Martial Arts Ain't That Big of a Deal-Chapter 257: Video Call (2)

Chunbong was bored. Her damn brother had no intention of coming home.

Since playing with Lee Seo-jun made up about 90% of Chunbong’s daily routine, that meant that 90% of a day without Seo-jun was spent staring off into space.

But Geum Chunbong wasn’t the type to endure boredom.

Zoning out wasn’t something that could hold her attention for long.

Before much time had passed since she’d brought in a few talented folks from Anhui’s outskirts, Chunbong was already setting out again to explore Anhui.

Crunch—!

With three sticks of Bingtanghulu in each hand, she shook them vigorously as she headed back to the alleys once again.

Having lived a relatively comfortable life recently, she wanted to reflect on how the memories of her time in the slums had grown faint. So, she got busy and scouted out a decent back alley to make up for it.

“Oh-ho....”

Puffing out her chest with pride, Chunbong strutted down the new backstreet she had found.

Since Anhui was considered a relatively well-off city, even its backstreets were in much better condition than the ones she had once lived in with her brother.

It was only natural for Black Path (흑도) thugs to dominate the alleys—that was just how these places worked. But at least there weren’t any corpses of people who had starved to death or been stabbed littering the streets.

By back-alley standards, this was downright luxurious.

Nostalgic, Chunbong twitched her sensitive nose, sniffing out the scent of food.

“Found it.”

Her nose led her to a dumpling shop.

The owner was a burly, bearded man—someone who looked far more suited to being the leader of a Black Path martial sect than a dumpling vendor. Yet, he greeted her with a warm smile.

“Oh, young lady! Want a dumpling?”

“One meat dumpling, please.”

“Coming right up!”

After a short wait, Chunbong received a steaming-hot dumpling. She blew on it softly—

—and that’s when it happened.

A tiny little brat darted past and snatched the dumpling right from her hands!

“What.”

“Damn those little street rats...!”

Chunbong was a Supreme Realm (초절정) martial artist. A mere back-alley street rat swiping a dumpling from her? She could have stopped it blindfolded with nothing but her pinky toe.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she watched with a satisfied smile as the kid ran away at full speed.

“Ah... nostalgia.”

Back when Seo-jun wasn’t around, all she could manage to steal were pathetic dumplings filled with nothing but dough.

She used to be shocked watching Seo-jun swipe real meat dumplings with such ease, wondering if this bastard would one ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) day become famous as a Divine Thief.

“It’s fine. Give me another one.”

Chunbong stopped the dumpling shop owner from chasing after the child and accepted another dumpling.

“Ahh, I’m so sorry. These damn orphans have been running rampant lately...”

At that, Chunbong’s expression stiffened.

Damn orphans.

That hit a little too close to home.

“...It’s fine.”

Bowing slightly to the shop owner, Chunbong took a bite of her dumpling and set off in pursuit of the dumpling thief.

She had left a trace of internal energy on the kid when he swiped her food.

“I, Geum Chunbong, the disciple of Lee Seo-jun.”

This level of skill was nothing difficult for her.

Along the way, she wandered around looking for something fun, taking her sweet time before finally tracking the kid down.

Silently, she suppressed her presence.

The little brat was practicing something.

Whoosh—! Fwoosh—!

A stick cut through the air. Chunbong’s jaw dropped.

“Wow....”

Was it even possible for someone’s swordplay to be this horrible?

She remembered watching Seo-jun swing a sword for the first time and thinking his skills were just so-so.

But after seeing this kid’s swordsmanship, Seo-jun might as well be a once-in-a-century prodigy.

And if that was the case, then she, Geum Chunbong, was a divine-level swordsmanship genius who defied the very heavens.

“Hey, brat.”

Unable to bear it any longer, Chunbong revealed herself.

“You...!”

The brat’s eyes widened, and he glared at her.

As expected of a back-alley thief, he carried himself with a bold stance.

“Who the hell are you?! I’m not giving back the dumpling! I already ate it!”

He clutched his belly and pointed his stick-sword at Chunbong.

Chunbong remained silent.

It wasn’t because she was debating whether to beat the hell out of this brat.

Instead, she suddenly stretched out her arms and pointed straight at him.

And then—

Geum Chunbong’s furious roar shook the backstreets.

"That is NOT how you swing a sword—!!!"

****

The brat charged at her with the stick, but after receiving a few well-placed flicks to the forehead, he started bawling.

Of course, Geum Chunbong, who had learned martial arts from the merciless inhuman monster that was Lee Seo-jun, simply puffed out her chest in confidence.

“Oi, brat.”

“I’m not a brat...! I am Bi-yeon, heir of Yangrok Clan!”

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“...Because my clan was destroyed.”

“What.”

Chunbong’s eyes rolled.

The brat—Bi-yeon, who called himself the heir of Yangrok Clan—burst into tears and started venting.

“What! Do I look like a pathetic little beggar to you too?! Of course I do! Because I am a beggar! A damn orphan with no parents!”

