The Center of Heaven
Heaven and Earth — the world itself.
The illusion formation Jegal Myeong had unfurled was a recreation of the world entire.
Namgung Cheon narrowed his eyes and gazed out across the vast landscape.
Beneath his feet flowed the Yellow River and the Yangtze, the lifeblood of the Central Plains, while overhead a hazy sky stretched unbroken from horizon to horizon.
And then—
*Waaaaah—!*
Along with a roar that shook heaven and earth, countless martial artists appeared and hurled themselves at one another.
The clang of blades colliding and the sickening crunch of flesh tearing split the air, nearly rending his eardrums.
A faint tang of blood wormed its way into his nose.
The senses were far too vivid for mere illusion.
"Do you see it?"
Jegal Myeong's voice rang out through the empty air.
At some point he had left the pavilion behind, floating as though surveying the world from above, and was now looking down at Namgung Cheon.
"This is the murim of today."
Jegal Myeong raised his hand and pointed to the four corners of the Central Plains.
At his gesture, four enormous banners rose into the sky.
"The Four Overlords of the World. The Orthodox, the Unorthodox, the Demonic, and the Commercial. These four point their blades at each other's throats, maintaining a perilous balance."
He gestured first toward the Central Plains.
A white banner — the domain of the Murim Alliance.
"The Orthodox uphold order under the banner of righteousness, yet—"
Jegal Myeong frowned and continued.
"Their insides fester with the disputes of countless sects squabbling over their own interests. Even among themselves they splinter into factions — the North China Society here, the Yangtze Alliance there."
Next, his hand swept toward the south, where a black aura churned.
Saheukryeon.
"The Unorthodox, as ever, hold their breath while lining their pockets."
A cold sneer curled across his lips.
"All the while preparing to plunge a blade into someone's back — whoever it may be, whenever the chance comes."
And to the east.
The domain of the Merchant Dao Heavens, shimmering with a golden radiance dazzling enough to blind.
"The merchants, by contrast, built their own fortress out of money."
Jegal Myeong narrowed his eyes as he studied the golden banner.
"They learned to win without fighting, courting both the righteous and the wicked alike. The result is the power bloc known as the Merchant Dao Heavens."
Finally, the west.
The lands of the Demonic Cult, wreathed in an eerie stillness and a violet aura.
"And last, the Demonic Cult. It has remained silent for decades."
His expression grew grave.
"But one thing is certain — that silence will not last. There have been strange movements even of late."
Jegal Myeong tore his gaze from the banners and fixed Namgung Cheon with a chilling stare.
"In the end, this murim only appears calm on the surface. Beneath, it is a powder keg waiting to blow."
His voice sank low.
"The precariousness of walking on thin ice. That is the true face of the murim you stand upon."
He placed a single black stone on the Go board — no, upon the world itself.
*Thud—!*
With a tremor that seemed to shake the very earth, the banners in the illusion whipped violently.
"Will this balance last forever?"
Jegal Myeong's question was razor-sharp.
Namgung Cheon fell silent for a moment.
His gaze swept slowly over the four corners where the Four Overlords held sway.
A balance maintained, paradoxically, only because each held a blade to the others' throats.
But it was merely temporary.
If even one side grew the slightest bit weaker—
"It cannot last forever."
Namgung Cheon spoke calmly.
"Balance is, in the end, nothing more than a confrontation of forces."
He met Jegal Myeong's gaze with unshaking eyes.
"The moment one side weakens — or a greater power emerges — the whole thing will collapse in an instant. It is the same as stagnant water: it either rots or dries up, never holding its level for eternity."
Jegal Myeong's eyes deepened.
"By your reasoning, an age of chaos is bound to come. The Orthodox and the Unorthodox, the Demonic and the Commercial, all entangled together."
He continued as he gazed upon the battlefield where blades raged without number.
"A hell where blood flows in rivers and corpses pile into mountains. And when that time comes, you..."
*Shff—.*
With a single sweep of his hand, Jegal Myeong drew the four great banners that commanded heaven and earth down toward Namgung Cheon.
At the same moment, the auras of the Four Overlords took on tangible form and began to bear down upon Namgung Cheon's entire body.
"Will you shine your light even amid that chaos, or—"
*Kuaaah—!*
The enormous banners tilted slowly, as though to crush him beneath them.
"—will you be swept away and shattered by that raging current?"
Every manner of energy burst from the banners, pressing down on Namgung Cheon.
It was as though a mountain were resting on his shoulders.
Any ordinary martial artist would have collapsed on the spot, trembling.
But Namgung Cheon, far from faltering, let a smile touch his lips.
*'Swept away by the current,' is it?*
That would never happen.
If anything, he was the one who would create that current.
*Shaaaa—!*
A blue aura rose from Namgung Cheon's body.
Even as he withstood the pressure with his internal energy, Namgung Cheon recalled the principles of formations.
*'Flow.'*
A formation, too, was ultimately the flow of energy.
No matter how vast and intricate a formation might be, at its core there existed a path along which qi flowed, and a center that governed that path.
If he could fully read that flow — and change it—
Namgung Cheon's eyes swept across the world within the illusion.
More precisely, across the countless interwoven currents of energy.
