One afternoon, after spending the entire morning catching up on his restoration journal and sharpening the edges of his tools.
Jingle—
An ordinary-looking man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties opened the workshop door and came inside.
Cradled in the arms of the thoroughly cowed man was a long object wrapped in layer after layer of newspaper and crudely bound with yellow tape. It looked to be about a meter long, and at first glance, it resembled a discarded pipe or length of timber picked up from a construction site.
"Um...... is this the workshop where Appraiser Lee Han-gyeol works?"
His hesitant voice held more deep weariness and sighs than hope.
"Yes, it is. That looks heavy. Please set it down on this table."
When the man carefully lowered the object in his arms onto the table, it struck with a dull clunk of metal against wood.
"My name is Park Min-seok. To be honest...... I reconsidered dozens of times even while standing outside your door. It's such an ugly, unsightly object."
Park Min-seok took a deep breath, then began unwrapping the long bundle of newspaper on the table.
With every layer he peeled away, red rust powder and crumbs of rotten wood pattered down onto the table. A vicious metallic stench stabbed at the nose.
At last, all the newspaper came away, revealing the identity of the object hidden inside.
"This is it......."
The instant Han-gyeol saw it, his eyebrow twitched.
It was a long black iron club. No, even calling it an iron club felt generous. Thick layers of red and black rust coated the surface, while rotten chunks of wood, their age impossible to guess, clung in clumps to what appeared to be the handle.
"......Its condition is extremely serious."
"Yes. Anyone can see it's a piece of garbage just waiting to give someone tetanus."
Park Min-seok let out a self-deprecating, hollow laugh.
"Even so, you must have had a reason for coming all the way here?"
At Han-gyeol's calm question, he hesitated briefly before speaking.
"It belonged to my grandfather, who passed away recently. He suffered from severe dementia for more than five years, and whenever he lost his senses, he would pull this scrap metal from the back of his wardrobe and clutch it. He would ramble that 'this fellow has been faithfully guarding the general's possession.' Then, just before he died, he gripped my hand and repeatedly begged me never to throw it away, but to honor it as a family heirloom."
Han-gyeol nodded in silence. It was the trace of an obsession the old man had clung to until the end, even as his memories disappeared.
"After the funeral, my relatives made a scene, insisting I throw this hideous thing away immediately. But my grandfather loved me most even when he showed signs of dementia, and I couldn't bring myself to toss his last wish into the trash with my own hands."
Park Min-seok rubbed his face with both hands and released a deep sigh.
"But my wife hates the smell, and every time I meet my relatives, they hound me about why I haven't thrown away the proof of his senility."
His shoulders sagged, and he looked utterly exhausted. Every moment he had spent suffering between his love for his grandfather and reality was written plainly across his face. Soon, Park Min-seok raised his head and looked at Han-gyeol with desperate eyes.
"Master. Let me tell you the real reason I came here. I'm not hoping for restoration, and I didn't come expecting this to be some treasure."
"Then what sort of commission have you come to request?"
"......Please give me a justification."
Park Min-seok's voice trembled faintly.
"I want you, Master, the finest restorer, to deliver the final verdict yourself. Tell me this is worthless, rusted garbage and that throwing it away immediately is the right thing to do. Please give me that clear diagnosis."
It was a truly strange and sorrowful commission.
Most people came here hoping the object they owned would prove to be a magnificent treasure. Yet the man before him wanted his possession to be judged utterly worthless garbage.
"If you, Master, confirm as an expert that this is nothing but scrap metal, I think I'll feel less guilty toward my grandfather and be able to dispose of it without regret. It will also give me a respectable reason to tell my family that I threw it away because an expert called it garbage. Please...... take this burden off my heart."
The man had come seeking the perfect alibi for throwing the object away. It was the desperate measure he had chosen between his grandfather's cherished final wish and the weight of reality.
Han-gyeol stroked his chin in silence as he looked down at the hideous black iron club lying on the table.
Any ordinary antique dealer or appraiser would have laughed and granted Park Min-seok's wish in a second, declaring it garbage. To the naked eye, it truly looked like nothing more than a commonplace lump of discarded rebar. There was no practical reason whatsoever for him to keep embracing this heavy scrap while enduring his family's abuse and his wife's complaints.
But Han-gyeol did not have the careless gaze of an appraiser merely going through the motions.
He was weighing the exhaustion on Park Min-seok's face against the desperation of an old man with dementia who had refused to let go of it until the end. Why had his grandfather clutched this hideous lump of iron and cried out for a general? Had it truly been no more than a meaningless delusion?
"You said you wanted a justification?"
Han-gyeol spoke calmly.
"I will appraise it thoroughly. But whatever answer I give you will be nothing more than the truth held within this object. It may not be the answer you want, Mr. Park."
"That doesn't matter. All I want is an expert's accurate judgment."
Han-gyeol nodded, then took a pair of thick white cotton appraisal gloves from a workbench drawer and put them on.
He stepped to the center of the table and carefully wrapped both hands around the ends of the iron club, where red rust had bloomed like frost. Then he slowly lifted it into the air.
'......!'
The instant the object left the table and rested fully in Han-gyeol's hands, his pupils widened slightly.
Heavy.
An overwhelming sense of mass, impossible for a hollow iron post or length of rebar barely a meter long, pulled the muscles of both arms taut. This was not the weight of ordinary construction material. It was the weight of extraordinarily dense steel, its density compressed to the limit through pouring, hammering, and repeated quenching.
Moreover, although it appeared to be a single iron club, the center of its weight was subtly divided beneath his fingertips. The handle end, caked in rotten wood, was light, while the blunt section beneath it was heavy.
A handle and a scabbard.
Over the long years, the wooden scabbard that had protected the sword had rotted away completely, while the iron inside had oxidized and swollen, fusing the scabbard and handle perfectly into a single mass.
