WeTried Translations

Translator: Joy

Editor: Joy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Damned Transmigration

Chapter 30

──────

Master and disciple

A low groan escaped Bakerd’s lips as he shot upright in bed.

He blinked, the sight of the room, his home for over a month, offering a familiar anchor. A glance out the window confirmed his suspicion.

‘Night…’

He’d fought the Moonlit Reveller before noon. He must have been unconscious for at least half a day. A dry laugh escaped him as he shook his head.

The door creaked open.

“You’re awake.”

Yuri entered, his expression unreadable. Bakerd stared at him for a moment before giving a slow nod.

“Did you bring me here?”

“Yes.”

“What about Marigold and the assassin?”

“I sent them back ahead.”

“And you stayed because...?”

“Someone had to be here to explain things when you woke up,” Yuri said, a hint of logic in his tone.

“Elena wanted to stay, too, but Haryeong eventually dragged her back to the mansion.”

“How long was I out?”

“About seven hours.”

“Thank God. Not a full day, then.”

As if on cue, the pain registered. A full-body symphony of agony.

Bakerd grimaced, looking down at himself. Bandages covered nearly every inch of him. His fists, which he had swung relentlessly, and his left arm, which had taken a direct hit from the Madorido, were wrapped especially thick.

“Did you treat me?”

“No, I called a doctor.”

“Good. We’re in the middle of a city, not some backwater. Calling a doctor is the right move.”

“I took the money from your wallet.”

“You little git.”

“It wasn’t my body on the line,” Yuri retorted, his face a perfect mask of ‘well, obviously’.

Bakerd stared at the brazen expression, then let out a sudden, hearty laugh.

“True. That makes sense. What did the doctor say?”

“The report is on the table. You can see for yourself.”

Sure enough, a doctor’s report lay on the bedside table. Bakerd reached out with a heavily bandaged hand and picked it up.

‘Fractures, bruises, severe abrasions…’

He skimmed the familiar terms, then crumpled the paper and tossed it aside.

“Did he not give you any medicine?”

“I was about to get a prescription, but the assassin said a martial artist like you would have his own potions.”

“She’s right,” Bakerd grunted.

“It’s a common saying that low-circle fighters don’t fight with internal energy; they fight with potions.”

He held out his hand, and a large bag from a corner of the room floated obediently to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuri asked.

“That we get injured a lot,” Bakerd said plainly.

“If you plan to keep fighting with your fists, make sure you always carry a variety of medicines.”

“You’re not a low-circle fighter, Sir Bakerd. Do you still rely on them?”

“Once you reach the 4th Circle, you rarely get injured. That is, if you only pick fights with opponents weaker than you. I am a man who has rarely fought someone weaker than myself in my entire life.”

With practised hands, Bakerd took out several vials, poured their contents into a large glass bottle, and swirled the concoction. He downed the potion in one go, then closed his eyes, letting it work.

“Thankfully, no internal injuries. The Moonlit Reveller showed me great mercy.”

“Both of your hands are broken.”

“Not a serious injury.”

“Having both your hands broken isn’t serious?”

Yuri asked, incredulous.

“A martial fighter’s body shows its true worth as their circle increases. Most injuries heal quickly without special treatment. Even without this medicine, the damage from today’s duel would be gone in a week.”

“And with it?”

“Three or four days.”

It was an astounding claim. Yuri filed the information away.

‘It makes sense. To fight bare-handed, you’d need absurd durability and regenerative power.’

His old game character, ‘UrMumSpammer’, had been the same. High base recovery supplemented by self-healing skills.

“I heard the Moonlit Reveller’s assessment of you,” Yuri said quietly.

“Weren’t you unconscious?”

“My body couldn’t move, but I was awake. I lost consciousness part-way through, but I held on until he left.”

Bakerd’s eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

“I already knew your talent was extraordinary, but it seems you’re even more gifted than I realised. So, how much did you see?”

“I didn’t get a proper look...”

Yuri hesitated, not because he feared revealing himself as a transmigrator, but because he wasn't sure how to describe the sheer spectacle he had witnessed.

“I started watching when you began using the Fist of the Rending Cloud.”

“Your eyes were drawn to a familiar technique. Makes sense. What about after? When the Moonlit Reveller began using the Art of the Full Moon Killing Kick in earnest. Could you see that?”

“I think I saw about half of it.”

“And Heavenly Downpour?”

Bakerd asked, his tone serious.

“That technique was on another level,” Yuri admitted, his expression grave.

“Honestly, I couldn't make out what was what. It was a blur.”

“To be expected. I’ve faced many martial artists in my time, but the ultimate art of the Full Moon Killing Kick was truly magnificent.”

“I’m not sure if I saw it correctly,” Yuri ventured, “but within that ultimate art… it looked like your fists were twisting the direction of his Ganggi.”

