The smell of soil, the cold wind brushing against my skin, and the pain in my back—
everything felt real.
I was truly alive again.
These clothes.
And the man standing in front of me.
There was no doubt about it.
This was a story I had written.
So this meant…
that world was truly alive.
Without realizing it, my eyes grew moist.
The world I had abandoned was still here—
still breathing, still waiting for the day I would return.
"Hey… are you crying?"
"Did it hurt that much?"
His name was Baek Junghyun.
He was careless.
Blunt to a fault.
But beneath all that foolishness, he had one trait that never changed—
he never gave up.
Even in the worst situations, he never ran away.
"I just got something in my eye."
He stepped closer, circled around me for a moment, then suddenly stopped—
staring straight into my face.
"You… this is rare."
"You're not crying."
"You usually cry all the time, hahaha."
Only then did I realize it.
Here, I was Yeo Woon.
Junghyun's best friend.
A crybaby.
A coward.
Yet someone who dreamed of becoming a Murim warrior.
Just like Junghyun.
When I looked more carefully, both of us were carrying quite a lot of baggage.
Then this must be it.
This was the part of the story where Junghyun and Woon wandered from place to place, searching for a sect willing to accept them.
"Let's rest here for today and continue tomorrow."
"I'll go look for some firewood. Wait here for a bit."
He told me to wait—
and then just left.
What kind of idiot leaves an injured person alone in the middle of a forest?
The silence brought back a question I had been avoiding.
Guide your story for true ending.
What was I supposed to do to achieve that?
I had never even thought of an ending for this story.
All I remembered was why I started writing it in the first place.
A story where a martial artist would become a symbol of strength and justice.
At least… that was what I believed back then—
before I abandoned it.
Time passed.
The sky slowly darkened.
Junghyun returned with an armful of firewood and lit a small flame.
He then took out a single corn, split it into two, pierced each half with a branch, and handed one to me.
"The journey's about half a day more."
"We'll reach Chunwu City by then."
"Yeah," I replied shortly.
"You…"
He hesitated for a moment.
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this stupid dream of mine."
I turned to him.
He said it with a smile—but I knew that feeling all too well.
That feeling when you start giving up on what you want.
The sharp pain in your chest every time you tell yourself, i can do this.
"This is the third city we've visited," he continued.
"And out of all those sects… not a single one accepted us."
"Maybe they're right."
"People like us shouldn't dream in the first place."
I stayed silent, staring at the roasted corn in my hands.
"If no one accepts us tomorrow…"
"Then let's just go back."
"We can plow the fields like we always did."
Even though he said it lightly,
I knew how much pain it took for him to say those words.
"…Alright."
I didn't know why that answer came out of my mouth.
Even though I remembered this story clearly,
it felt like the only right answer—for now.
After that, silence settled between us.
No encouragement.
No comforting words.
As if silence was the only language that fit this moment.
"Get some sleep."
"I'll keep watch first."
"I'll wake you when it's your turn."
In the end, he never woke me up.
He stayed awake until morning.
That morning, the sky was clear.
Birds chirped.
Trees swayed gently in the wind.
We resumed our journey.
Junghyun was still smiling—
even though he knew rejection was all that awaited him.
But that was Junghyun.
Not once did he allow himself to drown in fear or sadness.
Every now and then, we stopped to drink water and rest.
During those breaks, Junghyun would wave his stick around, dancing awkwardly with stiff, clumsy movements.
He called it the Heavenly Dragon Sword Technique.
What kind of dragon eats roasted corn?
Thanks to all of Junghyun's foolishness, the half-day journey felt incredibly short.
As we climbed yet another slope, I finally saw it.
Chunwu.
The city where powerful sects gathered.
The center of the Murim world.
A place where only those deemed worthy were allowed to remain.
I watched his back as we continued walking.
Baek Junghyun walked ahead of me, carrying a dream that even this world itself might not allow to live.
In that moment, I finally understood—this story was not about Murim, not about sects, and not about power.
It was about a man who still dared to dream, even after the world had told him no, over and over again.
And without realizing it, a terrifying thought crossed my mind.
if a dream like that demanded a heavy price... Then who would be the one to pay it?