Chapter v14c1

Do you know what it takes to have the eyes of a Roc?

The boy shook his head again.

You can only see far if you fly high. That’s why you need the wings of a Roc!

I will give you those wings. Soar!

If you cannot cross the mountains that stand in your way, you cannot see the world beyond.

If you do not have the wings to pierce the clouds, you cannot see the world above.

Flap your wings like a Roc, and gain the eyes that see through and embrace all things in the world.

That is the gateway and the shortcut to the Holhwang Realm!

*The Wanderer*

**- Search**

Deep night!

A time when all people should be asleep.

The only ones awake are the sentries guarding the walls against intruders, the gentleman thieves eyeing the valuables in other people’s homes, and the assassins pondering how to take a life swiftly and silently. Perhaps…

In the deep night, as time passes and the darkness deepens, the silence grows heavier. The only sound is the rustling of leaves underfoot, a testament to his existence in this moment, in the heart of the night.

The man walked, the inky darkness illuminated only by the faint glow of the crescent moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds. His silver-blue robes shimmered faintly in the darkness, his blue-silver hair like frost and ice, and beneath it, two eyes that shone like cold stars. He looked like a ghost, a creature of the night.

The path he walked was barely a path at all, the terrain treacherous and unforgiving. A single misstep could send him tumbling down the mountainside to meet the King of Hell. Even wild animals would struggle to navigate this path.

“Damn…”

His lips, as cold and stiff as frost, parted slightly, a low murmur escaping.

“…Brutal!”

His voice was a mixture of self-deprecation, frustration, and sarcasm. He felt a flush of shame, disgusted with himself.

“This is ridiculous! Why do I have to do this? At this ungodly hour, in this godforsaken place!”

His hair, illuminated by the moonlight, shimmered with a cold, bluish light. His eyes, like shards of ice, gleamed with a murderous intent. The cold moonlight made his face look even more aloof and unapproachable.

He was a renowned swordsman, one of the Five Great Swordsmen, and the respected Grand Master of the Cheonmu Academy, a man of great honor and prestige. But unfortunately, he was also the rival of the hot-tempered Yeomdo, the Flame Saber, and the disciple of Bi Ryu-yeon, a young man whose origins were shrouded in mystery. His many titles and identities were as incompatible as oil and water, but the most painful truth was that they were all real. He was Binggeom, the Ice Sword.

Binggeom walked through the dark mountains, guided only by the faint light of the crescent moon. Torches were out of the question, as they would reveal his location. This was a strategic location, heavily guarded by sentries.

An ordinary person wouldn’t be able to see a thing in this darkness, but his eyes, trained through years of swordsmanship, could pierce the veil of darkness, guided by the faint moonlight. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was necessary.

Yeomdo had gone with their ‘master,’ and he had been left behind. But it wasn’t a time for celebration. He had been given a task.

“Sigh…”

He sighed, despite himself. He felt like a kite with a broken string, adrift and alone.

“To think that one of the Five Great Swordsmen is reduced to searching these treacherous mountains in the dead of night…”

He lamented his fate, but he didn’t let his guard down. This was Heavenly Martial Peak, once known as Wild Goose Peak, a place known for its treacherous terrain and sheer cliffs. Danger lurked around every corner. A moment of carelessness could be fatal.

He looked up at the moon, a faint sliver of light peeking through the branches. It was small, dim, and unreliable.

“Can I really find it with this pathetic excuse for a light?”

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, or a bald head in the Shaolin Temple. The odds were stacked against him.

‘Just in case, please look for it!’

What was that man planning? His mind was a chaotic mess, impossible to predict.

“Ah! You mean that!”

Binggeom recalled a conversation he had had earlier with a certain individual. It was one of the Law Enforcers, the administrators of the Mount Hua Convention, who had been managing the event for the past hundred years.

‘Please say no! Please say no!’

He had repeated those words in his mind, hoping against hope. But his wish hadn’t been granted.

“Ah! Yes, it does exist. There’s bound to be one or two in such a treacherous peak.”

Binggeom’s heart sank. He cursed himself for not silencing the old man before he could speak. Ignorance was bliss. But now that he knew, he couldn’t betray his principles. He was that kind of man.

“It’s been over thirty years since I last saw it.”

The old man’s mind drifted back to the past, lost in memories. Binggeom struggled to escape the vortex of time.

There was a vast gulf between the old man’s youthful indiscretion, sneaking out of the mountain to drink thirty years ago, and his current task. And he knew he would have to endure a long, tedious story before he got to the point.

Moreover, he wasn’t good at small talk. He had a reputation for being taciturn.

He wanted to escape the vortex of time and get to the point, but it was proving difficult. The old man was enjoying his captive audience.

The story had reached the point where the old man was leaving the mountain, walking through the brightly lit streets, entering the best tavern in town, and ordering the most expensive wine and the most expensive companion. Binggeom gave up on escaping the vortex and stood there silently, like a statue, letting the story wash over him. But the old man continued his tale, oblivious to his audience’s lack of enthusiasm.

“And I encountered it when I was stumbling back up Heavenly Martial Peak, drunk as a skunk. Even when you’re sober, climbing the mountain at night is suicidal, but when you’re drunk, it’s just plain reckless. I must have gotten lost. And that’s when it appeared before me.”

The story finally reached the point when Binggeom was starting to get bored and his mind was wandering. The candle he had been holding had already melted down by an inch.

He didn’t even need to ask where it was.

The old man had drawn a detailed map of the area on the ground, describing every nook and cranny, every rock and tree. He was even pointing out individual pebbles, as if he were reliving the experience. Binggeom, who had no desire to get lost in the mountains, paid close attention, memorizing the details.

“It’s definitely around here somewhere. But why are you asking?”

