Ryu Jin was doing what he believed to be the most important task in life: sleeping.
Not night sleep.
Not after-training sleep.
But daytime sleep, the type that required true dedication.
He lay sprawled across his bed like a defeated hero, drooling slightly as he dreamed of the future he actually wanted. In his dream, he walked through a grand hall lined with shelves of books, wearing elegant scholar robes. People bowed respectfully.
"Ah, Master Jin! Your wisdom is unmatched!"
"Master Jin! Please enlighten us!"
Jin nodded proudly in the dream, hands behind his back like a sage. Yes… this is the life. This is destiny. This is—
The dream shattered instantly as his bedroom door creaked open.
A tall shadow appeared.
Ryu Taeheon, his elder brother and the Sky Sect's golden prodigy, stepped into the room like an executioner walking toward his victim.
"Jin."
Just that single word—one name, one syllable—made Jin shoot up from bed as if struck by lightning.
"E–Elder Brother! Good afternoon—morning—no, evening—uh—"
Taeheon's eye twitched. "You're sleeping AGAIN?"
Jin coughed dramatically. "Who said I was sleeping? I was… resting. Yes. Resting. After practicing this morning."
That was not sarcasm. That was panic.
Taeheon walked over slowly. "Practicing, you say?"
Jin nodded quickly, like a chicken pecking grains.
His elder brother smiled—a very dangerous smile.
Then smack! His palm landed on Jin's head.
"OW! Elder Brother, my scholar brain!"
"How dare you lie to me?" Taeheon said. "No one saw you at morning drills. Because you weren't there!"
Jin rubbed his head. "Maybe they just didn't recognize me. I was moving very fast. Like a blur. A martial genius—"
"Outside. Training hall. Now." Taeheon's voice had the subtle warmth of a frozen blade. "Today, I'll show you hell."
Jin froze.
Nope.
Not today.
Instead of heading outside, he bolted out the door in the opposite direction.
"Mother! SAVE ME!"
He stormed into his parents' room like a fugitive seeking last-minute sanctuary. His mother, Lady Hana, nearly dropped the robe she was folding.
"Jin? What happened?"
Jin grabbed her hands dramatically. "Mother, Elder Brother has gone insane again! He wants to kill me! You must stop him!"
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Heavy, confident footsteps—the kind that meant no escape.
His father entered first. Ryu Han, one of the strongest men in the entire Murim world, whose mere presence carried the weight of an unshakeable mountain. Jin straightened instantly, fighting the urge to salute.
His father sighed. "Jin. You are a member of the Sky Sect. It is your duty to learn the sect's martial arts."
Jin pointed at himself. "But I don't WANT to be a martial artist! I want to be a scholar. A respected one. A safe one!"
"You—"
Before his father could finish, his mother gently placed a hand on Jin's shoulder.
"Jin," she said softly, "your father is right. You can always pursue scholarly studies later."
Jin blinked at her betrayal. "Mother… not you too."
Before he could plead again, Taeheon entered behind them, smiling like he'd already won.
He didn't even speak.
He simply grabbed Jin by the collar.
"Mother, PLEASE! I'm your son! Your favorite one, I'm sure! MOTHER!!"
His mother waved. "This is for your own good."
Jin's screams echoed down the hallway.
And so, hell began.
The training lasted until evening. Taeheon made him run laps, practice stances, swing wooden swords, and recite breathing techniques until Jin legitimately wondered if he had died somewhere in the process.
By the time he stumbled back to his room, he felt his legs had become noodles, his arms were bags of rice, and his soul had evaporated.
He sat heavily at the table. A servant had already placed food for him—steamed rice, vegetables, and meat. Jin ate like a man who had been robbed of life all day.
After finishing, he stared at the ceiling.
"Scholar… I was born to be a scholar…"
Then he quietly slipped out of his room.
If his brother caught him going to the library again, he'd suffer extra drills.
But risk was the price of dreams.
The Sky Sect's family library was one of Jin's favorite places: shelves upon shelves of scrolls, books, manuals, and ancient writings. Some contained knowledge thousands of years old. Some were philosophical texts. Others were records of the sect's past.
And many were martial arts manuals he pretended didn't exist.
He walked between the shelves with warm familiarity.
"These are the real treasures of life," he whispered.
He picked up historical scrolls and scholarly texts with interest, imagining himself someday giving lectures, writing essays, and debating philosophies while drinking tea.
He ignored the martial scrolls stacked neatly in the corner—until something caught his eye.
Behind the bottom counter, almost hidden in dust, was a manual he had never seen before. Its cover was old, worn, and faded, almost as if it had been forgotten intentionally.
Curiosity tugged at him.
"Just one look," Jin whispered.
He pulled it out.
The manual looked ancient—far older than the others. The edges were torn, the binding weak. The characters on the cover were faint.
He opened it slowly.
The writing inside was strange. At first glance, he couldn't even read it; the characters didn't form any words he recognized.
"Huh? What language is this…?"
He leaned closer.
Then closer.
The characters began to shift.
At first, he thought his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. But no—the characters were actually moving. Rearranging themselves. Reforming. Glowing faintly.
"What… the… NOPE—"
Before he could even close the manual, a pulling force slammed into him like a vacuum.
"What is happening—HEY—STOP—WAIT—!!!"
The world flipped upside down.
Then everything went quiet.
---
When Jin opened his eyes, he was no longer in the library.
He stood under a wide, endless sky—pure blue, without clouds. The ground beneath him was soft green grass, stretching on all sides like an endless field.
A gentle breeze brushed past him.
"Where… am I?"
Not far ahead, beneath a large blossom tree, an old man sat calmly. His long grey hair draped over his shoulders, and his beard reached his chest. He wore long blue robes and had the peaceful air of someone who had lived more than one lifetime.
Jin blinked.
Then blinked again.
The old man didn't move at first. He simply sat and watched the distant horizon.
Jin cleared his throat and took a cautious step forward.
"Um… sir? Hello? If this is a kidnapping, I'm weak and not worth much—just saying."
The old man turned slowly, eyes opening.
There was no killing intent, no pressure. Just a calm, ancient gaze filled with quiet understanding.
"You have finally arrived," the old man said.
Jin pointed to himself. "Me? Arrived where? I didn't even pack my shoes."
The old man smiled.
"I am the Sword Saint… and this place is the remnant of my final will."
Jin froze.
"…Huh?"
The Sword Saint nodded.
"You, boy, have opened my final manual."
Jin stared at him.
Then slowly lifted his hand.
"…Can I go home?"