"Protect your brother..." my mother whispered, her voice echoing in my mind. I saw the man who had pursued us, the mark on his wrist glinting in the moonlight. A memory surfaced—the boy who had attacked Old Man Dan. I awoke suddenly, finding myself in my quarters, cradled by a pair of hands, my head resting against a familiar chest.
I would have protested, but the scent of peonies and roses enveloped me, and that long, straight hair was unmistakable.
"Master," I murmured.
"Shhh," he replied softly.
"What...?"
"You're not fully healed yet," he said, and I recognized the formation he had placed around us. I longed to remain in his embrace, the warmth soothing my troubled thoughts, momentarily silencing the nightmares that haunted my sleep. It had been too long, and as I reminisced about better days, he abruptly sat me upright, looking deeply into my eyes.
"Never use such a risky attack again," he said, his tone cold yet laced with concern.
"I promised I would win," I insisted.
"But your life is more important to me," he replied, his gaze unwavering.
"He wasn't even using his full potential," I pointed out, trying to defend my actions.
"Even if he had, he was still strong enough to kill you." There was a hint of wariness in Wiman's voice, which surprised me, given that the Commune Chief was his master, making him almost like my grandmaster.
"I'm sorry I lost," I said quickly.
"I don't blame you," he remarked, but then he stood up abruptly, moving to the nearby table.
"I have always believed you possess power beyond comprehension. Over the years, I taught you to grow stronger, but I realized yesterday that I may not have taught you how to harness that power. Perhaps I grew comfortable with you not awakening the giant within. Because of that, you may speak of courage in the face of danger, but you whimper beneath it. How then will you protect what you hold dear? Have I been excessively generous?" His back was turned to me, and I sensed the emotion in his voice.
"No," I replied, my voice steady.
"The Commune Chief held back, but your combat skills alone cannot save you from demons or vanquish the Demonic Pillars in this world." He turned to face me, his expression resolute. "I won't be your master anymore."
His words hit me like a thunderclap, freezing my thoughts and suffocating me with their weight.
"No," I whispered, desperate.
"Unless you prove yourself worthy to be my disciple, I will not embrace you as such again." His tone left no room for doubt, and in that moment, I understood the seriousness of his resolve.
"How could he have turned cold so suddenly? Just moments ago, he had caressed me with warmth and care. Was it all a figment of my imagination? Had I dared to perceive him in a way I wasn't entitled to, too afraid to accept?" The weight of his words struck me like a blade, piercing deep into my chest.
I leaped from my bed, only to find my legs paralyzed, unresponsive despite my desperate attempts to move.
"Save me, Master, please. I'll do anything you ask—just save me," I pleaded.
"What more can a cripple do?" he replied, his voice as cold as ice. "You are just a useless bearer of the Divine Bone Rune of the Goddess of Death if a mere psychic attack has left you like this."
"No," I whispered, my heart sinking.
"What can you do now?" His bloodshot eyes bore into me, filled with a fierce intensity that felt like an assault on my shattered spirit. "Can you rise again? Can you fight? Can you withstand the Underworld of Blades?" His words ignited a fire within me.
Silence enveloped me.
"You've never conquered that pain," he continued, his voice rising. "You've never faced that door with your strength. You haven't trekked the Mile of Knives or embraced the enlightenment of the Fourteen Paths of Reincarnation." His words echoed in the room, amplifying my embarrassment and despair.
"Forgive me." It was all I could muster.
"Are you worth the protection of five thousand cultivators and their sacrifice?" His question hung in the air, heavy with doubt, just as a knock on the door interrupted us. He stood upright, while I lowered my gaze.
"Come in," he commanded. The door slid open, revealing Chunho, who wheeled in a customized chair and positioned it before me.
"Here is your wheelchair. It's tailored just for you and can be moved by your consciousness and thought," he said, before he and the other attendant turned and left me alone with my disappointment.
I stared at the wheelchair, its frame gilded with bronze. The soft seat was adorned with a red silk cushion, a testament to fine craftsmanship. Yet, despite its elegance, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was a mockery—a lavish throne for a cripple.
Weakness clung to me, preying on my thoughts. Wiman's words echoed relentlessly in my mind, each one a reminder of my limitations. My resolve to embrace this new reality faltered, replaced by an anger that tightened my fists.
"He said something about proving myself," I reflected, frustration boiling within me. News from the scouts, who had ventured into the outside world in search of my missing brother, felt like a distant hope.
