Beyond the Wall (2)
The world is truly unpredictable.
Namgung Je-cheon waddled up the mountain like a duck, lost in thought. He never imagined the day would come when he'd be training so diligently in martial arts—him, who once scorned them entirely.
"Step."
One step.
"Breathe."
Another step.
"Ki!"
To keep his purpose in learning martial arts from fading, Namgung Je-cheon chanted it over and over. Off in the distance, he glanced at I-gwon. Could that even be called a duck walk anymore...?
Two wild boars were charging up the mountain like madmen.
Everything in the world has its own unique rhythm. Not literal breathing, of course, but you could sense it was alive and pulsing. When he learned to walk properly, he'd realized the earth breathed just like people did. Healthy ground came alive underfoot—the texture, the sound, the smell all vibrant. Dead earth, on the other hand, felt utterly lifeless.
He used to think all ground was the same. But every step revealed something new, forcing him to adapt his gait. Each patch of earth demanded a different pressure, and only when that became second nature could he see things anew.
That was when he'd finally truly seen I-gwon. And he'd been awestruck by that sheer brute force.
He just walked. I-gwon surely knew the differences in the terrain, yet he strode with uniform power across it all.
Kwajik.
The ground shattered consistently wherever he stepped, no matter the spot.
'No matter how you look at it, that's just idiotic.'
Theory and practice are worlds apart. Even knowing the theory, few can apply it flawlessly. But I-gwon took each step harder than the earth's strength could withstand—whether solid rock or loose sand. He simply crushed and moved on.
Paths weren't there to be followed; his passage created them. A brutally ignorant method, possible only because I-gwon's body was even more brutally built for it.
A forested path lay ahead of I-gwon, branches jutting out to block the way, rocks making it uneven. Any normal person—and Namgung Je-cheon himself—would've detoured. It might lengthen the route to the peak, but it'd be faster overall.
"Hah!"
But I-gwon didn't veer. With a clear shout, he tensed his body. His muscles swelled to twice their size.
Kwajijik.
The ground's shattering doubled in scope. Looking more bear than boar now, I-gwon plunged into the woods without hesitation.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Arm-thick branches snapped against his body and shattered. A sight that would make ghosts weep.
Soon he reached a massive boulder waist-high in the path's center.
"Hah!"
His thighs ballooned again. It was still a duck walk, but I-gwon leaped.
Thoom—
A deep footprint etched into the earth. His seven-foot frame rocketed up with explosive spring, soaring lightly over the rock and barreling straight for the summit.
'I can't lose like this.'
Namgung Je-cheon refocused on his path.
Huuu, haaa.
A breath he now did unconsciously even in sleep. The familiar sensation took over, linking him to the world. He felt the sky's breath, the earth's. He could see exactly where to step, which way to go.
Sabak.
Light footsteps pressed the ground and advanced. His body leaped forward with full power.
Next step? There! It came naturally.
Unlike I-gwon's straight-line ascent, this winding path might take longer, but...
'The efficiency is different.'
Uniform power regardless of terrain was a solid idea—no need to overthink. But it sacrificed a lot.
'That iron-headed fool makes up for it with stupid stamina...'
Not everyone could; they'd collapse from exhaustion. It was I-gwon's way alone.
Just as the earth had firm and soft spots, so did the body—and feet were no exception. How you applied force to your sole determined if you'd hold, advance, or jump. Stepping on rock beat dirt for progress; flat rock even more so with less effort.
Sabak.
Rock over dirt. Tree roots sometimes. Firm surfaces if nothing else. He used every option to surge ahead.
Kwak.
I-gwon, meanwhile, pulverized everything in his path. Yet his speed never flagged. A body of pure iron, no doubt.
Moments later, the summit came into view. They locked eyes—their positions nearly identical.
I-gwon's muscles swelled further.
Kwajijijik.
The ground exploded like a bomb under his foot.
'Tsk tsk, what a brute.'
He'd told him not to waste power like that, time and again.
-Heh heh, this is easier.
That always ended the lectures. Without using internal energy, few could beat I-gwon conventionally. His raw physical explosiveness was on another level. Purely bodily, he was top-tier.
Namgung Je-cheon drew a deep breath. His eyes caught a thin, spindly tree that seemed ready to topple.
It whispered to him: Step on me! I've got amazing bounce! I'll be your launchpad!
He hurled himself at it, planting both feet on the tip and bending his knees with Cheongeun Thrust.
Creeeak.
