Chapter 1142

Though the hour of the Rabbit¹ had begun, the lights of Xining City showed no sign of going out.

People wept and laughed, passing cups of wine back and forth without end as they gave themselves over to drink.

No—they could hardly do otherwise.

Wine helped them forget what they felt. They could blame the tears they’d shed without realizing it on the drink, and pretend not to notice someone weeping for a loved one they’d lost.

But one man was different. Seated on the roof of the tallest pavilion along the main road, he stared silently down at the streets below.

“What are you doing up here?”

At the unexpected voice behind him, the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang, answered gruffly.

“Just thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“What, do I look like a man who never thinks?”

“Of course not. Your lie was just painfully obvious.”

The uninvited guest—the Slaughter Saint—plopped down beside him without permission and gave a quiet laugh.

“Why not be a little honest for once? You could admit you haven’t touched a drop of wine because you’re waiting for your one and only Disciple.”

“……”

“You worry too much. Especially for a Master with the finest Disciple under Heaven.”

At that, Jeok Cheongang’s brows, which had been wriggling like a caterpillar, arched gently.

“Hm. The boy is pretty good.”

“Pretty good? Who else has achieved so much at his age, in all of history?”

“Now, now. He was just lucky. He’s still a long way from meeting my expectations.”

“……Then why are you grinning like an idiot?”

“You must be drunk. You’re imagining things.”

Jeok Cheongang’s mouth twitched as if he were having a spasm. The Slaughter Saint shook his head.

“Anyway, don’t worry for nothing. He must have had a lot to discuss with the Bow Saint.”

“Oh, he went to see the Bow Saint? I had no idea.”

It was true.

Of course, Jeok Cheongang had been waiting for more than two shichen,² ever since Jin Taekyung had quietly slipped away. But anyway, he had no idea.

“Would you stop pretending? Not even a toddler would believe your lies.”

Even with his thoughts completely exposed, Jeok Cheongang held on to his usual confidence.

“I’m serious. Besides, I’m not even sure who this Bow Saint is.”

“……Enough. Are you going to pretend to be senile just to tell one lie?”

“A martial artist must be willing to give up flesh to take bone.”

“It’s the other way around in this case.”

“If I give up bone and take flesh, I still come out ahead. My bones are strong.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense like Jin Taekyung. When it comes to things like this, Master and Disciple really are……”

The Slaughter Saint sighed softly and turned away.

He’d come looking because neither Master nor Disciple was anywhere to be seen. Somehow, everyone who bore the name of the Fire Gate Clan, old or young, gave him a headache.

That aside, there was something he wanted to say to Jeok Cheongang.

“This might be presumptuous, but may I say something?”

“Absolutely not.”

Ignoring the gruff reply, the Slaughter Saint continued.

“Don’t blame yourself so much.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t your fault the boy nearly died ten days ago. Nor was it your fault the Dharma King and the Thunderbolt Saber King died.”

“……”

“If you’re guilty of anything, blame yourself for having a Disciple who’s too outstanding. As for the other two, tear the Lord of Heaven to pieces for them.”

The Slaughter Saint was about to leave Jeok Cheongang to his silence when Jeok spoke.

“Do you have any wine?”

“Of course.”

“Leave it here.”

“Ask a little more politely, and I might consider it.”

“Fine. But first, shall we get our ages straight?”

“Come on. That’s harsh, when we’re both getting old.”

With a quiet laugh, the Slaughter Saint tossed the gourd at his waist over his shoulder and left. Alone again, Jeok Cheongang slowly tipped the wine-filled gourd toward the ground, looking out in the direction of the Central Plains thousands of li³ away.

“You damned monk. And you, Peng. You’ll have to make do with this for now. I’ll hold a proper memorial for you in Xinjiang.”

Then Jeok Cheongang spotted the East Gate beginning to open beneath the hazy moonlight and smiled.

“With my outstanding Disciple.”

Whoosh.

As he kicked off the roof and vanished, something at his neck glinted.

Leaving the Bow Saint behind, I walked alone through Xining City’s dark, winding alleys.

The main road still blazed with colorful lights and rang with countless voices, but only one person occupied my thoughts.

The Martial God.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard about him.

I’d heard more than enough, in fact.

The Martial God’s deeds, beginning as legend and ending as myth, had long since become sacred and untouchable. Though their memories differed somewhat, every martial artist I’d met had praised him, regardless of standing.

