Dust swirled in the air around a jagged cliff.

Facing off were two figures—one, a man cloaked in mystery behind a silver mask; the other, Ye Kang-oh, the youngest disciple of the Black Sky Lord.

“You won’t be able to retreat any further.”

Ye Kang-oh’s voice cut through the air like frost, sharp and biting. Such fierceness was a rare sight in him. After all, it was Ye Kang-oh whose name echoed in rumors, whispering of a virtuous scholar emerging from Black Sky Clan.

But in this moment, at this desolate cliffside, the aura radiating from Kang-oh rivaled even that of his master, Ye Jin-rang, the lord of Black Sky.

The masked man wordlessly adjusted his spear. Ye Kang-oh’s words were true.

There was no room left to retreat.

Ye Kang-oh was the first to spring off the ground. Dark sword energy surged in torrents from his sword.

Despite only wielding his spear, the masked man managed to block Kang-oh’s attack. Once could perhaps be considered luck. However, the masked man continued to face his opponent without a single sign of faltering.

For Kang-oh, it was a rare experience to have his attacks repeatedly blocked. Nevertheless, he pressed forward, relentlessly advancing his onslaught.

The sun frantically chased the trajectory of Kang-oh’s sword strikes. The swordsmanship of the prized disciple of the Black Sky Master, who is said to control half of the martial world, was filled with deadly and intricate maneuvers. Had there been an onlooker, they might have gasped in horror, imagining the masked man’s gruesome end with the relentless rain of brilliant white sword lights.

This was no mere sparring match. It was a one-sided pursuit, a relentless offense met only by silent defense.

Having not launched a single counterattack and merely falling back, the masked man was soon cornered at the edge of the cliff. Yet, the contrast could not have been sharper—the hem of his white robes fluttered only faintly, his breathing steady and serene, while Kang-oh’s eyes were bloodshot with intensity.

The man’s refusal to even part his lips sparked a searing frustration within Kang-oh, as if the scorching heat of a thousand-year drought had suddenly consumed him.

With each clash, the ground beneath the two warriors seemed on the verge of crumbling. And yet, neither Ye Kang-oh nor the masked man moved even an inch from the perilous cliff edge.

One step—just a single step—and they would plunge into the abyss. Despite this, the man, wielding only a spear to block Kang-oh’s sword, showed not the slightest hint of fear.

He was unbearably bold, with a strength far beyond measure.

It wasn’t just confidence emanating from him, as though even if he were to fall from this cliff, he would survive. There was a deeper resolve—a refusal to let even his foe, Kang-oh, fall to his death.

Ye Kang-oh understood this. This wasn’t merely a fight to defeat his opponent; it was a confrontation in pursuit of truth, a test to uncover something deeper.

Behind the mask, the man’s calm eyes met Kang-oh’s. Eyes so familiar, and so achingly missed.

Ye Kang-oh summoned his inner strength.

Zzziiiing—

The sword in Kang-oh’s grip, Dansa, resonated with him, as though responding to the fierce energy surging from its master. The sword, in turn, began to blacken, as if it were being reforged from obsidian.

For the first time, there was a reaction. The masked man’s brow twitched at the sight of the darkened aura—a force beyond mere sword energy, a sign that Kang-oh had now unleashed his true inner power.

This was the final strike. However, it was not aimed at taking his opponent’s life. Kang-oh spread his fingers in the Golden Palm technique, blocking the man’s spear with one hand. His palm split open, blood dripping down.

In that fleeting moment of hesitation from the masked man, Ye Kang-oh’s sword slashed through his mask.

Clang—

As the mask split in half, a face appeared that seemed too perfect to belong to this world.

Skin as white as porcelain, as if with the lightest touch it would leave traces of powder. A sharp, beautifully defined nose, perfectly shaped lips, and delicate features so intricately crafted, they appeared to defy time itself. What was once hair black as night was now like the snow on the northern peaks—pure white. Though still beautiful, an air of fragile melancholy now clung to that beauty, as if he might dissolve into the air at any moment.

As the mask fell away, beneath the slowly fluttering eyelashes, eyes were revealed—eyes that gleamed with a radiant brilliance resembling polished black jade.

