Chapter 9: The Truth

The victory in the Valley of Shadows had been hard-won, a pyrrhic triumph that left the resistance battered and weary. Though they had dealt a crushing blow to the Murim Alliance, the cost was etched into the faces of the survivors—hollow eyes, trembling hands, and the silent grief of those who had lost comrades. For Jin Ha-Ru, the weight of the battle bore down on him like a mountain. The Heavenly Demon's energy, once a raging tempest within him, now felt distant, foreign, as if it had retreated into the shadows of his soul.

Amidst the chaos of the camp—the groans of the wounded, the clatter of weapons being repaired, the low murmur of voices—Ha-Ru sought solitude. It was a rare luxury, given the circumstances, but he needed it. He found a quiet spot at the edge of the encampment, where the cacophony of the aftermath faded into the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of crows. Sitting cross-legged on the cold ground, he closed his eyes and began to meditate, seeking to calm the restless energy within him.

But something was different. The Heavenly Demon's Qi, which had always surged through his veins like a wild beast, had grown still. It no longer thrashed against his control or threatened to consume him. Instead, it had coalesced into a dense, rugged ball nestled beside his heart, dark and impenetrable. Ha-Ru reached for it, willing it to respond, but it remained stubbornly inert, refusing to yield even a fraction of its power.

"What the hell?" Ha-Ru muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing in frustration. "Why now of all times, you damn—"

Before he could finish, a familiar voice cut through the stillness, pulling him from his meditation.

"Haha, it's good to see you again, boy."

Ha-Ru's eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at a figure he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. The Hermit stood before him, his weathered face creased with a warm smile, his tattered robes fluttering in the breeze. His presence was as calm and unshakable as ever, a stark contrast to the turmoil that surrounded them.

"Hermit!?"

 Ha-Ru exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He rose to his feet, his mind racing. What could have brought the Hermit to the front lines, to this place of death and desperation? The old man had always been a recluse, content to live far from the chaos of the world. Yet here he was, standing before Ha-Ru as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The Hermit chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You look like you've seen a ghost, boy. Surely you didn't think I'd leave you to face all this alone, did you?"

Ha-Ru stared at him, his thoughts a whirlwind of questions. But before he could speak, the Hermit's expression grew serious, his gaze piercing. "We have much to discuss," he said, his voice low and grave. "And not much time."

Ha-Ru's nerves tightened as he noticed the shift in the Hermit's tone. The old man's usual calm demeanour had been replaced by something heavier, more solemn. "What's wrong?" Ha-Ru asked, his voice tinged with concern. He could feel the weight of the Hermit's gaze, and it unsettled him.

The Hermit's lips curved into a faint, almost proud smile, though his eyes remained serious. "I heard about your battle with one of the Murim Alliance commanders—General Wu," he said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "You've grown stronger, boy."

But Ha-Ru's face betrayed his unease. The memory of that fight—the surge of dark energy, the way he had lost control—flashed through his mind. His hands clenched involuntarily, and a flicker of fear crossed his features

The Hermit's expression softened, as if he could read Ha-Ru's thoughts. "I know," he said gently. "I also heard how you acted during that bout. That's why I'm here." He paused, his gaze drifting to the ground for a moment before meeting Ha-Ru's eyes again. "I was hoping you'd gain experience fighting lesser opponents, but that was a foolish mistake on my part." He gestured to a nearby rock. "Sit, boy. Don't talk. Just listen."

Ha-Ru hesitated but obeyed, lowering himself to the ground. The Hermit settled onto the rock, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every word he was about to speak carried the weight of decades.

"Ha-Ru," the Hermit began, his voice tinged with guilt, "you might be wondering why I never properly taught you how to utilize Qi." He paused, his gaze distant, as if wrestling with memories long buried. "The truth is… I was scared. I didn't want to make a mistake that would lead you down the same wicked path as the Heavenly Demon."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Ha-Ru's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. The Hermit closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering the strength to continue. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady, filled with a gentleness that Ha-Ru had rarely seen.

"Ha-Ru," the Hermit said, his voice barely above a whisper, "my name is Yeon Seung-Jin. And I… I am the father of the wicked soul that now resides within you."

The world seemed to stop. Ha-Ru's eyes widened in shock, his body stiffening as if struck by lightning. He leapt to his feet, his voice rising in disbelief. "WHAT!? H-How is that even possible?" he shouted, before quickly lowering his voice, glancing toward the camp to ensure no one had heard. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind reeling. The man who had guided him, who had been his mentor, was the father of the Heavenly Demon? The revelation was too much to process.

Seung-Jin hesitated, his weathered hands clasped tightly together as if to steady himself. "Before I tell you that," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, "I must confess one more thing…" He paused, his gaze drifting to the ground before he forced himself to continue. "Your true name is Yeon Ha-Ru. You, me, and the Heavenly Demon—who once bore the name Yeon Ji-Hoon—share the same blood. Ha-Ru, I, Seung-Jin, am your grandfather."

The words struck Ha-Ru like a thunderclap. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, his mind reeling. The world around him seemed to blur, his entire sense of reality crumbling. "No way," he whispered, his voice trembling. "It can't be possible. Why did you tell me I was the Heavenly Demon's reincarnation if he was actually my father?" His face was a mask of confusion and disbelief, his eyes searching Seung-Jin's for answers.

