TSBIRBV Ch 225

Chapter 225 Star Instructor of the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains (2)

Yegyeol doubted his ears for a moment.

Haryang was the one who knew better than anyone that his disciple could not learn martial arts.

It had been Haryang who had once seized his wrist to help him circulate qi, and Haryang who had personally confirmed that, no matter how much qi was gathered and forced into him, Yegyeol’s body formed no dantian.

“Martial arts?”

Yegyeol could not hide the stupefied look on his face.

“Yes.”

“I can’t learn martial arts.”

“Strictly speaking, what I mean is—let’s make it look like you can.”

Haryang’s eyes glimmered with wit.

“The history of the martial world runs deep, but that very depth makes it closed off. The moment they realize your strength is not ordinary, they will call it sorcery. And if they learn just how powerful it truly is, the orthodox sects may well brand you as an enemy of the martial world itself.”

Yegyeol silently agreed. The instant he realized he had returned to Zhongyuan, his very first thought had been exactly this: if he didn’t want to live his life with the orthodox sects’ warriors and bounty hunters chasing his heels, he would have to conceal his Esper abilities.

“To avoid that, all you must do is wrap your power in the guise of martial arts.”

“But is that even possible?”

Yegyeol asked doubtfully, skepticism clear on his face.

“Of course it isn’t easy. But if a few conditions are met, deceiving the rabble will not be too difficult.”

Having lived in the Demonic Sect, taking on all manner of dirty tasks, Haryang had grown inevitably skilled at spreading false information, infiltration, and disguise. Humans were easily misled.

“First, it must be a martial art that manipulates the energy of thunder and lightning.”

Yegyeol blinked.

What nonsense was this, as though they were storming the Namgung Clan’s estate to steal their Heavenly Thunder Sword Manual?

Martial arts that manipulated thunder and lightning were extremely rare. Which meant there were just as many experts who could recognize their origins. One would be foolish to underestimate the martial researchers of this world. They were the sort who, had there been graduate schools, would have become professors. Instead, they had simply dug into their one chosen well with obsessive depth.

Of course… even if someone’s sword-qi happened to contain the faintest tinge of red, debates would erupt over whether it belonged to Mount Hua or some heterodox offshoot of the Blood Sect.

For now, Yegyeol decided to hear more.

“What’s the second condition?”

“It must be the martial art of a single-transmission sect that died out at least a hundred years ago.”

“Oh.”

Yegyeol nodded. That would certainly support the risks of the first condition.

“If so, there would be few left who could recognize it?”

“Precisely. And moreover, you would be free of the grudges tied to that sect.”

At Haryang’s added words, Yegyeol was a little impressed. The grudges of the martial world were as tangled as a ball of yarn teased by a cat. To get ensnared in the vendetta of a master or sect was to risk one’s life.

Yes… this, Yegyeol thought, was indeed his Senior Brother. Striking two birds with a single stone.

“Is there a third condition?”

“It must be known through oral tradition or written records to carry a golden lightning-like qi.”

“Hm. That seems rather difficult…”

But Haryang did not stop there.

“And its founder should be someone placed firmly among the orthodox ranks. The closer to orthodoxy, the better.”

Naturally. The demonic and heretical factions were far too dangerous. Safety lay in the orthodox, for they were the most numerous in the martial world. In times of chaos, the balance between orthodox and heterodox might sway, but under the banner of ‘justice,’ the orthodox always united.

“And if possible,” Haryang continued, “I will look for martial arts centered around swift striking techniques. Something that emphasizes speed would suit you.”

“Ah.”

After hearing the fifth and sixth conditions, Yegyeol merely nodded obediently.

But in his heart, he was certain: there was no way Haryang could find a martial art so perfectly tailored to him. This was not merely searching for a unicorn—it was searching for a winged unicorn.

“Just trust this Senior Brother.”

“Of course.”

And yet… he did not wish to discourage Haryang before he even began. So Yegyeol clasped his Senior Brother’s hand tightly, his eyes shining.

“I’ll believe in you, Senior Brother.”

“I’ve found it.”

Three days later, while Yegyeol was idly munching pancakes at Haryang’s suggestion to take a lazy day, his Senior Brother appeared. Yegyeol’s eyes went wide like a startled rabbit.

“…I wasn’t hiding.”

The words slipped out guiltily.

Since Qinghyeong Hall had collapsed, they were temporarily staying in a nearby annex. Even Tangok, the hall Yegyeol had always favored, had suffered roof damage and was under heavy reconstruction.

Haryang gave a small laugh, as if at some ridiculous joke.

“I received reports. I already knew you were here.”

