Extra Chapter 10 - Drake’s Adventure in Murim

  Four months had passed since Drake decided to remain in the Murim world for a full year. He had not seen his old companions since they returned to their world, leaving behind the chaos of a crumbling empire and the silence left by Lord Varek's escape beyond reality. In that time, the blond had become the disciple of Park Zhen, a man who now stood as the de facto leader of what was once Lord Varek’s tyrannical domain. Yet, nothing about this shift in power had been simple. The tyrant’s fall had not brought peace—it had opened a vacuum of authority, and blood rushed in to fill it.

  Word of Varek’s disappearance, coupled with the confirmed deaths of three out of the four Dons—those dreaded pillars of the old regime—spread like wildfire. It wasn't long before the empire began to fracture. Countless sects, clans, schools, and ancient cults that had submitted to Varek's rule out of sheer terror now surged to reclaim what they once lost, or to claim dominion for the first time. The sense of fear that had once kept them in check was gone. All that remained was ambition, vengeance, and opportunity.

  Park Zhen, now burdened with the task of maintaining a fragile order, had taken up the near-impossible role of stabilizing the whole Murim. But he did not do it from a throne or behind closed doors. He walked directly into the chaos. He quelled rebellions with the calm precision of his fists and silenced zealous fanatics with words that could cut as deep as any blade. In many cases, he would enter the halls of defiant sect leaders and speak only once—his voice even, his expression unreadable. Those who listened survived. Those who didn’t, no longer had the chance to defy anyone.

  And Drake? Park Zhen took him everywhere.

  From the start, Park Zhen had made it clear that his methods were far from traditional. He had no intention of guiding the boy through meditative breathing exercises or showing him forms on a quiet mountain. No scrolls, no gentle wisdom, no “gradual learning.” He simply said:

  “My teachings exist in the world. You will learn by moving through it.”

  And that was the end of it. The result was months of absurd, brutal, and often humiliating experiences for Drake, who no longer had the godlike powers granted to him temporarily in the final battle. His body remained superhuman in durability and strength, his instincts razor-sharp—but the energy of the Immortal Emperor was gone. The contrast was painful. Even so, he followed Park Zhen without complaint.

  In one particularly ridiculous incident, Park Zhen sent Drake to attend a diplomatic meeting between two rival clans with a century of blood feud behind them. Park merely handed Drake a scroll and said.

  “Deliver this message. Do not let them fight.”

  Drake arrived, opened the scroll, and read aloud the words.

  “Your grudge is outdated. Disband or die… Wait, what?”

  Chaos erupted immediately. What followed was a full-scale brawl with tables flipping, old men flying through walls, and the blond boy somehow escaping through a side window while dragging one of the clan heirs with him, who was too drunk to remember the start of the meeting.

  On another occasion, Park instructed him to “calm a beast terrorizing a nearby village”. Drake assumed it would be some Ki-infused monster or a corrupted martial artist. Instead, he found a half-mad elephant-sized tortoise that shot compressed air blasts from its nostrils and was worshiped by a small forest cult. The boy fought it in the rain, slipped on the mud four times, and was nearly trampled twice before tricking it into swallowing an entire tree trunk. He limped back to Park with bruised ribs, missing one boot, and covered in what he hoped was just mud.

  And yet, despite the absurdity and the pain, Drake never failed entirely. Somehow, by instinct, improvisation, or sheer stubbornness, he always managed to complete the task—barely. He learned to read the subtle shifts in political tensions, to notice when a room of cultivators was about to explode in violence, and when to strike first in a duel where hesitation meant death. He learned the rhythm of the Murim world’s madness and the weight of its silence.

  He also learned to watch Park Zhen more closely.

  Whenever they traveled together, Park Zhen remained composed, unbothered by the chaos surrounding them. He rarely stepped in to help, even when Drake was clearly in over his head. His philosophy was unwavering.

  “If you survive, you grow. If you die, you were never meant to endure.”

