Eternal Yujin
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🎆 NEW YEAR’S GIFT!!!🎆
🕑 Added 2024-01-01 02:09:12 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: This is both an apology for the brief hiatus as well as a gift for the New Year. I've made it a point to post this on the Patreon and nowhere else because those of you here go above and beyond supporting me – and I feel compelled to respond in kind.
Here's a work in progress martial arts novel!
Warning: I enjoy the Korean Murim Manhwa genre very much but I am not Korean – please keep this in mind lol.
P.S. BEFORE I FORGET, I'VE PAUSED BILLING FOR THE MONTH OF JANUARY SO NEED TO CANCEL. I'LL RESUME IT ON JANUARY 30TH!
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CHAPTER 1
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Every five years, without fail, Pan Myung-ki descended Mount Eol to collect the Outer Cult’s next batch of students from Ogwak village. As the vassal village of the Demonic Cult, the residents pledged their lives in service to the Heavenly Demon. Such a life was preferable in the Withering Heights, where the weather was freezing year-round.
The Demonic Cult sat atop the peak of Mount Eol and was reached only by climbing the Three Thousand Steps. A place where the strongest gathered – and where strength was the only thing of value. It had been many years since Myung-ki had been inside its walls after being forced to teach the Outer Cult due to his stagnated cultivation. On the other hand, the Outer Cult was a shadow of the true cult. A place where children with potential were trained for five years. Those who remained by the end would ascend the mountain and join the true cult, all while Myung-ki grew old and grey.
He heaved a sigh as the world blurred past him. He supposed that this was his lot in life.
The journey from the Outer Cult to Ogwak Village barely took a few minutes for him, a peak Body-Forging Realm martial artist. Sheets of snow covered the tiled roofs and fires burned inside every hovel he walked past. Children in rags scampered away from him, pulled aside by parents who cowered into hasty bows and empty praises, hoping that he would pick their child over their neighbour’s. Since everyone was emaciated here, Myung-ki had to be careful to pick those whose hunger burned in their eyes. That defiance would serve them well in their journey as martial artists – and it was his job to forge it in service to the cult.
Now, though, they were little more than snivelling children, sobbing in their parents’ arms.
“L-Lord Cultist,” one man hobbled towards him, bowed. He pushed a terrified child in front of him. “Please take my child!”
Myung-ki halted and released a hint of his internal energy. The villagers scrambled back and prostrated themselves, crying, “Hail servant of the Heavenly Demon!”
He scoffed, a dozen choking sobs at his back. Striding deeper into the village, the destitution only became clearer. The buildings were dilapidated, the shutters had holes in them, rendering them useless – and the families were also much bigger here. Myung-ki grinned because this would be where those with true potential lived. He watched dispassionately as a child rushed into an alley with an armful of stolen, stale bread, chased by six other children.
Myung-ki ignored him and walked into Ogwak Village’s only brothel and inn – The Crowing Cock. The place stank of sex, masked by cheap perfume imported from one of the two cities in the entire region. It was also the only tiered building in the village, so one could see it as they descended the Three Thousand Steps. As it was fairly early in the morning, the brothel was not in business – but today was a special day where they opened their doors only to him.
All the lounges were empty and the place was completely quiet. A woman dressed in a flowing, red dress descended the stairs. It danced across her skin, following every contour of her well-endowed body, yet looked as if it would fly away at a single gust of wind. Her luscious red hair tumbled over her shoulders in a loose ponytail. Crimson lipstick lined her plump lips and only made her soft-white skin look all the paler.
“Sir Martial Artist,” she smiled. “It’s been too long. Come, let us… catch up.”
“Apologies,” said Myung-ki. “But not now. Tonight, perhaps. The other two won’t return to the cult for a fortnight.” Her smile deepened and she drew his arm into her chest. Hesitantly, he pulled away. “...You know what I am here for, Iseul.”
“You are lucky, Sir Myung-ki,” she said, her voice light and airy. Her deep, dark eyes melted with disappointment. “There are three children for you—though one in particular might interest you.”
“Oh?”
“One moment, I will bring them.”
