Kang tucked the charred book carefully into the inner fold of his robe, concealing it as if it were a forbidden relic. With the help of Jegal Sae-Jin, the two slipped quietly out of the Great Library, moving through the stone pathways of the clan estate as dusk began to settle over the sky.
The wind rustled through the paper lanterns hanging from the eaves, casting shifting shadows across the courtyard.
After a short distance, Kang suddenly stopped. His hand reached out, lightly tugging the sleeve of Sae-Jin's robe.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice hushed with concern. "What if the former patriarch gets angry? Isn't he still unwell?"
Sae-Jin turned to him with a small, knowing smile.
"I know that old man better than anyone. He lives to talk," Sae-Jin said. "If we bring him something this interesting, he won't stay silent. Sick or not—he's still a martial artist of the Jianghu."
Kang hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. But there was no turning back now—not with the truth just a few doors away. With a quiet exhale, he nodded, and the two made their way toward the heart of the residence.
They approached the main building of the Jegal household—an elegant structure of curved rooftiles, aged mahogany, and intricate latticework. Just as they reached the corridor leading to the former patriarch's quarters, a guard stepped forward.
"State your purpose," the man said, eyes sharp.
"We've come to visit the former patriarch," Sae-Jin answered with calm authority.
The guard gave a short nod. "Proceed."
They walked the final steps in silence.
Before them stood a tall wooden door engraved with the clan's emblem—two crossing fans over a dragon's eye. Sae-Jin raised his hand and knocked twice.
Click.
The door creaked open slowly on its own, as if the room had been waiting for them.
Inside was a bedroom that felt frozen in time. The wooden floor gleamed with fresh polish. Incense burned softly in a corner, its smoke curling toward the ceiling in delicate wisps. Scrolls lined the far walls, stacked neatly beside ink stones and bamboo brushes. A paper screen let in the last rays of amber light.
At the center of it all sat an old man on a low bed—his back straight, his expression serene.
His hair was silver, tied neatly behind his head, and his eyes were sharp despite the faint lines of age. He looked like any other elderly man enjoying the twilight of his years. But something was missing—there wasn't a trace of spiritual energy around him. No pressure. No presence.
To Kang, he looked utterly normal.
But that normalcy was a lie.
This man—Jegal Hwa-Yun, once the Sect Leader of the mighty Jegal Clan—was said to have once read the flow of a battlefield like the back of his hand, predicted movements before they began, and silenced wars with a single scroll.
And now, here he was. Sitting calmly. Sick, yes—but far from ordinary.
Kang swallowed as the air in the room grew heavier with unspoken questions.
Sae-Jin stepped forward.
"Grandfather," he said softly, "we need to talk."
"What is it, my grandchild?" the old man's voice floated gently across the room, laced with warmth—but his sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on Kang's robe. "Oh, the Kang boy is with you too, huh?"
Then his tone shifted, subtle but firm.
"What are you hiding in your robes?"
The air in the room thickened instantly. The playful warmth vanished.
BAM.
The door slammed shut on its own.
Curtains dropped from every corner of the room, swallowing the last bits of daylight. It felt as though the room itself had sealed them inside—no way in, no way out. Silence reigned, save for the rustle of cloth.
Hwa-Yun's gaze sharpened.
"Where did you find that book?" he asked, eyes now gleaming with something between surprise... and fear.
"Wh-what are you doing, Grandfather?!" Sae-Jin gasped, clutching his chest. "I—I can't breathe—HUFF—!"
Beside him, Kang staggered, face turning pale.
And then—snap—the pressure lifted. As if it had never been there.
"My bad," Hwa-Yun said casually, stroking his beard. The terrifying aura vanished without a trace.
Before either boy could react, the book flew from Kang's robes, summoned into the old man's hands with a flick of unseen energy.
"Where did you find this?" he asked again, voice quieter this time—but heavier.
"In the library, Grandfather," Sae-Jin answered. "It was being used... as a leg for a broken shelf."
The old patriarch froze.
"As a leg support?!" he groaned and slapped his forehead. "Even if they did not know the contents...This generation... no respect for history…"
He looked at them, eyes serious now. "Did you read it?"
"No, Grandpa. It's mostly burnt—only the first few pages are readable," Sae-Jin replied. "But... can you tell us the rest? Is it true? Did this really happen?"
