There Was a Method (2)
Crunch crunch, nom nom.
“You’re quitting the Sawangjeon?”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
Can’t we talk after you finish eating? No, before that—do you really have to scarf down hangover soup right now? These are people you could just blast away with your inner energy!
Slurp, salty.
“Wasn’t that your plan from the start?”
“Huh?”
“Why so surprised?”
They were treating it like a given. That I’d be entering the Sawangjeon.
“All that training up till now—wasn’t it for this?”
Chomp chomp, crunch.
“Amitabha. But at your level now, young master, you’d just win outright, wouldn’t you?”
Ilseon Dosa saw the Sawangjeon as no big deal.
“Amitabha. Still, it’s a bit worrisome now. We don’t know how much those kids outside have improved. Most of ’em have probably been prepping solely for the Sawangjeon for the past five years. Elders and veterans clinging to them, raising those brats with their sects’ futures on the line. Even at this very moment.”
As Mujikja finished, the Daegalbak uncles started chiming in with their opinions.
“No more, no less—the strongest youth from Namgung Sega entering the Sawangjeon will take the crown. It’s always been that way.”
Love how they wait till they’re done eating to speak.
Slurrrp!
Tastes good.
I took a bite since listening made me hungry.
“That’s true, but... everyone’s shown their hidden potential so far. No easy wins. It just looked that way ’cause Namgung Sega’s monsters make it seem effortless. The martial world’s level is steadily rising, true to the Sawangjeon’s purpose.”
“Lemme see... who’s Namgung Sega sending this time?”
“Plenty of others’ll show, but Third Young Master’s the frontrunner. Saw him yesterday—total monster. That kid’s energy was ferocious.”
“Then our Little Whiskey’s already out?”
No, these guys for real!
“If he’s lucky, maybe quarters?”
“If not?”
“Preliminaries dropout. Heh heh heh.”
Not helpful.
Like it wasn’t their problem, the passion they’d shown before was gone.
‘We’ve done all we set out to do,’ huh?
They gave Daeyeon Geomdan a smackdown already.
I gotta snap to it. Or else!
I never planned to rely on these brainless uncles anyway.
So what should I do from now on?
The answer’s obvious: get stronger. But...
Would blindly training martial arts help me right now?
I’ve already mastered dozens of them. Spreading my efforts would boost my overall power.
It’s the surest way.
But it takes time. And some of these arts aren’t meant for quick mastery—they’re beasts.
Pick only fast ones? Limits hit quick.
Cheap tricks won’t beat Third Brother.
What impressed me about Third Brother was leveraging my advantages to the max.
I need a way to keep those edges while powering up fast.
“You wanna win?”
“Why ask the obvious?”
Ilseon Dosa gave me a sly look.
Pretended not to care earlier, but now that I’m stressing, he’s interested.
Shitty old monk.
“If I’m right, young master, your growth’s hit a plateau. Am I wrong? That’s why you’re acting desperate.”
Spooky.
Someone kidnap this geezer?
Truth was, my rush came from lack of time.
Felt like these two-year loops kept repeating.
Two years to proxy duel. Now two to Sawangjeon.
How far could I push from here?
For the proxy duel, I’d spent two years pure training.
My current self was the fruit of max effort.
Growth was shockingly fast at first.
But lately, it slowed. A month before the proxy duel, it flatlined.
“Every martial artist hits it eventually—fast or slow. Their own wall. You’re on the fast side, but proper training for two years... yeah, your wall’s here. And no one breaks it for you.”
So that’s why he half-ignored me over hangover soup? His belly mattered more than my worries?
“The Venerable One’s right. We’ve given you everything we got.”
“I’d help you right now if I could. But you’ll realize soon: walls need self-insight.”
“Sparring? Anytime.”
Nothing to say, but it pissed me off hearing it.
They were all spot-on.
“Hold on!! Everyone shut up!”
Yeah! Gotta own it.
I hit a wall.
“One at a time—speak!”
