Episode 77 – A Letter from the Martial World
Cheol Muguk’s daily routine began at myosi (around 5 a.m.).
Even before the sun had risen, his days followed the same pattern without fail.
After drinking the tea Sibi brought him, he would practice circulating internal energy and breathing techniques instead of meditation.
Once his body and mind were in order, he would pick up a large chest and head to the clan head’s forge.
Lighting the furnace there marked the true beginning of his day.
“My time is running out.”
Cheol Muguk thought this as he worked the bellows.
The flame in the furnace burned weakly, as if reflecting the dwindling flame of his own life.
Once the initial fire was lit, he opened the lid of the chest he had brought.
Inside was a fist-sized lump of pitch-black metal, its surface glittering with embedded golden flecks that gave it a mysterious aura.
‘Demoncloud Ore.’
Demoncloud Ore.
A legendary metal, regarded as a treasured relic in its own right.
No other metal could damage it, and once forged into shape, it was nearly eternal in durability and strength. It could even serve as the core to operate a treasured relic.
Moreover—
‘One must be able to forge Demoncloud Ore to become a Heaven-grade blacksmith.’
The Heaven-grade wasn’t simply the highest level in name.
It was because only at that level could one create treasured relics powerful enough to distort even the flow of natural qi.
To earn the right to label their creation with the word “Heaven,” that was the true qualification of a Heaven-grade blacksmith.
“Hoo...”
Cheol Muguk exhaled slowly and sat again in front of the furnace, pulling the bellows toward him.
Demoncloud Ore could not be melted by ordinary furnace heat.
It would only begin to respond to flames so hot they would reduce normal iron to boiling.
And even then, that flame had to be pure.
No impurities at all—only a perfectly clean, complete flame would cause Demoncloud Ore to react.
To produce that pure blue flame, Cheol Muguk repeated the same exact routine every day.
He discarded worldly attachments and followed a devout discipline, like a seeker on a spiritual path.
That unbroken routine had been disturbed—a week ago.
Today again, Cheol Muguk glanced toward the corner of the smithy.
For the past week, a single person had been sitting there.
‘Sado Hwan.’
Even for a man as uninterested in the outside world as Cheol Muguk, he couldn’t not know who that was. A rising storm who had ascended to the Transcendent Peak at the age of thirty and seized the seat of clan head.
Not just any clan, but the Sado Clan, one of the Six Demon Families.
Rumor had it he could suppress hundreds of warriors with sheer presence alone. And indeed, he was exactly as the rumors said.
Cheol Muguk had forged countless weapons in his life—so many that if they were stacked, they would form a mountain.
Because of that, he could usually read someone’s level at a glance. Which hand they favored, their movement habits, where they were strong or weak.
But with Sado Hwan, he couldn’t read anything.
His physique was balanced, almost as if sculpted by the heavens themselves. Was this what a Heavenly Martial Body looked like?
Or perhaps it resembled the First Heavenly Demon, said to have fought without rest for an entire month.
Even his martial arts were unreadable.
The Twelve Demon Asura Techniques, passed down through the direct line of the Sado Clan, were known for relentless rapid strikes.
A practitioner would naturally develop movements tailored to that—but Sado Hwan had no such habits.
He moved like a blank slate, as if he had never practiced martial arts at all. But that couldn’t be true.
Those who had witnessed Sado Hwan's martial prowess had spread tales everywhere about how incredible it was.
‘Has he already transcended the boundaries of form and technique... at that age?’
Cheol Muguk couldn’t help but be intrigued.
He tolerated it for a day or two.
He had often been approached out of nowhere by people like this—wannabes asking for weapons as if he were a tool for hire.
Such people would be tossed aside to the corner of the smithy.
At first, they’d show fake curiosity. They’d ask superficial questions about the work, not really caring about the answers.
But within an hour or so, most would flee from the heat.
The forge’s flame burned at baekhwa (white fire)—around 1500°C—enough to melt metal and exhaust anyone.
Some would try to circulate internal energy and endure longer.
Still, none lasted more than a day or two.
The Cheol Clan’s forge was no ordinary one—it was capable of forging treasured relics, and thus emitted an overwhelming amount of Extreme Yang energy.
That extreme nature meant anyone who tried to circulate their energy or breathe long-term inside could suffer internal injuries.
That was why the Cheol Clan trained in the Extreme Yang Art.
Most people would barely last two days before fleeing the smithy.
Puhwahahak!
Cheol Muguk stomped the bellows and glanced sideways at Sado Hwan.
‘Then how is that guy enduring this?’
He was drenched in sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his breath hot.
If he were using internal energy or breathing techniques, that wouldn't be the case.
Yet he looked completely comfortable.
He was calmly sipping tea and reading a book—as if he were used to this.
He had hidden the book cover, so Cheol Muguk couldn't tell what it was,
But someone of his stature surely wasn’t reading fluff.
And this went on—For an entire week.
