Chapter 4: Tutorial (4)

As expected, money was great.

Bribing the instructor got me useful information; bribing the tavern owner got me food and drinks.

“Ahh… Smells divine.”

A sealed jar of distilled liquor and a perfectly roasted pork shoulder. The subtle aroma of alcohol and meat evoked a wave of homesickness.

Jokbal (pig’s feet) and soju. The Eastern Swordsman clearly had excellent taste. My mouth watered; I wanted to tear open the packaging and feast right then and there. But I resisted the urge and headed towards the lakeside as instructed.

“Oh, there he is.”

The Eastern Swordsman was meditating by what looked more like a large pond than a lake.

Ah, meditation. I did a lot of that back in kendo school. We called it “quiet contemplation,” and our instructor would make us hold the pose for at least 15 minutes. My knees ached just remembering it.

But compared to the Eastern Swordsman, our instructor was an angel.

Even after I made my presence known, he continued meditating for a whole hour. And even after waiting that long, there was no sign of him finishing.

I wanted to announce my arrival, but I knew I was the one in need of a favor.

I didn’t want to waste time just standing around, so I joined him in meditation.

Silent contemplation. I exhaled stale breath and cleared my mind, inhaling fresh air and organizing my thoughts.

Just as I was entering a state of meditative bliss, a sharp, cold sensation on the back of my neck brought me back to reality.

“Who are you?”

The Eastern Swordsman stood over me, his sword pressed against my neck, radiating a menacing aura. I almost screamed and wet myself, but somehow managed to hold it together.

“Please, calm down. I’m not an enemy. What kind of enemy would interrupt your meditation and bring you liquor and meat?”

“Not unheard of. You carry a sword as well. It’s possible you came seeking a duel to the death.”

This crazy swordsman’s paranoia was bordering on delusional. Or maybe he was just steeped in the spirit of the sword?

“Do I… look like I’m capable of dueling you, Master?”

“Not at all.”

“Then please, put your sword away. I came to ask for your guidance.”

Only after my earnest plea did the Eastern Swordsman withdraw his sword and his menacing aura. Honestly, it felt like facing a tiger in a safari park without the safety of a cage.

“I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. I don’t take disciples. Especially not climbers.”

He rejected my request, even after accepting the liquor and meat. What a
J*rk.

He had refused to take me as a disciple, yet he proceeded to set up a drinking party all for himself. And with only one cup, it was clear he intended to enjoy it alone.

I knew how to drink, too, d@mn it.

“Master, ignorance is death. I chose a weapon at random, and now I have to go out there. But I can’t go out there without knowing how to use it. I may be an !diot, but I’m not !diotic enough to walk to my death.”

“A commendable attitude. But wouldn’t you be better off with something… more suited to a climber? Like your status window? It practically spoon-feeds you everything, so why bother seeking a master?”

The Eastern Swordsman, enjoying his little feast, spoke with a biting edge. His words were laced with contempt and disdain for climbers, clearly stemming from the existence of the status window.

I realized I was at a crossroads. I was a climber, but I couldn’t use the status window.

This was my greatest weakness and a secret I had to guard carefully.

I desperately needed instruction. But was it worth revealing my secret?

“…Master, I can’t use the status window.”

Climbers were weak. And a climber who couldn’t use the status window? Pathetically weak. I had to admit it. I was weak, and this world had no place for the weak.

I desperately needed guidance. I needed knowledge of avant-garde swordsmanship and professional dismemberment techniques.

“Is… that true?”

Perhaps sincerity moved heaven, because the Eastern Swordsman’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“It’s true. For certain reasons, I can’t access the status window. Stats, skills, everything everyone else uses… and maybe even more than that.”

“…”

A brief silence fell over the lakeside. A moment of contemplation. I had laid my cards on the table. What would he do?

In response to my confession, the Eastern Swordsman closed his eyes and drew his sword.

“My name is Moo-yeon. Draw your sword. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“My name is Go Hyun-joon.”

Two days after arriving in this world, I found a master.

“Pant… Pant…”

To put it simply, I got wrecked. Even though it was a serious duel, my sword failed to even graze Moo-yeon’s clothes.

“Your form isn’t bad, but your style is too rigid. It’s as if you’re intentionally suppressing its lethality.”

Unlike me, sprawled on the ground, Instructor Moo-yeon sheathed his sword and calmly assessed my performance. Surprisingly, his evaluation accurately reflected the nature of modern kendo as a sport.

A sword art focused on striking, not cutting. In fast-paced kendo matches, speed and precision were paramount.

But that was because kendo had evolved into a sport. The swordsmanship I had learned wasn’t suited for actual combat, for dismembering and killing.

