Do Seung-woo, hailed as the prodigy of the Shingeom Taoist school.
The memories of several years ago were still fresh in his mind, etched deep like carvings in stone.
―”If you teach him one, he grasps ten. It’s as if he unfolds the Suwangryu with pure instinct.”
―”Thank you!”
This was before he earned the title of prodigy.
At that time, the one carrying the family’s expectations wasn’t Do Seung-woo—it was Do Gyeon-woo, his peer and rival.
Back then, Do Gyeon-woo stood out in swordsmanship, his talent shining so brightly that even their grandfather, the head of the household, couldn’t help but praise him.
―”A child like this… remarkable.”
―”He’s already mastered the breathing technique? At such a young age?”
―”A prodigy like no other.”
While Do Seung-woo achieved his talent through relentless hard work, Do Gyeon-woo was born a natural genius.
The difference between them was glaring, an insurmountable gap that couldn’t easily be bridged.
For Seung-woo, who had no choice but to compare and compete with Gyeon-woo due to their similar age and standing, it was nothing short of despair.
―”Why can’t you even do that? How can you not measure up to even half of that boy’s talent? And you’re supposed to be my son!”
It started during their earliest competitions, where the direct descendants demonstrated the foundational techniques of the Suwangryu for the family’s approval.
Time and time again, Seung-woo found himself compared to Gyeon-woo, his shortcomings laid bare for all to see. His parents’ harsh reprimands echoed in his ears.
―”You can do better. You must do better.”
―”Are you still awake? Why aren’t you practicing?”
―”Is that all you’ve got, you little brat?”
―”Are you even my son?”
The memories of those days were a source of torment.
Dragged by his father, deprived of sleep, and driven to train endlessly, Seung-woo tried desperately to close the gap.
But no matter how much effort he put in, he couldn’t surpass Gyeon-woo.
The failure festered into resentment.
―”If only you weren’t here,” he thought bitterly.
“If only you didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have to suffer like this.”
Seung-woo swallowed his anger and aimed it at Gyeon-woo.
Deep down, he knew the truth. Gyeon-woo wasn’t at fault.
But blaming his parents felt like denying his own existence, and cursing his own lack of talent would only deepen his despair.
So, in an effort to protect himself, Seung-woo unconsciously redirected his hatred toward Gyeon-woo.
It became a twisted form of self-preservation.
The defining incident occurred during an evaluation match—a duel between the two boys.
―”S-Seung-woo!”
It was their first official sparring match, and fate seemed almost cruel in pairing them.
With wooden swords in hand, the duel began.
During the match, Gyeon-woo’s attack struck Seung-woo’s elbow. Blood seeped from the wound, the sharp edge of the blade biting harder than intended.
―”Oh no, what do I do? You’re bleeding!”
Gyeon-woo froze, his young mind unable to fully process the consequences of his strike. What he understood in theory paled in comparison to the sight of blood flowing before him.
Seung-woo, however, remained calm.
He seized the moment, taking advantage of Gyeon-woo’s hesitation.
Caught off guard, Gyeon-woo’s focus shattered. He shifted entirely to defense, failing to launch any counterattacks.
When the dust settled—
―”…I won.”
For the first time, Do Seung-woo had beaten Do Gyeon-woo.
As he regained his breath, he found Gyeon-woo cowering beneath him, arms raised defensively, tears streaming down his face.
―”S-stop it… please…”
The prodigy of the family, the boy once praised as a genius, was begging.
In that moment, Seung-woo felt an unfamiliar surge of pleasure—a twisted satisfaction that filled the void left by years of inferiority.
From that day forward, everything began to change.
―”I thought he was a prodigy, but he’s no different from the rest.”
―”Every child looks like a genius at first. This was bound to happen.”
―”Well, he’s a commoner’s son. What else could we expect?”
The family, as if waiting for Gyeon-woo’s fall, ridiculed him openly.
The boy who once stood as the family’s hope was now nothing more than a source of derision.
They called him “Rabbit,” mocking his perceived weakness.
Meanwhile, Seung-woo’s reputation began to rise.
―”You can’t even handle a rabbit? What kind of man are you?”
Seung-woo taunted Gyeon-woo, fully indulging in the power shift.
Having gained the upper hand, he unleashed all the pent-up emotions he had suppressed over the years.
―”D-don’t say things like that.”
―”Oh? And what if I do?”
―”Huh?”
―”What are you going to do about it? Fight me? Go ahead.”
―”… .”
―”No? Then crawl. Crawl like the rabbit you are.”
Gyeon-woo said nothing, his spirit crushed.
To Seung-woo, he was no longer a rival.
Yet, despite his victory, Gyeon-woo’s mere presence still gnawed at Seung-woo’s mind.
Unconsciously, he feared Gyeon-woo—feared the reminder of his own inadequacies.
