Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 020
Chapter Title: Sparring with the Master, Scouting Party Formation
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Another year passed, and the Righteous-Demonic Great War dragged into its sixth year. The conflict, which had seemed on the verge of ending, stretched on endlessly.
It had been over a year since Dan Mun-hyeok and Seok Du-myeong first met through the Clear Wind Sword Manual.
Seok Du-myeong's progress had advanced to the point where his Clear Wind Sword Technique reached the fourth star. Just one more star, and he could manifest Wind Energy, unleashing its full power in real combat.
The problem was that Seok Du-myeong, after diligently training his martial arts for a while, had once again fallen victim to his incurable laziness and started slacking off.
Dan Mun-hyeok's prescription for this was simple: ramp up Seok Du-myeong's training intensity.
In other words...
Time to really crank it up.
Dan Mun-hyeok's first measure was to increase the repetition count during form practice.
"Repeat the final form two hundred times."
"Two... two hundred times?! Master, isn't that too much? We did a hundred last time."
"Du-myeong, what did I say about my training rules?"
"Don't argue with the master."
"And next?"
"'Argue, and you get hit.'"
The staff in Dan Mun-hyeok's hand twitched ominously.
"Good, you remember well."
"Of course I do, Mas-ter."
Seok Du-myeong emphasized the last word to voice his protest, but it fell on deaf ears.
Repeating forms a hundred or two hundred times was no easy feat. Even alone, it took three or four hours of grueling effort...
"Du-myeong, your stance needs to be half a step wider."
"Head too high—lower it more."
"Your posture's unstable."
Whenever Seok Du-myeong practiced the Clear Wind Sword Technique forms, Dan Mun-hyeok stood by his side, pointing out every flaw while counting the reps.
And if he wasn't satisfied? He simply didn't count them.
That meant Seok Du-myeong had to do well over two hundred without fail.
"Master, let me handle the two hundred on my own and report back. Why don't you rest over there? Do you really think your disciple would trick you? You trust me, right?"
"I trust this staff more than you."
"How can a master-disciple bond lack even this much faith? Mas~ter~!"
Thwack!
Sure enough, Dan Mun-hyeok swung the trusty staff at Seok Du-myeong's head.
Clutching his throbbing skull, Seok Du-myeong groaned in pain.
"I trust this staff. Du-myeong."
Dan Mun-hyeok stroked the staff with a solemn expression.
*
Due to its unique nature, the Clear Wind Sword Technique couldn't unleash its true might until the fifth star. Only at the level where one could wield Wind Energy did it reveal its genuine power.
Seok Du-myeong's Clear Wind Sword Technique had finally reached around the fifth star.
The "around" part came because true fifth-star mastery arrived only upon manifesting Wind Energy.
Seok Du-myeong still couldn't manifest it yet.
His internal energy reserves were ample, and his proficiency with the technique was solid. Now, it was a matter of applying the Clear Wind Heart Formula in tandem with the sword forms—real combat experience was key.
To awaken Wind Energy, he needed actual combat.
The most efficient and common way to simulate battle was sparring.
But Seok Du-myeong, thrilled by his near-fifth-star achievement, was blinded by overconfidence.
"Master, after trying it out, the Clear Wind Sword Technique isn't all that impressive. I can pull off the whole thing now. Ha ha ha."
Thwack!
The staff crashed down on Seok Du-myeong's laughing head.
"Ow!"
"Master, is this how you treat your proud disciple?"
Seok Du-myeong glared at his master, rubbing his head.
"You're bragging after barely taking your first steps? You fool—this is just the entry to practical application of the Clear Wind Sword Technique. You've got a long road ahead."
And so began Seok Du-myeong's martial arts training through spars with his master, Dan Mun-hyeok.
"Hut-tu, hut-tu, cha-cha."
"Hut-tu, hut-tu, cha-cha-cha."
Seok Du-myeong had arrived early to warm up.
"Master, don't let my looks fool you—I'm a veteran of real combat. Five years hardening my bones on fierce battlefields. Ha ha ha."
"Indeed, seeing your passion for training warms my heart."
Dan Mun-hyeok smiled meaningfully.
"From now on, attack me using the forms of the Clear Wind Sword Technique. I'll use my staff instead of a sword and hold back my internal energy. You pour every bit of yours into each form."
"Master, how could I dare accept such an unfair spar...? I gratefully accept!"
Seok Du-myeong was absolutely thrilled.
'My poor head, beaten black and blue by Master all this time—you've suffered. Today, I'll avenge you for sure!'
"Master, is it okay if I use a real sword? Swords have no eyes, after all—we might see some blood. Sorry in advance. Heh heh."
"No such thing will happen. Now, execute the forms."
"Yes, here I go, Master."
Seok Du-myeong assumed the first motion of the first form from the opening sequence, Wind Begins Subtly. He drew every ounce of internal energy from his dantian, spreading it wide through his meridians...
Just as he lunged at Dan Mun-hyeok.
Thud!
"Urk."
Two sharp sounds rang out in succession. Seok Du-myeong had barely stepped forward to unleash the form when Dan Mun-hyeok's staff struck his shoulder, drawing a cry of pain.
