Urban Vagabond: Reload

Sword dance, as the name says, is a dance you weave with a blade.

In a short track of about three minutes, what you choose to show and what you choose to put into it is entirely up to the participant.

You could chain together the moves you’re confident in and maximize your strong points, or you could go for high-difficulty techniques or unusual structure to aim for the scores in physical ability or creativity.

So what can I show them?

In my last life, my strengths came from my practice hours—more than anyone else’s—plus precise fundamentals and stamina.

That alone had been enough for me to place several times in the middle school competitions.

But right now?

I threw the question at myself.

What could Kim Muhyuk, not the nineteen-year-old boy overflowing with nothing but thirst for the sword but the man who’d lived twenty years and come back, unfold with his blade?

I’d thought about it pretty deeply when I decided to enter this competition, and I’d ended up with one answer.

Put my life as a vagabond into it.

That’s why, among the tracks picked out by the organizers, I chose .

The moment I saw the title, and the moment I heard the opening bar, I decided it was the track that suited the me of my last life best.

The Lone Ghost Kim Muhyuk.

In my previous life, I was always the lone ghost who survived every fight by myself.

—Kid, your sword work’s like a ghost’s.

As the intro began, I became the me from back then and swung my sword.

Tunk.

I deliberately let the sword slip, kicked it back up with my foot to catch it again, then dropped my upper body flat and snapped back up on the rebound, slashing through the air.

Kyaaaaa— kyaaaaa—!

The chilling screams of ghosts rose higher and higher, and with them the sounds of drum, barrel drum, gong, and bells all tangled together.

Staggering across the stage as if drunk, I suddenly lunged and swept my blade in every direction. My gaze never stopped moving as I checked my surroundings over and over.

I folded the movements of a vagabond for whom chaotic brawls were everyday life, and the constant wariness of someone who had to be on guard to stay alive, into the sword dance.

Boom, ba-boom-boom, BOOOM—!

Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!

Over the wild, historical-drama-style soundtrack, a rough male voice came in.

Begone, stray spirits!

Stop right there, you demons!

Why won’t you ascend to the other world at once—!

It was the shout of a shaman who’d come to exorcise ghosts. The drums grew louder, the rhythm faster.

I backpedaled in a panic and swung my sword in what looked like wild, frantic slashes. It was desperate and grim—and just as sharp.

Each line the blade drew traced the shortest path to cut an enemy’s lifeline. Sometimes it was a path that looked like I’d willingly give up a piece of my own body just to crush the other side’s windpipe at the end.

—...You ruthless bastard. You lived through this kind of bloodbath and walked in here? Something knocking on my door at dawn, I figured it was a ghost.

I could almost hear Kim Bokja’s voice, and my lips twisted in a crooked grin.

Yeah, I was a ghost clawing and thrashing to stay alive.

A ghost who couldn’t move on, with regrets hardened into grudges, who still couldn’t give up the dream of becoming a martial artist even with an artificial dantian shoved into his body and one eye gone.

—Heh heh. What kind of one-eyed cripple crawled in here?

The first person I killed after becoming a vagabond was another vagabond from the same underworld.

He looked old and worn out, but he was persistent. He let a sticky killing intent ooze out of him and relentlessly targeted my blind left side.

Thanks to him, I paid a steep tuition fee in my first real fight.

I only managed to cut his throat after I’d taken about five holes in my arms and legs and soaked my whole body in blood.

—Shi-iit... this is bullshit...

The vagabond inside my mental landscape staggered and dropped with a thud.

I flicked my sword sideways as if shaking blood off it, then strode forward.

Huuuuuh. Huuuuuuh.

The ghosts’ sobbing cries echoed mournfully. The shaman’s booming shouts faded for a moment.

The tempo of the music °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° slowed briefly.

To give my tingling hand a rest, I swapped the sword to my other hand.

—You the bastard who took down our boss?

My second kill was three people at once.

They’d been waiting, hidden in an alley, for me to come back from a job. They said they were the dead man’s buddies.

Fortunately, the second time went a little smoother.

—P-please... spare me...

—You’ll never see me again...

—Raise your swords, you idiots! Look at his eyes—he’s not gonna let us live!

Slash!