“...Uh.”

“A pampered flower-in-a-greenhouse like you could never understand! That soul-crushing agony of watching Black Path bastards burn down my sect for no reason, ram a sword into my father’s stomach, and being powerless to stop it! The humiliation! Could you even fathom that?!”

Surprisingly, she could.

Chunbong’s eyes darted around awkwardly.

“That’s right! I’m just a damn orphan! No one gives a shit if I live or die!”

Because in this world, people had ranks.

Rank wasn’t just about money or authority—it was about strength.

And in this martial world, where superhumans roamed freely, the most respected form of power was, without question—

Martial Might.

At the very top were the Sixteen Noble Clans, the ones who lived as if they resided above the clouds.

Below them were the martial artists, the ones who walked around with swords at their waists, stabbing people as they pleased.

And beneath them were the common folk, those who simply lived their lives without swords or martial arts.

In the past, Bi-yeon had belonged to the category of "martial artists"—the ones who carried swords and stabbed people.

Of course, he had never actually stabbed anyone. Yangrok Clan was a tiny sect with fewer than ten members, and very few of them had ever taken a life.

But still, Bi-yeon had been a martial artist—and now, he was just an orphan.

An orphan who had fallen to the very bottom of society, to the filthiest depths of the commoner class.

It was like dropping from the heavens straight into the underworld.

“Shit... If only I had talent... If I had talent, I wouldn’t be....”

Bi-yeon clenched the stick in his hands so tightly that blood dripped from his palms.

He was resentful. He was furious.

He despised how weak he was.

He hated how he could barely even scrape together a meal, let alone seek revenge.

And most of all, he hated the woman standing before him, dressed in pristine, elegant clothes, as if mocking his existence.

With bloodshot eyes, Bi-yeon glared at Chunbong and screamed.

“Why are you tormenting me?! Why?!”

“You stole my dumpling.”

“Ah.”

Chunbong was T.

****

From the moment someone was born, too many things were already decided for them.

Their family, their environment, and even the talent they were born with—these were all things beyond their control.

Bi-yeon had no talent.

No, to be precise, Yangrok Clan itself had no talented members to begin with.

His father, Bi So-do, the sect leader, had no talent.

Sam-pung, the best swordsman in the sect, had no talent.

And So-so, the youngest member who barely understood martial arts, had no talent.

Bi-yeon simply had even less talent than them.

But at least he still had some conscience left.

“S-Sorry....”

Realizing that he had, in fact, stolen a dumpling from the woman before him, Bi-yeon awkwardly bowed his head.

Chunbong stared down at the kid’s tiny crown and let out a thoughtful hum, stroking her chin.

"Hmph...."

[Personality Test: Passed.]

She had no idea what the Namgung Clan’s standards were, but by her own standards, Bi-yeon passed.

If a kid growing up in the backstreets still had this much of a conscience, it meant that at his core, he was ridiculously kindhearted.

“Wh-What the hell?!”

Bi-yeon yelped as Chunbong grabbed his wrist and activated Taekcheon Talent Assessment.

If he had potential in the Namgung Bloodline, his eyes would glow bright blue—

But nothing happened.

‘Well, I guess life isn’t a novel.’

Chunbong felt a strange sense of kinship with Bi-yeon.

A similar fate, but different circumstances.

Chunbong had both talent and the strongest brother in Zhongyuan, Lee Seo-jun.

Bi-yeon had neither.

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In reality, there were probably countless kids like Bi-yeon all over Zhongyuan.

But Bi-yeon was the one standing right in front of her.

And for some reason, she couldn’t ignore him.

She recalled something Seo-jun often said.

"Only martial strength is absolute."

But in order to obtain martial strength, one needed talent.

The talent to be chosen by Taekcheon Talent Assessment, or the innate skill to wield a sword as if it were an extension of one’s body, or the natural ability to control qi without ever being taught.

So then...

How was an untalented, back-alley orphan supposed to reach that absolute power?

“You. Come with me.”

And that was how Geum Chunbong kidnapped a talentless brat from the alleys of Anhui.

****

By the time Chunbong’s kidnapping operation had successfully concluded—

Beep— Beep— Beep—

“What the hell is this bastard even doing?”

Seo-jun mechanically dialed Sword Maniac’s number again, then minimized the call window and resumed his paused game.

For the record, he had already sent multiple messages.

Each one basically said, "I found the Hwangun Divine Sword. Pick up your damn phone."

And yet, even after all this time, that bastard still wasn’t responding.

Beep— Beep— Beep—

Once again, the connection timed out.

‘Did that dumbass die or something?’

Seo-jun ignored it and focused on his game.

His fingers moved like a possessed spirit, dodging the alien lifeforms’ bullets by mere pixels while unleashing his ultimate attack and stockpiled bombs.

Finally, the boss had only 1% of its health left.

And then—

Ringgg—!

The game froze, and a name appeared on the screen.

[Sword Maniac]

That son of a bitch had finally called back.