It is often said that heroes are born in times of turmoil.

This well-known saying has been widely spread across the land.

History has proven it true, and so does the present era. The records testify to the truth behind this statement.

Where there is crisis, there are always those who rise to overcome and endure it. Those who find hope even in the grimmest circumstances and who burn their spirits to cultivate that hope.

These are people who disregard their own bodies, pressing forward even as they tremble in fear of death.

The crowd often calls such people heroes.

The attack on Sinryong Hall was no different.

In what was once considered a peaceful era, an unprecedented event occurred—one where countless young cultivators were injured or killed.

Thankfully, the situation was brought under control within a day.

But not before a substantial number of casualties had occurred.

Though the exact count was unconfirmed, it was estimated that the death toll ranged from dozens to perhaps over a hundred.

It was nothing short of a catastrophe.

People scorned the Murim Alliance for failing to prevent this disaster and began to harbor a negative view of its very purpose.

They weren’t interested in what issues or problems had existed at the time. They focused solely on the fact that the Alliance had failed to protect them.

They accused the Murim Alliance of trampling on the budding sprouts that would have soared into the future.

The attack was carried out by the Unorthodox Faction, yet it was the Murim Alliance that bore the brunt of the blame.

This was how things always were. When an incident occurred, people sought someone to blame.

This time, it just happened to be the Murim Alliance.

Perhaps, in truth, the Murim Alliance was indeed incompetent.

And as is often the case in situations like this, people began to pay attention to those who stood out amid the chaos. Who had distinguished themselves in that pandemonium?

Zhongyuan still had yet to overcome the catastrophe that was the Magyeong. Always yearning for heroes, they even went so far as to create them when none were present.

In other words, it was a generation in which it was easy to become a hero, provided one had a modicum of ability.

So, who stood out in this incident while the Murim Alliance took the blame?

Was it the Hidden Dragon who, undaunted by the Unorthodox Faction, had rushed to protect his fellow disciples?

Or was it the Sword Dragon, who exuded the aura of a chivalrous warrior with a flourish of plum blossoms?

There were many candidates who had upheld the values of righteousness and camaraderie amid the brutal assault. Yet, ironically, the figure who began to gain renown among the people was someone else entirely.

There was one who had brought the leader of the attackers, the Great Demon Master, to his knees.

Even the leader of the Kunlun Sect, Cheonghae Ilgeom, had lost an arm in defeat.

People marveled at the fact that a young cultivator had managed to stand against such a formidable foe as the Great Demon Master.

As a result, a new topic of conversation emerged.

Had that young cultivator attained the Flame Level or not?

The Flame Level was so rare that even if one counted every martial artist who had reached it, the number would scarcely reach a thousand. It was a level so high that most could not reach it, even after a lifetime of honing their skills.

It was not for nothing that the Pinnacle Level was known as the "Graveyard of Martial Artists."

No matter how hard one tried, many would remain at the Pinnacle Level, unable to break through the barrier of the Flame Level.

It was called the graveyard of both ordinary martial artists and extraordinary talents alike.

For a young cultivator, not yet twenty, to reach that level? It was difficult to believe.

Such a martial artist had never existed in history.

Yet, it could not be denied that this young martial artist had indeed brought the Great Demon Master to his knees. Cheonghae Ilgeom himself had testified to that fact.

Furthermore, after subduing the Great Demon Master, the young cultivator had swiftly moved on to eliminate the remaining Unorthodox fighters.

Eyewitnesses reported that the sky turned an ominous red that day.

Mount Taesan, where the blood scent began to spread, soon reeked not of blood but of smoke.

The screams and terror of the young cultivators transformed into the wails of the Unorthodox fighters, and as the sun set, the killing aura that had engulfed Mount Taesan was replaced solely by the energy of fire.

The one who presided over the crimson sky did not hesitate to eliminate the wicked.

Though the methods were violent, even by the standards of the Orthodox Faction, with limbs shattered and throats burned, there were those who frowned at the brutality, thinking it too extreme for someone so young.

However, many speculated that his actions stemmed from an uncontrollable rage.

Seeing members of his own faction slaughtered by the Unorthodox Faction, he had been overwhelmed with fury and spared no mercy in his blows.

‘Bullshit.’

Of course, the young man who heard these stories dismissed them, thinking they were just excuses to vent his anger.

Still, people clung to these stories as if they were gospel.

He was considered a hero for bringing the Great Demon Master to his knees and stopping the attack.

