This Taste Is That Taste (4)
The warriors of Sorimsa were training as usual. But their focus was scattered beyond belief.
"Did you hear? Apparently, the youngest young master of the Namgung Clan showed up at Sorimsa yesterday."
"I overheard my martial uncles talking about it, but they were all hushing it up. So I don't know the details."
"Oh, that! I caught some travelers chatting about it, and the story goes like..."
That was when it happened.
"Hey! Focus!"
Mukhu had appeared out of nowhere and bellowed at his disciples. Only then did the chaotic atmosphere begin to settle, bit by bit. Watching this, Mukhu let out a deep internal sigh.
'This is a disaster.'
On his way here, he'd seen other disciples gossiping about yesterday's events too. If he didn't show any wavering himself, his disciples wouldn't chatter either—or so he'd thought. He'd been trying his best to act calm, but even Mukhu's heart hadn't settled from yesterday's incident.
'At least that kid isn't shaken. That's a relief.'
Gazing at I-gwon, who trained silently on his own, Mukhu regained a moment of peace. I-gwon was immersed in his solitary practice as always. What astonishing concentration.
'Still, what happens now...?'
Just one visitor to Sorimsa, and suddenly the future felt utterly unpredictable.
"They said to come here..."
In that instant, Mukhu's eyes widened. The culprit behind all this had appeared.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
He'd barely gotten the disciples to focus, and now chaos was brewing again. Mukhu knew he should scold them, but this time he held back. He had no attention to spare for the disciples. With a bewildered look, he stared at Namgung Daeso and his companions.
"What kind of lineup is this?"
Mukhu asked, eyeing Jinheo beside Namgung Daeso. Then he glanced at the other side and asked again.
"Didn't both of you say you were leaving Sorimsa?"
Ilseon Dosa replied with shameless ease.
"So? Is this a place we can't come back to?"
True enough. But this was the training ground for Sorimsa's third-generation disciples—the future of the temple. Naturally, the martial arts they practiced were Sorimsa's own. For outsiders with no ties to Sorimsa to watch was a clear breach of etiquette. Normally, he'd drag those two out himself...
'Who would?'
Mukhu glanced at Jingak, the interim abbot. Jingak just shrugged in response.
To Mukhu, it sounded like: 'Let it be what it will be...'
Fair point—who in Sorimsa could chase out those two? They were the former abbot and the one before that. If that's how it was, why leave in the first place? Sorimsa had gone mad.
"Are those the kids you mentioned?"
"Yes."
Ilseon Dosa peered down with eyes brimming with anticipation. The third-generation disciples had stopped training and were whispering among themselves.
"Look! The abbot's right there!"
"Yeah. As expected, the abbot wouldn't abandon Sorimsa. But is that the Supreme One next to him?"
"Whoa! That's the legendary wanderer who left Sorimsa—the one we've only heard about! First time seeing the Supreme One in the flesh!"
"Then that new guy must be the youngest young master of the Namgung Clan?"
The chatter was mostly about Jinheo, who'd broken precepts yesterday; Ilseon Dosa, returning after ages; and Namgung Daeso, the Namgung Clan's youngest young master. For Sorimsa warriors, their excited gawking seemed downright sloppy. But Ilseon Dosa's eyes shone with pride as he watched them. Their bodies clearly showed the effort they'd poured in so far. To build that density of muscle, they'd trained internal and external arts for at least a decade. No wonder Jinheo had praised them nonstop on the way here.
'Hm?'
Suddenly, Ilseon Dosa fixed his gaze on one spot and let out a gasp of admiration.
"Heh..."
He asked, staring at one boy.
"Is that kid perhaps a second-generation disciple?"
He looked far too young for that, but the boy stood on a level so utterly beyond his peers that it invited the misunderstanding.
Mukhu hesitated on whether to answer, but Jinheo's voice brought him quiet relief.
"All the kids down there are third-generation disciples."
"Heh... Impressive."
A heartfelt murmur. While the other third-generation disciples had quit training to gawk upward with unrestrained curiosity, that one boy steadfastly threw punches. It was like a craftsman pouring his life's blood, sweat drop by drop, into his masterpiece. His honed muscles evoked the ironclad armor of an imperial palace—unyieldingly solid. Every restrained motion showed perfect power distribution. It was just a simple straight punch, but imagining the solitary years of fist drills to perfect it was beyond reckoning. Premature perhaps, but one warrior came to Ilseon Dosa's mind: the strongest fist user he'd met lately. Thunder Emperor Namgung Cheon.
'Someday, Sorimsa might birth a Fist King.'
Then Ilseon Dosa abruptly turned to Namgung Daeso.
'The youngest young master is truly a monster.'
