Comprehending the Six Paths of Reincarnation

The prospect of an indeterminate stay at the temple had been entirely unexpected. Yet the quarters prepared by Yunhoeseongbul Temple were perfectly comfortable, and he found he rather liked them.

Ancient temples seemed to carry a distinct atmosphere all their own. Even Mu-yong had taken quite a liking to the place despite the relatively thin spiritual energy.

As their stay lengthened, Dok ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Junseong and Seogwang Gahu began traveling back and forth between the temple and the Okhanseong estate. The distance was short enough that it posed no real inconvenience if they chose to make the trip.

In the meantime, Eun Miryeong continued to attend Han Yujin with the same devoted care she had shown since their days at the Orthodox Alliance’s Gyeongbin Pavilion. He suddenly realized just how accustomed he had grown to her meticulous service.

Contemplating his eventual return stirred up a great many thoughts, yet he welcomed the way his emotions were growing layered and complex.

The first countermeasure he had devised against the Heartless Tribulation—something he had sensed and reasoned out for himself—was to constantly stimulate his numbing heart to restore its sensitivity. Many cultivators sought out worldly experiences for similar reasons, so it was bound to have some effect.

In that sense, this tranquil temple life was not particularly ideal, but he was grateful to have his companions with him.

Of course, those companions included Mu-yong. In fact, it was largely thanks to her that he had noticed the onset of the Heartless Tribulation so quickly.

Even when she acted cute as usual, his hand had been strangely slow to reach out and stroke her.

He gently stroked the head of Mu-yong, who was curled up asleep in his arms. The thought that he might lose the profound benefits of animal therapy made a chill run down his spine and cold sweat break out on his skin.

Pushing aside the stray thoughts, he turned his attention to another scripture.

He was currently inside the Janggyeong Pavilion, the repository that housed texts concerning the doctrines of Yunhoeseong Buddhism.

The building was massive. For an ordinary person, simply locating books in a desired category could take days and induce utter despair.

Anticipating this, the temple had offered to assign a young monk to assist him, but Han Yujin had politely declined, preferring to explore alone.

With his transcendent comprehension, enhanced intellect, and newly acquired knowledge, he had no need for help. In less than a single day, he had scanned every title in the pavilion and completed an internal classification.

He then began rapidly absorbing the scriptures related to the Six Paths of Reincarnation.

Calling it “reading” was something of a misnomer. It was closer to skimming the contents with his enhanced perception as he walked past the shelves.

Even before, reading an entire book had never been difficult. Now that his mental power had been reinforced through Dragon Heart refinement, scanning a whole volume felt no more taxing than glancing at a table of contents in the past.

He gave the awakened Mu-yong a sip of spiritual wine, took one himself to savor its flavor and aroma, and continued working for roughly half a day.

Having completed a full circuit of the vast Janggyeong Pavilion, he stepped outside and took a leisurely stroll through the nearby grounds.

Nothing organized one’s thoughts quite like a walk.

Naturally, the Six Paths taught by this world’s Yunhoeseong Buddhism were similar to Earth’s version at first glance yet profoundly different. The most striking distinction was how they were explained in direct connection to humanity’s “basic emotions.”

Drawing on his enhanced intelligence, he recalled the content of a psychology elective he had taken in university.

Paul Ekman, wasn’t it? I think he defined six basic human emotions as well.

He couldn’t remember the exact list, but it had probably been joy, sadness, anger, fear, surprise, and disgust.

The theory had been accepted into mainstream modern psychology because it presented facial expressions common across all cultures with empirical evidence. He seemed to recall it was even used in emotion-analysis models for artificial intelligence.

They overlap quite a bit.

Of course, surprise had been replaced by expectation in this world’s Six Paths, but the two were related, and expectation was a far more enduring emotion. That was easy enough to accept.

The substitution of despair for fear made sense, as did happiness for joy.

Happiness would naturally include joy, pleasure, and affection… Expectation seems to encompass hope, greed, and faith…

Similarly, sorrow would contain loss and loneliness, anger would hold hatred and resentment, disgust would involve displeasure and contempt, and despair would include fear and the sense of defeat.