"I'll prove them wrong," I vowed, my gaze fixed on the wheelchair. Wiman had spoken of the Underworld of Blades, and whether intentionally or not, his words resonated with me.
I gathered what little courage remained within me, pushing through the pain that overwhelmed my body. I didn't pause to calculate my chances of survival. In my bitter weakness, I was determined to forge a humiliating victory—one that had cost me my legs but allowed me to retain my dignity.
With resolve, I rolled the wheelchair forward, not hesitating for a moment. I had long known the path to the Underworld of Blades, having been a member of the Blood Spear Commune for so long. As I approached the entrance, I was met by two guards, their expressions shifting from surprise to concern at my condition.
"Your Holiness?" one asked, hesitantly.
"Let me in," I insisted, unwilling to waste time on formalities. Whether it was discomfort, anger, or a deep-seated fear of losing my connection to Master Wiman, I couldn't say. I would have gladly embraced the darkness of blindness over the pain of separation from him.
"Yes," they replied, hesitantly opening the gates. I entered the darkness, where a muralled wall separated me from the heart of the chamber, adorned with seven concentric doors, each representing the Seven Hells. These projections were but shadows of the true otherworldly realms beyond.
I moved toward the third door on my left—one I had never faced before. As if sensing my approach, it creaked open, revealing a dark expanse that beckoned.
I pushed my wheelchair forward, but just a few paces in, I lost my balance and tumbled inside. The door shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the silence.
I was done for; there was no turning back. Ahead of me lay the illusive blue moon, casting its light on an endless expanse of blades—sharp and menacing. Some were small yet deadly, and at the horizon stood what seemed like a gate, a mile or two away.
I had never ventured into this hell, avoiding the other four doors for good reason. Each blade was not just a physical threat; it sliced through the body and the soul, plunging into my darkest fears, extracting memories I had long buried. The worst part was the nightmares that would haunt me, bringing back echoes of forgotten pain.
With determination, I dragged myself forward. I wished for the smooth sand to stretch endlessly beneath me, but within moments, I found myself on the unforgiving blades.
"I can do this," I told myself. "I endured the flaming thunders of forty-nine grades; I can handle this pain too." I fought to keep Wiman close in my heart, to hold on to the chance of finding my brother. There was so much to protect, and I could use the pain as my anchor.
I reached out, and the shifting blades sliced through my hand. I groaned, the pain searing through me, affirming that no ordinary human could survive this trial.
I pushed forward, dragging my body for what felt like an eternity. The journey of the next hundred meters was a torment unlike any I had known. My past unfurled before me: moments of being bullied, the fear that drove me home, only to find my mother's embrace replaced by rejection.
"That's not what happened," I protested against the memories, but with that denial, the blades beneath me seemed to sharpen, intensifying my suffering. I cried out in agony.
"This hall is an illusion," I thought, desperately trying to convince myself. Yet, judging by the authenticity of the wounds on my body, I began to doubt whether I was merely denying the reality of my pain.
I was drawn back to the memory of Old Man Dan, his voice echoing as he handed me the Divine Tear of the Heavenly Dragon.
"If you hadn't saved me that day, your family wouldn't have been killed because of you," he whispered, lingering like a hungry ghost, mocking my weakness.
"No," I retorted.
"Yes."
"No!" I tried to throw a punch, but it dissipated in the air. The blades around me shifted faster, grating against my body until I barely recognized myself. Just then, an even more unexpected memory emerged.
The man from my dreams stood before me, his blade piercing through me, his spiteful blue eyes glowing with malice. The rest of his face was obscured by light, details slipping away like sand through my fingers.
"You're a demon. You're a monster." His words pierced me, clear and cutting. He stepped back, widening the distance, preparing to withdraw the sword.
"No," I thought, seizing the blade with desperate strength before it could fully pull away.
"Even once, did you ever love me?" I asked, tears welling in my eyes.
"No." He assured me, his voice resolute. With all his might, he pulled back the sword just as I found the courage to let go.
"What does that matter to me?" I tried to scream, though I wasn't sure I had the strength to voice my anger anymore.
I began to disperse, slowly transforming into crimson sparks that rose from burning embers, swirling into the sky. In that moment, I realized I hadn't moved at all. I was still within the first meter of the Hell of Blades, the final line still far beyond my reach.
"No," I muttered, and once more the blades began to shift, cutting deeper. I understood now why this Hell was so relentless. It was a Hell of longing, a Hell of prayer without hope, a Hell of believing I had achieved so much while accomplishing nothing at all.
