As Lee Seong-jun meditated by the quiet banks of the Imjin River, his thoughts circled the same conclusion again and again. Martial arts were the mastery of one's own body—strengthening, refining, and transforming it into a vessel of power. Magic, on the other hand, bent the world itself—altering the atmosphere, manipulating nature, and reshaping reality through formulas and intent.
Yet, the two weren't so different.
There were martial artists who, through rare methods or unique constitutions, had once stirred the elements themselves. Their techniques were crude and inefficient compared to magic, but they hinted at possibility—proof that the line between internal energy and mana was not absolute.
'If the theory holds, martial arts can evolve,' Seong-jun thought. 'The potential is real.'
He had spent hours experimenting, the moon's reflection dancing on the water as time slipped by unnoticed. At last, he opened his eyes, twin sparks of determination burning within them.
"Let's see how far I can take this."
He took a deep breath, focusing energy into his hands.
"First form—Thousand Souls."
"Second form—Blood Battle."
"Third form—Heaven and Earth United."
A crimson flare erupted from his palms, exploding into the river with thunderous force. The ground trembled as the surge of energy tore through the water, scattering mist in all directions.
'Still not enough,' he thought grimly, lowering his stance.
The Sura Reverse Sky Art—his pinnacle technique—was a culmination of demonic insight and system-born perfection. Even in its incomplete form, it could rival the most powerful martial disciplines in existence. But the art's true potential, the version that could shatter mountains and tear through dimensions, remained out of reach.
"The backlash is still too much."
Each time he gathered the condensed power of blood, the strain on his body grew unbearable. The first stage was manageable. The second, punishing. The third threatened to tear him apart.
Theoretically, his technique could multiply his power severalfold by colliding compressed energy spheres—a process similar to nuclear fusion. With each cycle, the destructive potential grew exponentially. But with his current human body, he could barely withstand half of that power.
'If I combine it with magic's natural flow… maybe I can ease the strain.'
He didn't need complex incantations or formulas. By channeling his energy in harmony with the world around him, he could let nature bear some of the burden.
'Even if I can't reach fivefold strength… threefold should be possible.'
He spread his hands, condensing energy into the air. Twenty-five cycles of power gathered into a pulsing crimson sphere before him, vibrating violently. Simultaneously, another twenty-five condensed into his palm.
"Merge."
The two forces collided—unstable, chaotic, magnificent.
Kugugugugu!
Sweat rolled down his temples as the air around him crackled. The sphere swelled, trembling under his control.
'It's working. I can hold it.'
He steadied his breath and thrust his hand forward. The red orb shot into the river like a meteor.
"Third Form: Great Heaven and Earth as One—Twenty-Five Gapja!"
BOOOOOOM!
A pillar of crimson water burst into the sky, exploding into heavy rainfall that drenched the surrounding valley. Even wrapped in a protective barrier, the impact nearly knocked Seong-jun off his feet.
When the shockwave faded, he stood there, smiling faintly.
"…Not bad."
The results were far beyond expectations. The output had reached nearly three times that of the original technique, and the burden on his body was noticeably lighter. Preparation took longer, but with practice, that could change.
'If I refine this, I'll surpass every limit I've known.'
He clenched his fist, excitement rising in his chest. The idea of fusing martial discipline and magic wasn't just theoretical anymore—it was reality. If he mastered it completely, his destructive power could multiply tenfold.
"The question now," he murmured, "is how far I can go."
A smile tugged at his lips. He had a new path to walk—and a new ceiling to shatter.
From that day onward, Lee Seong-jun immersed himself in relentless training.
At first, progress was slow. For three days, he struggled to balance the resonance between martial energy and atmospheric mana. But with Anna's guidance, everything changed.
"It's not about overpowering it," she told him. "Feel the world's rhythm. Let your energy breathe with it."
Her advice sounded abstract, yet when he followed her instruction, the results were immediate. The energy that once resisted him now flowed naturally. Within a week, he had achieved what he thought impossible—reducing the preparation time of the fusion technique to match his original Sura Reverse Sky Art.
He had reached the first milestone.
That evening, he returned home, satisfied and proud. Sitting at his desk, he began sorting through the accumulated paperwork from the Overlord and Infinity Guilds—mundane tasks compared to training, yet necessary.
A report from the Association caught his attention.
"Extradition request…?" he muttered, reading. "China wants Wei Zhijiang returned?"
His brow furrowed. The accompanying documents were full of flimsy accusations—claims of treason and sedition without substance. But this was only the beginning.
Chinese warships had been sighted near Korean waters. Factories in the northern region were expanding aggressively. Political tensions over missile defense were resurfacing.
'They're moving again,' he realized. 'But why now?'
China had been quiet for months since losing their rankers and influence. To suddenly make such bold moves meant they were confident in something.
'They wouldn't act without reason.'
He reached for his phone to contact his intelligence network—but before he could dial, it rang.
"Hunter Lee," came Jo Kang-hyun's voice, his secretary. "The Vice President would like to speak with you. Shall I connect the call?"
"Go ahead."
A soft tone sounded, and then the familiar voice of Go Tae-hyun filled his ear.
"I was just about to call you," Seong-jun said. "I've been reading the latest reports on China."
"Then you already know," Tae-hyun replied grimly. "They've sent a special envoy. They claim it's for peace in East Asia, but it's obvious—they want to negotiate directly with you."
Seong-jun leaned back in his chair. "What kind of deal?"
"They didn't say. But judging by their tone, it's serious."
"I'll attend the meeting," Seong-jun said simply.
"If you're uncomfortable, I can handle it alone—"
"No need. I want to hear what they're after myself."
"Understood," Tae-hyun said, his tone resolute. "I'll arrange it immediately."
The line went dead.
For a long moment, Seong-jun sat in silence, eyes narrowed. Beyond the window, the evening sky darkened over Seoul.
'So, China wants peace,' he thought coldly. 'But peace always has a price.'
And he intended to find out exactly what it was.