These emotions also formed a kind of cyclical flow—whether in forward or reverse order, the progression felt coherent.

Stopping beneath a large tree, he found the coincidence rather amusing.

To encounter a sacred art so intimately tied to emotion while suffering from the Heartless Tribulation was truly fitting.

A safe environment for refining the Dragon Heart, awakening herbs and martial knowledge perfect for accumulating karma on Earth, and now a sacred art that might even aid him in overcoming the Heartless Tribulation.

It was wonderful, yet so wonderful that it left him with a subtle sense of unease. He gazed at the white clouds drifting lazily across the blue sky.

Various idle thoughts rose to the surface.

Come to think of it, I could simply pursue my own happiness and live however I wish.

If his ability could open the gate to a world so perfectly aligned with his needs, it could surely open the gate to an “incredibly happy” world as well.

Something like the Heavenly Bliss Path he had just learned about.

What did it matter if Earth was destroyed in a decade or two? No matter how many years he spent in another world, only a single night would pass in reality. Time was not an issue.

Yet even as these thoughts crossed Han Yujin’s mind, an ironic sneer unconsciously formed on his lips.

No matter how intricate or wondrous the dream, if the dreamer recognized it as a dream, the ending was easy to predict.

The reason I refrain from mercilessly plundering this world for gain is simply because I wish to remain upright in my own eyes.

There was no need to make morality overly complicated. One simply had to protect the personal boundaries that every human possessed.

If something felt wrong, don’t do it.

If it felt acceptable, then it was fine to proceed.

Of course, mistakes and regrets were inevitable along the way…

After spending some time lost in these rather philosophical musings, he was pulled back to reality when the bored Mu-yong yawned and shifted restlessly in his arms.

Having reset his mood, he headed back toward the Janggyeong Pavilion.

The Heartless Killing King, Gwe Seol.

He was the leader and highest-ranking assassin of the notorious underworld organization “Extreme Night.” A terrifying figure who had honed his Transformation Realm martial arts solely toward the arts of stealth, ambush, murder, and escape.

At the same time, the influence of his cultivated technique, the Heartless Killing Sword, had left him utterly devoid of human emotion—a ruthless man capable of any atrocity in the name of murder.

Twenty years ago, he had even severed the leg of one of the Ten Supremes of the Murim, a Profound Realm expert, forcing the man into retirement.

Despite being an assassin—one normally an object of disgust—he had earned the title “King,” cementing his status as an existence that could not be ignored.

And today, that same Heartless Killing King had accepted a commission with sufficient compensation.

The target location was the formidable Yunhoeseongbul Temple, and the vicinity would contain the renowned Life-and-Death Realm expert, the Golden Lotus Martial Sovereign.

Yet, with his inhuman composure, he had calculated the odds and deemed it possible. He vaulted over the temple wall.

If the target was still a mere peak-level novice who had not even reached the pinnacle realm, failure was impossible.

As if to prove his judgment was not the least bit excessive, his movements after crossing the wall were more silent than a ghost.

It was not simply a matter of moving through dark places.

Even as he passed beneath bright moonlight, his form grew so transparent that even skilled experts would fail to notice him. The tiniest blades of grass he trod upon did not bend; he seemed to weigh less than the air itself.

It was the ultimate expression of the snow-traversing, traceless footwork that easily surpassed ordinary aerial movement. The way he occasionally used the subtle principles of the Swallow Flight Technique to alight on rooftops was equally unreal in its stealth.

In this manner, the Heartless Killing King reached his destination as casually as if crossing his own courtyard.

He melted through a gap in the darkened, silent building like a shadow, his glassy, ash-colored eyes scanning for the target’s quarters.

Then he suddenly froze and blinked several times.

His face utterly expressionless, he blended completely into the darkness and surveyed his surroundings.

His gaze was more mechanical than a doll’s. Even the heartbeat that should naturally exist in any living person could not be heard from him.

The reason he had stopped and taken up a defensive posture was simple.

A very faint sensation, like a fleeting wave of dizziness, had brushed across the perfectly stable surface of his mind.

Yet even after remaining on guard for a long time, no further anomalies appeared. That strange dizziness had been nothing more than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a momentary flicker.

