People Grow the Most When They Get Beaten (4)
A day had passed since the maid sisters left the house. I wondered if they were doing okay, if no one was messing with them—pointless worries, really. Was this the feeling parents get when they send their kids out into the world? Not that I had time to fret over others; I was the one on the verge of death.
I was still locked in this not-quite-a-fight fight with these old monsters. To be precise, it was just one monk.
It all started with... yeah, curiosity. A pure thirst to explore something new. Damn thing was, I had no idea it was my own weakness I didn't even know about.
"Ooh! You're getting it!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! How about this one?"
"Sure! I'll copy it perfectly!"
The martial arts the Ilseon Dosa—that monk—was showing me felt different from anything I'd known before.
"This one's called Ilseon Finger." Profound, somehow.
"This is Azure Dragon Claw." It had this cool, imposing vibe.
"They call this Thunder Severing Fan." Yeah, this was martial arts—straight-up, at first glance!
"It's known as Subduing Demon Sealing Technique." Sorry, our liege who created Three Talents Sword Method, but I figured it was time to shelve that thing in the dustbin of history. I regretted wasting a whole year swinging that crap around nonstop.
That's what I thought back then. Yeah, before the beatings really kicked in.
Buoyed by the constant praise, I eagerly mimicked every technique the monk showed, even tweaking a few to fit my style. I'd already adapted Wise Sword for myself once, so it wasn't hard.
"Ooh! A prodigy!"
"You can even use it like that!"
And every time, cheers came from the sidelines.
Back in the day, I never got any praise at all. So I had no clue.
"Amazing! Our little lord is amazing! Seriously, no joke, for real—praise falls flat; you're just a genius!"
I was weak to compliments and didn't even know it.
After endlessly copying the monk's moves, he said,
"How about we spar now? Not a bad idea."
I was brimming with confidence. I accepted without hesitation.
"Sure!"
Still, reason held firm.
"But you know the rules, right? Match my internal energy exactly."
"Of course. I've got over two japja worth, but I'll hold back to just ten years' worth for you."
He didn't need to brag about the two japja upfront, but I could see him glancing around, pleased as punch.
Tsk tsk, showing off in old age. Made me vow never to get that pathetic when I grew up.
Then it hit me—my internal energy was thirty years' worth. Plenty of potential here.
"Great, let's do it now!"
"Fine. I'll take the first move."
"Haha! Come at me anytime!"
"Yeah... You never know till you've been beaten. I didn't either."
"Huh?"
The monk muttered softly; I didn't catch it.
"Anyway, experience is the best teacher. Here I come!"
Everything after that? Pure getting my ass kicked. One hundred percent.
Thwack!
"W-wait!"
Thwack!
"Th-this isn't fair!"
He grinned.
Thwack!
"You just smiled! You smiled while hitting me!"
Thwack!
"This feels surprisingly good... Like pounding on a martial god. Not bad."
"Hold on, monk! I mean, elder?"
Thwack!
"Ilseon Dosa! Wait! Amitabha! Buddha forever!"
Thwack!
"No questions!"
Fuck... you...
The monk's eyes were gone—mad with that brilliant glow instead.
Isn't that just a flash during enlightenment?
"Good, so good! Crushing a young martial god—just like this! This is life! A fresh taste! After my pathetic existence, Buddha gave me this chance—for revenge today! Amitabha!"
Why take revenge on me, you crazy monk?!
That's when I started screaming, eyes bulging, staring hard at his incoming fist.
Tiger Fist.
Big, crude motion, but known for unmatched destructive power among inner strikes.
I countered with my own Tiger Fist. Mine had more internal energy, after all.
Fist met fist with a heavy thud.
But mine got pushed back.
"Why!!"
I wailed as my arm reeled, facing his head-sized fist closing in.
"I have more internal energy!!"
His laugh deepened. Damn monk. He must've been kicked out of Shaolin for going insane. Buddha my ass—pure madman.
Then, instead of impact, words came.
"Same technique, more internal energy on your side—curious why you can't block my fist?"
His fist hovered right at my nose. I nodded like a startled rabbit.
He grinned—now looking like a demon.
"Simple. How could they be the same? A fist trained for one day versus a lifetime!"
Thud!
