WeTried Translations

Translator: Joy

Editor: Joy

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◈ Damned Transmigration

Chapter 22

──────

Orca

Bakerd closed the manual, his hours of study finished, and finally spoke.

“The Fist of the Rending Cloud is built on four forms.

First, the Drifting Cloud: free, unbound, moving as it pleases across the sky.

Second, the Cloudy Wind Dance: the wind drives the clouds, scattering them, making them sway together.

Third, Dark Cloud-Smoky Moon: a heavy shroud of cloud spreads wide, swallowing the moon.

And finally, Thunder Cloud-Dragon's Fang: lightning bursts, and from the storm a dragon bares its fangs.”

He looked down at Yuri, who was lying flat on the ground, barely listening. Hours of relentless physical drills had left him utterly spent.

“Although it’s called a fist technique, you’re not bound to fists alone,” Bakerd continued.

“Sometimes hand, sometimes fist. The essence of this art is freedom. Remember that.”

Yuri groaned, forcing himself to pay attention.

“Unlike mages, martial artists store internal energy in the dantian and circulate it through the meridians to release power. With enough energy, even the smallest hand could smash stone or shake mountains.”

Bakerd folded his arms and studied Yuri’s heaving chest.

“But don’t think internal energy alone will save you. When strength is matched, survival comes down to mastery of your body and your technique.”

“...”

“So train. And don't even think of using that shallow internal energy of yours as a crutch.”

“I wasn’t slacking,” Yuri muttered, dragging himself into a sit.

Exhaustion stripped the courtesy from his voice.

“I did everything. The running. The weights. All of it.”

In the corner of the garden, the pile of training equipment Bakerd had brought in glistened with Yuri’s sweat. Back when he was Lee Su-hyeok, he had only ever seen things like that through the window of a gym.

“No shortcuts. No energy,” he added.

“Good.”

“But you know,” Yuri went on, “muscles don’t grow in a day. Doesn’t matter how hard you work.”

Bakerd narrowed his eyes.

“What’s with the sudden change in tone? You’ve got a sharp tongue on you.”

“No!” Yuri quickly corrected himself.

“I just mean… I used to work out a bit in Oldor. Back then I didn’t have martial arts or energy, just plain exercise. And it was hard to bulk up.”

“What’s the difference between then and now?”

“…Internal energy?” Yuri guessed.

Bakerd nodded.

“Exactly. With your dantian open, you are nothing like your old self. Train your body, practise the Rending Cloud forms, cultivate your heart technique, and your body will shape itself to the path you walk. Take me. I wasn’t born like this.”

That much was true. The Bakerd from Seronis had been just another stocky NPC, not this mountain of muscle standing before him.

“How old are you, Yuri?”

“Twenty.”

“I was twenty-four when I first learned the Diamond-Shattering Fist.”

“Why fists, though?” Yuri pressed.

“Haryeong told me that twenty years ago you were in the Sairan guard, and you carried a spear.”

Bakerd’s eyes lingered on him but he didn’t reply.

It was no surprise that Salhomun’s assassins knew fragments of his past. Information and killing were two sides of the same coin.

Maybe they had even guessed the truth, that the fall of the Raspion family marked the day Bakerd cast aside his spear and became a wanderer. But they would never know he had been Raspion’s illegitimate son.

“You don’t need to know.”

Even if they had guessed, Bakerd would never confirm it. Secrets that had stayed buried for decades would not surface for a boy he was training on a whim.

‘So we’re not that close yet.’

Bakerd had softened since the auction house, which was why Yuri had tested the waters. Clearly, it was still too early.

‘Then I’ll just dig it up myself when the time comes.’

He rubbed at his aching thigh as the thought passed.

“Had enough rest?”

“Eh?”

“You look recovered. Get up.”

There was no room to refuse. Yuri climbed to his feet. Bakerd raised his fists.

“…You don’t mean sparring?”

“I won’t use internal energy.”

“…Right.”

“I’ll attack with the Cloudy Wind Dance. You counter with the Drifting Cloud.”

Bakerd raised his fists.

True to his word, he didn’t use internal energy, nor did he put much strength into his strikes. Yet the movements were unsettling.

His punches floated forward, slow, wavering, and somehow impossible to read.

‘It’s just two fists.’

Now Yuri understood why he’d been told to counter with the Drifting Cloud.

He had to answer the constant shifts and feints of the Cloudy Wind Dance with the looseness and flow of the Drifting Cloud.

Out of the four forms, it was the one he felt most comfortable with.

He reached out with his left hand to meet Bakerd’s strike. Even then, he couldn’t catch the movement.

Before becoming Yuri, he had trained in fighting under Lorelia for years. That foundation helped him now, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I have to read the changing path, see through what’s hidden and guess where it’s going to land.’

He’d thought he knew the Drifting Cloud, but he was wrong. The form wasn’t just about drifting aside; it was about receiving an attack, diverting it, then seizing the opening to return one of your own.

Too many conditions had to line up before he could even attempt it.

‘The Drifting Cloud is the first form of the Fist of the Rending Cloud. It carries the heart of the entire art.’

