Book 1 Chapter 2

The first thing my master taught me was how to cook rice.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!" It was a beautiful spark.

As the hammer and heated iron clashed, fantastic and rare sparks

burst out like fireworks. The beauty of the flames, which vanished in an instant,

had a mystical power that could draw out one's soul.

A boy holding a metal hammer had a dark black bracelet on his wrist. It was Bi Ryuyeon.

The boy's hammer-striking skill was very proficient and natural. It was evident that he had been doing this for a long time.

'Damn it, why is my master always like this. Ugh!'

The more I thought about what happened in the morning, the more my stomach churned.

'Who in the world does he think is feeding him!'

The faster these thoughts came, the faster the metal hammer struck. He was taking out his anger on the innocent, pitiful lump of iron. It was as if each strike was directed at his master. Within the flames that bloomed for a fleeting moment, the boy was seized by a strange feeling that his soul was being drawn into them.

What I am doing now, sweating profusely, is making a sword.

Because tempering iron to make a sword required considerably skilled and precise techniques, only trusted craftsmen in the blacksmith shop were permitted to make swords. They were given the title of 'Geomjang' (sword master), which was an incredibly honorable achievement for a blacksmith. I am the youngest Geomjang here, but no one dares to look down on me. Not only do they fully acknowledge my abilities, but they also fear me. Anyway, it has already been six years since I started this blacksmith work.

The problem is that this has completely become my main profession. My master and I live off the money earned here. Oh, of course, my master was a hopeless bum. Naturally, earning money became my primary role and mission, and practicing martial arts was just a hobby, or perhaps a leisure activity.

Despite this, the pathetic master said,

"We are humans too, so we have to eat before we can practice martial arts!"

It's ridiculous enough to make you snort and get snot running down your face.

It was seven years ago, when I was 10 years old, that I met my master. At that time, I was the son of an ordinary sculptor; my father carved and sold small trinkets and small Buddhist statues. My mother had already passed away when I was five. I remember my mother as a very beautiful woman, but I have very few memories of her, so I don't try to think about her often.

My father was a kind man and taught me how to sculpt in his spare time. Thanks to him, by the age of 10, I had reached a considerable level of skill. But alas, misfortune struck. It was a terrible and indiscriminate misfortune: a plague suddenly swept through the village, and most of the villagers died. And among them was my father. I became an orphan overnight. I had no relatives at all.

As the sole exception in our village, I dug my father's grave myself and buried him as best I could. My hands were torn and bleeding, but I didn't care. Instead of a tombstone, I carved my father's likeness onto a rather large log and erected it in front of the grave. My artistic talent was extraordinary, and I was able to complete what could be called the masterpiece of my ten years of life.

But something felt incomplete. I soon began carving my mother's likeness onto a log of the same size. I thought my father would be lonely by himself. Fortunately, my mother's grave was next to my father's. As soon as I finished carving my mother's likeness and placed it next to my father's, I turned around. An old man was standing there.

The old man pointed to my father's grave and asked, "Did you make this grave?" I answered honestly and politely, "Yes." At that time, I was a good child who practiced filial piety well.

The old man asked again, "Did you also make this wooden carving?" Those two carvings were the greatest masterpieces I had carved up to that point, so I answered politely without hesitation, "Yes."

The old man frowned for a moment, thinking about something, then extended his hand and asked, "Will you come with me?" At that time, I asked, "What will I gain if I follow you?"

Upon hearing my polite question, the old man laughed heartily and said he would teach me the world's greatest martial arts. However, I couldn't believe his words. How could I blindly trust someone I had just met at my age, not as a young child? So I had to ask.

"How can I believe you?"

I demanded concrete proof. Then the old man turned his head towards the forest on the left and waved his hand once. For a moment, though not clearly, I saw something like a white flash, and about ten pine trees standing ten paces away were all cut down, leaving only their bases.

"How about it, don't you want to learn?"

