Three Years of Blacksmithing, Achieving Divine Martial Arts - Chapter 5

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

Episode 5. The Body Proved First
“Manyuusang?”

When So Cheol repeated the word, Master Jin did not answer at once.

The man who had been lamenting the teacup fallen to the floor just moments before now wore an expression as if such things had ceased to exist. Master Jin pressed So Cheol’s arms again, then traced along his shoulders and back. With each movement of his fingertips along the tendons, his brow furrowed incrementally.

“Take a long, deep breath.”

So Cheol drew in air as instructed.
His chest expanded and his lower abdomen tightened. The residual heat that had lingered in his body since he’d eaten the crocodile meat and trained the day before now circulated slowly through him.
Master Jin’s eyebrows twitched.

“There’s no doubt.”
“About what, Master?”
“A person’s body bears its own innate form. Bone structure differs, sinews differ, the very flow of blood differs.”

Master Jin started to reach for a fresh cup, then simply settled into his chair instead.

“Martial arts are the same. Teaching the same technique to everyone doesn’t mean they’ll all learn it the same way. Some people take to the sword like it belongs in their hands, while others will spend a lifetime swinging and never lose the awkwardness. We call that foundation—bone structure and all—the Bone Structure.”

So Cheol nodded.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard such talk. The aptitude test scheduled four days from now was ultimately meant to assess that bone structure. But what Master Jin was explaining now was far more concrete than what he’d grasped before.

“Are there grades to bone structure, Master?”
“There are.”

Master Jin held up four fingers.

“Grade A, Grade B, Grade C, Grade D—broadly divided into four. Then each has three sub-ranks: high, middle, and low.”
“And what of yours, Master?”
“Grade B, low.”

The answer came so quickly that So Cheol blinked once.
Master Jin snorted.

“Don’t look at me that way. Grade B is hardly a poor foundation anywhere.”
“I said nothing, Master.”
“Your eyes did.”

So Cheol smiled slightly.
Master Jin let out a soft laugh and continued.
Grade D disciples could train in martial arts their whole lives and usually only manage to harden their bodies. Grade C required years of effort to have any real chance of becoming a proper warrior. From Grade B onward, the Iron Craftsman Gang took note of such prospects as worthwhile talents. If an aptitude test showed Grade B or higher, there was real value in bringing them further in and nurturing them properly. Grade A was different altogether.

“Such people are rare. If one ever found its way to a place like ours, the elders would come to blows fighting over who gets to take him.”

Master Jin clicked his tongue.

“So don’t start dreaming too big about being Grade A or whatever. Everything will show itself in four days.”

So Cheol nodded obediently on the surface.
His thoughts ran differently underneath.
The old apprentice hammer mounted on the bronze cauldron was something Master Jin had used for a long time. With that single hammer, not only had his sense of smithing and his memory of martial arts shifted—his very physical foundation had transformed.
If Master Jin’s bone structure was Grade B, low.

‘Then perhaps the baseline has already been set.’

He didn’t yet know what his true Bone Structure was. But there was no reason to rush. He’d find out in four days when the Aptitude Test came around.
What mattered more was something else Master Jin had discovered in him.

“So Manyuusang is different from Bone Structure?”
“That’s right.”

This time Master Jin answered without hesitation.

“If Bone Structure is the foundation for learning all martial arts, then something like Manyuusang is closer to a bodily trait that meshes with specific disciplines.”

He stood and spread his feet shoulder-width apart.

“Our Iron Craftsman Gang’s Hammer Technique draws much from the way oxen move. Pressing the earth with your feet, drawing power up from the waist, pouring it all out through the shoulders and arms at once.”

It was an explanation So Cheol had heard before.
The flow he’d verified through his body in repeated foundation drills and countless bouts with crocodiles.

“But now and then, some people are born with their breath and Qi and Blood exceptionally suited to this path of force—fellows whose whole body receives power as a single, unified thing. We call that trait Manyuusang.”

Master Jin tensed his abdomen.
Whoosh.
His exhaled breath plumed white and visible, and So Cheol’s eyes narrowed.

“You have it too, then, Master.”
“Of course I do. Why else would I have spent my life clinging to this Hammer Technique?”

