By the time the conversation at the Martial Righteous Alliance concluded and Jin Cheon-hee stepped outside, twilight had already descended.

So, the Great Orthodox and Unorthodox War cannot be stopped.

It was the inescapable flow of the original novel. While the current had shifted slightly—people who should have perished were now alive, poised to participate in the coming conflict—the trajectory remained.

In the original story, the Great War exploded due to a volatile combination: the machinations of the Demonic Cult and the Blood Immortal Cult, fluctuating public sentiment, and the festering grudges of martial artists. But now…

Hmm.

Perhaps it was the arrogance of having read the original novel that made him think this way.

Fighting because their power took a hit? They didn’t know the meaning of a true blow. Taking up swords to gain an advantage because interests were at stake? They remained ignorant of the weight of a true blood debt.

The government was no different. They attempted schemes to maintain Imperial authority, yet the Imperial Family remained blind to the true enemy lying outside their walls.

The Demonic Cult was… always the Demonic Cult. In this chaotic game, they were the only ones moving to their own beat.

The Heavenly Demon. She claimed she was on the verge of Ascension and never lifted a sword herself, yet she always summoned blood to the Central Plains according to her own rhythm. She was, in the terms of his past life, Lawful Evil incarnate. She moved solely for the Demonic Cult with a firm goal, her demeanor largely detached from human emotion.

—Before you are worn down completely, We shall grant you mercy.

That was the proposal she had made to the Thieving Phantom, Gong Ya-geon, in the past. She had promised to kill the Thieving Phantom painlessly—allowing her to live eternally, in a sense—and swore on her name to protect her granddaughter’s future. That was likely the only glimpse of humanity she had ever shown, one of the few remaining fragments of a heart she possessed.

Not only the Junior Cult Leader, Dark Cloud, but even the protagonist Yeo Ha-ryoon feared the Heavenly Demon. What was she thinking in the middle of this chessboard?

Jin Cheon-hee could not fathom what ending she envisioned on this unfolded board. What more could one crave who had already obtained wealth, power, and the very pinnacle of martial arts? Since he couldn’t imagine it, he had no choice but to calculate the Demonic Cult’s moves based on their existing methods.

Phew… calm down. I must stay calm.

He felt a surge of anger. As a modern man, there were aspects of this world he simply could not understand. Even for a martial artist, getting stabbed hurt, and dying was terrifying. Yet why did they run around seeking people to kill, asking, ‘I got a new weapon; is there any chance to use it?’

Did they truly believe the pinnacle of martial arts lay at the end of that road?

Ultimately, profit or grudges might just be excuses. They were simply dogs, crazed for the sword. That might be the true essence of a martial artist. After all, a normal human wouldn’t climb a cliff barehanded without safety gear, punch a stone wall with bare fists, or thrust their hands into heated sand.

“Hyung?”

Raising his eyes, he saw Cheon Woo standing there.

“Why aren’t you at the Wudang Sect?”

“I was running an errand for the Elder. Why the long face, Hyung?”

At the boy’s worried voice, Jin Cheon-hee unknowingly let a dark expression cross his face. He couldn’t answer immediately. Eventually, a blade emerged from his vocal cords.

“Sorry. Cheon Woo. I made you a martial artist.”

“Pardon?”

“Even if you had a natural talent for sensing Qi, there must have been many other paths. I made you a martial artist. I made you live a life crazy for the sword.”

“…”

***

Shadows fell across the courtyard.

Cheon Woo watched the sun setting. And he watched his brother.

He felt instinctively that he shouldn’t let the older boy leave like this. He didn’t know the exact reason. His brother’s expression had returned to normal, and the voice blaming himself was calm. If asked what was different, it would be hard to articulate.

But perhaps it was because he had seen him run, crash, and fall countless times? If he let him go now, Cheon Woo felt something would become irreversible.

“Um… Hyung?”

“Haven’t you ever thought it would have been better to become a merchant? Not Wudang, but farming or studying?”

The end of the calmly spoken sentence trembled ever so slightly.

The older boy’s eyes shone vividly blue, even in the encroaching darkness. What was he calculating with those eyes? Was he seeing some kind of end? Perhaps his own death?

For a moment, Cheon Woo felt a chill, but he quickly shook his head.

It wasn’t just the numerous Gangho elders who were wary of the Zhuge Clan; the Wudang Sect Elders were the same. He knew that if even he looked at his brother with that kind of suspicion, the young man would never smile like before again.

Cheon Woo reached out and grabbed his brother’s cold hand first.

“Hyung, listen to me. I realized belatedly, after hearing your words, that farming and commerce are as important as honing martial arts. Hyung. But I like Wudang. Coming here, meeting the Fist Emperor, honing martial arts… I am living each day fully.”

“…Cheon Woo.”

“Of course, my martial arts have a long way to go. I lack the Softness to call it true Wudang arts. It’s domineering, and there is no Softness Overcomes Hardness in me yet. But even so, that is no reason not to hone my skills, Hyung.”

“You could die, Cheon Woo.”

“Right. But I could die while farming or doing business, too.”

“…”

“Hyung. I am living a second life because I met you. You saved me. So… don’t say you regret it. Hyung.”

Did his sincerity get through?

He didn’t know. But he felt he understood that his brother was the most alien person in the Gangho, carrying burdens on his shoulders that ordinary martial artists wouldn’t even dare to bear.

