Seung-chan looked up at the sky, sword in hand.The Samjaegeombeop—the most basic of basics.Everyone learns it, but few ever truly master it.
"A weak martial art, wielded by a strong person, becomes strong."
That's what he believed.But…
Was it really an absolute truth?
Is a powerful martial art powerful in itself?
Just then, a violent surge of energy burst in the distance.
Boom!!
Dust shot into the sky.Seung-chan turned his head.A battle had broken out.
And in that moment,he witnessed a clash between strong and weak martial arts.
The Reason a Martial Art Is Called Powerful
A man panted heavily.He wielded a basic sword art—predictable strikes, rigid movements.
His opponent radiated a massive red aura.In his hands was the Geumgang-Pamyeolgeom (Diamond-Destroying Blade).
A single swing of that blade—CRACK!!The earth split apart.
"This is the power of a strong martial art."
The man using the basic sword form stood no chance.Even before his blade reached its mark, he was overwhelmed by sheer force.His sword shattered.His body hit the ground.
Blood spilled.His breath stopped.
Seung-chan quietly watched the scene unfold.
What If a Strong Person Used a Weak Martial Art?
He repeated the thought.
"If a weak technique is wielded by someone strong, it becomes strong."
But what he'd just witnessed—was a scene where strong martial arts crushed weak ones completely.
Was he wrong all along?
He looked down at the manual of the Samjaegeombeop in his hand.
Strong martial arts are strong.Weak martial arts are weak.
Is that simply the rule of this world?Or just one of many rules someone decided?
Seung-chan closed the book.
He couldn't answer. Not yet.
Chapter 19: Is a Powerful Martial Art Truly Powerful? – Part 2
Seung-chan looked down at the fallen man.He still held his sword.But it could no longer cut anything.
The victor loomed above—a man cloaked in crimson aura,wielding the Geumgang-Pamyeolgeom.
Each swing split the air, shook the ground.
Their swords had clashed—but with only a single strike,the loser fell.
What Makes a Martial Art Strong?
What is martial arts?Something gained through training?Or something granted by the heavens?
In Murim, one must have giyeon (奇緣)—a fated encounter or opportunity.Without it, no amount of talent or effort is enough.
Strong martial arts are rare because they are difficult to obtain.
In Murim, strength is not built on effort alone.There's a gap in Gangho that effort can never cross.
Some stumble upon forgotten techniques in deep mountain caves.Some are taught by reclusive masters.Others are born into noble families, learning elite martial arts from childhood.
This isn't mere training.It's a fate reserved for the chosen few.
Those born under destiny become strong.The rest fall endlessly into obscurity.
"It's not that the martial art is powerful—only that powerful people are given powerful martial arts."
Murim, Fate, and Probability
Seung-chan looked again at the fallen man.The sword style he used was common.A form anyone could learn.
But could it defeat the martial art of a true elite?
In Murim, a "powerful" martial art isn't just a technique.It is reserved only for the chosen.
Why does one man die forgotten,while another becomes a legend?
Because that's the law of this world.
Gangho is not fair.Some rise easily.Others, no matter how hard they try, cannot overcome the wall.
The reason a martial art is powerful—is because only certain people are allowed to wield it.
Then what about me?
Seung-chan looked down at his hands.What he held was the Samjaegeombeop—the most basic sword form in all of Murim.
Could this technique—defeat the Geumgang-Pamyeolgeom?
A bitter smile crossed his lips.
But if he was wrong?If power truly lies in the martial art itself—then is there no way to overcome that gap?
He gripped his sword again.
Now, he intended to test it for himself.
Chapter 20: When the Sword Moved, the Sky Shook
Seung-chan raised his sword.Cheon (Heaven), Ji (Earth), In (Man).Movements anyone familiar with the Samjaegeombeop would know.
But he wasn't simply practicing.
He was pursuing perfection.Until his sword became one with the air—until flawless strikes soaked into his body like breath.
Shuuk!
A downward cut cleaved the sky.Cheon.A sweeping strike scraped the ground.Ji.A thrust surged forward.In.
And then—he began again.
A Foreign Sensation
But then, something felt… off.
He repeated the sword form.But this time—
He felt like he'd already done this exact movement before.
'Did I swing it like this just now?'He paused, looking around.
The cliff wall stood unchanged.So did the ground, and the sky.Nothing had shifted.
