The Murim Alliance—no, the entire martial world—was roaring with joy.
And why wouldn’t they?
The long and dreadful war that had lasted for years was finally over.
If people weren’t celebrating, that would’ve been stranger.

But I wasn’t among those rejoicing in the great banquet hall.
While others drowned in laughter and liquor,
I slipped away to a quiet corner, clutching a cheap bottle of wine,
drinking alone under the pale moon.

My heart was too heavy to celebrate.

It was true that as the war dragged on,
the suffering of lowly soldiers like me—and the common folk—had gradually decreased.
But even if we hadn’t suffered direct losses,
war always left wounds in its wake.

Corpses lining the roadside.
The stench of blood carried by the wind.
The clash of weapons, the earth trembling beneath the battles of top masters.

Even someone like me, who’d at least learned a little martial arts,
felt fear gnawing at my heart.
How terrified must the powerless peasants have been?

Some defeated soldiers had even taken to raiding villages—
killing, stealing, squatting in people’s homes.
When I thought of that…
perhaps the true victims of this war weren’t the orthodox sects or the Demonic Cult,
but the ordinary folk caught between them.

What went wrong…?
We fought for justice, didn’t we?
Then why are the very people we sought to protect the ones suffering the most?

I remembered the words of my benefactor—the old master of Sichuan,
the Murim Alliance Leader himself.

“We do not fight out of pride or ambition.
We fight because if the Demonic Cult invades the martial world,
rivers of blood will follow—
not only of warriors, but of innocent civilians,
perhaps even reaching the imperial court itself.”

He had said that we must protect the suffering people,
that we must uphold the grand ideal of justice our predecessors spoke of,
and reestablish the meaning of chivalry in this land.

I still remembered the fire that speech had ignited in my chest.
Back then, I’d believed with all my heart.

But now…
Was it all a lie?

It was the Demonic Cult who declared war first… wasn’t it?

That’s what everyone said.
But the more I thought about it, the less sure I became.

I had never once spoken to a single member of the Cult.
All I knew of them came from the mouths of those in the Alliance.
So how could I truly know what was real?

Of course, I could never voice such madness aloud.
But still—
what if the war had actually been started by our side?
What if this bloodshed could have been avoided—
through diplomacy, through negotiation,
through a duel between champions rather than a war between armies?

Was all this carnage truly inevitable?

I didn’t know anymore.

There must have been a reason, I told myself.
Men wiser and greater than me must have weighed their options.
The world doesn’t always bend to simple ideals.

I wanted to believe that.
I had to believe that.

Otherwise, the doubts festering in my heart might never stop growing.

“Why are you sitting here looking so pathetic?”

“Le–Leader!”

I sprang to my feet, startled.
That voice—there was no mistaking it.
It belonged to none other than the Murim Alliance Leader himself, the venerable Taesan Elder.

“Ah, yes! I—I just stepped out for a bit of air, that’s all!”

Even though he was my savior,
I couldn’t possibly reveal what I’d truly been thinking.
To question the Alliance itself was no different from heresy.

“Hmm. Jang Pung, you must be feeling heavy-hearted.
Many lives were lost.”

“You… remember my name?”

“Of course I do.”
He chuckled, stroking his long beard.
“I was the one who brought you into the Alliance, wasn’t I?
I gave you your name, taking one character from my own.
We may not share blood, but I’ve always thought of you as kin.
I may not have been able to show it, but I’ve never once forgotten you.”

His laughter was deep and warm.
And before I knew it, tears welled in my eyes.

He spoke the truth—my name, Jang Pung, came from him.
The surname of a sage I admired, and a character from his own name.
It was something I’d never told anyone,
but it was one of my greatest sources of pride.

There were many like me—orphans picked up during the war,
children brought in either for their potential
or simply because they were pitiful and starving.
None of us had ever known a parent’s love.
And though we never said it aloud,
in our hearts, we all regarded our benefactors as our parents.

