This Shouldn't Be Happening (3)
The sword moved. It wasn't flashy, fast, or deep. Just upward. As if lightly resting the blade against the sky. Then downward again. Next came horizontal, and soon the three motions repeated in sequence.
Unmistakably the forms of the Samjae Geombeop. The sword art mocked by countless martial artists across the world.
And yet... It was renowned among masters as the unparalleled foundation for building basics. Naturally, even the Divine Physician had learned it. No, every martial artist in the world had probably practiced it at least once.
And Yi Han had personally seen Namgung Hancheol hand over the sword manual.
The true essence of the Three Talents Sword Emperor.
Yi Han knew exactly what that was. The man who created this art had indeed been called the Sword Emperor. And he possessed the power to match the title.
But the Samjae Geombeop wasn't some legendary supreme technique. It was just the Samjae Geombeop, plain and simple. Whether made by the Sword Emperor, Sword Saint, or the War God standing beside him now—the basic form remained the same.
In truth, the Samjae Geombeop Namgung Daeso was demonstrating was slightly different, but it was still just one of the dozens or hundreds of versions widely known in the world.
Yi Han glanced sideways at Namgung Hancheol. The patriarch was still drinking with that same impassive face as before.
Look at this guy?
This was different too. Only those seeing Namgung Hancheol for the first time—or those not close to him—would miss the subtle shift in expression. Beneath that worldly indifference, he wore the face he made when deeply satisfied with something.
Of course, to a stranger it looked the same as always. But Yi Han, who had spent more time with him than anyone, could tell. For once, the man who seemed ready to vanish to the immortal realm without a care for the world actually looked human.
And the reason? A mere ten-year-old boy yawning repeatedly while swinging his sword lazily at the air. It was nothing short of miraculous.
* * *
Cheonse. The first form of the Samjae Geombeop, the most basic stance for unleashing the art. It began simply by holding the sword up to the sky.
How many times had I swung a sword as a child? Probably billions. And of those, the Samjae Geombeop alone must have accounted for at least fifty million.
Thud.
I touched the sword to the sky like placing a dot. The author of this book—this "honored self"—called it the beginning.
I turned the page. Followed the illustration exactly. Naturally relaxed my strength. The sword fell.
The natural law of the world. Everything existing here falls from above to below.
Thud.
The sword lightly tapped the ground. I'd only turned two pages, and the next was already the last.
Honored one, isn't the book too short? For such a grandiose self-introduction, the length was downright embarrassing.
The final page showed the third motion: a drawing of the sword placed horizontally in the middle, connecting heaven and earth.
And with that, the Samjae Geombeop form ended. The book ended too.
Should I make my own secret sword manual someday? That "honored self" bit was especially appealing.
I figured I'd do nine more swings in my head and call it a night.
But time passed. The moon shifted position. And the sword kept swinging without stop.
This was nothing like what I'd expected.
Yi Han, watching Namgung Daeso's forms from afar, spoke up.
"Isn't that the state of no-self?"
Yi Han examined the boy's body directly, so he was certain. The child had never learned any martial arts before. Not even the most basic inner cultivation method.
And yet, the state of no-self? That was a hallucinatory trance only achievable by those who had accumulated extreme emptiness through relentless training and heavenly luck. In that illusion, some glimpsed the truths they sought; others found new paths.
"Say something! You bastard! I'm dying here."
For a ten-year-old who hadn't even touched martial arts, this was impossible.
"He's just swinging a sword."
That?
"No way! Then what's with those guys?"
Yi Han pointed at warriors pouring out sword qi and sword gangs, sweat dripping like rain.
"Then that's just swinging a sword too."
Namgung Hancheol brushed it off indifferently.
"Yeah."
The problem was, Yi Han's insides were boiling with frustration.
"How can that be the same as those! You bald monk. Already drunk? Some War God you are—nothing special. Is roadside dog shit the same as the shit dogs drop in fields? How many do you see? One? Two?"
Yi Han shook his fingers in Namgung Hancheol's face, even spitting as he ranted.
Namgung Hancheol set down his cup with a flick and murmured lowly.
"I could make it one for life, if you like."
Yi Han quickly withdrew his fingers. The man would actually do it.
"Explain quick, damn it! I'm gonna get qi deviation, you bastard! Do all Cheonmu Jiche bodies share some secret code or something?"
"As if."
The Cheonmu Jiche was simply the finest body for learning martial arts. Superior intellect was a separate realm.
"He's just starting now."
"Starting?"
"Yes. Starting in that weak, tiny vessel that can't even hold basic inner arts. The vast world called martial learning."
If anyone but Yi Han were here, they'd be awestruck, enraptured just listening.
"Drunk and spouting nonsense—now you sound profound?"
Namgung Hancheol ignored the drivel and tilted his cup again.
"......"
"Why silent again! You bastard!"
* * *
To me, martial arts had always been a sore thumb. An inseparable part of life.
Born into the world's greatest clan, I'd lived my entire life pursuing martial arts as my sole calling. That was my whole existence—and it tormented me.
Training. What others mastered effortlessly took me thousands, tens of thousands of attempts just to imitate.
Yes. Pain.
Martial training was agony for me.
But this feeling now—what was it?
