Myeongsan was sprinting through the forest, his legs burning with exhaustion. His thighs and calves had been screaming for relief for quite some time, and though the rest of his muscles weren’t as strained, they too were making their discomfort known.

Despite the overwhelming urge to collapse onto the ground, Myeongsan couldn’t stop. Not when he could still see Mu-hui’s back in the distance, urging him onward.

Mu-hui had an uncanny ability to draw out Myeongsan’s maximum speed, pushing him to his limits without letting him falter.

“Huff!”

As his stamina waned and his body ached, Myeongsan’s focus began to slip. He barely noticed a protruding branch until the last moment, twisting his body to avoid it. Though he managed to dodge, his posture and breathing were thrown off balance.

“Mastering the art of movement isn’t just about lightening your body and moving quickly,” Mu-hui’s voice came to him, clear and calm, as if he were speaking right beside him.

“Just as a swordsman can gauge an opponent’s skill from a single strike, a martial artist’s step reveals the lifetime of training behind it.”

The wind carried Mu-hui’s words to Myeongsan’s ears, but he had no breath to respond. All he could do was focus on taking one steady step after another, his breath ragged and labored.

“From the tip of your toes to the top of your head, every movement is a blend of physical training, internal energy cultivation, and the martial principles you’ve learned. That’s why a single step embodies the path of a martial artist.”

“Haah!”

Myeongsan watched his master move effortlessly through the dense forest. While he struggled to navigate the obstacles, Mu-hui seemed to glide forward, hands clasped behind his back, unimpeded by anything in his path.

“That’s why each step of a martial artist reflects their path. Myeongsan, your current path is still at this level.”

All Myeongsan could do was grit his teeth in determination.

Mu-hui’s mastery was beyond his reach, and as if to prove it, Mu-hui’s figure disappeared from Myeongsan’s view. Alone in the thick forest, Myeongsan refused to stop.

‘Even if I can’t catch up, I mustn’t stop.’

As long as he followed in his master’s footsteps, Myeongsan believed that one day, he would tread the same path Mu-hui had.

He pressed on, unwavering.

This was the path Myeongsan had chosen.

He continued to move in the direction Mu-hui had vanished, his legs trembling and his chest aching, but he never stopped. He focused on channeling his internal energy through the vital points, ensuring a continuous flow of power.

Finally, as the edge of the forest came into view and sunlight filtered through the branches, Myeongsan leaped toward the shimmering light.

“Gasp!”

With a heavy breath, Myeongsan stumbled and collapsed. Mu-hui, who had been waiting on a rock, poured water over Myeongsan’s head from a flask.

“Steady your posture and control your breathing. Replenish the energy you’ve expended.”

It was the first rest they’d had since setting out at dawn, after a quick breakfast at the inn. Myeongsan’s body trembled as if it might shatter, but he forced himself into a meditative pose, enduring the pain.

“Haah.”

As he practiced the breathing technique, his parched throat began to soothe, and his body gradually calmed. Mu-hui watched silently as Myeongsan’s breathing steadied, then joined him in meditation.

The master and disciple opened their eyes simultaneously as the sun began to dip.

“You’re building a solid foundation. Keep at it. Mastering this technique will be crucial when you advance to higher levels.”

“Yes, Master.”

They rose and began walking toward the mountain ahead. Myeongsan asked, “Is that the mountain the Grandmaster often visited?”

“Yes. It’s not large, but its terrain resembles Mount Hua, hence the name Sword Peak Mountain.”

“Interesting. I assumed it was in Shaanxi, but it’s here in Henan.”

Though they’d crossed from Shaanxi to Henan, it wasn’t a long journey. Mount Hua straddled the border, so a short eastward trek brought them into Henan.

Before ascending Sword Peak Mountain, Mu-hui led them to an inn in a nearby village.

‘This place hasn’t changed.’

The inn was just as he remembered, with its worn tables and chairs, yet it maintained a certain charm. The innkeeper greeted them warmly.

“Welcome!”

Recognizing their robes, the innkeeper’s eyes lit up. “Ah, you’re from Mount Hua.”

The innkeeper treated them with great respect, recalling past visits from a middle-aged Mount Hua master and his friend.

Mu-hui realized the innkeeper was referring to Hyunjo and Dokgo Heon.

“Is that so?”

The innkeeper poured tea for them, continuing, “At first, I thought his friend was a captured villain. Unlike the gentle Mount Hua master, his friend had a scarred, fierce face.”

“Ah, I see.”

Sensing the innkeeper’s unease, Mu-hui smiled, prompting the innkeeper to change the subject.

“What would you like to eat?”

“I hear your duck noodle soup is a specialty. We’ll have that.”

“Ah, you’ve heard right. I’ll have it ready shortly.”

True to his word, the innkeeper soon served two bowls of noodles topped with seasoned duck.

“Ooh.”

Myeongsan wiped his lips with his sleeve, his mouth watering at the sight of the rich dish, a stark contrast to the simple meals at Mount Hua.

