Beyond the Wall (1)
Namgung Sega was spending its days as usual. No particular incidents or accidents had occurred. Everyone was carrying on with their normal routines. Yet there was an inexplicable sense of emptiness hanging over the Namgung household.
"Isn't it kinda boring lately?"
"Huh? You too?"
"This is normal, sure... but it feels weirdly dull."
No one dared to mess with Namgung Sega. Doing so meant total annihilation for their clan. No one dared to provoke the Namgung household's ire. Doing so meant certain death.
"Back when the youngest young master was around, life had some real flavor to it."
Ever since Namgung Daeso had his sparring match, Namgung Sega had changed. All sorts of events had shaken up the once-quiet estate.
"No incidents popping up these days..."
Namgung Daeso had unwittingly woven himself deep into the fabric of Namgung Sega.
"Yeah. Wonder when he'll come back."
"Well, Sawangjeon is coming up soon, so he'll show. The quiet Namgung place'll get lively again. By the way, who do you think'll win this year's Sawangjeon? No clue."
"Still, the winner's gotta be..."
* * *
On the roof of the Family Head's Quarters.
Three figures sat facing each other, sipping tea and chatting idly.
"Who do you think the true dragon of this year's Sawangjeon will be?"
At Yi Han's question, Namgung Ilro swallowed the tea in his mouth with a gulp.
"Why ask me?"
"Who else in Namgung Sega? No one knows better than you, old timer."
"Heh heh, flattery's nice, but surely there's one person who knows better."
Yi Han glanced to the side. Namgung Hancheol was quietly sipping his tea.
"Hey, Namgung! Who do you reckon? Gotta be Namgung So, right?"
Not long ago, Namgung So had emerged from his second seclusion. Everyone who saw him couldn't hide their admiration. Rumors were already swirling through Namgung Sega that he'd take the Sawangjeon crown this year, no question.
Namgung Hancheol ignored Yi Han, simply refilling his own cup.
"This guy's getting quieter by the day. Old timer, say something."
Namgung Ilro chuckled.
"Heh heh, as if the patriarch listens to anyone."
"Ugh..."
Frustrated, Yi Han thumped his chest and downed his tea in one gulp. It was too spot-on; he couldn't think of a retort.
As he refilled Yi Han's empty cup, Namgung Ilro asked slyly,
"How's that child of yours faring?"
"Heh heh, you mean our Ilhyang?"
Yi Han's irritated expression melted away in an instant, replaced by a beaming grin. Namgung Ilro inwardly clicked his tongue at the sight.
Tsk tsk, no prouder parent than this one.
It was hard to watch an old man act like that. But soon enough, Namgung Ilro wore a similar look.
"And how's your girl?"
"Heh heh, what is there to say about our Ihyang? She could quit her strategist post and retire comfortably now."
"Heh heh, I'm thinking of ditching the Sinui role myself and traveling for fun."
Namgung Hancheol clicked his tongue at the pair, but they were lost in their own world, oblivious.
"Oh, right! Old timer! You gotta tell us who you think'll win."
Yi Han steered the conversation back on track. Namgung Ilro's eyes turned serious.
"They say Moyong Sega's eldest young master is a genius, Wudang's disciple is a once-in-a-generation prodigy, Hwasan's coming on strong this time, and Hebei Paengga's got a next-gen Sword King already making waves..."
Info on the murim's hidden young dragons poured from Namgung Ilro's mouth.
Yi Han cut him off.
"Quit circling with that nonsense!"
Namgung Ilro eyed Yi Han steadily. He knew why Yi Han had brought this up.
Probably because of the youngest young master.
It had been a year and six months since Namgung Daeso left Namgung Sega. No one had any solid news on him. Rumors flew: he'd waddled up some mountain, smashed a Shaolin disciple's head... Nothing concrete.
Namgung Ilro had a hunch why. Je-cheon must've blocked it.
Namgung Je-cheon, as he knew him, was more than capable. Henan’s info network had long been out of Namgung Ilro's hands. That kid had probably pegged Namgung Daeso as this year's Sawangjeon champ.
Who will claim the crown this time...?
The easiest bet was Namgung Sega's third son, Namgung So. Word was he'd far surpassed late disciple level. And those calling it were Namgung's power players—no need to doubt their word.
The other sects' disciples weren't pushovers either. Some trained for a decade, others since birth, all geared for Sawangjeon. Even Namgung Sega couldn't take this year lightly; new prodigies were sprouting like weeds.
Even in Namgung Sega, where past Sawangjeons were a lock for top two, opinions on the winner were split.
And Shaolin's got some freak talent too, from what I hear...
With no answer from Namgung Ilro, Yi Han gulped down hot tea after hot tea.
"So, old timer! Who is it?"
Finally, Namgung Ilro spoke.
"In my view..."
* * *
At the foot of Song Mountain.