A few minutes later, she descended the stairs again, three children trailing behind her. They looked to be around ten years old and were completely different to one another. The tallest was a girl with wild red hair and a permanent scowl on her face.
The brothel-keeper lightly prodded her forward. “This one. Her name is Gong Hana—”
Myung-ki snorted.
“Somethin’ funny?” Gong Hana frowned.
“Very,” he said. “Your name’s not so great, is it, kid? You’re called ‘One’, for fuck’s sake.” He chuckled, more at the girl’s reaction than the name itself. She bristled, fists clenched until her already light skin was bone-white.
While the brothel-keeper had to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she didn’t move to attack him or do anything monumentally stupid like insulting him.
“What’s so special about her?” he asked.
“She,” the brothel-keeper’s never-ending smile grew brittle for a moment, “has killed a man.”
He gave the girl a second look, ignoring her glare. “Interesting. And the other two?”
“You’ll find a use for them, I’m sure.”
Myung-ki appraised them. To the left of Gong Hana stood a boy with a mop of inky hair. It hung over his eyes, obscuring them, but his face seemed perfectly calm. The girl to Gong Hana’s left was far easier to read. With mousy brown hair and a perpetually worried expression, Myung-ki knew he would have his work cut out for him.
“The three of you go to the village square and wait for me there.”
The brothel-keeper bowed and the other two followed her. “We thank you, Sir Martial Artist.” Gong Hana stared defiantly at him before being forced into a bow by the black-haired boy.
Myung-ki left without waiting for the children – they would be at the village square. There was no refusing the Demonic Cult.
He entered the alleyway that the vagrant child had sprinted down. He would no doubt be beaten to a pulp by the other children chasing him, but if the hunger and desperation still burned in his eyes…
Before he turned the corner, he caught the faint scent of blood in the air and drew his sword, cycling his Ki around his body.
Five children lay on the iced-over ground with bloody noses and split lips.
“P-Please,” the sixth child cried. “L-Let me g-go and we w-won’t bother you aga-again!”
“Why should I? If this went another way, I would be the one begging for mercy. Would you give it to me then?”
Myung-ki halted and watched the thieving child from earlier. From where he stood, all he could see was a wild mane of black hair, lined with grey streaks. He lifted a bloody fist and slammed it down without a hint of hesitation, knocking the snivelling child unconscious.
Standing to his feet, the boy picked up the bread roll closest to him and inspected it. “...Goddamn it, it’s dirty.”
Apparently, that did not stop him from stuffing it into his ratty white robe or picking up the other rolls and doing the same. With his sword still drawn, Myung-Ki slashed it against the wall and summoned a shower of sparks just behind him.
Freezing, he looked up at him with almost empty brown eyes. “Who are you?” His eyes flickered to the sword in Myung-ki’s hand, and then his black and red robes. “Have you come to kill me, cultist?”
Myung-ki pointed his sword at him.
“...Can I at least take the bread home first?”
Unable to help himself, he laughed and sheathed his sword. “Tell me, kid, what drives you?” He gestured at the unconscious children around them. “Is it the thrill of the fight?”
“The thrill of the fight?” the boy echoed, wrinkling his nose. “...Never that.”
“Survival, then.” Myung-ki nodded, mind made up. “Join the Demonic Cult. Your needs will be met, and you will have no want for food and drink.”
The boy stood up and wiped his bloody hands on his trousers. “No.”
“Why?” he asked, more curious than anything else – it wasn’t like the boy could refuse anyway.
“I don’t like violence.” He spoke slowly as if the words pained him to say. “Nothing good ever comes from it.”
“You… hate violence?” Myung-ki repeated with a snort. “You’ve beaten five other brats into unconsciousness and dyed your fists with their blood. They were going to steal your bread and probably do worse to you if you didn’t. You’re not going to go hungry and they will – and you hate violence?”
“But you see, Mr Cultist,” the boy smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s because of violence that I’m here in the first place.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“It’s Cho Woo-sung,” the boy said. “And even if I wanted to join your cult, I can’t. My mother sacrificed everything for me. I refuse to let her live in squalor and run off to drown myself in blood and iron.”
