Early the next morning, I went to Cheonma Hall to find my father.
Father was not in the great hall, but in his personal training ground.
I was waiting outside for him to finish his training when:
“Enter.”
Having been informed of my visit, Father had me enter the training ground. As I stepped inside, my heart trembled inwardly. It was because I had never before set foot in Father’s personal training ground.
The moment I entered like that—
Father, who had been in the center of the training yard, charged at me.
The technique Father unleashed was the Myeongwangbo.
To top it off, the black Cheonma Sword flew in.
The Cheonma wielding the Cheonma Sword and unleashing the Myeongwangbo to attack someone?
No matter who the opponent was, it was an attack from which they could not survive.
In a flash, the situation was over.
The Cheonma Sword had stopped in midair.
I was standing right beside it.
It was a distance close enough for my breath to frost the blade.
I had dodged Father’s attack using the Jeommyeolbo.
Did the Jeommyeolbo win in a fight against the Myeongwangbo? Of course not.
It was an attack I had only barely been able to evade in the first place.
“You keep targeting this handsome face of mine.”
“Those who target you outside will not be as merciful as I.”
“Thank you for sparing my life.”
I looked around Father’s training ground as if nothing had happened.
“I thought there might be something special here, but there isn’t.”
There really was nothing.
In the empty space, only a few swords, blades, spears, and the like were propped against the walls.
“Not even a single training dummy, at that.”
“Why would I keep what is unnecessary?”
Well, I also trained by imagining a hypothetical enemy. How would Father be any different?
Then, a steel plate attached to the wall caught my eye.
One finger-span thick, it was densely pocked with fist-shaped dents, and surprisingly, its material was ten-thousand-year cold iron.
“Good heavens! Just how powerful are your fists? This is outright abuse of ten-thousand-year cold iron.”
“Stop your nonsense and come here.”
There was a reason Father had brought me into the training ground.
“Show me the Pungsinsabo.”
“Yes.”
Opportunities to receive Father’s teachings were rare, so I did my utmost to perform the Pungsinsabo.
The Pungsinsabo consisted of four major techniques, but within those techniques were over nine hundred variations. Depending on the interpretation, those variations could increase or decrease.
Depending on how one interpreted and utilized those variations, the movements changed little by little, and ultimately, the power of the Pungsinsabo differed. This was precisely why the same martial art could feel different and possess different power depending on who used it.
When I finished the techniques, Father was visibly animated. Likely because my achievement was higher than he had expected.
Together with Father, I discussed at length the techniques I had displayed.
At first, it was a debate about whether to put more power into the feet or retract it, and whether to twist the waist faster.
I conveyed my thoughts exactly as they were.
In some parts, I even contradicted Father’s opinion, but surprisingly, Father possessed incredibly flexible thinking.
He demonstrated the technique right there on the spot exactly as I said.
“As you say, putting more power into the right foot seems to be the correct interpretation.”
Only while discussing martial arts did Father feel like a different person. He was free, generous, and rational.
For a long while, I talked with Father about the Pungsinsabo like that.
So engrossed was I in the conversation that it was only when I felt hungry that the discussion on martial arts ended.
When the conversation ended, I felt that my understanding of the Pungsinsabo had grown a level.
“Thank you for granting me such great teaching. This grace is…”
*I shall repay it by killing Hwa Wuqi.*
“I will repay it all with money later.”
At my jest, Father abruptly said:
“Eat before you go.”
I was startled for a moment.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever heard such words from you, Father. Asking me to share a meal.”
“You are surprised by the strangest things.”
Father left the training ground first. As Father said, I thought it strange to be moved by such a trivial thing, but honestly, my heart welled up.
I ate a meal with Father.
I had expected a feast, but there were fewer dishes than I had thought. It was a truly neat and modest table.
“There is more rice, so eat your fill.”
“Yes.”
I ate without jesting. Since this was not an opportunity that came often, I tried my best to remember this moment.
Father gave me a glance as if wondering what was wrong with me for eating so quietly, then ate his meal in silence.
