The Weight of Shared Memories
As he left the territory of the Ebenrak Family, Han Yujin felt an odd sense of unreality wash over him.
Looking back, he realized he had spent quite a long time in this world. Longer, in fact, than the time he had spent in the martial world—longer even than his life on Earth.
Leaving behind the place where he had built his most precious and beautiful memories in this universe was bound to leave him a little dazed. It was only natural.
Fortunately, Han Yujin possessed an exceptionally strong mind. Having already overcome the Heartless Tribulation, he was able to soothe himself and minimize any negative emotions.
After roughly a month aboard a civilian starship, he finally arrived at Planet A-1, where the Emperor resided.
Only citizens of Level 2 or higher were permitted to visit. As a result, the entire planet had been developed without a single wasted space, yet its natural environment had been meticulously preserved. The result was breathtakingly beautiful.
It was the pinnacle of a rational, morally advanced, science-fiction civilization.
He did not go to see the Emperor immediately. There were things he had decided to do right before leaving.
First, he needed to spend every last one of his remaining credits on items that could only be found here. Second, he had to find a suitable location and feed Mu-yong the spiritual pill the Ipsissimus archmage had given her.
So he wandered across the planet, purchasing various ingredients, equipment, and useful tools. As quite some time had passed, Mu-yong had regained her usual liveliness. Naturally, whenever she spotted a restaurant or dessert shop, she would peek out from his embrace, her round black eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.
“Sigh…”
As always, he couldn’t win against her and ended up buying her every kind of food and drink she wanted.
Because of that, he wasted quite a bit of time. Many shops and companies closed at night, so he occasionally had to spend the evenings resting idly in a hotel.
That was how he ended up in a clean, luxurious hotel room one evening.
Once again, Mu-yong was completely absorbed in making cocktails. She manipulated the Infimix that Brenar had given her, using her spiritual arts and tiny front paws with surprising dexterity.
So far, every result had been perfect—whether due to sheer luck or because Brenar had thoughtfully customized the device with Mu-yong in mind. Only outcomes that perfectly suited the little beast’s taste had emerged.
The faint aroma of alcohol beginning to waft through the air suggested that today would be another success.
Han Yujin sat on the sofa, watching the creature entertain herself. Then, without realizing it, he opened his mouth.
“Mu-yong.”
Jjik-?
He had called her, but the words wouldn’t come easily.
Mu-yong stared at him quietly as he hesitated. She stopped operating the Infimix, scurried over, and leaped into his arms.
“…You already know about my awakening ability. Probably better than anyone else in this world—and anyone I’ll meet in the future.”
Jjik-!
“Aren’t you curious? Why I won’t go back to see Eun Miryeong again. Why I believe I have no choice but to part with Brenar for a very, very long time. With my ability, I could return to the exact moment I first met them whenever I wanted.”
Instead of replying with a squeak, she sent her thoughts through their bond. It was communication made possible by the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol.
“That’s right… Even if I met them again, they wouldn’t be able to share those memories with me.”
It was clear that their bodies and souls were the same. But without shared memories, they would feel like strangers. The thought truly ached.
Even when he had tried to form the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol with Mu-yong, he had nearly failed.
So what he hoped for was clear.
“If I continue to grow stronger, I should eventually be able to enter the branches of spacetime that I myself have influenced. Even if it’s something close to a simulation.”
He believed that once he reached the True Immortal Stage, it would somehow become possible.
Just as the Ipsissimus archmage had casually separated him from every timeline for a moment—simply because a conversation might have been distracting.
“And if I can bring them back to reality from there, they could visit their homeworld whenever they wished… And with my power as a True Immortal, we could enjoy eternal life together.”
The goal of sharing eternal life was incredibly important. The method could not be imperfect. That made it extremely difficult and demanding.
In that regard, he had no worries about Mu-yong, who was connected to him through the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol. It was a technique with clear drawbacks, but its advantages were equally absolute.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work on humans.
Of course, if he modified the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol for human use, that might change.
But he had already formed the bond with Mu-yong. There was no room left in his soul to accept another being.
In short, this was what it meant:
As he grew stronger, Mu-yong would naturally grow alongside him.
Even if his realm advanced and created spare “mystical connection capacity,” Mu-yong would immediately absorb that surplus to fuel her own growth, restoring the balance to its original state.
That meant there would always be a shortage of mystical connection capacity, naturally preventing him from accepting any additional beings.
If he truly wanted to force another entity in, he would first have to reduce the capacity Mu-yong currently occupied…
But if I did that, the connection with my awakening ability might snap entirely.
