"W-What kind of training are we talking about…?" Arthur asked, a wary smile tugging at his lips.
"Oh, don't worry," Kim said, patting his shoulder with just a little too much force. "You'll come out stronger."
He leaned in, his voice low.
"If you survive."
Arthur gulped. What have I gotten myself into…?
--
After returning to the room provided by Seok Yung, Arthur collapsed onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring up at the wooden beams above.
"We'll start tomorrow. Don't be late—unless you want me to break your legs."
Grandmaster Kim's words echoed in his head like a warning bell.
Arthur exhaled heavily. "What a damn day…"
He met a strange old man, saved him, got roped into some bizarre mentorship, and somehow ended up as a disciple.
*Was this what they called fate, or just a ridiculous stroke of misfortune?*
His thoughts swirled, but exhaustion was a stronger force. His eyelids grew heavy, and not long after, he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the room next door…
Grandmaster Kim stood on the balcony, the cold metal of a wine flask resting loosely in his grip. A breeze swept past, tugging at his loose robes as he gazed into the star-dusted night.
"That kid's potential… average at best," he murmured, taking a sip.
"But to cultivate two paths simultaneously without backlash…" His brows furrowed. "Not even a hint of qi deviation or spiritual instability."
No matter how long he thought about it, he couldn't find an answer. Arthur didn't possess a divine constitution, a sacred bone structure, or any special bloodline he could sense.
Then a name flickered in his memory.
Aether City.
"He said his family came from there… Could it be…?"
Kim's eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he shook his head.
"No. thay can't be." He turned and made his way inside, muttering one last thought before retiring for the night.
"…Still, I'll keep watch."
The next morning — seok Mansion's Training Ground
The sun was barely up, casting long golden rays across the vast courtyard. Mist curled lazily around the stone tiles, and the scent of iron and burning coal filled the air. At the center of the grounds, a forge blazed with a soft, rhythmic hum.
"Grandmaster Kim," a servant said, bowing respectfully, "as instructed, the forge has been prepared. This area will serve as your training ground."
Previously grandmaster kim has told seok yung to prepare a training ground for him and Arthur.
"Hmm." Kim gave a nod of approval, his eyes scanning the setup before settling on Arthur.
The boy had just arrived, still yawning, dressed in loose robes and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Arthur," Kim said with a deceptively warm smile, "from now on, you'll be working at the forge. That's your training."
Arthur stared blankly at him.
Did… did I mishear him?
"Grandpa… you want me to forge?" he asked, trying to keep his tone polite despite the storm of confusion and irritation building inside him. "But I don't know anything about forging. And… how does this help with cultivation?"
Is this some kind of joke? Is this old man messing with me?
As if sensing the exact thought, Kim's staff rose—and thwack! landed squarely on Arthur's head.
"You brat. Do I look like someone who jokes about training?"
Arthur winced, rubbing the sore spot.
"Still you should explain this…" Arthur mumbled under his breath.
Apparently, the old man heard that too, because the staff came down again—thwack!
"Start with that iron bar," Kim said, pointing toward a thick rod of black steel beside the anvil. "Hit it. Again and again. Keep going until you compress it to one-tenth its original size. When it's done come and find me, i will be meditating.
Then, without waiting for a reply, the old man turned and walked away, robes fluttering, the servant also left to do their work.
Arthur stood there, eyes fixed on the massive bar of metal.
"…He's serious," he muttered.
Arthur picked up the hammer, its solid weight settling into his palm like a challenge. The iron bar beside the anvil glowed faintly under the morning light, thick and unyielding.
He turned back to glance at Grandmaster Kim's retreating figure.
"…This is gonna suck."
With a sigh, he stepped toward the forge.
He placed the iron bar into the belly of the flames, watching as the dark metal slowly turned red, then orange, and finally a radiant yellow. Sparks crackled, dancing in the smoky air as the heat licked at his skin.
Arthur gritted his teeth, pulled the bar out with the tongs, and set it on the anvil.
Then he raised the hammer—and brought it down.
CLANG!
The sound rang out through the training grounds, echoing against the stone walls.
Again.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
Each strike reverberated up his arms, jarring his bones. The heat, the weight, the resistance—it all pushed back against him. Sweat poured down his face, dripping into his eyes. His breath came in short, rhythmic gasps, syncing unconsciously with the rise and fall of his hammer.
Four hours later,
Arthur collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving, his body slick with sweat and soot.
"This is impossible…" he gasped, staring at the iron bar now resting dull and sullen on the anvil. "How can anyone compress this damn thing to one-tenth its size?"
Despite hundreds—thousands—of strikes, it had only shrunk to half its original length. And now it resisted every blow like stone.
"But Grandpa wouldn't waste time on something pointless… Am I missing something?"
He lay there, staring at the sky as clouds drifted lazily overhead.
And then, with a groan, he forced himself back up.
I won't give up.
He wiped the blood from his palms, wrapped his torn hands with scraps of cloth, and raised the hammer once more.
CLANG!
One hundred strikes.
One thousand.
Ten thousand.
One hundred thousand strikes.
He struck until his arms screamed with every movement, until his legs trembled just from standing. His hands bled through the cloth, blistered and cracked, and still—he didn't stop.
Strike.
Strike.
Strike.
Until the world blurred, and the ground surged up to meet him.
Arthur collapsed beside the anvil, unconscious.
From a distant corridor overlooking the training ground, a young man stood in silence. His eyes, sharp and narrow, tracked Arthur's every move.
Seok Sang—son of Seok Yung—watched with a venomous glare.
"What's so special about that filthy beggar?" he muttered, barely containing his contempt. "Just wait. The next chance I get… I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of."
His fists clenched as he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
.
..
...