The sun stood at its zenith, marking the arrival of the Hour of the Sheep. Its rays, piercing through the dense foliage, fell upon the ground in dappled patterns, creating the illusion of a living, breathing carpet. The mountain on which they had settled was a secluded and wild place. Its peak was often hidden behind a veil of clouds, and its slopes were covered in impenetrable forests where human feet rarely trod. Only recently, breaking the age-old silence, had two people settled here—a mother and son, fugitives seeking peace far from the cruel world of martial arts.
From the thicket bordering a small clearing near the summit, a young man emerged. He was about sixteen years old, yet the look in his dark eyes betrayed a maturity uncharacteristic of such a young age. In his hands, he gripped the straps of a small but—judging by the tension of the fabric—heavy sack made of coarse burlap.
Chong-Yeol stopped at the edge of the forest and the open space. Before him lay flat terrain—a plateau that he and his mother had cleared with their own hands. In the center of this idyll stood a hut. It was a sturdy structure of dark logs, with a sloping roof covered in moss and a small porch where they often sat in the evenings, listening to the songs of cicadas. Behind the house, the forest stood like a wall, a reliable guardian, while in front, a view of the boundless sky opened up.
Chong-Yeol took a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure mountain air, saturated with the scent of pine needles and damp earth.
"Hoo-ooh..." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, carrying away the fatigue of a long herb-gathering trip.
He approached the door and pulled the wrought-iron handle. The hinges, oiled quite recently, made no sound.
As soon as he stepped across the threshold, he was enveloped in warmth and an incredible mixture of aromas. Inside, the hut was divided into several zones. Right at the entrance was the kitchen: a large wooden table scrubbed to whiteness, shelves with earthenware, and a hearth where a fire crackled merrily. in the far corner, a simple but neatly made bed was visible, and behind a thick curtain, one could guess the passage to a second, smaller room that served as his mother's bedroom. A special place was occupied by shelves along the wall—they were filled with books. Old, with tattered spines and yellowed pages, they held knowledge that his mother guarded like the apple of her eye.
But the most important thing in this house was the smell. It didn't just smell of food, but of comfort: the rich aroma of boiling medicinal herbs intertwined with the tantalizing, hearty spirit of meat stew. Chong-Yeol's stomach rumbled treacherously.
At the table, with her back to him, stood a woman. Her long black hair was gathered in a simple bun, secured with a wooden hairpin. In one hand she held a ladle, and in the other, an open book, which she was reading with such concentration as if searching for the answers to the universe within it.
Hearing footsteps, she turned her head slightly without looking up from her reading.
"Did you find it?" Her voice was soft.
Chong-Yeol approached the table and set the sack down with a dull thud.
"Yes. Surprisingly, all the herbs were indeed found on this mountain. I thought I would have to descend into the gorge for the 'Moon Root,' but it was growing right by the old oak."
His mother finally closed the book, placing it next to a bowl, and smiled with the corners of her eyes.
"That is good. The local 'spirits' favor us. Leave the sack here for now; I'll sort it later. I made soup; it's just about ready. Go wash up, and I'll set the table."
Chong-Yeol nodded, feeling sticky sweat cooling his back under his clothes. He left the hut, leaving the door ajar, and headed toward the forest where the sound of water could be heard.
The path, familiar down to every pebble, led him to a small waterfall. The water, crystal clear and icy, fell from a rocky ledge the height of two men, crashing down onto smooth boulders and forming a small pool. The noise of the falling water was soothing, washing away the worries of the day. The air here was especially humid, saturated with tiny droplets that settled on the skin like cool dew. On the bank, hopping from stone to stone, small birds with bright yellow chests bustled about, fearlessly drinking water straight from the churning stream.
Chong-Yeol threw off his outer garment and scooped up the icy water with his palms, splashing it onto his face. The cold burned his skin, forcing him to exhale sharply, but it immediately brought clarity to his thoughts. He washed away the dust, sweat, and fatigue, feeling his body fill with vigor.
