The smell of cheap iron and medicinal herbs. That was the scent of Jin Ryeong's life.
Swish. Swish.
The mop moved rhythmically across the stone floor of the Blue Dragon Sect's outer training hall. The water in the bucket was already turning a murky red.
"Hey, Trash! You missed a spot over here."
Jin Ryeong didn't look up. He didn't flinch. He simply dragged his mop over to where a group of outer disciples were laughing, wiping away the fresh blood splatter left from their morning spar.
Jin Ryeong. Age 17. Status: Third-class servant disciple. Talent: Non-existent. Blocked meridians. A Dantian as dry as a desert.
In the world of Murim, if you couldn't cultivate Qi, you were less than a dog. A dog could at least bark. Jin Ryeong was expected to be silent.
"Look at him," sneered Ma Goo, a burly outer disciple with a face like a crushed dumpling. He was holding his right wrist, wincing slightly. "Cleaning up our glory. That's all he's good for. Hey, Ryeong! My wrist hurts from beating up Senior Brother Han. Come fix it."
Jin Ryeong paused. He wasn't a doctor, but after three years of working in the infirmary as a janitor, he knew more about bone setting than most of the quack physicians in the sect.
"I am just a cleaner, Senior Brother Ma," Jin Ryeong said, his voice low and hoarse.
"I told you to look at it!" Ma Goo kicked the water bucket. Dirty, bloody water splashed over Jin Ryeong's worn grey robes.
Laughter erupted in the hall.
Jin Ryeong's grip on the mop handle tightened until his knuckles turned white. One day, he thought. One day, I will poison their tea. I will burn this hall down.
But not today. Today, he wanted to live.
He dropped the mop and knelt before Ma Goo. He took the disciple's thick, hairy wrist. It was swollen. A minor fracture from using the 'Iron Fist' technique incorrectly.
'Idiots,' Jin Ryeong thought bitterly. 'They force Qi into their joints without protecting the bone. He'll be crippled by forty.'
"It's a minor fracture, Senior Brother," Jin Ryeong muttered. "You need to rest it for three weeks."
"Three weeks?!" Ma Goo roared, his spit flying onto Jin Ryeong's face. "The Outer Sect Ranking Tournament is in two days! If I don't participate, I'll lose my funding! Fix it! Do something!"
"I cannot—"
Thwack!
Ma Goo's uninjured hand slapped Jin Ryeong across the face. The force sent the frail boy tumbling backward, tasting copper in his mouth.
"Useless trash!" Ma Goo raised his boot, ready to stomp on Jin Ryeong's chest. "If you can't be useful, you might as well be dead practice dummy!"
Jin Ryeong looked up at the descending boot. Time seemed to slow. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. He didn't want to die here, on a wet floor smelling of other people's blood.
His hand desperately groped the floor and found a small pouch of 'Bone Knitting Powder' that had fallen from his pocket—cheap stuff he used for his own bruises.
'I have to appease him. I have to make him stop.'
It was a survival instinct. A pathetic, groveling instinct. Jin Ryeong scrambled forward, dodging the kick, and slapped the powder onto Ma Goo's swollen wrist, channeling the tiny, pathetic wisp of Qi he had managed to cultivate over ten years—an amount so small it couldn't even light a candle.
"Please!" Jin Ryeong screamed. "I'll fix it! I'll fix it, so don't kill me!"
He poured his very life essence, his hatred, his fear, and that tiny speck of Qi into the wound. He didn't want to heal Ma Goo. He hated Ma Goo. He wanted Ma Goo's arm to rot.
But his body betrayed him. His survival instinct forced him to be a healer.
Flash.
A strange, sickly green light erupted from Jin Ryeong's hands. It wasn't the pure white light of the Orthodox Arts. It was neon, jarring, and unnatural.
Ma Goo froze. The swelling on his wrist didn't just vanish; the bone audibly snapped back into place.
"What..." Ma Goo flexed his hand. The air whistled softly as he clenched his fist. "My... my wrist? The pain is gone."
He rotated his joint. Usually, there was a slight friction in his meridians here, a blockage from years of bad practice. But now? The Qi flowed through the wrist... smoothly. It wasn't a god-like transformation, but it was distinct. Maybe slightly sharper? Faster?
"It feels... better than before I broke it," Ma Goo muttered, a confused grin spreading across his face.
Jin Ryeong sat on the wet floor, panting, his vision blurring. He felt drained, as if he hadn't slept for a week.
'What was that?'
Suddenly, a blue translucent window, sharper than any blade, sliced into his vision.
[Ding!]
[System Initialization Complete.] [Condition Met: You have successfully healed an entity with 'Killing Intent' toward you.]
[Target: Ma Goo (3rd Rate Warrior)] [Intent: Malicious] [Healing Grade: Perfect]
[Reward Calculation...] [Congratulations! You have received:] 1. +100 Experience Points. 2. Skill Copy: 'Iron Fist' (Grade F) - Acquired. 3. Warning: Target is now healed and his potential has slightly increased.]
Jin Ryeong blinked. He looked at the holographic text, then up at Ma Goo. Ma Goo looked at his fist, then down at Jin Ryeong with a grin that was far more terrifying than his anger.
"Oho," Ma Goo whispered, his killing intent spiking. "You were hiding this kind of ability, trash? You fixed me. You actually made me sharper."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Let's see if the rest of my body can feel this good if I beat you up a little more."
Jin Ryeong stared at the System window. 'I just leveled up... but I'm about to die because I did?'
[System Alert: New Quest Generated.] [Quest: Survive the Monster You Created.] [Reward: Starter Pack.]
"Wait," Jin Ryeong scrambled back, his back hitting the cold wall. "Senior Brother, wait—"
The fist, now flowing with slightly cleaner energy than before, came flying down.