He was someone who, despite his fearsome appearance, was remarkably gentle at heart.

In his manner, he seemed to follow in the footsteps of his father, the Tiger Knight.

In the past, people had scorned him, claiming he was nothing but a shadow of his father. However, now there was speculation that his father had intentionally spread those rumors to hide his son’s talents.

Naturally, the person in question would grind his teeth and curse at hearing such nonsense.

No matter how much he protested and claimed he wasn’t like that, the rumors had spread too far to be retracted.

What sort of lineage did this martial artist have?

He was the only son of the Tiger Knight, who once ruled the minds of the Unorthodox Faction with terror.

He was the younger brother of the Sword Peak, hailed as the strongest young martial artist.

He was the winner of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering.

He was the youngest martial artist to reach the Pinnacle Level.

He was called a true dragon among the Six Dragons Three Peaks and was regarded as the brightest star of the Generation of Shooting Stars.

Through this incident, the young man had moved beyond the confines of a junior cultivator, recognized as a master in his own right.

Jinryong, the True Dragon, was no longer someone who could be confined to the ranks of junior cultivators.

The people of Zhongyuan had begun to recognize Jinryong not as a mere young cultivator but as a martial artist in his own right.

Therefore, they had given him a new title.

Not Jinryong, the junior cultivator, but the birth of a new master.

The crowd had longed for a hero, and in this sense, he was the hero they desired.

He possessed righteousness and loyalty, moving without hesitation to save others, yet he was merciless toward the Unorthodox Faction.

They bestowed upon him a name befitting his ruthlessness toward villains and the brutal punishments he meted out.

“So-yeomra.”

“…!”

Snap.

BANG!

His hand, which had been stretched out in a straight line, faltered at that word and hit another spot.

As his fist struck the cave wall, a crack resounded through the entire cave.

He clenched his reddened ears and glared at the one who had uttered that wretched name.

“Hehehe.”

“…Amusing?”

The woman smiled, biting into a dumpling, as she looked at him.

“Very amusing.”

“I don’t find it amusing at all.”

“How strange... Don’t you like it? It’s certainly a cool title.”

“If that’s how you’re going to talk... Could you at least stop smirking while you say it, Seolbong?”

“Oh my, I’ve made a rare slip-up.”

At his words, Moyong Heea raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then slowly pulled the corners of her lips down with her fingers.

The sight made him clench his teeth.

‘Ugh.’

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to yell at her.

She had come all this way just to bring him food, so he couldn’t exactly blow up at her.

All he could do was curse inwardly.

‘So-yeomra, damn it all.’

Just thinking about that ridiculous nickname made his blood boil.

‘If I ever find the bastard who came up with that, I’ll make them meet the real King of the Underworld.’

He could barely tolerate the moniker "True Dragon," but now he had been saddled with something far worse. He was part of the Orthodox Faction; why on earth did he have to have a title associated with the King of the Underworld?

‘Who the hell did this?’

The more he thought about it, the more infuriated he became.

It had been only a month since people started calling him by that name. He could recall the first strange stories that circulated about him.

‘What? A savior of the innocent…?’

He hadn’t been in a good mood, so he had killed the rampaging scoundrels, but somehow it had been spun into a tale of heroism.

True, he did loathe the Unorthodox Faction, but he certainly didn’t kill them with any lofty ideals or noble intentions.

He killed because they deserved it, and there was no hesitation in his actions because he knew he was in the right.

He had no idea why people would attribute such high-minded motives to him.

‘People sure do love to spread rumors.’

And the real problem lay with Cheonghae Ilgeom, that old man, who had described the whole affair as if it were all his doing.

‘Unbelievable.’

Well... technically, it was true.

If one looked at the rumors more closely, the only real issue was that they portrayed him as some kind of self-sacrificing savior, but everything else was accurate.

The rumors had spread so quickly, and the unfortunate moniker was the most vexing part.

“I actually think it’s quite fitting. Don’t you, Sir?”

“You… really think it’s fitting?”

So-yeomra, fitting? Was she serious?

Seeing his disgusted expression, Moyong Heea let out an awkward laugh. It seemed that even she didn’t fully believe the title was appropriate.

“The name is odd, but…”

“See, even you think so.”

“…Still, isn’t it significant that a martial artist has earned a title?”

She wasn’t wrong.

For a martial artist, a title was a crucial part of their identity. It was like a mark of their skills, characteristics, and achievements.