  And yet, in his own detached way, he seemed to ensure Drake never truly crossed the line into death. A quiet presence at the right moment. A shadow that moved just fast enough to tilt a blade an inch away from his disciple’s heart. Never enough to coddle, always enough to guide.

  Over those four months, something began to shift between them. Drake no longer saw Park Zhen as an unreachable statue of perfection. He began to see him as a man burdened with the impossible, yet never faltering. And Park Zhen, though he rarely showed it, began to acknowledge Drake not as a temporary visitor or a foolish student—but as someone with potential. Not because of his borrowed power from before, but because he refused to give up now.

  It was during the beginning of the fifth month that something within Drake began to shift. The change was not subtle—it grew from within him like pressure building beneath the surface, until one day, it surged. His Ki, once wild and untamed, refined slowly with each experience he endured. Through the months of being thrown into chaos, solving impossible disputes, surviving lethal beasts, and navigating the dangerous currents of Murim's fractured world, something had changed in the very nature of his energy. Park Zhen, ever observant, noticed it before Drake himself did. The moment he confirmed his suspicions, he called his disciple to follow him.

  They traveled in silence, ascending a narrow path that coiled along the side of a sacred mountain—a place untouched by the squabbles below. The wind grew colder with each step. The world seemed to grow quieter, as though holding its breath. Once they reached the summit, Park Zhen stood still, hands behind his back, gazing at the clouds floating below them. He waited until Drake stood beside him before speaking.

  "Your Ki has changed."

  Park Zhen said, his voice calm but firm.

  "It is no longer common. What flows through you now... is Imperial Ki."

  Drake blinked, startled. He opened his mouth to respond, but his master raised a hand, signaling him to listen first.

  "I believe that the system which governs you—the one responsible for your strange titles and impossible feats—has already revealed the truth. You are not merely a traveler. You are, in some manner, the direct descendant of the Immortal Emperor. Perhaps not by blood. Perhaps not even in the way we understand lineage. But make no mistake—what you are becoming is a miniature version of him. The same power flows in you, now beginning to awaken."

  Park Zhen said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Drake remained silent, the revelation heavy in his chest. His hands curled slightly at his sides. The air around them felt denser.

  "I would not be surprised if you eventually reached the level you showed during our battle against Lord Varek. But that power... it will not return in one year. It will take far more than that. Time, discipline, countless trials. A shame we only have months left."

  He said, his tone level as always. Drake bowed his head slightly, his voice low but sincere as he replied.

  “Thank you, Master. I’ll make the most of the time we have.”

  Park Zhen gave a quiet scoff and waved a hand dismissively.

  “Spare me the formalities. You’re still hopeless in many ways.”

  He turned to face him fully then, an amused glint in his otherwise expressionless eyes.

  “How is your ability to walk in the air progressing?”

  Drake scratched the back of his neck, uncertain whether to be proud or embarrassed.

  “I’ve improved… I can take two steps now before falling.”

  Park raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  “That’ll do for now.”

  And after that, without any warning, he spun on his heel and delivered a clean, powerful kick to Drake’s chest, sending the blond warrior flying backward off the edge of the mountain.

  There was a moment—just a blink—where the boy’s eyes widened in complete shock as he tumbled through the air, unable to do anything but lock eyes with his master, who stood at the edge of the cliff, smiling down at him.

  “I’ll see you at the bottom.”

  Park Zhen called out, his tone light, almost amused.

  The fall lasted minutes. Cold air tore through Drake’s clothes as the world became a blur of sky and stone. His instincts kicked in, and in sheer desperation, he activated his weight control skill, forcing his mass down to near zero. The descent slowed but did not stop. He reached for the sky, and kicked the air once—then again. [Single Step] triggered, letting him defy gravity just enough to avoid the worst of the impact. But it wasn’t perfect. He crashed into the earth with a bone-jarring thud, rolling across the ground and coming to rest on his back, his breath ragged and his muscles burning.

