His Buddhist name was Un-bong (雲峰)—meaning "a mountain peak towering above the clouds"—a name frequently bestowed upon monks.

  Standing before the elderly master he had long revered, Un-bong bowed his head with firm resolve.

  He declared his intent to wander the mountains and rivers of the land, spreading the mercy of the Buddha to every corner of Joseon.

  But that was merely a pious platitude for the old master’s ears; in truth, he simply wanted to travel across Joseon.

  As soon as the master’s permission was granted, he packed his meager belongings.

  A few changes of monastic robes and a pair of worn straw sandals were all he carried.

  Un-bong neatly adjusted his familiar grey robes and placed a 'Song-nak'—a hat finely woven from pine-beard moss—upon his head.

  The pointed brim of the Song-nak sat low, veiling half his face; beneath the shaded hat, his sharp eyes remained hidden from the world.

  Standing before the temple’s Iljumun (the One-Pillar Gate), Un-bong drew a deep breath of the cold mountain air into his lungs.

  Then, he took his first step out into the world.

  That stride no longer belonged to the Un-bong of old.

  Into his mind surged a tidal wave of information: not just the logic of the current world, but every record of this land’s past and vast fragments of knowledge.

  Most importantly, he now understood the thoughts of the entity known as 'Jun-ho' and the secret messages Jun-ho had tried to convey from the depths of his soul.

  Un-bong had absorbed them as perfectly as the blood flowing through his veins.

  That wasn't all. Tucked away secretly inside his sleeve was the cold,

  'Silver Sphere.' The cosmic methods of utilizing that mysterious relic, handed to him by Jun-ho, were already familiar to his fingertips.

  On the outside, he was a youthful monk.

  On the inside, he had been reborn as another ego of Jun-ho—an entity who had mastered universal knowledge and transcendental experience.

  Yet, strangely, the bright temperament and subtle playfulness unique to the original Un-bong remained, shimmering in his eyes.

  The warm energy of a spring day filled his body.

  'Alright, let’s get going.'

  Un-bong decided to set his course toward the southern reaches of Joseon.

  It was to be a long journey on foot, but there was a place he had to visit first. He needed to find the "Muryeong-be"—rolls of cotton cloth—hidden deep within a mountain cave, a location Jun-ho had whispered into the depths of his mind.

  In the Joseon of that era, currency did exist. A paper money called 'Jeohwa' had been issued, but in truth, it failed to circulate properly.

  Among the common folk, cotton cloth functioned as the practical currency, exchanged just like minted coin.

  Having foreseen this, Jun-ho had cached a supply of cotton in the mountains beforehand, and Un-bong moved to retrieve it.

  Although his status as a monk allowed him to survive on the alms of villagers,

  he knew that a time would inevitably come when he would need a substantial sum of capital for his travels.

  In the Joseon of 1416, aside from the tiled roofs of high-ranking officials,

  the villages were clusters of humble, straw-thatted cottages. Beneath those thatched roofs, the lives of the commoners were grueling.

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  Most were tethered to the fields;

  their cotton clothes were quickly stained with earth and dust, and their skin,

  scorched dark by long days under the sun, made them appear far older than their years.

  Unless they were slaves, the majority lived as commoners, yet the national burdens placed upon them were ruthless.

  Beyond the grain taxes, the weight of military service and the 'Gong-mul'—the tribute of local specialties—drove their lives into a cycle of unending hardship.

  Furthermore, in an age devoid of proper medical facilities or effective treatments, sickness arrived without warning, gnawing away at their very existence.

  Unable to endure such suffering, many eventually abandoned their villages and vanished into the mountains.

  Among them, those driven by starvation turned into 'Cho-jeok'—grass bandits—lurking in the forests and fields to ambush travelers and seize their belongings.

  Yet, Un-bong’s stride remained light. A sense of exhilaration, as if he had ascended to godhood, vibrated through his entire being.

  By law, monks were exempt from military service and enjoyed a relative freedom from taxes;

  yet, when the state demanded great labors, they were still expected to contribute their strength.

  But now, Un-bong had resolved to liberate himself completely from all such worldly shackles. Deep within his chest,

  the mysterious power inherited from Jun-ho surged like a rising tide.

  The cave Jun-ho had marked as a mental milestone lay just beyond a low-slung mountain ridge.