Some martial artists even went so far as to give themselves grandiose titles, though such empty titles tended to fade quickly.

A true title, however, was one given by others.

The three masters, known as the Triumvirate, didn’t call themselves that. They were called so because countless people recognized them as the three strongest.

His father’s title, the Tiger Knight, was the same, as were the titles of the heads of the Four Great Families.

In a sense, a title was a measure of a martial artist’s worth.

But still…

“This is just too much…!”

He stomped his foot in frustration, and Moyong Heea merely watched, her expression unchanging, as if accustomed to his antics.

‘Fine, whatever.’

Moving past the status of a junior cultivator and being recognized as a master? That was good.

If his title was something as bothersome as So-yeomra, so be it. It was still better than the title he had in his past life.

‘...Though honestly, it’s just as annoying.’

He might as well accept it.

Already, everywhere he went, people were calling him So-yeomra, or “Little King of the Underworld,” and they spoke of him with awe or fear.

He could tolerate that.

The real issue was...

‘Why did the rumors spread so fast?’

The speed at which his nickname had spread was astonishing.

He wasn’t sure about the other regions, but even just in Hanan, the rate at which people were talking about him was remarkable.

It was no wonder that every tavern and inn seemed to be buzzing with his name, day and night.

“It does seem strange, doesn’t it?”

It seemed that Moyong Heea had also sensed something unusual.

“It almost feels... artificial, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

“But…you do know the reason, don’t you, Sir?”

“...”

She wasn’t wrong.

He had a vague idea why things were the way they were.

‘It’s all a scheme.’

It seemed to him that the Murim Alliance had a hand in his sudden rise in reputation.

“Considering the speed, it likely means the Opening Faction is involved too.”

He was almost certain of it.

The Alliance was trying to use him as a distraction, a pawn to divert attention away from themselves.

This was a tactic they frequently employed to cover up scandals or shift public attention when needed.

He initially thought they were just trying to downplay their tarnished reputation by making him a focal point.

But as things progressed, it became clear that this was something more.

‘It’s almost as if they’re propping me up.’

They were doing it to such an extent that it seemed they were willing to tarnish their reputation just to elevate him.

‘But why?’

He couldn’t quite grasp their motive.

And beyond that...

‘Why on earth did they have to choose such a ridiculous title?’

Thinking back to his title, he couldn’t help but grit his teeth.

If it was the Murim Alliance that was behind it, then they were the ones who had given him this name.

Crunch.

He clenched his jaw and swung his fist again.

BANG! BANG!

The sounds echoed through the cave once more. Moyong Heea let out a resigned sigh as she watched.

“I told you, you should take a break.”

“I’ve rested enough.”

He kept punching as he spoke.

“…It’s only been five minutes.”

“That’s plenty.”

“You’re insane.”

Moyong Heea sounded exasperated, but it didn’t stop him from continuing his moves. How many days had he been at this now?

‘I don’t know, probably more than seven weeks.’

He had lost count, not knowing exactly how many days he’d been stuck in this cave.

While it seemed exhausting even to him, he had no choice.

‘I have to finish this.’

The reason he was doing this insane training was all thanks to none other than the Fallen Supreme, Pejon.

It had started when he sought Pejon’s tutelage, around the time he’d been learning a new cultivation technique.

Pejon had told him that to learn a new skill, he had to empty himself completely to be filled anew. This was an unwritten rule among martial artists.

But he remembered the look on Pejon’s face, the mixture of disappointment and disbelief when he realized that Gu Yangcheon hadn’t discarded his existing skills to adopt his new one.

As if in shock, Pejon had muttered, “Is this truly possible…?”

To him, it didn’t seem like such an impossible feat.

Yet Pejon’s face revealed the truth of the matter.

“It’s absurd,” he had said, “to be able to control two different energies so effortlessly. What kind of control is this?”

Pejon had looked as if he’d uncovered a new world, while Gu Yangcheon had simply been thinking, ‘What’s he talking about?’

“How on earth are you able to adjust so finely?” Pejon had asked in awe.

“...What?”

Gu Yangcheon had no answer but to reply, “I just can.”

He wasn’t sure how or why, but he could do it.

And though he had worried he might offend Pejon, he had instead seemed elated.

“What’s with that look on his face? Creepy…”

This had to be the reason he was going through this ordeal. He was here now, practicing a cultivation technique that pushed his body to its limits, all because of Pejon.

