Chapter 42: Erasing Debts (5)

‘Lucky, but…’

My lower abdomen felt cold.

What should I call this feeling?

Borrowing from an experience everyone has probably had at least once: that moment on a speeding highway bus when you suddenly need to hit the bathroom.

A feeling you could put into words… but the instant you voiced it aloud, it felt like you’d lose something vital as a human being. Exactly that sensation.

Not that it was just empty words—this was no ordinary sensation, that much was clear.

Had there ever been an opponent that made Lee Taebaek this tense? So far, not a single one (?), and excluding the electric chair, he’d never felt his legs shake like this.

‘Ah, so that’s why Tang Jihye collapsed flat.’

Lee Taebaek felt his long-parched empathy well up a little. But the moment that soft feeling seeped in, irritation flooded him.

Lee Taebaek perched his butt on the windowsill. Sunset light filtered in, completing a perfect painting. The sun was already hurtling toward night.

As Lee Taebaek sat there, Yu Dahui sidled up. Damn it, why’s she here again? Amid the nagging annoyance, she spoke.

“Why are you standing like that? Like a dog desperate for a dump.”

“……”

He knew it was just a tossed-off comment.

He did.

Probably unintentional, but it stabbed right at his weak spot. Of course, he instantly buffed his mentality, betraying nothing.

‘…Just 5 seconds.’

No.

15 seconds alone. That’s all he needed.

He didn’t plan to clam up forever. Internal energy issues needed expert input, after all.

And conveniently, two martial artists were right there: Goeun and Tang Jihye.

The latter was off the table, though…

Lee Taebaek stayed silent. With his gut already roiling, sucking in harsh smoke would’ve been a disaster. In our Lake City, smokers’ rights were protected to the hilt.

With Lee Taebaek saying nothing, Goeun just chewed on her long pipe. Even as the embers cooled, she kept it pressed to her lips.

Then they stared the same way. Their reflections shimmered in the window painted with twilight hues. Two opposites lost in polar thoughts.

On the surface, Goeun looked calm.

But.

‘He’s insane.’

Her soul’s eyes were wide with shock. She was replaying the jaw-dropping scene she’d just witnessed. What the hell is this guy?

Lee Taebaek had healed a dantian.

The notoriously tricky lower dantian, no less. No doubt about it—she’d watched from right beside him.

What even was martial arts?

A technique refined for destruction. For killing life more efficiently.

Explicitly, martial arts were tools for violence. Yet most martial artists thought otherwise, and few truly embodied the essence. At its core, the touchstone of those killing arts: internal energy.

Martial arts and internal energy were techniques and fuel for destruction—common sense in the martial world held they were worlds apart from healing.

Past tense, because that ancient wisdom had been shattered. By Lee Taebaek.

‘Not impossible.’

Given time and proper nourishment, a dantian could naturally recover. With aid from a master of sufficient caliber, it could be restored near-original.

‘…It exists, but…’

A fully ruined dantian—or one on the brink—required surgery. Risky business, slicing open the lower abdomen to fiddle with it.

‘…Tang Jihye took a direct hit to her lower dantian. Ban’s no powerhouse, but she must’ve been in agony right up to the brink.’

Ban’s frame dwarfed most adult men. A kick from him would’ve obliterated her lower dantian.

Yet.

‘No incision, just a touch.’

Goeun flicked her eyes to Tang Jihye. Pupils and sclera inverted in sync.

Her irises went white, rims pitch-black. Veins bulged around her eyes.

A tiny fraction of mages could peer straight into a martial artist’s energy channels. Like wearing x-ray specs, internal energy flows lit up in fluorescent streaks.

Magic Eyes. Even among mages, few learned it—the massive restriction of “forsaking something most precious” was too steep.

“Big sis…?”

Ban froze. Tang Jihye furrowed her brow. Lee Taebaek stayed nonchalant.

Goeun ignored the stares. Mages just pursued truth.

‘Her dantian’s almost fully healed!’

Goeun’s mouth parted slightly. Though total internal energy had dipped a tad.

‘Considering it was about to shut down for good, this is heaven-sent.’

As Goeun stared, Tang Jihye wondered what. Not picking a fight now, surely.

“Hold on, this…”

Her crimson pupils dilated. Blood finally rushed to her brain, piecing it together.

Then Tang Jihye eyed Lee Taebaek.

No martial artist could mistake his ability for mere technique.

A divine realm skill. A miracle.

‘Reversal magic.’

One-in-99,999,999,999 gifted. Even that stat was forced—truth was, maybe one per couple centuries.

And two in this generation?

“…For real?”

Mumbling, Tang Jihye snapped up like a coiled spring. Her triangular ponytail straightened.

She strode to the window. Ban, who’d been fidgeting, straightened up.

“Hey, you—dumpling head!”

Words straight from spine, bypassing brain. Ban was a fanatic whose fear of the Cult Leader was numb.

“Don’t get cocky, kid. Stay put.”

Tang Jihye warned with icy eyes.

