The old merchant, Kang Dae-ho, fifty-three years old, observed the lifeless body with worry. His wrinkled hands trembled slightly as he pulled from his satchel an ancient healing technique: the Breath of Vital Essence. It was a simple medical art his late mother had taught him, allowing him to stabilize the breathing of severely wounded individuals.
Whoosh... He placed his palms above Joon's chest, letting his faint Qi gently flow. The technique wasn't powerful, but it might be enough to keep the boy alive.
"Come on, kid... hang in there," he murmured, wrapping the body in a clean white sheet.
Thud. He hoisted Joon onto the back of his cart, between the empty grain sacks and trade tools. The young man weighed less than a sack of rice. His bones jutted out beneath burned skin.
Clack clack clack... The wheels resumed their course on the rocky path.
Three days passed. The sky darkened ominously, announcing a storm. Groooan... Thunder rumbled in the distance like an angry beast. Dae-ho frowned as he spotted the glow of fire on the horizon.
The bandits' camp.
"I forgot about those bastards," he growled. "Don't they have anything better to do than extort honest villagers, those parasites?"
These bandits had set up their base along the road to Songhwa village for nearly five years. Officially, they "protected" merchants from supposed dangers. In reality, it was pure extortion. But no one in the village was strong enough to drive them out.
Stomp stomp stomp. Heavy footsteps approached. Five men emerged from the shadows, their weapons gleaming in the torchlight.
"Hey! Old Kang!" shouted the tallest one with a predatory grin. "How's it going, buddy?"
"All good, all good..." Dae-ho forced a smile. "Business went well this time."
"Perfect! You know what that means!"
The years had turned these encounters into something almost friendly. A toxic routine between predator and prey.
Thud. One of the bandits walked around the cart and suddenly stopped. Under the white sheet, a human shape was visible. Bloodstains had seeped through the fabric.
"Hey! Guys! Come take a look at this!"
Stomp stomp stomp. The group gathered around the cart. The bandit lifted a corner of the sheet and widened his eyes.
"Damn it, Kang! What the hell is this shit?"
"This?" Dae-ho swallowed loudly. His voice trembled like a dying leaf. "It's… it's game! Yeah, a big game I hunted down!"
Silence fell. Crack. A branch snapped in the campfire.
"Game?" The bandit leader, a bald man with a scar across his face, stepped forward slowly. "What kind of game, old man?"
"A… a deer! A big deer!"
"A deer with hands?" sneered another bandit as he pulled the sheet back further.
"Well well, looks like we're eating good tonight, boys!" said a third with an exaggerated wink. "I love fresh meat, don't you?"
"Yeah! Especially when it's still tender!"
"Don't let it cool down too much or it gets tough!"
The mood was both awkward and farcical. The bandits spoke in innuendos, testing the old merchant's reactions. They knew exactly what was under that sheet, but the game amused them.
Dae-ho pulled out his coin pouch with a trembling hand. Clink clink. The coins jingled in the tense silence.
"Here… my usual contribution."
The leader pocketed the money without taking his eyes off the sheet. "Go ahead, old man. Get home. And… enjoy your game."
Clack clack clack. The cart rolled away into the night. Dae-ho was sweating profusely despite the cold.
"Damn, I thought they were gonna…" He wiped his forehead. His lie had worked—just barely.
Behind him, the bandits watched him fade into the darkness.
"That old guy's getting weird," muttered one of them.
"You think he's hiding something?"
"Maybe he's a psycho," laughed another. "Or a martial master in disguise!"
"Guys, I'm telling you, we should lower the toll for that guy."
CLACK! The boss smacked him on the back of the head.
"Shut the hell up! That old man's a golden goose! You wanna lose our income?"
"Ow! But boss…"
"No buts! And what about bandit honor, huh? We don't mess with nice old men!"
The group burst into laughter, mocking the one who'd suggested lowering the toll.
Cling cling. The bells of Songhwa village rang softly in the night breeze. In the distance, Dae-ho saw the thatched roofs and mud walls. His village. Finally.
"Papa!"
A youthful figure ran toward him. Kang Min-jae, fourteen years old, with a baby face already marked by hard labor in the fields. His only son.
"Hey, son!" Dae-ho climbed down from his cart with a sigh of relief.
"How did it go?" Min-jae began unloading the bags. Thud thud. Then he froze when he saw the shape wrapped in the cloth. "Dad… what's that?"
"Oh right, I forgot. Listen to me carefully, Min-jae. I found this boy dying on the road. He's still breathing, but barely."
"What?!" The boy's eyes widened. "Again? Dad, mom's going to kill you! Do you remember the last time?"
"I know, I know…" Dae-ho scratched his head. "But I couldn't just leave him to die like a dog."
"Thank God no one's outside…" Min-jae glanced around. The streets were deserted at this late hour. "Come on, help me. We've got to get him inside before someone sees."
Hmpf. They lifted the body together. Joon was so light that Min-jae almost lost his balance.
"Damn, he stinks."
The Kang household was modest but welcoming. Dark wooden beams supported a gray-tiled roof. Inside, the scent of incense and medicinal herbs floated in the air. Shelves lined with vials and herbal pouches covered the walls. In one corner, a simple bed with clean blankets.
Thump. They laid Joon on the mattress. His breathing was so faint it was barely audible.
"Where's your mother?" asked Dae-ho.
Before Min-jae could answer, the door opened.
Creek. Lee Mi-young entered, a petite woman in her forties with graying hair. She carried her medical kit and smelled of healing herbs.
Upon seeing the body on the bed, she dropped her vial of medicine.
