The heavens and earth bled a macabre crimson, painted in the hues of death, as molten magma slithered like fiery serpents across the desolate battlefield.
The air pulsed with the symphony of destruction—the blinding crescendos of martial spells, the clandestine rhythms of hidden techniques, and the discordant percussion of bones splintering against the clash of steel and flesh.
Amidst this tempest of carnage stood Yoon Jun, the Swordsaint of the Divine Severance Sect, his form unwavering against the chaos.
In his grasp burned Ryujin, a blade forged in the flames of legend—an ancestral artefact wielded by his great forebear, whose triumph over time was tainted by the navy-haired man before him.
"Wraithblade Sentinel," Yoon Jun growled through gritted teeth, his eyes ablaze with the fury of generations, a tempest born from the collective wrath of his bloodline.
There, shrouded in the guise of humanity, loomed the Wraithblade, the Martial King, Dan Kyorin—the moonlit-yellow-eyed demon clothed in flesh, the harbinger of Yoon Jun's ancestral blade's bloodstained legacy.
"Gah!"
Blood poured from Kun Jian's lips as he collapsed under the crushing weight of Dan Kyorin's might.
The old master of the Celestial Grounds, a titan in hand-to-hand combat, saw the final blow approaching—yet, even as life drained from his eyes, a flicker of hope sparkled within them.
His voice, weak but unwavering, broke through the storm of agony: "Yoon Jun, finish him!" His words were swallowed by the deadly palm of Dan Kyorin—the Palm of Sha, "The Decaying Winter."
"DAN KYORIN!" Yoon Jun's roar shattered the heavens, his cry carrying the fury of a thousand lifetimes.
At that moment, his sword blazed with brilliance, the ultimate technique manifesting in a blinding burst of light.
Its radiance stretched across the three realms, causing even the heavens themselves to split apart, bearing witness to a strike infused with the true essence of Dao.
"Die!" Yoon Jun spat, his sword—bearing the Decree of the Sword Dao—whipping through the air like a sentinel of death.
In the world of martial arts, no one stood above Dao, and Dan Kyorin, the Martial King, was no exception. Yet, there lingered a question in Yoon Jun's mind: "Which Dao did he follow?"
"Dao isn't the only ultimate force of existence," Kyorin's voice, heavy with fatigue, resonated as he gazed at the impending fall of the all-severing sword. "It is but the quintessence of life, a path one may choose to walk."
"This sword... is indeed Dao," Kyorin continued, his eyes distant, closed in resignation. "And I cannot avoid it, as my Karma doesn't permit that." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Such a pity..." He scoffed, raising his palm as the very heavens trembled beneath his touch. Yoon Jun, stunned, could barely gasp his next words: "Essence of Dao?"
"NO!" Yoon Jun's voice cracked, not because the demon before him wielded a technique that contained the essence of Dao—but because what Kyorin used was not Dao at all. It was nothing.
'Exactly how?!' His thoughts scrambled briefly before Yoon Jun's eyes flashed with recognition, and the truth struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Wu Wei."
For martial artists, Dao was not merely a concept—it was an eternal thread, weaving through existence like the unseen current of a vast ocean.
It transcended the boundaries of right and wrong, good and evil, embodying the infinite dance of creation and dissolution.
Wu Wei, by contrast, was the art of surrender, of moving not against the tide but with it, flowing like water over stone.
Together, they whispered to the soul of anyone brave enough to tread their path: "Be still, and yet ever-moving."
Yoon Jun's stance was rigid, the conjured sword descending not merely as his own, but as if it bore the weight of the world's will—the blade destined to slay the demon.
'No one can endure this strike unless they are the Dao itself,' he thought, conviction tightening the edges of his mind.
But then, a voice—soft yet unyielding, like the echo of a distant bell—reverberated through his mind.
"Are you certain, young Swordsaint?"
Yoon Jun faltered, his breath catching. His eyes darted to Kyorin, whose posture betrayed no sign of speaking. "You?! How?" Yoon Jun demanded into the void, but the silence was its only reply.
Unperturbed, Kyorin observed the descending storm with a faint smile, one that seemed to mock the heavens themselves.
"Hmm," he murmured, as though speaking only to himself, "my skin—impervious to the strike of thousands of Transcendent masters—is beginning to weaken under the weight of this attack."
"Scared, are you?" Yoon Jun's voice dripped with derision, his words sharp and deliberate. "Afraid now that death is upon you? You will atone for your karma here and now."
Kyorin's gaze flickered briefly, his face betraying no more than a passing thought. "Scared?" he echoed, the word hanging in the air like a question aimed at no one in particular.
His tone remained steady, unhurried. "What is fear but the shadow of an expectation unfulfilled?"
"Why cling to life or dread its end?" he continued, his voice soft yet resonant, carrying the weight of an unseen truth.