Master Jin shrugged.

“What’s strange about you is that until yesterday, you weren’t showing anything like this.”

So Cheol’s chest tightened just slightly.
Master Jin’s gaze swept across his body once more.

“It does happen sometimes—traits that emerge late as someone grows. Especially in a boy like you, half-starved since childhood. Your body grows late, too.”

Master Jin fell silent for a moment, then his mouth curved upward.

“In any case, it’s not a bad sign. Quite the opposite. It means you’ll likely learn our Hammer Technique far faster than most.”

So Cheol finally relaxed the tension from his shoulders.
Master Jin had found the explanation himself. There was no need to say more.

“Then I can look forward to the test in four days?”
“Look forward to it. Just don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“You were the one who dropped the teacup first, Master.”
“You wretch.”

Master Jin raised his hand, and So Cheol instinctively stepped back half a pace.
This time they both laughed.
* * *
The air in the Iron Craftsman Gang was the same that day as it had been the day before.
Heat rolled from the forge, and iron sang against the anvil. The apprentices lifted and set down their hammers in rhythm, sweat-soaked.
What had changed was So Cheol.
When he turned the glowing metal upright with the tongs, where to strike first became sharply clear—no longer simply mimicking Master Jin’s movements from memory. Watching how the iron spread and its thickness, he chose the next strike’s mark himself.

Clang!

The red metal flattened cleanly under the first blow.

Clang, clang!

The second and third strikes were different in force—deep where the metal was thickest, light along the edges where the shape had already taken hold.
Master Jin, who had been watching from the side, uncrossed his arms.

“Strike too hard there and the sides will buckle.”

So Cheol’s hammer was falling.
His wrist twisted minutely.

Ting!

The hammer came down half an inch inward of where it should have. The metal did not crack—it spread smooth and even.
Master Jin closed his mouth.
So Cheol did not stop.
Back into the fire, watching the color, out again, striking. Strength without wisdom needed no blind brutality. It had been the same against the crocodile—holding fast, giving way, pouring power only in the instant it mattered most.
Metal was no different.
Much later, three finished pieces of Refined Iron lay beside the water trough.
Master Jin picked one up and ran his fingers along its edge.

“Better than yesterday.”
“Is it?”
“Don’t ask what you already know.”
“Praise remembered firsthand lasts longest in the mind.”

Master Jin let out a dry laugh.

“Your tongue’s grown sharp lately, hasn’t it?”

Yet he did not set the Refined Iron down. He studied its surface once more, weighed it in his palm, and only then nodded with satisfaction.

“At this level, there’s almost nothing I need to fix.”

A few apprentices hammering nearby stole quick glances.
Master Jin was a man who spared his praise. When work was good, he said nothing; when it was poor, his foot flew first.
For him to speak like that—eyes were bound to turn.
Han Yeol passed by and nudged So Cheol in the ribs.

“When you get sent to the inner sanctum, don’t you dare pretend you don’t know me.”
“First pay back the cost of those berries.”
“That’s a separate matter.”
“You’ll be hounding me over ten coppers for the rest of my life, won’t you?”
“Money debt is always the scariest kind.”

Han Yeol spoke with perfect seriousness, then bolted back toward the furnace.
So Cheol smiled and set down his hammer.
Master Jin, watching the two of them, spoke suddenly.

“So Cheol.”
“Yes?”
“In four days, if the Aptitude Test shows Grade B or better, your chances of being admitted to the inner sanctum are high.”

His tone had grown gentler than before.

“When that happens, your days of striking iron from dawn to dusk will end. Start learning how to deal with people.”

So Cheol felt the shift in that distance. Until yesterday, Master Jin had seen him as a valued apprentice; now he stood half a step ahead—already watching him as someone who would soon walk the path of a Martial Artist.

“I understand.”
“And stop calling me Master Jin, Master Jin all the time.”

Jin scratched his chin.

“Once we’re inside, we’re both warriors anyway. If you keep calling me that, it makes me look old.”

So Cheol glanced at Jin’s goji berry tea.

“Should I call you Jin then?”
“Yes. That’s better.”
“You look younger than I expected, Jin.”
“Why did your tone suddenly get so annoying?”