“What about?”
“How you overcame your walls!”
“Good! No secrets here!”
“If it helps.”
I’d judge if their stories helped.
“Training got me nowhere. So I played.”
“And?”
“Two years of slacking, wall crumbled on its own.”
I turned to Daegalbak No. 17 Uncle. No. 1’s tale was useless.
Daegalbak No. 17 spoke.
“I trained first too. No dice. So I restarted from scratch.”
“Like what?”
“Literal basics. Redid my first arts. Spotted what I missed, fixed what I thought was right.”
“Broke the wall?”
“Yup.”
“How long?”
“Five years?”
Great! Forty-eight Daegalbak uncles left.
I glanced sideways. “Next.”
The next uncle naturally spoke. “Blah blah, three years.”
“This and that, eight years.”
“So and so, seven years.”
“Yada yada, five years.”
Hearing their stories crushed me.
Fastest: two years. Slowest: ten.
The two-year guy hit another wall soon after.
The seven-plus-year folks? Smooth sailing awhile.
“Two years at best...”
I got the gist.
I’d crammed too many arts too fast.
Normally, you grasp an art’s essence first: swift? Heavy? Illusory? One-on-one? Crowd control? Direct? Assassination? Offense? Defense?
Internalize, then embody. Step by step.
Me? Reverse. Learned first, figured out in use.
Why? No time.
If I had leisure, I wouldn’t have rushed.
One art slow-build vs. many arts, even if indigestion—better for then-me.
Results weren’t bad.
“Should I restart from basics, step by step?”
That’s my conclusion. Surest path past the wall.
“Honestly, that’s what I’d recommend. Fundamentals work best.”
“But your arts... how many?”
“Sword: 33, saber: 15, fist: 25, kick: 10, joint locks: 6, poison: 9, throw: 5, stealth: 7, footwork: 29, plus 15 eighteen-weapon basics... roughly 154.”
“That many?”
“Snowballed. And you uncles taught ’em all.”
“Amitabha. My take: rebuilding basics to leap the wall? Ten years minimum. But one thing’s sure—ten years on, you’ll be the trickiest bastard in the martial world.”
“No ten years! Gotta win Sawangjeon in two! Or else...”
My gut gets pierced!!
“Why mumble?”
“Anyway! Gotta smash every wall in two years flat. I have to win!”
That’s when.
“Must you really win?”
“Yes!”
“Well, there’s a way... but...”
Ilseon Dosa trailed off, drawing all eyes. He looked unconfident.
I asked, “What is it?”
“Nah, even I think it’s impossible. Heh heh, forget I said it.”
Now I really wanna hear.
And why skip if there’s a method? Even impossible!
“It’s fine. Spill.”
“Heh heh, pretend you didn’t hear.”
Too late!
Don’t bring it up then!
“Won’t tell? I’ll order Head Maid never to let you monk gramps near again.”
“H-how dare you mix personal grudges with official business!”
“So talk. No next time.”
I prepped to stand.
Ilseon Dosa chanted and continued. “Amitabha. Fine, sit. So impatient. Ahem! I held back for your sake, Youngest Young Master.”
Ilseon Dosa had suggested cramming arts to Namgung Daeso.
He’d foreseen this.
Just not this soon.
‘Thought the wall was ten years off...’
Then, he’d have vaulted it naturally.
‘Just two years.’
Stunning speed from the youngest.
But arts aren’t what they seem.
Hard to suggest—like shoving him into hell’s pit.
“Can’t rethink? Keep grinding, wall falls in five minimum. I guarantee.”
“I said—!”
Skinny Gramps: ten years.
Monk Gramps: five.
Five or ten—future problems.
Time left now? Barely.
“I wanna power up fastest possible! Any method!”
Ilseon Dosa saw Namgung Daeso’s iron resolve.
“Might wanna quit from the pain.”
“Wouldn’t have started. Just tell me.”
“Amitabha. Fine. Don’t blame me later. The method is...”