
It couldn't be helped.
I've manifested it so many times already.
I had already grown completely accustomed to it in the Spiritual Dream.
And manifesting the force wasn't the end of it.
I still had to block his strike, and simply manifesting force wasn't enough to stop his sword.
...Thanks to that, my proficiency grew.
Because my manifestation of force was weak and slow, I couldn't block the opponent's force.
So, once again, I had to keep trying until I got it right.
By the time I finally blocked the strike and escaped the Spiritual Dream…
Shhhhh—!
Gwangwolseomgyeong had reached a decent level of completion.
It's fascinating.
Training in the Spiritual Dream didn't improve my physical body.
However…
My control over internal energy improved.
My ability to manipulate energy advanced in proportion to the experience I gained there.
That was the amazing part.
If that was the case…
Isn't this the ultimate training ground for energy control?
A place where I could train infinitely.
If I wanted to use the Spiritual Dream, that was how I could utilize it.
Just then, Yoo Chun-gil grinned as he looked at my sword force.
"About what?"
"Ah. That."
It was what Yoo Chun-gil had told me before I entered the Spiritual Dream. He had offered it as a piece of advice.
"…Not really."
"I didn't pay attention to it anyway."
Yoo Chun-gil looked dumbfounded that I had completely ignored the advice he had gone out of his way to give.
"How? Like I said before, abstract concepts don't work for me."
The light this, the light that.
The moon this, the moon that.
Hearing all that meant nothing to me. So I just went with the direct approach.
Since I already knew the method.
The state of my body when manifesting Gwangwolseomgyeong.
The sensation from back then.
I remembered all of it.
Then there was only one answer.
Just keep doing it until it works.
If I kept grinding and grinding, it would eventually happen.
If I knew how but couldn't do it, it was only because I wasn't used to it.
So I did it until I was used to it. Until it worked.
"And then it worked."
Yoo Chun-gil looked utterly speechless at my explanation.
He seemed slightly disappointed.
Was it because I had found my own way despite his grand advice?
Well, what can you do?
The old man and I just didn't click.
Swish.
I spun the sword half a turn. The sword force dispersed, and the light faded away.
"Phew..."
I let out a deep breath. The internal energy in my dantian had been heavily depleted.
This is tough.
Manifesting sword force was even harder than I had anticipated. The energy consumption was astronomical.
Just imagining trying to maintain this flow of energy in a real fight made me break out in a cold sweat.
But I just have to keep doing this until it works, too.
This was no different.
I still didn't really know what it meant to be a martial artist, but in the end, their method was always the same.
Until it works.
It was a simple yet fundamental conclusion.
For now, I should be satisfied with having manifested sword force.
Even this was deeply moving.
To think that I, who used to live as a mere Third-rate nobody, had not only become First-rate but could now manifest sword force.
...Well, look at that.
Life is truly unpredictable.
At this rate, maybe I really…
Will become the World's Greatest?
Just as Yoo Chun-gil had told me.
Might I actually rise to that position?
As that ridiculous expectation crossed my mind…
The moment Yoo Chun-gil, reading the thoughts on my face, grinned and tried to speak…
Crash!
"Huh?"
The door to the training room was suddenly thrown open.
"You bastard—!"
I looked toward the door in confusion. The one who appeared was none other than Dang Cheon-il.
Dongnyong.
"…Young Master Dang…?"
Why was he suddenly showing up? And swearing, at that?
I watched him, wondering what was wrong.
"It's you, isn't it—?!"
Dang Cheon-il marched up to me and grabbed me by the collar without warning.
"Whoa, what are you doing?"
Had he lost his mind?
"It's definitely you. I know it's you."
"…Could you let go of me first? Let's talk after you let go."
His grip on my collar tightened. The choking sensation grew stronger.
"What did you do? What on earth did you do to make that girl act like that?"
"This is driving me crazy... Just let go and speak—"
First, I needed to calm him down.
It didn't seem right for a guy who had been carried away sick yesterday to be running wild like this.
So I tried to pry him off first to talk.
"Did you seduce her with that pretty face of yours? I suppose you did."
Dang Cheon-il sneered at me.
"I heard your father back in Yoryeong is also skilled in such deceits. It seems you are no different."
"…What?"
My body froze at Dang Cheon-il's words.
Hearing this, Yoo Chun-gil reacted as if realizing things had just gone south.
Even then, Dang Cheon-il didn't shut his mouth.
"Even so, how dare a wretch like you—"
Before either Dang Cheon-il or Yoo Chun-gil could finish their sentences…
Flash!
Light erupted from my body.
"Urgh?!"
Blinded by the sudden light, Dang Cheon-il squeezed his eyes shut.
In that split second…
Bam!
"Cough?!"
My fist slammed into his solar plexus. His body flew backward and crashed into the wall.
Dang Cheon-il slid down to the floor.
Stomp!
The moment he hit the ground, I stomped my foot onto his face.
"You motherfucker, seriously."
"Argh...!"
"Do you think I'm a joke just because I keep letting things slide? You piece of shit. What did you just say?"
I pressed down harder with my foot.
"Grrr...! ...You... you bastard...!"
Dang Cheon-il struggled to push himself up.
I released the pressure and lifted my foot slightly.
With the resistance suddenly gone, Dang Cheon-il's head jerked upward from his own straining force.
Seizing the moment, I kicked him square in the cheek.
Crack!
"Gah!"
His head whipped to the side from the impact.
Blood splattered, staining the floor.
I didn't stop there.
I raised my fist to beat his face again, but…
"You lowly wretch—!"
Having regained his senses, Dang Cheon-il dodged out of the way.
He backed away in an instant.
The kick had landed cleanly; Dang Cheon-il's cheek was swelling red.
Malice flared in his eyes.
"Despicable bastard. How dare you launch a sneak attack...?"
"A sneak attack? You're the one who grabbed me by the collar out of nowhere, you hypocritical piece of shit."
"Hypocritical... what?"
"None of your business, dumbass."
Sigh.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
"What a pathetic bastard..."
I had held back because I didn't want any trouble.
But he just kept pushing my buttons.
"I would have let it go under normal circumstances."
I really did try to endure it.
Making an enemy of the Tang family was the last thing I wanted.
But…
"Bringing family into this is just showing how poorly raised you are, Young Master Dang, you motherfucker."
This bastard had crossed the line.
"If you've lived this long, you should have grown up. Did you swallow your common sense along with your poison?"
Crack.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Is that what they teach you in the Tang family?"
"…!"
At the mention of the Tang family, a prominent vein bulged on Dang Cheon-il's forehead.
"You—! How dare you speak of my family!"
He was so enraged that the blood vessels in his eyes were visibly bloodshot.
I let out a hollow laugh.
"Why? You can talk about my father, but I can't talk about your family?"
I had at least shown some decency by not bringing up the Poison King.
Apparently unsatisfied with my kind consideration, Dang Cheon-il spoke with a distorted face.
"…Are you seriously comparing your pathetic family to the Tang family?"
"It's not a comparison... Ah, forget it."
It was too exhausting to explain.
Talking to an idiot was my least favorite activity.
In times like this, there was only one answer.
"Cut the crap and draw your weapon."
I couldn't let this go.
It seemed…
"You need a good beating."
A beating was the only cure for a bastard like him.