That was exactly why it was so difficult. Fail here, and the other forms might as well not exist.

The game version had never gone this deep.

Back then, as the player ‘UrMumSpammer’, all Lee Su-hyeok had learned was a single skill called “Fist of the Rending Cloud”.

It was a package deal: high agility gain, a baked-in evasion bonus, and a flashy counterattack whenever evasion triggered.

For a build with no armour, that skill had been perfect. He’d stacked every agility and evasion booster he could find, chaining them with counter skills to make up for low defence.

But that left him toothless against enemies who didn’t rely on physical blows.

Heavenly Thunder Orca had been immune to counters. Casters had simply ignored him. Eventually, he’d dropped the Rending Cloud entirely.

Too situational. Too weak.

Here, though?

Reality didn’t come with stat sheets. He wasn’t bound by a skill slot limit. He already had the Heavenly Art of Annihilating Evil for raw power and Sacred Flame Release waiting to be tested.

If he grew his Circle and reached the point of forming Ganggi, his attack power wouldn’t be lacking at all.

‘But there’s no auto-evasion, no lucky counter. I have to do it myself.’

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Bakerd’s fists kept slipping past his guard and tapping his chest.

Slow, deliberate punches; and not once had Yuri managed to deflect them.

He didn’t panic. Instead, he focused on the rhythm. The fists followed each other like wind carrying clouds, tied together in one motion.

‘What about me?’

Drifting Cloud.

Clouds drift freely across the sky. The core of the art was freedom. But his body wasn’t free. His arms were heavy, his eyes fixated, his mind locked.

‘Free? How?’

This wasn’t even a real fight. He knew how he’d be attacked, and still he was stuck. Could he really be free when the situation was life and death?

A phrase stirred in his memory:

[Standing on the ground, you look up. The sky, heavy with clouds, seems low. Rising into the sky, you stand among the clouds. The same sky is endless; the ground is far below.]

Perspective changed everything.

‘Ah.’

The first shackle wasn’t his arms or legs; it was his eyes.

His gaze, caught by the trick of the fists. He was staring only at the surface. But he wasn’t fighting fists. He was fighting a man.

The picture widened. Beyond the fists, he saw forearms, shoulders, chest, waist, knees, feet; every part tied into motion.

The fists were only the end of a chain.

‘The sky is my field of engagement. My operational space.’

The fists moved within that sky. His sky. A space that widened and narrowed with his own movements.

‘Being free in my own space.’

It felt nothing like using a skill behind a mouse and keyboard.

This was something entirely new, something he had never done, never wanted to do, never thought he could, and never even realised existed.

So why was this unfamiliar sensation so exhilarating?

“Ha.”

Bakerd’s fist brushed against Yuri’s.

‘I see.’

That single light touch told him the weight of external arts. In a real fight, his fist would have been crushed.

‘It connected, but I lost. No, I died.’

That was the reality.

“Haha…”

Yuri laughed, half in disbelief.

‘What is this kid…?’

Bakerd didn’t laugh. He only stared at their joined fists, eyes widening. He knew what the outcome would’ve been in real combat, but that wasn’t what unsettled him.

The Cloudy Wind Dance, the form he was imitating, was something Bakerd himself barely knew. He’d studied it from the manual, but he hadn’t trained it in depth.

Still, he was Fist Wolf Bakerd, a 6th-Circle martial artist whose mastery of fist techniques was already at a profound level. Even with only the written form, he could imitate it convincingly.

He had told Yuri to counter with the Drifting Cloud, never truly expecting him to succeed. At most, he thought the experience would sharpen the boy a little.

But Yuri had gone further.

It was only natural that a beginner wouldn’t be able to follow the movement, much less predict it. Yet this boy had read the trajectory, imperfectly, crudely, but enough to meet fist with fist.

In a true battle, it would have cost him his hand, but it meant he had blocked death.

“Heh… heheh.”

A laugh finally escaped Bakerd, but a chill ran down his spine. A boy who had begun learning martial arts only yesterday…

‘At the end, he even slipped in footwork.’

He remembered how Yuri had spontaneously used footwork while practising the Drifting Cloud the day before. He’d wondered whether the boy could integrate it into a spar.

‘He actually did it.’

Bakerd hadn’t expected much. That was why the shock struck so deep now.

‘Not Whirlwind Cloud Steps, but the principle is the same. A natural addition of footwork. Exactly what the form needed.’

He studied their fists a moment longer, then withdrew his hand with a small nod.

“Yuri.”

“Yes?”

Yuri wiped the grin from his face at once.

‘He’s not about to scold me for smirking, is he?’

Now that he had felt it, he knew that taking a hit from Bakerd would hurt more than he cared to imagine.

“If you can counter all four forms of the Fist of the Rending Cloud against me, I’ll give you a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. Don’t ask what it is.”

Bakerd stepped back, grinning, fists rising once more.

“Let’s go again. I’ll attack with the Cloudy Wind Dance…”

“And I’ll counter with the Drifting Cloud.”

The word “gift” rang in Yuri’s ears.

