Dawn's Sword Dance and Phantom Shadows
Yoo Wan-seop raised the Cheongmyeonggeom.
Moonlight shattered against the blade's surface.
The sword moved. His body simply followed its lead. Even with his left arm, he flowed effortlessly through Yeopeum, Cheongjil, Soseul, Naksu, and the other forms of the Cheongmyeonggeom style.
A sound arose.
A melancholic melody poured from the Cheongmyeonggeom.
The sword dance began. Yoo Wan-seop closed his eyes completely. Instead, he opened his ears, seeing everything through sound.
The quiver of air against the blade, the myriad noises burrowing into his ears, the myriad presences felt through his body—they all converged, forming a three-dimensional awareness.
The eyes take in too much.
With eyes alone, one misses the serpent wriggling beneath a rock, its faint friction. With eyes alone, one cannot track the insect crawling through the leaves.
Thus, so much is overlooked.
The dance continued through the night.
The moment the first morning light touched his eyelids, Yoo Wan-seop halted. A smile bloomed at the warm energy on his skin. He slowly opened his eyes.
A grand vista unfolded.
Towering peaks stretched like waves, valleys filled with mist making summits resemble islands. Sunlight caressed the green isles rising from a white sea of clouds.
The world was awakening.
All life on the mountains stirred, stretching awake.
Yoo Wan-seop grinned broadly. He had finally achieved his purpose in coming to Jirisan. It was more satisfying than expected. The absence of his right arm was no longer an issue.
His old friend came to mind.
If only he had been a little stronger, he could have saved him.
A rock huddled among ancient trees caught his eye. It resembled a Moderasaurus.
He launched forward.
He swung the Cheongmyeonggeom. Not a metallic clang, but the chirp of crickets rang out. As he stepped back, the rock slumped. No—it crumbled in a heap.
Jang Won-seop would not return.
He had become one with the dungeon's soil.
A sigh escaped. The satisfaction of his training only deepened the emptiness in his heart.
He had lost too many comrades, too many friends, to the dungeons. Every raider experienced the death of allies, but Devils' Day… that day had been shattering enough to crumble even the sturdiest mind.
He knew the rumors that the terrorist group Puritan had orchestrated Devils' Day.
If even part of it was true, he would have hunted them down instead of coming to Jirisan. To judge them not by law, but by the sword.
Crack.
A faint snap of a twig.
He slowly rose.
"To think you'd come all this way yourself. I'm surprised."
Yoo Wan-seop glanced toward the thicket of maples.
"Still the same, I see."
Ma Jung-hyeon emerged from the red leaves, hands clasped behind his back. The terrain was treacherous, impassable by trail, yet his clothes bore not a speck of dust.
"If even you are moving, something must have happened at Jushin."
Yoo Wan-seop knew the old man well.
He masqueraded as a kindly elder, but inside lurked a viper's cunning.
When he wanted something, he pursued it relentlessly, without scruple, eyes blazing with desire—yet he rarely stepped forward himself.
"Your insight is truly a pity. If I were Jushin's master, I would have stopped your retirement, arm or no arm."
Yoo Wan-seop nearly burst out laughing.
Who do you take me for, a fool?
It was this man who had driven him from Jushin. Ma Jung-hyeon had orchestrated the atmosphere, with juniors bearing the brunt.
Ma Jung-hyeon's gaze lingered on Yoo Wan-seop's right shoulder, then shifted to his left arm. No doubt comparing the man before him to the Yoo Wan-seop of old.
His eyes widened.
The sly fox had noticed. He was stronger now than before. The old man's eye for talent was as sharp as ever.
"Won't you return to Jushin? I'll clear all obstacles. Everyone who slandered you."
Yoo Wan-seop smiled thinly. He almost said he'd consider it if you disappeared, but held back.
"I'll accept the sentiment."
"A shame."
The moment Ma Jung-hyeon's lips twisted, Yoo Wan-seop understood why he had come so deep into Jirisan.
Elimination.
"Interesting."
Yoo Wan-seop plunged the Cheongmyeonggeom into the ground and spread his qi in all directions. Seventeen figures scattered behind Ma Jung-hyeon.
"Has the main force come in full?"
Ma Jung-hyeon nodded.
"Against you, such preparations are necessary."
Yoo Wan-seop scratched his head nonchalantly. Seventeen. The entire Phantom Knights main unit had come here.
"That's overkill."
"No, even this is insufficient."
"Haha. Hahaha."
His qi-infused voice rang out. The vibration shook red leaves from the branches; some Phantom Knights wizards grimaced, clutching their ears.
"There's still time. A chance to change your mind."
Ma Jung-hyeon coaxed, a veiled threat: return to Jushin, or blood would spill.
Yoo Wan-seop ignored him.
"Little brother, have you arrived?"
A figure materialized like a ghost. It was Mongmubo, one of Jushin's famed footwork techniques.
