Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 007
Chapter Title: Death
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Seok Du-myeong turned thirteen. Though only three years had passed, he had grown beyond recognition.
He had shot up in height, already as tall as his grandfather, Gong Son-chan. The internal energy he had diligently cultivated from the Clear Mind Technique without rest was nearing five years' worth.
Someone might scoff that five years was nothing much, but considering the excruciatingly slow accumulation rate of the Clear Mind Technique and the issues with Seok Du-myeong's dantian, amassing this much internal energy was proof enough that his martial arts talent was nothing short of genius.
Even as most of the energy in his dantian constantly leaked away, he had built up five years' worth in just three. This was several times faster than an ordinary martial artist's pace—a remarkable speed indeed.
"Grandpa, I think I'm ready to do a ronin's work now. So, can I start tagging along with you?"
Seok Du-myeong said with a serious expression.
"No, you can't, you rascal. Let me say it again: don't even think about scraping by as a ronin."
"Why not? Being a ronin seems fine. You're doing it yourself..."
"That's just because you're young and don't know the world yet, Du-myeong. A ronin's life is walking a knife's edge, never knowing when death might come. What's so good about that?"
"Uncle Ja-myeong makes good money and lives well enough."
Seok Du-myeong had spent his life since infancy solely with his grandfather, Gong Son-chan.
The thatched hut they lived in sat at the edge of Gongmyeongsan Mountain's foothills, far removed from the nearest village—an isolated spot.
He had briefly stayed at the Righteous Martial Hall, but it was too short a time to make any real friends. The only person who ever visited Gong Son-chan was the one Seok Du-myeong was talking about now.
Baek Ja-myeong was a ronin in his forties. Seok Du-myeong didn't know how he and Gong Son-chan had met, as his grandfather never told him, but Baek Ja-myeong didn't seem like someone who needed to associate with him.
Tall and gaunt, with a sharp, fierce look, he was a first-rate master. First-class experts were rare and exceptional among ronin. A man of his caliber would be treated well anywhere.
Even without being a ronin, he could claim a position in any prominent clan. Or he could open a martial arts school in a decent town and live comfortably without worry.
To Seok Du-myeong, this Baek Ja-myeong was the ideal image of what he wanted to become.
"Du-myeong, you can't trust a guy like Baek Ja-myeong either. He might look cool and flashy to you now, but he's just another ronin—nothing special."
Gong Son-chan seemed to have more to say about Baek Ja-myeong but stopped himself, holding back.
"Du-myeong, you're still young. When you turn sixteen, choose your own path to survival. But this old man will never approve of you becoming a ronin."
"Then what do you want me to do, Grandpa?"
"Well, honestly, I'd love for you to open a modest inn somewhere, hire a chef and some staff, and live a peaceful life."
"Grandpa, I can make a living anywhere now."
Seok Du-myeong's confidence had surged lately.
And for good reason: the Piercing Swift Sword Technique that Gong Son-chan had taught him had already reached the fourth realm.
The Piercing Swift Sword Technique consisted of five initial forms and four advanced ones—a swift sword style that the third-rate ronin Gong Son-chan had learned from a manual he stumbled upon by chance.
According to Gong Son-chan, he had found it in a cave deep in the mountains—a stroke of fateful luck for a mere third-rater like him.
The downside was that the manual was incomplete from the start: no heart formula section, and the end of the sword forms was damaged.
Even so, the Piercing Swift Sword Technique was undoubtedly the advanced work of some great master. With the meager internal energy Gong Son-chan had built using the Clear Mind Technique, he could still unleash its power.
The manual's contents were profound, with intricate and complex sword principles that even Gong Son-chan had struggled to master.
After fifty years of practice, he had only just reached the third realm.
An incomplete manual like the Piercing Swift Sword Technique meant it could never achieve true mastery.
Yet even at this level, it had elevated Gong Son-chan's third-rate skills to early second-rate, enough to sustain him as a ronin all these years.
"Grandpa, I think the Piercing Swift Sword Technique is around the fourth realm now."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
The still-young Seok Du-myeong looked up at his grandfather with a proud face.
Gong Son-chan looked shocked.
"Alright then, let's see my grandson's swordsmanship."