The next step after learning the cultivation technique was to start learning a martial art called Tua Pa Cheonmu.

It was a martial art of unparalleled strength, created by Pejon less than a century ago, which had earned its reputation as a divine art.

He remembered how powerful it was when he faced it firsthand.

But when he had asked to learn it, Pejon had said, “Punch your way through this mountain using only the energy of Tua Pa Cheonmu.”

“...Excuse me?”

“You can only use your fists. No other energy is allowed.”

Then, with that declaration, Pejon had turned to leave.

“Wait a minute…!” he had shouted, reaching out, but Pejon had waved him off.

“Oh, and by the way…”

Pejon had continued, “Don’t call me ‘Master’ yet. I’m not ready for that.”

And with that, he had disappeared down the mountain.

Since then, Pejon would occasionally return to check on his progress, only to vanish again.

That was why Gu Yangcheon was now engaging in this insane training.

‘That bastard…’

Punching through a mountain with his fists alone—such madness.

‘And yet, here I am, doing exactly that.’

He wondered why he was doing this, and why he had continued for nearly two months. It was beyond comprehension, but he knew one thing.

He had realized it the moment he began training like this.

‘This technique…’

The cultivation art called Tua Pa Cheonmu wasn’t so much a technique as it was a series of restrictions.

The more he used it, the more pain it caused his body.

His muscles cried out, his core felt as though it was being crushed, and his entire body grew heavier as if he were dragging around metal weights.

But after using it a few more times, he noticed something.

The pain wasn’t meant to torture him but to transform his body.

The more he practiced, the more he could feel his muscles strengthening, albeit slowly.

It was an absurd cultivation technique.

The progress was unbearably slow, and the benefits were negligible unless one practiced consistently, but simply moving while using the technique enhanced his physical strength.

The potential impact of this discovery was staggering.

It explained why Pejon’s martial arts were known as divine skills and why he retained such formidable strength, even in his old age.

But the biggest issue was…

‘It’s just too painful.’

The mere act of moving his body while using the technique was excruciating.

As I said earlier, it felt like every possible form of punishment was inflicted upon him.

It was so painful that even extending an arm was challenging.

Twisting his waist, raising his arms—the pain was immense.

Even now, after all this time, it was the same.

Moving even a little caused him to break out in a sweat, and he sometimes passed out from the pain.

He often wondered if this meant that Pejon endured this pain every time he used the technique.

At that point, Pejon seemed more like a masochist…

No matter how he looked at it, it was an insane technique.

Yet, he could feel himself growing stronger.

Only a tiny bit, but it was progress. And feeling that progress was what mattered.

This wasn’t a step toward increasing his cultivation level but toward strengthening his body.

If Pejon had designed it this way, then he was truly a monster.

Although he had not yet received formal training in the movements of Tua Pa Cheonmu, the reason he continued to pound away at the cave was simple.

He felt it was actually benefiting him.

“How long are you planning to do this?”

For those who didn’t understand, it might have seemed like a pointless exercise.

Moyong Heea had certainly thought so.

“You’ll wear yourself out, Sir…”

“I’m fine.”

He couldn’t tell anyone about Pejon’s true identity, nor could he mention that he was being trained by him. To others, he likely appeared as a madman, pounding away at the cave with his fists.

Yet, despite this, she kept bringing him food. Perhaps she had seen him do so many strange things that she had become used to it.

Not that this was any less unsettling…

“Ugh…”

He stopped, clutching his chest. The pain had been particularly intense just now, enough to make him dizzy.

“…”

Watching him, Moyong Heea let out a deep sigh and stood up.

“Please make sure you eat.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, Miss Namgung will be coming tomorrow.”

“I told her to take a break, but she insists on coming…”

It seemed they were taking turns bringing him food.

Not that he was in the cave all the time; he did return to eat at night. Why they came at lunchtime was a mystery.

And why did Moyong Heea seem to know exactly when he was heading to the cave at night?

Whenever he ventured to the cave at night, Moyong Heea would appear as if she had known all along.

How did she know?

“I want her to rest too, but that’s easier said than done. Miss Namgung is rather perceptive. Unlike some people.”

“Huh?”

“Well then, I’ll be on my way. Will you be returning in the evening, Sir?”

“Probably…?”

She wrinkled her nose at his noncommittal answer, but without another word, she turned and headed toward the cave entrance.

Before she left…

“Oh, by the way.”

“What now?”

