The blood on his boots hadn't dried yet. It clung to the leather, still warm and sticky, as Jiyul walked away from the city of nobles. Each step echoed like a solitary drumbeat against the silence of the wilderness ahead. There were no cheers and no applause. No one followed him.
He liked it that way. He was alone again.
Wind howled through his cloak like an old friend whispering madness. The forest outside the noble city stood untouched, with trees like giants frozen in worship. Mist crawled over the mossy earth, and birds fled at his scent. Even beasts in the distance watched him with wariness, their instincts screaming one word at them.
Predator.
Jiyul didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. He just walked. His sword remained in his grip, stained and unsheathed. He hadn't put it away since that moment with Rayel. That image of the Grand Commander catching his blade barehanded and smiling like a god burned deeper than any ember.
Jiyul clenched his jaw.
"I will cut through you next time," he muttered.
His voice disappeared into the wind.
Hours passed. Maybe days. He didn't count. He ate little and slept less. When he did sleep, he lay with his sword gripped like a lifeline. His dreams were filled with flickers of fire, blood, and a woman's voice crying out. They were always interrupted and never understood.
He passed rivers and crossed cliffs. He cut down beasts that lunged without thought, studying every wound they left behind not in pain, but as lessons. He was becoming more than a swordsman. He was becoming something else.
The terrain began to change.
Forests thinned out, replaced by soil that was black, rocky, and dead. Steam rose from cracks in the earth, and the wind grew colder and heavier. The sky darkened even though the sun was still out.
Jiyul stood before a massive ridgeline where jagged black stone stretched like a spine through the land. Beyond it, the sky flickered faintly with an unnatural red aurora.
It didn't matter to him. He didn't know its name.
But the world knew it.
The Death Spring Mountains. Forbidden. Accursed. It was the place where old gods were burned and divine contracts were broken. No one walked near them except Jiyul.
He walked alongside them for days. Sometimes the wind would whisper names. Sometimes he would see markings carved into stones, old runes that glowed faintly and reacted to the ember still sleeping in his blood. His skin itched and his bones ached, but he didn't stop.
One night, cold and without a moon, he made camp near a ridge where dead trees formed twisted shapes. There was no fire, just cold ground and a blade for comfort. The stars blinked above him like distant, cruel eyes.
His thoughts echoed loudly in the silence. Shuyong. Rayel. Selena.
His grip on the hilt tightened. He stabbed the sword into the ground beside him.
"I need more."
A low rumble echoed from the mountain, and a gust of wind slammed into him like a warning.
Jiyul smiled. "I am coming anyway."
He spent the next days near the base of the Death Spring. It wasn't training in the traditional sense. There were no masters and no guidance. Just him and the land that hated life.
He fought beasts mutated by the mountain's poison. There were wolves with bone for fur, snakes that breathed cold fire, and insects the size of blades. He bled, healed, and bled again.
He began striking with intent. He didn't just kill. He dissected. He studied how muscle snapped, how tendons stretched, and how bone shattered under different angles. He pushed his body beyond limits, using the ember inside to force himself awake when sleep tried to steal his time.
Every scar became a badge. Every scream.
The memories came again sometimes when he stared into the black rivers or when his heartbeat slowed. He remembered flashes of a man who he killed before and a name whispered by dying lips.
"Jiyul... son of..."
"Not meant to exist..."
"If the gods won't speak," he said aloud, "I will choke them until they do."
On the next night, he passed a ruined shrine. An old man sat beside it. He didn't react to Jiyul's steps.
"You have walked past death," the man whispered.
Jiyul slowed.
"But you haven't become it yet."
Jiyul stared at him.
The man smiled. "Death Spring doesn't give power. It reveals what was always sleeping inside."
"What do you want?" Jiyul asked.
"To see if the ember inside you burns red or black."
Jiyul drew his sword. "Try me."
The man chuckled. "Not yet, boy. But soon."
And then he vanished into thin air.
Jiyul narrowed his eyes. It was a spirit. He didn't know where he was or what was happening in this cursed place, but he accepted it.
The sky thundered that night. The wind grew sharp as knives.
Jiyul stood on a cliff, watching the storm roll across the mountain. It was time to start leveling himself with the help of these spirits. First, he wanted to clean himself with the rain.
The rain started in the dark mountains. He stood in the downpour, looking stronger. His muscles were denser, his stance more refined, and his eyes darker.
He breathed out, and the mist parted before him.
"Three months," he said. "That is all I need."
His hand rested on the hilt again.
"I will come back with power enough to tilt the gods."
He smiled a cold, cruel smile.