Chapter-5
As they strolled down the winding dirt path, Chae Ryun swung his arms leisurely and looked at the smaller boy beside him. "Hey, what's your name, anyway? Can't keep calling you 'kid,' you know. That's rude—even for a martial artist."
"Lee Cheon-Hwa," came the flat, unimpressed reply.
Chae Ryun paused mid-step, blinked, and then let out a sharp laugh. "Wait—seriously? That's exactly the same name as my master! What are the odds? Hey, are you secretly trying to get adopted by him too? Because that name might earn you a discount."
Cheon-Hwa simply blinked at him, expression unreadable. "...I don't mind staying with you and your master."
His voice was calm. Too calm. It was the kind of voice one used when silently calculating how many steps it would take to perform a flying roundhouse kick.
But Chae Ryun, blissfully unaware of the internal war happening in Cheon-Hwa's soul, grinned and clapped him on the back. "Great! Then we're brothers now! I'll even share my secret dried jerky stash—wait, no, actually you have to earn that."
Before the banter could continue, Chae Ryun suddenly stopped. His body tensed. Then, in one swift motion, he yanked Cheon-Hwa by the wrist and dragged him into the underbrush.
"Shh," he whispered, crouching low behind a thick patch of bushes.
Cheon-Hwa narrowed his eyes, the atmosphere shifting in an instant. The lightness in the air evaporated like dew under the sun. He felt it—the heavy, nauseating presence crawling over his skin like flies to rotting meat.
Demonic qi.
He peeked between the leaves. A large man waddled into view, his steps lumbering and slow, but the weight of his presence was anything but. His clothes were stained with blood—some fresh, some crusted with time. Cheon-Hwa's nose wrinkled.
Ugly. Fat. And a pig.
But none of those things truly mattered. What mattered was the twisted aura rolling off him. He was no ordinary wanderer. He was a demonic cultivator.
"Avoid conflict," Chae Ryun muttered. "That guy gives me the creeps. Let's sneak past while he's distracted."
Cheon-Hwa didn't speak, only nodded as his brain instantly began calculating their route.
"There," he whispered, pointing to a path that curved along the tree roots behind the man's blind side. "If we move when he turns—three seconds max—we can use the moss-covered ridge to muffle our steps."
Chae Ryun blinked. "You're… five, right?"
"four," Cheon-Hwa corrected.
Chae Ryun stared, caught between awe and existential confusion.
"You're better at strategy than some elders at the sect."
Cheon-Hwa's lips didn't move, but his eyes glinted coldly. "Survival teaches fast."
And with that, the two crept through the shadows, the laughter of moments before buried beneath the weight of danger.
Just as planned—every step, every breath in perfect timing—they slipped past the demonic cultivator like shadows through smoke. Cheon-Hwa gave a slight nod of approval as they ducked beneath a root-covered ridge, the stench of decay fading behind them.
"That… actually worked," Chae Ryun whispered, blinking as if surprised he wasn't dead.
"Of course it did," Cheon-Hwa muttered. "I told you the moss would mask the sound."
But the universe, cruel and comedic as always, did not enjoy watching quiet success.
"KEHEHEHEHE—"
That wet, greasy cackle slithered through the trees like a cursed melody.
Both boys froze mid-step.
Cheon-Hwa slowly turned around, his eye twitching ever so slightly.
There, blocking their path like an unwanted vegetable in a hotpot, stood the fat—no, morbidly offensive to the eye—man himself. His grin stretched across his face like overworked dough, revealing yellowed teeth and the promise of violence.
Chae Ryun, without missing a beat, grabbed the nearest rock and chucked it straight at the man's head.
Bonk.
It bounced off his forehead with a dull thud. The man blinked. Not even a flinch.
"…I was hoping that'd do more," Chae Ryun muttered.
"Obviously," Cheon-Hwa deadpanned, already bracing himself.
Before either could make a break for it, they were yanked by meaty, sausage-like hands. The man's strength was overwhelming, like being caught in a bear hug from a fermented ox. Cheon-Hwa gritted his teeth, but maintained a disturbingly calm face—so calm it would've fooled a saint.
Chae Ryun, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. "Let. Us. Go. Or I swear, I'll make sure even hell spits you out."
The fat man only laughed harder—until his gaze landed on Cheon-Hwa.
His eyes widened, grotesquely gleaming as he leaned closer. "What's this? Pretty little thing, aren't you?"
Cheon-Hwa, still expressionless, screamed internally. Did this rotting pork carcass just say "pretty"!? Ew. Ew. Ew—
He felt his skin crawl, his soul wither, and his very blood boil. If disgust were a sword, he would've cut this man's neck twenty-three times already. But on the outside?
Cheon-Hwa remained unfazed. Stoic. Almost bored.
"…Don't touch me," he said quietly, voice like frozen steel.
But inside?