A few minutes later, refreshed and collected, he emerged from the forest. His hair was damp, and his clothes stuck slightly to his body. Heading back to the hut, he suddenly slowed his pace. His gaze caught on the horizon.
From this vantage point, the view was breathtaking. Far below, under a fluffy blanket of clouds, the tiny, toy-like houses of the nearest city could be seen. And even further, at the very edge of the world, majestic mountain peaks pierced the celestial blue, their summits lost in a white haze. Down there, life was boiling: people traded, quarreled, loved, and died. But here, on the peak, eternal peace reigned.
The door of the hut creaked. His mother stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She noticed her son frozen, looking into the distance, and quietly approached him from behind.
"Enjoying it?" she asked almost in a whisper, so as not to break the moment.
Chong-Yeol didn't answer, only nodded. He felt her warm palms, slightly damp from cooking, rest on his shoulders. The warmth of her hands penetrated through the fabric, giving a sense of absolute security. They stood like that for some time, silently admiring the grandeur of this world.
"Let's go inside," she gently interrupted the silence, lightly squeezing his shoulder. "The food will get cold."
She left first. Chong-Yeol stood for a moment longer, memorizing the landscape, before following her.
Lunch passed in a cozy silence, broken only by the clinking of spoons against wood. His mother's cooking was simple, yet incredibly delicious. The hot broth spread through his body with life-giving heat, restoring his strength. Chong-Yeol ate with appetite, realizing how long it had been since he had felt such tranquility.
When the bowls were empty, his mother looked thoughtfully at the remnants of food in the cauldron.
"Yeol," she began, "we are running out of meat. The last piece will only be enough for breakfast. Could you go hunting?"
Chong-Yeol wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up resolutely.
"Of course, Mom. I'll go now, while it's still light."
He threw on his robe, tightened his sash, and, grabbing his hunting knife, headed for the exit.
"I'll be back soon," he threw over his shoulder.
Left alone in the silence of the house, his mother watched the door close. A heavy sigh, full of hidden anxiety, escaped her lips.
"Haa..." she whispered, and a shadow of age-old fatigue flickered in her eyes.
The hunt proved difficult. It was as if the forest spirits had decided to test the young man's resolve. The prey was skittish and cautious. Chong-Yeol spent more than two hours in the forest tracking it, forcing his way through thorny bushes and freezing in uncomfortable positions so as not to give himself away with the snap of a twig.
When he emerged from the thicket, the sun had already begun to dip toward sunset, painting the sky in crimson tones. Chong-Yeol was breathing heavily, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, but in his hand, he firmly held the hind legs of a large red fox. Its fur was thick and glossy—an excellent catch.
There was no one in the courtyard. His mother had apparently already brought the dried laundry inside. Chong-Yeol pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside.
His mother was standing by the table. A basin of laundry sat on the floor, and she, once again holding that same old leather-bound book, was stirring something in a small bowl. She was reading, her lips moving silently as if she were memorizing the text.
"Here," Chong-Yeol exhaled, dropping the fox carcass onto the edge of the table with a dull thud. "Oh, what a sly one she was... I had to chase her almost to the very foot of the mountain before I could catch her. Phew..."
He expected praise or at least a smile, but his mother didn't even turn around. She continued to stir the contents of the bowl, immersed in her thoughts. Her detachment stung Chong-Yeol, but he chalked it up to her being busy.
Suddenly, she froze. Slowly turning, she looked at him with a strange, unreadable gaze.
"How... how is your wound? Does it not hurt?" Her voice sounded hollow.
Chong-Yeol blinked in surprise.
"Wound?" He instinctively touched his chest, where an old sword scar was hidden under his clothes—a memory of a long-ago skirmish with one of their pursuers. "I don't think so. Why would it hurt? It healed a long time ago."
"Lie on the bed," she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, walking toward him holding the book in one hand and the bowl with some gray substance in the other.
"Mom, what happened?" Chong-Yeol was taken aback, taking a step back. "Everything is fine, I'm just tired after the hun—"
"Lie down!" she repeated sharply.