Hwa-Yun stared at his grandson for a long moment.
So curious... he's just like I was back then…
He sighed.
"Sae-Jin... this book holds the dark, blood-soaked truths of the Murim world. Truths that were buried for a reason. Let's put the past where it belongs—burn this book, and forget it existed."
"I see," Sae-Jin muttered, rising to his feet. "Then I'll have the servants torch the entire historical archives. Might as well get rid of all of it while we're at it."
"You brat—WAIT!" Hwa-Yun reached out and knocked his knuckles on Sae-Jin's head.
"Then tell me, Grandpa! I'm curious to death!" Sae-Jin pouted, rubbing his head and blinking with wide, innocent eyes.
Hwa-Yun looked at his grandson, unable to hide the nostalgic smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You would've found out about him eventually..." he murmured.
With reverent care, he held the charred book in both hands, his gaze distant now—lost in memories.
"This book was written by my dearest friend... Lang Lu," he said softly.
He cradled the burnt volume like it was a dying flame.
"He wanted to publish it once—share the truth with the world. But the Alliance banned it. Branded it as dangerous, heretical. They seized every copy... and burned them all."
He looked up, eyes gleaming with unspoken pain.
"This may be the only one left."
Kang finally found his voice.
"But... there's not a single fact in this book," he said, his tone sharp, skeptical. "It reads like legend. If it's true—if even half of this is true—it'll shatter the names of powerful people. This isn't a story. It's a storm waiting to happen."
Hwa-Yun gave a slow smile. "It is based on a true story."
"But how can anyone believe it?" Kang pressed. "There are no records. No proof. What sources did he have? This book—it'll just raise more questions. People will call it madness."
Sae-Jin stayed silent, eyes bouncing between the two. He'd only wanted to skip out on reading duties, maybe hear an old story or two from Grandpa. But this… this was spiraling into something far deeper than he'd ever expected.
Hwa-Yun studied Kang for a moment, then finally said,
"Do you know what Spirit Valley means?"
Sae-Jin blinked, then answered, "You mean... the Lost Valley of Spirits?"
Hwa-Yun chuckled. "That's the name you've been told, yes."
He looked out the window for a brief second, then turned back to them.
"For thousands of years, kings, warlords, and sects alike have all chased after whispers of a hidden land... a Spirit Kingdom. Armies marched to their doom, believing they could claim it. None ever returned. But if someone—anyone—had found it... they would've become the greatest ruler the world has ever known."
Kang swallowed. "Possibly…"
"This book," Hwa-Yun said, lifting it slightly, "is about someone who came close. Closer than anyone ever has."
He looked them both dead in the eyes now.
"But it's not fantasy. Not fiction. There is one record left in this world that proves it happened."
Kang narrowed his eyes. "What record?"
Hwa-Yun's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The Crimson Oathstone."
The room fell dead silent.
"A relic buried beneath the sands of time," Hwa-Yun said, voice low and distant. "Etched in blood… the blood of a man whose name was erased from history. A legend… never meant to survive."
Both Kang and Sae-Jin leaned forward, eyes wide.
"The Crimson Oathstone?" they asked in unison.
Sae-Jin's eyes lit up. "You mean… that old red stone by the pond?"
THWACK.
Hwa-Yun smacked him on the head.
"Not that bloody stone, you idiot!" the old man barked. "I'm talking about a stone so sacred, it was hidden from the eyes of the world. On that stone… his face is carved."
Kang's eyes narrowed. "His face? If he's been immortalized in stone, he must have done something… extraordinary."
Sae-Jin, rubbing the fresh bump on his head, blinked. "That Oathstone… if it's real—however deep it's buried—I want to see it. I want to see the truth… I want to see the stone."
He looked at his grandfather, defiance and curiosity burning in his eyes.
Hwa-Yun exhaled heavily. The old man had seen this look before—on the faces of young warriors who chased legends and never came back. But this was blood. His blood.
He gave up.
He turned his gaze to Kang.
Kang understood immediately. He rose, turned on his heel, and strode out the door.
Outside, he barked to the guard stationed nearby. "Call the guards who can dig well. I don't care what it costs—get them ready."
The captain blinked. "Where shall we send them, sir?"
Kang turned, eyes locked on Hwa-Yun. "Well, old man? Where is it? Where's your Crimson Oathstone? Where is your… Spirit Valley."