  Sweat poured down his body. His chest heaved. His heart thundered in his ears like a war drum, and his arms trembled as he struggled to sit up. Pain screamed through his limbs, but his bones—somehow—remained intact. He stared up at the clouds, half-expecting to pass out.

  Footsteps approached, unhurried, precise… Park Zhen arrived moments later, looking down at him without a trace of concern. His expression was unreadable as always, but there was something in his gaze—approval, perhaps, hidden deep within the cold exterior.

  "You survived."

  Park said.

  "Then I suppose it’s time."

  Drake blinked up at him, still catching his breath.

  “I officially welcome you to the ‘Divine Sun Ki Sect’. The sect I personally created back in the day. From now on, you will be taught directly. Not only by action. But by instruction.”

  And for the first time since they met, there was a strange gravity to Park Zhen’s voice, a weight to his words that marked a change. Drake wasn’t just a student thrown into chaos anymore. He had proven something. He had earned his place, and now, the real lessons would begin.

  ----------

  The months continued their relentless march, and with them came the evolving saga of Drake and his ever-demanding master. Their travels did not cease. They simply changed in rhythm. The chaotic, unpredictable assignments had not disappeared, but now they were balanced by structured afternoons of personal instruction. Park Zhen had become increasingly attentive to his student’s growth, often devoting long hours to refining Drake’s use of Ki, his internal control, his breathing, his awareness in battle, and the execution of deliberate technique over raw force. It was a slow and painful shift, as the boy had always fought with instinct rather than elegance, but progress was undeniable.

  Some days, Park Zhen instructed not only Drake but also his other disciples—three individuals of great renown in the Murim world that the blond had already known from before, who initially regarded Drake with a blend of curiosity and doubt, but who, over time, grew to accept him as one of their own.

  Shu Rong, a tall and sharp-tongued martial artist, had grown particularly close to Drake. After numerous missions under Park’s command—one of which included infiltrating a merchant cult hidden in a canyon that turned out to be a front for illegal beast trafficking—the two began to treat each other as equals. Shu Rong had been caught mid-air in a collapsing bridge trap, and Drake, acting without hesitation, used a mid-air step to catch him and fling him back to safety, nearly losing his own leg in the process. From then on, their banter became rougher, their coordination more fluid, and their mutual respect undeniable. They became comrades in arms.

  Luo Zhenhai was the quietest of the three—stoic, broad-shouldered, a practitioner of a slow, heavy palm style that mirrored the earth itself. At first, his demeanor toward Drake was cold and formal. But during one assignment in a cursed forest, where they were ordered to suppress a proto-Jiang Shi outbreak without drawing attention, the two became separated and trapped in a collapsing ruin.

  It was Drake who carried the unconscious Luo on his back, step by agonizing step, while poisoned and half-blind. By the time they returned, Luo’s attitude had changed. From that point forward, he treated Drake like a younger brother, sharing meals, training beside him in silence, and even stepping between him and an enraged sect elder once without explanation. It didn’t need to be said—Drake had earned his loyalty.

  Xian Yuelin was different. Swift, elegant, and fiercely intelligent, she fought using soft strikes laced with Ki that disrupted her opponents’ inner flow. She often trained beside Drake during Park Zhen’s longer sessions, and while she rarely spoke of personal matters, her eyes always seemed to follow him. During a mission to deliver sacred texts to an isolated sky-temple, the two were forced to share a single narrow trail above the clouds for days, trapped by a storm with no visibility and only each other for warmth and security. They took turns staying awake through the nights, and it was during those long, quiet hours that Yuelin truly began to soften. She never confessed anything openly, not with words. But the way she looked at him when he wasn’t watching, the small smiles she didn’t show anyone else—those told a different story.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  It was nearing the seventh month when something unexpected happened. Drake and Park Zhen were traveling through the rocky outskirts of the Silent Sky Ridge, an area known for its steep cliffs and shifting mists, when they came face to face with a creature unlike any they had seen in their recent travels. A ‘Voidshadow Abyssal Tiger’. It did not roar or bare its fangs, but watched the boy with something deeper than recognition. It stood proud, yet alone.

