Wudang Sacred Scriptures

This part of the message struck at the very heart of Kwak Yeon’s identity. He focused even more intently.

“It is said the Western monk who created these techniques was utterly consumed by demonic energy. No one knows what fury overtook him, or why he crossed into Mount Wudang, but they say he withdrew on his own after hearing the teachings of our founding sage. He may have served a different god, but in spirit, he too was a sincere seeker. The martial techniques he left behind... held mysteries worthy of study.”

And with that, Kwak Yeon finally understood the legend of the Immortal’s Room.

The “Turtle and Serpent Generals” who were said to have been subdued by the True Martial Emperor were metaphors for yin and yang energy unleashed in dual demonic form.

“Out of respect, the legacy of a master from a previous age cannot be erased lightly. Only those who have accumulated virtue may enter the Immortal’s Room. And should one day a descendant of the Western monk arise, having mastered this demonic art, they would need to find the counterforce within. That is why the legacy was preserved.”

Kwak Yeon felt a deep awe toward the insight of Grandmaster Jang Sam-bong.

“All martial arts depend on the heart of the one who wields them. A righteous technique can be used to harm, just as a demonic one can be used to save. If you, the Chosen One, have understood the legacy of the Western monk, then that too is fate. Train it well, and use it wisely.”

To offer such freedom of choice without force—that was the dignity of a Grandmaster.

“This mind-message is my final breath. I created many techniques, founded a sect, wandered the martial world, and studied countless arts. When I returned to prepare for the end, I came upon one final realization. But I feared to pass it on. And so, I left it here.”

Kwak Yeon’s eyes widened.

This... was the Grandmaster’s final insight.

And not just any insight—one he feared to pass down.

“What I feared most was not the danger—but the doubt that such a thing could even be achieved by a human being. Even now, at the final moment of my life, I remain haunted by the illusion of it. If you fail to realize it, the torment of that unfulfilled dream will be unbearable. And if you succeed, the sorrow of its lost meaning may be even worse. This path is a curse written by heaven itself.”

The weight of that despair lodged itself deep in Kwak Yeon’s chest.

He couldn’t breathe.

To spend your entire life bound by a dream that may never come true—and even if it did, to still feel trapped within it?

No wonder the Grandmaster called it a heavenly curse.

It was enough to make him want to flee, to block his ears and pretend none of this had happened.

And as if reading his thoughts, the Grandmaster’s voice stirred again.

“Even so, if your heart dares it—step forward. If not, then leave this place for the next fated soul.”

There was no pressure. No force. Only care—an affection so immense that it stirred Kwak Yeon to his core.

He knew better than anyone how painful the illusion of martial perfection could be. And now, even Grandmaster Jang Sam-bong—who had emptied his heart in the face of death—had confessed to still being shackled by that same illusion.

Hesitating, trembling, Kwak Yeon recalled his resolve.

If I wanted a life of comfort, I would have abandoned this dream long ago. But I chose this path—for martial perfection.

He had no desire for wealth or power. No greed for worldly gain.

I want to see the pinnacle of martial cultivation.

That was his only dream.

And I run from nothing.

If he turned away now, he would be running forever.

With his mind set, Kwak Yeon waited quietly.

Then, like a brand seared into his mind, the Grandmaster’s final insights carved themselves into his soul.

They were more than martial instructions. They were revelations.

Transferred directly—like memory—Grandmaster Jang Sam-bong’s deepest understanding was passed into Kwak Yeon’s mind.

He realized something then: true enlightenment could not be spoken, not even in the mind.

Kwak Yeon had entered a state of supreme clarity.

It was as though all the dark clouds in his consciousness had suddenly lifted.

The knowledge flooding into him went beyond martial techniques—it rewrote his understanding of inner energy.

He grasped new circulatory methods, restructured his internal flow, and even became aware of external meridians throughout his limbs and organs.

Sudden Enlightenment. Instant Mastery.

A moment of awakening that propelled him straight to the peak.

And just as that light surged within him, a shadow crept in—dense, black, and heavy.

It, too, had been passed down by the Grandmaster.

And then Kwak Yeon understood what it was.

The true form of the illusion.

It had a name.

The Sutra of the Infinite Void.

Everything the Grandmaster had ever realized—all his insights—had led to that darkness.

That was the ultimate goal.

Now he understood why the Grandmaster had warned of being consumed by a dream.

There was a realm within that void. A realm no one had ever reached.

To walk this path, he would have to spend a lifetime trying to dispel the darkness. If he stopped, even for a moment, it would crush him.

“It is not an unreachable height. And now... you know the way.”

The Grandmaster’s voice returned.

“All things in existence were born from Heaven’s Will. If you can grasp that Will and rise to the ultimate state, then I dare say—across all ages—you shall be unmatched.”

The Grandmaster had been careful with his words. But the meaning was clear:

Become the greatest martial artist of all time.

“Achievement is achievement. It needs no name. But should anyone ask, tell them this: it is called the Art of the Everchanging Origin.”

****

“The moon’s disgustingly bright tonight.”

The guard captain muttered, glaring at the sky.

