It Begins With Me (2)

“Swindler, you say?”

Seol Hong-baek could only be taken aback.

But Jin-hyeon was serious.

‘Something’s off.’

The blade’s form is good. The blood groove is cut properly, and the balance isn’t bad.

The problem isn’t the outside, but the inside.

‘It’s not a crack from long use.’

There are many ways to make a sword.

A soft-sword you coil at the belt uses steel with high spring, a thick military greatsword for the battlefield uses stiffer steel and a duller edge so it won’t break easily.

The Seol Clan uses the Central Plains style, waist-hung longswords with a narrow blade, lively tip, and a touch of flex so steady pressure won’t snap it.

Hardness, elasticity, edge and spine, even the width and thickness of the blade, swords are shaped by purpose.

In Murim, weapons come in every variety from blades that look ordinary but hide special techniques, to those which are far lighter than they seem, or preternaturally heavy.

‘This looks like a regular longsword, but half of its inside is rotten.’

He could tell from the draw alone. In addition, with the Eight Wastes Alliance Leader’s eye and memories, he could see finer than he did as a smith.

‘This isn’t from long use. The crack was deliberately forged into it from the very beginning.’

That’s harder than making a fine blade. Only a skilled smith could deliberately craft it so.

“Do you procure your swords from a supplier?”

“We do, but…”

Few sects forge in-house. The Seol Clan is no exception.

A peculiar displeasure stirred in Jin-hyeon.

‘Sabotage.’

It wasn’t because it was the Seol Clan.

It was because he could feel the intent of the sword’s craftsman. This wasn’t done with the purpose of destroying an enemy in war. No, this was something that gnawed away at the craftsman’s own pride.

‘You can eat after making trash like this?’

Seol Hong-baek asked, face grave.

“Is there a problem with the sword, in your eyes?”

“There is.”

“…Frankly, I can’t tell.”

As the head of a clan, he was disarmingly honest.

He was someone always ready to learn, no matter the time or the subject. Beyond his temperament, this was the very attitude by which he lived his life.

“Even lifelong swordsmen might miss it. This lies in the realm of craftsmanship.”

Seol Hong-baek’s eyes lit.

The realm of craftsmanship? Is this youth a blacksmith?

Jin-hyeon studied the blade, then shook his head.

“Let’s handle what we came to do first.”

“Mm. Let’s.”

I didn’t sense it, but he did.

If it isn’t a prank, it bears looking into. Thinking so, Seol Hong-baek stepped back and watched.

A moment later.

“Ho!”

An involuntary exclamation escaped Seol Hong-baek.

Jin-hyeon’s blade work flowed like a dance.

At times gentle, at times forceful. Sometimes slow, sometimes explosive.

‘Awkward.’

It looked like a man who’d never held a blade demonstrating forms for the first time, or so a swordsman’s eye would think.

‘Awkward, and yet…’

What drew his awe was how precisely each motion cut off. Clean, and discrete.

With top-tier arts, one might miss it. But to a swordsman of Seol Hong-baek’s level, the Seven Purities Sword isn’t a difficult system.

So he knew. The fact that Jin-hyeon was making the forms rigid on purpose.

‘So he’s excluding his own interpretation entirely to teach the original.’

That requires self-objectivity even before skill.

He showed only the pristine form of the Seven Purities Sword. It can be made more fluid and dynamic, but that would be his interpretation, not the original.

For him to be teaching with that restraint, it was no wonder Seol Hong-baek was moved.

Jin-hyeon unfolded the Seven Purities Sword five full times, then stopped.

It was a fairly long set. The movements weren’t difficult, but the number of moves were many.

Yet his breath didn’t hitch once.

‘Not bad at all.’

Even a healthy man shrivels in breath and heart if he lies unfed for three days.

The Body-Refining Art’s internal energy, and its subtle bodily tuning had propped up his endurance.

“Shall I continue?”

“…….”

“Patriarch.”

“Mm? Ah! Pardon, my thoughts had run off for a moment.”