From the moment Cheol Muguk lit the forge to the moment he put the flames out.
‘Even Young Master can’t withstand the heat of the Gwesan Furnace…’
The Gwesan Furnace, reserved for the clan head of the Cheol Clan, had far greater firepower than regular forges. Ordinary people couldn’t endure it.
Even Cheol Muguk only managed it because his robes were a type of treasured relic that blocked heat. Without it, he wouldn’t stand a chance, given his relatively weak martial arts.
Even his guards, now at Transcendent Peak, had been ordered outside.
‘Just what the hell is this guy?’
Of course, Cheol Muguk didn’t ask out loud. Call it a craftsman’s stubborn pride. The problem was, Sado Hwan was the same. Even when their eyes met, neither spoke.
And so, another week passed.
“I concede.”
Stopping his bellows, Cheol Muguk finally addressed Sado Hwan.
“Just what are you?”
“Sado Hwan. Clan Head of the Sado Clan.”
“Hmph. I thought you were arrogant, but at least you know how to be polite.”
“Consider it respect for one who has reached great mastery.”
“Your neck’s stiff for someone being respectful.”
“I’m the head of the Sado Clan. If I bow my head, how can I lead my people?”
“Smooth tongue, that one. Did they teach flattery in your clan’s heir training?”
With a heavy plop, Cheol Muguk sat down.
“So, what did you see?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see my life through the flame.”
He gazed at the forge wistfully.
“Flame has a strange charm. Some find salvation in it, some are ruined by it. To me, it is no different from life itself.”
Turning his gaze to Sado Hwan, he asked—
“So, what did you see in the flame?”
Sado Hwan’s eyes grew unreadable as ever. Then, after a long pause, he replied:
“I’m not interested in indulging riddles.”
The curiosity in Cheol Muguk’s eyes vanished almost instantly. What replaced it was disappointment. Deep, heavy disappointment.
Craftsmen, after all, were sensitive souls. They were as emotional as they were artistic.
Which meant I had to follow up—fast.
“What I saw wasn’t the flame.”
“…What?”
“Exactly what I said.”
I closed the book I’d been reading—The White Book of Garments.
A book on Martial World fashion.
Pacheon had scoffed at me—“What kind of man reads that?”
But that was his ignorance talking.
‘It even mentioned the Heavenly Demon’s Robes.’
It was actually a treasure trove of information. It even lightly touched on treasured relics, giving me valuable hints.
Anyway, back to the conversation.
Someone so easily disappointed must also be easily moved.
“There’s a line that fits situations like this…”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“What I saw was not a flame.”
“Then what did you see?”
“I saw a person.”
I continued—
“The Cult is a playground of gifted prodigies. They gain success without effort. And while that makes them impressive, it does not make them great.”
“But I saw a great man—One who sets himself ablaze for the sake of his craft.”
“Tch, smooth talker. Does the Sado Clan teach flattery as part of heir education?”
Cheol Muguk said that, but he couldn’t hide the twitch of his lips.
He was practically grandfather-aged by appearance, But his reaction confirmed it—my words had struck the mark.
[You were definitely a court flatterer in the Demon world, not some jester.]
“Watch enough YouTube, and you’ll get it.”
[…What on earth are you saying again?]
“Don’t worry about it.”
In the real world, I learned from watching interviews of renowned actors. Some hated being called geniuses because it dismissed their effort. I had borrowed one of those lines and tweaked it.
Of course, I didn’t expect a single line to melt a grumpy old man’s heart.
But a crack had definitely formed in his iron wall.
His body, which had completely turned away before, was now slightly angled toward me.
[So your little trick worked, but… why go this far? Just get the clan seal and be done with it.]
“If I could get it from the young head, I would. But this is Cheol Muguk.”
Even without being Heaven-grade, this Dragon-grade blacksmith had achieved greatness.
And if I could solve his inner demon issue using my knowledge of the future—
If I could help him reach Heaven-grade—Then what might he give me in return?
‘In the end, both you and I would gain better odds of survival.’
And so, Cheol Muguk’s forging continued deep into the night. To me, it just looked like he kept lighting and putting out the fire.
“It’s late. Leave.”
“I’ll return tomorrow.”
I stepped outside. The chilly night air cooled my overheated body. As always, Saweol was waiting for me.
“Let’s go back.”
“Yes, Clan Head. Also…”
She seemed to have something to say.
“What is it?”
“A delivery arrived from the Martial World safehouse.”
“The safehouse? From the Treasure Hoarders (창비단)?”
“Yes.”
The Treasure Hoarders—the relic excavation group led by Paeng Soso. They had begun full operations with my sponsorship.
“But there seems to be an issue with what they sent.”
“Issue?”
Had Paeng Soso turned greedy, like in the original Return of the Murim?
“The shipment from the safehouse… is the size of two full carts.”
Usually, one ruin yielded just a few relics.
But two carts full?
‘What the hell are you people doing out there, Treasure Hoarders?’
I quickened my pace.