Chapter 264
The Sorrow of One Who Has Been Let Go
“Hmm.”
Kim Su-woong, head of the Strategic Analysis Team, stared calmly at the report handed to him by Lee Soon-chul.
The report detailed that Jin Sung-ryeong was a spy for the Unified Intelligence Bureau and had been leaking all the data from both the Association and Kim Su-woong’s personal database to the outside.
Jin Sung-ryeong.
The fact that she, the head of the Data Mining Team—a key department in the Big Data Office—was a government spy was shocking.
Yet Kim Su-woong’s expression as he read the report was leisurely, like someone browsing a menu in a restaurant.
“Good work.”
When his calm voice returned, Lee Soon-chul struggled to hide his surprise.
“So he knew.”
Only then did Lee Soon-chul realize that his superior, Kim Su-woong, already knew everything.
Receiving the report had been merely a formality.
The report he had spent the entire night writing was no different than a waiter asking, “Is this what you ordered?”
“Go back to your post.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee Soon-chul lowered his head, closed his eyes tightly, and left the office.
“What a shocking matter.”
Kim Su-woong turned and looked out the window.
He had known for a long time that Jin Sung-ryeong was an agent of the Unified Intelligence Bureau. Yet he had kept her close, using disinformation to manipulate the Bureau to his advantage.
What surprised him, however, was not Lee Soon-chul’s report, but a covert report displayed on his own computer screen.
“NetSphere failed.”
Kim Su-woong’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen.
NetSphere.
An assassination program designed to eliminate powerful Skill Masters capable of plunging the nation into fear and chaos.
Since the Bureau’s establishment, NetSphere had only been deployed twice—and each time it had perfectly eliminated Skill Masters deemed untouchable.
And yet, it had failed against a nameless Awakened One?
Click.
As he swiped his hand, the screen reflected the face of a fierce-looking man with red-tinged eyes—Cheon Ma.
“An unregistered Awakened One.”
Kim Su-woong muttered as he observed Cheon Ma’s profile on the screen.
“Close with the Special Response Team, and living right across the street…”
Click.
He snapped his fingers, turning off the screen, and let out a faint laugh.
“Impossible to be a coincidence.”
The Special Response Team, including Han Man-jae, had lost family members due to unregistered Awakened Ones. Their hatred for them was unparalleled.
The Association’s Level 3 and above Awakened Ones had the authority to capture unregistered Awakened Ones—but this one had been living directly across the street, completely ignored?
Unthinkable.
“Sent to spy on the Special Response Team, perhaps.”
Kim Su-woong shook his head as he stared at the screen.
At the end of the report, there was a suggestion that Cheon Ma could be a secret agent raised by the Association President.
“Well, it’s not entirely impossible.”
The Association President—Korea’s first Skill Master—gathered the scattered Skill Masters to form the Association, wielding unimaginable power.
He had even forced Jang Geum-seon, Korea’s first-generation Skill Master and the first SSS-rank, into retirement as a mere civilian.
“That undying old monster has been playing the long game all this time.”
The Association President had not revealed himself for decades.
Yet Kim Su-woong knew the truth: he was still active, quietly observing the workings of the Association, like watching an entertaining game unfold.
“Of course, few could raise an Awakened One like him.”
Kim Su-woong clicked his tongue, eyes sharp, staring into the distance.
“I’ll pretend not to notice.”
The hidden Association President likely believed he controlled everything.
But soon enough, he would realize it was all an illusion.
“Everything will soon be complete.”
Even the Association President could not anticipate or interfere with his plan.
By the time the truth was revealed, it would all be over.
“A new world.”
Kim Su-woong smiled.
Cheon Ma’s daily life remained unchanged.
He woke early, prepared for work, returned home, ate dinner, practiced cultivation, and repeated it all the next morning.
Nothing had changed.
“Cheon Ma.”
Yet there was one small change.
Before leaving work, Jang Chae-won now gave him a slight smile.
“Take care on your way home.”
Her smile was gentle, warm.
-Though no words could truly comfort, she seemed to say: “Be strong.”
