Cultural Heritage Is a Serious Matter

"I cannot thank you enough for letting my research see the light of day… It was nothing more than a hypothesis, after all. Left alone, it would have simply rotted away in some forgotten corner…"

The old man's research had never been rigorous enough to earn academic confidence in the first place. That was only natural — there were limits to what a solitary researcher could achieve alone. He had no advanced equipment, no survey vessels, and as he was not a formally employed specialist, he could receive no institutional support either.

He had poured his personal savings into the work, and whenever hands ran short he hired mercenaries to help gather information across various sites. The end product of all that effort was a single, feeble paper that offered nothing more than a hypothesis — one among countless papers that speculated about fated opportunities, and among those, the one that had drawn uniquely zero interest from anyone.

But Namgung Hyeong's party had unearthed that paper. They then retained a trustworthy survey team and commissioned them to verify whether the archaeologist's hypothesis held water.

In truth, they had been running several such operations at once — hiring a separate survey team for every hypothesis that seemed even remotely promising. It was not something an ordinary person could do. The costs were enormous and the administrative procedures labyrinthine. But Namgung Hyeong and his companions were rich young masters with capital to burn, and their Committee credentials made them invincible when it came to red tape.

And then one of those bets had hit the jackpot. The old archaeologist's hypothesis had proven uncannily close to the truth.

Namgung Hyeong's party contacted the Committee they belonged to. With concrete results in hand, they could finally summon the main force. The Committee's veteran researchers — its direct specialists — were already on their way. These were professionals who ate, slept, and breathed the excavation of fated opportunities. Once they verified the hypothesis, it would at last carry full official authority. Another treasure would return to humanity's hands.

"I've already put a call through on the hotline to the Cultural Heritage Management Committee I belong to. Our direct researchers will be arriving shortly to begin the formal investigation."

"Oh my… The Committee's own researchers — aren't they the absolute pinnacle of this field?"

The Cultural Heritage Management Committee that Namgung Hyeong served was one of the nonprofit administrative-support bodies known as Committees under the Galactic Government, charged with the overall stewardship of historical cultural assets across the galaxy.

A collective must never lose its identity. Identity is the force that binds a group together and allows it to endure. And cultural heritage is nothing less than the material evidence of humanity's identity — the thing that keeps the sense of belonging intact and shows us what we struggle and live for.

That was why the Cultural Heritage Management Committee, despite its dull-sounding name, carried a weight of responsibility that was anything but trivial.

And for the record, fated opportunities counted as cultural heritage too — which meant this Committee oversaw the management of every fated opportunity in the entire galaxy. Investigating them. Researching them. Securing them. And above all, mediating the disputes that inevitably arose around them.

"Once the Committee's researchers arrive, it won't take long to establish definitive confirmation. We will secure the fated opportunity completely. However, given how sensitive this matter is, they will visit discreetly, with only a small elite team."

"Of course. A relic of this magnitude is bound to cause enormous waves. Plenty of parties will be after it. Who would have imagined something like this existed out in the sticks? Even I had my doubts at first…"

He truly had never expected something like this to exist in a planetary system so far removed from the Central Realms.

A fated opportunity left behind by a great figure of humanity's golden age — the early era of galactic colonization. Namely…

"The fated opportunity left by the wife of Musin."

Musin's wife. The greatest of all time. The Killing Star, Baek Soso.

Her legacy lay sleeping here. The traces of one of the most important figures in human history had been discovered in a place where no one could have imagined they would be.

"Aigoo. Just the rumor of a fated opportunity has already stirred up this much chaos. If word gets out that it's Baek Soso's fated opportunity… a storm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of blood will sweep through this place."

"Which is precisely why we are maintaining secrecy as tightly as we can. I don't know how long we can keep the lid on, but we intend to do our absolute best — at least until the administrative groundwork is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ready for a public reveal."

"Excellent. I'll keep my mouth shut for a while as well. If this leaked by accident, the consequences would be unthinkable. I'll lock myself in the house out of sheer terror, hahaha."

"Actually, there's a better option. What would you say to joining the formal research team yourself?"

