The void wasn't black.
It was made of ancient light—almost white—streaked with endless layers of shifting symbols. Each glyph vibrated with a forgotten whisper. It wasn't sound. It was presence. A consciousness watching you from within, turning over every memory, every flaw, every lie you ever told yourself.
Ji-Hoon floated in this luminous emptiness—without weight, without form, without pain. He should have panicked. He didn't.
Maybe because he understood.
He had read hundreds of stories. He knew what transcendence meant. But no fiction had ever conveyed… this.
A breath.
A voice.
Her.
---
She appeared as a curved stroke, tracing a character into the ether.
Then another. And another.
The world calligraphed itself around her. Her shape took form slowly, as though drawn in divine ink across a cosmic scroll. Not a single line seemed human. She was made of living parchment, of written bands, of liquid ink flowing without ever dripping. Her dress was an eternal scroll trailing into the void.
And her face...
Was nothing but a white mask.
Not painted. Not adorned. Just a smooth, blank oval. A pale mirror.
But he knew she was watching him.
— You called me.
The voice echoed not in the air—but in his soul. A voice made of resonance, of intuition, of raw clarity.
Ji-Hoon tried to speak, but no sound emerged.
She studied him.
— You who chose Knowledge over Power.
You who chose Oblivion over Glory.
You who found me in the silence of digital worlds.
— You are my last scholar.
The word struck like a verdict.
Last.
Ji-Hoon felt a vertigo. Not in his body—in his mind. Memories surged in, like an oil-black tide:
His obsessive readings in rundown cafés.
The rolls of scanned pages translated from forgotten dialects.
Wild theories about the Inverted Dantian, the Lunar Qi Heart, the medical treatises of the Three Kingdoms.
And above all… his isolation.
He wasn't a hero. Not a genius. Just a digital bookworm pushed to the edge of the world. But here… that weakness became a seal.
— I offer you three keys.
Three debts. Three curses. Three treasures.
Three objects appeared, suspended between them, slowly.
---
1. The Medallion of Knowledge
A simple silver circle, hanging from a matte-black chain.
Inside the ring, words flickered. Then vanished. Fragments of ancient texts—some in languages Ji-Hoon could barely recognize: Sanskrit, Hanja, Tibetan, Aramaic.
— This medallion is the gate to your Soul Library.
It will contain what you read, what you see, what you create.
But every book you memorize will erase something else.
A scent. A memory. A name. A dream.
Knowledge is an exchange, not a gift.
Ji-Hoon reached out. The medallion landed softly in his palm. It burned—not his skin, but his past.
---
2. The Dimensional Ring
A black band, unmarked. But as he looked into it, Ji-Hoon saw two worlds spinning in spiral—one modern and gray, the other ancient and bloodstained.
— This ring is a bridge.
You will travel between worlds.
But… you will never survive in both entirely.
In the real world, you'll retain only one percent of your strength.
In Murim, you'll never forget you're from elsewhere.
You will always be… an intruder.
The ring slipped itself onto his finger. He felt the two worlds twist inside him. One trying to forget him. The other… trying to consume him.
---
3. The Soul Pearl
A white sphere, no larger than a doll's eye. It pulsed slowly, like a sleeping heart.
> — You cannot die.
If your body falls in Murim, your soul will flee to your world.
But in return… you can only return after a month.
And each escape will cost a part of your essence.
You may never die—but you will live in pieces.
Ji-Hoon closed his eyes. He accepted.
Not out of faith. But logic. Brutal clarity.
---
— Your name in Murim will be erased.
You are not chosen, not reincarnated, not sent.
You are… knowledge fallen by mistake.
— Your path is to write. Your art is to observe.
Your sword will be your memory.
Silence fell again.
The face of the goddess faded slowly, as though every scroll making up her body rolled back into eternity.
— Go.
Open your eyes.
And above all… never write your real name.
---
Ji-Hoon screamed.
But he had no throat.
---
Then the world tilted.
And he opened his eyes.
---
He was no longer in the cybercafé.
He was no longer twenty-nine.
He was no longer in Korea.
He lay on the cold ground of an unknown field. The scent of dry wood, medicinal herbs, and oiled leather hung in the air.
His heart beat slowly, in a body younger, more supple. His hands were clean and slender. His back no longer ached.
A sound—distant steel.
Shouts of training.
A song of swords in the breeze.
Ji-Hoon sat up, trembling.
And whispered the only phrase he had memorized in every version of the Murim Canon:
— "Breath precedes Ki. The gaze precedes poison. The mind precedes the blade."
---
To be continued...