  Drake stopped in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. Without words, something clicked. He remembered that tiger. It had once stood beside Kazue in the final battle. It had fought to protect her. And now, it was here—stronger, older, but clearly without a home. The tiger stepped closer, and though no words were exchanged, Drake understood it. The pain of separation. The wandering. The emptiness of being the last of its kind.

  “He misses her.”

  Drake said quietly, not looking away.

  “He hasn’t found a place to stay. He’s stronger now… but alone.”

  Park Zhen observed in silence for a long moment, then crossed his arms.

  “This is quite the opportunity, a good time to teach you about summoning pacts.”

  He finally said. Drake turned to him, curious.

  “In the ancient traditions of Murim…”

  Park explained, his tone becoming that of a teacher.

  “Spiritual creatures—beasts of great power and presence—would form bonds with martial artists. Not of servitude, but of respect. Pacts. Warriors who impressed them could summon them in times of great need. These bonds were once the pride of many great sects… until Lord Varek came to power.”

  His voice darkened slightly.

  “He sought the power of the beasts. Hunted them. Drove many to extinction. Those who survived hid away or went wild. The practice was forgotten.”

  Drake nodded slowly, absorbing the information. But then he hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Huh… Well, there’s something I didn’t tell you… Before the final battle—before I got to where you and the others were—I fought something. A creature from another world. But I wasn’t alone, I was helped by four beings. Massive, ancient things. They called themselves the ‘Four Emperors of Murim’.”

  Park Zhen's eyes sharpened. His entire posture shifted, the casual confidence replaced by something far rarer in him—true astonishment.

  “The Four Emperors? … Are you sure?”

  He repeated, voice low. Drake nodded.

  “They saved me. Fought beside me.”

  Park Zhen turned away, pacing a few steps before stopping.

  “They are the four primordial beasts of this world, entities so ancient and powerful that even the Immortal Emperor rarely spoke of them. No mortal has seen them in… longer than memory. Not even I have. And they appeared before you?”

  Drake said nothing, only gave a slow nod. Park stared at him for several moments, his expression unreadable.

  “I see, it makes sense now. You carry the Emperor’s breath. They must have felt it.”

  Park Zhen looked toward the horizon, the wind stirring his coat slightly as he thought.

  “Very well, this will be your next trial. You will learn the art of pact-making. And then, we will find the Four Emperors again. If they truly aided you once… perhaps they will do so again.”

  Drake’s pulse quickened. The idea of seeing those godlike beings again, of forging something deeper than coincidence with them, struck something deep within him.

  Park Zhen didn’t smile, but his voice carried a rare note of anticipation.

  “From now on, we step into forgotten territory. Prepare yourself, my disciple. The path ahead will be even more perilous than before.”

  ----------

  The following months unfolded in a chaotic rhythm of escalating trials and breathtaking discoveries. With the search for the Four Emperors of Murim underway, their trio—now composed of Drake, Park Zhen, and Kurayami, the ‘Voidshadow Abyssal Tiger’—found themselves plunged into a whirlwind of adventures that tested every ounce of their strength, wit, and resolve. Kurayami, who had chosen to accompany them, did not forge a binding pact with Drake. Instead, under Park Zhen's tutelage, the blond learned to craft a special sealing scroll using his own Ki threads and refined spirit ink—a technique lost to the world since the age of the great beast clans.

  The intention was clear: to preserve Kurayami within the scroll, not for battle, but as a gift to Kazue when the time came. It was a gesture of loyalty and remembrance, born from the tiger’s lingering bond with her and Drake’s understanding of that connection.