"Do you truly believe this moment is unique, Yoon Jun?" Kyorin's voice carried a quiet weight, like the solemnity of an ancient bell tolling through the ages. "That the current burden of mine is unique in the endless tapestry of my existence?"
He paused, his gaze steady, not in reproach but in knowing compassion, as if speaking not to an opponent, but to someone lost within their convictions.
"Many have walked this path before me, and many will follow after. Yet here you stand, clinging to the notion that my fate, my struggle, is the centre of all that is." Kyorin's tone softened, not with pity, but with the quiet understanding of truth so often overlooked: "It is not."
Yoon Jun's scowl deepened, confusion and anger warring on his face. He sought something in Kyorin's gaze—fear, regret, anything—but found only an ocean of calm.
"Time ticks on, moment by moment, yet we sow expectations of what tomorrow must bring," Kyorin said. "Why chase what does not yet exist? Today is here. It is enough."
"And the past?" Yoon Jun shot back, his blade gleaming like a shard of moonlight. "Is it not the weight that brought you to this moment?"
"The past?" Kyorin's expression softened, as though he pitied the question. "It is done. A shadow cast by a flame long extinguished. To hold it now is to clutch at ashes. Yes, it shapes us, but it does not bind us—not unless we let it."
Yoon Jun's face twisted. "Then your fate is sealed. You cannot escape what is unchangeable." He declared.
Kyorin inclined his head slightly as if entertaining the thought. "Perhaps. But even that certainty is an illusion, Yoon Jun. Why plant the seeds of a future not yet grown? This moment is all we have. And it is enough."
The storm howled, a crescendo of fury. Yet within its chaos, Kyorin stood unshaken, an anchor to the present, untouched by the weight of what was or what might be. For him, there was no fear—only the stillness of the infinite now.
"This descending Dao Sword," Kyorin said, his voice steady as stone, even as the weapon plummeted with the weight of the cosmos, "is nothing more than a reflection of how the world sees me."
The storm howled in defiance, the heavens darkened as if mourning the inevitable, yet Kyorin's mind remained a sanctuary of clarity.
The sword's energy tore at the fabric of reality, a relentless verdict, an embodiment of the world's judgment.
It was everything Kyorin had faced—every force that had sought to erase him coalesced into a single, devastating strike.
Still, he did not flinch. He did not resist.
"I have long understood that the world will see me however it chooses," Kyorin continued, his words unshaken by the chaos around him.
"To struggle against its judgment is to bind myself to it. To fight every label, and every condemnation would be to carry their weight forever." He spoke as if realising something beyond the vision of the myriads." I chose otherwise. I simply am."
The sword hummed, reaching its zenith, an unstoppable force on its way to cleave through his existence. Time seemed to hold its breath. And then, impossibly, the blade hesitated.
It slowed, and faltered, as though questioning its purpose. When it met Kyorin's form, it did not shatter him. Instead, it unravelled.
The weapon, once the embodiment of cosmic fury, dissolved into something trivial—its energy dispersing like smoke caught in a gentle breeze.
The tempest around them quieted, the rage of the world reduced to a single thread of hair, floating down with the grace of a feather before it integrated itself with Kyorin's form.
In accepting the world's judgment, he had transcended it.
Kyorin had not defeated the world. He had rendered it powerless. By simply being as he always had been, he had become something beyond definition—beyond judgment.
In the aftermath, The battlefield lay quiet, a broken, desolate expanse where the fury of the heavens had left its mark.
Yoon Jun descended slowly, his strength waning, carrying the shattered remnants of the Ryujin blade in trembling hands.
The once-mighty weapon, now reduced to fragile shards, shimmered faintly, breaking apart into countless pieces that floated like dying embers before fading into nothingness.
Kneeling, Yoon Jun placed the remains gently on the ground, each motion deliberate, and reverent. His voice, though quiet, carried a depth of gratitude that reached beyond words.
"Thank you," he murmured, the finality of his gesture marking his acceptance of the inevitable.
As he straightened, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion, a familiar voice echoed, calm and unyielding, like the toll of a bell in the still air.
"Again, sowing the seeds of expectation."
Yoon Jun's lips curled into a defeated smirk, his breath shaky but resolute. "Hmm, isn't my death obvious?" he muttered, his eyes sliding shut as if bracing for the end. But as he prepared for his final moment, his eyes snapped open, a gasp catching in his throat.
In front of him stood Dan Kyorin—not the grand Wraithblade Sentinel he had faced moments before, but a shadow of that once-indomitable figure.
Kyorin's body was a tableau of suffering: one arm severed, the other hanging limply at his side, his torso marred by deep gashes that revealed the raw ruin beneath.
His legs trembled, barely able to hold him upright, and blood pooled at his feet in silent testimony to his torment.
He was no longer a warrior standing in defiance but a hunted beast, battered and broken, the embodiment of a world's wrath.
"W-What?" Yoon Jun stammered, his voice faltering as his mind reeled at the sight before him. This wasn't the outcome he had anticipated, nor the fate he could comprehend. "What... is this?"