IF THIS GUY TOUCHES ME I'M SETTING HIS EYEBROWS ON FIRE.
Cheon-Hwa gritted his teeth as the brute's grip tightened around his arm, like a vice crushing bone. His limbs writhed, trying to break free, but the man's raw strength overwhelmed his young body. Just as panic threatened to seep in, a flash of movement caught his eye—Chae Ryun.
"Let go of him!" Chae Ryun shouted, his voice a fierce roar as he rushed forward.
But before he could land a strike, the burly man turned and, with one devastating blow, sent Chae Ryun flying like a broken doll. He crashed hard against the trunk of a tree, the bark splintering, his body collapsing to the ground with a groan.
The world paused.
Something inside Cheon-Hwa shattered.
A silence, sharp and deep, washed over him. His magenta eyes, once steady and calm, turned glacial. Not with fear. But with fury. A slow breath escaped his lips as a cruel smirk traced his face, void of warmth.
With his fingers trembling, he reached out and grasped a jagged stone from the dirt beneath him.
Then—he moved.
The stone struck the side of the man's knee, the cracking of bone resonating through the forest like a thunderclap. The brute howled in agony, stumbling backward. Cheon-Hwa didn't stop. He pounced with the agility of a beast, driving the stone into the man's thigh, ripping through flesh and muscle.
The man screamed and swung wildly, but Cheon-Hwa ducked, his small form agile and calculated. He pivoted, grabbing the man's wrist and biting down with vicious force—forcing him to release his grip.
Seizing the opening, Cheon-Hwa surged upward. He leapt onto the man's back, wrapped his arm around the neck, and slammed the jagged stone repeatedly into the exposed flesh near his collarbone. The warmth of blood drenched his hand. The man staggered, falling to his knees, choking on pain.
And with one final thrust—Cheon-Hwa rammed the stone deep into the base of his skull.
The body dropped. Lifeless.
Cheon-Hwa stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his face, arms, and hands. His knees buckled—his strength gone. He staggered forward, coughing violently as metallic blood spilled from his lips.
"Cheon-Hwa!" Chae Ryun scrambled to his feet, his voice laced with panic. He caught the younger boy just before he collapsed fully, gripping his small body in trembling arms.
But the danger wasn't over.
Chae Ryun's eyes widened as he felt it—ominous waves of demonic Qi pulsing through the air. The brush rustled, and figures began to emerge one by one, cloaked in shadow and drenched in malevolence. Their smiles were twisted, blades drawn, and Qi flaring with corruption.
Chae Ryun stood protectively in front of Cheon-Hwa, despite his own injuries. "Stay behind me."
But before the cultivators could close in—before a single step could be taken—a cold wind swept through the forest.
And then—
A presence descended.
The pressure in the air shifted. It was heavy. Divine.
From the treetops, a man landed silently, his robes fluttering like wings of judgment. A sword was unsheathed in one smooth motion, its edge gleaming with clarity and a sharpness that seemed to slice the air itself.
Hwa Ryeon.
His eyes flickered from Chae Ryun to the child behind him. And in that second, he understood.
"You dared touch my disciples," he whispered—not in rage, but in promise.
The first demonic cultivator lunged at him, screaming a battle cry as he charged, a corrupted sabre cloaked in black flames.
Hwa Ryeon didn't move—until the last moment.
With a flick of his wrist, his sword flashed once.
The attacker froze midair, a perfect line across his body glowing bright—and then, with a gust of wind, his body split clean in two.
The next two rushed in from both sides, trying to flank him. Hwa Ryeon spun, his blade whirling in a blur of silver. Sparks lit the air as his sword clashed with theirs—once, twice, and then three times in a heartbeat.
Blood sprayed across the forest floor. Their bodies dropped.
The final three backed away, fear now clear in their trembling steps. They unleashed their Qi, forming deadly techniques of their own—but it was too late. Hwa Ryeon stepped forward. His blade sang.
One step—he severed the wrist of the one forming a spell.
Second step—a throat opened like paper.
Final step—he stood behind the last man, sheathing his sword.
A moment of silence passed.
The last cultivator collapsed, his head rolling from his shoulders.
Hwa Ryeon stood still, eyes dark and breath steady. The forest had fallen silent again, the stench of blood mixing with the wind. Not a single demonic cultivator remained standing.
He turned.
Chae Ryun, bruised and wide-eyed, was still holding onto Cheon-Hwa, who lay trembling and pale in his arms. Blood ran from the boy's lips, but he forced himself to look up—to meet the gaze of the man who once raised him.
Hwa Ryeon's eyes finally softened. "...You."
Tears burned at the edge of Cheon-Hwa's vision. This was real. His master. His mentor. The man who meant everything to him.
A small, broken smile formed on his face.
"Master... I found you..." he whispered.
And then, everything faded to black.
Cheon-Hwa's body went limp in Chae Ryun's arms, the boy finally losing consciousness.