The old man didn't seem to believe me, but after I explained everything about the disaster, he finally lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath.
"Either you're lying," he said calmly, "or you hit your head pretty hard on the way down."
I rubbed the thin cut on my neck, still shaken by how quickly he'd moved.
"So how did you pull your sword that fast?" I asked. "I didn't even notice the blade or the cut until after you finished talking."
The old man let out a small chuckle and folded his arms into his sleeves.
"Well, if what you're saying is true, then I suppose it wouldn't hurt to explain a little. I'm what's known in this world as a cultivator… and a fairly strong one at that."
My eyes widened slightly.
"So those bandits were cultivators too? Or were they more like the supers from my world?"
"No," the old man replied. "They were definitely cultivators. Weak ones, but cultivators nonetheless. I could sense their ki from a great distance."
"Weak?" I repeated in disbelief. "You call that weak? There were only eight of them, and they slaughtered an entire village of sixty people."
The old man simply shrugged.
"For cultivators, even the lowest realms are enough to overpower ordinary soldiers with ease."
A chill ran down my spine.
If those monsters were considered weak… then just how terrifying were the strong ones?
I hesitated for a moment before asking the question weighing on my mind.
"So can anyone become a cultivator? Or are people just born that way?"
"Anyone with a core and the ability to draw out the essence within themselves can technically become a cultivator."
The moment those words left his mouth, I shot to my feet before immediately dropping to both knees.
I planted my forehead against the ground exactly the way my grandfather had taught me whenever showing true respect.
"Please teach me!"
The old man blinked before letting out a hearty laugh.
"Hoho… well now." He stroked his beard with an amused smile. "Through all the confusion, I suppose I forgot to mention something important."
I slowly looked up at him.
"Mention what? What am I missing?"
"While treating you a few days ago, I noticed yo—"
"A few days ago?" I interrupted. "I just got here last night."
"No, no," he corrected with a wave of his hand. "You've been unconscious for several days while recovering from your injuries. And if possible, try not to interrupt this old man too often. My memory isn't what it used to be."
"R-Right. Sorry. Please continue."
"As I was saying," he continued, "while examining your body, I discovered that you already possess a core."
I froze.
"A core…?"
"And not only that," he continued, "your body has clearly undergone the upbringing of a cultivator despite your apparent ignorance of the matter."
I stared at him blankly, trying to process his words.
"To be honest," he said, "I had already been considering taking in a disciple before you arrived. Who would've thought the heavens themselves would drop one onto my doorstep?"
The old man paused for a moment before smiling faintly.
"Well then, Anthony. Would you like to be trained in the ways of the Murim by this old man?"
For a second, I couldn't even respond.
Then excitement burst through my chest.
"Yes!" I answered immediately. "I'd be honored to!"
A grin spread across my face as I bowed once more.
"Good."
The old man stood and pointed toward the corner of the room.
"There's a uniform waiting beside your bed. Change into it and meet me outside. Your training begins today."
I quickly nodded, but before I could move, his expression turned serious.
"And one more thing."
His sharp eyes locked onto mine.
"Do not pursue revenge."
The words caught me off guard.
"Your family was not killed by those bandits," he continued. "And based on the story you told me, it's entirely possible they survived and were scattered elsewhere, just as you were."
My breathing stopped.
"They… could still be alive?"
Tears immediately welled in my eyes.
The old man nodded slowly.
"But if you leave now as weak as you are, then even if you find them… you'll simply watch them die in your arms all over again."
Those words pierced straight through me.
I clenched my fists tightly.
"I'll become stronger," I whispered. "No matter what."
Without wasting another second, I turned and changed into the uniform he had prepared for me.
The clothing resembled a martial arts robe with red and gold trim running along the sleeves and collar. A large phoenix was embroidered onto the back while three talon marks rested over the chest.
After changing, I stepped outside and called out loudly,
"Sensei Phoenix! I'm ready!"
The instant the words left my mouth, something rushed past me like a gust of wind.
SHING.
Several strands of hair drifted down in front of my face.
Then more followed.
My fro collapsed piece by piece onto the ground alongside the beard I'd grown during the past several days.
I turned in shock and saw the old man calmly sheathing his sword.
He had cut my hair without me even noticing the blade move.
"Today marks the beginning of your new self," he said firmly. "We shed weakness and grow strong. Never forget that."
I stared silently at the hair scattered around my feet.
"Now then," he continued, "let us begin properly."
The old man folded his arms behind his back as the wind lightly stirred his robes.
"My true name is Muramasa, though many know me as the Phoenix. From this day forward, however, you will address me as Master."