The Sole Eternal Spirit
The Imperial Court’s second-rank administrator and Wulin Mediator, Do Mu-won.
The exact reason he had orchestrated Eun Miryeong’s assassination remained unclear. Still, it was unlikely to stem from any personal grudge or from Eun Miryeong herself.
A second-rank official is no minor position. Someone at that level would have almost no reason to entangle themselves with a junior like her.
As Han Yujin suspected, a second-rank post was equivalent to a vice-minister on modern Earth.
It doesn’t seem connected to the Hyeonbaek Sect either. Though she is well-known, she is still just a junior cultivator. That explanation lacks persuasive power.
In the end, only one hypothesis carried any real weight.
It’s because of me.
The only logical conclusion was that he had provoked the Golden Lotus Martial Sovereign—a Life-and-Death Realm expert—and the administrator had tried to achieve something through that provocation. Moreover, while he had hired an outstanding assassin, there had been no attempt whatsoever to conceal the fact that it was an assassination…
If events had unfolded as they intended, I would have found it nearly impossible to leave the assassin organizations alone, even knowing there was a separate mastermind behind them. And most assassin groups belong to the Evil Faction.
From the Imperial Court’s perspective, the more the forces of the martial world splintered and fought among themselves, the greater the benefit.
Or perhaps their interests simply overlapped with someone else’s, and the administrator merely accepted a commission and moved accordingly.
When the Golden Lotus Martial Sovereign clashed with the Evil Faction and began to be perceived as aligned with the Righteous Faction, the power that stood to gain the most from their conflict was the Shadow Demon Cult.
Thanks to the combination of his spiritual sense and the Dream Illusion Mind Snatching Art, which had revealed the identity of the one who commissioned the Emotionless Killing King, piecing together the larger picture had become remarkably easy. Whether his guesses were correct could be confirmed later when he went to collect the debt.
The important point was this:
Since the Imperial Court struck first, I’ll feel perfectly comfortable demanding repayment later.
Han Yujin was genuinely curious what kind of secret martial manuals might be hidden inside the Imperial Vault.
He was also quite interested in the Emotionless Killing King himself. The creature had felt too grotesque and dangerous to capture alive, so he had killed it. But now he wanted to visit the assassin organization Extreme Night and test something.
After comprehending emotion-related divine techniques, could he resurrect their emotions? And in that process, might he obtain any clues to overcome the Heartless Tribulation?
Of course, to do that… I must first successfully obtain something from the Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting.
With that thought, he took one final lap around the scripture pavilion.
Roughly fifteen days had passed since the Emotionless Killing King’s attack. He had memorized every scripture related to the Six Paths of Reincarnation, understood as much as possible, and internalized all the supplementary doctrines necessary for that understanding.
Unless he truly intended to convert to the Reincarnation Enlightenment Buddhism, this was more than enough. In fact, Han Yujin found himself rather curious how many actual believers knew as many doctrines as he now did.
It’s time.
At last, certain of his decision, he left the scripture pavilion.
The moment had come to unravel the secrets of the Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting.
Abbot Hye-gak personally guided Han Yujin, who had come alone.
Even without the guilt of having allowed the Emotionless Killing King to breach their defenses and the gratitude of not being held accountable, the abbot would have insisted on escorting him himself.
The Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting was protected by a formation in the deepest part of the temple. Nearby stood the library that housed the martial manuals, making it impossible not to understand how vital this location was.
The building bearing the plaque “Dharma Wheel Hall” rose to an impressive height. As explained, it was not divided into multiple floors; rather, the painting itself was simply that large.
After completing the introduction, Abbot Hye-gak said he would deliver meals at the appointed times each day.
Han Yujin shook his head.
“That won’t be necessary. In fact, I would prefer that no one comes looking for me until the period is over.”
“…Very well. However, there is a small bell inside. If any urgent matter arises, please ring it without hesitation.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
After exchanging bows with the abbot—who clearly suspected he possessed some means of sustaining himself—Han Yujin stepped into the building.