A heavy blow dug into my gut. Yesterday's meal surged up. I fought it, but no use.
"Urk!"
Watching me, the monk said,
"If you thought twenty years' energy could bridge that gap, you're mistaken."
In that moment, I swore it: I'd smash that monk's head!
And I finally got it—why Father cut off his arm. Unworthy son here! Sorry for doubting your wisdom.
I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and declared,
"Fine, let's go again! See who wins!"
"Kekeke, that's my lord!"
I wanted to snap, What subordinate beats their lord like this? But nah—I'd carve it into his skull myself.
Thwack!
"Gak!"
Thwack!
"Guhk!"
Thwack!
Shit...
The problem? I couldn't see a way to win.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
After who-knows-how-many hits, I blacked out.
I woke to a new sun. I'd been out cold since yesterday.
I headed straight to Ilseon Dosa. He was sweeping the yard. Everyone else was at their tasks. Yesterday, lost in the pain, I hadn't noticed—fifty people in this hall felt cramped.
I stood before him.
"Monk, rematch."
He set his broom aside.
"Amitabha. I've been waiting."
"Same rules as yesterday."
"Good."
Our brief exchange ended, and everyone dropped what they were doing, circling us with snacks in hand. Full spectator mode.
The one handing them out? The head maid.
This the betrayal you hear about?! I thought she'd worry for me.
Our eyes met. She just smiled brightly, bowed, and climbed to the pavilion for a better view—snack in hand.
The maid sisters would've fretted over me. I missed them already.
I straightened, facing forward.
"Today, I'll turn that head of yours into a wooden block. Watch."
"Heh, you're a century early."
Yesterday wasn't just beatings—I'd thought nonstop during them. Why the difference? Same techniques. More energy on my side, yet I got crushed?
Ilseon Dosa struck first again. Same Tiger Fist.
I could've switched techniques—Snake Fist counters Tiger well. But if I did, he'd adapt and dominate. I lacked the skill to mid-combo switch.
Fights like this favored him. Like he'd said... I'd only trained a day.
So I threw the same move. Something familiar, ingrained.
Make him think that's all I can do!
Tiger Fist met Tiger Fist. The crowd buzzed.
"He's gonna get hit again."
"When's our turn?"
"I wanna beat our young lord too!"
I knew they were a bit nuts, but...
Shouldn't have recruited these psychos!
Heard you gotta pick people carefully. Anyway, I focused on the monk.
Ilseon Dosa eyed Namgung Daeso with interest.
Indeed...
He hadn't expected the kid to charge again today. He'd gone overboard yesterday on purpose. Planned to teach him his flaws gently once demoralized.
But bam—up at dawn, declaring he'd smash his head into a block.
Heh.
Whether it was Namgung blood's competitiveness, he didn't know. But for a warrior, fighting spirit was the ultimate drive.
Still, bridging decades in a day? Impossible.
Yet deep down...
Show me.
He hoped. He'd seen someone leap those decades long ago.
Cost him an arm.
Impossible for this kid in one day, but even a sliver of potential...
I'll pass it all on.
Ilseon Dosa vowed. Shed Shaolin's shackles, inherit all he knew—not just Shaolin, but Shaolin itself.
As I punched, I recalled yesterday. Same technique. What made the difference—me getting beat, him landing hits?
Weight, I figured. Old monk heavier than a kid like me. Weight means power.
I used Thousand-Jin Weight. Crude version, but my body felt multiples heavier. Weights even now.
If he countered with it too, wasted effort—but a 90-year-old sage going all-out on an 11-year-old? Nah.
That'd be too much, come on!
Another factor: length. Arm reach. Longer arms amplify force. That's why stances twist the waist—maximize path to target, add power.
Why he said a century early. I'd need at least ten years to match his size.
A ten-year gap no energy could fill.
Cocky bastard.
I shoved his straight punch aside. The force spun my body.
Fist-on-fist? No chance.
But fist-on-leg?
Compensate short arms with legs.
They say a kick's three times a punch!
Length is why.
No rule saying Tiger Fist is arms-only.
"Tiger Kick!"
Crack!
Ilseon Dosa stared at his hand.
This!
Shock in his eyes.
And then.
"Head!!!"
The opposite foot came crashing from above. Light flared in Ilseon Dosa's eyes again.