A young man who had fully shed his childish air stood there. Beside him were a frowning youth and another grinning ear to ear.
The frowning one spoke up.
"Young master! Can't we call it quits on this now?"
The once-childish youth replied instantly.
"Nope. No can do."
"Everyone else stopped! Why me, still doing this? I can climb easy now!"
The ex-boy looked puzzled at the complainer, then pointed his thumb at the ever-grinning youth.
"He's doing it."
He folded his arm, pointing at himself.
"I'm doing it."
The frowner's face crumpled further.
"He's just a lunatic who copies everything you do! He does extras you don't even need to!"
Suddenly singled out, the grinner beamed wider and patted the frowner's back heartily.
"Haha, don't worry! I'll give you special one-on-one training, you mad bastard!"
Mad bastard—frowner, Namgung Je-cheon—exploded.
"Argh, damn it! Quit slapping my back! And why just me solo? Everyone else trains in groups!"
Namgung Je-cheon's whiny tone was the same as ever, but his body was worlds apart from a year and a half ago. Gone was the pudgy build; now perfectly sculpted muscles adorned his frame. Anyone from his past wouldn't recognize him.
Whether from the spirit pills, healing elixirs, and tonics he'd secretly scarfed, or his innate smarts shining through in martial arts, Namgung Je-cheon had progressed at breakneck speed. Enough to make his teacher greedy.
"I taught 'em all! I'll take you as my personal disciple, mad bastard. If Namgung Sega boots you, come to me."
"I'm higher-ranked than you, you iron-head! Even your abbot bows to me!"
"Iron-head's rude. Training doubled today."
Namgung Je-cheon's fingers twitched. The ex-boy—Namgung Daeso—chuckled at the sight.
"Wanna hit him?"
"Am I nuts? Let this fool hit him?"
Once, in a fit of rage, Namgung Je-cheon had swung at the grinning youth, I-gwon. Instead, his hand throbbed with a hairline fracture—a rare, horrifying lesson. He'd sworn never again.
Namgung Je-cheon eyed Namgung Daeso curiously. One day, Daeso had started toddling like a baby again. Ilseon Dosa and Mujikja seemed to know something but were too busy with their own thing to explain.
When Daeso walked normally again...
Changed? Or a different person...?
The aura around him had shifted. Close, yet somehow distant. Namgung Je-cheon occasionally felt it from his master. Not quite as far, though... maybe one step away?
The impatience Daeso sometimes showed had vanished too. No more casual head-smacks lately.
Though he smacks elsewhere now.
Namgung Je-cheon glanced at the iron-head, then back to Daeso.
Doesn't it hurt the young master?
Once Daeso walked and ran properly, he sparred daily with the iron-head. Early on, one or two bouts left him floored, bruised black and blue, even fevered for a full day once.
As time passed, spars increased. Now they went at it whenever bored, and Daeso emerged unscathed. He'd even taken on all three Shaolin geniuses.
Yet Daeso's body wasn't a muscle mountain like the iron-head's—just about Je-cheon's level.
Daeso looked ahead and said,
"Let's go! Je-cheon, take it slow behind. Don't forget the breathing method I taught."
"Gotta do that? Feels suffocating..."
"Yep. Skip it, and you know. I'll send this guy down."
Daeso's senses had sharpened incredibly. Even from unseen distances, he'd ghostly dispatch the iron-head if the weird breathing faltered.
Namgung Je-cheon shot Daeso a sneaky glare.
He's been hogging good stuff behind my back!
He sighed weakly.
"...Yes."
"Hang in there! Say if it's too tough—I'll help from behind."
I-gwon offered his non-comforting comfort, then eyed Daeso.
"Today, I win!"
In their waddling mountain climbs, wins were split lately. Daeso took yesterday, I-gwon the day before. Total: 99 matches, Daeso 45 wins, 44 losses.
I-gwon was thrilled. Since Daeso arrived at Shaolin, excitement never stopped. Above all, he wasn't alone anymore.
At Daeso's suggestion, I-gwon helped refine the three genius disciples' arts. At first, no takers—but one disciple's explosive growth made I-gwon their official instructor.
I watched them with a pleased smile. One's a scrawny whiner, always coming back head-smacked and bawling. The other's bandit-faced but timider than a noble lady.
Good job, Namgung Daeso!
Je-cheon didn't get smacked around anymore. Daeso was oblivious that he was the cause.
I-gwon mingled boldly now. Still both lunatics... but that's nature.
Time had flown; Sawangjeon talk was ramping up.
Time to prep leaving Shaolin?
"Alright, let's go? My mad bastards."
"...Huh?"
"Great!"
Whoops, inner thoughts slipped. I pressed on coolly.
"What, so shocked? It's true."
"...Yes."
"Great!"
"Yeah, let's move!"
Today, I'll break past the wall.
And win every single spar.