The mere thought sent a chill down his spine. He could never experiment with how much connection capacity he could reduce while keeping Mu-yong safe.
Moreover, reducing the capacity in their current state might weaken their communication and could even affect their shared lifespan. It was something he must never attempt.
In fact, from a purely logical standpoint, it was impossible for a technique like the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol to be used freely on multiple targets.
If that were possible, a single Soul Formation investigator could form an entire legion of Nascent Soul-level spiritual beasts using the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol.
It was then that Mu-yong squeaked again.
“…Ah.”
His thoughts had briefly wandered. Mu-yong’s cry brought him back to the present.
“…The reason I’m telling you all this now is because…”
There was a reason.
Because the Mu-yong before him was no longer the same as the very first Mu-yong.
Carrying a complex and apologetic emotion that was difficult to describe, he gently stroked her.
“The truth is… you died once before. Back when you weren’t yet connected to my awakening ability.”
He knew their bodies and souls were perfectly identical. But they could not share the memories of that time.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you then. I took you with me, and you trusted me completely. Even though you knew it was dangerous, you still ran straight in…”
Jjik…!
“I’m truly glad you managed to get your revenge back then.”
If he had not followed that obsessive impulse at the time.
If he had simply thought that since she was already dead, charging in would be meaningless, offered some half-hearted condolences, continued his training, and returned to Earth.
If he had then met the second Mu-yong and formed the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol with her.
I might have developed a small heart demon by now.
But this wasn’t simply relief that he had avoided a heart demon.
It was relief that he could find some comfort for the pain he had felt, that he could feel a little less guilty toward her.
As he continued stroking her with that apologetic feeling, Mu-yong suddenly tilted her head.
Jjik…?
Despite the heavy topic—and the fact that she might have been shocked—her expression was only slightly puzzled.
Han Yujin felt a similar confusion and met her gaze properly. At that moment, she sent him a very focused thought. It was rare for her to concentrate so intensely.
Han Yujin’s eyes widened, and he froze.
“You…?”
Jjik! Jjijik-!
Memories that she should never have known flooded into him.
The memory of being drawn in by his spiritual arts, having both ears grabbed, twitching her nose as she looked around nervously.
The memory of snatching a bone with meat still attached from a pile of wolf beast remains and bolting away.
The memory of being chewed and swallowed by the maw of a lake monster that looked like a lizard, every sensation sinking into endless darkness along with unbearable pain.
The perspective of these memories clearly belonged to her, not to him.
In other words, these were purely her own memories—memories that had not existed in his mind until this very moment.
The moment he realized it, an indescribable emotion surged through him.
It was a joy so profound it bordered on ecstasy. How this was possible didn’t feel important at all.
“Mu-yong… since when have you been… synchronized like this?”
His emotions were so turbulent that even as a Dharma Soul investigator, he couldn’t find the right words.
But she understood his clumsy speech perfectly and sent another thought.
It had started from the moment he used the Tongmyeong Eosu-gyeol on her, advanced to Foundation Establishment through training, cast the escape spell, and returned to Earth.
At the time, her soul rank had been too low. Even after gaining the memory of her own death, she had simply brushed it off without much thought. Once she had done so, it naturally became an ordinary, familiar memory.
Even while feeling dazed, astonished, joyful, and overwhelmed, Han Yujin let out a helpless laugh.
And then a thought occurred to him.
I suppose I won’t need to enter the spacetime branches I influenced after all.
He had been secretly troubled about how he should treat his past self if he ever did enter those timelines.
He had also wondered why, if such a thing were possible, the “Han Yujin who had reached True Immortal Stage” had never appeared before his current self.
Maybe even after reaching True Immortal Stage, entering the spacetime branches I myself influenced is impossible.
Or perhaps there was another reason he had chosen not to appear.
In any case.
Just like with Mu-yong, if he could bring them to reality, it had now been confirmed that they could share memories as well.
Of course, he could not attempt it right now for the reasons he had thought of earlier.
The idea of abandoning Mu-yong in order to bring Eun Miryeong or Brenar to reality was something his Dao-heart could never accept. Especially not when it would mean giving up on one of them.
But then, an important and unavoidable question suddenly arose.
If, in the future, he became able to bring additional beings to reality, and he visited the Primordial Forest to find “another Mu-yong” and bring her back as well…?
“……”
It was a question that forced him into deep contemplation.
When he had visited the Primordial Forest before, such a question had faintly crossed his mind, but he had simply ignored it.
Rather than inviting unnecessary confusion, he had decided to focus only on the current Mu-yong, who had become an irreplaceable existence.
