Chapter 001 Prologue
A desolate cliff where a barren wind howled.
At its edge, a boy who had not yet fully grown knelt with his pale face stained red with blood.
His clothes were torn. His body soaked in gore.
The boy—precious to me as my own heart—trembled from his injuries, yet looked at me with aching desperation, shaking his head as if to tell me not to come any closer.
“Master….”
Unavoidable fear clung to his trembling voice.
As I moved toward him, a black shadow cut me off and let out a soft, mocking chuckle. Just from their eyes, I knew who they were.
“Former Lord of the Upper Heaven Hall, Cheongrin.”
Assassins raised in the shadows of the Cheonho Alliance—the orthodox sect union I once belonged to.
“If you quietly return to the Alliance, we’ll spare your life, at least.”
They said so, but it was clear they had no intention of letting either of us live.
A voice thick with cold derision threatened me.
“You’re nothing but a cripple with ruined martial arts. You don’t seriously think you can face us, do you?”
❖ ❖ ❖
I—Cheongrin—am a cripple whose martial arts are destroyed.
Once, I had been the youngest leader of an intelligence organization, someone who knew nearly everything that happened in the martial world. But for failing to protect what needed protecting, I lost my martial arts and had to abandon everything and retreat.
And then, in my twenty‑first year, while wandering the Central Plains, I met that child.
It was a night when the sky felt especially dark.
Exhausted, I had gone to sleep early. That night, the inn where I was staying caught fire.
“Fire!”
“There are guests inside!”
The shouts of people woke me.
Because I had been staying in a room deep inside, by the time I opened my eyes, escape was already difficult. When I opened the door, flames lurked on all sides. Smoke burned my throat and clouded my head.
A wooden pillar had collapsed ahead, blocking the exit at an angle. As I hesitated, wondering whether to draw my sword and find another way, the pillar was shoved aside and a boy rushed into the flames.
“Are you all right?!”
Judging by his clothes, he seemed to be a runner working at the inn.
About thirteen, perhaps.
His round, youthful face still carried a childlike air. Though smudged with soot, his skin was strikingly pale and clear. Beneath his gently curved eyes, his lucid pupils reminded me of the still surface of a quiet lake.
His clothes were completely soaked, as if he had doused himself with water.
When I coughed in the smoke, the boy handed me a wet towel.
“I couldn’t see you among the people who got out, so I was worried. Please hold on to my shoulder.”
He had entered the inferno solely to save me.
The boy supported my staggering body and began to walk.
“Be careful.”
He awkwardly stretched one arm above me, trying to keep falling embers from landing on my head.
The corridor was worse than expected.
Yet astonishingly, the boy moved naturally around the flames, as though he could see their flow and predict where they would collapse. His movements were precise—beyond mere instinct—like someone trained.
From time to time, he checked my condition, as if I were someone he had to protect even before his own life.
Only then did I recall a feeling I had long forgotten.
The feeling of being protected.
Strangely… it hurt.
Perhaps that was why.
When the collapsing roof was about to crush the boy, my body moved first.
A burning pillar slammed down on my left arm.
In that brief instant, I was surprised—by the instinctive fear of losing him that drove my body to act.
The boy’s eyes shook violently as he looked at me.
“I’m fine.”
Enduring the pain, I drew my sword.
“I’ll secure the path. Let’s get out together.”
Using only forms that didn’t require inner energy, I carved us a way through.
The moment we emerged, the inn completely collapsed.
Only then did the boy finally let out a breath of relief. Seeing that, I realized I hadn’t even thanked him.
“Thank you for helping me.”
It wasn’t a formality—it was sincere.
As a wanderer, I had never imagined someone would risk their life to save me. His kindness felt special.
“Help? I’m the one who was helped.”
Shyly, he scratched his soot‑darkened cheek.
“What’s your name?”
“…Sobaek.”
When I said I’d take him to his family, he replied that he had none, and that he lived as a runner at the inn.
I handed him my money pouch, telling him to use it to get by for a while since he’d lost his job.
But Sobaek refused.
“Then… could you teach me the sword instead?”
It was an unexpected request.
Beneath his thin face, his unusually clear eyes caught my attention.
From his movements in the fire alone, I could tell he had talent for martial arts. Still, I wasn’t shameless enough to agree.
“I’m a cripple with ruined martial arts. I’m not in any position to teach others.”
Yet the moment I met his gaze, something surged quietly within me—
a longing I thought I’d lost long ago, a desire to trust someone again.
Then Sobaek knelt before me.
Eyes filled with the warmth of summer wind fixed on me.
“Master!”
That single, desperate word.
I should have refused outright—yet I was caught by it.
The heart I thought had gone cold began to beat again. Breath I thought had dried up soaked my chest.
For the first time, someone reached out to me, saying they believed in me.
A boy who rushed toward me, calling me “Master,” even though I had lost my martial arts.
“Just two years.”
I answered that way because my heart moved before my reason.
“If you learn all the basics in two years, you must leave me and find a real master.”
That was the last line I could not cross.
Sobaek nodded without hesitation.
“My name is Cheongrin.”
He repeated it carefully, as if savoring it.
“From now on, I’ll call you Baek‑a.”
The moment he heard that, the boy smiled brightly.
And so, Baek‑a became my first disciple.
After that, Baek‑a and I settled in a small village in Shaanxi.
I taught only the basics of martial arts.
Unable to demonstrate techniques, my teaching was slow and strict, but Baek‑a followed silently and faithfully.
After training, with hands too fine to even want to grip a sword, he prepared meals for me and heated bathwater.
