Three Years of Blacksmithing, Achieving Divine Martial Arts - Chapter 19

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 19. Start with the Naegap
Bang!

Each time the hammer fell, sparks flew up from the glowing metal.
So Cheol

didn’t pause between strikes, immediately targeting the next point. The left side of the iron, flushed crimson, was microscopically thicker than it should be. If he left it as it was, the final tempering would twist the blade to one side.

Bang!

One measured blow to balance it, then he tilted the hammer head at an angle and pushed sideways. The faint tool marks

became clear again.
Behind him, the apprentice holding the bellows clicked his tongue.

“It’ll work anyway.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“When you say that, it gets under my skin.”

So Cheol didn’t answer, pushing the metal back into the forge.
A week had passed since he forged the first-grade Fan-byeong. The free supplies had long since run out; he was now using his own money for materials. In that span, he’d ruined one Bakdo and one spearhead. Yet as finished pieces accumulated, his ledger showed profits exceeding two hundred silver coins.
Each time silver vanished with the scrap metal, it stung. But the lessons from each failure remained in the next strike. Today was different.
So Cheol withdrew the iron and raised the hammer one final time.

Tack.

The sound was quieter than the strikes before it.
Instead, three lines of tool marks traced unbroken along the blade’s edge.
So Cheol stared at it for a long moment, then reached for the tongs. He pushed the blade into the quenching bath—a mixture of oil and medicinal herbs.

Hisssssss—

White steam enveloped his face.
The apprentice watching from the side couldn’t wait and thrust his head forward.

“Well?”
“It’s still hot.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“If I pull it out while it’s this hot and ruin it, won’t Master come after me?”
“Never mind. Why did I even ask?”

He grumbled and stepped back.
So Cheol stifled a laugh.
Though he hadn’t been at Jangssimdang long, he’d grown quite accustomed to such scenes. At first, the others had been awkward around him because of his status as a direct disciple. But now, seeing him spend all day at the forge, they simply treated him like the youngest student.

“Make room.”

Gwak Geo approached with a gruff voice.
He picked up the Bakdo, now quenched, and examined it from every angle, then flicked his finger against the side of the blade.

Ping—

A clear metallic note rang out.

“Not bad.”
“You said the one I failed before wasn’t bad either.”
“That time, you looked so disappointed I couldn’t help myself.”

Laughter broke out from behind. So Sim-hwan approached carrying a long wooden box.

“Why ask the master about weapon quality? He’d say everything’s fine as long as nobody dies.”
“What are you here for?”
“To settle a debt.”

So Sim-hwan pushed a box toward So Cheol.

“Open it.”

So Cheol glanced at the soot smudging his hands.

“Touch it with those hands and I’ll cut off your wrists first.”

He ended up washing his hands and face at the well before returning. Inside the box lay a set of deep blue Jangpo, a Heoritti, and shoes—all pristine. Even the weave of the fabric differed from what he usually wore.

“Isn’t this expensive?”
“Don’t ask about the price. It’s what someone who lost a wager does.”

A set of clothes wagered on the day he first learned Cheondan-beop—a bet where making just a single Gimun would have won. That day, So Cheol had layered three threads to craft a first-rank Fan-byeong.

“Will two visits to the pleasure quarter settle it?”

So Sim-hwan’s eyes narrowed. Gwak Geo spoke gravely from beside him.

“He won’t be making three.”
“Master.”

So Cheol simply laughed and closed the box.

“I’ll wear it well.”
“See that you do. And don’t bring shame on Jangssimdang out there.”

Just then a Jeja came running to the entrance of Jangssimdang.

“So, Jeja! The Dangju is asking for you.”

So Cheol glanced at the Bakdo once and brushed off his hands.

“I’ll hand this over to the inner weapons room first.”

As So Sim-hwan reached for the Bakdo, So Cheol picked it up first.

“Wash your hands before you touch it.”
“Who does he take after?”

Gwak Geo answered.

“The master.”

Laughter rippled through those nearby once more.
* * *
Son Cheol-sim sat in the inner chamber of the Dangju hall, reviewing a ledger.
When So Cheol entered and bowed, Son Cheol-sim closed the ledger and ran his eyes over him from head to foot.

“Did you get the clothes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sim-hwan didn’t cry about wasting money?”
“His eyes seemed a bit wet, though.”
“Good.”

Son Cheol-sim smiled with satisfaction.