Seol Hong-baek let out a long sigh.

“I’ve been a fool. In trying to ‘improve’ the forms, I only tangled the original shape.”

“Warriors don’t grow by swinging steel alone. It takes reflection, more than a scholar’s at times. All of that must have profited you, Patriarch.”

“No doubt… and yet, heh, had I been a little better, I might’ve preserved it closer to the original.”

Seol Hong-baek lamented.

“Then the swordsmen under me might not have drifted away.”

“Those bent on leaving will leave whatever you do.”

Jin-hyeon’s tone was firm.

“What matters is ‘me.’ Everything begins with the self. Before tending your swordsmen, shouldn’t you first become stronger?”

“True words. Truly.”

“If you have the forms down, let’s move to footwork.”

“Ah, please.”

Setting the sword aside, Jin-hyeon began the steps.

Be it sword or saber, where there are forms, then footwork suited to the strikes will naturally follow. That’s why martial arts consisting only of footwork are not very common, unless they’re meant purely for training.

In other words, footwork techniques that aren’t just for practice all carry their own degree of difficulty.

In that sense, the Half-Moon Step was several times harder than the Seven Purities Sword. The motions aren’t hard, but the subtleties within are.

“As for the cultivation method, there’s nothing to demonstrate. Just follow the mnemonics. It’s a very safe method, good even for beginners.”

“My thanks.”

Seol Hong-baek seized Jin-hyeon’s hands.

“You’ve given us a great grace.”

“As I keep saying, I’m repaying a debt.”

Jin-hyeon slipped free and glanced at the sword.

“These three I could compile at once. The rest are complex. I won’t promise a date, but I’ll bring them as soon as I can.”

“I’m only grateful. And…”

Seol Hong-baek sighed.

“You’ve settled your quarters already, but let me ask once more. Are you sure you won’t stay within the main estate?”

“You’ve even sent people. It’s more than enough kindness.”

“If you insist, I won’t press you.”

“I accept the sentiment with thanks. Then I’ll take my—”

“Ah, wait.”

He’s a good man, but he sure is quite talkative, though.

Jin-hyeon looked at him, expression flat.

Seol Hong-baek bowed his head.

“Calling you ‘young master’ feels odd. I shall address you as Teacher henceforth.”

Isn’t that even odder?

The thought flickered, but he let it pass. So long as it wasn’t “brute,” “blockhead,” “killer,” or “madman,” he didn’t care.

“Call me as you like. I’ll go.”

“Go safely.”

“Ah, before I go…”

Come to think, he had plenty to say as well.

“May I take that sword?”

Back at his quarters, Jin-hyeon sat in lotus at once.

‘Everything begins with me.’

He’d said it to Seol Hong-baek, but chewing on it, he meant himself as well.

Whatever foundation he’d build, he had to be sound first. In that sense, nothing matched the Body-Refining Art and the Soul-Refining Art.

The Body-Refining Art’s internal energy rests on Tianshan’s Ten-Thousand-Year Only-White Art.

That art is one of Tianshan’s Two Great Divine Arts, practiced not by the sect master but by the protectors.

Like snow that keeps its place on a holy peak for ten thousand years, aloof and unmelting, so was the Ten-Thousand-Year Only-White Art.

The method Seol Hong-baek cultivated derived from the other of the two, not the Ten-Thousand-Year Only-White Art.

Its mnemonics and power differ, but the essence of the Two Great Arts is one, hence the mutual sense of familiarity between Jin-hyeon and Seol Hong-baek.

‘I don’t know why my reserves are this deep without deliberate effort, but.’

Jin-hyeon closed his eyes.

‘It’s an opportunity. With this internal energy and the Soul-Refining Art, I can push my realm up.’

The Body-Refining and Soul-Refining were two, yet one.

Mind and body are separate, yet a unity. If the Body-Refining Art swells flesh and qi, the Soul-Refining art is an internal art that tempers spirit and soul.

