The Preliminaries of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering

The preliminaries of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering concluded with an outcome that shook all of Wuhan to its core.

Naturally, Dokgo Sanwol stood at the very center of the storm.

An unknown Peak Realm master whose name and title had never once graced the records of the martial world, and an astonishing prodigy who had attained such an incredible height while still in the body of a mere boy.

Plenty of other ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠martial artists had cleared the trials, and the rising stars of the Nine Sects and One Gang alongside the Five Great Families had predictably secured their spots in the tournament proper, but...

"To think he could split that boulder clean in half with a single strike."

"Tell me about it. Feels like the winner of this year's gathering is already decided."

"The glory days of the Nine Sects and Five Families are well and truly behind us!"

The shockwave left by Sanwol's final demonstration of Mount Tai Crushes the Peak was something no one could rival. While others had only managed to carve deep gouges into the stone, Sanwol had cleaved it straight through with one fluid, effortless downward chop.

Thus, Dokgo Sanwol's name set the streets of Wuhan ablaze once more.

Those who had only recently arrived in the city caught wind of the rumors regarding Nangahyeopjeon—the legendary comic drawn by Sanwol himself—and promptly made a beeline for Muho Bookstore. It was not merely because of his sudden fame.

A man who has not read Nangahyeopjeon has missed out on half of what life has to offer.

No artist or scholar alive could produce a masterpiece greater than Nangahyeopjeon.

It had reached the point where people casually claimed one ought not to even converse with someone who had never read it. With such ceaseless praise echoing across every street and alley regardless of social standing, visitors from out of town could hardly resist looking into it. Those with acquaintances in Wuhan found themselves practically dragged by the collar to Muho Bookstore.

"To think such a masterwork existed!"

"Now I understand why everyone was singing its praises!"

"Shopkeeper! Are there no more volumes?!"

As a result, the already massive fandom of Nangahyeopjeon exploded with a fresh flood of recruits. Travelers from all corners of the Central Plains who had gathered simply to spectate the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering smoothly evolved into rabid devotees. But after devouring all three volumes at Muho Bookstore, the newfound readers erupted into cries of agony. The cliffhanger ending of Volume 3, cutting off right on the precipice of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering, was sheer torture. Desperate pleas for Master Dokgo to publish the next installment flooded the air without end.

Unbothered by the uproar, Sanwol had returned from the qualifiers in high spirits, his brush flying across paper in a rhythmic blur.

"Ah, now that's what I'm talking about. Leave it to a tournament hosted by the Murim Alliance—even the qualifiers were a goldmine."

Why had Sanwol refrained from drawing his sword until the very last moment, content to watch the others? Many had offered their own grand theories, yet not a single one had hit the mark. No one in the world could have fathomed his true reason for participating.

He was there simply to observe the forms, movements, and qi circulation of other martial experts. There was no better, more convenient venue to witness such a vast array of martial disciplines than the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering.

Even his grand display of cleaving a boulder just to reach the main tournament sprang from the exact same motive. Unlike the preliminaries, where the opponent was a motionless rock, the main tournament consisted of one-on-one sparring matches. He would get to see and experience countless diverse techniques firsthand. That was why he had put on a proper show.

To Sanwol, winning the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering was merely a nice bonus, not an ultimate life goal. While the other qualifiers desperately trained day and night to hone their skills, Sanwol was completely engrossed in an entirely different pursuit: cataloging the techniques he had so intently memorized during the trials. Before his memory faded, he set to work transcribing the forms into dynamic sketches one by one.

Dipping his brush into black ink and capturing each movement on fresh paper, Sanwol marveled at what he drew. The martial arts displayed by the participants were so intricate and refined that they made the forms of the Three Talents Sword Technique look like child's play.

"...Maybe I should just ask the Alliance Leader to teach me martial arts?"

A sly, self-serving thought slithered into his mind. Honestly, using his wish to take the Murim Alliance Leader as his master sounded like a remarkably sensible investment.

Sanwol sighed as he finished another sketch.

The Three Talents Sword Technique was simply too pathetic. It truly lived down to its reputation as a third-rate martial art. Compared to the magnificent forms dancing across his parchment, his own repertoire felt no better than wooden stick fights between toddlers. Even so, if whoever created it was ambitious enough to name it after heaven, earth, and humanity, couldn't they have woven at least a sliver of profound insight into its forms?

A sword style that boiled down to a vertical cut, a horizontal slash, and a single thrust.

Yet each move bore a name that was preposterously grand.

Mount Tai Crushes the Peak—the move that had cleaved the boulder bathed in golden Sword Qi? In reality, it was just a plain downward slash, executed with qi-reinforced muscle and a thick coating of energy. The horizontal slash was no different, proudly dubbed Sweeping a Thousand Armies. A single swing to rout a thousand foes—a title so absurdly inflated it bordered on comedy.

And after the vertical and horizontal cuts came the thrust. As if abandoning all restraint, they even dragged celestial beings into it: Immortal Points the Way. An immortal reaching out a hand to guide the path? If a third-rate martial art possessed that kind of profound mystery, it wouldn't be third-rate in the first place.

Sanwol sighed, lamenting his misfortune in having had only a third-rate manual to work with. Yet a half-mocking thought crossed his mind: slapped-on grandeur for completely mundane moves... wasn't that the quintessential mark of a true shonen manga creator?

"Phew. Instead of wasting time on useless thoughts, I should draw another cut. No, another page."

Look on the bright side. Having observed so many varied forms, he could flesh out Volume 4 with authentic martial choreography. And as for his crude third-rate sword style, he could simply refine and patch it up himself. Reassuring himself with a nod, Sanwol figured he had finished organizing the stances. Time to grab a sweet snack to recharge his sugar levels before diving straight into the manuscript for Volume 4.

But his plans were shattered almost immediately. The moment he laid down his brush, uninvited guests arrived at his manor with uncanny precision.

"Uh... what brings you all here?"

"Ah, forgive the sudden intrusion. I am Jegal Jahyeok, Young Patriarch of the Jegal Clan. The reason we have come today is none other than..."

They weren't people he could turn away with an excuse about being busy. Five direct descendants of the Five Great Families stood before him, two of whom—Jegal Jahyeok and Namgung Mugyeol—were Young Patriarchs poised to inherit their respective clans.

Why do the heavens always hit me with these impossible trials?

Swallowing a stream of curses aimed squarely at the sky, Sanwol barely managed to suppress the groan rising in his throat.

"Please, come inside. We have a reception room where we can speak comfortably."

Sudden as the visit was, propriety demanded he host his guests. Sanwol led the five youths to the reception room and instructed a servant to bring out refreshments. During the brief moments while the servant was away, Sanwol's mind worked in overdrive. No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't recall stirring up any trouble that would warrant a direct delegation from the Five Great Families.

Soon, the servant returned. Thanks to Sanwol's notorious sweet tooth, the table was laden with high-grade confections, though his utter lack of refinement in tea culture meant the accompanying brew was entirely ordinary.

"The reason we have sought you out today, Young Hero, is nothing less than to offer our strength."

"...I beg your pardon?"

Jegal Jahyeok took a sip of tea before breaking the ice, but Sanwol only blinked in utter bewilderment. Sensing that his explanation had been too abrupt, Jegal Jahyeok paused thoughtfully before clarifying.

"Roughly three years ago... were you not ambushed by bandits in the mountains near Wuhan?"

Sanwol's eyes widened, then slowly nodded. However they had unearthed it, that ambush was an undeniable fact. Though it had occurred to the original owner of this body, the memory had left an indelible scar on Sanwol's psyche. Yet Jegal Jahyeok spoke as if he knew the hidden truth behind the event. Sanwol had always assumed it was just terrible luck—a random robbery. Was there actually more to it?

His casual demeanor vanished, his expression hardening. The faint annoyance in his eyes gave way to a razor-sharp focus.

"What happened to you that day was no mere coincidence."

"Are you saying it was a premeditated strike?"

"...Yes. While we have yet to uncover the mastermind behind it, we are certain you were not simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

To be honest, those memories still gnawed at the corners of Sanwol's mind. Memory was the vessel of emotion, and the terror, despair, and agony felt by the original Dokgo Sanwol had been etched into his very soul. The memory of his family being slaughtered before his eyes, of his own small body being brutally torn apart and left for dead—it resurfaced without warning whenever he let his guard down. In truth, his desperate drive to reach the Peak Realm had stemmed partly from an instinctive terror of ever experiencing such horror again.

And that had been someone's calculated scheme?

"Do you have evidence?"

For the first time in a very long while, a cold fury flared within Sanwol. If that agonizing trauma had truly been nothing more than rotten luck, he had been willing to write it off as the steep price of admission for a second chance at life. After all, drawing breath in a new world was vastly better than dying on the streets. But if it hadn't been random chance, the equation changed completely.

Seeing Sanwol's sunken tone as he demanded proof, Jegal Jahyeok let out a heavy sigh.

"Numerous traces of Sword Qi and Sword Gang remained carved into the trees and boulders at the site of the incident."

"...What else?"

"The sheer scarcity of information regarding you, Young Hero Dokgo. As if someone went out of their way to bury the truth, even our clan could only retrieve the barest fragments of records."

Sanwol dragged a hand over his face. He had pressed twice for evidence in the hopes of dispelling the notion, only to hear details that screamed foul play. Bandits capable of projecting not merely Sword Qi, but dense Sword Gang—martial masters of that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠caliber swarming together just to hunt down a penniless, defenseless family? On top of that, deliberate measures taken to erase any trace of their existence?

No one with a working brain could dismiss this as an accident. It was undeniably a conspiracy disguised as a tragedy.

"At present, our deduction points toward one of the Green Forest Eighteen Strongholds."

To think such a dark conspiracy lingered behind this body. Sanwol reeled in his shaken thoughts, glaring forward with burning intensity. Drawing a long, deep breath, he exhaled every trace of distraction.

But then, Jegal Jahyeok spoke words that made Sanwol freeze in bafflement.

"So please, stop testing us by pretending ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ignorance. Share your information with us. We will ensure your safety to the utmost of our abilities."

"...Information?"

Stop testing you? You're the ones who did all the investigating, so what information could I possibly have? Sanwol had literally only learned five seconds ago that the attack hadn't been a coincidence. Seeing Sanwol staring blankly in sheer confusion, Jegal Jahyeok picked up on the awkward silence and coughed uncomfortably.

"Did you not... craft the protagonist of Nangahyeopjeon as a call to find allies...?"

Everything had been going so smoothly, and now this nonsensical leap in logic? Sanwol pondered the words for a brief second before his train of thought slammed into the synopsis of Nangahyeopjeon. His eyes went wide as saucers, a breathless gasp escaping his lips.

Wait. Now that I think about it... it really is identical to my backstory!

A miraculous coincidence colliding head-on with a plausible misunderstanding had led to a shocking, utterly absurd conclusion.

"Let us... delve into a more detailed investigation once the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering is over."

"Ah, of course..."

The conversation wound down on a somewhat anticlimactic note, ending with Sanwol receiving guest medallions from all five prodigies.

A week slipped by in the blink of an eye.

The lull between the preliminaries and the main tournament of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering proved excruciatingly dull. The poor people of the Central Plains, their brains already soaked in dopamine from Nangahyeopjeon and the tournament, began howling for entertainment. At the agonizing realization that they had to endure yet another full week before the main event commenced, everyone wept in collective despair.

Taking pity on the suffering populace, heaven bestowed a warm mercy upon them: Volume 4 of Nangahyeopjeon.

Dokgo Sanwol's fanatic readers—who had long crossed past mere admiration into the realm of zealous worship—cheered in ecstasy and charged toward Muho Bookstore.

"A master is truly a master!"

"It feels as though I'm standing among the rising stars myself!"

Tears of awe flowed freely as they beheld the vivid choreography and dramatic staging of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering arc. By now, conversations drifting from Nangahyeopjeon into passionate debates about the Murim Alliance and the tournament had become an everyday occurrence.

Around that time, the upper echelons of the Murim Alliance were thrown into absolute pandemonium. While it had been some time since the leadership was shaken up, this commotion dwarfed anything in recent memory.

"Wh-Where on earth did all this wealth come from?!"

"Young Hero Dokgo sent it, stating it was to support the Murim Alliance's tournament!"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Dokgo Sanwol had donated a staggering fortune to the Alliance. Though it accounted for less than a tenth of his total wealth, he remained the single wealthiest private individual in all of Wuhan. The finance department, which had been grinding itself to dust trying to scrape together tournament funds, excitedly delivered their report to the grand hall. The high-ranking elders, upon reading the letter Sanwol had enclosed, were moved to genuine tears.

Furthermore, at the bottom of the letter, he had expressed his intent to continue regular financial support rather than stopping at a one-time gesture.

"Haha, perhaps we were too quick to suspect the young man."

"To think such a true chivalrous hero was walking among us and we failed to see it... It seems my old age has made me blind."

A burgeoning sense of devotion toward Sanwol took root across the Murim Alliance's leadership and financial bureaus, eventually coalescing into an unwritten decree whispered through the halls:

As of today, the business partnership between Dokgo Sanwol and the Murim Alliance is dissolved.

From this day forward, Dokgo Sanwol and the Murim Alliance are no mere partners, but one unified entity.

Any aggression against Dokgo Sanwol shall be deemed an act of war against the Murim Alliance.

Naturally, this had all been part of Sanwol's grand master plan. Now, anyone wishing to lay a finger on him would be forced to take on the entire Murim Alliance.

However, there was one crucial factor Sanwol had failed to account for.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Bandits, as a rule, were creatures whose brains did not operate on ordinary human logic.

"They dared touch Uncle Kang?"

Waking early to an unusual commotion echoing through the neighborhood, Sanwol had stepped out onto the street out of curiosity. Following the agitated crowd, he arrived before Muho Bookstore, where people were shouting and sobbing in despair. Pushing through the mob to the entrance of the shop, his eyes locked onto a wooden placard nailed to the door:

Those braindead bandits had pulled off a brazen kidnapping right in the heart of Wuhan.

If you're bandits, stay cooped up in your damn mountain valley! What possessed you to crawl all the way down here and mess with an innocent civilian?

"Mangchonru? Even his name sounds like a butcher. Bandit chief or whatever you are, I'm going to mince you into fish food."

The conversation he had shared with the Five Great Families prodigies, particularly Jegal Jahyeok, flashed vividly through Sanwol's mind. The very scoundrels who had branded him with memories so horrific his hands still shook in fury had willingly stepped right into his crosshairs.

Fine. I'll rescue Uncle Kang, and while I'm at it, I'll avenge the original owner of this body so his soul can finally rest in peace.

Concluding that the time had come to cure his post-traumatic stress disorder through cold, unyielding, bloody vengeance, Sanwol immediately drafted official bulletins and plastered them all across Wuhan. The notice explained that due to the heinous acts of the Green Forest bandits, someone dear to him had been taken, plunging him into such profound grief and mental distress that he could no longer write Nangahyeopjeon until his vengeance was complete.

The retaliation Sanwol chose was none other than the weaponization of an indefinite, blame-shifting creator hiatus.