Seung-Jin's shoulders sagged, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "Ha-Ru," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "your father became pure evil, a being hated by the world. He was so consumed by darkness that he learned a forbidden soul-binding martial art… and used it on his own child. I couldn't bring myself to tell you that such a monster was your father. I'm sorry." He turned his face away, unable to meet Ha-Ru's gaze, and let out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with regret.

Ha-Ru sat in stunned silence, his mind racing as he processed the revelation. The man he had been taught to fear, to fight against, was his own flesh and blood. The thought was unbearable, yet it explained so much—the dark energy within him, the whispers of the Heavenly Demon's soul, the relentless pull of violence. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but firm. "Why tell me this now?"

Seung-Jin looked up, his eyes meeting Ha-Ru's once more. "I thought it was time you knew the truth," he said, his tone resolute. "Before I teach you how to utilize your father's—"

"Don't call him my father," Ha-Ru snapped, his voice sharp with anger. The words cut through the air like a blade, and for a moment, the tension between them was palpable.

Seung-Jin nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I understand," he said gently. "I know it's difficult to accept, but it's something you must come to terms with if you wish to grow stronger."

Ha-Ru clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Tch, fine. I'll try," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "You've said enough about him—or at least enough for today. What about my mother?"

At the mention of Ha-Ru's mother, a smile broke across Seung-Jin's face, dispelling some of the heaviness in the air. "Ah, your mother," he said, his eyes lighting up with fondness. "Haha, what a fiery woman she was." He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, as memories of her seemed to flood his mind. "She was… unforgettable."

Though Seung-Jin's face was bright with nostalgia and his words carried a warmth that seemed to lighten the air, Ha-Ru couldn't shake the unease creeping into his chest. There was something unspoken, something heavy lurking beneath the old man's fond reminiscence. Ha-Ru's voice was tentative, almost afraid to ask the question that had been gnawing at him. "Is she… alive?"

The smile on Seung-Jin's face faltered, and for a moment, the air grew still. He let out a slow, measured breath, his gaze drifting to the horizon as if searching for answers in the distant mountains. "…I don't know," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry. That's not the answer you wanted to hear, is it?"

Ha-Ru's heart sank, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Seung-Jin rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step carried the burden of decades. He stared into the distance, his eyes clouded with memories.

"The last time I saw your mother," Seung-Jin began, his voice soft but steady, "you were just a baby, cradled in her arms. She begged me to take you far away, to a place where the Murim Alliance would never think to look. That place was Hanam Village." He turned to face Ha-Ru, a warm smile returning to his weathered face. "Your mother… she was the daughter of the former Murim Alliance leader, Jang Myung-Hwan."

Ha-Ru's eyes widened, the revelation hitting him like a tidal wave. His mother, the daughter of the Murim Alliance's former leader? The pieces of his fractured past were beginning to fall into place, but the picture they formed was more complex than he could have imagined.

Seung-Jin's gaze remained steady, his pride evident as he continued. "Ha-Ru, your mother was a force to be reckoned with. She bore the name War Maiden Jang Soo-Min, and she wore it with a fierceness that struck fear into the hearts of her enemies and admiration into the hearts of her allies. She was… extraordinary."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Ha-Ru felt a strange mix of emotions—pride, longing, and a deep, aching sadness. He had spent his life knowing so little about his parents, and now, with each revelation, the weight of their legacy grew heavier.

Ha-Ru slapped his cheeks sharply, the sound echoing in the quiet space. The sting grounded him, pulling him out of the whirlwind of emotions. A proud smile spread across his face, fierce and unyielding. "Then I better live up to her title and make her proud!" he declared, his voice ringing with resolve. "Who knows? If she's still alive, she might hear my name and find me. Haha!" His laughter was bold, an attempt to lighten the heavy air, but beneath it burned a fire that refused to be extinguished.

Seung-Jin watched him, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Okay then, gramps," Ha-Ru shouted, his voice brimming with the same fiery spirit that had once defined his mother. "Teach me everything you know!"

The old man couldn't help but laugh, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to carry the weight of decades. "HAHA! Looks like this is going to be nostalgic," Seung-Jin said, his gaze distant for a moment as memories of Jang Soo-Min flooded his mind. He could almost hear her voice, fierce and unrelenting, saying those very same words so many years ago.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Seung-Jin's expression turned serious, though a glint of mischief remained in his eyes. "We don't have long, so you better listen carefully," he said, his tone firm but laced with warmth. "I taught your father and mother, but you…" He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Well, I'm going to make sure your training is a thousand times harder. Hahaha!" His laughter boomed as he placed a hand on Ha-Ru's shoulder, the weight of it both comforting and challenging.

Ha-Ru met his grandfather's gaze, his own eyes blazing with determination. "Heh, bring it on, gramps," he said, his voice steady and confident. His heart burned with a newfound goal, a purpose that felt as unshakable as the earth beneath his feet. For the first time in his life, he felt the weight of his lineage not as a burden, but as a calling—one he was ready to answer.

To be continued….