Chapter 122
After a brief moment, once Dang Ye-eun’s emotions had settled, they were finally able to hear the full, detailed account from Gwanggeom.
Sun Woo-jin, still stunned, asked him, “What?! So you’re saying that the appearances of Mak Woo-jeon and Ga Yoo-ak were fake?”
Gwanggeom chuckled and replied, “Yes, they were fake. The real ones are still wandering inside the Gwanghon Hall. How could those who lost their sanity in the Gwanghon Hall possibly pass the trial of the next gate? They were merely tools to make you all anxious.”
“Ha…”
“Unbelievable.”
Sun Woo-jin felt utterly deflated. At this point, even he couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake anymore. A sudden doubt crept into his mind—could this entire situation itself be an illusion?
Gwanggeom burst into hearty laughter. “Hahaha! Sorry to disappoint, but I swear on my name that you’ve truly passed all the gates, and this situation right now is definitely real.”
Relieved by his assurance, Sun Woo-jin cautiously asked, “Why go to such lengths? From my perspective, these trials seem less about passing on your legacy and more about causing innocent people to die needlessly.”
Gwanggeom nodded solemnly. “I understand why you’d think that. It might seem like I’m just tormenting people rather than seeking a worthy successor.”
Sun Woo-jin cleared his throat awkwardly, sensing that Gwanggeom had read his thoughts. The older man continued, “But I had no choice. The Moonlit Sword Dance I’m passing on is an incredibly dangerous martial art.”
“Dangerous…?”
“Yes, very dangerous.”
Gwanggeom explained that the Moonlit Sword Dance induces a hallucinatory state, drawing out the unconscious mind. Mastering it allows one to tap into their latent abilities to the fullest extent—up to 100%.
“Most people don’t realize it, but we die having used less than 10% of our potential. When faced with crisis or desperation, people can suddenly display astonishing abilities—that’s the power of those hidden reserves.”
According to Gwanggeom, as one’s mastery of the Moonlit Sword Dance deepens, they can unleash their body’s peak strength, their brain’s highest comprehension, and their utmost concentration—all at once.
Sun Woo-jin, who had trained his martial arts through vivid mental imagery and possessed an exceptional memory, immediately grasped the magnitude of this. “That’s incredible. Being able to perform at your absolute best is amazing, but I think the rate of growth would be even more terrifying.”
Gwanggeom smiled knowingly. “You have insight. Yes, being able to consistently tap into your full potential is extraordinary.”
People naturally fluctuate—sometimes their bodies feel strong, sometimes weak; sometimes their focus is sharp, sometimes dull. Occasionally, those peaks align, and that’s when one reaches their maximum capability.
Most martial artists train to bring that peak performance into their everyday state. When they can do that freely, that’s true advancement.
But what if you could maintain that peak at all times?
Just imagining it sent chills down Sun Woo-jin’s spine. He couldn’t fathom how fast one could progress.
Then Gwanggeom’s smile turned bittersweet. “But as with all things, light casts shadows. Do you know what the true shadow of the Moonlit Sword Dance is?”
Sun Woo-jin thought for a moment. “The body might not be able to endure it. It would exceed safe limits.”
It was a form of self-preservation that people couldn’t sustain their full power indefinitely. Like a bow that can shoot a hundred arrows but would break if kept drawn constantly.
There’s a big difference between maximum output and safe output.
Similarly, if someone uses their brain at full capacity for too long, they get headaches. If they maintained peak concentration and mental agility nonstop…
Imagine a three-year-old suddenly having the strength to lift a massive boulder. If they actually tried, their body would surely break.
Gwanggeom nodded at Sun Woo-jin’s reasoning but then shook his head. “You’re right, but that’s not the true shadow.”
“The true shadow…?”
Sun Woo-jin pondered deeply. Was there some other side effect beyond physical strain from unleashing one’s full potential?
Before he could say he didn’t know, a memory struck him—the Gwanghon Hall was the first stage of Gwanggeom’s trial.