At that, Bakerd’s expression went slack. The air left his lungs. A moment later, he composed himself, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.

“Incredible. You even saw that?”

“Yes.”

“It was only thanks to him holding back. He could have defeated me in a single blow, but he didn’t. If I’m right… I think he was trying to teach me something.”

Bakerd looked down at his broken, bandaged hands.

“The fist technique I attempted at the end was something forged in that moment, a form born of pure necessity.”

“It looked like a fusion of the Diamond-Shattering Fist and the Fist of the Rending Cloud.”

“That’s right. My own understanding was insufficient, so I couldn’t complete it… but this duel has given me an outline. The task before me now is to turn that faint outline into a definite form.”

Bakerd closed his eyes again, sinking back into the memory. The moment he was floundering within the Heavenly Downpour. As he desperately swung his fists, he had, for a brief, fleeting instant, reached the State of Selflessness. The immersion was temporary, but the memory of it, the sensation, remained crystal clear.

“I must leave.”

“Pardon?”

“I was blocked by a great wall. The wall of the 7th Circle, a barrier where most martial artists fall into despair. But thanks to great kindness and good fortune, I feel as if I’ve caught a faint glimpse of the realm beyond it.”

This feeling, this enlightenment, could vanish like a phantom at any moment. That was why he had to act.

“As soon as my injuries heal, I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“Most of my life has been that of a wanderer. This time will be no different. I challenged the Moonlit Reveller… perhaps it’s time I paid a visit to the Fist King.”

Bakerd chuckled, clenching his bandaged fists.

“I doubt the other Revered of the Martial Pinnacle will be as merciful, but the enlightenment gained from a duel with a master is a sweet and precious thing.”

“Even so, this is incredibly sudden.”

“Our meeting was sudden; so too shall be our parting. Yuri, perform the Fist of the Rending Cloud.”

“What?”

“If you watched the duel, you must have felt something. Show me.”

Bakerd’s eyes were deadly serious. This was not a request. Yuri nodded and rose to his feet.

“Drifting Cloud, Cloudy Wind Dance, Dark Cloud-Smoky Moon, and Thunder Cloud-Dragon’s Fang. Perform them sequentially, distinguishing each form. Then, do it again, but this time connect them as one.”

Yuri raised his fists, settling into the opening stance.

He had performed this technique for Bakerd countless times, but now, it felt different. The duel from half a day ago replayed in his mind, the fluid, impossible movements of the Moonlit Reveller and the unyielding strength of Bakerd. In his mind’s eye, the phantom spheres of Ganggi swirled around him.

Slowly, his fist moved forwards. He imagined the non-existent attacks and responded.

Drifting Cloud. The first form, the essence of the art.

As his fist extended, his feet followed naturally, a dance confined to a few steps but containing a sense of infinite freedom.

The motion shifted. Speed, softness, change: the three principles of the art melted into the arcs drawn by his fists.

He moved through the four forms as instructed, keeping them distinct. That was the easy part. But connecting them? It felt disjointed, forced. When he tried to link Drifting Cloud to Cloudy Wind Dance, the transition was a clumsy, jarring mess.

“Again,” Bakerd’s voice cut through his focus.

Yuri didn’t need to be told; he already knew it was wrong. He returned to the start without a word.

“Again.”

He repeated the sequence dozens of times, sweat pouring from him like rain.

What was the problem? Did he need a new movement to bridge the forms? No, that would just become a new, awkward form itself. The Fist of the Rending Cloud was a peak-level technique; it couldn’t be patched together by an amateur.

The more he immersed himself, the more dissatisfied he became.

‘Lighter. Faster. Softer. Freer…’

His desires grew, fuelled by the memory of the duel. How Bakerd had moved. How the Moonlit Reveller had danced.

Snap.

In his mind, the forms shattered. The abstract concepts from the Oral Verses clung to the broken pieces. The illustrations from the secret manual, mere dots and lines, became him. He could suddenly perceive the jarring points in each form, flaws he’d never noticed before.

He trimmed them away.

‘Wrong. Too much. That left an opening.’

He went back to the beginning. He twisted his fist as he retracted it, then struck again. He connected the shattered forms, shattered them again, and connected them anew.

Ah.

Finally, in his mind, it clicked. The Fist of the Rending Cloud became a single, unbroken chain. Before he could lose the feeling, he moved.

Whoosh!

A strange sensation washed over him. His body had performed the move, but it was his mind that felt illuminated, a deep thrum resonating from his dantian. He let out a huge, ragged breath and collapsed to the floor, muscles screaming in protest.

“Excellent.”

Yuri looked up and flinched. The window, once filled with the night sky, now bled with the grey light of dawn. He gaped in shock.