The interior was spotless, evidence of meticulous daily maintenance. The painting was covered with ivory silk embroidered with the symbols of Reincarnation Enlightenment Buddhism. Its size was indeed extraordinary.
It stood over ten meters tall and more than seven meters wide.
Han Yujin sat on the cushion prepared at the center, spending a moment calming his mind and sharpening his focus.
Once he felt fully prepared, he used a telekinetic technique to lift the silk cloth away from the painting and folded it neatly to one side.
At last.
The Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting revealed itself.
An indeterminate dark figure whose form could not be clearly discerned held between its outstretched arms a world divided into six cycling realms.
The dark figure wore deep blue robes embroidered with golden and white clouds. The coloring was not uniform; the density shifted from top to bottom. The background appeared to feature a mountain range, yet upon closer inspection it seemed to be something else entirely.
Above the figure’s head hovered another luminous shape. At a glance it resembled a human, or perhaps a tree, or even some celestial body from the cosmos.
The six cycling realms were those described in the doctrines of Reincarnation Enlightenment Buddhism: the Realm of Heavenly Joy, the Realm of Human Desire, the Realm of Lost Souls, the Realm of Beasts, the Realm of Insects, and the Realm of the Abyss. Though they gave a mosaic-like impression, even a moment’s focused attention revealed that they were infinite worlds forcibly compressed and depicted.
Without realizing it, Han Yujin examined the painting using every ounce of his mental energy. He considered activating his spiritual eyes, but some instinct warned that doing so would only interfere, so he refrained.
His gaze naturally drifted first to the highest realm of supreme happiness. Then to the realm of desire, then sorrow, flowing onward through anger, disgust, and finally despair.
Heavenly Joy, Human Desire, Lost Souls, Beasts, Insects, Abyss.
They were akin to the five states of matter—fire, lightning, wind, water, and earth—that formed the Ohaeng. They were not concrete, absolute entities but rather symbolic representations.
Time flowed on.
Then, at some point.
Within Han Yujin’s consciousness as it followed the current, the outline of one realm began to take shape. Soon the forms of the remaining five realms followed.
At the same time, countless images that stimulated every sense flashed into existence and submerged again in rapid succession.
An endlessly blue and clear sky. A soft golden morning mist. A plain covered in lush vegetation and flowers of every color. Animals resting with elegant antlers and flowing manes. The songs of small, adorable birds perched in trees. A crystal-clear jade river filled with brightly colored fish. Towering, beautiful rocky peaks wrapped in clouds and overgrown with vegetation.
Solid, majestic gray castle walls. A city composed of splendid palaces, mansions, and various other buildings. A lively, bustling market on clean streets filled with faceless people. Something that flashed with eerie, eye-like light in the shadowed alleys before vanishing. A constant background murmur of hope and greed.
Blue mist that faintly dyed everything in every direction. An utterly empty, hollow ashen sky. Faint, gloomy lights whose source could not be determined. A desolate wasteland between withered ancient trees. Shadows that lay thick and moved as if sobbing in accordance with flowing light. Pitiful whispers and sighs carried on a faint breeze.
Rough, wild plains and overly dense forests. A sky of black clouds flashing with lightning that raged ferociously. A rocky mountain spewing roars and lava. Sharp cries and terrifying roars that would echo forever. Red, hot blood endlessly flowing from somewhere to soak the earth. Poisonous plants that grew, fought invisible wars upon that blood, and repeatedly fell.
Ground as sticky as a swamp that easily crumbled and clung. A sky completely obscured by drooping plant leaves, insect nests, and spiderwebs. Insects wriggling and entangled, swimming through pools of mucus. Countless wet, brain-gnawing noises. The damp, suffocating stench of everything rotting and collapsing.
