Chapter 8
A Bad Connection Always Draws Blood (1)
From a distance, Dam-oh clenched his fists tightly as he watched.
“Of course he’s starving after three days without food! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to wake up—!”
Smack!
“Enough. I’ll guard him now, so you go up the mountain and catch a rabbit or at least pick some berries.”
“Agh, Master!”
Rubbing the back of his head dramatically, Dam-oh grumbled.
“I’ve been keeping watch by myself for three whole days, and now that you’re finally taking over, you’re sending me out on errands?”
“You brat!”
Smack!
Hong Rugae’s fist smacked the back of Dam-oh’s head again.
“If you’re so upset, why didn’t you immerse yourself in internal energy training like he did for three days without breaking focus?!”
“Agh! That’s easier said than done!”
“You’re the one who lost focus in half a day and opened your eyes—how dare you talk back? Just go already!”
“…Tch.”
With a defeated sigh, Dam-oh got up, his shoulders slumped from the accuracy of his master’s words.
“You just wait, you punk…”
He glared at Kang Yongwoon once more before trudging off to hunt for food, vowing revenge later.
“Hehehe. Starting training the moment he wakes up?”
Hong Rugae’s eyes curved like crescent moons.
He looked toward Kang Yongwoon with a beaming expression, clearly proud.
“Please, keep surprising me like this.”
He watched as Yongwoon, still stuffing dried meat into his mouth, stood with a cheap iron sword in hand.
Unlike with the Supreme Art, Yongwoon saw little progress in the Three Element Sword Technique.
“Haaap! Crushing Mount Tai! Haa—! Sweeping the Skies!”
No matter how hard he tried, there were only three forms.
It was a very simple sword style.
“Haaah! Eight-Directional Storm!”
His cheap iron sword made a sharp sound through the air, but nothing about it stood out.
Consistency is the only key, he reminded himself.
Yongwoon began experimenting with changes in speed.
Sometimes slow, then suddenly striking with shocking speed. He even reversed the Eight-Directional Storm—originally a downward slash—into an upward one.
He mixed slashes and thrusts. He struck down with Crushing Mount Tai, then used the Eight-Directional Storm to defend with intense flurries, before suddenly darting in to stab at a distant spot using an improvised move based on the Line Between Life and Death.
He was practically playing with the technique.
Time to take it deeper.
Memories of his father’s foundational teachings surfaced.
Balance, Strength, Resilience, Flow, Explosion, Speed, Softness, and Grip…
These, his father had said, were the hidden essences within all martial arts—shown through the foundational sword principles.
“Haaa! Crushing Mount Tai! Sweeping the Skies! Eight-Directional Storm—!”
Yongwoon blended those foundational essences into the Three Element Sword Technique.
Papak. Papak. Pakakak.
Huge pine trees before him were being sliced down by his iron sword. An impressive feat, considering he hadn’t infused any inner energy yet.
However…
Huff… I get the feel of the others, but…
His expression darkened.
I still don’t understand the final essence—“Grip.”
The Principle of Grip.
It was like incorporating the yielding strength of Tai Chi into the sword.
When your weapon meets the opponent’s, it’s the subtle art of breaking their stance or redirecting their blade—crucial for turning the tide.
“Grip is the final step of foundational swordsmanship. You must fully master Speed, Balance, Absorption, Flow, and Change—or Explosion—to wield it against a foe.”
How many times had he been thrown to the ground learning that?
Even so, he had no choice but to stop there.
Though it was ingrained in his mind, he hadn’t had time to train it into his body.
Just days after I learned it, war broke out. And within six months, the Empire fell.
His family was crushed in that storm.
If only I could receive my father’s guidance once more…
He slashed at the air and the trees.
But he couldn’t train the final essence—Grip—alone.
Because it required an opponent. One to clash weapons with, to test and refine the subtle shifts in force and momentum.
“Eheheh.”
Dam-oh grinned.
“Master, don’t you think it’s time? He’s probably hit the limit training on trees. Shouldn’t his future senior brother give him a lesson?”
“Stop.”
As Dam-oh stood with clenched fists, Hong Rugae stopped him.
“He’s not ready yet.”
“Come on, Master. I’ll go easy—just a light spar!”
“Go easy, my foot! You’re just looking for a chance to vent all that frustration you’ve been bottling up!”
Hong Rugae snapped sharply.
“Then what should we do?! He’s clearly hit a wall training like this!”
“Hm…”
Hong Rugae closed his eyes.
Because Dam-oh wasn’t wrong.
What now?
It was frustrating.
If Kang Yongwoon would only agree to become a disciple of the Beggars’ Sect, this plateau could be cleared instantly.
But I can’t force someone who already refused. I need to lure him in gently, until he asks to be my disciple himself…
At that moment, Dam-oh said something intriguing.
“Should I just pick a fight with some random guy and drag him over to spar with him? I’ll say, ‘He forced me, I had no choice!’”
Huh?
Pick a fight with someone random?
That might work…
Of course, he wasn’t planning to really start fights with strangers.
But what if the person was some arrogant poser with no real skill?
