'I've failed my ancestors...'

There, inside the sect leader's residence, a man sat solemnly on a chair, the faint glow from a lantern highlights the side of his wrinkled face.

It was still a few hours until the sun came up. For now, he was in his room.

'I mustn't let my ancestors see me like this.'

Slowly, he stood up, grabbing a chirped sword on his side. He then went out of his room, each step light but unrestricted. There was no one to bother from their sleep.

He pushed a large old door, revealing a broken marble stone platform. This was reserved for the second-class disciples, but now, there were no such disciples.

Glancing at the starry sky, a hefty sigh came out. However, his gaze never left from the heavens. And, as if talking to someone, he spoke.

"I'm sorry..."

He was a sect leader of this sect and yet, he possessed a weak body. If the man who leads his subordinates is strong, naturally, the one below will also grow.

But this was impossible.

No matter how he looked at it, he was never fitted for such a position. He was only hailed as such because he was one of the elders who still kept their loyalty to the sect, the strongest of the weakest.

How can a fragile father protect his children?

He knew he couldn't, but he also knew that he should. As the sect leader, he must also bear the burden of being one.

Srng!

The crooked sword was drawn from its sheath. And the sect leader held it with all the strength he could.

The sect leader stood in the dim light of the broken platform, his grip tightening on the chipped sword. His gaze never wavered from the stars above, his eyes filled with both regret and determination.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered again as if the heavens could hear him. The weight of his position pressed down on him, heavier than the sword he held. He had failed his ancestors, failed his sect, and the remnants of what once was a great legacy now lay in ruins around him.

Wooosh!

The sword was swung with speed and control. However, it didn't carry the teachings of the sect. It was an empty slash and it only fueled the sect leader's sadness.

The lightning that once reigned these mountains was no more than history.

'What is the use of clinging to the past that has already faded?'

Subconsciously, he bit his lip and started swinging his sword furiously. But no matter how much tenacity he put into his swings, the spark of the sect's techniques failed to appear.

As if trying to conjure lightning, he imbued his sword with qi, slowly adding more as he swung his sword.

A blue light.

Bright...

Eventually, the sword was covered in a bright blue glow. Before he realized it, he was mindlessly pushing himself harder, desperately trying to ignite the lightning that had once crackled through the skies under his ancestors' mastery. His breathing grew labored, his muscles strained, but still, he continued. The blue glow around the sword pulsed with every swing, flickering as though it could collapse at any moment.

"This is not enough! I must lead the Thunderous Sky Sect!"

Each strike was more ferocious than the last, but there was no precision, no form. The energy swirling around the sword was erratic and uncontrolled.

A sculptor cannot sculpt something he doesn't know.

No one had taught him the sect's techniques. He was only swinging his sword. And it felt like he was walking blindly in the darkness.

Clang!

The chipped blade slipped from his grip, clattering to the stone floor. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving, eyes wide with frustration and despair.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the fallen blade. His breath gradually steadied, but his heart ached with the weight of his failure.

"I can't do it," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I've failed them..."

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Had he been born as a genius in martial arts, he would've restored the sect and fulfilled his ancestors' expectations... no, it was his expectations.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

'A leader must not be swayed by emotions.'

A long silence filled the broken platform, broken only by the steady rise and fall of his breath. Clasping his hands, he prayed for the blessing of his ancestors.

Huff! Huff!

"If only I didn't overdo my training!"

Yeong-jeon ran towards the mountain behind the residence of the sect leader. His legs were screaming every time he took a step forward but he only bit his lip as he ran.

The solution to his problems lies in that mountain.

So, he had to reach it. But as he neared the residence of the sect leader, he slowed down to that of a sneaking robber. Well, he didn't want any of the elders catching him right now, or even, ever.

He crouched down in the bushes but never let his speed slow down. As he sneaked like a burglar, he kept an eye on the sect leader's building.

'I hate this.'

'Why do I have to sneak in my own turf, huh?!'

'It's like I'm a spy! Like a petty burglar! Damnit!'

He cursed as he kept going deeper, passing through the residence. However, he halted in his tracks when he saw someone swinging a sword.

'The sect leader?'

It was a strange sight: the sect leader alone on a platform, swinging his sword endlessly. What sect can you find such a scene?

His eyes were glued to the scene as the sect leader swung a chipped sword, a faint blue glow surrounding the blade. It flickered like a dying flame, the qi unstable, unrefined.

'I'm spying. Shameful.'

'...'

'I'm his ancestor! I mustn't feel ashamed! Right, father?'

-That's not how it works...

'Oh, shut up!'

The longer he watched, the more this strange feeling grew in him. Is it pity? No, more like a sense of kinship. They were both chasing shadows—trying to resurrect something that had long since crumbled.

They were both slaves, trying to regain something lost.

Was it his fault?

Strangely, every time Yeong-jeon asked that question, the voice of his father echoed in his mind, and every time he heard it, he would follow it, knowing that it was nothing but his mind imitating the dead.

'Don't worry. Give me time and there will be no need for suffering.'

Yeong-jeon slipped past the residence and continued toward the mountain. His legs screamed in protest, but he pressed on.

The sect leader's weakness wasn't just his own; it was the sect's. If the leader was suffering, then the entire sect was in peril.

But Yeong-jeon wasn't like the sect leader. He wouldn't be swallowed by despair. He couldn't allow himself to be. Unlike the sect leader, he had someone to cling to.

'I must get stronger, for this sect...'