“I just promised not to touch that Taebaek or whatever, or you. That was about the dropkick you planted on me. Push it further, and I won’t hold back.”

“……”

“Sigh… what am I doing with a brat. Anyway, don’t worry—just keep crutching around. This is grown-up talk now.”

“Oh. Grown-up talk.”

“Fuck. You wanna get hit?”

As Tang Jihye clicked her tongue, silent Lee Taebaek finally spoke.

“Uh, y’know.”

Lee Taebaek continued awkwardly.

“How do you do that energy circulation thing?”

“……?”

“……??”

“……???”

Lee Taebaek had unwittingly collected a haul of question marks. Tang Jihye spat out her tangled words in sheer disbelief.

“You… a god or what?”

***

They decided to relocate. Energy circulation demanded a safe spot, humble atmosphere.

Eunko Bar fit till morning.

No locals knew its true nature, so they steered clear. Martial artists ignored it per orthodox-evil truce. Plus, “CLOSE” plastered on the door. No sane drunk would show.

Unless your skull had a hole, who’d breach those three? No such idiot existed.

But lo and behold.

One did.

“…So, it said CLOSE, and you went in anyway?”

Ban blurted.

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell?”

“Ask her.”

Ban’s eyes swiveled back. Steam rose from the dumpling pair.

Goeun snorted derisively. Critical hit. Tang Jihye ground her teeth in shame.

“Just to be sure… right?”

Ban drove the nail in.

“Can’t read English?”

“……”

Tang Jihye swallowed her rage like fire. Then mumbled excuses in mangled tones.

“Zuuuwayyyen I diidn’t knooow the liddul ssign?”

“Ah… I see.”

Ban nodded solemnly, stepping on. His mercy: stop salting the wound.

Yet…

Brrr.

It only fueled her humiliation. She huffed and whined. Lee Taebaek thought: Why’d she tag along and ruin everything?

‘Told her to beat it, but she followed. No pride at all.’

Dignity out the window. Fair enough—Resistance ethos opposed hierarchy. Battalion leaders mingled freely with grunts.

Separate issue: Tang Jihye’s antics tanked “battalion commander” expectations.

Lee Taebaek’s headshake met Tang Jihye’s gaze. In that instant, she read his mind.

“The guy who mocked my English can’t even do energy circulation.”

“Quit yapping. I said go your way, you follow and bitch nonstop.”

Goeun snapped sharply.

That’s the stuff. If my gut were fine, I’d have said it. She’s speaking for me.

“We martial folk learn energy circulation from our first steps. What’s a normie need it for? Don’t follow—go study English. You’re embarrassing the Central Plains solo.”

“……”

The one-sided roast quieted as the destination loomed. Old Stiletto Club. Now Hundred-Fold Sect Branch 1.

“Whoa.”

Cut from the ramshackle surroundings like paper art: bizarre yet majestic. The angular Eastern pavilion especially caught the eye.

Lee Taebaek’s group approached. Shadows sprouted from window bases, gnawing upward.

Kids. Clustered forehead-to-glass.

Spotting the four faces, they all ducked down.

Moments later, they tumbled out the entrance in a tangle.

“Founding Patriarch bro—!”

“It’s the Patriarch! Patriarch!”

“Hundred-Fold! Hundred-Fold! Hundred-Fold!”

Unable to contain excitement, the kids wailed. Lee Taebaek’s stoic face cracked into dismay.

They swarmed close but kept respectful distance, encircling the four.

“Wha, uh…?”

Pure thunderous welcome, no exaggeration. Tang Jihye went slack-jawed. What madness is this?

“You okay? Shocked, huh?”

Ban sidled up, beaming proudly at his worshiped center.

“The Founding Patriarch gave us bottom-dwellers a reason to live. He’s our benefactor.”

“…Benefactor…”

Tang Jihye mulled the word’s weight. Heavy. She was Tang Clan born.

“Might look overkill. Fanatic-ish. But.”

Delinquent, dropout, whore’s spawn. The boy bearing those labels spoke.

“Kids like us, discarded by society, need something to fanaticize over. Give us faith, we’ll follow to death.”

His eyes were ancient beyond his teens.

“I’m truly sorry for attacking you earlier. I broke the Patriarch’s no-violence rule. I’ll pay my debt myself. So… don’t pass it to the Patriarch or the others… please…”

“Haa.”

Tang Jihye sighed deeply.

“Kid, act your age a bit. You save the world solo or what? Talking like that.”

“You don’t seem much different.”

“Sigh, whatever. Fine, this damn city’s what made you like this.”

“Hahaha. More sensitive than you look. Must be the Hundred-Fold way.”

“Ugh, enough already! And you—misunderstanding: the debt ain’t yours.”

She scratched her ponytail.

Damn. Running from that nauseating family loses meaning.

Blood’s thicker than water, though. Tang Jihye hated voicing it, but.

“The one who owes.”

She uttered the ill-fitting words again.

“…Is me.”

A stunned pause.

Ban Lionheart bowed, smile full, head low.

“Please take care of me.”