He had never once thought Yegyeol was truly hiding. After all, even if Yegyeol left the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains, Haryang could easily track him as far as Gansu.

“Then what did you mean, you’ve found it?”

Yegyeol asked, half afraid to know the answer.

“The martial art you’re going to learn.”

Haryang held out a tattered martial arts manual. The book was ancient, its cover inscribed with vigorous, commanding strokes. Its very appearance shouted that it contained supreme techniques.

“Thunder Spirit Fist?”

“It is the martial art of Thunder Spirit Master, a supreme expert from three hundred years ago. He compiled it from his own insights. Yet its difficulty was such that it is said no one ever succeeded in mastering it.”

“…And why is it here?”

To mention a figure from three centuries past was astounding enough—yet how had his martial art ended up in the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains?

“In his twilight years, he challenged the Heavenly Demon and was slain. His manual was then stored in the Demonic Sect’s library.”

For the past three days, Haryang had barely been home during daylight, returning only at night to lie beside him. It was now clear he had been buried in that vast library the entire time.

“You searched that enormous place all on your own?”

“Jinyoung assisted with cataloguing the records. After that, we searched together. Samrang remained behind as your guard.”

“Ah.”

Yegyeol realized why Samrang had been oddly kind to him these past days. Freed from tedious cataloguing under the pretense of guard duty, the man must have been overjoyed.

“…Can I even learn something so grand?”

“Precisely because it is grand, you must learn it. Your strength is just as formidable.”

Though he spoke calmly, a shadow of melancholy touched Haryang’s face. He recalled the courtyard tree, blackened and split in two when Yegyeol had run rampant and summoned lightning. He had tried desperately to restore it, but the damage was beyond repair. That tree had been the only one of its kind, carefully nurtured by Master Baekyang himself.

‘If that lightning were ever directed at people…’

The outcome was all too easy to imagine.

“Well. Better that we found this than wasting more time.”

Yegyeol, who had assumed Haryang was merely busy with official duties, felt a lump rise in his chest. So all this while, he had been scouring tomes to find a martial art suited for him.

‘He said he’d accept me… but this quickly?’

He had not flinched when Yegyeol had run wild, discharging bolt after bolt. He had not scorned him as a monster, but embraced him as beautiful. He had not scoffed at the confession that he had died and been reborn, nor dismissed it as nonsense. He had instead quietly swallowed the words whole.

And now, to carve out a place for him in the martial world, he had combed through moldy, worm-eaten tomes, one by one.

Yegyeol felt strange. That was the only word for it—and the fact that there was no better expression was frustrating.

“But surely a martial art doesn’t simply fall from the heavens.”

He joked lightly, now that a “real” martial art had been found for him. Yet the answer that came back defied his imagination.

“If I hadn’t found one meeting the conditions, I planned to create one myself.”

Haryang wrinkled his nose slightly.

“Even for me, creating a new martial art would take some time.”

Yegyeol stared blankly.

So if no such “winged unicorn” existed, Haryang had intended to forge one himself?

Could that… even be real?

“…Senior Brother, are you perhaps a Grandmaster?”

Yegyeol asked, dazed.

To create martial arts was no trivial matter. It was not merely embodying what already existed with the body, but bringing into being that which had never existed before.

“No. No, nothing like that.”

To Yegyeol’s surprise, a faint flush rose to Haryang’s face. A stranger might not have noticed—but Yegyeol, who watched every detail of him closely, caught it instantly.

“Not to that degree.”

Forcing humility, Haryang averted his eyes slightly. But this only betrayed him, for his ears had turned redder still.

“Since your physical ability already rivals martial artists who wield neigong, if I were to omit the qi circulation formulas and only arrange the postures… that much is nothing.”

The words spilled out quickly, halting here and there.

This was humility carried too far.

“Yes. The Three Talent Sword is still a sword art, and the Supreme Taiji Sword is also still a sword art.”

From the simplest, street-rat swordplay to the most profound of Mount Wudang’s techniques—at the end of the day, all were still swordsmanship.

In other words, if Haryang could create martial arts, he did indeed possess the makings of a Grandmaster.

Now silent, lips pressed tight, Haryang stared fixedly at the floor. Yegyeol could not fathom why he was suddenly so flustered.

“You’ll help me learn this, won’t you?”

Yegyeol pointed at the Thunder Spirit Fist Manual with a grin.

Now that he knew what Haryang was weak to, he intended to tease him slowly, carefully—so he could savor it for a long time. A shy Je Haryang? That was something to be painted and carried into the grave.

Perhaps mistaking Yegyeol’s determination for zeal toward martial arts, Haryang’s expression softened slightly as he stepped closer.

“Then let us begin slowly.”