The white aura of the Murim Alliance, the black aura of Saheukryeon, the violet aura of the Demonic Cult, and the golden aura of the Merchant Dao Heavens lay tangled together like a snarl of thread.
As if to say the formation could only be broken by untangling every last strand.
But if he wasted time untangling these energies, the banners of the Four Overlords would crush him flat before he finished.
That path was no answer at all.
*'Then—'*
His gaze turned toward the heart of the snarl.
The place where every current of energy began and ended.
The place where all forces collided, nullified one another, and began anew.
The very center of the Go board — and the center of the world.
*'Tianyuan. The Origin of Heaven.'*
Namgung Cheon reached out toward the empty air.
As though picking up a Go stone.
*Uuuuung—!*
The internal energy condensed at his fingertips vibrated with a resonant hum.
Then he drove his fingertip down toward the exact center of the world — the heart of the Central Plains.
*Tak—!*
A clear, crisp note of a stone landing rang out across the world.
And in that instant—
*Kuaaaaah—!*
An invisible shockwave erupted outward from Namgung Cheon's fingertip as though it had exploded.
And then—
"…!"
The world changed.
Surprise flickered in Jegal Myeong's eyes.
The countless banners that had been bearing down on Namgung Cheon lost their force all at once and fell back.
And at the center of it all, from the very spot where Namgung Cheon had touched, a single colossal banner rose into the sky.
A magnificent inscription in black upon a field of blue.
Namgung (南宮).
The banner of the Namgung Clan.
A banner vast enough to tower over all the others.
The golden gleam of the Merchant Dao Heavens, the darkness of Saheukryeon — before that overwhelming presence, they all lost their light.
Namgung Cheon pointed at the banner and looked straight up at Jegal Myeong, who hovered in the air.
"I will not be swept away."
Like Jegal Myeong before him, Namgung Cheon's voice rolled out in a magnificent swell.
"Namgung — and I — will stand at the very center of that chaos. With everything else beneath our feet."
"…."
Jegal Myeong was left speechless.
This was a formation he had spent his entire life perfecting.
Within it, he was god and heaven itself.
And yet a grandson barely past twenty had carved his own will into that heaven.
Jegal Myeong gazed quietly at the fluttering Namgung banner.
The sight of the blue banner standing tall was shocking — and at the same time, it sent a thrilling awe surging through his chest.
After a long silence, Jegal Myeong suddenly threw back his head and burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha!"
His booming laughter shook the world.
He laughed for a long while, even dabbing at the tears at the corners of his eyes.
"What an audacious rascal. To think you'd dare overturn a board I set."
Jegal Myeong restrained his laughter and looked at Namgung Cheon.
The sharpness had left his eyes.
In their place was a gentle, tender gaze.
With a voice as soft as that look, Jegal Myeong spoke.
"You surpass even your father."
*Shff—.*
Jegal Myeong waved his hand.
The formation dissolved, and the tranquil scenery of Jeongsim Pavilion returned.
The sheer cliff face, and an ordinary Go board resting on the table.
But at the very center of that board — at the tianyuan — a single black stone sat alone.
Jegal Myeong looked down at the board and murmured softly.
"Yes. You may well be right."
He smiled bitterly.
"The murim of today is far too fragile. It looks calm on the surface, but within, it is rotting away."
He paused and let out a long sigh.
"Unless someone seizes the center, everything could perish together."
Jegal Myeong rose from his seat.
Hands clasped behind his back, he stood at the pavilion's railing and gazed down at the dizzying cliff below.
"What we need is a new wind."
His eyes blazed fiercely.
"A strong wind that will cut away the rotten branches and rebuild from the very roots."
He slowly turned his head to regard Namgung Cheon.
In Jegal Myeong's eyes, expectation and worry coexisted.
"Can you become that wind?"
Namgung Cheon rose from his seat as well.
He walked over to stand beside Jegal Myeong, shoulder to shoulder.
"A wind will not be enough."
Namgung Cheon's gaze turned toward the distant sky.
"It must be a storm. One that sweeps everything away so that all may begin again."
At that answer, the corners of Jegal Myeong's mouth lifted.
"A storm... Yes, I suppose nothing less will do."
He patted his grandson on the shoulder.
Then he added, without delay:
"But bear this in mind."
Weight settled into his voice.
"A storm can sweep away allies as well as enemies."
"I will remember. Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Yes, go and rest."
Namgung Cheon bowed deeply in farewell and took his leave.
Jegal Myeong quietly watched his grandson's retreating figure.
*'It's been a while.'*
Not since he had faced his son-in-law, Namgung Mugang.
A premonition that a great upheaval was about to strike a murim so stagnant it had begun to rot.
And the fact that his own flesh and blood would stand at the heart of it pleased him greatly.
"I look forward to it."
A deep smile spread across Jegal Myeong's lips.
And he murmured softly:
"Yes — go and stir the world to your heart's content."
He slowly brushed his finger across the black stone resting at the tianyuan of the Go board.
"This old man will be watching."
Namgung Cheonma
Author | Baek Rihaeng
Publisher | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd.
Editor-in-Chief | Editorial Department
Published by | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dreambooks
Address | 7F, Gwangseong Building, 28 Bongeunsa-ro 114-gil, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
ISBN | 979-11-7306-734-1
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