Obeying her tone, he walked to the bed and lay on his back. And at that very moment, when his head touched the pillow, a flash of pain pierced his body.
"Aah!.." A strangled groan tore from his throat.
It wasn't the ordinary pain of a bruise. It was an unbearable, hellish burning sensation coming from the very depths of his chest, as if a coal were kindling under his skin. Chong-Yeol looked down in horror. On his dark blue clothes, right over the area of his heart, a dark, wet stain was spreading—blood. The old wound had opened as if it had been inflicted just now.
His mother was already beside him. There was no panic in her movements, only cold, frightening efficiency. She placed the bowl on a stool, put the book next to it, and brought a basin of water and a clean cloth.
"Lie still, I will treat the wound."
The next ten minutes passed in a blur. Chong-Yeol felt his clothes being stripped off, felt the damp cloth touching his hot skin. Blood flowed profusely, quickly turning the once-gray cloth into a crimson-soaked, useless rag.
His mother worked silently, her lips pressed tight.
"That seems to be it," she finally said, tossing the bloody cloth into the basin. The water in it had turned a dirty pink. "Now I will apply a restorative ointment. It will heal the wound permanently."
She picked up the bowl. Inside was a thick, oily mass of gray color, smelling of ozone and bitter wormwood. Scooping up a little with her fingers, she began to rub the ointment around the opened wound. Chong-Yeol tensed, expecting new pain, but felt only a slight chill.
"And now..." His mother scooped up a large lump of ointment, much larger than the previous one. She looked straight into her son's eyes, and in her gaze, infinite sadness and determination could be read. "Yeol, this is going to hurt. Bear it."
Before he could ask "why," she abruptly pressed the lump of ointment directly inside the open wound, pushing it deep into the flesh.
Chong-Yeol's world exploded with white light.
The pain was as if his heart had been gripped by red-hot tongs and someone was trying to rip it out. It pierced every nerve cell, echoing in his fingertips and temples. It seemed this gray substance was not healing, but cauterizing his insides, reaching the very marrow of his bones. He arched his back, trying to scream, but only a wheeze escaped his throat.
His consciousness could not withstand this torture. Darkness mercifully covered him, dragging him into oblivion.
Seeing her son's body go limp, his mother slowly withdrew her hand. She was breathing heavily, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead.
"Phew..." she exhaled, her trembling hands taking the book from the table and opening it.
Chong-Yeol surfaced from oblivion suddenly. Silence.
He cautiously opened his eyes, expecting the return of the pain, but it was gone. Twilight reigned in the hut, diluted only by the moonlight falling from the window.
He glanced sideways and saw his mother. She was sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the bed, asleep. Her head had fallen limply onto her chest, her hands resting loosely on her lap.
The young man's heart clenched at the sight. She had nursed him to the point of total exhaustion. Trying not to make noise, he slowly sat up, checking his sensations. His body obeyed, though there was a slight weakness.
Chong-Yeol stood up, bent down, and gently scooped his mother up in his arms. She was light, like a feather. He felt how her clothes were soaked with sweat—apparently, the treatment had taken a lot of strength from her, not just physical. He carefully laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket.
Turning to the center of the room, he grimaced. A heavy, sweetish smell of decomposition hit his nose. In the dark, on the table, lay the carcass of the fox. During the time he was unconscious, it had begun to spoil in the warmth of the house.
"Can't leave it like this," he whispered. "We'll suffocate."
He found his clothes in the dark, dressed quickly, trying not to make noise. Transferring the fox into a small basin, he grabbed a sharp kitchen knife and quietly, like a shadow, slipped outside.
The fresh night air hit his face, driving away the remnants of sleep. Chong-Yeol took a deep breath, enjoying the coolness. But before going into the forest, he returned to the hut's window and threw the shutters wide open. Then he opened the front door wide so the draft would drive out the unpleasant smell and his mother could breathe fresh air.
Ensuring everything was done, he picked up the basin and headed toward the stream at the edge of the forest.
