Clad in the cloak of pride…
Humbled beneath the wishes of others…
Bearing the thirst for strength, craving to master the greatest martial arts…
I too was born in that world.
A true world—one that worships strength and the deadly arts of combat.
Driven by a different wish—one greedy for power.
∴__
⊕ The Compulsory Wish ⊕
A mortal body, martial arts, and a soul calling for eternity.
Carve your martial techniques into your bones,
and let your weakness become the gate to absolute strength.
∴__
Thus, I began pursuing martial arts of every kind—
Body-strengthening arts, sword arts, spiritual energy techniques…
Martial arts that shattered logic into shards of glass
and melted them into pure imagination.
Where fists crushed the earth,
and swords split the heavens.
It was then that I first understood Paths, and became aware of their existence.
My power wasn't dazzling at first, but my ability to turn martial techniques into adaptable skills made my growth terrifyingly fast.
That was when I realized my extraordinary talent—the Path of the Sword.
Yet even that talent I once took pride in… vanished before the true genius of the sword.
The one who fought Saints with his sword alone.
"Sayru?"
The moment I sensed his presence, I recognized it instantly—
a mass of sacred mana streaked toward me at supersonic speed.
I merely raised a finger…
A thin line traced the air, and the mana sphere veered off-course as if pulled by an invisible force, fading into nothingness.
It wasn't an attack meant to kill—
just a warning.
As always, he was consumed by eternal pride…
Thirsty for battle, utterly devoid of patience.
I descended slowly toward that familiar energy—
that aura that reminded me of my golden days…
The only world I truly enjoyed existing in.
He was standing before an old teahouse,
its wooden door weathered with age.
He looked at me with a cold, deadly calm—eyes that didn't seem human,
as if I were nothing more than a passing insect.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly, voice devoid of emotion, then muttered to himself:
"Instead of swatting a flying bug… I provoked a Saint. Just my luck."
I laughed, a dry, knowing laugh he'd surely recognize.
"How strange… I didn't expect you'd forget a friend who once came from afar to drink tea with you."
But before I could finish, his eye flared—
a surge of pure spiritual energy burst forth,
rolling across the air like a tidal wave devouring the shore.
Even with my mastery over chaotic mana—strengthened constantly by the energy center in my mind—
I felt it.
Pressure.
Pure, unfiltered spiritual pressure.
Then… everything stopped.
"The… Spiritual Sense?" I muttered without realizing.
He replied calmly, his gaze piercing:
"Yes. I've never met a Saint like you before,
but your unique body gave you away.
Even a child knows—males can't possess one."
Look who's talking.
You—a man—also possess a unique body…
Or rather, you're the reason it's even possible.
He turned sharply and started walking toward the teahouse.
"This isn't the place to talk. Follow me inside."
He entered, hands clasped behind his back like an old master despite his youthful face.
I followed quietly.
Before I could step through the door, Maria, Kugssa, and Junia appeared behind me—panting, their faces drawn with worry.
They froze when they saw how calm I was.
"Master Tel! Why did you fly off like that?!" cried Kugssa,
while Maria leaned on her knees, gasping for air.
I motioned gently to them.
"Wait for me here. I won't take long."
Then I entered.
The aroma of warm tea embraced me before I could even breathe properly.
But I halted midway…
In the side garden, I noticed a girl—childlike in appearance,
yet her aura told a different story.
It was like a blade—cold and bloodthirsty—
and yet she played quietly, as though she didn't belong to this world.
I ignored her and sat at the same table where Sayru was preparing the tea.
He was focused on stirring the spoon inside the teapot.
"As I promised before," he said, pouring the tea into cups,
"you'll taste a tea unlike any other."
A small smile curved my lips.
So, he did remember me after all.
I lifted the cup and took the first sip.
"What a tea… I've never tasted anything like it. You truly kept your word this time, Sayru."
"Me? When did I ever break my word?" he replied with a faint grin.
"I still remember—the Peaceful Holy Lands War,
when you promised me a duel, sword to sword.
But before we could fight, you turned that peaceful war into a real one."
Sayru sipped from his cup and smiled,
his expression softened by nostalgia, almost childlike.
"That's because I didn't keep my word then.
I'd promised you a tea unlike any you'd tasted before.
But you're right—those bastards forced my hand,
and chaos was the only path left open."
"The Origin of Heaven?"
The moment I uttered that name,
his serene expression—the calmness I'd always known him for—
began to waver.
"Yes…
Had I not broken into the Sacred Realm back then,
they would have killed me without hesitation…"
I froze, unable to hide my surprise.
The last I remembered, he was at the level of a Supreme Sovereign—
a man feared across realms,
capable of facing Half-Virtues with only his sword.
"The Sacred Realm? You mean Half-Virtue?" I asked cautiously.
He didn't need outside power. His sword alone had once been enough to stand against Thrones.
He answered without hesitation:
"I don't know what you call Saints here,
but right now—you're in the Sacred Realm, a Saint…
At least, that's the aura you're emanating."
His words were not random.
If he truly had to ascend to Half-Virtue just to face an equal opponent,
then that opponent must have been a full Virtue, not a mere shadow of one.
"Forget all that talk about a future that won't come," he said suddenly,
his tone darkening.
"Tell me instead—how did you find a disciple with a sacred body like that girl's?"
The future?
He spoke as though he knew what will and will not happen.
But the memories he mentioned… they had already occurred.
Could this have something to do with his apparent loss of power?
I tried steering the conversation elsewhere.
"Let me ask you instead.
I've never seen a disciple of your race so bloodthirsty.
It's as if she was born only for battle."
I turned toward the wide window facing the garden.
Under the great tree sat Junia, breathing the cool wind with her eyes closed in peace.
Across from her, Maria and Kugssa played with Sayru's disciple—
the girl struggling to suppress her bloodlust,
trying to enjoy the moment like any normal child.
In that serene atmosphere,
Sayru and I continued our talk.
We spoke of our adventures,
of the strange things we'd seen,
of all that had happened—
like two friends long separated, finally reunited.
As time passed, the teapot emptied.
I asked him to brew another, this time using the leaves my old master had once gifted me…
But he didn't move.
Instead, his eyes lifted slowly—
following something above me.
Not the ceiling—
but something beyond it.
Then, in a quiet, almost trembling voice, he asked:
"Telodeos…
why were you cursed with such a fate?"
I froze.
My mind raced.
Could he know… about the Wishes that made me who I am?
But I kept my composure, meeting his gaze steadily.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
His eyes grew even more unreadable.
He glanced down at his empty cup,
then whispered one more question…
"Just tell me this—
When did you arrive… in this world?"