Chapter 2: The Journey ― Shall I Tell Your Fortune? (1)
Time passed.
It had been half a year since the Wulin Alliance Chief, Baek Bul-in (白不仁), had visited Cheon-yo’s residence.
Then, an event occurred that would shake the martial arts world.
That event was…
The death of Wulin Alliance Chief Baek Bul-in.
He, who had led the Wulin Alliance from the position of chief for so long, suddenly passed away. The abruptness of his death was a huge shock, but the rumors about it quickly faded.
This was because an even greater truth had been revealed—one that dwarfed the chief’s death.
The current Wulin was peaceful.
But it had only been about ten years since such peace had returned.
The Demon King, Hyeol Mu-rin (血武燐).
In the past, the world was ruled by demonic forces. The righteous sects and the unruly sects had been shattered before Hyeol Mu-rin, the leader of the demonic cult. At the time when the demonic cult tried to swallow the martial world, the righteous and unruly sects did something unprecedented: they joined hands.
It was astonishing.
The righteous and unruly sects, as different as water and oil, had united.
This only meant that Hyeol Mu-rin’s power was overwhelmingly threatening.
Of course, not all of the unruly sects turned against him.
About one-third opposed Hyeol Mu-rin, while the remaining two-thirds submitted to him, dreaming of a new world under his guidance.
Even with the two opposing forces joining against him, Hyeol Mu-rin’s power was overwhelming. The allied forces were gradually being pushed to the brink by his destructive strength.
Then came a shocking event.
The allied forces succeeded in taking Hyeol Mu-rin’s life. His death became the signal to end a long-lasting war.
Thus, the martial world regained peace after killing the demonic cult leader.
Or so it was believed.
At least, until this rumor spread.
Bang!
A man slammed his cup on the table and spoke urgently.
“What? Hyeol Mu-rin is alive?”
“Alive… is not exactly it. It’s more accurate to say he’s sealed.”
Two martial artists talking over drinks.
But they weren’t the only ones discussing this. Ordinary people—enough for the rumor to spread throughout the land—knew about this incredible secret.
A shocked martial artist asked,
“What exactly does that mean?”
“You’re really out of the loop. You know the granddaughter of the recently deceased Wulin Alliance Chief?”
“Of course. Her name was Baek Sang-a (白霜娥), right?”
“Yes. Hyeol Mu-rin isn’t dead—he’s sealed within her body.”
“What? Is that even possible?”
“They say it was done by some great law… Eh, I don’t know the details. The important thing is that Hyeol Mu-rin is sealed within her.”
“So?”
“So? So greedy people are already setting their sights on her. They say that if they have her, they can resurrect the Demon King Hyeol Mu-rin.”
Hearing this, the man shuddered in disgust.
Hyeol Mu-rin’s resurrection… just the thought was horrifying. Anyone who had lived through his era would react the same.
The world had been soaked in blood, and everyone—martial artist or not—had lived each day as if walking on the edge of a blade.
Hell, the very return of hell.
No one would wish to return to that time.
This rumor about Hyeol Mu-rin spread across the land at an insane speed.
And so did news about Baek Sang-a, the granddaughter of the Wulin Alliance Chief.
The emergence of the one who could resurrect Hyeol Mu-rin made the martial world turbulent.
At Cheon-yo’s residence,
He rose at the sound of a bird flying past the window. His gaze fell on a sparrow perched on a carved wooden railing in the backyard.
Attached to the sparrow’s ankle was a letter.
Silently, Cheon-yo untied the letter and opened it.
The moment he read it… he flinched.
His pupils shifted.
On the day Baek Bul-in had visited Cheon-yo, he had said that a major event would unfold—a time when Cheon-yo would need to act.
Cheon-yo’s eyes, hidden under his messy hair, scanned the contents of the letter.
“…The old man. He’s giving me a far more difficult task than I expected.”
The death of Baek Bul-in, and the granddaughter who carried Hyeol Mu-rin within her—shocking.
Cheon-yo understood clearly why the person he had to protect was now a target of the world.
Not only would the demonic cult seek to resurrect Hyeol Mu-rin, but the righteous and unruly sects would also target her.
Righteous, unruly, and the demonic sect.
All of them would target this one child, entrusted to him for protection.
And the one sealed within her body… was Hyeol Mu-rin.