  In the months that followed, their journey became a constant storm of trials. They fought their way through the Forgotten Marshes, where time itself shifted unpredictably, forcing Drake to adapt his senses and fighting rhythm or be swallowed whole by illusions that twisted reality. They traversed the Chu Xue Canyons, facing earth spirits corrupted by ancient hatred, entities that possessed stone and sand, striking from every crevice with elemental wrath.

  In one mission, they entered an abandoned sky palace haunted by remnants of broken pacts—phantom beasts that lashed out in pain and confusion, requiring both force and empathy to pacify. Drake found himself facing battles that forced him to balance compassion with strength, as failure meant not only injury but the spiritual degradation of the entire plane they occupied.

  It was through these ordeals that Drake’s strength surged. His understanding of Ki broadened from simple internal enhancement to delicate external manipulation. He began forming basic constructs in battle—shields, threads, even spectral hands—all born from the refinement of his Imperial Ki. He learned to fight alongside Kurayami, who responded to his unspoken commands with a trust forged through shared danger. Park Zhen remained the unshakable pillar, stepping in only when absolutely necessary, watching his disciple evolve with measured satisfaction.

  Finally, in the twilight of the tenth month, their perseverance was rewarded. They reached the veiled entrance to ‘Líng yù’, also known as the ‘Hidden Realm of Spirit Creatures’—a mythical dominion untouched by mortals for ages. The very air shimmered with energy unfamiliar to the world outside. It was a plane of radiant skies, oceans of living starlight, floating mountains, and titanic trees rooted in clouds. It was here that the Four Emperors awaited them, each in their own sacred domain.

  The first they visited was the ‘Northern Emperor: the Eclipse-Crowned Vermillion Dragon’. He coiled around a volcanic peak above a sea of ash, his scales blazing with inner suns and his breath curling like solar winds. When he looked upon Drake, there was no malice—only deep, solemn disappointment. He spoke in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, telling Drake that his current state was unworthy of a direct pact. Not out of disdain, but because his body and soul could not yet withstand it.

  Instead, the dragon assigned a trial: to retrieve a fragment of the collapsed Star-Soul Furnace buried in the firestorms below. Only by braving the dragon’s own domain, where the heat devoured spirit and flesh alike, could Drake prove his resolve. With Park Zhen suppressing the outer winds and Kurayami clearing paths with his dark roars, Drake fought through flame beasts and boiling air, emerging burned, battered, but successful.

  Next was the ‘Eastern Emperor: the Primordial Void Basilisk’, a serpentine leviathan of obsidian and silence who dwelled in a realm of inverted gravity and collapsing light. His challenge was no battle, but a puzzle of existence—a test of spirit and perception. Drake was cast into a mirrored maze where every path was his own reflection, and each wrong step unraveled a piece of his Ki. He had to confront illusory versions of himself—his anger, his fear, his guilt—and finally silence them to reach the basilisk’s heart chamber. There, he meditated under pressure for a full day without moving, without blinking, obtaining the [Soulfire Meditation] skill, until the basilisk finally opened one of its massive blind eyes and acknowledged him.

  The third trial came from the ‘Southern Emperor: the Blackstone Titan Ape’, a towering colossus who ruled over a colossal jungle where the air itself shifted unpredictably, and even sound could become a weapon of disorientation. When the Ape Emperor first met Drake, his eyes lit up with a competitive glint, his enormous knuckles cracking with anticipation. He had hoped for a real sparring match—one of roaring fury and towering blows, something worthy of the primal warrior spirit he sensed deep within Drake. But upon realizing that the boy’s body had reverted and not yet reached the resilience required to survive such a battle, the Emperor’s mood dimmed. There was clear disappointment in his gaze, but it was not anger. Instead, he chose a trial that mirrored his original wish, reshaped into something survivable—barely.

  He challenged Drake to an unarmed duel in the ever-shifting depths of his domain. No weapons. No Ki enhancements. Only raw martial instinct, physical adaptability, and endless endurance. The battlefield was no arena, but a living gauntlet of thick vines, crumbling rock, and distorted gravity wells, he just needed to survive.