I loathed myself as I felt the blades dismember me, leaving only my conscious head and torso intact while my limbs sank into the darkness.
"Unless you prove that you are worthy to be my disciple, I will not embrace you as such again." Wiman's words haunted me, a reminder of the weight of my failures.
"No, I can't die," I thought as the blades crept up to my chest. "This Hell can be conquered." I insisted inwardly, yet memories flooded my mind—echoes of the Commune Chief's words from the day before, reminding me of the power I held, of the strength that emerged when I was cornered. It was no longer just a fear of loss; it transformed into a deeper dread—fear of altered memories, fear of blame, fear of the Hall of Blades, and the haunting realization that I had done so much yet achieved so little.
The blades loomed near my eyes.
"I am not just a man. I am the Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune of the Goddess of War. What is an illusory Hall to the power of an Original God, the power that resides within me?" I muttered, summoning every ounce of strength I had left. But the blades engulfed me, and in that moment, darkness enveloped me completely. I heard the screams and cries of those who had been devoured by their own despair, and then a bright saffron light broke through the shadows. For the first time in years, the projection of the Goddess of War manifested before me.
"Saya?" I whispered.
"Am I dead?"
"No," she assured me.
"Everyone was looking at me."
"Everyone looked back at me, too, back then," she replied softly.
"You chose me because of my perfect Halo, acquired from the Tear of the Heavenly Dragon. You said that as a mortal essence, you select a body strong enough to be your Avatar, but I lack experience. There are so many others who possess that in abundance," I confessed.
"So you believe the Perfect Halo is why I deemed you stronger?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
"Is it not?" I asked, seeking clarity.
"You faced the Hell of Blades as a cripple. You confronted a corrupted Grandmaster and emerged victorious. Other warriors fight to survive another day, but you fight to ensure that others have better days, even at the cost of your own life. In your opinion, which of these can truly be considered stronger?" she challenged.
I was taken aback.
"Everyone is right. You say you want to be strong, yet you strive to match others, seeking their approval. You don't fight to surpass them; instead, you bind yourself by their limits. You claim you're not just a man but the Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune of the Goddess of War. So what is an illusory Hall to the power of an Original God, a power that belongs solely to you?" She pointed out, her words piercing through my confusion.
In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the truth.
"Perhaps you haven't fully grasped the power within you. Let me show you," she murmured, and her voice was soon eclipsed by a chorus of thousands as she condensed her form. Our consciousnesses intertwined, and I felt her take control, immense energy surging through me. Pulses of power erupted from within, awakening me in the darkness of the sea of shifting blades.
Bone by bone, muscle by muscle, my body reassembled as I ascended. A dark mist closed in from all sides, but it could no longer contain me.
I had taken a form beyond my comprehension. When I finally let out a yell, the energy struck the sky of the illusory Hell, splitting it apart. The exhilaration was overwhelming, yet a sense of supremacy washed over me—the feeling of having everything under control, of holding it all in the palm of my hand.
"No one will ever humiliate me again. No one deserves to make me bow my head, in the name of what?" I muttered, uncertain whether the Goddess remained in control. But I knew I had awakened.
I conjured an even more intense wave of energy, determined to shatter the Illusory Hell. I felt the mountains tremble around me, the blue moon flicker in the sky, while the blades twisted into a desperate vortex, perhaps trying to protect themselves from my wrath.
"I've thought about it. Your strength comes from my fear. You're not just an ordinary illusion; that's what makes you fierce. Yet, in reality, you are merely an advanced prohibition with a conscience. Every prohibition has its weakness," I remarked, channeling a deeper energy as I felt my Halo expand, forging a fifth ring.
I released a wave of energy that disintegrated the knives into nothingness. A larger crack appeared in the illusory sky, revealing what I believed to be the true sky. I flew through the breach, seeking confirmation, but what I found was even more surprising—unexpected.
Surrounded by a crowd, everyone was armed and alert, their worry palpable.
"Stand down," I commanded, my voice echoing with the authority of the War Goddess. With five rings glowing around me, they retreated, and I felt my body normalize as I descended, standing atop the cave, awed to be on my feet once more.
The sun set, and the full moon rose high. As I walked toward the pavilion overlooking the central hill, I spotted Wiman, lost in thought as he gazed at the barrier.
Approaching him, I was amused to see that for the first time, he seemed to care about the world outside. I was used to him sequestered in a room, rarely glancing at what lay beyond. Yet, even from a distance, I sensed a change between us.