Come to think of it, when I was with Father, I used to deliberately joke around, jest, and banter more.
But in this moment, it was the me from just before my regression and Father who were having a meal. As old man to old man, martial artist to martial artist. And yet, still father and son.
*‘Father… I missed moments like this.’*
Never before had I missed them. But only now that this moment had come did I realize that deep in my heart, I had longed for this.
And so, I finished the historic first meal with Father. This first meal, where not a word was spoken, was something I would never forget for the rest of my life.
After the meal, Father asked me:
“Did the food suit your taste?”
Now it was time to return to my usual self.
“Would you like to switch chefs with me? Don’t feel slighted, Chef Im. It was just a joke.”
“Nonsense.”
“Haha.”
Father and I shared a drink.
“You drank with Doma at Magachon?”
“Yes.”
As expected, Father knew every single move I made within the sect.
“How much do you trust him?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know him. No matter how transparent someone may seem, one must never be arrogant enough to claim to know them.”
When I answered according to Father’s teachings, Father wore a satisfied expression. He must be worried that I might trust Doma and get stabbed in the back.
“Why did you come to see me today?”
It was only after four double-hours or more had passed since I came to find Father that I received this question.
“I have a request.”
“Speak.”
“Please add one more member to my family.”
Father made an expression as if asking what kind of absurd nonsense this was.
“Do you mean you wish to marry?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I wish to teach the Bicheon Swordsmanship to Ian, my bodyguard.”
I intended to teach Ian the Bicheon Swordsmanship, which I had mastered to grand completion. Only then could she keep her position as the Ghost Shadow Lord.
The problem was that the Bicheon Swordsmanship was a martial art passed down only to the direct bloodline of the Cheonma. It could not be taught without Father’s permission.
“You speak ill of your true blood behind their backs, yet you would treat a bodyguard as family?”
“Yes. She is someone dearer to me than blood. And someone who will accomplish great things in the future.”
“The Bicheon Swordsmanship is your exclusive martial art. Are you sure this is fine?”
“My exclusive martial art will be the Guhwamagong.”
The entire process of recruiting Hyeolcheon Doma and Ilhwa Sword Venerable, seating Jangho as the Demon Lord, and establishing a new demonic path would all be for naught if I failed to become the successor. Ultimately, all these things were to earn Father’s recognition. Because only by becoming the successor and receiving the Guhwamagong could I face Hwa Wuqi.
“You are confident.”
“She is someone sufficiently worthy to be taught.”
“In what way?”
“She is a better person than me.”
Perhaps because it was an unexpected answer, Father was silent for a moment.
After taking a sip of alcohol, Father asked:
“Do you intend to make that child the leader of your private organization?”
“Yes, that’s right. Going forward, there may be demonic followers who are eliminated by me. I will fill that void with my private organization. Therefore, please grant me permission.”
Then came Father’s cheerful single word.
“Very well.”
At first, I thought I had misheard. I hadn’t thought he would grant permission so easily.
“Do you truly mean that I may teach the Bicheon Swordsmanship to Ian?”
I asked again to confirm, but Father silently nodded his head. I had thought he would attach some condition and demand a mission be completed before granting permission… Why did he give it so easily?
“However, promise me one thing.”
“Please command me.”
“If you decide to kill a demonic follower next time, you must tell me first. No matter which one.”
It was not a difficult promise. No, I had intended to do so even without promising. I had no intention of harming demonic followers without Father’s permission.
“Yes, I shall certainly do so.”
* * *
“You called for me?”
Having received Father’s permission, I immediately called Ian to my personal training ground.
“Do you know why I called you?”
“Yes, I have a rough guess.”
“What is it?”
“Is it not to test what I have trained so far?”
It was a natural guess, since I had called her to the training ground.
“Well? Are you prepared?”
“I have trained to the best of my ability.”
“Not that.”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you are prepared to receive a new martial art.”
Ian was startled for a moment. Soon, her surprise turned to excitement. Was there any moment more pleasant and thrilling for a martial artist than learning a martial art that elevated them?
“Ghost Shadow Lord Ian.”
“Yes.”