  It was a battle that lasted hours, each moment stretching the limits of his resolve. Park Zhen stood at the edge of the jungle canopy, watching silently as his disciple was hurled through vines, buried under living stone, and launched into twisted branches, but not once did he intervene. Drake, bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, refused to fall. He adapted with every exchange, began to read the Titan Ape’s rhythm, and countered not with power, but with pure tenacity. He didn’t win. There was no victory to claim—only survival. But in the end, as Drake stood panting, fists clenched and posture unyielding, the Blackstone Titan Ape gave a booming laugh that shook the trees. He had not been given the match he had originally wanted, but he had seen something better: unbreakable spirit in its rawest form. And that, to him, was enough.

  Lastly, the ‘Western Emperor: the Imperial Radiant Phoenix’. She waited atop a lake made of skyfire, her wings illuminating the entire realm like a living sunrise. Her trial was the most sacred: to craft a sacred pill, not for power, but for healing. It was a test of patience, intuition, and spiritual harmony. Under her guidance, Drake studied the principles of sacred alchemy for days, combining herbs that sang with life and minerals that echoed past dreams. With the Phoenix’s feathers as the final catalyst, he succeeded in creating a pill that restored life to a dying spirit deer—an act that brought visible pride to the radiant Empress.

  When all four trials were passed, each Emperor offered Drake a child of their own. The Vermillion Dragon entrusted him with a crimson-scaled dracling whose breath could condense light into flame. The Void Basilisk offered a serpentine hatchling, pure black and weightless, that moved between shadows. The Titan Ape gave him a silver-furred cub with fists like iron and boundless energy. And the Radiant Phoenix bestowed a glowing chick whose songs could soothe even dying Ki. These were not merely creatures—they were heirs, each with destinies that could one day eclipse their progenitors. And yet, even in their parting words, the Four Emperors expressed a shared hope: that one day, they themselves might stand beside Drake again, not as benefactors, but as allies.

  As the final month began, Drake, Park Zhen, and Kurayami returned to the mortal world. The boy who had once struggled to stay afloat in a fractured empire now moved through it like a master. Missions that once demanded every ounce of Drake’s strength now fell before him like leaves in the wind. He was sent alone to dispel a berserker cult in the Eastern borderlands; he did so in a single afternoon, subduing their leader with a spiritual blade formed from pure will and his Ki.

  In the Dai De Marshes, he uncovered and neutralized a hidden poison trap set to infect a city’s water reserves—an act that required advanced sensing and delicate application of alchemical knowledge. In a border conflict between rival clans, Drake arrived unannounced, crushed the weapons of both sides with a pressure wave from his palm, and spoke only once before they bent the knee.

  Where once he had been an outsider, a reckless brawler with raw power, now he moved with clarity, precision, and purpose. He was still Drake—blunt, scarred, dangerous—but now his presence alone carried weight like a blade sheathed in silk. The end of the year approached. And with it, the promise of farewell.

  ----------

  The final day arrived like the closing of a long, ancient book—one whose pages had been written with blood, sweat, laughter, and unspoken bonds. It was the end of the year, and the system had already begun to whisper its call. Drake would soon return to the lobby with his team, leaving behind the lands of Murim, the people he had come to cherish, and the version of himself that had been forged in fire.

  Knowing the moment could not be delayed, Park Zhen arranged a quiet gathering at the sect’s inner courtyard. It was there that the most important figures of the past year stood waiting—those whose lives had become intertwined with Drake’s through conflict, growth, and loyalty.

  Shu Rong stood first in line, arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk replaced with something far more subdued. He stepped forward without hesitation and placed a hand on Drake’s shoulder, firm and steady.

  “Drake.”

  Shu said, his voice carrying clear through the quiet.

  “Congratulations. It has been an honor to be your fellow disciple.”

  His words were simple, but sincere, weighted with all the camaraderie they had shared. There had been no need for grand gestures—just the honesty of warriors who had bled beside each other.

