Book 2 Chapter 10

A Master Becomes a Disciple to a Novice

"Disciple!"

"What is a disciple?"

"The opposite of a master!"

"That might be the correct answer."

"A disciple is someone who learns from someone else."

"A disciple cannot exist without a master."

"There are disciples because there are masters."

A master must be great. A trivial being can never be a master. He is no longer a disciple. He is someone who is fully qualified to be a master to others. Everyone else acknowledges it. That he is strong. That he is great. So, even for just one move, he earnestly begs and implores them to teach him a part of the secret to that strength, to become his master. But he had refused everyone. It was bothersome.

Of course, he himself was once a disciple. Of course, since he was a disciple, there was naturally a master for him to be a disciple to. The master was strong. He loved that strength so much, and thus he respected it. And he learned. And he learned. He desired the master's strength. He learned to become like him.

To a disciple, a master is an absolute being.

The master rises. The disciple brings him water to wash his face.

The master is hungry. The disciple cooks.

The master wishes to drink alcohol.

The disciple runs down the mountain valley to buy alcohol.

The room where the master resides is messy. The disciple cleans.

The master calls. The disciple runs.

The master commands. The disciple obeys.

He obeys, he obeys, he obeys anything.

The master commanded. The disciple must obey. Must obey.

The man dreams. There was a master. His martial arts master. His dream, his yearning. The endlessly strong master. No one could covet the master's position or place. That's how strong the master was. Compared to the master, he was still far, far away.

Yomdo also had a fellow student, a friend. He is no longer a friend. Let's call him "that guy" or "that fellow." Such a name fits much better. Let's not even think about that guy anymore. It's annoying.

The master was absolute. The master was great. I was half of the master. The other half of the master was that guy. Half is not enough. It is not complete. It cannot be perfect. But there is no help for it. That guy and I could not become ideals.

"Tai Chi Azure-Crimson Divine Ice-Flame Skill!"

The name of the supreme, ultimate divine skill the master possessed. It was the ultimate of ultimates within martial arts. The crimson flame burned everything, and the azure flame froze everything. A transcendent divine skill possessing both Yin and Yang energies. When the two merged into one, there was nothing to fear or stand against. However, one could not possess both in one body. The master could possess both in one body, but that guy and I could not. This was because the master had a special constitution, but we did not. He chose the crimson flame. The master gave him the Divine Blade Crimson Spirit. His friend chose the azure flame. The master gave him the Divine Sword Azure Spirit.

Up to this point, it was good. There were no problems. But there was a daughter. She was the master's daughter. He loved her. He loved her very much. But, he gave her to that guy. This is unpleasant. No, it's unbearable. What is so good about that block of ice? He gets angry. So, they fought. They fought again and again. There was no conclusion. But there had to be one. The loser gives up everything.

However, she chooses him. Before the conclusion was reached, she chose him. I say the master made her choose, and she says she chose herself. He gets angry. He keeps getting angry. He cannot stand it at all. He tried to argue with the master. But, the master died. The master, who seemed like he would never die, who seemed like he could even suppress death, died. He left that place. He ran out. He ran out aimlessly and wandered the martial world. He ruthlessly eliminated any obstacles blocking his path as he wandered. He would never return. To that place…

The man looks at the beloved blade he holds in his right hand. A divine blade, imbued with a crimson color deeper than the evening twilight. His own extension, which had never once disappointed or let him down. The blade, which, for some reason, had come to be called by another name, Crimson Flame, instead of his true name. He stares endlessly. At his beloved blade, which ignites blood-red flames!

There is a hand. It was definitely not his hand. His hand was surely gripping his blood-red beloved blade tightly. No one had ever dared to provoke him when he was in this posture. They all valued their lives. But that floating hand was an exception.

The hand, playfully moving over there, seemed to have no fear. The hand moved unhindered and approached the man. Without a second thought, the man with the red hair swung his beloved blade. Then, brilliant and beautiful, and fierce flames erupted from his beloved blade, forming a circular wall that protected the man himself. The man was satisfied. The man was confident.