The mountain loomed closer. As he reached the base, the pain in his legs nearly caused him to collapse, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. His breath was ragged, and every inch of his body screamed at him to stop. Yet his heart was resolute.

'Why do I have to celebrate my 18th birthday here?!'

***

"I hate this."

Yeong-jeon groaned as he polished the wooden floor. It was already sunset and the orange hue reflected on the shiny floor. It was to be expected, he had been polishing the same floor since morning.

Now, after all the hours, he lay flat on the floor, his sweat dripping profusely.

'Why can't a lower-class disciple do this? I'm the son of the sect leader for god's sake!'

"Your sweat is tainting the floor, Yeong-jeon."

"Father?"

Yeong-jeon looked at the door and saw his father, looking at him with a smile. In an instant, he stood up and tossed the coconut husk out of the window he had been using.

"Father! Finally, you came back! Those elders are always making me clean stuff! Just because I..."

His voice went quiet at the last word and he scratched the back of his head, chuckling. He didn't want to say whatever that was.

Approaching slowly, his father spoke in a soft voice.

"There must be a reason as to why. Strength without discipline will only cause destruction."

Yeong-jeon nodded weakly, chuckling but didn't speak.

'Well... The reason is to prevent me from beating the disciples...'

A soft touch on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. It was from his father, still, smiling softly. It was as if his father was the incarnation of Buddha. There were no other people that could match his father's kindness.

"Now, now, don't bury yourself, polishing floors. Your brothers are already eating. You haven't eaten yet, aren't you?"

"...yeah..."

Yeong-jeon's father released his hand from the polisher's shoulder and turned, walking away.

"Come on. A warrior must always have his belly filled."

They both exited out of the disciplinary hall and into the training grounds. Yeong-jeon followed his father. Staring at his father's broad shoulders, he felt a sense of safety.

He was like his father's shadow, walking in the path laid out before him, a moth following his father's flame...

When they reached the building that houses the kitchen, Yeong-jeon was taken aback when his father kept walking, not even glancing at the building.

"Father, aren't we supposed to eat?"

"Of course. But not there."

"Not there?"

"Follow me."

And they walked. As they walked, the sun had already sunk. But they continued, and soon, Yeong-jeon's father led the madman to the back of their residence.

Yeong-jeon stood behind his father, looking at the mountain.

"What..?"

He stared in confusion as his father continued to walk toward the mountain behind the sect leader's residence. The sun had already disappeared behind the peaks, leaving only the dim light of dusk to guide them.

His father didn't respond immediately, instead stopping at the base of the mountain. The elder man turned to face his son, his expression calm yet firm.

"It seems as if you've forgotten something."

"..."

Forgotten something? Him?

'I just want to eat...'

"I'm afraid I don't forget something."

A chuckle escaped from his father's mouth.

Crackle!

When Yeong-jeon heard the sound of lightning, he glanced at his father's leg and saw electricity circling it.

Without warning, the old man leaped into the side of the mountain and entered what seemed like a cave.

Yeong-jeon didn't waste any time either; he charged his legs with qi, which has the properties of electricity.

The cave loomed ahead, dark and imposing. His father had vanished inside, and Yeong-jeon followed without hesitation. As he stepped into the cave, the air grew heavy and thick with energy he hadn't sensed before.

Inside, his father stood at the center of the dimly lit cavern. Strangely, there was a table filled with meat, accompanied by two chairs, one of which his father was sitting on.

"Let's celebrate it."

***

Yeong-jeon stared at the imposing mountain, his mouth wide. In the past, he could easily climb it without even touching it. But now, it was nigh impossible.

"I'm going to climb this by my hands, right? I don't even have a rope for support... So, if I fall..."

He groaned. His body was still that of a child, and it had been only a week since he had trained this fragile body. Previously, he had thought that climbing this mountain would be nothing for him. But now that he stood in front of it, it was even taller than the mountain leading to the sect.

"Damn it!"

Furrowing his brows, he latched onto the nearest ledge. He grimaced, fingers trembling as he pulled himself upward, each movement slow and deliberate. The pain from his earlier training session pulsed through him, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.

"I. Must. Do. It!"

Slowly and meticulously, he grabbed the nearest ledge and climbed higher. However, as he went higher, the ledges slowly became scarcer, and the incline steeper. Now, only his fingertips can grab onto the few ledges.

"Fuck! I'm not going even a quarterway through!"

He cursed as he looked up, the surface of the mountain seemed to smoothen each time he climbed higher.

"Who creates a mountain like this?!"

What kind of sick individual would smoothen a mountain's surface?

"I need to catch my breath..."

He grabbed onto a slim rock with his fingertips and took a deep breath. As he looked down, he saw that...

"I struggled to climb this?!"

...Not even half of a quarter way through, he was already trembling. Impossible. In his past life, the madman would've only needed to leap to reach the peak. But now, here he was, barely managing a few feet without feeling like his fingers were about to give out.

Unfortunately, the rock that he had grabbed onto began to slip.

"Shit!" Yeong-jeon gasped as his grip faltered.

His fingers scrambled for purchase, but there was nothing solid to grab. His body lurched backward, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he was weightless, plummeting toward the ground below.

'You better come down here and help me!'

-I cannot.

'What do you mean?! Just...'

The madman screamed. Fortunately, the sect leader cannot hear him. Unfortunately, he fell rapidly. At that moment he could only curse at the heavens.

"I swear! If I die here, I would kill all the people in heaven!"

-If you're planning on doing that, will they send you to hell instead?