And yet—something was undeniably wrong.
He raised his sword again.Repeated the Samjaegeombeop.
And this time, he knew for sure.
He was repeating what he had just done.Or rather—
It felt like the world was resetting to before he swung.
As if—even though he moved his sword,time had rewound.
He stared at his blade.A strange thought passed through him.
Was this really the first time I swung like this?Or has it already happened countless times before?
A Fractured World
Just then,the cliff wall trembled—barely.
It wasn't from the wind.It was like the rock itself had crumbled—then reassembled.
Seung-chan gripped his sword tightly.No—this wasn't a delusion.
He swung again.
Shhk!
And this time, he saw it clearly.
The moment he swung—space warped.
No, not warped—it reset.
Back to before the swing.
He drew a deep breath.He didn't know yet what this meant.
But one thing was clear:
Though he swung the sword—he was returning to the moment just before the swing.
Then what does it mean?
Did he not swing at all?Or was he still swinging—forever?
His thoughts spiraled.Should he keep pushing deeper into this?
He couldn't yet answer.
Seung-chan slowly pushed open the door to the inn.The air inside was a mixture of oil and alcohol.Rough-looking martial artists sat scattered across the room, drinking from bowls the size of fists.
It was a familiar scene.Gangho was always like this.Warriors drank, talked loudly, laughed, and sometimes fought.
He walked slowly to a quiet corner table.Soon, a server approached.
"What would you like, sir?"
"A bottle of cheongju."
The server bowed lightly and walked off.Seung-chan glanced around the room, almost unconsciously.
Repetition in the Ordinary
"Did you hear? Bandits showed up in the western gorge last night.""Yeah, I heard there were victims again.""Gangho's become dangerous lately."
He listened for a moment.It was the kind of conversation you could hear anywhere.Gangho always had incidents,and those incidents always became tavern talk somewhere.
But then—
"Did you hear? Bandits showed up in the western gorge last night.""Yeah, I heard there were victims again.""Gangho's become dangerous lately."
"…?"
He'd just heard that exact line.A coincidence?
He turned his head subtly to see who was talking.
One group was playing cards, shouting with excitement.Another group of young martial artists was loudly debating sword techniques.All of it felt natural.
Except…
That same conversation—was coming from a group of silent men, drinking without expression in one corner.
And a few minutes later, again:
"Did you hear? Bandits showed up in the western gorge last night.""Yeah, I heard there were victims again.""Gangho's become dangerous lately."
Same tone.Same order.Same inflection.
As if—they were reciting lines from a script.
Seung-chan narrowed his eyes.
Everyone else in the inn moved naturally.But those men—acted like dolls locked in a fixed pattern.
He wondered to himself.
"Am I just being paranoid?"
But…
Was it really just a feeling?
A Silent Soldier Outside the Walls
After leaving the inn, Seung-chan wandered near the outer walls of the city.The guards stationed there moved as they always had—patrolling, standing watch, eyeing passing travelers.
But one guard stood out.
He wore an older, worn-out suit of armor.Unlike the others, who chatted among themselves or moved in pairs,this man…
did not move at all.
He stood perfectly still,as if he'd forgotten how to breathe.
Seung-chan stepped closer and addressed him casually.
"How long have you been stationed here?"
The guard turned his head slowly.
"I have been guarding this place for five years."
Seung-chan paused, then asked again.
"Then… who's the longest-serving soldier here?"
The man didn't hesitate.
"I have been guarding this place for five years."
"…"
Seung-chan looked closely at his face.There was no expression.No emotion.
No—not even the capacity for change in expression.
Around him, other guards were chatting, smiling, making casual jokes.But this man stood alone, unmoving.
Seung-chan asked once more:
"When did you come here?"
"I have been guarding this place for five years."
Seung-chan stepped back.The guard didn't move,but kept his eyes locked on him.
There was something hollow in that gaze.As if he were alive—and yet…
not human.
Stillness Within a Flowing River
The men in the inn corner,repeating the same conversation.
The guard outside the city,repeating the same answer.
Everything else moved naturally.The innkeeper.The martial artists drinking.The merchants on the street.
But a few—were trapped in loops.
Was it coincidence?Or…
a hidden law of this world?
Seung-chan clenched the sword in his hand.
He didn't know the answer yet.But he was beginning to sense it—
In Gangho,some things do not change.
And those things—may no longer be human.