“Please show up intact seven days from now.”

With that final reminder, Moyong Heea finally disappeared from the cave.

“…Tsk.”

It wasn’t until she had gone that he remembered what she had mentioned. Seven days from now marked the beginning of the meeting of the Orthodox factions.

And he was expected to attend the assembly.

He wasn’t thrilled about it, but having been one of the closest witnesses to the attack and with people calling him So-yeomra everywhere, he had no choice.

The thought alone was enough to give him a headache.

It wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind.

“Sigh…”

Thinking about it, he let out a deep sigh.

‘How many are supposed to attend again?’

It wasn’t the Orthodox factions or the Seven Major Schools that bothered him.

What made his head hurt was something else entirely.

He had heard that the members of the Gu Family would be attending the assembly.

Who exactly would be coming?

Elder Iljang, Master Ilgeom, Lady Mi, Gu Heebi…

And his father as well.

Honestly, this part wasn’t so bad.

Considering the incident and the assembly, it was only natural for the Gu Family to make an appearance.

But…

‘…Why my father?’

His father coming to Hanan meant something different altogether.

It was one thing for the Four Great Families to send their heads of families, but...

His father had never wanted to come to Hanan. He was always busy as the Guardian of Shanxi, but he particularly avoided Hanan.

He rarely left Shanxi unless it was for an exceptional reason, as he had done when attending to Gu Heebi’s matters or during his engagement.

Maybe he just found Hanan uncomfortable.

‘Does that mean this incident is that significant?’

It could be. But it still left him wondering.

More than anything…

‘Seeing my father makes me uneasy.’

It had always been like that.

Even if things had improved slightly, the idea of facing his father remained daunting.

No wonder he had stopped throwing punches.

“Guess I’ll call it a day.”

Once his thoughts had drifted, he found it difficult to focus again.

He decided to end his toil for the day. As he withdrew his fist and ceased channeling his energy, the restraints on his body loosened, and the pain dissipated.

His body, drenched in sweat, felt surprisingly refreshed.

Although intense training had long ceased to make him sweat, this allowed him to feel some sense of relief.

After putting on his clothes, he left the cave.

His destination was the guest house allocated for the surviving disciples of the attack.

Those who had survived the assault had no choice but to remain, as their families or factions hadn’t sent for them.

Some sects had issued letters permitting the survivors to return, but such cases were rare.

The fact that the Orthodox assembly was scheduled to take place within a few months may have contributed to their decision to stay.

As he walked through the streets of Hanan, the air was filled with murmurs.

-So what did the Alliance do…?

-I heard the Alliance Chief said…

As usual, people were discussing the rumors that had spread.

-And so, this So-yeomra…

Hearing his name mixed into the conversation, he pulled his bamboo hat lower.

Normally, he wouldn’t have worn such an annoying thing, but the rumors had forced him to.

‘…This is ridiculous.’

He let out a sigh.

What a sight he must have been.

‘I should hurry back.’

As he wove through the crowds, someone called out to him.

“Sir.”

He froze. Had someone recognized him?

He turned cautiously, contemplating whether to ignore it or not.

The man who had addressed him also wore a bamboo hat, his face obscured.

‘Strong.’

He could sense the man’s strength.

The stranger also paused, seemingly feeling the same about him.

“…What is it?”

The man didn’t appear to recognize him, though.

The stranger, recovering from his surprise, continued.

“Do you know the way to Baeklim Tavern?”

“…Hmm?”

The name he mentioned was none other than his own destination.

As he assumed a defensive posture, the man spoke again.

“My daughter is staying there, but I’m unfamiliar with the area and unsure of the way.”

Sizing up the man, Gu Yangcheon realized he was dealing with a formidable warrior, either at the Flame Level or nearing its peak.

Seeing that he remained on guard, the man produced a document stamped with the Murim Alliance’s seal.

‘That’s…’

It was a notice regarding the upcoming Orthodox assembly.

Only then did he relax, deducing that the man was likely a family member of one of the disciples staying at the tavern.

He wasn’t sure which disciple, as there were many, but the man’s aura suggested a highly skilled martial artist, likely from one of the Great Families or a major sect.

Curiosity piqued, but priorities in mind, he gestured for the man to follow him.

“Come along.”

“You’re leading the way?”

“Not really. I’m heading there myself.”

He led the way, and the man followed suit.

Thus, Baekcheong Sword Master Moyong Tae also walked alongside him.