Chapter 2
To get straight to the point: I was dead.
A sword’s death.
The time allotted to me as a sword had run out.
It was, in fact, something that had been all but inevitable once my body had been shattered.
What happened afterward, though, was something even I had not expected.
Life.
I was granted time as a human rather than as a sword.
What that means is this—
“Master Ja-mun, it’s time for your tonic.”
Dongchil appeared right on schedule with a bowl of medicinal broth.
If you’re wondering who Dongchil is, he’s one of the servants of this body.
Yes.
I had awakened in a human body.
To top it off, I’d woken up as the young master of a rich household.
And not just any rich family — this manor was even more splendid than the residence of the Hwasan sect’s elder; it put on a grander face than most.
A golden-coin trading house counted among the nation’s top one hundred guilds.
I was its eldest son.
The Geumjamun.
That was the family and the name I would live under from now on.
How did this happen?
Well… Elma (the lord of the underworld) had proposed a bargain, and when I accepted, this is what I became.
It wasn’t a grand, dramatic pact — just a request: while I lived as a human, send up the people I point out to the other side, or something along those lines.
Which begs the question of whom I’d be pointing out to be sent up — that was a problem unto itself.
In the end, though, the fact I got to keep living was a better result than nothing.
That was as far as the good part went.
‘I’m cramped.’
Even though ten days had passed since I woke, I still hadn’t stepped outside the manor tucked away on this remote mountain.
And that damned herbal tonic had been forced on me every day for ten days straight.
I’d rather wash down my throat with the stench of carriage horses than drink that stuff.
“Drink before it cools,” Dongchil urged, oblivious to my thoughts.
Truth be told I wanted to tell him to take it back, but that boy — despite his simple, guileless look — was sharp as a tack.
If I refused the tonic, he’d scamper back to the main family and report it at once.
They hadn’t once shown their faces in the ten days since I woke, so I had no idea how they’d react.
I wanted, for now, to avoid getting involved with them.
After a moment’s hesitation I lifted the bowl and gulped the tonic down.
“Ah! Don’t drink it all at once like that… isn’t it hot?” Dongchil exclaimed.
“…It’s hot,” I said.
“Ju-just wait a second. I’ll bring you some cool water right away.”
As soon as Dongchil hurried off, out of sight, I opened the window and spat the tonic out.
It wasn’t only because it was bitter or hot.
The concept of eating was still unfamiliar to me, and fundamentally my body rejected taking anything in.
Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I reminded myself of the situation once again.
“This is no living body.”
From the moment I woke, my physical condition had been a wreck.
Sapped yang energy. Drugs and alcohol that had reached the bone marrow. And even demonic energy here, in a place where it shouldn’t be.
I looked at the hand I used to wipe my mouth.
The skin and muscle were withered and shriveled like the bark of a dead tree; the sight was hideous enough to make me flinch.
It wasn’t just the hand. From the accounts I’d glimpsed through the shared memories, my entire body — face included — was in a similar state.
Seeing Dongchil treat me as if nothing were wrong left me surprised by how calm he was.
This looked less like a sick person and more like a monster.
The problem was that this condition was caused by demonic kung fu.
“To think I’d see Goruma-gong in a place like this.”
The name made my brow furrow.
Goruma-gong is, plainly put, a demonic art that turns people into the living dead, like mindless corpses.
They say those who master it become almost immortal.
I could say with confidence that it was nonsense.
Not immortal my foot. If you separate a body and a head, someone dies just fine.
I speak from experience.
But that’s not the important part.
Those who learn demonic arts are hunted as martial criminals.
For an art like Goruma-gong, it wouldn’t be surprising if the whole world set out to kill you.
That’s why I couldn’t take a single step beyond this manor.
Why would a rich young master make such an extreme choice? Hmph.
Actually, the reason was already clear to me.
In the world of martial artists and strange ailments, I wasn’t called the Divine Sword for nothing.
One of the abilities I’d had since the Divine Sword was sharing — the ability to share knowledge and experience in a kind of dreamlike communion with the Hwasan sect’s elders across generations.
That power had left memories in this body, and I’d taken them on the first day.
That’s how I learned the terrible reason I’d had to choose this path.
Ruptured meridians.
And a life with a deadline accompanied by agonizing pain.
I tried everything to survive, and the end of it had been demonic kung fu.
“Pity, but the method was wrong.”
Goruma-gong might grant something close to undying flesh, but it doesn’t fix ruptured meridians.
And Goruma-gong is known to require unbelievable pain to learn.
This body had been tormented by ruptured meridians for so long before the training began — it simply couldn’t withstand it.
That’s why drugs and spirits had chilled to the bone: the mind couldn’t stand it otherwise.
“In the next world, may you rest in peace.”
All I could do was offer a short prayer to soothe the lost souls. If Elma had any sense, maybe he’d be a little more considerate.
But from a living person’s perspective, survival came first.
There were mountains of problems to solve immediately.
Ruptured meridians and demonic arts aside—
“To restore this body I’ll at least need to eat something.”