"It's been a while, brother."
Son Hong-gi, leader of the Phantom Knights, bowed slightly to Yoo Wan-seop.
Before Lee Hwan, the prodigy of Brave Guild, emerged, Son Hong-gi had been hailed as the successor to Yoo Wan-seop.
Talent matched with diligence made him a flawless raider, dubbed impeccable. But his stone-faced demeanor and battle focus kept him from popular acclaim matching his skill.
"How's So-hee?"
"…She's managing."
His daughter, Son So-hee, suffered from an inexplicable ailment. Even Lyrium failed to ease her pain, burning her father from within.
If not for the guild master's orders, Son Hong-gi wouldn't be here. But as captain, he had no choice.
"You do your duty, and I'll do mine."
"I agree."
Yoo Wan-seop extended his hand. The Cheongmyeonggeom pulled free from the earth and flew to him.
He eyed Ma Jung-hyeon.
"It seems it's time for you to retire."
"An intriguing claim. May I ask why?"
"I can hardly believe it myself… but I've witnessed two mistakes from the great Jungdal. It left me flustered. So unlike you. Perhaps the situation has cornered you to this extent."
"Mistakes, you say…"
Ma Jung-hyeon's expression remained unchanged as he continued.
"I'd like to hear your esteemed opinion."
"First, Jirisan is quite familiar to me."
"…I suppose so."
"Second, why assume I'll fight the Phantom Knights? Do I still seem like a Jushin raider who won't back down?"
Ma Jung-hyeon's eyebrow twitched.
As those words ended, Yoo Wan-seop's body floated up about thirty centimeters. As if pulled backward, he drifted away from Ma Jung-hyeon and the Phantom Knights, then spun in midair and vanished into the maple forest.
Phantom Walk.
"Impossible!"
Son Hong-gi cried out in shock.
"Senior mastered Phantom Walk."
In the past decade, Son Hong-gi had never seen Yoo Wan-seop use it. No one had. This was astonishing.
Ma Jung-hyeon bit his lip.
Yoo Wan-seop was right.
He had assumed a fight and clustered the Phantom Knights. Had he anticipated flight, he would have spread them out for a watertight encirclement.
And now, pursuit in Jirisan.
His home turf.
I may truly need to consider retirement. After this is done.
"Execute."
The order fell.
The Phantom Knights mobilized.
* * *
"We lost him."
Son Hong-gi reported.
Ma Jung-hyeon, gazing at a crimson maple leaf and pondering autumn's arrival, turned a somber eye on the knight captain.
"Who could have imagined Korea's strongest raider fleeing without a fight?"
"Your next orders, sir."
A dry voice.
"Rest and eat."
"Understood."
Son Hong-gi bowed and returned to the main unit.
Ma Jung-hyeon missed the old days.
When Yoo Wan-seop led the Phantoms, orders were rarely needed. He seldom visited sites himself. A few words, and the captain handled not just the issue, but preempted future problems.
Thinking back, no Jushin raider understood Ma Jung-hyeon like Yoo Wan-seop. He grasped the multiple intents behind a single command, even accounting for oversights Ma Jung-hyeon missed.
When he heard Yoo Wan-seop lost his arm on Devils' Day, Ma Jung-hyeon panicked. His departure from Jushin brought grief and sleepless nights drowned in drink.
He had never told a soul, but from their first meeting, he had been certain.
Sama Jungdal's successor was Yoo Wan-seop.
Had Yoo Wan-seop not grown so strong—beyond even geniuses like Lee Hwan—he would have shone as Jushin's strategist.
Lee Hwan was exceptional, perhaps surpassing Yoo Wan-seop individually.
But he lacked Yoo Wan-seop's judgment, leadership, charisma.
Lee Hwan's limit was C-rank dungeons.
His expeditions barely managed C-rank, maybe lower.
Yoo Wan-seop?
A-rank for sure, S-rank under right conditions. He was deadlier leading a team than alone.
Such a style was exceedingly rare.
No, unique.
Association President Sa Gyeongbaek's authoritarianism, Brave's iron-willed guild master Im Cheongha, Jushin's laissez-faire Gu Junwon, Miracle's crazy buffer Yang Hee-seon.
All formidable, yet Ma Jung-hyeon deemed Yoo Wan-seop superior.
Then, a face flashed in his mind.
What am I thinking?
Ma Jung-hyeon scowled fiercely.
Why now, of all times? Amid thoughts of titans like Yoo Wan-seop, Sa Gyeongbaek, Im Cheongha, Gu Junwon, Yang Hee-seon—why pop up a rookie, a former carrier turned fresh raider?
No. Impossible.
What could one expect from a kid who lucked into power via contamination?
His perfect plan had warped grotesquely into failure, so Kim Jun's file lingered in his mind. The more he pondered, the less Kim Jun fit the frameworks honed from years observing people.
That must be why he surfaced.