‘He said the Gwanghon Hall was necessary because of the dangers of the Moonlit Sword Dance. So that means…’
Sun Woo-jin muttered, almost in a groan, “It’s the hallucinatory state. That’s why the Gwanghon Hall and the Iin Hall are necessary.”
Gwanggeom sighed heavily and nodded. “Exactly. The greatest danger of the Moonlit Sword Dance is that it plunges the user into a hallucinatory state.”
Dang Ye-eun, still confused, asked, “Hallucinatory state? Why is that dangerous?”
Gwanggeom patiently explained for her benefit, detailing why the Moonlit Sword Dance was so perilous and why he had no choice but to test his successors this way.
“When you perform the Moonlit Sword Dance, you enter a hallucinatory state—like being intoxicated on a mild drug, feeling dazed. Do you understand? In that state, all your decisions are driven by your emotions. You might kill someone just because you dislike their clothes, or destroy an entire village because the sky looks gloomy. Think that’s extreme? Surprisingly, I’ve done both myself.”
His expression was filled with deep sorrow.
Sun Woo-jin and Dang Ye-eun found themselves at a loss for words.
Gwanggeom continued, his tone self-deprecating. “Do you know why my nickname includes the character for ‘madness’ (광협)? Because every time I fell into that hallucinatory state, I did crazy things, then regretted them and tried to make amends when I came to my senses. It wasn’t heroism—it was just my desperate attempt to atone for my sins.”
He fell silent for a moment, seemingly reflecting on his past.
Sun Woo-jin felt a profound sadness for him. Despite being one of the martial world’s greatest, his life must have been filled with hardship and regret.
If the past he showed them was true, Gwanggeom must have cursed the Moonlit Sword Dance even as he could never abandon it.
He had to cling to it to avenge his wife, children, and friends.
‘To master the Moonlit Sword Dance for revenge, yet lose oneself in the process… how could such a life ever be happy?’
Perhaps sensing Sun Woo-jin’s thoughts, Gwanggeom smiled gently and said, “Thank you.”
Though brief, his words carried a world of meaning.
He resumed his story. “That’s why such rigorous testing was necessary for successors. Even if they fall into the hallucinatory state from mastering the Moonlit Sword Dance, they must not lose themselves. They must be people who won’t act recklessly, no matter how dire the situation. If not, it’s better not to pass on the art at all.”
Dang Ye-eun nodded in understanding. Now she could see why these trials were essential.
Sun Woo-jin scratched his head awkwardly and said, “Senior, I’m sorry, but we might not be the successors you’re looking for. We passed the Gwanghon Hall because we had already mastered a secret technique to block illusions—the Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol. So, as you said, we might not be as strong-willed as you require…”
Gwanggeom laughed heartily. “Hahaha! On the contrary, hearing you confess that makes me think you’re exactly the kind of successor I want.”
He smiled warmly at Sun Woo-jin. “I also mastered the Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol. So that’s no problem at all. In fact, having already learned it is a great advantage. Besides, you proved through the second and third gates that you’re not the kind of people who would lose themselves to madness.”
Sun Woo-jin and Dang Ye-eun were stunned. “What?! You mastered the Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol too?!”
Sun Woo-jin was a bit taken aback. If that was true, then even Gwanggeom couldn’t fully prevent the side effects of the Moonlit Sword Dance.
So then…
As he pondered this, Gwanggeom added, “Yes, I mastered the Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol as well. It’s thanks to it that I was sane for at least half of my life. But I learned it too late—by then, my mastery of the Moonlit Sword Dance was too deep for the Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol to keep up. It wasn’t until old age that I could fully regain my sanity.”
“Ahhh!”
Sun Woo-jin finally breathed a sigh of relief. It was truly a blessing to hear that.
If the problem was that the mastery of Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol was lower than that of Wolha Hwan Geommum, then adjusting just their levels of mastery would make learning much safer. That was the point.
It seemed that having already learned Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol beforehand was an advantage for that very reason.
At that moment, Gwanggeom smiled faintly and added a remark.