The tree bent like a bow without snapping—brimming with life's vigor. In ten years, it'd tower here.
I-gwon barreled on with ignorant speed. Namgung Je-cheon relaxed.
Whirrrick.
The tree snapped back, flinging him forward. Still not enough to catch up.
'Thrust is plenty here.'
He landed on firmer ground than around it. His body arced like the tree—bow-shaped.
No teeth? Use gums!Gungsin Taeyeong!
The bowed body sprang forward again! Repeating it closed the gap with I-gwon bit by bit.
"No you don't!"
I-gwon glanced back and accelerated. A stamina monster, no doubt. But his rough breaths betrayed fatigue—proof he was human!
The final stretch to the peak lay bare—no obstacles, no ideal footing, uniform terrain.
I-gwon glanced back with a grin.
"I win."
He hadn't been like that before; their pure boy had changed. Probably from hanging with Je-cheon. Namgung Daeso, oblivious to his own taunts days ago, forgot it all.
In that instant, I-gwon's aura shifted. His reckless charge gained form.
Thoom—
Unlike before, focused power in the stomp. Namgung Je-cheon frowned. This was I-gwon's tricky side—seeming brute, yet calmest in crunch time, finding optimal paths. Likely Shaolin's millennium of force hammered into him.
Geumgang Budong Sinbeop, Lower 3 Forms, Chapter 1: Geumgang Ilhwi.
A refined motion like gleaming light—totally unlike I-gwon. Clean enough to inspire awe. Not full power, but optimal under restrictions. How many times had it frustrated him? Countless. Same technique, same form, but he could never match the speed.
He wasn't I-gwon.
Half-lidded eyes scanned ahead. A massive wall that had blocked him forever came into focus.
Time to tear it down. He'd delayed, though he could've sooner. Beyond this wall... if another loomed, could he reach that one too?
Vague dread had held him back.
Pfft.
Laughter escaped. Why? Playing murim master? Had he ever thought himself one? Real murim folk worried about that.
Now he knew. Right—he wasn't trying to be one!
His dream... He'd been mimicking without realizing.
He placed a hand on the unbreakable wall's one weak spot—he'd known it forever.
Gently.
Push.
Srrrr.
The mighty wall crumbled pathetically. Beyond it: an even tougher one.
'Damn, knew it.'
What'd he expect? But it wasn't nothing gained. Courage for the next. Foolish resolve to advance despite odds.
Didn't all martial arts start from desperation? Whatever happens, happens.
His dream: a farmer with a warm back and full belly! World-strongest farmer? Even better!
Geumgang Budong Sinbeop, Lower 3 Forms, Chapter 2: Geumgang Cheonyeong.
He knew the theory only. No way to cast a shadow filling the sky. How fast would that even require?
'I'm not a murim man.'
A fact from crumbling the wall. No need to look the part.
A farmer changes the world with a handful of sand.
Whack!
He kicked up dirt, sand flying into the air.
I-gwon glanced at the odd move, mistaking his grin for sour grapes over losing.
But he had no intention of losing today.
Long ago, when tiger and bear smoked pipes, immortals crossed the vast Dongting Lake on a bamboo leaf. Half-believe the tall tale—immortal, not tiger.
He painted the sky with a handful of sand. Then leaped.
I-gwon's eyes widened.
'Surprised? Me too, you punk.'
Step on airborne sand. Spring up. A faint, liver-shaking sensation at his toes. Same on the next.
His body plummeted. He grinned. As if. Just trying.
But I-gwon slowed a tad watching. Perfect.
He stomped hard, lunging forward. A reliable platform awaited—not sand, but the world's trustworthiest!
Ugh!
Mid-leap, he shielded his eyes with an arm.
'Monks always pull a finisher at the clutch.'
He'd fallen for it before, but forgot over time.
Flash flash!
Sunlight off I-gwon's bald pate nearly toppled him. He endured, stepping forward.
'Got it!'
"Huh?"
Slip~
'Can't let guard down!'
Nearly slipped off, but powered through.
"Use it right, you baldhead!"
He planted on I-gwon's dome and leaped again. I-gwon toppled backward from the push, ass-planting.
At the summit, Namgung Je-cheon looked down at stunned I-gwon.
"I win."
Just 1 win. 100 to go.
Moments later.
Namgung Je-cheon crested the peak, scanning around.
"Why's no one here?!"
* * *
At that moment, Namgung Daeso and I-gwon were in the training grounds. Everyone gaped, mouths wide.