The work ahead was dirty but necessary. Under the light of the moon and stars, Chong-Yeol skinned the fox, methodically separating the hide from the meat. This task, monotonous and bloody, helped bring his thoughts in order. What was that seizure? Why did the old wound open? And what kind of ointment did Mom use? Questions swarmed in his head, but there were no answers.
Time passed unnoticed. The sky in the east began to brighten, painted in soft pink tones. The first morning birds began to chirp, greeting the sun.
"Phew," Chong-Yeol exhaled, throwing the last piece of cleaned meat into the basin.
He walked to the river, thoroughly washing the blood and grease from his hands and face. The icy water finally woke him up. Picking up the basin of clean meat, he walked briskly back to the hut.
From afar, he noticed that the door of the house was still wide open.
"Right, I opened it myself and completely forgot to close it," flashed through his mind. He quickened his pace, feeling a slight pang of guilt that the house had stood open all night.
Entering inside, he found no sign of his mother on the bed.
"Mom?"
"Ah, there you are," a voice came from behind.
Chong-Yeol turned around. His mother was walking in behind him; apparently, she had gone outside right after waking up. Noticing the basin of meat in his hands, she smiled faintly.
"Thank you, son. How are you? Does the wound hurt?"
"No, everything is fine, thanks," he answered sincerely, placing the heavy basin on the table. "I feel great."
His mother walked up to him, peering intently into his face. That strange anxiety flickered in her eyes again.
"Yeol," she began seriously, "I need you to go down to the city and buy supplies."
Chong-Yeol nodded, already preparing to go, but she held him by the sleeve.
"And most importantly... do not rush. Okay? Even though the wound looks healed, if you overexert yourself or run, it might open again, and it will only get worse."
Chong-Yeol felt a strange tension in her voice. It wasn't just maternal concern, but something deeper. But he wrote it off as her fatigue after yesterday.
"Okay, Mom. I'll be careful."
The descent from the mountain took longer than usual. Chong-Yeol honestly kept his word, walking at a measured pace.
"It seems the wound has healed completely, nothing bothers me," he thought, kicking a pebble on the path. "Hmm, what a shame... I could have just run and been back in an hour. Eh, alright."
He sighed, unwilling to experience that hellish pain again, and continued his descent.
Soon the forest parted, and the small town sprawled at the foot of the mountain appeared before him. Even from here, the hum of voices, the ringing of metal, and the shouts of merchants could be heard. Passing through the main gates, Chong-Yeol plunged into the bustle of everyday life. People rushed about their business, carts creaking with their wheels on the cobblestones.
He headed toward a familiar shop.
"Uncle Chay, could I have a sack of rice and two loaves of bread?" he asked the merchant politely.
"Of course! Haven't seen you in a long time," the fat man smiled, weighing out the goods.
...
Picking up his purchases, Chong-Yeol started on the return journey. Passing by a row of colorful stalls and structures, he suddenly noticed movement in the shadow of an alley.
To the side, pressed against a dirty wall, sat a cat. It looked pitiful: its fur was matted, its ribs protruded, and its eyes were full of torment and exhaustion. It didn't even meow; it only had enough strength to follow the well-fed people passing by with its gaze.
Chong-Yeol stopped. His heart clenched with pity. He looked at the cat with deep compassion.
"Sigh..." he sighed, squatting down. "Are you lost, little one? Or were you abandoned?"
He reached out and gently stroked its dirty head. The cat weakly nudged his palm with its nose. Seeing its condition, Chong-Yeol, without hesitation, broke off a large piece of the fresh, still-warm bread and placed it before the animal.
"Eat. You need strength."
He straightened up and walked toward the mountain path, leaving the animal to enjoy the food. Gloomy thoughts swarmed in his head:
"Is it really possible to mock living beings like this? Business is business, people are busy with their money, but is it really so hard to give a piece of bread to a weak creature? Merchants... they think only of their own profit, forgetting about humanity."
His musings were rudely interrupted.
BOOM!
The earth beneath his feet shuddered. A powerful shockwave, invisible but devastating, came from above, from the top of the mountain. It hit Chong-Yeol in the back with such force that it lifted him off the ground and hurled him forward.