A face so close to an artistic masterpiece that it seemed a shame only Ye Kang-oh and the sun had witnessed it.

And yet, as this breathtakingly handsome figure stood before him, Ye Kang-oh’s expression slowly crumbled.

There was no way he could fail to recognize that face. Not because of its supreme beauty, rivaling the legends of Songok and Ban-ak, but because it was the face of the man who had once been Ye Kang-oh’s protector.

“You… is it really you?”

Before him stood Dan Woo-hyo, the long-missing Master of White Virtue Palace, a man whom the entire martial world believed to be lost. Dan Woo-hyo, the man Ye Kang-oh, the youngest disciple of the Black Sky Lord, had revered and loved above all else.

“Was it always you, all this time?”

Despite Kang-oh’s repeated questions, Dan Woo-hyo remained silent.

The frustration inside Kang-oh was unbearable. It was as though a wildfire raged in his chest, burning him from the inside out.

It was strange. Kang-oh could only think that this was all so terribly strange…

When the masked fiend who claimed to be the Lord of the White Virtue Palace first appeared, the entire martial world was thrown into chaos. Yet, only Kang-oh had seen behind the facade of this so-called leader of the righteous sects, recognizing a shadow of his former slave, Woo.

Since that moment, Kang-oh had obsessively chased after the masked man, slowly recovering fragments of his lost memories. He pursued, hoping it wasn’t true, praying that the clues would not lead him to this terrible conclusion. And yet, despite his desperate rejection of the truth, he found this confrontation unavoidable. He dragged Dan Woo-hyo to this very cliff, and now everything was painfully clear. The memories he had long buried poured over him, bringing with them forgotten emotions like a tidal wave.

Ye Kang-oh flung his cherished sword aside over Dan Woo-hyo’s shattered mask. Bitter laughter trembled from his lips.

“How many times… how many nights have I repeated to myself that it couldn’t be you? That it shouldn’t be you?”

Dan Woo-hyo stood quietly in front of the anguished Kang-oh, his eyes tracing slowly over the younger man’s twisted expression. Even as he looked at him, Dan Woo-hyo found himself wishing to see him more. There had been a time when he thought he would spend his entire life longing, never fully encountering him again. But Kang-oh had stubbornly followed him this far, forcing their paths to converge once more. The one-sided pursuit had ended in Dan Woo-hyo’s defeat.

For Ye Kang-oh, the day they had stood on this cliff had been lost in the endless void of his memory. But now, it was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. He remembered clearly how he had shielded Dan Woo-hyo, taking the blade meant for him, and then falling from the cliff, knowing he might never return. He had done it out of a desperate wish—that Woo-hyo might forever remain brilliant, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

But reality had diverged from the path that young Ye Kang-oh had once desired.

Pushed along by the relentless torrent of fate, Kang-oh had forgotten Dan Woo-hyo, caused him suffering, and in the end… lost him altogether.

The past caught up with Kang-oh. Regret that crushed his lungs and the ensuing agony burst from his lips.

“That lowly commoner… He never once dreamed of a future with you! So why are you here? Why? Why…!”

Woo-hyo, who had remained silent throughout Kang-oh’s bitter lament, gave a bitter smile.

That’s why he could throw away his life so easily. He probably didn’t even think of it as a sacrifice.

“Is that why you did it?”

Woo-hyo’s question was as cold as it could be, and Kang-oh gritted his teeth. It was an interrogation about what happened that day, ten years ago, at this very place.

At that time, Kang-oh had no regrets about his choice.

He thought it would be enough if Woo-hyo could remember him, even just as a fleeting memory in his heart. Even if he took the hand of some beautiful lady and went through with a marriage, he wanted him to remember that there once was some lowly wretch who died for him…

It was an act driven by only one desire.

Because he didn’t believe in love. He never expected they would have a future together. Yet, why was that person standing before him now?

How had he crossed through memories stained with tears and blood, descending from the highest place to the lowest to reach him?

Translator’s Note: I am still working on which names to choose for the techniques, sects etc. This might take some time.