I cut all three throats with a single swing. The phantoms of the past scattered into the air.

At the same time, the shaman who’d hesitated for a beat came back, barking at me even louder.

Begone, stray spirits!

Why won’t you ascend to the other world at once—!

My opponents kept changing.

The first time I came face to face with an anomaly I’d only ever heard about in stories.

The day I fell into a trap, lost every comrade I’d gone in with, and came back alone.

The time I bought myself the wrong kind of favor-and-grudge, took a huge loss, and still laughed it off in a good mood just because of one small smile.

Every part of my past life flowed into the sword dance.

Boom, ba-boom-boom, BOOOM—!

Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!

The melody sped up and slowed down, shrank and swelled at will.

Just like my old life, where I couldn’t see even an inch ahead.

—...Kim Muhyuk? Don’t tell me that Kim Muhyuk?

Korea’s Greatest Blade, Shin Kangheon, appeared in front of me too.

He crashed into me for dozens of furious exchanges, then laughed loudly and vanished.

And far beyond the stage, a man was standing.

Richard Han.

My idol and hero.

The greatest martial artist in the world, the one I’d admired my whole life.

Even after becoming a vagabond, I’d wanted to chase him so badly I’d pull up dozens of analysis videos of his techniques on video sites every single day.

When I strode toward him, he slowly shook his head. Then his figure blurred and faded away.

So he’s saying I don’t even have the qualifications to challenge him yet?

Did it mean that even in my imagination, I didn’t have the right to cross swords with him?

It was a fitting confidence for The Strongest in the World. I shrugged and turned my body the other way.

In the center of the stage, my final opponent was waiting for me.

Of course it’s you at the end.

It was the me from the past.

The Lone Ghost Kim Muhyuk curled one corner of his mouth up in a crooked smile.

His body was covered in scars, his beard was overgrown. His left eye was closed, and he looked worn and exhausted down to the bone.

I dashed straight across the stage at him.

Clang-clang-clang-clang!

I threw myself into a wild, ecstatic sword fight with my former self.

Blood spattered, bones cracked. Even though it was a battle taking place only in my head, every cut throbbed faintly.

And at the end of it—

Thud.

When I slowly pulled my sword out of the Lone Ghost’s heart, he stared at me for a moment, then lifted one corner of his mouth in a faint grin.

As if he was saying he’d gone easy on me.

Go well.

We exchanged a look, like a shared bow.

Ssshhh—

With a sound like winter wind brushing over fallen leaves, the ghost who’d finished his final steps of the dance chose to ascend and disappeared on his own.

“Huuu...”

The sword-dance track ended.

Having finished my routine, I took a moment to steady my breathing on the spot.

Because of the lights, I couldn’t read the judges’ expressions. Martial arts masters weren’t the type to show their emotions easily in the first place.

Was I too self-indulgent with it?

That thought came to me a beat late, but I shook my head and let it go.

I was satisfied with myself, and that was enough. If it didn’t meet the judging criteria and I didn’t place, that was out of my hands.

I bowed my head in greeting, then stepped off the stage without any regrets and went back to the waiting room.

“......”

“......”

None of the participants who must have watched my sword dance on the monitor said anything to me first.

Even Oh Jungmin just kept glancing at me with a stiff face.

Feels pretty good, actually.

Because that was unmistakably the way you looked at a competitor who threatened you.

*****

Three masters were sitting on the judges’ panel for the Creative Sword Dance Competition.

Songwol Gate’s division head, Yeom Myeonghwan.

Daecheon Gate’s youngest elder, Gu Jaseung.

And Martial Alliance elder, No Gucheon.

These three mid-tier and elder-level masters, some of the most prominent in Korean martial arts, had gladly agreed to serve as judges to evaluate the pillars of the future.

But even they were only human, and it was inevitable that judging the sword dances of several dozen people would get a bit tedious.

“It’s definitely supposed to be creative sword dance... but they all feel similar.”

“Hm. Kids these days only know how to show off flashy tricks. They don’t seem to think enough about the sword itself.”

Yeom Myeonghwan and Gu Jaseung were talking with slightly bored expressions.

Given the nature of the competition system, some of it couldn’t be helped.