He slammed into the trunk of an ancient tree by the roadside. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. His vision went dark, and he felt his insides twist in a spasm. It felt as if his stomach were about to come out through his mouth.
Coughing and gasping for air, he barely lifted his head. His gaze shot upward, toward the mountain peak.
From there, from the very place where their hut stood, a thick pillar of black smoke was rising into the sky.
Chong-Yeol's world froze.
"No..." he whispered.
He knew that on that mountain, for a radius of many li, there was no one but them. He had walked every cliff, every cave three times. It was just them. Only him and...
"Mom!"
He forgot the pain, forgot the promise not to run. He bolted from his spot, using every ounce of strength to sprint up the slope. Branches whipped his face, stones slipped from under his feet, but he did not stop.
An hour later, which felt like an eternity, he flew onto the plateau.
Before him lay a scene that made the blood freeze in his veins and a lump of bile rise to his throat.
The hut was burning down. The fire was already dying, having devoured everything he held dear. Only black, smoking skeletons remained of the cozy home.
But that was merely the prelude. The true nightmare lay next to the ashes.
On the scorched earth lay what used to be his mother.
Chong-Yeol stepped closer, his legs giving way, breath escaping in a wheeze.
It was a slaughter. A demonstration of transcendent cruelty.
Arms and legs... they had been torn from the body and scattered aside like a broken doll's, and the body itself was mutilated. But worst of all was the face. The face that had smiled at him just this morning, that had looked at the world from the mountaintop... It was no more. The head had been crushed. Crudely, brutally, as if someone had simply trampled it with a boot like an annoying insect.
Chong-Yeol collapsed to his knees. He didn't feel the heat of the embers, didn't feel the pain of his own bruises.
Fury, black and thick, mixed with unbearable, soul-tearing sorrow, rose from the depths of his "heart." Tears, hot and salty, streamed from his eyes, washing away the soot on his cheeks.
"No-o-o!" he screamed, his voice breaking into a shriek. "No-o-o! No-o-o! Mom!!!"
He tried to embrace what remained of her body, ignoring the blood and horror. In his head, like a lifeline, a memory surfaced. Words she had spoken on the day they first settled here.
...She sat by the hearth, the firelight illuminating her face.
"Yeol, your father died to save us. His sacrifice gave us a chance. We need to continue living and not look back at the past."
Chong-Yeol had nodded then, sensing the sadness in her voice.
"Yes, okay, Mom."
She looked at him sternly, but with love.
"And promise me something, Chong-Yeol. Never show your bad side. Do not let the darkness take hold of you. And... do not dare to take revenge for your father. Live a peaceful life."
She paused, squeezing his hand.
"Do you understand me?"
"Forgive me, Mom..." Chong-Yeol whispered, returning to reality. His voice trembled, but steel already rang within it. "Forgive me... But they must die. They must die in agony!"
He slowly raised his head to the sky. To the very sky they had admired together just a few hours ago. Now it seemed indifferent and cold.
"I WILL FIND YOU!" he roared, tearing his throat. The scream echoed off the rocks, scaring away the birds. "WHATEVER THE COST! I WILL FIND AND KILL YOU ALL! DO YOU HEAR ME?! YOU FILTHY PARASITES! I WILL SLAUGHTER YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE!"
After these words, the air around him changed. Chong-Yeol himself, in his grief, did not feel it, but the world reacted to it.
At the foot of the mountain, in the shadow of travel wagons, a group of people suddenly stopped. The air became heavy, viscous, as if saturated with the smell of blood.
One of them, shivering, spoke quietly:
"Sir... maybe we shouldn't linger? I have a bad feeling."
The leader, whose face was hidden by the shadow of a hood, only frowned, looking at the smoking peak, but remained silent.
And on the summit, amidst ash and blood, Chong-Yeol, having lost the last person who loved him and whom he loved, slowly rose from his knees. In this moment, he finally discarded his weak sides, his naivety, and mercy. But along with them, he discarded something else....
Thus begins the path of Chong-Yeol! The Lord of the Age of Destruction...