“From this moment, I shall impart the Bicheon Swordsmanship to you.”
Ian, who had been blank for a moment, shrieked in astonishment.
“Eek!”
It was the most surprised I had ever seen her since we met.
“No! The Bicheon Swordsmanship is a martial art passed down only to the direct bloodline of the Cheonma, isn’t it? If you teach it to me, the Lord will strike me down dead in one blow. You will also be severely scolded, Young Master. If you intend to teach me in secret, please give up. There are no secrets in this world. Even if the secret is kept, I cannot learn it.”
After she poured out her words in one go, I asked with a smile:
“Are you done speaking?”
“There is more, but I will say just this. No! Absolutely not!”
I spoke to her with a smile:
“I received Father’s permission.”
“What?”
Ian’s eyes went wide.
Watching Ian’s surprised expression, I realized how varied her expressions were. There were many facets to her surprise, but this particular one was something I was seeing for the first time.
“Really?”
“Indeed.”
“That can’t be.”
“If you doubt it, come with me and check for yourself.”
Ian, who feared Father more than anyone else in the world, waved her hands frantically and stepped back.
“I’d rather you kill me.”
“I don’t hate you enough to lie about something like this.”
“Shall I tell you the decisive reason my words are true?”
“What is it?”
“You’re right. If I taught you without permission, you’d die. Would I put you in such danger?”
It seemed Ian had that much faith in me as well.
“So you really received permission?”
“Yes.”
Ian’s pupils trembled.
“But the Bicheon Swordsmanship is your exclusive martial art, Young Master. Why are you trying to teach it to me?”
“Because to become the Ghost Shadow Lord, you must master at least this level of martial art. And… you are no different from my blood. Therefore, you may learn it.”
Ian choked up instantly.
“Young Master.”
“It’s not for you, but for me. I’m going to work you hard in the future, so don’t be too happy.”
“But how could I dare learn your martial art?”
“My exclusive martial art will be the Guhwamagong. So learn it without burden.”
In the end, tears fell drop by drop from Ian’s eyes.
“Never has anyone… valued me so dearly…”
I gently patted the back of Ian, who could not continue speaking. Ian burst into loud sobs. Something that had been piled up deep inside her heart seemed to burst out. I left her to cry her fill.
Once she had cried her heart out and composed herself, I imparted the Bicheon Swordsmanship to her.
The martial art was transmitted through mental transmission.
—The Bicheon Swordsmanship consists of eight techniques that contain the changes and energy of the heavens. Think of your dantian as the heavens, and expand it as much as possible. Your true qi must flow like the wind—sometimes like a spring breeze, sometimes as powerful as a passing typhoon. The start of inner force is….
The quick-witted Ian had perfectly memorized the mnemonic formula of the Bicheon Swordsmanship by the time I repeated it five times.
“You must be able to answer immediately even if someone pokes your side while you sleep. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Ian would work herself to the bone, and if I taught her from time to time, her skill would improve by leaps and bounds.
“And this.”
I took out a small wooden case from my breast and held it out to her.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
Inside the case she opened was a single Blood Poison Pill. It was one of the Blood Poison Pills taken from the secret vault of the Golden Castle Lord.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Blood Poison Pill.”
“What? The precious Blood Poison Pill?”
“Yes. If in the future you face the danger of poisoning or encounter someone who uses poison arts, hold this in your mouth and fight.”
“Why this to me?”
“It is a gift to celebrate your formal acceptance of the Bicheon Swordsmanship.”
“No! I’ve already received the martial art, I cannot accept such a precious thing on top of that!”
“You must accept it.”
“Why?”
“Because I intend to give it even to those less close to you. I cannot give it to others without giving it to you.”
“That’s strange logic.”
“Now then, I will come later to test what you have learned. Do not neglect your training.”
Before this place became a sea of tears again, I hurriedly left.
From behind me, I felt a fiery passion that exceeded mere gratitude and thanks.
I looked forward to the future that this heat would create.
At the very least, I would not let it become a passion that makes her throw her life away for me. Therefore…
“Grow stronger, Ian!”