There was no need to confirm everything with absolute certainty, was there?
He had thought it best to leave the existence of the other Mu-yong as a Schrödinger’s cat—better for everyone that way.
But now that he knew bringing her to reality would allow them to share memories, it meant two bodies and souls with one shared mind could exist as Mu-yong.
And if that was possible for Mu-yong, then it would also be possible for Eun Miryeong and Brenar.
“……”
Something beyond mere discomfort crept over him. A chill ran down his spine, and his chest felt tight.
If my awakening ability truly makes something like that possible…
It felt as if he had stumbled upon forbidden knowledge that should never have been known.
Truth.
Or, in other words, the Dao.
Was it truly desirable to awaken to it?
What did “desirable” even mean? Since it ultimately allowed one to achieve eternal life, any method could be considered desirable.
Perhaps he simply had to accept that the method itself could not be helped. Just as yin and yang dictated that where there is light, there must also be darkness.
Therefore, if the Dao contained brightness, warmth, and beauty, then its other side would naturally hold darkness, coldness, and grotesqueness.
Two bodies and souls sharing one mind as Mu-yong—when he thought about it again, it wasn’t strange at all. In the immortal world, there were many secret arts that could achieve such a state. Even applying knowledge from the Galactic Empire alone would be more than enough.
Even if it gave him goosebumps, that was simply the truth. That was the Dao.
It was not something a mere human could judge as good or bad. No matter how hard one pondered, trying to judge it would only restrict one’s own way of thinking, blinding one’s eyes and blocking one’s ears.
Then what should one call the act of walking the path of cultivation to reach True Immortality?
Those who cultivated often said that cultivation was to defy the heavens.
He had once thought it simply meant going against one’s fated destiny to transcend mortality. But now it seemed to carry a far deeper, more profound meaning—one that could very well be dark.
If that was the case, then what could one gain by protecting one’s Dao-heart? No—what exactly was a Dao-heart, and how was one supposed to protect it?
Could a Dao-heart built upon values formed while growing up on Earth—a place unrelated to cultivation and mystically barren—truly be beneficial to him?
Had he perhaps been thinking and acting only within too small a framework all this time?
Just as he was endlessly sinking into that intense doubt—
Jjik-!
“…!”
He felt a sharp bite on the back of his hand and snapped back to his senses.
Mu-yong had been frantically trying to get his attention and had finally bitten him.
“…Thank you. Really, thank you, Mu-yong.”
He expressed his gratitude again and again for a feeling he couldn’t quite explain, then shook his head several times.
Was I really about to fall into a heart demon…?
A heart demon did not only appear when one felt pain or suffering, or when one violated their Dao-heart and was tormented by guilt and sin. It could also arise when one pondered the wrong question during cultivation and became too deeply immersed in it.
He had known this in theory, but this was his first time experiencing it. He shook his head a few more times to clear his mind.
The fact that a Dharma Soul investigator would act this way showed just how deeply shaken he had been.
…I must have been quite surprised by Mu-yong’s situation.
Of course, it had been a pleasant surprise. Even so, it seemed a small crack had opened in his heart for a moment.
“This time, you were surprisingly helpful, Mu-yong.”
Jjik-! Jjik!
He continued stroking her while lightly teasing.
After calming down for quite some time, he suddenly realized something.
A crisis was also an opportunity, and fortune and misfortune were two sides of the same coin.
Thanks to Mu-yong, he had protected his Dao-heart and, at the same time, awakened to an entirely new way of thinking.
…I finally understand how to combine the Ohaeng Power with the Origin Power Great Hand.
It was similar to the experience he had when he wore the pendant “Mark of Ugtarhel” in the demon worshippers’ world of Icapa Pangea. He had reinterpreted things he already knew and gained new enlightenment.
But this experience was on a much higher and far more beneficial level.
Instead of simply being handed a fish, he had learned how to fish—along with the method to make the fishing rod itself.
That’s enough… for today.
He had nearly fallen into a heart demon just now. He couldn’t afford to sink too deeply into thought again.
“Shall we make cocktails together? You’ve never tried it with this before, right?”
As he spoke, he took out the Blood Spirit Red Flower Wine Bottle.
Mu-yong looked at him with her mouth wide open in shock, as if she couldn’t believe this sudden stroke of incredible luck.
After approximately two weeks.
Having spent all his credits to purchase the necessary items, and after confirming that Mu-yong had safely obtained the seed of a special divine ability by consuming the spiritual pill in a rented training room, Han Yujin submitted a request for an audience with Emperor Luminous using his rights as a Level 4 citizen.