‘If he tries to crawl back up,’ Seung-woo thought, his resolve hardening, ‘I’ll push him down again.’
Would Do Gyeon-woo overcome his weakness and return to the prodigious heights of his childhood?
If he did, Do Seung-woo knew his own position would falter. Once again, he’d live in the shadow of being endlessly compared to Do Gyeon-woo.
Deep down, this fear lingered in Do Seung-woo’s mind, festering like an open wound.
That’s why…
‘I will trample you so thoroughly that you will never dare to rise again.’
He resolved to crush Do Gyeon-woo in front of their family, ensuring that his influence remained buried.
But the fight was unfolding in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
“…!?”
As though he had read his every thought, Do Gyeon-woo effortlessly dodged his attacks.
‘Impossible! How on earth…?’
No matter how precise Seung-woo’s strikes were, they barely grazed Gyeon-woo before slicing through empty air.
And each time Seung-woo recovered, Gyeon-woo countered with swift, calculated strikes, forcing him to defend in haste.
Ting!
The swords clashed.
In that moment, their eyes met.
Do Seung-woo glared at Gyeon-woo, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
But Do Gyeon-woo’s eyes were… indifferent.
‘What are those eyes?’
They betrayed nothing—no fear, no anger, no emotion.
A chill ran down Seung-woo’s spine. That detached gaze stirred something deep within him.
No, it wasn’t discomfort. It was his inferiority complex clawing its way to the surface.
‘This bastard…!’
Don’t you dare ignore me!
Seung-woo clenched his teeth, swallowing the words threatening to spill out.
Knocking Gyeon-woo’s sword aside, he shifted into the Suwangryu Attack Style: Third Form.
The stance was a familiar one, honed through relentless training.
But Gyeon-woo was already responding.
He stepped back, his foot sliding smoothly into position. Mana flowed through his body, enhancing his movements.
The blade in his hand carried the weight of his focus, imbued with power.
Lion Iron Blade.
Seung-woo unleashed his technique.
The sword sliced through the air, arcing from right to left, like an iron whip aimed at Gyeon-woo’s side.
──!!
But Gyeon-woo was ready.
He raised his sword in a reverse grip, its tip angled downward as his hands shifted positions—one lowering, the other rising.
Suwangryu Defense Style: Second Form.
Lion Iron Armor (獅子 鐵甲).
Rooting his feet firmly to the ground, he activated the mana circuits in his lower body, absorbing the shock of the strike. The force flowed through his body like water, dissipating into the earth beneath him.
Though the second form was considered a foundational technique, mastering it was no small feat. It demanded precision and resilience, leaving no room for error.
“Huh…!”
Gyeon-woo blocked the attack cleanly, forcing Seung-woo to click his tongue in frustration.
Seung-woo immediately thought of his next move.
In Suwangryu, the philosophy of Yukchamgoldan (肉斬骨斷)—”giving flesh to take bones”—meant that any defense opened the door to a counterattack.
‘If he’s used Lion Iron Armor, his next move will be…’
His mind raced, calculating the possibilities.
There were only two likely follow-ups:
Type 3: Lion Iron Blade.
Or Type 4: Lion’s Whirlwind.
‘Which one will it be?’
He scrutinized Gyeon-woo’s stance, preparing to react.
But then Gyeon-woo moved—
And it wasn’t what Seung-woo had anticipated.
“…Keuk!”
Gyeon-woo didn’t use his sword. Instead, he delivered a roundhouse kick that struck Seung-woo squarely in the chest.
The unexpected blow sent him stumbling backward, his breath knocked out of him.
“You’re slow,” Gyeon-woo said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Seung-woo’s face twisted in fury.
He struggled to regain his footing, quickly assuming a defensive stance.
But Gyeon-woo was already advancing.
“You’re slow,” he repeated, his voice calm yet cutting.
Seung-woo instinctively stepped back, but Gyeon-woo was faster.
In a blur, Gyeon-woo closed the distance between them, positioning himself behind Seung-woo in an instant.
Before Seung-woo could react, Gyeon-woo’s sword descended.
“…!”
Seung-woo’s mind screamed at him to defend, but his body refused to obey.
It didn’t make sense. He denied the reality unfolding before him.
Yet the harsh truth was undeniable: Gyeon-woo’s sword was already upon him.
“Ugh!”
A sharp shock reverberated through the back of Seung-woo’s head.
His knees buckled as his balance gave way, and he crumpled to the ground.
‘No…’
He tried to move, to speak, but his body felt like lead.
Even so, his eyes remained open, catching a fleeting glimpse of Gyeon-woo standing over him.
His vision swam, the world tilting as Gyeon-woo’s face flipped upside down.
And then—
“Sleep well. It was nothing.”
Gyeon-woo’s voice echoed in his ears, calm and cold.
The last thing Seung-woo saw was the faint curve of Gyeon-woo’s lips, his smirk lingering in the edges of his fading consciousness.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
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