Assimilation speed for martial arts. Innate sense for pulling out the right technique at the right time. Unceasing effort. Nothing lacking. The one regret? Time... And that boy possessed exactly what current Namgung Daeso lacked: over a decade honing not various arts, but one single art. A monster nurtured by Sorimsa. He might just be the greatest wall for Namgung Daeso right now.
'This'll be more fun than I thought.'
And perhaps...
'The youngest young master might even lose.'
I spoke to the monk staring blankly at us.
"I'd like to spar with them right now. That okay? The interim abbot said the martial arts director has full authority over the third-generation disciples."
Mukhu glanced at Jingak again. A look asking if I could really do as I pleased. Jingak nodded, as if to say go ahead.
'Uncle Jingak's always been...'
Jinheo Uncle's fervent personality overshadowed it, but Uncle Jingak's influence in Sorimsa was no less. Now as interim abbot, it was even greater, but his original role was elder and the lead Arhat among the 108 Arhats.
Mukhu always marveled at Jingak. How could someone so laid-back wield such power? Maybe the real genius was Uncle Jingak. Shaking off the stray thought, Mukhu faced Namgung Daeso.
"Seems the decision's made, so do as you will, Youngest Young Master."
I was surprised at the easy approval. I'd heard a bit about Mukhu on the way and figured he'd be strict.
"No need to be shocked. I judged as their instructor that sparring you would benefit my disciples."
"What judgment?"
"That clashing directly with a Namgung direct descendant is an unmatched experience. Facing it before the Four Young Kings Tournament isn't bad. Please be good fertilizer for my disciples."
'Seriously.'
It showed how much Sorimsa expected from them.
'Means they trust them that much.'
Fertilizer, huh... That is my specialty.
"So I can take over from here?"
"Of course. I won't interfere with whatever happens now."
"The other monks too?"
"Yes. I swear on the martial arts director's name."
"Great."
I walked toward the third-generation disciples watching me. No one knew yet who'd end up the fertilizer.
Reaching them, I said to the young man at the front.
"Wanna fight?"
Icheon was an orphan. About fifteen years ago, not even knowing his own name, he'd followed a passing monk who invited him along. That place was Sorimsa, and from that day, he gained his name. And he never went hungry again. Young as he was, Sorimsa was good to Icheon. His martial brothers and uncles could be harsh, but beneath it lay warm care. Emotions he'd never felt before. In return, Icheon spared no effort. His greatest wish: Sorimsa at the top. Starting with the Four Young Kings Tournament.
Then some scrawny kid his age appeared before him and asked out of the blue: Wanna fight?
"You're the Namgung Clan's youngest young master?"
"Yeah."
Icheon glanced at Mukhu. Normally, Instructor Mukhu would intervene by now. But he stood with arms crossed, watching from above.
'The instructor tacitly approved.'
Full authority over this guy! And beside Mukhu stood figures too lofty to even glance at. This youth was the hot topic: Namgung Clan's youngest young master.
"Mind if I ask one thing?"
"Ask two."
As we talked, third-generation disciples crowded around us. It didn't stop there. Sorimsa warriors gathered around the training ground. The hushed rumors had spread like wildfire. Other first-generation disciples lined up beside Jinheo and Jingak, while luminaries like the 108 Arhats and Four Vajras encircled the area.
"They say the abbot broke precepts because of you. True?"
"Can say that for now."
"I see."
Icheon assumed his stance. The one who'd shown him grace was none other than Jinheo.
"I won't go easy. From now, I plan to smash you for real."
"Fiery for a monk. As expected of Sorimsa."
"Amitabha. Last chance. If you think the Namgung name protects you, run now."
"Protect? Lucky if you don't die."
"Nonsense!"
True story... Grimacing, Icheon launched at Namgung Daeso. No wasted motion. Two steps, and he was in front.
The onlookers gasped in unison.
"Of all people, he picked Icheon first."
"Yeah. Dropped everything to face a Namgung direct, and it'll end bland."
"Wasted trip."
Icheon wasn't the strongest third-gen. But he was the most well-rounded. No outstanding traits, but no weaknesses either. To beat him, you needed above-average in something. Easier said than done—balancing broad skills while excelling in one.
Icheon's fist flew precisely at Namgung Daeso's brow. Too late to dodge.
"It's over."
Someone muttered despondently—right then.
Whoosh!
Namgung Daeso's form blurred. Icheon startled. His extended fist too late to retract. He hurriedly reset, seeking his foe—
Smack!
A massive echo rang through Sorimsa.
"Guhhh!"
Icheon sprawled ugly on the ground. Meanwhile, Namgung Daeso blankly stared at his palm. The full-palm sensation of striking Icheon's occiput lingered. A flavor like savoring rare delicacies filled his whole body.
'This is it!'
I hadn't known when taking hits. But dishing it out? Crystal clear. Yeah! This is the taste!
I looked ahead and said,
"Next."