Hypocrisy aside, it was clear that the boy had martial potential, even if he would be the most difficult to mould in the image of the cult. But after twenty years of monotony, he’d found something interesting – and that was enough for him.
“You don’t have a say in the matter, unfortunately.”
Cho Woo-sung frowned. “What are you—”
Freeing his Ki from the confines of his body in a focused burst, Myung-ki knocked the boy unconscious and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The bread fell out of his robes, save for one roll that he felt against his right shoulder blade. Leaving the alleyway, Myung-ki returned to The Crowing Cock and called for the brothel-keeper. Her perfectly drawn eyebrows rose when she saw him.
“Do you know where Cho Woo-sung’s mother lives?” he asked.
“Cho Woo-sung?” She walked around him to look at his face. “Oh, you mean the thieving vagrant child. He and his mother live at the very end of this street.”
He thanked her and raced down the street, stopping to instruct one of the vendors to wake up the unconscious children in the alleyway and send them into the village square. If the sixth child was anything to go by, they weren’t made of the toughest stuff – but they had the hunger he was looking for.
“This is the place,” he said to himself.
He opened the feeble wooden door and saw Cho Woo-sung’s mother hunched over a bubbling pot of vegetable soup. She only noticed him when he entered the kitchen and almost scalded herself, brandishing a knife before her mind caught up with her and she laid it back on the table. She chewed her lip and took in the bloody sight of her son. Perhaps she thought he had hurt him and if she did, he wasn't in a rush to disavow her of the notion.
“Sir Cultist,” she said. “Whatever my son has done, please, forgive him.”
Still carrying the boy, Myung-ki shook his head. “You should be honoured, woman. Your son will join the Demonic Cult.”
Relief shone through her tired brown eyes. “That’s… good. Yes, very good. T-Thank you.” She bowed hastily.
“What is your name?”
“Shin Hyun-ae.”
“Shin Hyun-ae. Your son refused to join the cult out of attachment to you.”
“I-I apologise on his behalf!” She slammed her knees into the ground and prostrated herself. “Please, don’t kill my son! M-Me—take me instead!”
“I am not finished. The Demonic Cult requires servants from Ogwak Village. So I’m offering you a job. You will work with the existing servants and cook, clean, and maintain the premises.”
“T-Thank you, Sir Cultist!” she sobbed, still prostrated on the cold floor. “Thank you!”
Myung-ki stared at the back of her head. “Don’t thank me. This isn’t for your sake, nor your son’s, but for the cult.”
She stared up in confusion and wiped her tears. “I thank you regardless.”
“Gather your belongings and go to the village square. We leave in ten minutes.”
Despite her pleas, he did not put Cho Woo-sung down—he would not be waking up for the next hour at the very least, by which time they would have arrived at the Outer Cult. As the village square came into view, he smiled in anticipation. With Cho Woo-sung and the other twenty-one children recruited, Myung-ki was finished with Ogwak Village for the day. It would be another two weeks before his colleagues would return from Bukjjok City and Namjjok City with their recruits.
That would give him time to skin in his batch.
He smirked at the thought. It was always the most fun to see who he’d be able to push to the brink first.
Comments
Darkarma
I'm in, I'd read this. Give me more... please this feeble one requests, great Daoist.
Eternal Yujin
To my knowledge, it's similar to Wuxia. If you'd like, I'll recommend you some good ongoing manhwa to read. They’re full colour comics that, when you have the right artists, are the perfect cross between manga and anime with panels that have you stop and stare at how awesome they look.
Green0Photon
No clue what's going on here, nor anything about the genre. But as a fan of Xianxia, there's enough similarity between it and Xianxia/Wuxia that I enjoyed it. I think I'd gladly read more. Thank you for this New Year's Gift!
Eternal Yujin
Here's the synopsis for the novel! ——— A gangster up to his neck in violence dies on the eve of what was meant to be his happy retirement. His second life is in a world where violence is revered to a degree bordering insanity – and he wants no part in it. Though his opinion matters very little. ———