Unlike the Body-Refining Art, which became perfect inside and out through the Ten-Thousand-Year Only-White Art, the Soul-Refining Art was already a complete internal art in itself.

In the beginning, one trains the mind through memories or imagination. As one advances in attainment, the training shifts to refining the soul by means of powerful mental shocks. The higher the attainment, the stronger the intensity of these shocks becomes, until in the end it is like repeatedly plunging into and breaking free from chilling experiences—nightmares so terrifying they verge on psychological trauma.

Thus it was dangerous, and none had seen its end. However, as one’s attainment in the Soul-Refining Art rises, one’s attainment in the Body-Refining Art would surge explosively, making the two well-suited to be practiced together.

For two days Jin-hyeon dug into body-and-soul refining, tempering mind and flesh. When he surfaced, he drank only water and spent a day organizing Tianshan arts’ mnemonics.

Thus four days passed.

“My lord.”

Do Min, calling softly from outside, smacked her lips.

‘He’s truly a quiet one.’

Silence itself wasn’t the problem.

‘He’ll make himself ill like this.’

Since he was someone who liked being alone, a strict order was given not to bother him unless absolutely necessary.

But a person must eat. She’d called at each mealtime, then left trays at the door when he didn’t answer, but they were untouched every time.

‘Looks like he’ll skip today as well.’

Sighing, Do Min turned to go.

It was then.

“What is it?”

Startled, Do Min stifled three crisp coughs, then spoke politely.

“I’ve brought your meal.”

“Okay.”

Do Min’s eyes rolled.

Okay? That’s it?

‘Do I just leave it? Or fling the door open and parade today’s special…?’

“Come in.”

“Y-yes!”

She opened the door with proper decorum and carried in the tray.

“Shall I set it on the table, my lord?”

“Sure.”

“Underst— eek!”

Ting! Jja-aang!

She dropped the tray before she knew it; tray, bowls, and plates met their end in a clatter of uneven chorus.

But she didn’t register her mistake.

“M-my lord!”

“A pity.”

“What on earth happened?!”

“The tray fell.”

“No, not that!”

Alarm and worry flooded her face.

“Your hair has gotten even more white!”

“Mm?”

Jin-hyeon brought a hand forward through the hair he wore back.

She was right. It was not fully white, but from the left brow back three finger-widths, a swath of hair had gone snow-white.

‘Why did this happen?’

He couldn’t be sure.

There was no mirror to check. Even if there were, he likely wouldn’t have looked.

“So it’s whiter, you say?”

“You didn’t know? Four days ago when you went out, there was some white, but not like this…”

“Was there?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s clean this up first.”

“Shall we?”

Do Min quickly fetched a broom and rag and set to the floor.

Fingering the white, Jin-hyeon nodded inwardly.

‘I’ve heard of cases like this.’

They say some turn white overnight after heavy mental shock.

It must have happened as he trained with the Soul-Refining Art, unable to blunt a shock. For now, no other cause came to mind.

‘Since my body’s fine.’

More than fine, his attainment in the Body-Refining and Soul-Refining Art had evidently risen. That was enough.

He crouched and gathered the shards.

“Ah! My lord, you’ll cut yourself!”

“It’s fine.”

“…Yes.”

An awkward silence fell.

Clearing the shards, Jin-hyeon glanced at the sword propped to the side.

His gaze deepened.

“Min.”

“Me? Ah, yes!”

“Does the Seol Clan always source swords from the same place?”

“Yes. Not just the main house—well, the Seol Clan, but the town in general. Kitchen knives, sickles, most are supplied by Yeo Family Ironworks.”

Jin-hyeon’s hand stilled.

“The whole town?”

“Yes. Yeo Family Ironworks has skill, and their prices are low.”

“Min.”

“Yes?”

Jin-hyeon rose.

“Let’s eat.”

“Yes! I’ll tell Cook Gu to—”

“Let’s not trouble him. We’ll eat out.”

“E-eat out?”

“Right.”

He looked out the window.

The sun sat high.

“It’s time to see whether this town is a fox’s den or a snake’s.”