“Let’s eat.”

“Yes, Master.”

As Mu-hui picked up his chopsticks, Myeongsan eagerly tasted the broth. Watching his disciple, Mu-hui thought of Hyunjo.

Every visit to this inn had included a bowl of noodles, and now Myeongsan sat in Hyunjo’s place.

‘This isn’t so bad.’

As Myeongsan devoured his noodles, Mu-hui twirled his own with his chopsticks.

“Mm.”

The taste was unchanged, bringing back fond memories.

* * *

After their meal, Mu-hui and Myeongsan began their ascent of the mountain. Myeongsan watched his master climb slowly, hands behind his back.

‘I thought he’d make me run up the mountain, but he’s taking it slow.’

Myeongsan refrained from speaking, sensing a change in the atmosphere. Though they were side by side, it felt as if an invisible barrier separated them.

‘He must be thinking of Grandmaster Hyunjo.’

Silently, Myeongsan followed Mu-hui. As they reached the mountain’s midsection, a small house with a wide yard came into view.

“This is where the Grandmaster stayed…”

Myeongsan marveled at the surroundings, while Mu-hui inspected the house. Despite its long vacancy, it was in good condition.

‘Someone’s been taking care of it. I wonder who.’

The yard, once used for sparring, was free of weeds, and the house was well-maintained.

Mu-hui soon sensed a familiar presence, realizing who had been tending to the place.

“A hermit, it seems.”

“A hermit?”

Following Mu-hui’s gaze, Myeongsan saw a man emerge from the bushes, a deer slung over his shoulder.

The man carried a sword engraved with the name Dokgo, a renowned blade forged alongside the Simyeong Sword.

The man, spotting Mu-hui and Myeongsan, tilted his head in curiosity.

“Hmm? Mu-hui, what are you doing here?”

“Dokgo Yul, I could ask you the same.”

Dokgo Yul glanced between them, nodding in understanding.

“Hyunjo must have told you about this place. Not surprising.”

He set down the deer and began skinning it with practiced skill, a technique Mu-hui had taught him in a past life.

Having risen from an orphan to a martial artist, Mu-hui had imparted various skills to Dokgo Yul, another orphan. Though most of the time, he left him to learn on his own.

Mu-hwi watched as Dokgo Yul expertly sliced through the meat with a skill that surpassed his own. He settled down nearby, observing with interest.

“Have you been staying here all this time?” Mu-hwi asked.

“Whenever I finish a mission and the Dokgo Society takes a break, I stay here,” Dokgo Yul replied. “With Master and Senior Hyunjo gone, someone has to look after the place. It’s where their traces remain.”

“I see.”

“Besides, I spent my childhood here, so it brings back memories. Wandering around Geombong Mountain, I often recall forgotten images of Master.”

Mu-hwi nodded silently, taking a swig from the bottle Dokgo Yul tossed him.

“You should take a look around. You might find traces of their martial arts training. Who knows, you might gain some insight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Mu-hwi drank, he fell into thought. ‘Pathetic fool. Why can’t I let go of the past?’ Despite his inner turmoil, his gaze on Dokgo Yul was filled with a bittersweet emotion.

Even as he downed his usual drink, the memories of his disciple left him unmoved. The alcohol tasted only bitter.

Initially, Mu-hwi had no intention of revealing to Dokgo Yul that he was the reincarnation of the Sword Demon. After all, he had resolved to live as Mu-hwi after being given a new chance at life.

But seeing Dokgo Yul reminisce about Dokgo Heon made Mu-hwi reconsider keeping this secret to himself. ‘One day, I’ll tell you the truth, my disciple.’

He could have revealed it now, but with Myung-san present and the timing not quite right, he decided against it.

Mu-hwi had a feeling that the right moment would come when he could have a serious conversation with Dokgo Yul and share his true feelings. His heightened senses, now attuned to the natural world, gave him a premonition he trusted.

“Strange, I caught a deer instead of a rabbit today. Let me prepare a proper meal,” Dokgo Yul said, cheerfully engrossed in butchering the deer. As Mu-hwi watched him, he slowly turned his gaze elsewhere.

A man was approaching the cabin, his steps deliberate. The sun had set, and darkness was creeping up Geombong Mountain, as if following the man’s footsteps.

There was something uncanny about the way the darkness seemed to trail behind him, and Mu-hwi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man who seemed to bring the night with him.

“Ah!” Myung-san, who had followed Mu-hwi’s gaze, let out a short gasp and shivered as if trapped in ice. The mere presence of the man filled him with a chilling sense of dread and danger.

Dokgo Yul felt it too. He set down the knife he was using on the deer and reached for his sword, but his grip was weak.

With each step the man took, Geombong Mountain was slowly swallowed by darkness. His approach carried an ominous aura that made one instinctively wary.

“An uninvited guest, it seems,” Mu-hwi remarked, causing the man to halt. The darkness that had threatened to engulf the cabin paused with him.

“No one has ever welcomed my presence,” the man said. “Will you be the first to do so?”