CRASH! The glass shattered against the floor.
"AGAIN?!" She slammed the door, furious. "Dae-ho! What have you brought home this time?"
"Mi-young, listen to me…"
"NO!" She flailed her arms like a fury. "Last time it was a thief! He almost killed us in our sleep!"
"But this boy is still breathing! You're a doctor, you have to save him!"
Mi-young sighed, defeated. She approached the bed and gently lifted the sheet.
Silence fell like a stone.
"My… my God…" she whispered.
The horror was indescribable. Charred flesh, exposed bones, gaping wounds. Min-jae paled and rushed to the basin.
BLEEEERGH! He vomited everything in his stomach.
"Get out!" Mi-young ordered, regaining her healer's composure. "Both of you! I need quiet to work!"
SLAM! The door closed behind them.
"I don't even know where to start, damn it… Kang, you're going to pay for this."
After this troubling event, a week passed. The sun finally shone after days of rain. Women prepared the morning meal, men went to the fields, children played in the muddy alleys. Songhwa was coming back to life after the storm.
Rumors were already spreading. Psst psst. A stranger in the Kang household. A mysterious young man. Some spoke of contagious disease, others of a curse.
"UNCLE KANG! UNCLE KANG!"
An eight-year-old boy, Park Soo-bin, ran down the main street waving his arms.
"THE STRANGER! HE'S AWAKE!"
The shout echoed through the village like an alarm bell. Within minutes, a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered in front of the Kang house.
Stomp stomp stomp. Dae-ho and Min-jae dropped their work and ran home, followed by half the village.
"They say he's disfigured!"
"My sister says he lost an arm!"
"He must be a fugitive criminal!"
Creek. The door opened. Inside, soft light bathed the room. Mi-young sat on a chair near the bed, jotting something in a notebook. And there, leaning against the wall…
Joon Woo was awake.
His vacant gaze fixed on the window. Bandages covered most of his body. Only his right eye—the left one was gone—and his mouth were visible. His left arm... no longer existed. In its place was a carefully bandaged stump.
He exuded such profound sadness it seemed to suck the light around him.
"How... how do you feel?" stammered Dae-ho.
Joon slowly turned his head toward him. His voice was a hoarse whisper:
"Alive."
"My wife did everything she could," continued the old merchant. "As for your arm... we'll have to wait a month before fitting you with a prosthetic."
Mi-young cleared her throat. "I also noticed... old scars. Like you were beaten regularly."
Dae-ho's eyes widened in shock.
"Your name? Where are you from?" Min-jae followed up.
"Joon." Pause. "Joon Woo."
"And your parents?"
"Dead." A lie. "The rest... I don't remember well."
Mi-young handed him a steaming cup. "Drink this. It's Celestial Ginseng tea. It will help you recover."
"Thank you." Joon took the cup with his valid hand and brought the warm liquid to his lips.
Slurp.
"By the way," Min-jae said to lighten the mood, "there's talk of something crazy happening at a sect not far from here. The Celestial Flame, I think."
Joon froze, the cup halfway to his lips.
"What happened?" His voice was neutral, but his knuckles had whitened.
"An eighteen-year-old genius broke through a new cultivation level! Han something… Han Seok! People say he's going to become the youngest Master in history!"
CRACK!
The cup shattered in Joon's hand. The porcelain shards sank into his palm. Blood ran between his fingers.
"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!"
He struggled to stand, staggering. His eyes—his eye—shone with pure hatred.
"I'M GOING TO KILL THEM ALL!"
"Joon!" Mi-young rushed to him.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He thrashed like a madman. "I HAVE TO GO BACK! I HAVE TO..."
Tears streamed down his burned cheeks. Heartbreaking sobs tore from his throat.
"I MUST AVENGE MYSELF! HAN SEOK! SOO RIN!"
Thud. He collapsed to the ground, exhausted. Dae-ho and Min-jae helped him back to the bed.
"Please…" He was now crying without restraint. "Let me go… I have to… I have to…"
"You'll die before you even leave the village," Mi-young said firmly. "Your wounds are too severe. You'll carry black spots on your skin for the rest of your life, and some parts of your body will remain discolored."
Outside, curious villagers pressed their ears against the walls.
Crack! A ladder collapsed under the weight of a man trying to spy through the window.
"AAAAAH!" Thump.
"Idiot!" laughed another villager perched on the roof.
Mi-young saw the scene and abruptly closed the shutters.
CLANG!
"You must rest," she said softly to Joon. "When you're ready, you'll tell us what happened. If you don't want to speak, that's your choice."
She ushered her husband and son out. Outside, the villagers pretended to busy themselves as they shamefully dispersed. Others on the roof pretended to nail poorly placed spikes. Some whistled, others picked up imaginary stones, creating a comical scene.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you curiosity is a bad habit?" Mi-young shouted.
Shuffle shuffle. The villagers walked away dragging their feet under the weight of shame.
Alone at last, Joon looked at his bloody hand. The porcelain shards glittered in his palm like red diamonds. The physical pain was nothing compared to the fire burning in his heart.
Han Seok.
That name rang in his head like a death knell. The man he had considered a brother. Who had betrayed him for a stone. Who had caused Soo Rin's death.
"I will find you," he whispered, clenching his fist.
Drip drip drip. His blood stained the white bandages.
"And I will make you pay."
In the shadow of his broken soul, something dark and cold was taking root. More than hatred. More than revenge.
An absolute thirst for destruction.
The innocent Joon Woo had died in the flames.
The one left was nothing but a blade forged in pain.
A blade that would know no rest until blood was shed.