The Weight of Instinct
3:00 PM, the following day.
Jin wandered aimlessly, his mind drifting, consumed by a sadness deeper than ever before. He questioned himself: 'How did I not notice? I spent a year on Earth, learned its languages, its history, and vast amounts of information. I studied the laws of both worlds. I spent two full years in the Murim, and months on the continent of Astarion. I traveled to so many places... through all of this, how? How did I not notice the date even once? How, in heaven's name?'
In the cursed Murim, every state had its own calendar. Even when he was in the Empire, how did not a single coincidence occur where he asked about the date? How?
The boy spoke these thoughts as tears fell. He had reached rock bottom because of everything happening. Perhaps he was a talent that surpassed human limits; perhaps his instincts were the strongest in the world. He had become a warrior who slaughtered thousands and possessed wealth enough to build palaces and live a life of ease. But...
The boy wanted none of this. For four years, he had a simple goal: to find his sister. Even that was proving impossible for him.
He arrived at the lands of the Fist Clan. Standing before the massive gate, he knocked loudly. The guards opened the doors.
One of them: "Huh? Who are you?"
Jin spoke with an uncharacteristic rage: "Are you people truly stupid, or just pretending to be?"
He threw his identification token into the guard's face and entered without another word. The guards stared at the token before speaking.
One of them: "Guys... he's one of the Sect Elders. Could he kill us for that behavior?"
The boy walked toward the Clan Leader's pavilion, barely containing his burning rage. He wanted to destroy anything in sight; even killing people would have felt easy in those moments. Nevertheless, he held his nerves. After a while, he reached the pavilion.
After some time, Jin offered his greetings, and they spoke briefly.
Mu-Hyeok: "So... you want to learn the Fist Arts?"
Jin: "Yes."
Mu-Hyeok: "Is there a specific reason? To increase combat experience or physical capability, for example?"
Mu-Hyeok had noticed Jin's anger and understood its roots; he simply wanted to hear it from Jin's own lips.
Jin: "Yes, Fist Arts are useful. I face many fights where I need to avoid killing anyone. As you know, the sword is difficult to control."
Mu-Hyeok fell silent for a moment. "Demonic Dragon, do not try to be a hypocrite with me or yourself. You only want this to vent your rage."
Jin went quiet, then looked at him and spoke with a heavy voice—not as a threat, but as an effort to keep his voice from breaking: "Then... should I go and slice the Ten Thousand Peaks, one by one, until I've vented my anger?"
Mu-Hyeok pondered for a moment. He might not have known what made the boy angry enough to speak such words, or perhaps he had never suffered in a way that led to such fury. But he was old enough to understand these emotions. However, as is the custom of the people of Murim, words are rarely exchanged in times like these.
A short while later, they stood in the main courtyard as some disciples gathered to watch.
Mu-Hyeok: "Don't you want to read any manuals or learn any foundational techniques?"
Jin: "...I will just mimic your movements. That is enough."
Mu-Hyeok was surprised, but he clenched his fists and began immediately.
They exchanged standard punches at first to test the boy's focus. The result? Jin analyzed his movements in less than four minutes! Mu-Hyeok began using basic foundational arts. Jin focused intensely on his opponent's body; he was even counting Mu-Hyeok's breaths in those moments!
Jin began delivering strikes as well. The audience grew intrigued, and their numbers increased. Mu-Hyeok threw a powerful punch; the boy took a perfect stance, contained the punch with his palm, and began a cycle of rapid strikes!
The Elder used both hands, and the boy responded in kind. They continued like this for nearly five minutes, the speed of the strikes increasing. Two punches from each hand per second.
Three.
Five.
Eight!
Yet... the boy's palms absorbed the strikes and matched the speed perfectly! Although the Elder was testing his speed, he began to enjoy it! The crowd began discussing the event in awe, but this was only the beginning.
Mu-Hyeok, smiling: "Is this all your speed?"
After seconds of silence, the boy replied: "My speed? If you don't mind destroying the courtyard, then perhaps I'll increase it a little."
The Elder smiled. "Are you sure you need to learn Fist Arts? Your instincts and combat talent alone are enough to clash with the Great Grandmasters without any style."
Jin's response was hollow; despite what he heard, it wasn't enough to pull him out of his state. They clashed rapidly. It wasn't a set style; it was a chaotic mix of punches, palms, and claws. They began trading blows again, and the speed accelerated. Every strike was met by another or parried by a palm.
Five per second.
Seven.
Nine.
Twelve.
Fifteen!
The audience was stunned. The speed was truly intense—a blur of phantoms before them, as if dozens of attacks were being directed at once! Just putting a bit of energy into a strike caused the ground to crack beneath their feet upon impact.
And it continued.
A quarter-hour.
Half an hour.
A full hour!
Almost the entire clan had gathered to watch. The courtyard was completely demolished, debris scattered everywhere. The two stood panting, drenched in sweat as if a cloud had burst over them.
Mu-Hyeok: "Well done, young man. Do you have any internal energy left?"
Jin: "Perhaps a quarter of what I possess remains."
Mu-Hyeok laughed. "Damn it, I give up. My energy is spent. I must admit, young Elder, one cannot face you with free-form styles or even fight at a level you can just mimic. Where did those instincts of yours come from? If this were a real fight, I would have needed to put all my strength into ten moves just to defeat you. These instincts are truly a blessing." The Elder laughed for a few moments.
Jin smiled, but that smile hid a roaring sorrow. His mind spoke in pain:
'Is it truly a good thing to all of you? I cannot sleep if anyone is near me due to intense anxiety. I distinguish lies from truth in speech without wanting to. Would someone like you truly think that my inability to have a casual conversation is a good thing? Is my feeling of danger when none exists a blessing?'
Despite all the pain that continued to crush his heart and mind, the boy kept smiling and did not utter a single word. The audience began to applaud and salute him. Time passed in this manner until midnight.