In truth, when Gong Son-chan first taught him the technique, he had only laid the basics before handing over the manual.
In his eyes, Seok Du-myeong's quick mind far surpassed his own. Gong Son-chan had treated the manual like a sacred relic his whole life, yet parts of it still eluded him.
From then on, Seok Du-myeong had studied and practiced the Piercing Swift Sword Technique on his own.
The entire manual was etched into his mind.
Whenever Gong Son-chan left to find work, Seok Du-myeong would ponder it alone, unraveling the technique in his own way during those solitary times.
Unbeknownst to himself, he possessed a genius-level talent.
Limited by his internal energy, he couldn't fully unleash the advanced forms' power, but the initial forms' rapid strikes could still pack some punch even with his scant energy.
Seok Du-myeong assumed his stance and raised his wooden sword.
He began demonstrating the forms in sequence, starting with the first initial form: River-Flowing Swiftness.
His sword grew faster with each move, reaching blurring speed by the final initial form: Source as the Beginning.
Gong Son-chan's eyes widened wider and wider as he watched.
Was this truly the Piercing Swift Sword Technique he had wielded his whole life?
The technique Seok Du-myeong displayed seemed to shake off the clumsy shadows of his own dull practice, blooming anew as the masterpiece it was meant to be.
Whoosh!
Swish!
Finally, from Seok Du-myeong's hand came the last form: the fourth advanced strike, Sea-Cleaving Night Division. His sword demonstration ended.
Breathing heavily, Seok Du-myeong straightened his posture. Gong Son-chan stared at him.
"How was it, Grandpa? Can I make a living with this now?"
Seok Du-myeong smiled, eyes hopeful for praise.
"It's... it's decent. But you're not quite at the level to earn your keep yet."
"Am I that far off?"
Seok Du-myeong's voice carried a hint of disappointment.
"Yes, still a ways to go."
"Hmph, got it. I'll train harder, Grandpa."
"Good. The weather's turned quite chilly. Let's head in and eat."
"Yes, Grandpa."
Seok Du-myeong, stomach rumbling, quickly agreed and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Gong Son-chan watched him go with a look of pity.
He hoped Seok Du-myeong would never set foot in the jianghu.
He knew the boy had exceptional martial talent.
But Gong Son-chan also understood what a flawed dantian meant for a martial artist.
Without internal energy, martial arts came down to raw physical prowess—and in the jianghu, that could only escape third-rate at best.
His heart felt heavy and suffocated.
Gong Son-chan thought they needed money.
To keep Seok Du-myeong out of the jianghu and let him survive with his basic self-defense skills, he wanted to secure startup funds for a business.
Of course, if Seok Du-myeong heard this, he'd insist on earning the money himself.
Still, Gong Son-chan hoped his grandson wouldn't suffer as he had in his youth.
Then, after a long stretch without work, a good opportunity came to the struggling Gong Son-chan.
He was hired as a temporary escort for cargo transport.
Escort agencies usually handled such jobs with their own men, but occasionally they hired ronin as extras—when the cargo was plentiful or valuable, as a precaution.
And so, Gong Son-chan set out on a rare long-distance job that paid well.
A month later.
Gong Son-chan returned home drenched in blood.
His wounds were so severe that it seemed miraculous he hadn't died on the way, clinging to life to reach the hut.
"...Grandpa... huhuhu..."
Seok Du-myeong sobbed, clutching his grandfather's thin, rough hand as he lay on the sickbed.
Gong Son-chan's body bore multiple gashes, but the long slash from his chest to his side oozed blood red through the wrappings.
He lay in a deep stupor, breathing in dry, ragged gasps.
With the hut so far from the village, fetching a physician would take nearly a full day. Seok Du-myeong hesitated.
He decided to check his grandfather's condition at dawn and rush for help if needed.
Gong Son-chan regained consciousness.
"Du-myeong, my throat's parched."
At the hoarse, raspy voice like grinding metal, Seok Du-myeong snapped to attention, fetched water, and carefully spooned it into his grandfather's mouth.
After a few sips, Gong Son-chan let out a long sigh.
"I'm so tired."
Even speaking, he coughed dryly without end, then took a deep breath and grimaced.