“You need to learn what happens when you wager carelessly.”

So Cheol took his position across from him. The fact that Son Cheol-sim had gone so far as to send someone to fetch him meant this wasn’t about clothes.
As expected, the real matter came up soon enough.

“I showed your first Bakdo to Bangju.”

So Cheol’s expression stiffened slightly.

“Was there a problem with it?”
“If there had been, would I have carried it with me?”

Son Cheol-sim let out a short laugh.

“I got a third-rank Fan-byeong for it.”
“You mean I was supposed to receive it?”
“Then would I have taken it?”

So Cheol couldn’t answer immediately. A third-rank wasn’t something you could easily obtain in Nohyeon, even with money.

“It means you’re worth investing in ahead of time.”

Son Cheol-sim leaned back in his chair.

“And there’s one more thing.”

He scratched his jaw before asking.

“You know of Jucheom Sanjang,

don’t you?”
“I’ve only heard the name.”

Since joining Jangssimdang, he’d heard it mentioned a few times, but knew nothing in detail.

“Eighteen districts, including Nohyeon, fall under Tangbu. Jucheom Sanjang is the largest faction within that Tangbu—a place that’s endured nearly a thousand years, with thousands of fourth-rank masters alone.”
“It hardly compares to Jangssimdang, then.”
“Comparing them would be an insult.”
“Why would they take someone from Jangssimdang?”
“You never know where talent will emerge from.”

Son Cheol-sim answered.

“Tangbu grants annual recommendation slots to the factions under it. Jangssimdang gets one. Usually the holder of the upper-grade Geungol takes it.”

Yeo-ui came to mind immediately.
Before So Cheol could speak, Son Cheol-sim continued.

“That’s right. This year it was supposed to go to that dog Wang-san’s disciple.”
“You mean Yeo-ui?”
“He holds the upper-grade Geungol.”

Son Cheol-sim’s mouth twisted.

“But Jucheom Sanjang doesn’t look only at Geungol. If someone shows truly exceptional talent in crafting weapons, there are exceptions. Creating a Fan-byeong on your first forging—that’s more than enough qualification to put forward.”

Now he understood why Bangju had taken the Bakdo.

“So you’ve submitted my name to them, Master?”
“I told him to give up the position, not just step back.”
“Wang-san didn’t take it well, then.”
“He looked like a tiger with a fever—eyes rolling back in his head.”

So Cheol did not smile.
A few days ago, he’d seen Yeo-ui perform the Salhochamsindo technique—the same sword art Hwang Tae-gon used to wield. He could have dismissed it as coincidence, but the more Wang-san’s name tangled itself into the matter, the more unease settled in his chest.

“The Dangju hasn’t decided yet. He says he’ll wait and observe you and Yeo-ui a while longer before he makes up his mind.”
“Does Yeo-ui know?”
“I don’t know if Wang-san told him.”

When Yeo-ui had shown him the new sword art days before, he’d said nothing of Jucheom Sanjang. Whether he hadn’t known or simply hadn’t spoken—that was not a question to settle now.

“There’s something I’d like to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“If I enter that place, will it bring good fortune to you as well, Master?”

Son Cheol-sim’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you know why Wang-san hangs onto Yeo-ui like that?”
“I don’t.”
“A Jeja who enters Jucheom Sanjang can recommend one Third-Rank master from their home Bangpa to the Jucheom Heukgap Army. Once you’re in, a path opens to study Bogong.”

That explained why Wang-san clung to Yeo-ui so desperately.

“Then if I enter, Master, you would also―”
“A master who raises disciples with nothing but profit in sight is no master at all—just a merchant.”

Son Cheol-sim waved his hand dismissively.

“Go if you can. If you can’t, try again next year. But remember one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Never set down the hammer.”

His voice had grown quieter.

“If you abandon the hammer because your Mugong flourishes, I’ll chase you down whether you’ve entered Jucheom Sanjang or the Imperial Palace itself.”
“That won’t happen. Besides, I earn money from my hammering—why would I throw it away?”
“Your Craftsman Spirit cuts deep indeed.”

If he could enter Jucheom Sanjang, there was no reason to refuse.
Yet as he turned the thought over in his mind, other faces surfaced first.
So Won and Im-ha.
So Cheol hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“Master, there’s one other request I’d like to make.”
“Requests again today. What is it?”
“I’d like to find a house in Nohyeon.”

Son Cheol-sim blinked.