But Cheon Ma felt nothing.
There was nothing to grieve over, and he felt no exhaustion.
“Alright then.”
Cheon Ma simply nodded and turned away.
After work, in Cheon Ma’s rooftop room:
[Status: Normal.]
Even today, Mumeong scanned Cheon Ma’s body, speaking with a relieved tone.
Despite exposure to lethal radiation, his body was unaffected.
Had Seo Yuri’s Life Conversion restored every cell to its original state?
No. Cheon Ma’s survival had another reason.
Woori.
This supreme treasure reflected most of the incoming radiation, even without generating a protective force.
However, it wasn’t entirely immune; his invulnerability and poison resistance were temporarily broken, causing him to vomit blood and faint.
“Annoying.”
[Excuse me?]
Cheon Ma, tired of Mumeong’s daily body checks, said:
“From now on, do not check my body.”
[…Understood.]
Cheon Ma assumed a meditative posture.
Mumeong silently observed him, unmoving.
Since Seo Yuri’s death, Cheon Ma had become calmer, more composed.
[Cheon Ma.]
Unable to understand, Mumeong finally spoke:
[Are you not sad about Seo Yuri’s death?]
Cheon Ma closed his eyes, saying nothing.
[Cheon Ma.]
“Why should I be sad?”
Mumeong stammered at the unexpected answer.
[Wasn’t Seo Yuri someone who had a special bond with you?]
“A warrior lives with death at his throat.”
Cheon Ma spoke calmly, eyes closed.
“It’s nothing unusual for one to die at any moment.”
[I… I don’t understand your words.]
Mumeong shook his round head.
He had long known that Cheon Ma viewed Awakened Ones as ‘warriors.’
But did that mean even death must be accepted calmly?
[Can a warrior not grieve another warrior’s death?]
“Yes.”
[Why?]
“A warrior’s life is intertwined with death.”
Cheon Ma slowly opened his eyes, looking solemnly at Mumeong.
“Even without the Creator’s intervention, life and death can reverse like flipping a hand.”
His voice held no emotion.
Mumeong realized two things:
Cheon Ma truly did not mourn Seo Yuri.
And he held no fear for his own life.
[Does that also apply to you, Cheon Ma?]
Ordinarily, Mumeong would never have asked.
But seeing Cheon Ma remain detached even after Seo Yuri’s death, Mumeong’s sorrow and resentment burst forth uncontrollably.
“Of course.”
Cheon Ma looked down at Mumeong, calm.
“I have conquered the world, so I have no regrets. Born a warrior, surpassing the best of my era, even sitting among the greatest ever—what else could I wish for?”
Mumeong felt sorrow.
Cheon Ma still had not fully adapted to this world.
This world was merely a temporary place for him, perhaps even a fleeting dream.
[Cheon Ma.]
“Quiet. I will now cultivate.”
[Sorry.]
Mumeong fell silent as Cheon Ma closed his eyes.
Due to the intensity of his internal power, a teal haze rose from behind him with every cultivation breath.
‘Cheon Ma.’
He had no attachment to life, only joy in battling the strong.
If a worthy opponent appeared, he would be thrilled.
Yet Mumeong whispered quietly, resolutely:
[I will never leave you alone.]
It was his vow: even if he died, Cheon Ma would never perish.
As usual, Cheon Ma only meditated for an hour.
Flash.
When he slowly opened his eyes, there was a fleeting glimmer of unusual emotion in his red eyes.
But it vanished too quickly for Mumeong to notice.
Cheon Ma rose and left the room, and Mumeong followed.
[Where are you going?]
“Stay back.”
Cheon Ma waved him off.
“It will be uncomfortable if you’re here.”
He picked up some firewood stacked nearby and began lighting a fire in a barrel.
Crackle.
The firewood, burning in his focused presence, quickly became a gentle charcoal flame.
Tap-tap.
In the quiet winter night, the sound of burning wood.
Cheon Ma closed his eyes, listening.
Time passed.
“Having a drink, are we?”