Like that cocky disciple of the Sword Sect elder I saw at Cheonhwa Pavilion…
Perfect.
He could straighten out that brat’s attitude and help his future disciple grow. Two birds with one stone.
And if he accidentally bites off more than he can chew, I can step in and rescue him…
That’d be three birds with one stone.
“Alright, sounds good.”
“Huh? Really?!”
Dam-oh blinked in disbelief, half-expecting another smack to the head.
“Yes. Let’s do it your way.”
A wicked grin spread across Dam-oh’s face.
“Then I’ll pick the fight.”
Finally, a chance to blow off some steam.
Ten Days Later — Northern Border of Henan Province, Anyang County
“Phew—finally made it to Henan.”
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Kang Yongwoon passed through the city gates and strolled down the main road.
“There’s about a month left until the Hero’s Tournament, right?”
Plenty of time.
“Great. I’ll keep moving slowly and focus on training.”
With half a month left, he could catch a boat and arrive just in time.
“After sleeping outdoors for ten days, I should find a decent inn tonight. Take a hot bath, eat some proper food.”
He felt a wave of gratitude toward the Mistress of Cheonhwa Pavilion.
If not for the pouch of money she’d given him, he’d be sleeping under someone’s eaves and eating cold noodles again tonight.
“But I still can’t waste money. I need a place with good value.”
He scanned the inns and taverns lining both sides of the road.
“There.”
It didn’t take long to find one.
Baekseonga.
Though it was still early evening, the place bustled with customers.
“Looks like they have plenty of rooms. And that food smell isn’t bad…”
He’d worked as a server before—he could tell.
“Let’s go.”
Yongwoon headed toward Baekseonga.
Baekseonga’s Annex.
Where the Sword Sect elder Sonwi had been staying for the past two weeks with his disciples.
“Haaap!”
“Chaaa!”
“Haa—!”
As usual, the three disciples—First disciple Lee Hoyoon, Second disciple Kwon Junghyun, and Third disciple Yeon Eunji—were training hard, drenched in sweat.
“Hey! Junghyun, you brat!”
Sonwi’s brow furrowed with displeasure.
“Do it properly!”
He barked without warning.
“It’s barely been an hour! Why is your form already breaking down?!”
It was extreme training.
Since they arrived, they’d been undergoing harsh training under the pretext of preparing for the Hero’s Tournament.
“Push your internal energy to the limit. The sweat you shed today will save your life in battle. Understood?”
Golden advice, truly.
But—
Ugh…
Junghyun clenched his teeth.
Screw this.
Sage advice or not, he was at his breaking point.
Only senior brother’s competing in the tournament! When did I ever ask to participate?!
He had just wanted to travel and see the world with his lovely junior sister. That’s why he offered to pay for everything.
Damn it. I can’t take this anymore.
Two weeks of this.
It was inhuman.
It’s not like I’m trying to rule the martial world. Why do I have to suffer like this?!
This was the end.
“Ugh!”
He collapsed, one knee hitting the ground as he clutched his core.
“S-sorry, Master… Huff, huff…”
He gasped as if his lungs would burst, his face contorted in agony.
“J-just a short rest… Please…”
He curled up like a shrimp, clutching his belly as if he’d damaged his core.
“Huff…”
Sonwi let out a long sigh.
He could see right through Junghyun’s act.
I should’ve never taken him as a disciple, no matter how much his family donated to the sect…
He regretted it deeply.
But what could he do?
Spilled water doesn’t go back in the bowl.
Five years of training, and he can’t even beat an unarmed tavern server! And still scheming!
Slowly, something deep inside Sonwi loosened.
His final thread of hope for Junghyun, which he’d held onto out of duty.
Fine. Do as you please.
He had done his part.
If Junghyun had even a shred of human decency, he’d never dare blame his master later.
“Enough. Junghyun, go rest.”
“Th-thank you! Cough…”
Junghyun staggered to his feet, still holding his core like he’d survived a life-or-death battle.
Back in the annex.
Junghyun seethed with rage.
“What the hell?! When did I ever beg to become some legendary swordsman?!”
He was fed up with Sonwi’s cold treatment toward him alone.
“Who the hell trains six hours of swordsmanship a day?!”
Even at the Sword Sect, three hours was the most anyone trained.
“And it’s not like he’s some unbeatable master! He couldn’t even handle that punk from the Beggars’ Sect!”
The more he thought, the angrier he got.
“Screw this. I need a drink.”
He quietly opened the window.
He planned to sneak out.
Even if he wanted to drink in his room, that excuse of “special training” meant they wouldn’t even let him bring a bottle in.
“Tch. Keep pampering your precious senior disciple all you want, Master.”
Junghyun slipped out the window like a snake slithering over a wall.
Kang Yongwoon rose from his seat with a satisfied sigh.
“Ahh. It’s been so long since I had a warm meal. I feel like a new man.”
His stomach was finally full.
“Now just a hot bath, and—”
He was heading toward the central hallway when his steps suddenly froze.
Zing.
A sharp, chilling aura pierced straight into his heart.
Killing intent?!
