By Zephyria 
“Hee-un, wait a moment!”
Unlike Hee-un, who was beaming with a wide smile, Ho-yeon called out urgently. Hee-un looked back at Ho-yeon with questioning eyes.
“It’s dangerous for the children to go out with that much money.”
Ho-yeon spoke softly, as if blaming Mu-gyeong, and moved his uncomfortable body to try and take the money back.
“Don’t worry about that, Uncle. The Snow Shadow Guard are always watching over us.”
Hee-un spoke firmly and quickly led Soho out, as if afraid the money might be snatched away.
Had he been too obvious about how difficult his living situation had been? He had always put great care into their food, clothing, and shelter because he didn’t want the children to feel lacking, and he had never mentioned their financial situation. However, while the other children might not have noticed, the quick-witted Hee-un likely couldn’t be fooled.
Seeing how delighted she was with the gold pouch, Ho-yeon could no longer rain on her parade. He simply pressed his hand to his forehead with his perpetually cold fingers.
Only after the children had completely left did Ho-yeon sit on the bed for a private audience with Mu-gyeong. Though his words had been confident earlier, his gaze remained cast downward. Come to think of it, he wasn’t wearing shoes, but thick traditional socks wrapped around his feet instead. His white socks stood in stark contrast to Cheon Mu-gyeong’s black leather boots.
The black leather boots in his field of vision moved with an efficient, seamless motion. Watching the boots move away from him, Ho-yeon relaxed his shoulders, which had been stiff with tension. However, Mu-gyeong soon pulled over a table chair and sat in front of Ho-yeon.
“It seems Uncle Wi has something to say to me.”
Something to say? Naturally, Ho-yeon had nothing to say to Cheon Mu-gyeong. No, even if he spoke his desires, this was not a man who would grant them. He had simply used the excuse of buying sweets for the children to separate them from him.
Therefore, there was only one thing Ho-yeon could bring up right now.
“…So, when are you going back?”
“Once I have obtained what I want.”
Ho-yeon snapped his head up at the blunt objective that came from Cheon Mu-gyeong’s mouth.
Mu-gyeong was generally a man whose inner thoughts were impossible to read. Given his unfathomable status, no one dared to ask about his intentions, and even if they did—as Ho-yeon had—his attitude was usually that such questions were not worth answering. That was why Ho-yeon did not want to miss this opportunity.
“What you want…?”
“The origin of the ice art.”
Ho-yeon instinctively clenched both fists. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to hide a shock that bordered on horror. It was something he never expected to hear from his lips.
Not only the people of the North Sea, but the entire Central Plains knew about the origin of the ice art. The legend that the first Palace Master, the Han Ice Empress Wi Ji-woon, had been granted the ice art by the heavenly ice polar dragon was already famous. Therefore, the origin of the ice art that Cheon Mu-gyeong desired must be none other than the heavenly ice polar dragon.
“Assuming it exists.”
He continued slowly. To avoid being overly conscious of Cheon Mu-gyeong, Ho-yeon picked up the teacup on the small tray to moisten his throat. The tea, which had been warm, was now beyond lukewarm and had grown cold. Even though Mu-gyeong wasn’t standing over him, Ho-yeon felt an overwhelming pressure, as if his entire body were laid bare under Cheon Mu-gyeong’s gaze.
Ho-yeon pretended to be unfazed, convincing himself it was just his imagination.
“There’s no way it exists. It’s been ages since the first Palace Master passed away.”
Ho-yeon intentionally steered the origin of the ice art toward the first Palace Master. He assumed that Mu-gyeong would also view the ice dragon as a legendary being.
“It seems Uncle Wi is not a person of the North Sea.”
Cheon Mu-gyeong leaned his upper body forward, peering deeper into Ho-yeon. Ho-yeon almost recoiled, but since he was sitting with his feet hanging off the bed, he only flinched slightly.
“Why am I not a person of the North Sea?”
“Because you don’t even know the origin of the energy you possess.”
“Don’t… call me Uncle.”
Since he was explicitly pointing to the ice dragon as the origin, Ho-yeon had no choice but to change the subject.
“And what about the way you constantly give orders to the Sect Leader?”
Ho-yeon bit his lip again. At that sight, Mu-gyeong’s lips twisted into a short smile. Mentioning the Sect Leader seemed to throw a bucket of cold water on him, as he appeared to step back a layer. Ho-yeon wondered why he was suddenly subdued, but feeling it would be unfair to let him retreat just like that, he opened his tightly closed lips.
“Then… from now on, I will properly call you Sect Leader and use formal language.”
“As if.”
Mu-gyeong relaxed his expression and swept his black eyes around the room. He knew well that Ho-yeon had taken in and raised orphans, but there were four of them. He also spotted a seven-stringed zither in the corner, wondering if it had been used to play lullabies.