At that time, honestly, I didn't believe his claim of teaching the world's greatest martial arts just by looking at his appearance, but I thought he might teach me some level of martial arts. I was an orphan, had nowhere to go, and harbored a vague yearning for the martial world, so I made the foolish conclusion that there would be no harm in following the old man. Once my cost-benefit calculation was done, I cunningly said, "Alright!" and took the old man's hand. That was my first meeting with my master, and the beginning of this damned fate.

However, it didn't take long to realize that that quick calculation at the moment was a terrible mistake. My master was the person who inflicted the first and most fatal error on my cost-benefit analysis. I still regret that decision.

My master took me to a mountain located next to a village. The village was quite large. The mountain was also connected to a large range, making it very high and deep. The eccentric individuals found in storybooks or told by storytellers almost always taught their disciples in such deep mountains, separated from the secular world. My master seemed increasingly plausible to me.

The place my master took me was a humble hut with two rooms and a small kitchen. Next to the hut, a considerable pile of firewood was stacked, but strangely, the axe that should have been in the wood-chopping area was nowhere to be seen. My master said this was where he lived. And that it was where I would live from now on…

Although I was inwardly disappointed that it wasn't a wondrous place like Wuling Taoyuan, filled with everything and blooming with exotic flowers, I didn't show it. I didn't want to disappoint my master. Indeed, I was a kind child with a good heart. Anyway, judging by the residence and living environment, my master didn't seem to be a highly esteemed eccentric. But I thought it might be the case and understood it with a broad mind as vast as the sea. What a beautiful and pure anecdote, like pearls!

However, my master betrayed me in the most blatant way. He brutally trampled on my broad tolerance and my beautiful, virtuous, and kind heart. He tore my brilliantly shining future blueprint into pieces, and then shredded them. And he threw it all in the trash. From then on, my ordeal had already begun.

The first thing my master taught me was how to cook rice.

I was warned never to wash the rice more than three times. They said washing it more than three times would reduce its nutritional value… And when cooking rice, he taught me that the water level should be such that it reaches up to my hand when I place it in the pot. And he urged me to keep the pot lid tightly closed. He said that the sealed state of the pot and the finished state of the rice were closely related. And when cooking rice in such a high mountain, he proudly imparted information that everyone knows, saying that placing a stone on the pot was a secret method. He was truly a great master.

But cooking rice was just the beginning. The next thing my master taught me was how to make side dishes. Since my master wasn't a high-level eccentric like a celestial being, he couldn't survive on raw food alone. He needed to consume plenty of protein by eating meat, and sometimes, or rather, constantly, he had to drink alcohol. Since I also didn't want to live by just chewing raw rice and pine needles, I had no choice but to learn how to cook.

I learned to make simple side dishes like stir-fried vegetables, stir-fried meat, and braised tofu, as well as how to make soup. He said that when stir-frying vegetables, you should add oil once and stir-fry them quickly. He explained that adding oil was a measure to prevent the aroma and flavor of the vegetables from escaping during the stir-frying process. In particular, my master repeatedly emphasized that the heart is important in cooking. I suspected my master's former profession. Or maybe, I even thought he might still be working as a chef.

Well, according to my master, the martial art he would teach me next, called 'Biraedo' (Flying Thunder Blade), required considerable or immense dexterity and a delicate sense. In that regard, cooking was the pinnacle of art, a fusion of dexterity, skill, and sensibility, where the two harmonized. Listening to my master's praise for cooking, I couldn't help but snort and eventually got snot running down my face.

"Hmph! Pff, Pffaaeng!"

I thought it was just an excuse. The only excuse that sounded somewhat plausible was that the name of the martial art I would learn next sounded quite impressive. Despite various troubles and accidents (such as melting a couple of pots, burning a pot, and wasting a month's worth of food in the name of practice), I now have the skill to prepare a basic meal. It was an astonishing leap forward.

Actually, it didn't take long to learn how to cook rice and make side dishes. The sad part is that after I became reasonably good at cooking, it also became my job to set the table. When I suggested that we should divide the work equally by assigning meal duties based on the day of the week, I was soundly beaten a few times.

At that moment, I keenly felt the truth that fists are faster than words. It truly hurt my bones. My master's fists were truly formidable. That day, I learned that reason and emotions could be controlled by fists, and this fact greatly influenced my character development. I engraved the lesson of that day deep within my instincts.