"Sunbaenim?" I called out, and he turned to me, surprise flickering across his face.
"You're here?" It felt as though he had been expecting me.
"This is my place to run," I muttered. "Now that I've found you, I think we can finally talk."
"Yes."
"You said I must prove myself for you to be my master again," I reminded him.
"What you achieved was an awakening of your Divine Power. It's not something for common mortals. As the Grand Saint, the state you've assumed is the Holy Nascent State," he replied, his tone measured.
"I'm glad," I said, perhaps a bit too bluntly.
"You don't seem like it," he pointed out, his concern for me feeling genuine once more.
"You tell me. I might be overwhelmed, but considering how long I've known you, I see your rationality. You're not easily swayed. Yet, with me, you're not particularly cold—most of the time, at least. You care, and at first, it felt good. But eventually, I became addicted to it. It's all too coincidental that you approached me, rejected me as a disciple, and mentioned the Hell of Blades. You must have known I'm the type who can be easily pushed. Perhaps you can confess that you anticipated I would face the Hell of Blades with my wheelchair, driven by my desperation to prove myself, unwilling to abandon the chance to showcase my prowess."
"How did you know?" he pressed.
"Over fifty practitioners armed themselves, ready to subdue me. To them, the foreign power I wielded must have felt threatening. Unless you were confident in my safety, you would have stood with the other Elders of the Commune."
"To them, you are a tool of war, deemed useless whenever you fail to exceed their expectations. Those who have witnessed more than one Grand Saint can gauge you against their standards," Wiman replied.
"Then what am I to you?" I asked, my voice softer.
He fell silent, the weight of the question hanging between us.
"Ever since the Commune Chief returned from his seclusion, you haven't been the same," I noted, making it clear that I had observed the change.
"As someone who has learned from the Commune Chief over the five years you've been my disciple, what have you truly achieved? Only four breakthroughs, four rings. When he returned, he let you win to save face. To everyone in the Commune, you would have been a joke. Winning those duels against lesser opponents may have felt honorable to you, but to the Elders, you were merely a clown masquerading as a king.
Each leader here has slain demons. The search parties don't just gather intelligence; they seek to understand the movements within the West Continent, where the Demonic Pillars stand. Each of them has faced countless adversaries, bearing scars from their battles. The fact that your divine power never alarmed anyone made me feel like an incompetent mentor before my Master." He laid bare his thoughts.
I felt broken.
"You know what? When you dismissed me as your apprentice, I was overwhelmed with concern. My heart ached. More than the fear of dying in the Hell of Knives, I worried I might never see you again."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"But I am more sorry," I continued, my voice trembling. "After reflecting on my feelings, I've come to realize that my emotions for you go beyond respect or obedience. They transcend mere care or brotherly love. I've fallen in love with you."
He inhaled sharply and turned to meet my gaze.
"Why?" he asked, searching my eyes.
"The way you look at me, the way you care, your warmth—it's all so different. You've tolerated my endless chatter, and somehow, you listen. For once, I feel happy. You allow yourself to be expressive around me, in a way you don't with anyone else."
"Do you hear yourself?" he replied, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
"What?"
"Have you considered that it's because you are the Grand Saint, that you bear the Divine Bone Rune of the Goddess of War?" he asked, confusion flickering in my mind.
"You said you never resented me?"
"To hell with that. You're just being selfish. It's easy to say you don't resent me, but imagine how hard it is for me to look at you. You gaze up at me, as if my worth lies only in my preparation to inherit the Divine Bone Rune and her will. The moment it chose you, I felt like a useless liability. I needed to prove my worth to the Commune before the Chief returned from his seclusion. I needed you to depend on me, even for the smallest things. I should be grateful, but do you know how heavy it is to watch you possess such immense power to shake the heavens and do nothing with it? I believed that with my potential, I could have accomplished so much more by now." His words lashed out, raw and unfiltered.
This was a side of him I had never seen, too much for me to bear. His coldness felt unbearable, but more painful was the realization that he was forcing himself to tolerate me.
"No," I wanted to deny it.
"Why must you be selfish, Saya? Why must I continue to bleed my heart dry for your satisfaction? I force myself to have feelings for you just to be by your side. Haven't you been cruel enough to me already?" His voice was bold, cutting through the air.
"I'm sorry."