A low voice echoed from above, and an elderly man in thick winter clothing slowly descended before Cheon Ma. It was Kim Chan-won.
“Just in time.”
He smiled faintly, noticing that there were no drinks or food anywhere, only the fire in the barrel.
“Oh.”
Then Kim Chan-won realized Cheon Ma had been waiting for him.
“How did you know I’d come?”
“Instinct.”
Cheon Ma looked at the plastic bag full of alcohol and snacks in Kim Chan-won’s hands.
“Let’s have a drink.”
Sitting on the floor, Cheon Ma drank soju from a paper cup.
Across from him was Kim Chan-won.
They shared the small table, but no conversation passed. Only the sound of pouring and drinking broke the silence.
“Cheon.”
Kim Chan-won drank deeply, speaking in a low voice.
“Was this at Yuri’s request?”
A blunt question.
Cheon Ma nodded as if he understood everything.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Who knows.”
Cheon Ma looked at the empty cup, then at the distant sky.
“Perhaps she didn’t want you entangled in complications.”
“Yuri was like my own niece.”
Kim Chan-won spoke with a pained expression.
“How could I let her die screaming?”
Cheon Ma had only said she ‘died saving me.’
He knew nothing of who or why.
Repeated questions brought only a shake of his head.
“The projectile that pierced her back was a metal-bullet skill.”
Kim Chan-won glared at Cheon Ma with grief.
“Surely an Awakened One killed her. Right?”
“….”
“Even the Association isn’t investigating officially. Even though the Awakened One was killed, nothing.”
“The wound on her back was not fatal. It wasn’t the cause of death.”
Cheon Ma drank deeply, shaking his head.
“If she wanted to preserve her own life, she would not have died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Seo Yuri died saving me.”
Technically, it couldn’t be guaranteed.
The Infinite Barrier could only last so long, and they had used shielding devices and radiation weapons to trap her.
Phones couldn’t be used, and even if they could, it wouldn’t matter.
Even if she hadn’t tried to save him, she couldn’t have escaped NetSphere. Yet Cheon Ma blamed himself entirely.
“She died saving you?”
“Yes.”
“Who…?”
Kim Chan-won asked, voice trembling.
“Who attacked you, Cheon? And how did Yuri die saving you?!”
“….”
“Please, just tell me!”
Kim Chan-won’s scream echoed into the night.
“I only keep my promises.”
Cheon Ma’s low voice, like a ringing bell, made Kim Chan-won’s eyes go blank.
No matter the pleading, screaming, or anger, Cheon Ma would never speak.
“That was Seo Yuri’s final will.”
“Yuri…”
Suddenly, Kim Chan-won’s eyes widened.
He realized two truths he had missed:
Cheon Ma had always spoken her name aloud.
And Cheon Ma never lived in debt to anyone.
“I see.”
Kim Chan-won nodded.
“I knew nothing.”
He smiled, both hollow and apologetic.
It was the first peaceful smile since Yuri’s death.
From now on, those who drove his beloved niece to death would suffer like in hell.
“Sorry to disturb your rest.”
Kim Chan-won picked up the large plastic bag.
“I’ll take a break from work for a while.”
Whoosh.
Strong wind sucked the bottles and debris into the bag.
“I’ll be back after some air. I’ve told my boss.”
“Rest well.”
“Mm.”
Kim Chan-won nodded, holding the bag.
“…Was it alright?”
The question he had long wanted to ask.
Only after turning his back to Cheon Ma did he find courage to speak.
“Yuri…”
Cheon Ma paused.
The question held many meanings: had Seo Yuri truly passed peacefully? Was her death painless?
Impossible to answer.
“Probably.”
Cheon Ma could only say that.
He did not want the living to suffer for those who had already departed.
“Likely so.”
“Thank goodness.”
Tears finally escaped, sliding down to the floor.
Do even monsters cry?
Cheon Ma realized that monsters could shed tears—perhaps even more than humans.
Whoosh.
A sudden night wind brushed Cheon Ma’s cheek, and carried Kim Chan-won’s tears into the distant sky.
