Urban Vagabond: Reload

The spiral staircase stretched up and up.

To reach the highest floor of the Martial Alliance main headquarters, there was a rule: from the middle of the building onward, you had to abandon the elevators and take the stairs.

Because that was where the office of the Alliance Leader, the absolute authority of Korean martial arts, was located.

And so, in a show of respect, every martial artist was supposed to climb this long, long staircase one step at a time...

“It’s all bullshit.”

Clicking his tongue, a man dismissed the commonly told story and continued up the stairs.

He knew exactly why he actually had to walk all the way to the Alliance Leader’s office.

The Eight Great Sects.

They had cooked up a nice-sounding pretext and forced the Alliance Leader to move his office to the very top floor so they could monitor and restrain him.

They had even gone so far as to change the rules so no one could use inner qi while climbing the stairs, all to inflict humiliation and inconvenience on those going to see him.

If back then we hadn’t been so afraid of internal conflict and actually drawn our swords...

After a certain incident in the past, the influence of the Eight Great Sects had ballooned out of control.

The Alliance Leader at the time had been a man who was upright to a fault, convinced that everyone else was just like him—righteous people who simply thought differently.

“Phew...”

And because of that conviction, he hadn’t stopped the schemes to isolate him in time, and now the power of the Eight Great Sects had grown to the point that they overshadowed both the Martial Alliance and the Alliance Leader himself.

Which brought things to the present.

Rumors that the Alliance Leader, worn down by the Eight Great Sects’ constant interference, had been neglecting his duties and burying himself in cultivation like he was running away—those were something everyone “in the know” inside the Martial Alliance had heard.

But right now, the old man climbing the stairs wore an expression that, for once, held a strange kind of strength instead of the usual resignation.

“Alliance Leader. Are you inside?”

He stopped in front of the office door and knocked, and after a moment, the door opened on its own.

“No Gucheon? What brings you here?”

Beyond the door stood a white-haired old man in training clothes, drenched in sweat.

Except for his wrinkled face, his solid muscles were on par with those of any young martial artist, and the hair tied tightly back behind his head gleamed with health.

This was Alliance Leader Yeo Pilgeuk of the Korean Martial Alliance.

“Since when do I need a reason to visit? I just came to share a bit of conversation.”

Yeo Pilgeuk studied No Gucheon’s gently smiling face for a moment, then burst out laughing and ushered his guest in.

“Come in. If I’d known, I’d have at least prepared some liquor.”

“I quit drinking. You should cut back too, Alliance Leader. Drinking when you’re old is no different from poison.”

“Always nagging. Fine, then I’ll at least serve you some tea, so wait a moment.”

No Gucheon quietly watched the Alliance Leader’s unpretentious back as he personally prepared the tea.

The office of the Martial Alliance’s leader was so spartan it was hard to believe what it was supposed to be, and that plainness reflected his character.

After taking a sip of the tea poured for him, No Gucheon spoke.

“Were you lost in cultivation again?”

“What else is there for me to do?”

Yeo Pilgeuk laughed as he turned his own self-mockery into a joke.

He could afford to—he and No Gucheon had known each other a very long time.

One of the few remaining true Alliance-Leader loyalists.

Because he had continued to support the Alliance Leader even as that authority plummeted, his position had been shifted from Elder to Senior Elder, and he’d lost most of his real influence within the Alliance.

Even so, he had never once left Yeo Pilgeuk’s side. For that, he was a deeply cherished friend.

“And yet your face looks unusually bright today. Did something amusing happen?”

“I just came back from presenting awards at the competition. I met a very bold kid there.”

“Hm?”

At first the Alliance Leader didn’t seem particularly interested, but once he heard that a high schooler had won the Gold Prize in the General Division, he couldn’t help the look of astonishment on his face.

“Ho! Remarkable. That’s the first time since Richard Han, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. It’s no longer a record that belongs only to him.”

“So in your eyes, does he have what it takes to become a second Richard Han?”

When he asked how the boy compared to the Strongest in the World, No Gucheon fell silent and adopted a thoughtful expression.

That alone was a surprising reaction—but the answer that followed drew a sigh from the Alliance Leader.

“His frame and bones are among the best I’ve seen in recent years, but... his constitution is Level 4.”

“What a shame. If his constitution had been just a little better, he could have become a truly great master.”