This time Jin really did raise his hand.
So Cheol laughed and dodged.
* * *
After finishing his work, So Cheol didn’t head straight back to the village.
He ventured into a part of the forest where few people wandered and retrieved his worn Apprentice Hammer.
He spread his feet and lowered his stance.
As he drew breath, his chest and belly filled simultaneously. Ever since hearing the term Manyuusang, the vague changes he’d sensed before became distinctly tangible.
Blood was coursing through him.
It was different from merely a quickened heartbeat. When he synchronized his breathing and held his form, waves of heat within him flowed along the interior of his muscles.
So Cheol raised the hammer.
On the first strike, the power of his body ended at his arm. On the second, it connected from his waist through his shoulder, but his footwork lagged.
On the third, he synchronized the moment his sole pressed against the earth with the moment the hammer fell.

Whoosh!

This time, even the sound of the hammer cutting through air was different.
So Cheol flowed seamlessly into the fourth movement. The sensation of regaining his center each time his body swayed atop the crocodile layered upon itself now. The key wasn’t memorizing a fixed stance—it was maintaining the path of force while moving.
The hammer left his hands.

Bang!

A nearby tree’s trunk caved inward at the point of impact, then snapped clean through.
So Cheol steadied his ragged breathing and stared at the broken wood.

‘I’ve definitely grown stronger.’

According to Jin’s explanation, a martial artist refines the Essence Blood within their body and converts it into Qi and Blood for use. What had once been merely a concept now felt tangible to him.
The more he trained, the more heat he could move within his body.
From Jin’s memory, being able to draw out roughly thirty percent of that heat at will meant stepping into First-Grade Proficiency.
So Cheol closed his eyes and searched for the sensation from moments before. He still couldn’t say exactly how much he could control.
But one thing was certain: in four days, he had to act like a beginner learning Martial Arts for the first time.

‘If I show off and let the Bronze Cauldron slip out, it’s all over.’

Growing stronger and hiding it were separate matters entirely.
So Cheol placed the hammer back in the Bronze Cauldron and headed home.
The sun was setting.
As he stepped inside, something felt different. Im Ha had set out the meal but hadn’t picked up her spoon, and So Won had checked the door several times.

“What’s the matter?”
“Sit down first.”

So Won locked the door.
He drew out a worn bundle of cloth from his breast and unfolded the oil-stained fabric within it. As the silver caught the lamplight, both he and So Cheol straightened instinctively.

“Seventy pounds of Crocodile Meat.”

So Won spoke in a low voice.

“I received twenty silver taels.”

Im Ha’s fingers flinched.

“The bones fetched ten taels at the herb merchant’s.”

So Cheol’s eyebrows rose as well.

“Added to the fish from last night, that’s another hundred and fifty copper cash.”

Silence settled over them.
It was a sum rarely seen even after years of saving. The fifteen silver taels they’d scraped together to get So Cheol into the Iron Craftsman Gang had come from reluctant family and neighbors. Yet a single crocodile had brought in double that amount.
Im Ha swallowed hard.

“Really…… Is this actually our money?”

So Won did not smile.
So Cheol quickly understood why.
The silver laid on the cloth was not thirty taels.

“Uncle.”
“Yes.”
“We’re short five taels.”

So Won’s jaw tightened.
After a moment of silence, he clicked his tongue.

“I ran into Hwang Gom Bo.”

It was a name none of them had heard before, yet the very sound of it spoke of trouble.

“He’s a thug who shakes down the fishmongers along the river. Had the bad luck of him spotting me with a large sum today.”

So Won’s hand slowly curled into a fist on his lap. This was a man who haggled for half a day over a few copper cash for his nets. That he’d given up money without resistance meant his opponent was no mere loud-mouthed merchant.

“He demanded five taels.”

Im Ha bit her lip. So Cheol said nothing, only watching the hard knuckles of his uncle’s hand. This was not a time for anger. He needed to know who they were, how many, and why his uncle had not stood against them.
The lamplight flickered softly.
So Cheol stared down at the remaining silver on the cloth.
The price of the crocodile, bought with his life last night.
Five taels of it had vanished at a single man’s word.

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