“All of a sudden?”
“I want to bring my uncle and aunt to live with me.”
“I thought you said they lived in Eochon.”
“They do.”

It was something he’d been turning over in his mind ever since Hwang Tae-gon’s death. He’d scrubbed away the traces that day, left no evidence pointing to himself. But Hwang Tae-gon had not lived alone.
Moreover, the sword art he’d used matched Yeo-ui’s.
Nothing was certain yet. Still, there was no reason to leave his family in Eochon and wait for confirmation to arrive.

“If possible, I’d prefer somewhere that isn’t easily accessible to just anyone.”

Son Cheol-sim’s eyes shifted.

“What’s this about?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Nothing yet?”

So Cheol didn’t smile at that part.

“Since I’ve begun learning martial arts, there could be trouble ahead, wouldn’t you say?”

Son Cheol-sim studied him for a long moment, then didn’t press further.

“There’s an empty house next to mine.”
“Next to your residence, sir?”
“I bought the adjacent property and the one behind it too. Didn’t want to hear complaints about noise.”

The reason was pure Son Cheol-sim.

“The neighboring house is vacant—use that one.”
“How much is the rent?”
“Just―”
“I can’t accept free lodging.”

Son Cheol-sim started to speak, then closed his mouth.

“One student accepted, and now he’s developed principles.”
“I already had them.”
“One hundred silver taels.”

So Cheol’s eyebrows twitched.

“For a place in the heart of Nohyeon, isn’t that quite reasonable?”
“Don’t like it? Three hundred, then.”
“One hundred taels will do.”

The answer came quickly.
Son Cheol-sim let out a scoffing laugh.

“Whenever money comes up, your eyes shine brightest of all.”
“I learned well from you, Master.”
“When did I ever teach you something like that?”

Hearing that a house was settled brought him more ease than when he’d heard about Jucheom Sanjang’s recommendation.
Next to Son Cheol-sim’s estate, at least no one could slip in as easily as they had into that earthen cottage in Eochon.
So Won had gambled with his life every time he went to the river, and Im-ha had stayed home waiting for him. Now he could pull both of them from that life. The thought made the hundred silver taels feel like a bargain.

“That’s settled. Come with me.”

Son Cheol-sim rose from his seat.

“We need to pick out a third-grade Fan-byeong for you.”
* * *
The third floor of Jangssimdang’s armory felt different from the level below—the very air was distinct.
Weapons were few in number, but each one commanded attention. So Cheol naturally slowed his pace. In the past, he would have wondered about the price first; now the joinery and Gimun caught his eye before anything else.

“Save the inspection for later.”

Son Cheol-sim walked deeper into the chamber as he spoke.

“Since you use a hammer, I’d meant to let you pick one of the decent ones I’ve made.”

He withdrew a black Jeon-chui from the weapon rack.
The head was larger than two of So Cheol’s fists put together. When he took the haft, its weight felt substantial.

“It’s grade three. Your strength can use it now, and it pairs well with Jinsan-gong.”

So Cheol lifted it with both hands to test it. The weight settling into his palms felt right immediately.
The center of balance was stable, and the Gimun carved into the hammer head ran deeper than anything he could have crafted himself. Son Cheol-sim had reason to recommend it.
Yet So Cheol set the Jeon-chui back on the rack.

“May I choose something else instead?”
“What do you want?”

So Cheol glanced around the arsenal.

“Do you have Naegap?”

Son Cheol-sim went perfectly still.

“What?”
“Grade three Naegap.”
“I’m giving you a grade three Jeon-chui for free, and you want armor?”
“Yes.”

Incomprehension bloomed plainly across Son Cheol-sim’s face.

“Don’t you understand how important a good hammer is when you wield Jinsan-gong?”
“I do.”
“Then why?”

So Cheol thought for a moment.
The night he’d struck at Hwang Tae-gon’s throat came back to him. The unease he’d felt seeing the same Salhochamsindo blade in Yeo-ui’s hands returned. He’d heard that Wang-san and Son Cheol-sim had already clashed once over nothing but the name Jucheom Sanjang alone.
He’d seen too much to believe there would be no more fighting ahead.
A good hammer lets a man kill more efficiently.
Good armor can save your life when you take a blow you shouldn’t.
For So Cheol, the choice between them was not difficult.

“A student matters less for fighting well than—”

Son Cheol-sim waited, frowning, for the rest.
So Cheol spoke.

“for not dying.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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