The Alliance Leader spoke with sincere regret and took another sip of his tea, and No Gucheon smiled faintly, as if he’d been waiting for that.

“The funny thing is, the boy himself didn’t seem disappointed at all. During his acceptance speech, he boldly declared he’d earn a first-rate license on his first exam.”

“What?”

“And he said it right out loud in front of the Eight Great Sects’ martial artists who, because he was Level 4, had no interest in him.”

For a moment, the Alliance Leader just stared, dumbfounded—and then a hearty laugh burst out of him.

“Hahahahaha! I can just imagine the looks on their faces!”

Knowing better than anyone the lofty pride of the Eight Great Sects, he couldn’t help but laugh.

A first-rate license.

He knew very well what kind of effort and support those sects poured into their late-bloom prospects just to put that honor in their hands on their first exam, and that made the boy’s open provocation delightfully outrageous.

“You! You’ve been out there having all the fun while I’m stuck in this cage, haven’t you?”

“Alliance Leader. The most surprising news is still to come.”

Yeo Pilgeuk shook his head.

“There’s more? I haven’t even heard the boy’s name yet. At least tell me that first...”

“He resembles the Sword Demon.”

“...Did I mishear you just now?”

“His swordsmanship. It resembles the Sword Demon’s.”

At No Gucheon’s serious answer, all trace of laughter vanished from the Alliance Leader’s face for the first time.

The Sword Demon.

The moment he heard that title, the old man’s gentle expression stained over with a flood of emotions.

Regret, lingering attachment, self-reproach, a sense of loss, anger...

The Alliance Leader drew in a long breath to steady himself and fixed No Gucheon with a grave look.

“It’s been more than ten years since he cut ties with us completely. With his personality, there’s no way he’s taken another disciple, and having a child is even more absurd, isn’t it?”

No Gucheon knew the man called the Sword Demon just as well as the Alliance Leader did.

That was why he’d recognized the faint traces of him in Kim Muhyuk’s sword.

“...I have no idea what their relationship is, but I’m certain of one thing. That boy has definitely been influenced by the Sword Demon’s sword.”

It had felt like there was some story there, and there had been too many ears around, so he hadn’t asked for details at the time.

But since that day, No Gucheon had watched Kim Muhyuk’s competition footage over and over, dozens of times, and had become sure.

That boy was connected, somehow, to the Sword Demon who had vanished without a trace.

The Alliance Leader was quiet for a while, then let out a hollow laugh.

“Fine, I get it. Now at least tell me this much—what’s his name?”

“Kim Muhyuk.”

Kim Muhyuk. Kim Muhyuk...

The Alliance Leader repeated the name several times, as if engraving it into his mind.

When No Gucheon had emptied his teacup and risen to his feet, he said:

“You’ll see him yourself soon enough, Alliance Leader. He’ll be taking the license exam early next year.”

“A young late-bloom prospect whose sword resembles the Sword Demon’s, appearing now... I wonder if we should be worried more than excited.”

He said the words that way, but as he walked his old friend out, the corners of the Martial Alliance Leader’s mouth were faintly lifted.

*****

A few days had passed since I’d declared I was going to earn a first-rate license.

Whether it was the kids who’d been at the ceremony or whoever, posts mocking me were flooding the martial-artist communities and other boards.

“Wins a Gold at the competition and completely loses sight of his place,”

“Does he think any mutt can just walk in and get a first-rate?”

“We should screenshot this and hang it up so he can be humiliated for life,” and so on.

“Muhyuk! Let’s sue every last one of these bastards!”

“Stop getting worked up over nothing.”

I honestly didn’t care that much, but Dad kept getting furious on my behalf and getting smacked between the shoulder blades by Mom, who told him to knock it off.

Well, I get it.

To put it bluntly, most martial artists couldn’t reach first-rate even after training for ten years, and plenty more never got any further even after devoting twenty years to it.

From the point of view of those average people, how obnoxious must my little declaration have sounded?

If anything, after reading a few of the posts online, I wound up reflecting a little.

“When I talked about my future goals... I guess I didn’t show enough consideration for mediocrities.”

“......”

“......”

“What?”

Both of them just stared at me with faces that said, We have a lot we could say, but we’re not going to, and I stared back with a look that said I had no idea what their problem was.

In any case.