“You’ll need extensive retraining. You need to improve your stamina, build strength… The only thing that’s certain is that you’ll have to work yourself to death.”

“Gasp… I’m… prepared… for… that…”

“Then stop lying around and get up. I have something to show you.”

As I rose to my feet, Instructor Moo-yeon had already raised his sword above his head in a high stance.

“Oh.”

It was a simple high stance, yet it exuded an overwhelming pressure, as if holding up a mountain.

“Hah!”

With a short shout, he swung his sword downwards. Another simple movement. But in that instant, the world seemed to split in two.

Of course, the world didn’t actually split. But his downward swing carried that level of power.

If some !diot wearing armor for a test had stood in its path, they would have been neatly bisected, armor and all.

“Incredible!”

Even with my limited kendo knowledge, I couldn’t help but applaud.

“That stance is called ‘Rain Thunder Fall.’ I spent 15 years mastering it.”

Rain Thunder Fall. Even the name was
awesome. I wanted to see it again, but he sheathed his sword, saying he had shown me enough.

“As I said, I achieved perfection by repeating the same stance for 15 years. But you climbers are different. Skills, especially those related to physical movement, allow you to perform near-perfect moves just by expending mana.”

“Even… if you lack understanding of the weapon itself?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that the level of skill increases based on the skill points invested and the resulting skill level.”

Once again, I shuddered at the overpowered nature of the status window. The “Rain Thunder Fall” Instructor Moo-yeon had demonstrated was the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

And such a technique could be acquired for free? It was mind-boggling.

“I strived to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Then one day, I sparred with a climber who wielded a sword like mine. He had only been training for two years. But I lost. It seemed like a close match, but it was a devastating defeat. The weight of our respective training times wasn’t comparable.”

Someone’s 15 years became someone else’s 2 years. That wasn’t a gap that could be explained by talent alone.

Even though Zhou Yu envied Zhuge Liang and cursed the heavens, he could only do so because he, too, was a brilliant strategist.

The difference between them was minimal.

“That’s when I realized the difference between myself and climbers. My efforts were open-ended, with no guaranteed reward. But theirs were different. They engaged in labor with predetermined compensation.”

Open-ended effort versus compensated labor. The superior choice was obvious. No one enjoyed walking barefoot on a thorny path in the dark.

If they had to walk, they would prefer cruising in a sports car on a well-paved highway, with rest stops every 10 kilometers offering grilled squid and tornado potatoes.

But we weren’t given such choices.

“Those are the people you’ll have to compete against. Those who engage in labor, not effort. Those who receive predetermined rewards for the same actions. So, work yourself to death. Until the soft skin on your hands turns into calluses. Until you cough up blood, your flesh rots, and your soul withers and crumbles. That relentless effort… that’s the only path you have.”

Instructor Moo-yeon finished speaking and extended a hand towards me.

The hand of the Eastern Swordsman, the master who sought the pinnacle of swordsmanship, was grotesquely gnarled, a testament to his relentless training.

Drawn by his dedication, I couldn’t help but take his hand.

Five days passed in a flash. My daily routine had changed drastically. They say “study by day, work by night.” I was the opposite.

I trained with Instructor Moo-yeon during the day and worked at the tavern in the evening. And the most satisfying part was seeing the results of my hard work.

– “You won’t get beaten up out there anymore. Come in the evenings from now on. I’ll train you until bedtime.”

I was no longer the person I used to be.

I was still probably weak in Instructor Moo-yeon’s eyes, but even he acknowledged that I wouldn’t die immediately, so it was enough for now.

– “Hahahaha! We’re rich! Thanks to you, I’ve hit the jackpot! Thank you, thank you!”

And that wasn’t all. The Gukbap variations we had developed were a sensation in the starting town.

The tavern was constantly packed, with lines forming outside. We were literally printing money.

In just five days, I had earned seven silver coins. The kimchi premium on Gukbap was incredibly powerful.

“Heh heh heh. Look at that sparkle.”

Thanks to my earnings, I commissioned a set of custom-made equipment from the best blacksmith in town.

A helmet, plate armor, pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves. It was a bit heavy, but not a major issue.

“Yes! Fully equipped me… totally awesome✩”

At that moment, I envied no one, not even a Lamborghini owner. I was the owner of a full set of custom-made armor.

“…E-excuse me, Hyun-joon…”

Just as I was basking in my self-satisfaction, my blood alcohol content of self-love reaching illegal levels, someone dressed in rags approached me.

Torn clothes, messy hair, and a grimy appearance from days without washing. They looked like the epitome of a beggar.

But the moment I recognized them, I was stunned.

“H-Ha-na?”

Yoo Ha-na. I had reunited with the emaciated heroine.