Remaining here any longer would be more dangerous.

He had to either withdraw or continue the mission.

With mechanical coldness, he chose to proceed.

Considering every factor, the unknown dizziness was nothing more than a human imperfection and could not be regarded as a threat.

He quickly searched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the building’s interior and soon located the target.

The Clear Stream White Phoenix of the Hyunbaek Sect, Eun Miryeong.

After confirming the sleeping beauty was indeed the mark, the Heartless Killing King drew the weapon from his waist.

Naturally, it made no sound. The drawn blade was so perfectly transparent that it seemed to be only a hilt.

It was the Heartless Glass Sword, ranked among the highest of the hundred great treasured blades. It was also the sacred artifact and symbol of the Extreme Night organization.

With economical movement, the sword quietly pierced the space between Eun Miryeong’s brows.

The faint mist-like energy that briefly appeared drilled through her skull and stirred her brain without producing the slightest noise. There were, of course, no residual ripples of energy.

There was no killing intent, either. The Heartless Killing King was a man from whom such emotions had been erased.

After waiting exactly the required moment, he withdrew the sword. Blood and brain matter flowed silently from the hole in Eun Miryeong’s forehead.

Her breath had been severed completely.

In the language of the murim, it was a wound “that even a great immortal from the heavens could not save.”

He slipped out of the building once more, stealthier than a ghost. He escaped Yunhoeseongbul Temple even faster and more easily than he had entered.

Another mission successfully completed.

A flawless assassination that matched his predictions perfectly.

Using the secret Extreme Night Shadowless Steps, he put a considerable distance between himself and the temple. Even while believing no pursuit would come, he passed through countless hidden routes and changed his appearance multiple times.

In this way, he spent a full four days hiding, circling, and blending in with crowds. It was the epitome of thorough cleanup.

Finally entering the hidden headquarters of Extreme Night, he reviewed his assassination according to procedure, checked the client’s ledger, and confirmed the payment.

The client was the imperial court’s second-rank official and Murim Mediation Envoy, Do Mu-won.

The Heartless Killing King had a few guesses regarding the hidden circumstances behind this request. However, they were not certainties, and he had no particular desire to investigate further.

“Then you are no longer useful.”

At that exact moment, a voice spoke from behind him.

The Heartless Killing King reacted instantly.

Mist-like energy erupted from his entire body. With lightning speed, he drew the Heartless Glass Sword and swung it.

The projected sword energy tore through the space in every direction, preparing for the enemy’s attack. At the same time, his figure turned transparent like a phantom and vanished.

However.

Despite executing the best possible response, a calm voice spoke from right beside him as he clung to the ceiling, his glassy eyes darting in all directions.

“What a pitiful creature you are. You have brought the Heartless Tribulation upon yourself, leaving nothing but the single purpose of killing others to survive.”

Once again, the Heartless Killing King’s sword stabbed and slashed toward the voice’s origin multiple times in an instant. In the space of a single blink, the blade passed only through vital points—an art designed solely to kill the opponent with maximum speed and efficiency.

As he shifted position once more using his concealment technique, the same voice reached him again. This time from the opposite side.

“You don’t even feel fear in this situation. This is just… too bizarre. I don’t even feel like mocking you.”

Immediately afterward.

Before he could react again, his entire field of vision twisted and shattered violently. Then a familiar scene appeared.

It was the interior of the very building inside Yunhoeseongbul Temple where he had carried out the assassination. He stood frozen like a statue a few steps from where he had infiltrated.

And just a few paces ahead stood the Life-and-Death Realm expert he must never confront—the Golden Lotus Martial Sovereign.

“Still, that part was pretty funny. ‘Even a great immortal from the heavens could not save her.’ These people have no idea how terrifying such a being would actually be.”

With an attitude far too casual for his reputation, he laughed.

Yet the Heartless Killing King continued to scan for opportunities with his doll-like, expressionless gaze.

“Looking at you, death would probably be a mercy. Farewell.”

Golden light flashed.

Until the very last moment, the Heartless Killing King pondered whether he could survive. Then, watching the world sink into darkness, he finally resigned himself and closed his eyes.