Mu-Won learned three important things that morning.
First—the Heavenly Demon did not believe in mercy.
Second—training began before sunrise.
And third—complaining only made things worse.
"Run."
Cheon Ma stood atop a jagged boulder, arms folded, watching Mu-Won with a bored expression.
"Run where?" Mu-Won asked, still half-asleep.
Cheon Ma pointed toward the mountain path.
"Down."
Mu-Won squinted. The path was steep, narrow, and full of loose stones. At the bottom, thick mist hid what looked suspiciously like a cliff.
"…How far?"
Cheon Ma smiled.
Mu-Won immediately regretted asking.
Mu-Won ran.
He slipped. He fell. He rolled. He screamed once—mostly out of surprise—and somehow managed not to die. By the time he reached the bottom, his legs were shaking so badly he thought they might detach and walk away on their own.
Cheon Ma appeared beside him without warning.
"You're slow."
"I'm ten," Mu-Won wheezed.
"And?" Cheon Ma replied flatly.
Mu-Won decided that arguing with demons was pointless.
Training continued like that for weeks.
Mu-Won carried water buckets up cliffs, meditated under freezing waterfalls, and copied strange stances until his muscles screamed in protest. Every time he thought he had reached his limit, Cheon Ma calmly pushed him past it.
Yet something strange happened.
He grew stronger.
His breathing became deeper. His balance sharper. And when he closed his eyes, he could feel a warm current flowing through his body—like a quiet river beneath his skin.
One night, while meditating by the fire, Mu-Won frowned.
"Master," he said, "is this internal energy?"
Cheon Ma glanced at him. "Barely."
Mu-Won scowled. "You didn't have to say it like that."
"I did," Cheon Ma replied. "Pride kills faster than swords."
Despite himself, Mu-Won nodded.
On the thirtieth day, Cheon Ma finally deemed Mu-Won ready.
"For what?" Mu-Won asked nervously.
Cheon Ma tossed him a real sword.
Mu-Won caught it—and nearly dropped it.
The blade hummed faintly, as if alive.
"This is a practice weapon," Cheon Ma said.
Mu-Won stared. "Practice weapons shouldn't feel like they want to bite me."
"That's because it respects strength," Cheon Ma replied. "It currently finds you lacking."
Mu-Won felt insulted by a piece of metal.
"Show me the Falling Star Stance," Cheon Ma ordered.
Mu-Won inhaled, steadied his legs, and moved.
This time, his stance was stable.
The air shifted.
Snow burst outward as if struck by an invisible force.
Cheon Ma's eyes narrowed—just slightly.
"…You didn't collapse," he said.
Mu-Won beamed. "Is that praise?"
"No," Cheon Ma replied. "It means tomorrow will be harder."
Mu-Won groaned.
That night, as Mu-Won slept, shadows crept through the forest.
Three figures moved silently between the trees, robes marked with the insignia of a righteous sect.
"The Heavenly Demon was sighted here," one whispered.
"Impossible," another replied. "He vanished years ago."
A branch cracked.
Cheon Ma stood behind them.
"You're standing on my disciple's training ground," he said mildly. "That's rude."
The next sound was screaming.
Mu-Won woke to silence—and blood staining the snow.
He stared, heart pounding.
"Master…?" he asked softly.
Cheon Ma wiped his hands.
"Murim found us," he said calmly. "Earlier than expected."
Mu-Won clenched his fists.
"Good," he said.
Cheon Ma raised an eyebrow.
Mu-Won lifted his sword.
"I want them to regret it."
For the first time, Cheon Ma smiled without laughter.