The old man asked, pointing at a spot on the map. Binggeom was at a loss for words.

“Uh… Uh! N-Nothing special. I was just curious. It’s always good to be prepared for any potential dangers! We can’t let our guard down! Better safe than sorry!”

He felt ashamed of himself, spouting such a blatant lie.

“Ah, I see! You’re right. Carelessness is a grave sin for a warrior.”

He was relieved that the old man had bought his excuse.

The old man had been living here for decades. Heavenly Martial Peak was his backyard. If he said it existed, it must exist. It was Binggeom’s only hope.

‘Carelessness is a grave sin for a warrior!’

The old man’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his past. A shameful memory, buried deep within his subconscious, resurfaced, its presence unwelcome. Binggeom’s face contorted in a grimace.

‘Hahaha, I won, right? Then I’ll tell you my first condition! No objections, right?’

He remembered a man’s smiling face, his bangs obscuring his eyes. It was an annoyingly smug face. Binggeom’s facial muscles twitched in agony. His blue-silver hair shimmered in the moonlight.

‘Carelessness is a sin for a warrior!’

He knew that, but why had he been so careless? He was guilty! There was no excuse! And he had paid a heavy price. His current predicament was part of his punishment…

He still couldn’t understand it. He had replayed that incident in his mind countless times, each time reliving the shame and humiliation.

But he had never found a satisfactory explanation. However, he remembered one thing clearly: there had been a moment when his opponent had vanished from his perception. If he couldn’t perceive him, he couldn’t affect him. And when his opponent reappeared, he had been helpless.

He had been powerless…

‘That unsettling feeling…’

How was it possible? It was a question that still haunted him.

“Sigh… Who can I blame? Carelessness is a grave sin for a warrior! It was my own fault!”

He felt a pang of regret.

“Damn it, I can’t see anything!”

The moon was a thin sliver tonight, its light too weak to penetrate the dense forest. He cursed the useless moonlight and continued his trek.

‘I should have let Yeomdo handle this and followed them instead.’

He regretted his decision, imagining Yeomdo relaxing and enjoying himself while he was stuck here, struggling in the darkness. He was sure Yeomdo was having a good time.

“That fiery bastard is probably out on a leisurely stroll with his kids!”

The thought ignited a spark of anger in his usually icy heart. He had always prided himself on his composure, his icy demeanor, but whenever he thought of that fiery-haired bastard, his anger flared, shattering his carefully cultivated calm.

Rustle!

He heard a sound from the bushes ahead. His keen ears twitched. He dashed towards the source of the sound, his eyes gleaming. If it was what he was looking for, he could finally rest. He moved faster than ever.

Branches, hidden in the darkness, snagged at his robes, but he ignored them.

* * *

“Damn it! What now?!”

Yeomdo, meanwhile, wasn’t exactly having a good time.

His eyes, sharp as a tiger’s, scanned the area. He and his companions were surrounded by thirty swordsmen. They had emerged from every corner of the manor when the alarm bell rang, some even leaping over the walls with surprising agility.

They were surrounded in an instant.

‘These guys… they’re well-trained!’

It was impossible to react so quickly and efficiently to a sudden situation without rigorous training.

‘They’re like soldiers from a disciplined army! Who trained them?’

The enemies closed in, like a net tightening around a school of fish.

They were trapped, surrounded on all sides. It was a classic case of being besieged. But he didn’t have time to thank the heavens for this rare experience.

His thoughts were interrupted. The enemies, true to their training, attacked as soon as the encirclement was complete. No questions asked.

“Damn it!”

He cursed, gripping his saber, Crimson Flame.

“That icy bastard is probably sleeping soundly on the mountaintop! Damn him!”

He was always the one who had to do the dirty work. It was infuriating.

He gritted his teeth.

They insisted that they were nothing alike, as different as ice and fire, but they were both disciples of the same master. They had similar thought processes, despite their differences. But they would never admit it, not even if their lives depended on it.

“Break through!”

He shouted, and the rescue team charged towards the enemy lines. Yeomdo was at the forefront of the charge.

“Get out of my way!”

He was furious, and he was going to take it out on these guys. He wouldn’t hold back.

**Crimson Seventeen Flames Saber Style, Sword Flame Energy**

**Flame Strike, Three Extremes Refining Fire**

He swung his saber, and three enemies were engulfed in flames. His rage exploded, a fiery inferno.

“You icy bastard! I won’t let you sleep peacefully!”

Ask, and it shall be given to you seek, and ye shall find.

His wish had been granted, in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He should be rejoicing.

* * *

“Sorry, but I’m not looking for you! Too bad.”

Binggeom said softly, his voice calm. He really wanted to avoid a fight. But the response he received was a primal growl.

Grrrr!

The pack of wolves surrounding him showed no signs of retreating, despite his polite request.

He was out of luck. He had sensed something and rushed over, only to find himself surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.

“Well, well, you’re not going to let me go peacefully, are you?”

Their eyes, wild and hungry, were fixed on him, their prey. He could sense their bloodlust, but he had no intention of becoming their midnight snack.

He drew his sword, Icicle, without fear. The moonlight glinted off the blade, a cold, bluish light. A white mist, like a halo, rose from the tip of his sword, spreading across the dark mountainside. The wolves, sensing the danger, hesitated.

“I don’t like unnecessary killing. Retreat!”

A wave of cold air swept through the autumn night, bringing a touch of winter.

Grrrr! Howl!

But the wolves, confident in their numbers, refused to back down. This was what he got for being woken up in the middle of the night. He could tolerate anything, but not being deprived of his sleep. It was outrageous!

‘Is someone cursing me behind my back?’

He had unwittingly stumbled upon the truth.