To hear him say it himself…

“…Pung-ah.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“No need to call me ‘Leader.’ I’ll be stepping down soon enough—
ah, forget I said that. Anyway, how old are you now?”

“Twenty-four, sir.”

“Twenty-four already, hmm…
That’s an age well past the time to start a family.”

I gave a bitter laugh.
“Someone like me? With no money, no skills, and a face like this?
Who would marry me?”

He smiled faintly.
“I see your mind is already set. I won’t press you.
I’ve done little for you as a father,
so to ask for more would be greed.”

“A—A father? You honor me too much!”

“A child born of the heart is still a child.
One day, you’ll understand that.”
He paused, then asked gently,
“So. What will you do now? Have you thought about your future?”

“Honestly… no, sir.
I’ve been thinking about leaving the Alliance,
maybe finding work at a nearby pyo-guk (escort agency).”

“Ah, escort work. A respectable profession.
You’ll never starve, and it pays well enough.”

Indeed, pyo-guk work was simple in theory:
escort and protect valuable goods for clients.
But to do that required martial skill—
for there were always bandits and thieves lying in wait.
The pyo-sa, the guards who protected those shipments,
were the backbone of every escort agency.
Their wages were good, and their meals even better.

Someone like me wouldn’t earn much, of course,
but even the lowest-ranked pyo-sa lived better than most laborers.
For a man with no other path, it was a decent life.

But then the Leader said,
“If you don’t have any special ambitions…
would you consider staying in the Alliance?”

“Huh?”

“The Alliance will soon establish small bases across the land—
for communication and information.
Outwardly, they’ll appear as humble dojos.
Would you take charge of one?”

“M-Me? Running a dojo? I—I’m not worthy!”

He chuckled.
“No one said you had to teach advanced techniques.
Just basic forms, basic sword handling.
There are countless such dojos across the land.
This work is to build the next hundred years of the martial world.
Many hands are needed.
You won’t be taking anyone else’s place.”

His words struck right at the core of my worry.
That someone more capable might be losing an opportunity because of me.

But he was right.
To manage all of the Central Plains,
the Alliance would need hundreds of these new branches.
Even someone like me had a role to fill.

I bowed deeply.
“Thank you… for your grace!”

He chuckled again, quietly this time.
“Haha, keep your voice down, boy. It’s late.
Anyway, I’ve said what I came to say. I’ll take my leave.”

Before I could say another word,
his presence vanished.
Only the soft wind rustling through the grass
proved he had truly been there.

Otherwise, I might’ve thought I’d dreamt the whole thing.

To think—
while so many were being dismissed from the Alliance after the war,
I was being asked to stay.
To have a roof, food, and steady pay…

It’s a small dream, I thought. But it’s enough for someone like me.

I no longer dreamed of making a name in the martial world.
That glory belonged to geniuses—the Azure Sky Dragon Sword, the Plum Blossom Hand, the Shadowless Blade.
Men born for greatness.

For me, it was enough just to survive another day.

I drained the cheap wine in one gulp.
It burned like fire going down,
and the sharp sting of alcohol shot straight to my head.
I stumbled to the grass, lay down, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was staring at a massive stone.

A familiar one.

I knew this rock well—it was impossible to forget.
Etched upon its surface were mysterious words, carved by some long-gone master using pure internal energy.
It was the only thing our little village could boast of.

No one knew what the writing meant.
Even visiting warriors dismissed it as nonsense and lost interest.

But… why was it before my eyes now?

“Hey! Wang Chil!”

A voice called out—a voice I hadn’t heard in over a decade.

Wang Chil.
That was my name before the old master took me in.
The name my old master’s household had given me when I was a starving orphan.

And the one shouting was Wang Bo-heon,
the young master of that household.

He hadn’t been a bad boy, really.
Just the kind of spoiled child who treated me like both a playmate and a servant.
If our positions had been reversed, I might’ve done the same.

It had been so long since I’d thought of his face.
Seeing it again stirred long-buried memories.

But this—

This was too vivid.
Too real to be a dream.