"Stance too high—shoulder pops up, exposing a gap."
"Master, I haven't even started yet!"
Seok Du-myeong protested as he shifted to the first motion of the second form, Autumn Deepens with Rain and Wind. Or tried to.
Thud!
"Gah."
The staff smacked his thigh.
Seok Du-myeong flinched from the stinging pain but desperately tried to land at least one form.
"Come on, Master."
Tap. "Urk."
"Let me."
Tap. "Urk."
"Just."
Tap. "Urk."
"Swing my sword."
Tap. "Urk."
"Once."
Tap. "Urk."
"At least."
Tap. "Urk."
In the end, Seok Du-myeong failed to execute even a single form of the Clear Wind Sword Technique.
He never even swung his sword.
Every time, he got walloped mid-prep stance. After dozens of such beatings, Seok Du-myeong lay sprawled like a starfish, gasping for breath.
'Is that old man really not using internal energy? And why does this damn staff hurt so much even on flesh, not just the head? It has to be made of special disciple-beating material. No doubt! Ow, I'm dying.'
"Master, isn't the Clear Wind Sword Technique kinda weak?"
Whining, Seok Du-myeong picked on the perfectly fine technique.
"Then try it with that Piercing Swift Sword Technique you knew before."
At Dan Mun-hyeok's words, Seok Du-myeong's spirits soared instantly.
"I've mastered this one even before you fixed it up, Master. Ha ha ha."
Moments later, Seok Du-myeong writhed in the corner like a bug.
"Du-myeong, forms are just standardized motions refined from countless swings to best suit the heart formula. They're not perfect in themselves."
Seok Du-myeong's eyes widened as he hung on his master's every word.
The power of sparring—via staff—was truly profound.
To Seok Du-myeong, the real master seemed less Dan Mun-hyeok and more the staff he wielded.
After all, disobey, and it struck.
"That's why constant effort is required."
'Man, I'm sleepy. If I nap here, since it's a dream, will I wake up again? Wonder what happens. Should I test it?'
Even as Dan Mun-hyeok lectured, Seok Du-myeong drifted into useless thoughts.
Thwack!
"Focus."
Training, scoldings, beatings—months slipped by like that.
*
As February arrived, the weather grew colder, as if reluctant to welcome spring.
Jin Yeom-pal, with nothing better to do, wandered the camp before returning to the barracks and approaching Seok Du-myeong's bunk.
Yeom-pal had returned the borrowed Clear Wind Sword Manual to Seok Du-myeong in under a month. Even if Dan Mun-hyeok had thrown it together casually, it was far beyond Yeom-pal's grasp.
"Bro, word is our squad's getting assigned to the scouting party for recon soon. Heard anything?"
Seok Du-myeong had caught the rumors circulating in the unit lately.
The higher-ups must be tired of the Demon-Exterminating Corps lounging around, collecting pay for nothing.
Scouting meant deep infiltration into enemy lines to gauge their movements—a special ops mission.
Seok Du-myeong figured it wasn't for low-rank scrubs like them and ignored it.
'Scouting ain't a casual stroll next door.'
'If we're cut off in Demonic Cult territory and forced to fight, it'd be total annihilation—a suicide run. Why assign that to us?'
He had some faith in that logic.
"Why, you hear something?"
Yeom-pal had a knack for picking up gossip, so Seok Du-myeong probed casually.
"Rumor has it they're folding some Demon-Exterminating Corps into the scouting party this time, and our squad's unit has a high chance. Supply kid Dong-chil said so. You know Dong-chil—he's a bit dim, but sharp on rumors."
Dong-chil was indeed a bit slow, as Yeom-pal said, but a known info broker around here.
Seok Du-myeong tried to shake it off, but an ominous feeling lingered.
And damn if his gut wasn't spot on!
The next dawn, Squad Leader Jo Ja-muk was summoned to the unit commander and returned to the barracks.
His face flushed red and purple, he spat on the floor.
"Ptooey."
"Those crazy bastards... heads full of shit, pulling stunts like... fuck... damn... fucking... bastards..."
After a torrent of curses, he addressed the squad.
"Listen up—we're on recon duty this time. Gear up and prepare. Any questions?"
Jo Ja-muk growled the question with a murderous glare.
Seok Du-myeong thought to himself,
'Petty assholes.'
A few months back, Yeom-pal's desertion had led to a humiliating rout by the Demonic Cult. This large-scale scouting party was clearly grudge-fueled.
A strike force disguised as scouts.
They'd taken a beating, so hit back big to restore pride—some bullshit logic.
Why not pick peak experts, first-rates, dozens of them for hit-and-run strikes?
The brass thought differently, apparently.
Peak masters were mostly commanders and above—who'd risk them deep in enemy territory?
Obvious as day: form a strike force posing as scouts, hunt easy Demonic Cult prey for kills, strut back with flair.
So why drag along the Demon-Exterminating Corps losers?
They were cheap labor.
Porters for gear, chow hounds, tent bitches—expendable in a pinch.
Truly, all kinds.
What kind of scouting party was this?
We're not your damn mules!