Debating the World Over a Board

Before the mountain gate, where the mist had lifted, the elders and retainers of the Jegal Clan stood frozen, unable to believe what lay before their eyes.

The Mysterious Mechanism Illusion Grand Formation. For hundreds of years, it had been both the barrier and the pride of the Jegal Clan, guarding their estate like an iron fortress. And now that formation had been broken through—by a descendant of martial blood, even if Jegal's blood ran in his veins, a boy who had never spent a day of his life studying formations.

"This can't be…"

One elder broke the silence with a trembling voice. "There isn't a single trace of it being shattered by force. Which means he read the formation's flow perfectly and unraveled it from within."

A murmur spread through the crowd like a wave, and every gaze converged on Namgung Cheon at once. Just as the commotion threatened to swell beyond control—

Thud.

A single heavy footfall from Jegal Myeong silenced it all. He took one step forward and regarded Namgung Cheon without a word, his deep eyes sweeping through the boy's inner self from top to bottom. At length, a faint smile settled on his lips.

"Hah… hah…"

It was then that ragged breathing came trailing up the newly opened path. Mujin and Baek Heon scrambled through the mountain gate, breathless.

"What the—the fog just suddenly cleared, and the path…"

Mujin couldn't finish the sentence. He looked around. A crowd of people, and the taut tension rolling off them in waves. And at the very center of it all, standing there—an old man and Namgung Cheon. The moment Mujin's gaze landed on Jegal Myeong, his pupils dilated. He straightened at once and bowed with a formal fist salute.

"I pay my respects to the Clan Lord. This humble wanderer is called Mujin."

Jegal Myeong's gaze shifted to him. "It's been a long time. You probably don't remember."

"…"

"Is your master still drifting about like the wind?"

"…Yes. He is."

Jegal Myeong's eyes deepened in a strange way. "I see. That would be just like Nangwang."

He answered quietly, then turned to look at Zhuge Seoyeon. "Seoyeon."

"Yes, Clan Lord."

"Show our guests to the guest quarters. See to their comfort so they may rest from their journey—spare nothing."

"Understood."

Jegal Myeong turned his head back toward Namgung Cheon, and his eyes gleamed sharp once more.

"You have business with this old man. Come with me."

He beckoned, then started walking without so much as a backward glance. Namgung Cheon followed without a word.

Jegal Myeong strode along leisurely with his hands clasped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠behind his back. His destination was a narrow footpath winding behind the clan estate. Strange rocks and centuries-old trees lined both sides of the trail, weaving together into an air of quiet mystery.

As he followed, Namgung Cheon studied ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the old man's back. It was utterly ordinary—so ordinary one might wonder whether he had ever trained in martial arts at all. It looked exactly as it had in the distant past, when Namgung Cheon had been the Heavenly Demon. But Namgung Cheon knew. Behind that unremarkable back, thousands of unseen eyes were fixed upon him.

The Mysterious Origin Pure Sandalwood Divine Art.

A supreme art that only the Lord of the Jegal Clan could learn—a discipline that pierced to the root of all things and grasped every current in the world. It was a heart cultivation method, and at the same time, an eye technique. The reason Zhuge Seoyeon instinctively tried to read others' energy and hidden motives was that she had laid the groundwork of this very art. If she could do that much without ever having learned the technique itself, one could only imagine what the fully mastered eyes of Jegal Myeong were capable of.

This was why no spy or assassin had ever dared set foot in the Jegal Clan estate. Before this divine art, any disguise, any concealment, stood exposed as nakedly as a man stripped bare.

Then it happened.

Shhhh.

Goosebumps prickled across Namgung Cheon's skin. This is—

The air shifted, subtly. A furtive, clinging energy pressed in from all sides, like an invisible spider's web tightening around him. Formless power, radiating from behind Jegal Myeong, began to wrap itself around Namgung Cheon.

He really never lets anything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slide. Namgung Cheon raised the corner of his mouth. In his days as the Heavenly Demon, he would have detonated his demonic energy in an instant and torn that insolent gaze to shreds. But there was no need for that now.

Vmmm—

Deep in Namgung Cheon's chest, the Great Void Heart-Protecting Art quietly opened its eyes. A vast void blossomed within him at once, and Jegal Myeong's energy was drawn into that emptiness—then vanished without a trace.

"…"

Jegal Myeong's steps stopped dead. He spoke in a low voice. "That is a remarkable divine art."

Genuine admiration lay in his voice. "Other than your father, you are the first to seal my eyes this perfectly."

Namgung Cheon stared at the old man's back and answered evenly. "If you have questions for your grandson, Grandfather, you need only ask them."