In his repeated lives, Cheon Mu-gyeong had entered and left the North Sea many times, and there was even a life where he had held the entire North Sea in his palm. However, he had no clear memory of a place called Eumbyeol Hall. This was because the Ice Palace had been completely incinerated by his fire demon, and he had never bothered to look at such remote depths.
Yet, he was certain that Eumbyeol Hall had not existed in his previous lives. If Eumbyeol Hall had existed, Wi Ho-yeon would have been there then as well.
Surely, he would have stood against him with hair fluttering like snow, trying to protect the Ice Palace. Since he possessed considerable potential, if he had charged forward risking his life, the Ice Palace might not have been turned into a wasteland in half a day.
Back then, the only one who had managed to hold out for even a fleeting moment against Cheon Mu-gyeong was Wi Yeon-gang. Thus, this Eumbyeol Hall existed now because Wi Ho-yeon was here.
He had called Wi Ho-yeon a variable that appeared for the first time in this life, but now it felt more like an anomaly.
Because he no longer wished to take Wi Ho-yeon’s life. Instead, he wanted to make Wi Ho-yeon entirely his own.
As Mu-gyeong stood up, Ho-yeon’s eyes filled with vigilance. It was only natural to be wary, as his dantian had been twisted and squeezed by the heaven-defying demonic art. The heaven-defying demonic art was a martial art that inflicted the pain of having one’s entire body wrung out while still alive.
Cheon Mu-gyeong himself had long forgotten human emotions, but there was one thing he had learned through repeated lives.
The emotions people felt toward the one who inflicted pain.
When he had dismembered Cheon Beom-yeong and his followers, the only emotion they showed in their extreme agony was fear. Extreme fear becomes submission, and eventually, they offer absolute obedience, unable to even devise a way to leave the one inflicting the pain.
Perhaps ruling through fear would be easier.
Contrary to his twisted thoughts, Mu-gyeong looked down at Ho-yeon indifferently.
“But… what are you going to do after finding the origin of the ice art…?”
Ho-yeon forced his voice out toward Mu-gyeong, who seemed to be gauging something while looking at him. He wasn’t pleased to be speaking with him, but he felt that if not now, it would be difficult to find another chance to get an answer.
At that moment, it felt as if flames erupted from Cheon Mu-gyeong’s entire body. There were no actual balls of fire, but the heat radiating from him surged instantly, acting as if it would swallow Ho-yeon whole.
The start of the fire demon began from Cheon Mu-gyeong’s right arm. As if a seal of lava that had been forcibly bound was breaking, a red energy extended from his right arm.
It was not dark red demonic energy, but a primal flame. Ho-yeon even saw a hallucination of the floor he stood upon transforming into a domain of fire.
Not only his right arm, but sharp flames like the teeth of a beast flickered jaggedly behind his back. The red energy wrapping around his entire body and roaring surprisingly took the form of a fire dragon. Cheon Mu-gyeong pulled the heat he was about to release in all directions back into his body and suppressed it again.
Even during this, no expression appeared on Mu-gyeong’s face. Ho-yeon closed and opened his eyes tightly, wondering if he had seen something that wasn’t there.
The right sleeve of his black light armor was scorched in an instant, and in the place where the trace of the fire dragon vanished, a forearm engraved with dense black characters was revealed. Black script fiercely coiled around the forearm, which was swollen red as if burned. Just looking at it made him feel an immense pain, causing Ho-yeon to unconsciously clutch his own right arm.
Ho-yeon had never experienced it, but he possessed a nature that could empathize with the pain of others.
Originally, empathy was a strength of humans. Because humans could empathize with others, they could live together, eventually forming villages, and further, groups like the demon sect or the alliance.
And among them, there were bound to be those with an exceptionally kind nature who sought to understand others no matter what.
“Ointment… I’ll bring some ointment.”
Regardless of how much he disliked Cheon Mu-gyeong, Ho-yeon felt deep concern upon seeing the ruined arm.
“It’s useless.”
Mu-gyeong brushed off the ash falling from his burnt forearm. At that, Ho-yeon, feeling even more lost, turned to find a physician. He had completely forgotten the state of his own body, which was aching here and there.
However, Mu-gyeong caught him with his left arm. Ho-yeon looked at him with a face full of worry, quickly asking him to let go.
“It looks too bad. You need to call a physician right now.”
Eumbyeol Hall, where he raised orphans—four of them, no less. Wi Ho-yeon’s compassion was enough to pierce through the eternal snow mountains.
“A physician can’t solve this anyway.”
Cheon Mu-gyeong gazed blankly at Ho-yeon, who looked like he was about to cry while looking at his forearm. Looking at the downturned eyes and the mole beneath the trembling lips, he opened his mouth without realizing it. It was a sentence he had never uttered in countless lifetimes.
“It’ll be fine if you endure it. Though it is very painful.”
The man who did not know pain uttered a numb lie.