CHAPTER 39

"Heh… Are you seriously making a fuss over some rookie Awakened?"

[That kind of thinking will get you in trouble, sir. Do you have any idea how dangerous rookies can be these days?]

"Even so, I didn't expect the great 'Kim Pro' to whine like this. Isn't that a little cold, between us?"

[I'm only calling because there is something between us. I was going to ignore it and just sleep, but it kept bugging me.]

"Hmph…"

Han Gi-jae's voice gradually hardened.

Sure, Kim Man-soo had a name, but he still had no right to act this arrogantly.

There had to be a reason.

So instead of exploding in anger, Gi-jae kept his breath steady—waiting for Man-soo to get to the point, licking his lips as he braced himself.

[It's No-Name.]

"…What?"

No-Name.

How could he not recognize the name that had stirred up all of South Korea?

Even in the political world, people were watching him closely.

If used wisely, this man could improve not only one's personal reputation, but even that of an entire party. So why was his name being brought up now?

Han Gi-jae wasn't a fool.

Realization struck him suddenly—and he slapped his knee.

"Ah…!"

[I figured you'd understand. Don't escalate this. Let it go quietly. You don't want to create enemies by pushing things too far. That's all—I'm hanging up.]

With that, Kim Man-soo ended the call, practically issuing an order.

Han Gi-jae leaned deep into his chair, letting out a hollow laugh.

"Hahaha… Hah… HAH!"

Then, without hesitation, he picked up his phone and slammed it to the ground.

CRASH!

"That bastard Kim Man-soo! Who does he think he is, mocking a sitting lawmaker, the party leader? Who the hell does he think he's threatening?!"

BANG! BANG! THUD!

He pounded his desk with both fists, spewing rage for several long moments before finally wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

"Huff…"

As his anger cooled, so did his head.

His expression became more composed.

He could think clearly again.

'No-Name. No-Name…'

Even within the opposition party, the man's identity had been a topic of growing curiosity.

The guilds and the Association had tightly sealed off any information, making it impossible to identify him—until now. And just like that, he learned the truth.

Unfortunately, the timing was terrible.

Had he known before he sent people to retrieve the video with his daughter, things might've been salvageable.

But regrets came too late.

Still, he didn't believe the bridge was burned beyond repair.

There's a saying in politics: "No ally or enemy is forever."

Han Gi-jae was confident he could still mend this distant relationship with No-Name—if he showed sincerity.

Having made up his mind, he picked up the office phone to replace the destroyed one.

After a few rings, someone answered.

"Hey, it's me. Put together a gift package. A big one. Make sure the wrapping is elegant."

***

The next day, early morning.

Soo-hyeok also received a call.

It was Oh Shin-woo.

[Sorry for being out of touch the past few days. Have you been well?]

Despite his words, Shin-woo's tone was teasing. Soo-hyeok smiled faintly.

"Had a small disturbance, but yes, I've been fine."

[I heard about what happened with Park Moo-Gi.]

As expected from someone affiliated with the Association—news traveled fast on their side.

[I didn't think they'd go that far. Sorry I couldn't step in sooner. Did you get hurt?]

But, as expected, he didn't seem to know the full details. Just like Kim Man-soo, he only knew the surface.

This was probably a kind of verbal probe—to see what Soo-hyeok would reveal. Especially since Soo-hyeok seemed too unscathed for someone who went up against Park Moo-Gi.

"If I were really hurt, I wouldn't have been able to answer the phone, right?"

[Well, not all wounds are visible.]

His tone remained casual, but his words struck keenly.

"Fair enough. But no, I'm really fine now."

Soo-hyeok didn't deny it either.

Had he truly clashed with Kim Man-soo last night, he'd probably still need a few days of rest—but he avoided that.

So now, he was back to full strength.

[That's a relief. Actually, I was hoping to ask you for something. I was worried you might still be recovering. Heh.]

Soo-hyeok sensed instinctively: this request was related to the Trelanon Dimension.

[Have you heard of the Trelanon Dimension?]

[Then that makes this easier. I believe we may be able to seal the dimension soon.]

Soo-hyeok remained silent, listening closely.

[…You're not surprised?]

Shin-woo, sensing the lack of reaction, asked again.

"No. I've heard some rumors."

[Ah, makes sense. News has probably started spreading by now. If you've also heard about the new magical device, that helps a lot.]