Polite, but with teeth in it. At that, Jegal Myeong burst into a hearty laugh. "Hahaha! What a cheeky boy. You've inherited your father's temper, exactly."

He withdrew his energy and resumed walking. "Yes, my apologies. It's a bad habit of us old ones—always taking a person's measure, always verifying. Family or not."

"It's quite all right."

The two climbed the mountain path in silence once more. After a long while, Jegal Myeong spoke up abruptly. "But how did you break the Mysterious Mechanism Illusion Grand Formation?" He neither halted his steps nor looked back. "That is not a formation one can force open merely by possessing powerful martial arts."

Namgung Cheon considered for a moment. What had broken it, truly? The experience of his past life? The Great Void Heart-Protecting Art? No. Both had helped, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠undeniably—but the decisive key had been something else.

"I could see the flow."

Jegal Myeong stroked his beard and nodded. "Flow, is it… Yes. Everything has a flow. The wind, the water, and formations too. If you can read a flow, nothing in this world can stop you. And the divine art you've learned must have worked alongside it."

Looking satisfied, he quickened his pace. Before long, the dense forest gave way to an open clearing—and the sight that spread out before him made Namgung Cheon's eyes narrow.

At the edge of a sheer cliff stood a single serene pavilion. Jeongsim Pavilion—a plaque hung above it read, the tower that stills the mind.

And in the very center of the pavilion, one object sat alone: a baduk board. Across the ancient jujube-wood surface, black and white stones lay scattered in disarray.

Jegal Myeong stopped before the pavilion and slowly turned to face Namgung Cheon. The kindly light had drained from his eyes; in its place was a gaze like a bared blade. Holding Namgung Cheon in that gaze, he spoke.

"Do you play?"

"I can read a game record."

Namgung Cheon answered flatly. "Then let's play a game."

Jegal Myeong stepped into the pavilion and drew the bowl of white stones toward himself. "I'll take White."

Namgung Cheon sat down across from him and took up the bowl of black stones. The chill of the stones touched his fingertips. Before picking one up, he let his gaze drift over the board. An ordinary baduk board of aged jujube wood. But to Namgung Cheon's eyes, it looked different. The surface was nothing more than a common playing board—the real one is beneath it.

A subtle energy was seeping up from below the surface. In that case, there's no reason to waste my strength on this fake.

Namgung Cheon placed his first stone without ceremony, and Jegal Myeong answered without hesitation. Tak. A standard corner enclosure—the white stone on the star point settled into place with a heavy solidity. Namgung Cheon set down a black stone in turn.

Tak, ta-dak.

Only the crisp sound of stones striking wood rang through the pavilion. They had played perhaps thirty moves when Jegal Myeong's hand stopped. He frowned down at the board.

Namgung Cheon's moves were utterly ordinary. No—beyond ordinary, they were plain to the point of crudeness. He kept laying out textbook corner enclosures, one after another, with no discernible intent or momentum behind any of them.

Jegal Myeong returned the stone he was holding to its bowl. "What is it you're thinking about?"

Namgung Cheon answered by staring silently at the board. Jegal Myeong noticed then that the boy's gaze was fixed on something beyond it. "Sharp eyes, I see."

He chuckled, reached out, and gripped both sides of the board—then flipped it over in a single motion.

Whoosh.

The instant the board spun, something impossible occurred. The stones that should have come crashing to the floor instead shattered in midair like dust and vanished—as though they had been phantoms that never existed at all.

Thud.

Where the stones had vanished, another baduk board revealed itself. The same thirty-eight lines were still drawn across it, yet the feel of it was entirely different. If the lines of the first board had been inked onto wood, these had been gouged out by a sharp sword—deep, and cold. Between those lines, a strange energy smoldered upward like heat haze.

"Do not chase only the moves you can see," Jegal Myeong said, his voice sinking low. "The true contest is always decided where the eye cannot reach."

He picked up a white stone again, and the energy pouring from his fingertips dyed it whiter still—so bright that one might suspect it had turned transparent altogether. "Let us begin again."

Tak!

The moment Jegal Myeong set the stone down, a violent tremor rippled across the board. And then—

"…!"

Namgung Cheon's eyes flew wide open. In the space of a heartbeat, the scenery around them transformed. An endless plain, jagged mountain ranges, a river winding and coiling. Namgung Cheon's gaze sharpened. The Central Plains.

And above that vast land of the Central Plains, countless banners snapped in the wind—white banners of the Orthodox factions, black banners of the Unorthodox, and banners of violet and gold besides, the standards of a myriad powers.

"Then…" Jegal Myeong gazed down at the board—no, at the world itself—a faint smile playing on his lips. "Let us debate the fate of the world, shall we?"