Kyorin's weary but unwavering gaze met Yoon Jun's. There was no anger in his eyes, no resentment—only a profound, unshakable calm. "This," Kyorin said, his voice ragged but resolute, "is who the world wants me to be."
The words hung in the air like a grim verdict.
"I accepted the sword," Kyorin continued, his breath laboured but steady, "and in doing so, I also accepted the world's wrath."
"It has judged me, shaped me, reduced me to this state—a reflection of all its hatred, its condemnation, its desire to see me broken." His voice, though faint, carried the clarity of a man who had transcended suffering.
Yoon Jun's knees buckled as he stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the sight with the invincible figure he had fought. Kyorin, once untouchable, now stood as a monument to suffering—not defeated, but enduring.
"My body..." Kyorin began, his words heavy yet unyielding, "can no longer hold on. It is by my will alone that I stand before you. Even now, the Dao itself punishes me. It has stripped me of my path—I will never again walk the road of cultivation."
Yoon Jun's eyes widened in shock, his voice trembling. "You... you can't use Qi anymore?"
Kyorin nodded, a faint smile curling on his bloodied lips. "The Dao has deemed it so. My connection to Qi, to the infinite, is severed. I am to remain bound by mortality, no longer a part of the eternal flow. This is its judgment."
"Do you resent it?" Yoon Jun asked, his voice low, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.
Kyorin shook his head slowly, a strange peace in his expression. "No. How could I? In this moment, I can confidently say that I am the second person to truly understand the nature of Dao... after Dao itself."
Yoon Jun's brows furrowed, confusion etched into his face. "Why then? Why did you accept the sword? Why endure all this, knowing what awaited you?"
Kyorin's gaze, though fading, held a profound depth as he answered. "To understand what was beyond me. To grasp the true essence of Dao and, in doing so, to see myself through the lens of the world. I sought not power, nor glory, but perspective. And now... I understand."
Yoon Jun fell silent, his chest tightening as he watched the life ebb from the man before him. After a long pause, he finally asked, "Do you have no regrets?"
For a moment, Kyorin's expression softened, a shadow of something unspoken flickering across his face. "I do," he admitted, his voice quieter now, like a whisper carried on the wind.
Yoon Jun leaned closer, desperate to hear. "What is it? What do you regret?"
But Kyorin did not answer. His body sagged slightly, his eyes closing as his final breath left him. The faint smile on his lips remained, serene and untroubled.
Yoon Jun knelt there, staring at the lifeless form of the man who had stood against the wrath of the world and the Dao itself. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind.
For a moment, Yoon Jun's vision blurred as he stared at the still figure. "You... never answered," he murmured, his voice trembling with the weight of what he had witnessed.
Dan Kyorin, the once-great martial king, the demon, had left the world, leaving behind not just his body but a truth that few would ever grasp.
Even in death, he was a monument to understanding, a soul who had sought not victory but wisdom—and in doing so, transcended even the limits of enlightenment...
.
.
.
No one is truly without desire.
Even the gods who reign over the heavens are driven by purpose—a need to be acknowledged, to leave their mark upon the endless tide of existence, to stake their claim in the infinite expanse of time.
But in the pursuit of our desires, we often find ourselves shackled by the construct of ego. The ego is a cage, confining us to illusions of self-importance and distorting our perception of truth.
In this life, Dan Kyorin transcended the struggle for identity. He did not strive to influence the world's perception of him, nor did he burden himself with preserving an image of who he should be.
He moved through existence untouched by the weight of others' judgments. Detached, yet purposeful—he was free as he simply was.
But even he, in his transcendence, had desires. That was the regrettable part of his journey. He was not a man without wants; he too longed to realize his dreams.
Upon his death, Kyorin's mind wandered, and in the stillness, he realized the depth of his obsession with this desire.
Memories of his previous life flooded back, like waves crashing onto a shore long forgotten. He recalled his dream: "To rise above his human self."
Fueled by this desire, words escaped his lips, heavy with the weight of the past.
"I just need one more chance."
As these words echoed in the emptiness, like a moth drawn to a distant flame, Kyorin felt his body being pulled toward an unknown realm.
To be continued...
****
A/N: So, What happened? Explanations for disappearance
To the old Readers,
First, I want to thank each of you for the time and support you've given me and my work. And I am sure I owe quite a lot of explanation, but here is my bizarre summary of it all.
Unfortunately, due to an incident involving my phone being left unattended and "a prank", my previous account—and the book I was writing—was deleted. I didn't have a backup on docs, so I was unable to recover the work.
While I initially didn't plan to return, I've decided I can't abandon this story. So, I've created a new account and will be rewriting the book from scratch.
While it will be the same for most parts, I hope it will be even better with the lessons I've learned. Thank you for your patience, understanding, and continued support.
-HangingMan (previously UnOwen)