“And… I was the one who spread Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol all over the place. To me, it was the ultimate secret technique, but since it didn’t show any obvious effects, people didn’t bother to learn it. So I bundled it with some other martial arts and distributed it that way.”
Sun Woojin was startled and exclaimed, “W-what?! So the version that was with the Nahnhan and Cheolnahn cultivation methods…?!”
“Oh, you learned that? That’s right. I was the one who spread it. Since Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol was a secret technique created in Shaolin, I tried pairing it with Shaolin martial arts.”
“Hah!”
Sun Woojin let out a bitter laugh.
It was a strange mix of emptiness and wonder.
The Daeyeonjeong Simgyeol in the Sunwoo family’s martial arts collection was actually spread by Gwanggeom, and by learning it, he had passed through Gwanggeom’s gate and come this far.
Somehow, it felt like an invisible thread of fate was connecting them.
When he looked at Gwanggeom, he saw the man gazing back with warm eyes.
Sun Woojin suddenly thought that perhaps Gwanggeom wasn’t just waiting for a righteous gentleman, but rather for someone whose fate was intertwined with his.
Then Gwanggeom broke the mood and said, “Well, I think I’ve said all I needed to. Now, I want to hear your decision.”
He looked at the two of them seriously and asked, “As I said, Wolha Hwan Geommum has incredible strengths but also terrifying weaknesses. It might completely ruin your lives. So, what do you say? Are you willing to learn such an unstable martial art?”
Sun Woojin and Dang Yeoeun exchanged glances.
They smiled gently at each other, and Sun Woojin answered on their behalf.
“We will do our very best so that you won’t be disappointed in passing it on to us.”
At that, Gwanggeom finally smiled brightly.
“Thank you. After more than forty years, I’ve finally found worthy successors.”
His voice carried the weight of long years, regret, and relief all at once.
Dang Yeoeun looked at Gwanggeom, then turned her gaze to Sun Woojin.
Suddenly, the clear smile on his face contrasted sharply with the vision she had seen earlier.
She had truly thought everything was over before…
She had only believed that it was right for him to survive instead of her, but now, both of them had survived and could smile at each other—it felt like a dream.
A truly happy dream.
“Dang Sojeo, put your sword away! I don’t want to kill you while you’re defenseless!”
Dang Yeoeun couldn’t believe what was happening.
Right before her eyes, Sun Woojin’s eyes glowed red as he pointed his sword at her.
The man who had always been her pillar and guide since they met.
She refused to accept this reality.
Tears streaming down, she shook her head and pleaded, “No, Lord Sun! Please come to your senses! You’re lost in madness right now!”
But Sun Woojin’s face twisted into something demonic.
“Nonsense! This isn’t madness! Don’t you understand? One of us has to die to stop them! If they get their hands on Gwanggeom’s legacy, a monster as terrible as the Blood Demon will appear again!”
Dang Yeoeun was filled with despair.
She knew this wasn’t truly why Sun Woojin was acting this way, but she couldn’t deny that what he said was true.
With sad eyes, she wiped her tears and nodded.
“You’re right. One of us has to die, after all.”
Then she smiled at him.
Her tear-streaked face brightened with a clear smile, and even the maddened Sun Woojin looked taken aback.
“And if one of us must die, it should be me. You’re far more talented than I am, and besides… I could never bring myself to kill you.”
Dang Yeoeun tried to muster the brightest smile she could.
She wanted him to remember her last image as one of happiness.
“I believe you’ll overcome this madness in the end. You’re that kind of person. So… when that time comes, please remember me.”
With that, she turned and leapt backward.
Toward the lake of molten lava glowing red-hot.
Feeling the searing heat and seeing the blazing lava beneath her feet, she thought to herself:
At least the end wasn’t so bad.
Though it was a pity that her life ended just as happiness was within reach, without him, she could never have found that happiness.
Maybe, she thought with a smile as she closed her eyes, she was dying at the happiest moment of her life.
But the next moment, she realized she wasn’t dead.