The problem wasn’t only the tonic. Most meals they presented barely touched my lips; even when I ate a little, I ended up tossing it back up.
When I’d first woken I’d been gaunt; now I looked even thinner—just a twig of a thing.
Yet it wasn’t all bleak.
“I’m starting to get a feel for it.”
The power that dwells in a soul: divine power.
Just because my body changed didn’t mean my divine power had vanished.
When the sword broke and its vessel shattered, that power had been scattered — but now it had been placed in this new vessel.
I was cautious because it was the first time I’d use that power in a human body.
But just a little practice and I could sense it.
“If I can use only my divine power…”
Even this body I could fully restore, I was convinced.
Then I’d empty a few bowls of that tonic without a second thought.
Not that I felt like doing that at all.
“Alright, you can go now.”
After wetting my lips with the cool water Dongchil brought, I dismissed him.
Left alone, I sat cross-legged — a posture I’d become practiced with over the past ten days.
‘First priority: heal the body.’
But I had no intention of stopping there.
They say even a mutt in a village school will at least learn a poem after three years; I had trained alongside the era’s finest warriors for centuries.
A peerless master? That much would at least be dignity.
“Let’s see what happens.”
Divine power is not something a human easily handles.
Sure, the previous owner of this body — that damned man who ran off after stealing the body — could use divine power; but he was a strange exception.
This body, leaving ruptured meridians aside, was ordinary — arguably closer to dull-witted than gifted, from what I’d observed in the past ten days.
So handling divine power required a special method.
That method was the Jahashin-gong, a technique passed down only to the Hwasan sect’s head elders.
‘I see — this is how they infused divine power.’
It was knowledge I’d gained from sharing with past masters, but doing it myself was a different matter.
Because I’d been cautious in my approach, it took a while. Still, it was only a matter of time.
Once I found the feel and gained confidence, things moved swiftly.
In a single day I achieved the first goal.
The initial stage to use divine power — I had managed to enter the first-step of Jahashin-gong.
Pa-at!
As I completed the first step, light burst from my eyes and the world tinted violet.
Looking through my vision, I saw a purple sheen in my eyes.
It wasn’t strange — it’s a phenomenon that appears when training Jahashin-gong.
When I drew in the divine power, the radiance faded; the world returned to its original colors.
Hoo.
I steadied my breath and checked my body.
“It’s working. Of course it would.”
Because ruptured meridians had let yin energy overwhelm every one of the twelve meridians, they had all been blocked — and now two of those twelve meridians were opened.
All from taking merely the first step of Jahashin-gong.
That technique has an extreme yang nature.
Not only that, it also helped clear some of the demonic energy that had seeped into the marrow.
That happened because Jahashin-gong, built on divine power, possesses anti-demon efficacy.
“Now that I see it, it feels inevitable that I came into this body.”
Anyone would look at this body and think it was beyond recovery; no one could fix it.
But for me it was easier: my own abilities and the problems Geumjamun carried were directly opposed, so they canceled each other out.
If it had been another incurable disease, one that required medical skill I lacked, things would have been harder.
“I’ve only just avoided dying young.”
I’d unblocked some meridians and cleared some demonic energy, so the immediate crisis had passed.
But my body was still far too weak to do much.
A greedy thought surfaced.
“I’d like to move to the second step right away.”
But that would be greed.
Jahashin-gong is one of the harshest among even the strongest yang arts. From the second step onward the energy leaps explosively.
I couldn’t be sure my body would endure it now.
“There’s no need to act human and be foolish just because I’m human now.”
Everything has stages.
I’d seen countless warriors who’d ruined themselves trying to skip steps.
So I kept my impatience in check.
“For now, I should eat.”
That was the next sensible step to restore my body.
Thankfully, in my current state eating seemed doable.
My stomach rumbled.
It was the first time I’d felt hunger since awakening.
“Is someone out there?”
I called out, though I really meant to call Dongchil.
There was only one other person in the manor besides me.
Aside from Dongchil, I hadn’t seen anyone else — neither the guild people nor the clan.
The reason was obvious: you don’t go around broadcasting you’re learning a demonic art.
It was fortunate that the one human present — Dongchil — was extremely diligent.
He came in at once, breathless.
“Master Ja-mun, did you call?”
“Yes. I’m peckish. Prepare a meal.”
“A meal?”
Dongchil’s eyes widened.
Geumjamun had spent the last days refusing food; for him to ask for a meal signaled a real change.
His surprise melted into joy.
“I’ll prepare it right away! Please wait a moment!”
He left faster than he had for the water.
His delight at seeing his master change made me realize he was a good kid.
And digging through Geumjamun’s memories, though he’d lived an extreme life — even dabbling in demonic arts — he hadn’t been a ruffian who harmed people around him.
“That pleases me.”
A smile tugged at my lips before I realized it.
And shortly after, another small joy arrived: the porridge Dongchil brought.
The first real food I swallowed, unlike the earlier tonic, was warm and sweet.
The joy of eating — I tasted it for the first time.
“It’s delicious.”
Maybe living as a human from now on wouldn’t be all that bad.