They were stationed at the Grand Demon Prison of the Martial Alliance—its outer compound.

Corporal Jeong Wook-jin, the senior officer of this detachment, grumbled as he leaned against the cold stone.

A new recruit named Gi Seok-cheon tilted his head curiously.

“Sir? What’s wrong with a bright moon? Makes it easier to see—no tripping over rocks and such.”

Jeong Wook-jin pointed toward the enormous full moon overhead, filling half the sky.

“You know what we call a moon like that around here?”

“No, sir. What?”

“The Blood Moon.”

“The... Blood Moon? Why something so ominous?”

“Doesn’t it look red to you?”

“Well... maybe. But isn’t that just the dust in the air? This is loess country, after all.”

The new recruit had a point.

The Grand Demon Prison was located in the middle of a vast loess desert—hundreds of miles of uninhabited wasteland in every direction.

“No, it’s not just the dust. Every time that blood-colored moon appears, something happens. Someone drowns in the well, drunk. Or some poor bastard falls into the pit shaft and dies. Every damn time. Folk say it’s the moon—says it lures ‘em.”

“...Seriously?”

”Seriously now. That’s why greenhorns like you keep getting assigned here—though we’re still always short on men.”

Captain Jeong Wook-jin of the outpost muttered, then glanced at the new recruit. Perhaps he’d scared the rookie too much. Still, a bit of caution never hurt anyone.

”Listen. That full moon tonight—it’s especially large and red. Best not to look at it too long.”

Life out here was desolate—men alone, isolated for years at a time. A life so lonely that even starlight, let alone the moon, could stir melancholy.

”Captain, if you don’t mind me asking... why does the Martial Alliance even keep a place like this running? All this sacrifice, just to guard a pit in the middle of nowhere. And I heard the ones down in that underground prison... they’re demons from the Eight Wastes who were captured during the Great Uprising. Why not just execute them instead of spending all this money keeping them alive?”

”Because of that damned oath between the Martial Saint and the Four Elders.”

”The Martial Saint and the Four Elders made an oath?”

”Don’t worry about the details. Our job’s simple—just guard the gate. Whatever those bastards do down there—kill each other, rot away—I couldn’t care less.”

”But sir... is there any chance those demon bastards could escape?”

”That pit is two hundred jang deep. And they’ve all had their cultivation sealed—no inner force, no martial strength.”

”What if someone tries to help them from the outside?”

”Listen, the Eight Wastes have been gone for over ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) twenty years. And no one—not a soul—knows this prison exists except the highest ranks of the Martial Alliance. Even if they did know, they’d have to cross a desert wasteland for weeks to get here. You think we wouldn’t notice? Maybe if it were a ghost.”

The recruit finally looked reassured.

”Well, ghosts don’t exist, so nothing to worry about there.”

Captain Jeong Wook-jin gave a slow nod.

”Right. It’s boring, repetitive work, sure—but the pay’s good. And once your term’s up, they hand you a first-grade martial manual. Honestly, not a bad deal.”

”Now that you mention it, your service ends soon, doesn’t it? You must be looking forward to it.”

”You’re not far behind either. Seems far off now, but time flows all the same.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that time felt twice as slow out here.

No point. He didn’t want to see this rookie bobbing dead in the well under the next full moon.

”That’s enough chatter.”

Captain Jeong Wook-jin narrowed his eyes as the iron perimeter fence around the prison came into view. He turned to address his unit.

”Everyone, return to your assigned posts. Relieve the first-shift guards. I don’t care how bright the moon is—stay sharp, no napping, no wandering off. Rookie, you’re with me. We’ll head to the delivery gate.”

As the others scattered along the cliffside, Jeong Wook-jin led the recruit toward the entrance to the underground shaft.

Calling it a “gate” was generous—it was more like a hatch. A small wooden chute, rigged with a pulley system, meant for lowering food and supplies into the depths below.

A thick wooden beam lay across the opening, with a rope threaded through the pulley at its end.

It was only when they neared the hatch that Jeong Wook-jin felt something cold crawl up his spine.

There should’ve been signs of the first-shift guards—noise, movement, anything.

But the area was silent.

Then he saw it: the hatch was open. The rope was already hooked to the pulley, dangling.

It was only visible because the full moon was so bright tonight.

”...Shit.”

He reached for the horn whistle at his waist.

But before his fingers could close around it, he felt something cold pierce through his back.

Shk—!

A sharp, splitting pain tore through his chest. Gasping, he turned his head.

Two red eyes stared back at him.

With the blood-red full moon behind them, the figure standing there was no longer the recruit he’d been teasing.

Red-eyed ghost.

Jeong Wook-jin’s gaze darted around—shadows rising all around him.

Each one was half-naked, emaciated, eyes gleaming with violent madness.

Demons of the Eight Wastes.

As his body crumpled to the ground, Jeong Wook-jin looked down the cliff toward the barracks below.

His comrades—probably sleeping, waiting for second shift to begin.

I have to warn them...

But before he could raise the horn, a blade slit across his throat.

The horn slipped from his fingers and clattered uselessly to the ground.