I fully intended to do everything I could to keep the promise I’d made at the ceremony.

“I’m heading out to train, then.”

“All right. Don’t push yourself too hard!”

“You packed your lunch, right?”

With the lunch my parents had prepared hanging from my hand and their mix of support and worry at my back, I left the house early on a weekend morning.

If I can just find a lead today, that’d be nice.

Over the past few days, I’d been thinking hard about what I needed most as I looked toward the martial-artist license exam.

The exam would be in January next year, which gave me roughly four months.

What was the thing I needed most in order to earn a first-rate license by then?

I’ve got more than enough real combat experience. I’ve got enough inner qi to get through the exam. I can keep pushing my physical conditioning further too.

In the end, my conclusion boiled down to a single point.

I need guidance from a real master who can accurately gauge my current level and point out my weaknesses.

I took pride in the swordsmanship I’d honed during my vagabond days, but I never thought it was the only answer.

Especially since the bad habits I’d picked up from constantly pushing my limits had slowly been wrecking my body.

I was trying to fix them as much as possible now, but I needed a more objective eye.

And it wasn’t like I could just ask anyone.

No matter how I slice it, there’s only one person.

So the conclusion I arrived at was this: I would go looking for the Sword Demon, who should be in seclusion somewhere.

An orthodox-path martial artist unusually saddled with a title containing “Demon.”

But the ones who gave him that title hadn’t been the orthodox path—they’d been black-path martial artists.

In his youth, the Sword Demon had gone around thrashing black-path fighters and forged an extremely practical, battle-hardened sword style.

“The problem is just that the search area is way too big...”

I got to the subway station where we’d agreed to meet a bit early and looked around, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Five years from now, the Sword Demon, who had been in hiding for a long time, would appear on YouTube, his body reduced to something as scrawny as a tree branch.

He would publicly release all the swordsmanship he’d perfected over his lifetime for free—and exactly three days later, he would be found dead.

The news would get a tiny blurb: “A martial artist’s solitary death in ○○ District, Seoul.”

“...I’d rather bring this to him while he’s still warm.”

I glanced at the lunch bag hanging from my shoulder.

Inside was a lunch box packed for three, which I’d asked my parents to prepare generously.

I’d never met the Sword Demon in person, but to me, he was something like a teacher.

I’d spent a long time studying the swordsmanship he’d uploaded to YouTube, applying it in real fights, and thanks to that, I’d survived several times when I should’ve died.

In my book, that makes him a benefactor.

To be honest, I didn’t really know why he’d gone into seclusion, or why he’d had to die alone.

I just wanted him to live a slightly better life this time around.

Even if he didn’t teach me swordsmanship himself.

While I was lost in thought, the guy I’d arranged to meet in front of the station showed up.

“Hey! Crazy bastard!”

“...That lunatic.”

A big frame came bounding up the steps, taking five at {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} a time like a grasshopper.

Shin Kangheon, who’d shot up from the subway in a single burst, beamed at me.

“Let’s hurry up and go have our match. I went ahead and reserved a training hall nearby!”

Just yesterday.

I’d come up with one way to massively cut down on all the legwork I’d have to do alone looking for the Sword Demon.

As we headed toward the training hall Shin Kangheon had booked, he chattered away, face lit up with excitement.

“You remember what we talked about in chat yesterday, right? If I win, you come on my channel and say, ‘Big Bro Shin Kangheon is a martial artist far superior to me. I acknowledge my defeat.’ You’re going to keep that promise, yeah?”

“If you win, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Huh? Let’s see how long that smug face lasts. So what happens if you win? You said you’d tell me when we met.”

Last night we’d staked a bet on our duel: the winner could make the loser grant one request.

To the Shin Kangheon who was so curious about my condition, I said:

“Starting today, you follow me around for three days and run errands for me. How’s that?”

“...You little bastard.”

I mean, objectively speaking, that was a way simpler condition than appearing on his YouTube channel, right?

So I’d figured he’d accept it easily, but maybe I’d scraped his pride—his playful grin twisted, and he started glaring at me like he wanted to eat me alive.

I let a small smile slip out and added one more poke.

“If that’s too long, I’ll be nice and cut it down to two days.”

“...I’m going to half-kill you today.”

With Shin Kangheon, whose chatter had suddenly dropped off a cliff, I made my way toward the training hall he’d reserved.