"Nothing can break through this wall of flames to reach me. Therefore, I am safe. Therefore, I am strong."

However, the man's confidence crumbled into dust in an instant, scattering in all directions. With absurd ease, the hand pierced the defensive wall made of flames he had created and approached, striking him. Suddenly, the white hand began to grow larger. Twice, thrice, the hand grew even larger, soon becoming big enough to crush the man. That hand, which rendered all his attacks useless, was very menacing. And finally, the hand struck the man. The man could not stop it. Darkness enveloped him.

A moment later, when the dazed man regained his senses and became aware of his surroundings, he realized he was standing on a large, white palm. Like Sun Wukong on the Buddha's palm from Journey to the West… And with a very light movement, the palm flipped over. The man flipped over with it. The man thought the whole world had turned upside down.

With this single gesture of flipping his palm, the man realized that everything about him had been flipped and changed. When he was on the palm, he was strong. People were so afraid of his strength that they avoided approaching him. Drawn to that strength, countless people had begged him to teach them even just one move. The man was strong. He was acknowledged as such, and he was very satisfied with that treatment and evaluation. No figure in the martial world denied it. The man was filled with confidence and arrogance.

His honor shone with dazzling colors, and his fame echoed throughout the vast land. It was so. He was unstoppable. But then, the palm flipped. Suddenly, he became insignificant. The man felt that way. When he was in the world on the palm, he was fully qualified to be a master who could teach others. But the world beneath the palm was not like that. The man became endlessly humble, small, and withdrawn. Now, he had become someone who had to become a disciple again and serve a master. It was a tremendous change.

Just moments ago, he was up there, but now he was down here. His honor lost its brilliance, and his fame plummeted to the ground. It was shameful and unfair. The man could not accept such a reality. So, he wailed.

"Aaaargh, I cannot accept this. I absolutely cannot accept this. This is just a momentary nightmare. A fleeting bad dream that will disappear when I wake up."

The man wailed, and perhaps because of that cry of indignation, the world began to vibrate. Finally, the man realized he was standing upside down in a flipped world. The world around him began to fragment and fall apart. The man fell with it. Soon, a world of complete nothingness swallowed him. The man lost his existence entirely.

Drip, drip. His eyeballs rolled ceaselessly. Those eyeballs were fixed on a single person, staring intently as if to thoroughly dissect the observed subject.

"Why is he sweating so much cold sweat?"

He had sweated so much that his clothes were soaked and damp.

With a contorted expression, muttering nonsense and convulsing, it seemed as though he was being terribly suppressed by sleep paralysis. Billi Yeon watched the uniquely peculiar observed subject with red hair, who continued to sweat cold sweat without waking up, despite not having suffered any major internal injuries, with an expression of great amusement.

"Twitch!"

Suddenly, Billi Yeon's observed subject began to twitch and move violently. The observed subject, Yomdo, who thrashed like a ball bouncing on the floor, suddenly opened his eyes. With a bizarre scream…

"Aaaargh!"

Yomdo felt very bad. Extremely, disgustingly bad. He had barely woken up from an already sticky, horrific, and terrifying sleep paralysis, only to be met with a strange face right in front of him. Furthermore, the face of the person staring at him with curious eyes like he was a toy greatly offended his feelings.

It took a moment for him to recognize that the face was familiar and to acknowledge the despairing fact that the encounters and events that had taken place were not a dream. Yomdo's mind was quite confused, and he needed sufficient time to think rationally.

Finally, Yomdo recognized it and immediately sank into deep despair.

"I wish I hadn't woken up… Why did I wake up?"

But he had to admit that such regret was already too late. With this, Yomdo faced a turning point in his life. In the worst direction and manner for him… That day, Yomdo became Billi Yeon's disciple. A martial arts master became a novice's disciple. And, their journey began.