He didn’t even know what it was, but the promise stirred something deep inside. He hadn’t received many gifts in his life, not since his parents had died. That alone made it precious.

The fists became clouds, and once more they drifted.

***

There had been a song a few years back about twenty-four hours never being enough. The lyrics said that time with a lover passed so quickly that even a whole day felt too short.

For Yuri, twenty-four hours were never enough.

His days fell into a relentless rhythm: waking before dawn for Ki Regulation, preparing Elena’s breakfast, then hours of brutal external arts training.

The morning was for fist practice, followed by sparring with Bakerd.

The afternoon brought more training, then dinner with Elena.

Evenings were spent in his room, reviewing the day’s sparring and refining his forms before collapsing into meditation and a final Ki Regulation, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Elena often insisted she could handle her own meals, but Yuri always cooked for her regardless.

It wasn’t difficult, didn’t take much time, and, truthfully, he enjoyed sharing meals with her.

“Your progress is as fast as your effort is great.”

So said Haryeong, who had declared herself free while Elena was away at the mage tower. Free enough, at least, to drop in every day and watch Yuri’s training.

“You’ve put on a fair bit of muscle, too.”

“Could you stop staring?”

“Why? It’s not like you’re training naked. Besides, watching doesn’t cost me anything. It’s not as if I’m peeking at your secret forms.”

“It’s distracting.”

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest. Now, your thirty seconds are up. Again. One, two…”

Haryeong was merciless. By the time Yuri finished under her count, it was nearly noon, just in time for Bakerd to arrive.

“Well then, I’ll be off.”

Once she left, Yuri performed the Rending Cloud forms for Bakerd.

“Your shoulders are stiff.”

“That’s because I was just doing shoulder exercises.”

“Stop spouting nonsense. Relax.”

After Yuri’s turn came Bakerd’s.

“Your shoulders are stiff.”

“…”

“Ah, no. That’s just muscle.”

They would then spar.

“Cloudy Wind Dance, and Thunder Cloud-Dragon's Fang.”

“I’ll counter with Dark Cloud-Smoky Moon.”

“Why not use the Drifting Cloud?”

“Why?”

“You’re still poor at Dark Cloud-Smoky Moon.”

“I’m better than yesterday. Maybe I’ll earn that gift today.”

“Only your nonsense has improved.”

By evening, Yuri washed up before Elena returned, cooked their meal, and ate with her. Afterwards, he would retreat to his room to refine his fistwork, review the sparring, meditate, and finish the day with Ki Regulation.

Then he would collapse into bed, asleep in seconds.

That was his life for a month. Not every single day; he forced himself to rest one day a week, believing overwork would only slow him down.

On those days, he wandered the city. He ate out, browsed the shops, strolled the streets.

And more than once, he lost himself for hours in the library.

From the old records, Yuri learned about the tragedy that had shaken Sairan two decades ago.

‘The Raspion Tragedy.’

A distinguished family, wiped out overnight. Their secret sword style vanished with them.

Twenty years on, the culprits remained unknown. The only point of agreement was that there were three culprits, all suspected to be transmigrators.

‘A sword, magic, and a spear…’

Ordinary weapons, in this world.

‘Only Bakerd survived.’

The reality was different from the game.

In the game, the Raspion estate was a hidden field, accessible only with a rare insignia dropped by Bakerd. But here, it wasn’t sealed away at all.

No hidden field, no special token. If you were strong enough, you could simply march in.

‘Could it have been FS?’

FUCKINGSEXY.

Among the transmigrators Yuri knew, FS was the only one who had ever mastered the Raspion sword style.

That didn’t prove anything, though. The technique was famous across the community, and plenty of others might have gone after it.

‘If it really was FS…’

Then maybe Chuk-sin-doo would know something. The idiot was using his online handle as his actual name in this world, after all.

If FS had been behind the massacre, and if he had travelled with companions, there was a chance Chuk-sin-doo had crossed paths with him.

But there was no way to be sure.

Bakerd wasn’t here because of his family. He was hiding his bloodline and waiting in Rutlan for a duel with the Moonlit Reveller. Whatever ties he had to the tragedy, the duel was his own choice.

‘Speculating won’t get me anywhere.’

If the truth mattered later, Yuri would ask Chuk-sin-doo directly when he was strong enough.

‘That’s assuming the guy even shows up.’

Elena had mentioned that Chuk-sin-doo might attend as a guest of the Ascard Family, but there was no telling whether he would actually come.

The man hadn’t even set a date.

The month Bakerd had promised him passed. Yet the very next day, Bakerd still showed up, as if it were nothing.

“The Moonlit Reveller hasn’t arrived yet,” he said.

“It seems you’re determined to hand me that gift, one way or another.”

“You don’t want it?”

“Of course I do.”

Twenty-four hours a day still didn’t feel enough. The lyrics of that old song flickered in Yuri’s head, though he would never sing them aloud.

“Yuri.”

That evening at dinner, Elena finally broke her silence. She’d been tense ever since she got home, her expression tight.

“Let’s go out together tomorrow.”

“…Why?”

“The Tower Master wants to see you.”

‘Just when I found a routine…’

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