The next task my master assigned me was chopping firewood. He said firewood was needed to light the fire when cooking rice, and led me to the place where the firewood was stacked. On the right, split firewood was piled up, and on the left, freshly cut wood from the mountain was stacked. But no matter how much I looked around, the axe used for chopping wood was still nowhere to be seen.

"Master, where is the axe? Don't you need an axe to chop wood?"

I politely asked my master to explain why there was no axe.

"I don't need such a thing!"

That was my master's reply.

"Then what do I use to chop wood? Do I just beat it like a dog?"

The word 'beat' (패다) means to split wood with an axe, but it also means to hit repeatedly without mercy, so my question was the result of logical thinking. Then, my master said he would show me a demonstration, saying it with annoyance. It was clearly annoyance.

'Hmm, his mental discipline is still lacking. Greatly lacking!'

I evaluated my master to the best of my ability. This person, my master, was clearly an incomplete human being. My master picked up a log about the size of an adult's forearm from the pile of wood on the left, placed it on a stump of cut wood. Then, he took out a small 'bido' from his sleeve. It was an ordinary 'bido' with a blade the size of a child's palm, the kind you can find anywhere. It was a cheap 'bido' that a shopkeeper might hand over saying, "Here you go!" when asked, "Hey, mister! Can I have a 'bido'?" at some nameless hardware store, general store, or small weapon shop.

Holding the 'bido', my master crouched in front of the log. Then, he lightly gripped the 'bido' with his fingertips and tapped the exact center of the upright log. No, 'tap' is my description; my master merely flicked his wrist, and the 'bido' passed by the log, drawing a fantastic semicircle as if it were slicing through clouds.

What happened next was astonishing. The standing log split exactly into two pieces. I was so surprised that my mouth gaped open like a log. I had never seen such a trick before. My master saw me standing there with my mouth agape, and chuckled, saying,

"Even without internal energy, one should be able to do this with just skill. The secret is speed, and the knack is the flexible use of the wrist."

My master threw in this annoying remark and told me to try it. I set up the log just like my master, and in the same pose, I flicked my wrist and struck the wood with the 'bido'.

"Tap!"

The 'bido' I struck left only a fingernail-sized scratch on the wood and stopped. I felt ashamed inwardly. I could feel my face getting hot.

"Try swinging your arm down in a large semicircle, using your elbow as well!"

My master said in a rather stern voice. I made a second attempt. But it was also a failure. Perhaps because I used my elbow, I inflicted a larger wound on the wood than before, but it was still more or less the same, like comparing ten to a dozen.

"This time, use your shoulder and swing it very widely!"

My master's command fell again.

I made a third attempt. But the result was failure. Moreover, the log that was placed on the stump was nowhere to be seen this time. Did it turn to powder and disappear? Absolutely not! With a 'tak' sound, it flew far away.

"It's because you lack speed. You can do it with knack even without strength."

My master kindly analyzed the cause of the log being repelled and the reason for failure. However, at my age of 10, no matter how exceptional my abilities or how great my talent, there was no way I could succeed. Even with a good axe, if you lack strength or knack, the blade often gets stuck between the wood rather than splitting it into two pieces, so how could I chop firewood with this small 'bido'? Unless that 'bido' was a divine artifact… But my master had made the impossible happen before my eyes, so I couldn't argue that it was entirely impossible… So, wasn't my master a high-level eccentric?

Therefore, I came to the excellent conclusion that "I failed because I was just a beginner." Then, I respectfully and logically explained this fact to my master.

"Master! I am still a young and weak beautiful boy of 10 years old, and also a beginner, so I cannot chop firewood with this small 'bido' yet. Please devise a way for me to chop wood by other means until I gain strength and skill. Otherwise, we will probably starve because there will be no firewood to burn."

I tried to persuade my master in a truly logical and rational tone. My master thought for a moment and then went into the hut's storage room. Then, sounds like rustling, clanging, crashing, and rumbling were heard continuously from inside the storage room. I felt a strange and ominous premonition run down my spine.