Each cough forced fresh blood from the gaping wounds.
Seok Du-myeong wiped away his tears, gazing anxiously at Gong Son-chan.
He was terrified. He denied it, but...
The thought that his grandfather might leave him haunted his mind, filling him with a chilling, overwhelming dread.
The world had been cruel and harsh to Seok Du-myeong.
Abandoned by parents whose faces he never knew.
Others were born into the most precious gift—family—but it had been denied him from the start.
Perhaps because he was an orphan, his blood-unrelated grandfather Gong Son-chan was his entire world.
Seok Du-myeong had never imagined a world without him.
The loneliness of facing it alone loomed like a darker abyss than any fear he might overcome.
"Grandpa, I'll fetch a physician for sure. Just hold on a little longer, even if it hurts."
As Gong Son-chan's condition worsened, Seok Du-myeong changed his mind, resolving to run through the night if needed.
"Du-myeong, no... just... don't..."
Gong Son-chan struggled with each word, speaking in broken gasps.
Then he slipped back into deep slumber.
All Seok Du-myeong could do was sit by his side, watching.
For two full days, Gong Son-chan slept.
Seok Du-myeong stayed beside him, drifting in and out of sleep himself, forgetting food and water.
"...Du-myeong."
Gong Son-chan called to him.
"Yes, Grandpa."
Seok Du-myeong's voice trembled with sobs.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"A grown boy crying like that..."
As if in a final burst of clarity before death, Gong Son-chan's voice grew calm and clear.
"I've lived over seventy years as a ronin. That's long enough."
"Grandpa, don't say that. I'm scared."
"I was alone at your age too. Scared and lonely. But somehow, I got by. Du-myeong, don't live like me. Marry, have kids—promise me you'll do that. Meeting you kept this old man's final years from being too lonely. That's fortune enough."
Listening, Seok Du-myeong felt an ominous chill shake his body.
Gong Son-chan pressed on despite the strain, as if finishing his words would mean eternal sleep.
"My only regret is not living a few more years to earn enough for a proper shop for you. I wanted to see you wed... If not for this unlucky run-in..."
"What happened? You said it was nothing major."
Grief fueled Seok Du-myeong's anger. He wanted to know who did this—to avenge him.
"What's the big deal about a ronin taking a blade? Who swung it doesn't matter. You don't need to know—don't even try."
Gong Son-chan knew Seok Du-myeong's mind. But he didn't want the boy entangled, wasting his life on such things.
"Promise me, Du-myeong."
When Seok Du-myeong hesitated, Gong Son-chan pressed.
"Now."
No answer. Gong Son-chan barked sharply, defying his dying state.
"...Okay, I promise."
Seok Du-myeong murmured weakly, voice faint.
Hearing it, Gong Son-chan collapsed back onto the bed, strength gone.
"Du-myeong, there's money in the box under the bed. About a hundred taels of silver. I'm sorry—it's an awkward sum, not enough for much."
Having spoken so much, he seemed exhausted, staring blankly at Seok Du-myeong's face.
A bright, awkward smile spread across his wrinkled features, ill-suited to them.
"Lucky me. Thought I'd roll in the mud, one limb gone, freezing to death like some wretched soul... But I have a grandson, lying here in a warm bed..."
Gong Son-chan exhaled his final, long breath.
He spoke no more.
Thus, at thirteen, Seok Du-myeong was left alone.
He sat by Gong Son-chan's body for days, unable to leave.
His mind grew distant, consciousness fading.
It felt like his grandfather might breathe again, rise—so he couldn't move.
But it never happened.
Even at his young age, Seok Du-myeong knew this was their eternal farewell.
Alone, he hoisted the body on his back, carried it to the sunniest spot on the back mountain, dug a grave without a coffin, and laid his grandfather to rest.
Finally, covering Gong Son-chan's face with earth, he gritted his teeth through blinding tears to build the mound.
"Grandpa, I'll come back for sure. Next time, with a pretty wife and kids. Rest easy here until then."
Seok Du-myeong bowed at the grave, sat dazed for a long while, then rose.
That day, the thirteen-year-old stepped alone into the cold, cruel world.