  Luo Zhenhai, ever the stoic mountain of a man, took longer to approach. He stood in place for several seconds, his expression unreadable, before he moved—slowly, awkwardly, as though fighting back something heavy in his chest. When he finally reached Drake, the floodgates burst. Tears poured down his face, rolling down his broad cheeks as he tried and failed to speak. His massive hand gripped the blond’s forearm tightly, trembling not from weakness, but from overwhelming emotion. To see someone like Luo cry—this man of stone and silence—brought a painful warmth to the scene. It was heartbreaking and somehow a little ridiculous, the way someone so colossal could look so helpless in the face of farewell.

  Xian Yuelin approached quietly, her footsteps light, her face calm but her eyes unsteady. She held something in both hands—a small box, smooth and carved with her own sigil. Inside it rested a simple but elegant jade ring. She didn’t say much. She only held it out to the boy with both hands, her gaze locked with his.

  “This is… for you.”

  Drake accepted it with a grateful smile, unaware of the gesture’s deeper meaning. In the traditions of Murim, a jade ring offered freely from one martial artist to another was more than a token of friendship—it was a silent declaration of love, one that required no words. She did not explain, and he, in his foreign ignorance, did not ask. But her soft smile as she turned away said more than anything else could have.

  Standing beside Park Zhen was Jianfeng, a man whose composure had not wavered even once throughout the war. At his side stood his son, Shen—taller now, eyes more focused, having grown under the responsibilities of his bloodline. Jianfeng gave Drake a short bow of respect, one warrior to another.

  “You brought balance when we most needed it, I won’t forget that.”

  Shen stepped forward next, face bright with the energy of youth. He extended his hand with a confident grin.

  “You’re like a hero out of one of the old stories. I hope we meet again, Drake.”

  Their handshake lingered, a silent promise of paths that might cross again.

  And finally, it was Park Zhen who stepped forward. He held a long, flat case in one hand and a sealed scroll in the other. Without ceremony, he opened the case to reveal a finely tailored formal outfit—black suit, white shirt, silk tie, polished shoes. Every stitch was clean, every fold precise. It mirrored Park’s own attire perfectly, save for one addition: a silver emblem woven into the lining that bore the symbol of the ‘Divine Sun Ki Sect’.

  “Wear this when you want the world to know you were my disciple.”

  Park said.

  “Or when you wish to look presentable. Whichever comes first.”

  Then, he handed Drake the scroll, which unwrapped to reveal a sleek, dark metallic pocket watch, etched with symbols that shifted ever so slightly as the light touched them.

  “This belonged to me.”

  Park explained.

  “It’s a ‘Dimensional Pocket Watch’. It stores items, memories, and space. You’ll find it useful… though I doubt you’ll ever fully understand how it works.”

  Drake took the watch with both hands, bowing respectfully, the weight of the gift not just in its function, but in its meaning. It was more than a tool—it was a piece of Park Zhen’s legacy, given without conditions. The silence between them stretched for a moment longer. Finally, Drake spoke, his voice quiet, but steady.

  “I learned more from you than I ever expected, master. You changed my life.”

  Park Zhen met his gaze without flinching.

  “And you exceeded mine, I expected nothing but chaos. I received… someone I would teach again.”

  A long silence followed. The wind rustled through the trees. The others watched quietly as the two men stood face to face—student and master, warrior and teacher.

  Then, for the first time since the day they met, Park Zhen’s expression shifted. The ever-present, polite smile that had always seemed detached and rehearsed was gone. In its place was something rare. A genuine smile—small, subtle, but real.

  “Take care, Drake Shaw.”

  Drake smiled back, heart aching with the weight of it all. He gave one final bow to his teacher, then turned toward the fading light of the system’s gate as it formed behind him. The air shimmered with the sound of departure, and without hesitation, he stepped forward.

  And just like that, Drake disappeared.