The stench of mold and iron clung to the air like rot to bone. Deep beneath the Shi Dynasty's golden palace, in a pit where sunlight never reached, sweat and blood marked the days instead of time. Here, Muyeon's rebirth truly began.
So Geomryu stood like a shadow with eyes forged in old wars. His silence was louder than any command. The exiled swordmaster, once feared by emperors and forgotten by history, now held a dull wooden sword.
"Take it," he said.
Muyeon obeyed. The hilt was rough, the balance off. It wasn't meant to cut—it was meant to hurt.
"Hold the stance."
"What stance?" Muyeon asked, already raising it instinctively.
Geomryu struck.
The world turned sideways as pain exploded across Muyeon's ribs. He gasped on the floor, sucking in the filthy air. Geomryu didn't wait.
"Get up. Hold the stance."
Another blow. And another. Until Muyeon's arms trembled just from holding the sword in place. No lessons, no guidance. Just pain. His instincts began to shape into survival. His stance—rigid at first—began to bend, adjust, breathe.
By the sixth hour, Muyeon's hands bled, and he could no longer stand straight. Geomryu offered no mercy. Instead, he dropped a bowl of stale rice in front of him.
"Eat. Then again."
That night, in a dark corner of the pit, Yook Dowon pressed a moldy parchment into Muyeon's swollen hands.
"Repeat the Analects of Master Daeji. Out loud."
Muyeon blinked. "Now?"
Dowon lit a tiny oil lamp. His blind eyes did not move, but his mouth was sharp.
"War is won by steel, but kingdoms are ruled by the tongue. Speak."
So began the other half of his torment—understanding court structure, the six principles of harmony, the twelve failings of corrupt governance. All while his body screamed from sword strikes.
Days passed. Then weeks.
He was not given time to mourn. Not given comfort. Only knowledge and pain.
It was sometime during the second week that Muyeon collapsed. Mid-stance, mid-breath, his knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard. Blood dribbled from his lips.
Geomryu stood over him. Muyeon looked up, dazed, gasping.
"I can't… I can't move…"
"Good."
Geomryu's voice was like splintered wood.
"Now you're learning."
The system blinked in his mind:
[New Skill Unlocked: Adaptive Combat Lv. 1]
You learn faster under pressure.
Muyeon closed his eyes. Not in defeat, but because they burned with something hotter than rage.
Resolve.
Dowon visited him during recovery. He brought bitter herbs and a book titled The Fall of the North Star Rebellion.
"You know what this book is?" Dowon asked.
"A record of defeat," Muyeon muttered.
"Wrong. It's the blueprint of a second chance. The rebels lost because they lacked strategy. If they had one mind like yours... they could've razed the capital."
Muyeon looked at him.
"You believe I'll be more than a corpse in the mud?"
Dowon's blind eyes gleamed faintly.
"You're already not a corpse. And not just because of your blood."
By the third week, Muyeon no longer flinched when Geomryu struck. He flowed around attacks, reading tells. When he countered with the wooden sword, it was swift and sharp. His bruises were badges. His silence—an edge.
The other pit boys noticed. Where they once mocked or ignored him, now they kept their distance. Ara, the mute girl, began watching from the dark with wide eyes.
Muyeon ate alone. Trained alone. Endured alone.
But in the silence, something grew.
Not power.
Purpose.
One evening, Dowon gave him an ancient riddle:
"The weak obey, the strong rule. What does the wise do?"
Muyeon answered without hesitation.
"He lets others think he is weak until it no longer matters."
Dowon smiled. "You're ready."
"For what?" Muyeon asked.
Geomryu's voice answered from behind:
"For your first real cut."
The swordmaster unsheathed a rusted blade. Not ceremonial. Not sharp. But real.
"Tomorrow, you will spar with me. Not with wood. With steel. I will not hold back. Survive it, and your next path opens."
Muyeon nodded.
He did not sleep that night.
In the cold gray dawn, beneath the crumbling arch of the pit's old drainage canal, Muyeon stood across from Geomryu. Dowon sat beside a flickering oil lamp, silently listening.
The air was thick with tension.
Geomryu's blade whistled through the air.
Muyeon moved.
Not by instinct—by memory. Every bruise taught him. Every lesson carved into his limbs.
The first cut missed.
The second grazed.
By the third, Muyeon ducked under and drove his shoulder into Geomryu's chest.
The swordmaster stumbled.
He did not fall.
But he laughed.
"A cut doesn't need to draw blood to prove it exists."
He sheathed his blade and tossed it to Muyeon.
"You survived."
System flashed:
[Quest Complete: Endure the Master]
[Reward: Stat Bonus – Endurance +1]
Dowon stood slowly.
"From this day forward, you're no longer just a pit rat."
Muyeon, panting, bloodied, and trembling, looked up at the dying light.
"My name is Muyeon," he said quietly. "And I will carve a new world."