Shin-woo chuckled lightly, then continued.

[Some of the more perceptive guilds are already requesting entry, and experimenting with the magic device. But officially, there's a one-month testing period for safety.]

One month.

Short for some, long for others.

[Unofficially, though—just between you and me—I think we only need two weeks.]

And the time Soo-hyeok was granted—was half that.

His eyes gleamed.

[Right now, Korea needs a hero. And No-Name… is a fantastic title, Mr. Yang Soo-hyeok.]

Oh Shin-woo's previously upbeat tone lowered, now calm and serious.

[Would you be willing to become that hero?]

"As long as it's not a poisoned chalice."

[Of course not. This is just a chalice—no poison. We'd be fools to poison it. If it cracks, the whole country gets contaminated.]

Soo-hyeok recognized now—Shin-woo was far more cunning than he appeared.

He didn't try to control Soo-hyeok with shallow flattery or manipulation.

Which meant Soo-hyeok already had his answer.

"A hero? Sure—why not."

Soo-hyeok knew full well he didn't look the part.

He had no overwhelming love for the world. No righteous sense of justice. No lofty ideals.

A hero? That wasn't him.

But if it just meant wearing the mask, the image of a hero Shin-woo needed—he could do that.

'It's not like he's demanding I actually live like one.'

That made it tolerable.

Shin-woo simply wanted to create a hero—real or not—who could bring a sense of stability to South Korea.

To achieve that, many conditions had to be met.

Shin-woo could handle most of them himself.

He'd reveal what needed revealing, hide what needed hiding—like managing a celebrity.

But there was one thing Shin-woo couldn't fabricate:

'I have to be overwhelmingly strong.'

Not just for Korea, or even the world—but strong enough to be recognized by all dimensions.

Universal 8.

Perhaps Shin-woo was aiming beyond even that.

If so, he had picked the right person.

Because honing martial mastery—Mu —was the one thing Soo-hyeok was best at.

'Two weeks.'

In two weeks, he'd be stepping into the Trelanon Dimension.

He needed to grow stronger before then.

And the most urgent need was internal energy—naegong.

Having already reached the level of a peak master, he had achieved a strong foundation in the three pillars of martial arts: Mind , Qi , and Body .

His body? Already refined.

His qi? Overflowing.

What remained was mind—his internal cultivation.

And that, more than anything else, would be the hardest barrier to reach the Transcendent Realm and ultimately, the state of Harmony .

'Nothing demands more time than naegong.'

Just like training the body, internal energy increases with time.

And his current technique—Geongon Hapeel Shingong—had poor efficiency early on.

It promised overwhelming returns later, but for now, it was painfully slow.

To meet the minimum requirement for Transcendence—a full cycle (1 Gapja) of internal energy—through conventional means, even in Earth's relatively rich energy environment, it could take at least five more years.

Of course, that was absurd.

'I don't have five years.'

Soo-hyeok needed a solution.

On the Hwan Continent, two methods were commonly used to overcome this problem.

1. Transmission of Naegong

Elders who had retired from combat would transfer a large portion of their internal energy to a successor.

It was risky—the process often caused damage to the donor's body, and much energy was lost in the transfer.

Even so, most sects ensured one to three core disciples were empowered this way—those who would inherit the name and pride of their clan.

Because if a sect lost its champion, it would soon be looked down upon.

Even with dozens of skilled middle-level martial artists, every sect needed a pillar.

So elders willingly made that sacrifice, and in return, they were respected and lived out their days peacefully in the Council of Elders.

It was a reasonable trade, preserving the sect's legacy.

2. Elixirs

A more accessible option: spiritual elixirs that enhanced internal energy.

Sects with any real reputation would invite physicians or sorcerers to concoct specialized formulas.

They might blend low-efficiency herbs or use rituals to enhance potency.

Most so-called elixirs were underwhelming in effect—but occasionally, true masterpieces emerged.

The most famous of these?

Shaolin's Grand Elixir (Daehwandan).

Only one monk per generation was allowed to know its secret formula.

Upon ingestion, it instantly boosted a person's naegong by half a cycle to a full cycle—a treasure reserved for crisis or prodigies with divine potential.

Soo-hyeok dismissed the first method—it simply wasn't an option.

But the second…

There was still hope.

Which is why his mind now turned to elixirs.