Winter lingered longer than it should have.
Snow buried the nameless village beneath layers of silence, muting footsteps and swallowing sound. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, thin and weak, as if even fire feared drawing attention to itself.
To the villagers, the boy staying in the farthest hut was nothing more than a fragile orphan brought in by a quiet traveler.
To Noesin Cheon, the hut was a prison.
He sat cross-legged on a straw mat, eyes closed, breathing slow and measured. His small hands rested on his knees, fingers trembling faintly as he guided his Qi through his meridians.
At least—he tried to.
The moment his Qi gathered, pain followed.
A crushing pressure clamped down on his chest, as if invisible chains were tightening around his heart. The seal embedded deep within his dantian flared with oppressive authority, grinding his Qi into nothing before it could stabilize.
Noesin Cheon gasped.
His eyes flew open as he collapsed forward, coughing violently. Dark red blood splattered onto the mat.
Again.
Always the same.
He pressed his forehead to the floor, shoulders shaking.
Why won't it let me breathe…?
The seal did not respond.
It never did.
Pung Hyeon watched from outside the hut, his expression unreadable.
He had felt the disturbance the instant Noesin Cheon tried to cultivate. The seal reacted every time—brutally, efficiently—suppressing not only lightning, but even basic Qi circulation.
Lord Noesin Jin had not merely sealed power.
He had entombed it.
"You're pushing too hard," Pung Hyeon said as he entered, kneeling beside the boy.
Noesin Cheon didn't look up.
"If I don't train," he whispered, voice hoarse, "then they really died for nothing."
The words struck harder than any lightning.
Pung Hyeon closed his eyes briefly.
"Listen to me," he said quietly. "If you force cultivation right now, the seal will crush your meridians completely. You won't become stronger."
He placed a hand over Noesin Cheon's chest.
"You'll become crippled."
Noesin Cheon's fingers dug into the mat.
"…Good," he muttered.
Pung Hyeon froze.
"What did you say?"
Noesin Cheon finally looked up.
His hazel eyes were dull—hollow in a way no child's eyes should ever be.
"If I'm crippled," he said slowly, "then maybe the storm will stop screaming."
Silence fell.
The air grew heavy, even without Qi.
Pung Hyeon grabbed Noesin Cheon by the shoulders, his grip tight—but controlled.
"Do not say that again," he said sharply. "Your life is not a burden."
Noesin Cheon laughed weakly.
"Everyone who stands near me dies."
Pung Hyeon released him.
That was the truth neither of them could escape.
The village healer came less frequently now.
Not because Noesin Cheon was improving—but because she was afraid.
Lightning scars sometimes appeared overnight on his arms and chest, glowing faintly before fading by morning. Metal objects reacted strangely around him. On certain nights, the sky above the village darkened for no reason at all.
People whispered.
Pung Hyeon noticed.
Which meant Murim eventually would too.
He began moving Noesin Cheon at night.
Long walks through the snow. Through forests. Across frozen streams. No cultivation—only movement.
"You need a foundation," Pung Hyeon explained one evening as Noesin Cheon struggled to keep up. "But not the one you think."
Noesin Cheon stumbled, nearly falling before Pung Hyeon caught him.
"My Qi is sealed," Noesin Cheon said bitterly. "My lightning is sealed. What foundation is left?"
Pung Hyeon tightened his grip.
"Endurance," he replied. "Control. Survival."
He released Noesin Cheon.
"Run."
Noesin Cheon stared.
"Again."
They ran until Noesin Cheon collapsed.
Then Pung Hyeon made him stand.
Again.
And again.
No Qi.
No lightning.
Only muscle, breath, and will.
That night, Noesin Cheon dreamed again.
He stood in the ruins of the Mount Cheonroe, surrounded by shadows shaped like people. Their faces were burned away, but he recognized them.
Elders.
Guardians.
Disciples.
They did not accuse him.
They did not comfort him.
They simply stared.
Lightning crackled beneath his skin, desperate to escape.
Why are you holding us back? the shadows whispered.
Noesin Cheon screamed and woke drenched in sweat.
The seal burned violently.
Outside, thunder rumbled—unnatural, distant.
Pung Hyeon burst into the hut instantly, slamming suppression talismans onto the floor.
"Noesin Cheon," he said urgently. "Look at me."
Noesin Cheon gasped for air, clutching his chest.
"I—I felt them," he choked. "They were calling—"
"I know," Pung Hyeon interrupted.
He pressed his palm against the seal, channeling stabilizing Qi.
"You cannot answer them yet."
The lightning subsided reluctantly.
Noesin Cheon collapsed, sobbing.
"I don't want to forget them," he whispered.
Pung Hyeon's voice softened.
"You won't," he said. "That's the problem."
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Noesin Cheon stopped trying to cultivate Qi entirely.
Instead, he trained his body until it bled.
Punching frozen tree trunks.
Carrying stones up steep slopes.
Standing barefoot in snow for hours.
The seal did not react to this.
For the first time since the massacre, the pain eased—slightly.
Pung Hyeon noticed.
One evening, as Noesin Cheon practiced slow, deliberate strikes beneath falling snow, Pung Hyeon narrowed his eyes.
"Do it again," he said.
Noesin Cheon complied.
His movement was clumsy, unrefined—but focused.
There was no lightning.
But there was pressure.
Not Qi.
Not aura.
Something else.
Pung Hyeon's heart skipped a beat.
Dominating Aura…?
No.
Too early.
Far too early.
And yet—
The air around Noesin Cheon trembled faintly.
Just once.
Then vanished.
Noesin Cheon staggered back, confused.
"Did you feel that?" he asked.
Pung Hyeon forced his expression neutral.
"No," he lied.
Because if Murim sensed even a flicker of that—
They would come.
Far away, within a hidden chamber carved beneath black stone, a pair of crimson eyes opened.
"…Interesting," a voice rumbled.
The Demon God leaned forward, chains clinking softly.
"The storm lives," he murmured.
One of the Seven Deadly Sins knelt.
"Do we pursue?"
The Demon God smiled—a slow, cruel curve of his lips.
"No," he said. "Let Murim bleed first."
That night, Pung Hyeon packed their belongings.
Noesin Cheon watched silently.
"Are we leaving again?" he asked.
"Yes," Pung Hyeon replied. "At dawn."
Noesin Cheon nodded.
He had stopped asking where.
As he lay down to sleep, lightning flickered faintly beneath his skin—then stilled.
The seal tightened.
But somewhere deep beneath it—
The storm learned patience.
And patience, in Murim, was deadlier than rage.
End of Chapter 6