“Stop doing this and train more.”
Even when I said that, he only smiled.
They were simple, happy days.
When I returned from the market with fried pastries, Baek‑a always split them in half and shared them with me.
“They taste much better when you eat them together.”
Watching him smile with his eyes curved into crescents, my own heart slowly softened as well.
On rainy days, he draped a blanket over my shoulders and quietly offered me tea. To cure my frequent coughing, he tended an herb garden.
Every morning, he neatly arranged my bedding and never forgot to greet me warmly.
Living with Baek‑a taught me things I could never have learned in the Upper Heaven Hall.
I came to understand, better than anyone, how fulfilling it was to live with a disciple amid forests, lakes, rain, and wind.
I was happy knowing I could still be of use to someone, and my disciple’s achievements made me happier than my own.
Two years passed in the blink of an eye.
As the herb garden in front of the house grew thick, Baek‑a’s sword grew sharper, and his fundamentals became flawless.
I was twenty‑three. Baek‑a was sixteen.
We didn’t say it aloud, but we both knew farewell was approaching.
It was a short time.
It would be a lie to say there was no regret, but I had taught him everything I could. For Baek‑a’s sake, it was time to let him go.
Instead, I resolved to find him a true master.
On the day I left the hermitage alone to send a letter about Baek‑a to an old acquaintance—
on that unusually overcast day—
my disciple, Baek‑a, was kidnapped.
❖ ❖ ❖
“Baek‑a.”
His eyes turned toward me. Fear flickered in those once‑clear eyes.
“Master, you mustn’t come….”
His voice trembled desperately, as if my death frightened him more than his own.
I can die.
But my disciple must not.
“I’ll make sure you get home.”
After smiling at him, I drew a special needle from my sleeve.
The only means by which my body—cut off from inner energy—could temporarily revive a portion of my former strength. It would shave away my lifespan by consuming my origin qi, but that didn’t matter.
Half a gak—seven minutes.
I had to finish it within that time.
Tsik.
The moment the needle pierced my acupoint, my qi rippled outward like waves.
“So you refuse the return order. In that case… you must die.”
At the leader’s gesture, assassins surged in from all sides.
I inhaled—
and charged.
I stepped through footwork, changing directions, scattering killing intent.
Blade‑like currents grazed my neck; sword strikes poured in relentlessly.
Dodging their combined assault, I counterattacked with murderous force.
With the sound of bones breaking, three fell. The last— the leader—had his chest split open by my sword strike before he could even catch his breath.
“…Ghk!”
The man who staggered until the end collapsed.
Panting, I moved toward Baek‑a.
The moment I cut the blood‑soaked bindings—
my chest twisted violently.
Cough.
Blood burst forth, filling my mouth.
My knees buckled; the world tilted.
It was the price of using my last remaining true qi.
“Master!”
Baek‑a rushed over and caught my falling body.
The rough trembling of his breath proved he was alive.
Only then did I feel relief.
Now all that remained was to return home with Baek‑a.
But my vision kept blurring.
My eyelids grew heavy; my senses faded one by one.
“Master… you have to live.”
Baek‑a’s voice grew distant.
As I tried to focus on him—
the leader I thought had fallen squeezed out his remaining strength and thrust his sword one last time.
The blade rushed toward me.
At that moment, Baek‑a shoved me aside.
Thud!
The cold blade pierced Baek‑a’s chest.
Blood scattered as his body staggered.
He had taken the sword in my place.
“Baek‑a!”
I reached out, but it was too late.
The light slowly drained from his eyes.
His lips moved with effort.
No sound came out, but I could read them.
I’m sorry.
Then his body collapsed.
“No!”
I lunged forward and pulled him into my arms.
At the same time, both Baek‑a and I fell off the cliff.
The raging current swallowed us whole.
As I sank into the dark blue water, my strength left me, and I lost my grip on Baek‑a’s body.
My vision turned red—
from the blood Baek‑a had spilled.
His once‑clear eyes, growing distant, looked unbearably red through that blood.
“Baek‑a…!”
My outstretched hand grasped only empty water.
I tried to call his name, but only bubbles escaped my mouth.
The emotions I had suppressed surged forth.
The current cruelly tore Baek‑a and me apart.
Cold water pierced deep into my lungs.
I can’t… let him go like this.
My body, drained of qi, was heavy and dull.
In that red world where blood and water mixed, I sank into deeper darkness.
Baek‑a… I’m sorry.
He had thrown away his life to save mine, yet in the end, I failed to protect him.
I promised I’d get you home….
Amid regret that felt like my insides were being torn apart, the only thing that surfaced was Baek‑a’s face—always smiling whenever our eyes met.
Those clear eyes, as if crafted from the purest things in the world.
The callused hands that offered me tea.
The voice that gradually grew deeper, the arms and legs that lengthened so well.
All the memories of the two years I spent with Baek‑a flashed by.
I could accept my own death.
But Baek‑a’s death was unjust.
He was a child who should never have died that way.
My chest felt as though it were being ripped apart.
Even if my flesh were torn and my organs ripped out, it wouldn’t hurt this much.
If I survive…
With my last strength, I clenched my hand.
I will collect your blood. I will make those involved in your death pay the price… no matter what.
At that moment—
my sinking body suddenly stopped.
In the dim darkness, two red‑glowing eyes pierced through me.
Baek‑a?
No. It wasn’t Baek‑a.
Those vivid crimson eyes were approaching me.
Desperate to live, I reached out toward him—
and finally grasped hold.
My body was helplessly pulled into the surge of water he created.
That was the last memory of me—
Cheongrin.