Ma Jung-hyeon refocused on Yoo Wan-seop.
Combat prowess, judgment—Yoo Wan-seop was near-perfect, but he had a weakness. The reason he lost his arm on Devils' Day.
A plan to capture him formed.
Ma Jung-hyeon messaged Son Hong-gi via magic. The ghost-like captain appeared silently.
"Nearest shelter?"
"Jangteomok Shelter."
"Burn it."
"Understood."
Son Hong-gi bowed and left. Soon, the knights moved out.
* * *
"Aaaagh!"
A scream tore through the night air.
A man burst from the mess hall engulfed by a fireball, tumbling down the slope, his hiking gear ablaze.
Yoo Wan-seop, who had moved stealthily, extended his hand. Formless qi enveloped the man.
His fall slowed dramatically.
As he halted amid rocks, Yoo Wan-seop cut off the air, extinguishing the flames. Injuries aplenty, but he'd survive the night.
The hiker stared at Yoo Wan-seop, eyes widening in recognition. Yoo Wan-seop pressed a finger to his lips; the man nodded.
Yoo Wan-seop ascended near Jangteomok Shelter.
The shop building lay in ruins; the deck with benches was splintered beyond recognition.
Some hikers, roused from sleep by the sudden assault, fled half-dressed.
The Phantom Knights, in black robes and masks, bombarded remaining structures with fireballs and wind blasts.
He knew exactly why, but suppressing the rising fury was hard. Almost certainly Ma Jung-hyeon's scheme.
Endure here, and they'd hit another shelter. Hikers across Jirisan would be unsafe.
Until when?
Until Yoo Wan-seop appeared.
He knew survival: ignore the slaughter, slip through an unpredictable route off Jirisan.
Seoul's watchful eyes prevented such brazen acts by the Phantoms.
One numb to others' pain could manage it.
A viper like Ma Jung-hyeon, a blind executor like Son Hong-gi.
"If that's what you want, so be it."
Yoo Wan-seop reached back. The Cheongmyeonggeom, embedded in a tree, pulled free and flew to him.
Fatigue from intense training, tension from evading the Phantoms—it all melted away. In its place, the fierce vitality of entering a gate surged through him.
Choi Min-su had once said:
"You've got issues up here. You love danger too much. Though I have no right to preach."
Yoo Wan-seop stood.
He swung the Cheongmyeonggeom horizontally. Trees split and toppled.
"There he is!"
"Kill him!"
The Phantom Knights spotted him and charged. A rear wizard's fireball hurtled first.
Another of Choi Min-su's words surfaced.
"Ever wanted to fight Jushin? I often crave battling the guild I lead, the team I trained to near-perfection. Knowing their strength fuels the urge. Crazy, right? But you're the same. Aren't you?"
He'd laughed it off as madness then, but Choi Min-su's instincts were spot-on.
Yoo Wan-seop yearned to clash with Jushin, Korea's top guild—its elite Phantom Knights.
Advanced nations like Korea's Dungeon Association banned solo dungeon entries, or one-man raids, enforcing strict roles: tankers, dealers, buffers.
Africa, Tibet, Russia—solo havens drew lone wolves. Yoo Wan-seop had roamed them young, his first Tibet one-man raid intensely vivid.
That fear and thrill crept back now.
Yes, this place is a dungeon too.
"Heh."
Yoo Wan-seop swung the Cheongmyeonggeom.
Qi-clad, it effortlessly batted the fireball aside.
Veering left, it exploded, igniting the parched autumn mountains. That heat could engulf Jirisan.
Once, he'd fret over such risks, seeking solutions.
Now? Focus solely on the battle ahead.
He closed distance with Mongmubo. Incoming metal arrows sliced away with a flick.
Terror filled the wizard's eyes. Speed beyond any swordsman they'd faced. None had battled Yoo Wan-seop.
The Cheongmyeonggeom arced for his throat.
Yoo Wan-seop checked the killing blow, launching the head skyward. Recent Jushin comrade still. Flat of the blade struck instead.
The flung wizard was out cold, but alive.
He snapped the second wizard's ankle, neutralizing him. A voice rang from ahead.
"Muryang Mugung."
Captain Son Hong-gi.
The disorganized rushers fell back, forming ranks.
Yoo Wan-seop rested the Cheongmyeonggeom on his shoulder, awaiting the Phantoms' famed formation. Muryang Mugung, one of the pinnacle arrays, multiplying participants' power exponentially rather than additively.
Impossible even in dungeons.
In reality? Become a villain, perhaps. Even mighty villains hadn't stirred the Phantoms.
Min-su would envy this.
Pressure thickened the air, like heightened gravity.
Lifting an arm took extra effort. This binding pressure, gyeback, would intensify.
Yoo Wan-seop grinned.
He surged his inner power, raising the Cheongmyeonggeom left-handed. Then unleashed the fifth form: Cheongmyeong.
Hummm.
The sword began to sing.