At those words, the archaeologist's wrinkled eyes went round as saucers.

"I… what!? Me? On the finest research team in the galaxy? You're saying someone like me would even be allowed to join?"

"You are the one who proposed the hypothesis. That should more than qualify you."

"Good heavens — Musin above…! Ngh…!! Hnngh… Thank… thank you…!! My lifelong dream…!!"

The old man lit up like a child, then burst into tears.

"The research team will be personally shielded by the Sichuan Tang Clan's own information-concealment specialists — the famous ones. For as long as you remain with the team, nothing will leak, and more importantly, you will no longer need to worry about threats to your personal safety."

"Wonderful…! Absolutely wonderful…! An opportunity like this…! Thank you…!"

And so Namgung Hyeong and the archaeologist passed a warm, companionable stretch of time together. They ate meat pies the archaeologist had baked himself and chatted freely. Whenever the conversation turned to the ruins the old man would grow so moved he kept tearing up, then laugh it off with a soft chuckle and carry on.

Since arriving empty-handed would have been rude, Namgung Hyeong also unboxed the gift he had brought: a set of paper notebooks crafted from Terra-grown wood — material more expensive than most ultra-premium specialty minerals.

The archaeologist's hands trembled as he received them. Anything from Terra was ruinously expensive; strict regulations for the planet's protection heavily restricted exports. But the true value of goods from Terra did not lie in their price. It lay in their sanctity. Terra was the center and root of humanity — the eternal homeland of every human being. The place where humankind had first arisen.

The archaeologist had been born far beyond Terra's reach. The atoms that composed his body had no connection whatsoever to that world; they were wholly alien. But this paper?

The atoms that made up these notebooks had once been the ground their ancestors walked upon, the air they breathed, the remains they left behind when they died. Before the galactic age began, Terra's atoms had cycled endlessly within a closed planetary system for ages upon ages. Which meant that some of the atoms in this notebook might once have resided in the body of a hero from history. Some might have formed a strand of the first king's hair. And some of the carbon and oxygen in this paper might once have been a breath exhaled by Musin himself.

The archaeologist was deeply moved. A swelling sense of belonging, of kinship with all humanity. This notebook was practically a cultural treasure in its own right.

This was why cultural heritage mattered. It provided human beings with material proof of their identity.

As it happened, the archaeologist already preferred the ancient, classical culture of writing on paper. When commissioning mercenaries he would hand them paper memos with the instructions written out by hand, and they treated him like an eccentric for it. A more perfect gift was hard to imagine.

It was in that warm atmosphere, while they were still nibbling on post-meal snacks, that Namgung Hyeong received a communication from Hyukryeon Wiseol.

They had clashed with the cultists — and subdued them all.

Those people had been persons of interest from the start. The Purple Star Cult ranked among the most extreme hardliners and warmongers even within the Demonic Cult. The moment they set foot in this city, they had already registered on Hyukryeon Wiseol's information radar, which kept the entire urban area under constant surveillance. At first, though, they had seemed harmless enough. Like the countless other expedition teams that had flocked here chasing a fated opportunity, they appeared to be searching without any real knowledge of what it was or where it lay.

But then they had encountered the old archaeologist's hypothesis. And they had gone into the canyon themselves to test whether it was true.

No one else had bothered to try verifying the old archaeologist's claim. An obscure, washed-up scholar insisting that the fated opportunity left by Musin's wife was sitting in his rural backyard — of course no one took it seriously. It lacked all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠realism. All credibility.

The cultists, however, had gone and researched it anyway. Using expensive measurement equipment of their own.

Step by step, they had been closing in on the truth. And Namgung Hyeong's party had noticed that the cultists were onto it. The entire city was already under their thorough surveillance. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠No matter how carefully the cultists tried to erase their trail — even resorting to manual vehicle operation — traces remained.

If they had merely known about the fated opportunity, negotiation or a joint research proposal might still have been possible. But their goal was not the opportunity itself. It was the bloodstorm the opportunity would unleash. To spark conflict through a fated opportunity and fan the flames of extremism — that was what they wanted.

In the end, Namgung Hyeong's party had drawn their blades.

And the result…