“…”

Jin Cheon-hee’s blue eyes stared at him for a long time. Was he seeing Cheon Woo’s past with those eyes? Or the future that would unfold? Surely it wouldn’t be smooth sailing, which was why he said such things.

But Cheon Woo wanted to say he was happy now. That was everything to him. Because his brother was the one who had made such a life possible.

“Cheon Woo. Thanks. I think I roughly know… what to do from now on.”

“Hyung.”

“Right. People can die doing business, and they can die farming. Although martial arts involve killing and dying, in a time where the average human lifespan is thirty, you can’t exactly draw a clear line.”

The older boy was saying strange things again. Because of this tendency, martial artists often couldn’t stand it and called him Mad.

But Cheon Woo knew. Even if his brother was alien compared to ordinary people, his goal was ultimately infinitely close to Pure and Virtuous.

He also knew that although the other boy pretended not to care, he was actually hurt by people’s reactions. The more people around him called him strange or alien, the more he would make an expression like a lost child with nowhere to go.

Fundamentally different—it was true.

He was someone whose basic thinking diverged greatly from the norm. Everyone passed it off, claiming it was because he was a child of the Zhuge Clan, but the closer you were to him, the more you realized how truly unique he was.

“Cheon Woo. Are you glad you became a martial artist?”

“Yes. I love my life now.”

“Even if you die or get hurt because of it?”

“If it was an action I accepted and took, even if I get hurt, it would be my responsibility. If I die, it would be meaningless since there’s no time to regret anyway.”

“I see. Right. That’s how it is.”

Jin Cheon-hee closed his eyes. Then, his eyelids opened. It was his usual eye color. He had finished thinking.

“Cheon Woo. Thanks. I almost crumbled, but I think I held on thanks to you.”

This brother of his was truly fascinating.

He easily expressed emotions that ordinary martial artists rarely did. Yet, he rarely voiced the most important things. In a way, he was the polar opposite of a typical martial artist.

Nevertheless, Cheon Woo did not deny that this young man was a person just like himself.

“Of course, Hyung.”

“I’m glad I met you at this time.”

***

Thus, one crossroads for the future was decided.

I don’t know what lies at the end of this…

He had tried everything as a physician, but ultimately, did the nature of a martial artist never change? Was everything he had done actually in vain? The moment one faced such a cruel question, one eventually crumbled.

That was why Jin Cheon-hee had been about to crumble. About to let go of everything.

Did Cheon Woo know the weight of what he had just said?

If meeting Cheon Woo at this moment was fate, then he had to swallow even that fate.

Jin Cheon-hee sharpened the blade of his heart. It wasn’t the Mind Arts spoken of by high-level masters, but rather the heart and resolve of an ordinary person living day by day. And he knew that this resolve was by no means weaker than any Mind Art.

Let’s move forward. No matter what comes next.

Time to fix his shoes and wear them again.

What did it mean to live as a sword? He had lived from boyhood to adulthood, but he still didn’t understand it.

What was certain was that the moment the query value ‘What does it mean to live as a physician?’ was inputted into this world, a bug occurred.

“This Seat is tired now. Bumblebee, Bumblebee…”

Amidst the Trot music ringing in his head, a Korean man lived the life of a Korean.

Am I really Korean? I can’t even go back now…

Wasn’t it just homesickness for something that didn’t even exist anymore? Even pondering it dozens, hundreds of times, no answer came.

But one thing was certain. Even worn down like this, the ego of a physician did not erode.

It was truly laughable that even in the moment of wandering as a stranger, only that framework remained to support the person. Ultimately, meeting Cheon Woo, holding onto Cheon Woo, and being able to dust off his knees and stand up again was possible because…

For him, the ego of a physician took precedence over the ego of a martial artist.

Was it because he had died once? If he hadn’t died as a doctor, would this obsession not remain? Would it have been different if he had just been hit by a truck and possessed into another world normally?

The young man chuckled, and chuckled again, then mourned the human ‘Jin Cheon-hee’ who had died on Earth. It was weird to hold his own memorial service, so he had lived forgetting it, but that guy had lived really hard.

Regret for what couldn’t be saved ultimately pushes a person’s back forward.

A firefighter once said: Saving others is ultimately the act of saving ‘me.’

The young man asked back.

Have I still not saved ‘me’?

Then how much must I save to save myself?

Does an end to this work even exist?

“This Seat is tired now… Bumblebee, Bumblebee…”

“Hyung, you’re singing a weird song.”

“Yeah. There is such a song.”

Even he thought his situation was funny, but this was the only song that came to mind.

“Cheon Woo.”

“Yes?”

“Hyung will cheer up again.”

“Yes!”

“Martial artists are unstoppable Bumblebees… Bumblebees…”

Laughing like that, he left the spot. Laughing while saying it was a weird song, a funny song, he walked again.

Cheon Woo watched Jin Cheon-hee’s back for a long time and called out.

“Hyung!”

“Huh? Cheon Woo. Bumblebee?”

“Tell me if you need help.”

“Right. I already received help once, but I plan to receive more, and I’ll use it properly then.”

The boy’s expression brightened. When he said it was a relief, his brother answered like this:

“Originally, Koreans are a people of excitement.”

Cheon Woo didn’t know what that meant either, but it probably meant that song helped somehow. Jin Cheon-hee walked away. Only the humming sound drifting back was mournful, even from afar.

“Is it a love song?”

Hateful, but I love you guys so, so much.