Yoon Ji-han’s stamina was gone. His mana, which he’d conserved so carefully, was completely drained; he’d never had much to begin with. The sand beneath his feet no longer obeyed his will. He had never pushed himself to such an extreme. Though Yoon Ji-han looked ready to collapse, Kang Tae-san hadn’t paused or even glanced back. Gritting his teeth, determined not to show weakness, Yoon Ji-han had forced himself to keep going. But now, he was truly at his limit. His legs gave out, and he crumpled onto the desert floor. As he lay sprawled in the sand, gasping for breath, he heard someone approaching from behind. He managed to lift his head and saw Kang Tae-san looking down at him, an expression of pity on his face. “Wasting my time on an idiot like you.” Kang Tae-san sat down beside him and pulled out two pieces of jerky. He popped one in his mouth and tossed the other toward Yoon Ji-han, a silent command to get up and eat. But Yoon Ji-han didn’t have the strength to move. He hadn’t had a drop of water all day, and his mouth was a wasteland of its own. Trying to eat dry jerky in this state would be an ordeal. He knew that without replenishing his energy, he risked succumbing to the harshness of the desert. Kang Tae-san knew this too. And still, he did nothing to help. Chewing on his own jerky, Kang Tae-san spoke. “The old world was peaceful. You could be a little weak and still get by. It was a world where common sense meant something, where kindness wasn’t a strange concept. But that world is gone. Now, it’s survival of the fittest. The weak are prey, and the survivors take everything. Does it hurt? Is it hard? Then give up. Death is easy.” Yoon Ji-han clenched his jaw at the man’s brutal words. He hadn’t lived long, but of all the people he had met, none spoke with such bitterness. Each word felt like a blade twisting in his heart. “If you want easy, then just lie there and die. But if you want to live, even if it’s agonizing, you’ll get up on your own. You fool.” With that, Kang Tae-san fell silent, ignoring Yoon Ji-han as he continued to work on his jerky. Kang Tae-san hadn’t drunk any water either, which was why he ate so slowly, letting his saliva do the work of softening the tough meat to keep his mouth from drying out. Before long, the sun began to set. In the desert, the temperature plummeted after dark. Without warmth, hypothermia was a death sentence. Yoon Ji-han knew this. I won’t die. I can’t die here. He began to crawl, wriggling through the sand like a worm. After several desperate attempts, his fingers finally brushed against the jerky. He seized it, opened his mouth, and shoved the meat inside. He didn’t care that it was caked in sand. With no saliva, chewing was a gritty, uncomfortable task, but he persisted. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to swallow. As the jerky hit his stomach, a faint spark of vigor returned to his limbs. Using the last of his strength, Yoon Ji-han pushed himself into a sitting position. Kang Tae-san tossed another piece of jerky at him. Without a word of thanks, Yoon Ji-han began to chew. Little by little, he felt life returning to his body. At the same time, his mana began to replenish. As if he could see the change happening inside him, Kang Tae-san spoke. “The body and mana are not separate. Only a strong body can house a strong flow of mana. If you want to become powerful, you must never stop training your physical form.” Yoon Ji-han nodded silently. He felt the truth of it in his bones. When he’d been on the verge of collapse, he had tried to gather mana, but it wouldn’t respond to his exhausted body. If he hadn’t eaten the jerky and recovered his stamina, his mana reserves would still be empty. Once his mana reached a certain level, he knew he would survive. Only then did he let out a ragged sigh of relief. Having stared death in the face, he saw the world differently. In the darkening desert sky, countless stars shone like a blanket of diamonds. Yoon Ji-han gazed at the spectacle, lost in thought. He’d never had the time or peace of mind to notice such a sight back in Shin-Hanseong. He’d never imagined the stars could be so beautiful. He was on the brink, and now he was back. The feeling left him strangely contemplative. Kang Tae-san’s voice snapped Yoon Ji-han out of his thoughts. But he wasn't speaking to him. There was no one else here. Cautiously, Yoon Ji-han looked over. Kang Tae-san was talking to his sword, Cheon-myeol, which was propped up in the sand before him. Is he insane? Or is that an Ego Sword? The sight of a man conversing with his weapon was anything but normal. Kang Tae-san continued his one-sided chat, seemingly oblivious to Yoon Ji-han’s stare. “Yeah, that’s a good spot. We still haven’t taken down the boss there.” “It’s been so long, my memory’s hazy. Thanks for the reminder.” After finishing his conversation, Kang Tae-san glanced at Yoon Ji-han. For a moment, an inexplicable chill ran down Yoon Ji-han’s spine. Awakened or not, the cold of the desert night was no small thing. That night, Yoon Ji-han shivered sleeplessly. Kang Tae-san, in contrast, slept soundly, his posture completely relaxed. He looked so comfortable that Yoon Ji-han felt a sudden, violent urge to punch him in the face. As the sun rose, Kang Tae-san woke. The first thing he did was wring out his clothes, squeezing the collected dew into his mouth to drink. That’s when Yoon Ji-han understood why Kang Tae-san had spread his clothes out on the sand before sleeping. Belatedly, Yoon Ji-han tried to do the same, but his clothes yielded significantly less water. If only he’d told me. Yoon Ji-han felt a flash of unwarranted resentment toward Kang Tae-san. And then, he realized something. Everything about Kang Tae-san, every single action, was geared toward survival. He made a resolution. I have to learn everything from him. Every last thing. If he could mimic Kang Tae-san’s every