It was all too familiar.

Cheon Taemin.

Known as Slayer. Or Sky, a name taken from his surname.

The path he’d walked as humanity’s savior and an unparalleled great hero was astonishingly similar to the Martial God’s. So similar that, at some point, it had gone beyond déjà vu and started sending a chill down my spine.

At first, I thought they were just alike.

It hadn’t seemed all that strange. History had seen heroes with great missions appear from time to time and bring an age of chaos to an end. Cheon Taemin and the Martial God had seemed like two such heroes to me.

Yeah. That was what I’d thought.

Until, a few months ago, I heard something unbelievable from one person.

“So it was you. You’re the ‘chosen one.’”

The Bow Saint.

She’d been hiding in the imperial court under a false identity, searching for me for a long time.

No—for the Player hidden behind the title of “chosen one.”

“Blazing Flame Divine Dragon Jin Taekyung. The moment I saw you rise again after suffering what should have been a mortal wound, I finally knew who the chosen one he spoke of was.”

It was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. The shock of that day had felt like a bolt of lightning striking the top of my head.

That was when I started to suspect who the Martial God really was.

But finding an answer hadn’t been easy.

After that day, the Bow Saint kept her lips firmly shut. And I’d had no time to spare while dealing with the fires erupting across the realm.

Besides, though the answer seemed obvious at first glance, one problem stood in my way—a problem I couldn’t explain.

If Cheon Taemin and the Martial God are the same person… how did I come to Murim?

The capsule.

That beat-up hunk of junk had appeared before me out of nowhere one day. It was a passage connecting the modern world and Murim, and the thin User Manual that came with it contained all kinds of information.

Manufacturer. Date of manufacture. Precautions.

And finally, Main Features.

A capsule customized for just one person! Once a user is registered, the capsule is permanently bound to them until their death.

Those two lines at the very top of the Main Features section were enough to send me into an endless maze.

After all, I was one of the few people who’d seen Cheon Taemin alive with my own eyes. Granted, he was practically in a vegetative state, but there was no doubt he was still breathing.

That was why I couldn’t explain it.

If Cheon Taemin really had been a Player who owned the capsule before me, and if he was the Martial God, how could I have gained ownership of it?

But now it was time to reach some kind of conclusion to this old question.

I decided to untangle my thoughts by changing how I approached it. The method was simple.

Which is more likely: that they’re the same person, or that they’re two different people?

I’d asked myself that question over and over, even after regaining consciousness. And I’d arrived at an answer long ago.

First: Cheon Taemin and the Martial God are the same person.

And second—

The System may have recognized Cheon Taemin’s unconscious state as a form of death.

The second part was still only a guess. But after all the time I’d spent thinking about it, this was the closest I could get to an answer.

There’s one more thing that bothers me: the time ratio…

The difference in time between the Great Cataclysm in the modern world and the Great Faction War in Murim was roughly twofold. But that fell far short of the time ratio the System had given me. That generous ratio was one of the biggest reasons I’d been able to grow so quickly.

There must be something else I haven’t figured out yet.

The System was meticulous. It could seem impossibly capricious at times, but it operated by set rules, and there was a reason for everything it did.

So it wouldn’t be strange if there were specific conditions or secrets it didn’t reveal unless a Player figured them out for himself. The System had always worked that way, and it probably always would.

And among all the thoughts tangled in my head like a skein of thread, only one presence remained.

“……Who in the world is that old man?”

The Helper.

This was the second time I’d met him face-to-face.

When I first set foot in Murim, he’d appeared as part of the System and taught me to circulate my qi. This time, he’d saved my life.

If he hadn’t guided me to a higher level of enlightenment, I’d be a cold corpse by now, buried in Xining City’s graveyard.

Or in an urn Jeok Cheongang had picked out himself.

Anyway, what mattered was that he wasn’t merely part of the System. He was something special.

“Definitely different from what I thought I knew.”

My mutter echoed through the dark alley.

“What nonsense are you talking about now?”

The voice sounded gruff at first, but there was an unmistakable warmth beneath it.

When Jeok Cheongang suddenly appeared, I started to smile.

I would have, if I hadn’t seen what hung around his neck.

“……!”

My eyes flew wide. Reflected in them was a pocket watch glinting in the hazy moonlight.