“…Why, heavens, do you involve me in this?” Cheon-yo murmured, looking up at the sky.
Whatever resentment the world held against him, it was too late to complain.
He had promised. And now was the time when the Wulin Alliance Chief had said he would be needed.
Knowing that, Cheon-yo returned to his room and slung a bundle over his shoulder.
He looked around the room.
It was empty of anything of importance—just a clutter of trivial things.
“…I’ve grown attached to this place.”
A home he had lived in for nearly ten years.
And now, a place he must leave.
“Farewell.”
He touched the wall as he spoke, then stepped out. His path led straight toward the village at the foot of the mountain.
Having visited this village nearly every day, he knew it well. Although he had only ever gone to places that sold alcohol, today was different.
Today, Cheon-yo headed to the blacksmith.
At the entrance, he felt the heat radiating from within.
He stepped inside.
An old man was hammering fiercely in front of a roaring fire. Despite his age, his muscles were well-defined from long years of work. He turned to see Cheon-yo and squinted.
“You…?”
Cheon-yo gave a slight nod.
He kept his distance from everyone, but he had met this old man several times at the village tavern.
The old man, fond of drinking, often tried to befriend Cheon-yo. But Cheon-yo had never responded much, letting the old man chatter alone.
The old man smiled at the sight of him.
“Thought you were dead. Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“I came to check the swords.”
Cheon-yo ignored the old man’s words, speaking only what he needed.
“Swords?”
The old man pointed at kitchen-like knives hanging on the wall.
“These?”
Cheon-yo shook his head.
“I mean swords. Used by martial artists.”
“Huh? And what do you need those for?”
“Don’t you have any?”
“Ah… I do, but…”
The old man walked deeper into the forge, returning with a sword from a dust-covered sheath.
“Old, but decent. What do you think?”
Cheon-yo weighed it in his hand, checked its balance, and drew the blade slightly to inspect its edge.
Not even a thorough inspection was needed.
‘Not bad.’
A rare find for a village like this. Good enough for temporary use.
Cheon-yo handed over silver coins.
“Here.”
“So many? They were just gathering dust in storage anyway.”
“This is worth it to me right now.”
“Fair enough. I won’t refuse.”
The old man smiled, pleased.
Cheon-yo absentmindedly touched the long hair falling over his face.
“This is inconvenient, too.”
Cheon-yo looked at the old man and asked cheerfully,
“Do you have a razor?”
“The ones lined up to your left are razors.”
“May I borrow one?”
“Of course. Use it freely.”
Cheon-yo grabbed the razor, held his hair, and…
Snip!
He chopped off the long strands, including his bangs, revealing his face.
The old man’s eyes widened in surprise.
Cheon-yo cut his hair to shoulder length, then shaved the beard covering his face.
Shhh…
When he finished, he brushed his face. The old man stared at the unveiled, handsome face of Cheon-yo.
“Was… he really this handsome?”
Long hair and beard had hidden his features, but he was a striking man: arched eyebrows, sharp nose, and eyes filled with depth. Every feature was beautiful.
Cheon-yo calmly set down the razor.
“Well used.”
As he turned to leave, the old man hurriedly spoke,
“Ah, work’s almost done. How about a drink for old times’ sake?”
Cheon-yo glanced at him without turning fully.
“I quit drinking.”
“Why? You used to love it.”
Cheon-yo raised his hand slowly.
“My hands tremble.”
The old man looked confused. Cheon-yo continued,
“If my hands tremble… I can’t protect those I need to protect.”
The old man still didn’t fully understand, but the unwavering strength in Cheon-yo’s eyes struck him.
He nodded unconsciously.
“Indeed… yes, that’s right.”
Cheon-yo resumed walking.
“Take care. Thank you for keeping me company during boring drinks.”
With that, he disappeared beyond the forge.
The old man stared at the empty space.
He had known Cheon-yo for a long time—not closely, but comfortably enough.
Now, seeing Cheon-yo’s gaze clearly for the first time, he realized,
“…He’s no ordinary man.”
Not just a drunken fool.
The old man didn’t know the life Cheon-yo had lived, the burdens he had carried, or what he intended to do.
All he could do now was one thing:
Cheer him on.
And then, the old man realized… he had never even known his name.
“Farewell, nameless warrior.”