move, Yoon Ji-han believed he could one day become just as strong—if not stronger. Yoon Ji-han squeezed every last drop of dew from his clothes and drank it down, finally quenching his thirst. Kang Tae-san got up and started walking. Yoon Ji-han followed without a word. He knew better than to ask where they were going; Kang Tae-san wouldn’t bother to answer. After only a day, Yoon Ji-han had a good grasp of what kind of man he was. Incredibly self-centered and utterly unkind. He wouldn’t offer help or give a shred of consideration to others. He had forced Yoon Ji-han to come along, but he clearly expected him to survive on his own. To last under a man like that, Yoon Ji-han had to be sharp. Before he knew it, Kang Tae-san was already far ahead. Thankfully, his mana had fully recovered overnight. Yoon Ji-han activated the skill he had discovered the day before. He decided to call it ‘Sand Stride.’ Mana management was his greatest concern. Having nearly died from mana exhaustion, he now understood its importance. If only there were a way to replenish mana as quickly as I use it. Kang Tae-san might know how, but he would never tell. Yoon Ji-han would have to figure it out himself, just like he had with everything else. As he moved across the desert using Sand Stride, he constantly thought about how to improve. Though the sun had just risen, the sand was already scorching. Heat radiated from the ground below and beat down from the sky above. Yoon Ji-han gritted his teeth and endured. Endurance built patience, and with it, his Sand Stride became smoother, more natural. They walked all day. When the sun finally began to set, Kang Tae-san stopped, and Yoon Ji-han could finally catch his breath. This time, thankfully, his mana wasn’t completely depleted, but exhaustion was etched onto his face. Maintaining Sand Stride while managing his mana had pushed his body and mind to their limits. He felt like he could collapse at any moment, but he forced himself to stand. Just then, Kang Tae-san tossed him a piece of jerky. This time, he didn’t have to suffer the indignity of picking it up with his mouth. Yoon Ji-han held the jerky and tore it into small pieces. He chewed slowly, thoroughly moistening each bite before swallowing. It made the meal last much longer. When Yoon Ji-han was halfway through his piece, he glanced at Kang Tae-san. He thought he’d been eating slowly, but Kang Tae-san had only consumed about a third of his own portion. A sense of defeat washed over Yoon Ji-han, and he bit his lip. He deliberately began to chew even slower than Kang Tae-san, so slowly that it took him nearly thirty minutes to finish the single piece of jerky. I’m still hungry, though. As a growing young man, one piece of jerky barely took the edge off his hunger. He knew he’d be starving again in an hour. But he couldn’t ask for more. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Yoon Ji-han decided to go to sleep hungry. But first, there was something he had to do. He took off his outer clothes and spread them neatly on the ground to gather the morning dew. His next task was to make a shelter. The desert cold was nothing to someone with Kang Tae-san’s power, but for Yoon Ji-han, it was a matter of life and death. His solution was a bunker. Fortunately, he still had some mana left. As Yoon Ji-han focused his will, the sand began to move, forming a pit just large enough for one person. He climbed inside, then used his mana to pull the sand over the opening like a lid. Desert sand was loose and cohesionless; normally, it would collapse instantly. But Yoon Ji-han had used his mana to increase its cohesion, and it held firm like a roof of solid earth. The bunker had cost him some mana to create, but it required none to maintain. Once it was finished, Yoon Ji-han breathed a sigh of relief. He regretted the miserable, sleepless night before, but the thought of resting comfortably now was a welcome consolation. He briefly thought of Kang Tae-san. Should he offer him a place inside? He immediately shook his head. There was no one to hear him anyway. Besides, if Kang Tae-san got too cold, he could damn well crawl in on his own. With that thought, Yoon Ji-han drifted off to sleep. Outside, the temperature was dropping rapidly, but inside his sand bunker, it was pleasantly warm. He slept more deeply than he had in a long time. Yoon Ji-han opened his eyes to a strange sensation. A faint vibration was humming through the sand around him. He sat up and pressed his hand to the floor. The vibration grew stronger. He scrambled out of the bunker. Kang Tae-san was already awake, standing with Cheon-myeol planted in the sand before him, staring straight ahead. Yoon Ji-han followed his gaze. All he could see was darkness. It was the deepest part of the night, just before the dawn. It should have been impossible to see anything, but that was for ordinary people. Kang Tae-san’s eyes could clearly pierce the gloom. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. The vibrations intensified. Yoon Ji-han’s pupils trembled. Dozens… no, hundreds of them. Kang Tae-san’s face split into a crazed grin. He looked strangely excited, like a mischievous child about to set off fireworks. “Survive on your own, you idiot! Hehe!” But Yoon Ji-han couldn’t smile. He knew Kang Tae-san meant it—he wouldn’t lift a finger to help. The thought filled him with a cold dread. Fine! I’ll survive. I have to. The vibrations grew into a thunderous pounding, and finally, shapes emerged from the darkness. Hundreds of pairs of glowing eyes rushed toward them. “A pack of Giant Horned Hyenas,” Kang Tae-san said, his voice laced with manic glee. “Nocturnal monsters. They don’t leave a single bone behind, so be careful not to get caught in their teeth. By the time you realize what’s happened, you’ll be in pieces in their bellies. Hehe!” “You crazy old man!” Yoon Ji-han snarled.

Chapter 9: At the Edge of Collapse