Darkness so thick that nothing could be distinguished. Sharp, rusted barriers blocking every path forward. An uneven floor that rattled and tilted unsteadily with every step. Fear-soaked screams carried on freezing gusts. Agonized moans of something dragging chains and crawling beyond the barriers. Lightning that tore at the eardrums at irregular intervals. A blood-red sky faintly revealed in the flashes.
The images were so vivid it felt as though he had truly visited those realms.
Precisely because of that, Han Yujin—who had been staring at the painting—realized at some point that he was drenched in cold sweat.
How… just how are you supposed to contemplate something like this… and obtain a divine technique from it…?
Even while floundering in the terrifying power of the Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting that far exceeded his expectations, he managed to kindle a thread of doubt and gauge the danger.
This was certainly not an object from the level of the martial world.
It had to be an artifact from the immortal realm, or a world of comparable stature.
Fortunately it was merely a painting without any spiritual consciousness. The fact that it could display such power while remaining an inanimate object was, in its own way, utterly chilling.
If he wished, he could turn his attention away right now and escape this overwhelming storm of sensation.
But the moment he chose to retreat.
He instinctively knew he would never again be able to sink into this level of immersion.
As he hesitated, Abbot Hye-gak’s earlier words suddenly resurfaced—the warning that contemplating the painting for more than three months could lead to a heart demon.
Now it seemed the issue was not the duration, yet simply realizing he could face such danger made fear rise unbidden.
It was then that the second anomaly occurred.
Mixed among the countless images that rose and sank, intense emotions began to explode, devouring what little composure remained.
When the image of the Realm of Heavenly Joy surfaced, he felt as though he had obtained the entire universe and realized the ultimate truth; happiness surged as if every positive emotion—joy, pleasure, love, friendship—would pour forth eternally.
Yet in the next moment, when the image of the Realm of Human Desire appeared, he plummeted back into an ordinary human. Even in despair he refused to abandon hope, adapted to his environment, found small happiness, then—once things seemed to improve—fell into greed based on empty beliefs, only to repeat the cycle of frustration.
When the image of the Realm of Lost Souls rose, everything lost meaning and became hollow; there was only endless grief and sorrow. The entire world faded into worthlessness, and no method could fill the sense of loss or soothe the anguish.
That gave way to the image of the Realm of Beasts, and he exploded with resentment and rage that wanted to burn the whole world to death. Even if he tore and shredded everything in reach, chewed up and swallowed every living thing he saw, it clearly could not quench the volcanic hatred boiling inside him.
When the image of the Realm of Insects surfaced, everything—including himself—became unbearably unpleasant and repulsive. He wanted to escape this infinite disgust forever, yet could not endure the constant goosebumps and rising nausea.
The final image of the Realm of the Abyss drove everything into endless despair. The fear that no matter how he struggled he was nothing more than a speck of dust in the universe expanded into frustration and defeat, transforming into a desperate resignation that simply begged for merciful release.
The moment he completely surrendered, the image of the Realm of Heavenly Joy rose once more, bringing the opposite extreme—supreme happiness as if he had again obtained the universe and realized the ultimate truth.
Despite experiencing the Heartless Tribulation, this was a catastrophic emotional storm he simply could not endure.
Just as he was about to give up.
Suddenly.
His eyes fell upon the dark figure that embraced the Six Paths of Reincarnation—the embodiment of all uncontrollable human emotions.
The predecessor who had awakened. The one who had attained liberation.
It felt as though their gazes met.
No—it was not that their gazes met.
It felt as if he were looking down at himself through the eyes of that transcendent being.
Like gazing down upon a single sentient being struggling in agony, bound by the afflictions and delusions of the world.
From that instant, every flow of sensation and emotion from the Six Paths of Reincarnation—which had felt utterly unbearable—could be observed as though they belonged to someone else.
And he began to sense, faintly at first, what he truly needed to see and feel from this Six Paths of Reincarnation Painting.
Within a world sustained by elements upon the foundation of dimensions.
Beneath the cycle of life and death that determines fate, and the life and death that forges fate.