"I didn't hear you. You didn't confess your feelings. We will go our separate ways tonight and pretend it was all a dream tomorrow. Whether you were drunk or possessed by the Goddess, let me absolve myself of the guilt of not being able to reciprocate your feelings." His straightforwardness left me stunned.
I didn't know what more to say; I lacked the strength to keep up with him.
"I'll do just that," I resolved. As I turned to leave, he stepped forward and suddenly hugged me.
"We were Master and Disciple, and now we are Senior and Junior. Please don't cross that boundary for my sake. Keep a cool head, knowing we can never be more than that," he whispered, pulling away to meet my gaze.
In that moment, I realized I was the only one shedding tears while his eyes remained as clear as ever.
"I'll take my leave," I said, turning away. I flew back to my quarters, barging through the door, feeling an intense heat rising within me.
I was overwhelmed, grief-stricken. The energy coursing through me became so intense that I began to cough up blood. Something felt wrong; the Divine Bone Rune within me seemed to destabilize. I fell to my knees, bowing my head.
"Weak? A waste?" I questioned myself, his rejection echoing in my mind, clashing with the sweet memories I had gathered over the past five years. It was a pain too heavy to bear.
"No. I am none of those things," I insisted, even as my body felt like it was on fire.
"I deserve this Bone Rune, and I will prove it to you." The weight of my emotions became unbearable, and suddenly, an outburst surged through me. My body strengthened, my hair turned red, and I let out a cry that emitted a brilliant light, engulfing the entire space.
This had to be another awakening, but the sensations of rebirth and betrayal intertwined within me. I couldn't bring myself to hate Wiman for his words, yet I also struggled to admit that I had been deluded into believing we could ever share something deeper.
The pain subsided, and I returned to my senses, feeling a mix of relief and shame.
"I'll make you regret this," I whispered to myself, staring at my palm as the flaming thunder danced between my fingers. I clenched my hand into a tight fist.
The following morning, I stepped out of my quarters to find Chunho pacing nervously. When he noticed me, his expression shifted, perhaps in awe, as I moved toward him in the blink of an eye. It wasn't as fast as the Commune Chief, but it was close.
"What is it?" I asked, confronting him directly. I knew I wasn't his favorite person since joining the Commune, and our interactions were usually formal or related to Commune matters.
"The Commune Chief and the High Priest wish to see you at the Hall of Earthly Honour," he reported. "Senior Wiman will be there as well." Despite the discomfort, I resolved to maintain my composure.
"Let's go." I took the lead, flying ahead until we reached the entrance, where he halted. I smirked slightly as I walked in, the doors shutting behind me. As I approached the center of the room, I saw the Commune Chief standing before his seat, while Grandmaster Yu and Wiman pretended to ignore him.
"Saya greets Your Excellency," I said, offering my salutation.
"The Divine Breath upon you has intensified in the last two days," he remarked. "You've already broken through, achieving both the Holy Nascent State and assuming the Divine Mortal Body."
"All thanks to Senior Wiman, Your Excellency," I acknowledged, adding, "and your immeasurable grace." He moved closer to me.
"It's high time you ventured into the Outer World. Surely, there is something you must do," the Commune Chief asserted. As he spoke, Grandmaster Yu conjured a scroll, revealing it to us both.
"The Four Seasons Tournament?" Wiman seemed familiar with it.
"The Four Cardinal Sects on the Continent have organized the Tournament, and for the first time in over four thousand years, the Red Spear Commune has been invited," Grandmaster Yu explained.
"It doesn't make sense," Wiman replied, a frown creasing his brow.
"Indeed," the Commune Chief continued, "but not only the Red Spear Commune; the Imperial Commune, the Black Lotus Commune, and the Yellow Bandits Commune have all been specially invited, despite the Tournament being open to sectless individuals and wanderers in the martial world."
"We are free to decline the offer, then?" I interjected.
"Certainly," Grandmaster Yu confirmed.
"However," I pressed, "considering you called us here, that isn't your intention. Given our nature, you want us to join the Tournament for a reason—could it be related to the prize or something we must uncover among the Four Sects?"
"The Tournament will be held at the Hama Sky Castle, the seat of the Azure Dragon Sect. For the first time, they have disclosed the list of prizes before the Tournament, and among the high-grade rewards, the best martial practitioner will be awarded the Red Naga Pearl." The Commune Chief's tone shifted, and while Wiman looked awed and Grandmaster Yu appeared uneasy, I sensed there was something more beneath the surface regarding this Naga Pearl.