This was no iron club. It was a sword.
Just as Han-gyeol realized the truth and began slowly running a gloved hand down its rusted surface.
Flash—!
The workshop filling his vision abruptly went pitch-black, like a television whose power had been cut.
This was not one of the ordinary black-and-white visions or hazy afterimages of the past he had experienced when using his ability. Absolute, pitch-black darkness forcibly cut off and crushed every one of Han-gyeol's senses.
Then something began to vibrate enormously, tearing through the suffocating darkness.
Grrrrrr.......
An eerie, low rumble seemed to begin beneath Han-gyeol's feet—no, deep within his heart. It was the growl of a beast.
ROOOOAR—!!
The immense, ferocious roar of a tiger, loud enough to burst his eardrums, tore through the curtain of darkness and struck Han-gyeol's mind. It was not the roar of a mere beast. It was the spirit of a great general commanding tens of thousands of soldiers, a thunderous sound imbued with the fury of a Spiritual Object that made all creation tremble.
"Hh......!"
Han-gyeol nearly dropped the sword in his hands. Goose bumps swept over his entire body, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood rigid. An overpowering force that strangled his breath surged madly from the sword's surface and through his veins.
It existed on an entirely different plane from the poignant sorrow or tender warmth held by the many artifacts he had touched before, such as the White Porcelain Bottle with Iron-Painted Cord Design or the Goryeo Celadon Openwork Incense Burner with Seven-Treasure Pattern. This was not a human emotion, but the pure and savage 'energy (vital force)' held by the object itself.
Absolute yang energy. The wrath of the sun that cut down everything profane and drove away evil spirits.
As the roar subsided, blue sparks leaped from the heart of the pitch-black vision and words began searing themselves forcefully into the air. Each letter was as vivid and hot as if branded there with a red-hot iron.
[True Name: Four-Tiger Sword (Four Tigers)]
[Date of Production: Mid-Joseon period (Exact year cannot be determined. Cast during the conjunction of the Year, Month, Day, and Hour of the Tiger.)]
[Condition: Severe corrosion and oxidation. Sword and scabbard completely fused. Wooden handle decayed.]
[Special Notes: Contains intense evil-warding energy. The blade is densely decorated with silver inlay depicting the Big Dipper among the 27 lunar mansions, together with talismans.]
[Current Value: Cannot Be Appraised (Severe corrosion damage)]
[Estimated Value After Restoration: Cannot Be Measured (Historical and ritual value approaching national-treasure-class)]
Han-gyeol slowly opened his eyes, breathing heavily.
His pupils still trembled faintly in the wake of the tiger's roar. The heap of red rust in his hands now looked like an entirely different existence.
The Four-Tiger Sword (Four Tigers).
A legendary treasured sword forged only at the rare conjunction when the year, month, day, and hour all corresponded to 'Tiger,' the earthly branch represented by the tiger among the twelve zodiac signs.
The Year of the Tiger (Tiger Year), which comes only once every twelve years, the Month of the Tiger (Tiger Month), Day of the Tiger (Tiger Day), and Hour of the Tiger (Tiger Hour). During the brief two hours when these four forces of extreme yang energy filled heaven and earth, the finest artisans commissioned by the royal court could pour and forge the steel only after purifying themselves through ritual bathing and offering rites to the gods.
This was not a weapon made to cut down people. It was a sacred ritual Spiritual Object symbolizing royal authority, one that borrowed the energy of heaven to cut down evil spirits and profane forces when plague or calamity struck the kingdom. It was the treasure among treasures, bestowed upon the Joseon king's most trusted great general as a symbol of absolute authority over his troops when he marched to war.
And that legendary Four-Tiger Sword had lain on the table of an obscure neighborhood shop, covered in rust and treated as refuse.
At last, every piece of the puzzle fit together: why Park Min-seok's grandfather had clutched it and cried out for a general even as dementia clouded his mind. The sword's primal energy, engraved deep within the old man's blood, must have instinctively summoned the general who had commanded the battlefield with it long ago. His family saw only proof of senility, but to the old man, it may have been a spiritual duty he had to fulfill until the very end.
Han-gyeol carefully set the sword back down on the table.
The hands removing his gloves were slick with sweat. The lingering force of the tiger's roar still made his heart pound violently.
Park Min-seok, seated across from him, anxiously studied Han-gyeol's complexion.
"Um...... Master? You've suddenly gone very pale. Its condition is so filthy that it's not even safe to touch, isn't it? You can just tell me it's garbage."
Park Min-seok was still urging him to issue the 'garbage verdict' he wanted to hear. To him, the sword was nothing more than a burden he wished to throw away as soon as possible.
Han-gyeol released a deep sigh, then fixed Park Min-seok with an unwavering gaze.
"Mr. Park."
"Y-yes."
"The reason your grandfather clung to this object as though it were his life despite his dementia, despite his family's attempts to stop him and all their abuse."
Han-gyeol's voice settled heavily over the workshop.
"It was never senility. Even within his unconscious mind, your grandfather understood this object's true identity."
"What? What do you mean......."
"If you want me to give you a justification for taking it to the dump, I can never give you one."
Han-gyeol pointed to the rusted iron club on the table and declared firmly.
"This is no simple iron rod. Beneath that thick shell of rust sleeps an object imbued with the absolute authority of the Joseon royal court and the energy of the Big Dipper."
Park Min-seok's eyes widened like saucers.
"A legendary treasured sword said to have been made only at the conjunction of four tiger forces. It is the Four-Tiger Sword."
Through the words of a young artisan, the scorned inheritance that had nearly been thrown away amid the family's ridicule and abuse awakened from an eight-hundred-year slumber and emerged into the world.