“Well?”

Bakerd asked, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Are you satisfied?”

Yuri replayed the final sequence in his head. After a moment, he shook his head with a short sigh.

“No. I connected them, but I don’t think it’s the right answer. I feel like I can do better.”

“Of course you can. This is a peak-level martial art. Did you expect to perfect it in a single night?”

“Then why did you make me do it?”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to succeed at all. I thought it would be enough for you to feel your own shortcomings. You did far better than I ever anticipated. That’s why I stayed up all night in agony watching you.”

Bakerd nodded, his expression one of genuine approval.

“You connected them. That alone is a remarkable achievement.”

“It still feels incomplete.”

“Then you continue to train. You refine it. Here.”

A secret manual flew through the air and landed in Yuri’s lap.

<Whirlwind Cloud Steps>.

“What’s this?”

“The footwork of Yang Il-su, the creator of the Fist of the Rending Cloud. It’s the footwork I learned, and the reason I was so fixated on his technique. My gift to you.”

Yuri remembered the promise from a month ago.

[If you can use all the forms of the Fist of the Rending Cloud to face my fist, I will give you a gift.]

“My injuries prevent a proper test,” Bakerd continued, “but after seeing your level just now… I don’t think I need one.”

“You were hiding a footwork technique like this all along?”

“‘Hiding’ is an ugly word. Should I take it back?”

“Thank you very much,” Yuri said instantly, clutching the manual.

“I won’t teach it to you directly. You were already creating something similar on your own tonight, a form that resembles these very steps. Given your understanding, I’m sure you’ll master it alone.”

Bakerd’s expression turned serious.

“Besides, I am not your master.”

“You’re something like a master to me,” Yuri replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “And others would think so too.”

“No. I cannot be your master. And you cannot be my disciple.”

“Why not?”

“If I were, my karma might be passed on to you.”

“Karma?”

A heavy silence filled the room.

“The reason I left the Sairan Guard was for revenge,” Bakerd said at last, his voice low.

“I don’t wish to share the details. This is my road to walk. A wanderer with such a task cannot be anyone’s master.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“I still have no intention of telling you,” Bakerd said firmly.

“After I succeed, perhaps we can talk about it over a drink. If you’re that curious, then wish for my success.”

“Good luck with your revenge.”

“And you,” Bakerd grumbled, his face souring as he waved a dismissive, bandaged hand.

“From what I can tell, you’ve got a foul mouth on you. You’re not the kind of lad one would want as a disciple anyway. Now get out. I need to rest.”

“I’d like to see you again before you leave. When are you thinking of going?”

“There’s no need.”

“Come on, there’s a bond between people. I’m not so ill-mannered as to ignore someone like a master when he’s about to leave.”

“Honestly, the things this lad says…” Bakerd muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“The bones should be mostly set by the day after tomorrow. I’ll stop by the mansion then to say my farewells.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

Yuri pushed his weary body to its feet. As he left the inn, his steps towards the mansion felt heavy.

He’d stayed out all night without a word; Elena was going to be worried sick. He descended the stairs to the ground floor and froze.

In the dining area, Elena was reading a book. Opposite her, Haryeong sat calmly polishing a dagger.

“The one who stayed out all night deigns to appear,” Haryeong said without looking up, inspecting the blade’s reflection.

“Next time, please send word. Thanks to you, I ended up staying up all night too.”

Elena turned her head.

“Is it over?”

“What are you two doing here?”

Yuri stammered.

“We were about to come up, but Sir Bakerd sent a Telepathic Message,” Elena explained.

“He said it was a crucial moment and we shouldn’t open the door.”

“A Telepathic Message?”

[Like this,]

Haryeong’s voice echoed directly in his mind.

[It’s a skill that uses internal energy to convey thought. Martial artists can generally use it from the 4th Circle.]

“You’re 4th Circle, Haryeong?”

[Oops,] she thought, her expression a perfect mask.

[I could be. Or higher. Or lower. Some related arts allow one to use it at a lower circle.]

Her lips remained perfectly still.

[For all you know, this could just be ventriloquism.]

“Didn’t you say you didn’t know how to do ventriloquism?”

“Let’s just leave it at that.”

Yuri sighed.

“Are we not going home?”

Snap.

Elena closed her book with finality, her glare arctic.

“We are.”

* * *

Top Floor of the Dersia Mage Tower

Orca, newly returned from the Ascard mansion, slumped onto a velvet sofa.

“UrMumSpammer?” she murmured, frowning in thought. She turned to her aide.

“Lacey. Explain this to me. What, precisely, does this mean?”

Lacey, who was carefully brewing coffee, paused mid-pour.

‘How,’ she thought with a dawning sense of dread, ‘am I possibly supposed to explain that?’

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried