The War of Destiny

The door creaked open, and Yeop Pung stepped into view.

Maeng Chang-haeng, Bone, and Heukgu were peeking in from outside, craning their necks with undisguised curiosity. The instant they spotted him, they all pretended to be absorbed in the sky.

"Um..."

The sight of Un Cheoncheon's cold expression left Yeop Pung strangely unsettled. The night of the Gangun Moon Viewing Banquet came rushing back, and his face still seemed to burn at the memory.

"Want to come in?"

He threw the door wide. Un Cheoncheon did not move.

"Then... shall we take a walk outside?"

Yeop Pung flicked a glance at the others. Not one of them had the sense to make themselves scarce. They kept staring at the stars as if the heavens themselves were far more interesting than giving two people a little room.

"It's fine."

Un Cheoncheon refused in a single word. Then, unexpectedly, she drew a scrap of white cloth from her robes and held it out to him.

"I'm on duty at the Nowoon Peak prison today. Wang Maeng asked me to give you this."

Ah. So that's it.

Yeop Pung had never imagined this icy woman would come looking for him without a reason. He did not consider himself that charming.

"What is it?"

He took the cloth, and his expression went rigid. Crowded across the fabric in crimson ink were some hundred names — Wang Maeng, Yo Yeong-chun, his comrades from the Cheonun First Unit, and even people he had never met.

And right in the heart of all those names, two simple, powerful words caught his eye.

This is...!

A hot surge of feeling welled up in Yeop Pung's chest. He could not quite name what it was. But the depth of heart packed into those words crossed the white cloth and reached him whole.

"I guess some people heard what Sa Cheonseong said. Wang Maeng gathered them, and they wrote this. Don't worry about a thing. Just fight. Don't give them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a second thought."

Yeop Pung's heart blazed. It was as if a roaring furnace had been lit inside his chest.

Wang Maeng, you bastards... Betting your lives to cheer me on so I can fight without a worry... The scrap of white cloth in his hand suddenly felt as heavy as a mountain.

The moment she finished speaking, Un Cheoncheon turned and walked away as if nothing had happened. She looked like someone who had completed her mission and had no reason left to linger.

But when she reached the gate at the front of the courtyard, she paused and spoke for the third time that day.

"Huh?"

Yeop Pung was bewildered. What was that? Could you say it again?

Un Cheoncheon paused, then changed her words.

"...That there will always be people standing behind you... That's a truly happy thing."

Her voice scattered on the air, and she was gone.

Until she had completely left the courtyard, Un Cheoncheon muttered to herself, her beautiful brow faintly furrowed.

"What was that? Those words... Who said that to me? And why did I say something like that to that boy...?"

Her eyes were full of confusion. She seemed not even to remember what she had just done — and yet the concern she felt for Yeop Pung was truly stirring in her chest. Otherwise, with so many people at Nowoon Peak, why would she have come in person to deliver a scrap of cloth, and even spoken those words?

At the last Gangun Moon Viewing Banquet, she had not been able to suppress the impulse to save him. Just as it had been then, her feeling toward Yeop Pung was an instinctive pull rising from the deepest part of her soul.

It's so strange...

Un Cheoncheon left.

Alone, Yeop Pung stared at the scrap of white cloth in his hand. After a long silence, he clenched it tight in his right fist, went inside, and slammed the door shut.

A burst of light — and dazzling starlight flooded the room in an instant. Yeop Pung began to train again. It was as if the old Yeop Pung had returned: the one who charged forward looking only ahead.

"Tsk, tsk..."

Elder Maeng, watching from outside, shook his head.

"Look at that. Look at that. I stuck my nose in for nothing. That girl's words did more than the lot of us standing guard out here all day!"

"That's right, that's right!"

Heukgu chimed in beside him.

Just then the starlight inside the room vanished. Yeop Pung poked his head through the crack in the door.

"Heukgu, get in here. Did you copy the dictionary today?"

"...?"

What?! Master, weren't you still depressed? I was enjoying this...

There are times when a person cannot see the path ahead — when even taking a single step forward is frightening. In such moments, all it takes is someone reaching out a hand from in front, or a push at the back. Even if it is only the smallest of steps, as long as they can move forward, they can keep walking.

To Yeop Pung, Wang Maeng was the one who had reached out a hand. Un Cheoncheon was the one who had pushed him from behind. The problem itself had not been solved. But at least the old Yeop Pung had come back.

What lay ahead was still as brutal as ever. But Yeop Pung's fighting spirit had caught fire once more.

I will never bow to Sa Cheonseong's humiliating scheme. Even if I cannot change Cheonun Sect's fate, I'll do everything I can until the very last moment!

Creak—

Heukgu opened the door with the air of a creature resigned to its fate. He did not even look at Yeop Pung. He simply picked up the paper and brush from the corner, spread open a dictionary as thick as his own torso, and sank into gloomy thought.

Where did I leave off yesterday...?

"Heukgu."

Yeop Pung's voice was suddenly gentle — and threaded through with a deep, grim resolve.

"This... will probably be the last time I ask for your help."

"Huh?"

The brush in Heukgu's paw clattered to the floor.

"Then... does that mean I don't get any more Nakryeong Root?"

The solemn atmosphere in the room went ice-cold in an instant.

Zzt—crack!

Heukgu's familiar scream filled Nagun Peak from end to end. Outside, Elder Maeng and Bone exchanged a look, then went back to their own business.

Yeop Pung seemed completely back to normal.

For the fifteen days that followed, Yeop Pung cast aside every stray thought and threw himself into training alone. In his mind there was nothing but the vast river of stars and the exquisite forms of the Falling Star Sword Technique. When he was hungry, he chewed Nakryeong Root. When he was thirsty, he drank Elder Maeng's spiritual liquor, Cheering Spring.

He had become something like a high-efficiency training machine, pouring everything he had into cultivation at a speed beyond imagining. He was going all in.

Only fifteen days remained until the match. He could not afford to waste either of his two remaining chances.

He returned to the past, learned the Nine Heavens Cloud-Spirit Scripture from Yeom Woon-hwan, and honed the Falling Star Sword Technique. It was as if he had found the finest teacher and the finest friend in a single person.

Yeom Woon-hwan, too, seemed to sense the grim urgency in him. She buried whatever she truly felt and taught him everything she knew.

Over the course of a month, Yeop Pung at last mastered the entire Nine Heavens Star Cloud Chart and raised the speed of his star condensation to the five-hundred-star level. He had reached a height where he could stand shoulder to shoulder with the greatest geniuses of Cheonun Sect from a hundred years ago.

A week after returning from his second journey through time, he finally broke through his fifth meridian, and his strength exploded.

Above all, he could finally train the killing art of the Falling Star Sword Technique — Star Cloud Eight Desolations.

A hundred years ago, the reason people feared a Cheonun disciple with a sword in hand was precisely this terrifying combination of Star Cloud Eight Desolations and the Star Spirit Body Art.

But a century later, almost none of Cheonun's younger generation could perform that legendary chain of techniques. Their mastery of the Nine Heavens Cloud-Spirit Scripture was far too shallow to even learn the Star Spirit Body Art.

To the very end, Yeop Pung poured everything he had into Cheonun Sect's strongest art. He trained day and night, wringing the sweat from his body, and at last, on the night before he was to depart through time, he perfected Star Cloud Eight Desolations.

The hour of leaving drew near. Yeop Pung could no longer count how many times he had said goodbye to Yeom Woon-hwan.

The two of them had grown used to this way of parting. Yeop Pung would appear without a sound, and Yeom Woon-hwan, reading his heart, would head for the mountain behind the peak. They would face each other and smile, sharing the joy of reunion — and then Yeop Pung would vanish, and she would return to Cheonun to wait for the next meeting.

It felt good. For Yeop Pung, there was always a warm refuge waiting. A place with Woon-hwan's eyes, beautiful as crescent moons, and the childish young Heukgu, and Brother Ho and his gang.

And this journey through time would likely be his last chance to return here. The day after he went back to the present world was the final, fated duel.

"Woon-hwan, I'm going!"

Yeop Pung watched her receding figure disappear, drew a deep breath, and stepped into the empty air.

As for how he would walk the line between life and death tomorrow, Yeop Pung already had a clear answer in his heart. Do everything a person can do, and leave the rest to Heaven. Pour every last ounce of strength into writing his own magnificent epic on the final page of Cheonun Sect's history.

Night passed. When the sun rose the next morning, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a heavy bell tolled through every chest. The grand match at the renaming ceremony — the battle on which the fate of all Cheonun Sect hung — had at last begun.

In the pale morning light, every Cheonun disciple who had not yet been seized gathered at Cheonun Square. They formed ranks before the Cheonun Stele of Inquiring Qi, the stone that stood for a thousand years of history.

A high platform had already been raised. More than two thousand soldiers of the Cheonbong Army stood around it with cold faces, and five thousand elite troops newly dispatched from the Military Supply Bureau ringed the square on every side. A full eight thousand of armed force had been mobilized to ensure the match proceeded without a hitch.

At the far end of the square, facing the mountain below, a great plaque hung in midair, bound by ropes.

The moment Naeng Chu gave the order, that plaque — the glory and honor of Cheonun Sect — would fall from the air and shatter to pieces. In the same breath, a new plaque reading Cheonwoon Martial Academy would take its place. It would mean the Military Supply Bureau's dominion over this ancient sect was complete, and forever.

As time passed, more and more people gathered. Over ten thousand of Cheonun's third-generation disciples, more than five hundred elders, and several Peak Masters arrived at the square. Every face was already heavy with gloom and grim resolve.

By contrast, when Naeng Chu appeared with Ban Imjung and the other great figures of the Cheonbong Army, their faces were full of pride and triumph.

Cheonun Sect had finally fallen into their hands.

Once today was over, the Governor would surely reward them handsomely for taking a thousand-year sect without spilling a single drop of blood. Everything was proceeding exactly according to the Cheonbong Army's plan.

When the auspicious hour arrived, a mighty horn blast rolled across the square. People straightened without thinking and looked toward the platform. Han Buri, the newly appointed Headmaster of the Cheonwoon Martial Academy, walked to the center in full ceremonial robes, a smile on his face.

"Turncoat!"

Someone in the crowd muttered through clenched teeth — but no one dared shout it aloud.

"Long live the Headmaster!"

The sycophants were already cheering the new Headmaster.

Before Han Buri stood ten thousand Cheonun disciples and eight thousand soldiers of the Military Supply Bureau. Behind him, the Cheonbong Army's generals and Cheonun's remaining Peak Masters sat divided to either side.

Han Buri smiled faintly and raised a booming voice.

"The Headmaster speaks truly!"

More than eight-tenths of those below cheered. The furious hardliners among Cheonun's disciples were all locked in the Cheonroe dungeons, so the surface of the gathering was peaceful, even convivial.

"But before today's grand match begins, the Cheonbong Army and our Academy have prepared a very special exhibition. Young masters representing both sides will compete in martial skill. No further words are needed, I think. Lee Sujol — summon the Gyeongcheon Sword, and bring forth the two contestants!"

Lee Sujol?

There was not a shred of respect in the way Han Buri tossed out the former Sect Master's name as if it were nothing.

Lee Sujol was dressed as plainly as he had been on Nagun Peak. He stood upon the Gyeongcheon Sword with no expression at all, his eyes holding a deep and quiet grief. The bitterness of a man who had once been Sect Master, now reduced to a referee guarding a stage, was beyond words.

Han Buri watched the sight with a malicious smile and raised his voice once more.

A white shadow shot up onto the Gyeongcheon Sword. His imposing Cheonbong battle armor blazed in the sunlight. The dark crimson long spear slung across his shoulder looked like a viper opening its jaws to swallow its prey.

Sa Cheonseong — a born genius, a hero who had shaken the world — had at last arrived at the perfect moment to turn the blade of his revenge.

The cold composure of old was gone. The muscles of his face twitched; he made no effort to hide his excitement. He looked like a wolf starved for blood, fixing its eyes on the kill.

The crowd held its breath at the Sa Cheonseong of today — and especially at the long spear gleaming sharp at his back. A powerhouse like this, armed with a top-grade Profound Weapon: who within the Profound Realm could possibly stop him? Today, it seemed, Yeop Pung was finished.

Han Buri's booming voice rolled out once more. Every gaze in the square swung toward the Cheonun disciples.

The crowd parted for him as one. Yeop Pung walked out from among them, back straight, stride unhurried and unafraid.

At last, Yeop Pung had appeared.

The duel on which the fates of the Cheonbong Army and Cheonun Sect hung began at this very moment.