I just swung the sword. Up once. Middle once. Down once.
Fun. Enjoyable. Thrilling.
Was swinging a sword always this fun?
Drip, drip.
This sound every swing. Sweat? Droplets falling?
Sweat dries the body as it flows. But this sound quenched my thirst more with each drop.
What was it? What the hell?
Would I know if I kept swinging?
I'd lost count of the swings.
* * *
"Even you, talentless in martial arts, must know this much."
Yi Han's face twisted at Namgung Hancheol's words. Despite appearances, he was a super peak expert. Flawless anywhere else.
But in the Namgung Clan—especially before Namgung Hancheol—he couldn't stand tall.
"If I went to another sect, I'd be a shoo-in elder."
Shoulders down, but mouth open.
"I hit super peak at twelve. Hwagyeong at fifteen, Hyeon Gyeong at thirty. Now? Not even I know my realm."
"Sure, you're amazing. Keep explaining, hotshot."
A chill settled on Yi Han's shoulders. He summoned all his inner energy, but it lingered—like a glacial blade ready to slice his shoulder clean off.
"......Please."
Sometimes Yi Han doubted they were even friends.
Whatever. Namgung Hancheol continued.
"Straightened the twisted qi and blood. Now it's barely holding position. What if inner energy is added?"
"It snaps. Or crumbles."
Yi Han had said it himself before. The qi and blood were weakened to the limit. Supporting meridians and channels had long lost function.
Namgung Daeso's were frailer than a newborn's.
"But a tiny amount?"
"Still snaps."
Amount didn't matter. Dry roots shatter at a touch.
What the boy needed was time to recover, not inner energy. The Divine Physician's precise diagnosis.
But Yi Han missed one fact.
"The body is called the microcosm because creation and destruction cycle endlessly within."
"But that child's body is barely balanced now. Hancheol, calling it a microcosm isn't wrong—but that's assuming a normal person. For his state? Like drought-stricken earth for ten years. Crumbling at the slightest step."
Yi Han proved why he was the Divine Physician. For once, he felt proud before Namgung Hancheol.
"Children are pure. So their actions can yield surprisingly profound results."
"What nonsense now?"
Namgung Hancheol ignored the sarcasm and pressed on.
"Sometimes sparking massive change."
Yi Han couldn't follow. Martial world this, microcosm that, change whatever.
"And the Samjae Geombeop is the perfect tool for it."
Back to the point. Yi Han jumped in to keep it there.
"Why the Samjae Geombeop?"
He never suspected he was the reason it wandered.
"The Three Talents Sword Emperor who made it was a historic master. Not quite my level, of course."
Bragging even in death. What could you do? Let it slide.
"So?"
"He probably created it with that in mind. And the key focus? Making it accessible to all."
"Right. Simple, simple, simple."
Even fools could learn it. Elders too. Martial novices as well. Because it was simple.
"Tsk tsk. And he calls himself super peak."
No! Did you contribute to my super peak? A little, maybe.
Ahem...
"Most in the martial world don't know the true meaning of the Samjae Geombeop."
"Just tell me what it is!"
Namgung Hancheol continued softly.
"A martial art anyone can learn. Fools, the talentless, even the gravely wounded."
"You mean...? That's what you're saying?"
"Tsk tsk. Finally getting it?"
"How was I supposed to know!"
"I realized at eleven."
"Great for you, genius!"
Yi Han looked at Namgung Daeso. Eyes different now.
"I see. Then why keep it to yourself?"
A historic discovery in martial history. Maybe only possible for Namgung Hancheol.
All the more reason to spread it!
"No one asked."
"Uh..."
Nothing to say.
"Too shabby for the Sword Emperor's work, I thought."
"That's your opinion."
"Argh! Just drink. Let me sort my thoughts."
What Namgung Hancheol said wasn't special. The Samjae Geombeop's effect, its virtue.
There's a term: yangsaeng. Living long without illness.
Arts imitating that are called yangsaeng gong.
And the most famous in the martial world...
"Dalma Yeongeun gyeong."
Shaolin's pinnacle. Supreme dynamic cultivation for building inner energy while moving.
And this art...
"Is healing in itself."
"Now you look like a Divine Physician."
"So you're saying the Samjae Geombeop equals Shaolin's Yeongeun gyeong?"
"No."
"Of course not. The Yeongeun gyeong was made by Damo himself..."
"Few arts earn my recognition. The Yeongeun gyeong leans toward martial prowess over pure yangsaeng. The Samjae Geombeop makes yangsaeng its foundation. That's why I respect the Sword Emperor. Though inferior to me."
"......"
* * *
Drip, drip.
Now I knew what the sound was. A single drop into my parched body.
Drip, drip.
Another. Moisture seeps into cracked earth, reviving it.
Training gets harder with each rep. Always had, till death.
But not now.
Was swordplay always this fun?
Count of swings didn't matter anymore. I just hoped this feeling never ended.
* * *
"And that Sword Emperor fellow pulled a clever trick with the Samjae Geombeop."
Pfft.
Yi Han's eyes widened. He laughed? This guy?
Namgung Hancheol kept his faint smile.
"Curious how that parched earth hardens again."
And so, the next day. The sun rose.
"Uh... This shouldn't be happening......"