The high-scoring, difficult moves were basically set, and if you wanted to secure a safe score, you couldn’t stray too far from that mold.

“I still thought the General Division would be a little different...”

“The habits they’ve built up through the elementary, middle, and high school competitions must be pretty terrifying. Looks like even if they know better, breaking out of a form their bodies have already learned isn’t easy.”

“It’d be nice if someone tried a bold, unconventional sword dance, even if it was a bit unpolished.”

“And if that goes wrong, it ends up just being a sword dance full of empty swagger, doesn’t it?”

“Well, true enough...”

They were chatting like that while scoring the performance that had just ended almost on autopilot.

Glancing toward the bottom of the contestant list, Yeom Myeonghwan murmured in mild surprise.

“...Kim Muhyuk?”

“Do you know the kid?”

“I saw him a lot when I was judging the middle school competitions. I remember him for his orthodox, airtight sword work.”

Elder Gu Jaseung stroked his chin.

“Orthodox and airtight, huh... At that level, he’d have trouble making it in the General Division, never mind in the High School Division.”

“Well, it’ll still be a good experience for him, won’t it?”

Even Yeom Myeonghwan, who recognized the name Kim Muhyuk, didn’t look particularly expectant. The wall between the High School Division and the General Division was that high.

A little later, contestant number forty-two, Kim Muhyuk, stepped onto the stage.

The judges watched the baby-faced contestant with more concern than anticipation.

“He picked . Hardly anyone chooses that track because the structure’s so tricky, and a high schooler is the one who...”

“I just hope he doesn’t get too nervous and start making mistake after mistake.”

At that moment, the sword-dance track started.

Tunk.

When Kim Muhyuk seemed to drop his sword, then kicked it up and caught it again, the judges let out small laughs at the clever little bit.

But as they watched his feet move nonstop all over the stage, his eyes constantly checking his surroundings, and his sword carrying a killing edge that didn’t feel like it belonged to a high schooler, their eyes gradually widened.

“...Huh!”

“At first I thought he was fooling around, but...”

Not one of the three judges was such a novice that they couldn’t read the intent behind Kim Muhyuk’s movements.

It looked chaotic, but each sword line traced a precise path. The tip of the blade never wavered from the line his gaze pointed to, and there was no hesitation in the thrust and retrieval of the sword.

Right now, that boy was imagining an opponent and unfolding his sword dance against them. Even the judges felt like they could faintly see that figure.

“What kind of concentration is that...”

“And that killing intent...”

The judges felt the hair on the backs of their hands stand up.

It was like watching a wolf lying low, waiting in silence for the moment it could sink its teeth into an enemy’s throat.

Without taking his eyes off Kim Muhyuk, Gu Jaseung asked Yeom Myeonghwan a question.

“Is that what you meant by orthodox and airtight?”

“No. The Kim Muhyuk I knew didn’t have a sword like that... What in the world happened to him in the meantime?”

It was Yeom Myeonghwan who was more shocked. The Kim Muhyuk he remembered had been a student who performed honest, straight, upright sword dances.

Even underworld vagabonds wouldn’t move like that...

And then, the one person who hadn’t said a single word so far, Martial Alliance elder No Gucheon, finally opened his mouth.

“That boy.”

At some point, the sword-dance track had ended.

As Kim Muhyuk sheathed his sword and looked up at the ceiling with a strange smile, No Gucheon also let out a breathy laugh.

“He’s a natural.”

The other two couldn’t help but agree.

It had been a performance they were so absorbed in that they hadn’t noticed how fast the three minutes went by.

After Kim Muhyuk bowed his head and stepped off the stage, the judges launched into a brief back-and-forth.

“There’s no need to look at the rest. Kim Muhyuk. Who else is there besides that boy?”

“But Elder Gu, up to now, a high school student winning gold in the General Division has never...”

“There is one precedent. About twenty years ago.”

“...Are you talking about Richard Han right now?”

The name of the martial artist currently called The Strongest in the World was spoken aloud.

But No Gucheon neither showed surprise nor objected.

He simply replayed the sword dance Kim Muhyuk had shown them quietly in his mind.

That boy’s sword...

No Gucheon thought.

It didn’t resemble Richard Han’s sword work.

It resembled the sword of someone else he knew.