  Clad in his ashen monastic robes and leaning on his staff,

  the silhouette of Un-bong’s retreating figure might have been mistaken for that of a venerable old monk at a distance.

  The noon sun of spring was warm and peaceful. However, as he stepped deeper into the mountain’s embrace, the surroundings quickly grew dim.

  The narrowing trail became a struggle to navigate, choked by tangled vines and thick underbrush.

  The Un-bong of old would have walked in terror, eyes darting in every direction for fear of a tiger lunging from the shadows—but for the man he was now, such tension simply did not exist.

  Just as his breath began to catch in his throat, a massive boulder revealed itself. Drawing closer, he spotted a small fissure beside the rock,

  an entrance barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through.

  Un-bong paused to catch his ragged breath, then slowly lowered his body and crawled into the darkness.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a pile of stones at the back of the cave came into focus. Without hesitation, he began to clear the rocks away with one hand.

  Beneath the rubble, the hidden cache appeared: several bolts of 'Muryeong-be'—the precious cotton cloth.

  They had been meticulously bundled beforehand, perfectly balanced and ready to be slung over his shoulder for the journey ahead.

  "There’s too much," Un-bong muttered, hesitating for a moment. But a decision was made.

  He decisively threw the sack he had carefully brought from the temple onto the cave floor.

  It was a wiser choice to abandon a few extra changes of clothes—useless in the moment—to secure one more bolt of Muryeong-be, which could be used as currency.

  He shouldered the heavy bundle of cotton cloth. To his surprise, it wasn't heavy at all.

  So, he decided to cross the mountain. Since it was still early afternoon, he figured he could make it through the mountain pass before sunset.

  But even if 70% of Joseon's land was mountainous, crossing these ranges was arduous even for Joseon people.

  The paths were rugged, steep, and, worst of all, infested with tigers. Walking these trails was never a casual task.

  Un-bong navigated along a faint trail where he could spot the footprints of others.

  Rustle, rustle, rustle.

  He heard a sound of something moving through the underbrush.

  He could feel the grass swaying even though there was no breeze.

  Intuitively, he knew it was a tiger.

  In the 1400s, tigers were quite common in Joseon.

  They were so numerous in the mountains that they even appeared in the capital, Hanyang, entered the palace, and harmed people.

  The situation was so severe that a specialized unit for hunting tigers, the 'Chakho Gapsa' (Tiger Hunters), was created.

  Suddenly, a pair of eyes burning like fire pierced through the gloom.

  Beneath the sharp, glaring gaze, a massive physique, easily towering over a grown man, revealed itself.

  Radiating the intimidating presence of the mountain's master, it stood blocking the path ten meters ahead and slowly began to narrow the distance.

  It was an instant of life and death, yet Un-bong did not move an inch.

  At that moment, Jun-ho's calm voice invaded his mind.

  'Just stay still. The Silver Sphere will handle this, so don't be afraid.'

  Un-bong shifted his grip on the wooden staff in his hand. He swallowed hard, but his gaze remained fixed on the beast's eyes, maintaining his composure.

  Five meters away. The tiger lowered its front paws and tensed its hind legs, pressing them firmly into the earth.

  It was the predator’s ready stance, poised to pounce, split the air, and seize Un-bong by the scruff of his neck at any second.

  In that very instant, breaking the silence, the Silver Sphere soared into the air.

  The tiger’s gaze was momentarily captured by this unknown object approaching in a smooth, elegant curve.

  "Grrrr…"

  The thunderous roar that usually shook the mountains was nowhere to be heard. Instead, the tiger let out a stunted, startled yelp.

  Overcome by an instinctive terror, the beast scrambled backward in a panic, eventually stumbling away and vanishing without a trace into the deep underbrush.

  "Ohhh!" Un-bong cried out, the exclamation escaping his lips before he could stop it.

  The scene that had unfolded before his eyes was beyond mysterious—it was miraculous. He could hardly believe that such a formidable weapon was now in his hands. He had clearly tucked the Silver Sphere deep inside his bundle;

  how it had emerged on its own to protect him was a mystery that grew stranger the more he thought about it.

  With a lingering tremor of excitement in his chest, Un-bong hurried his pace toward the foot of the mountain.

  The sun was beginning to dip, and it was already past 4:00 PM. It was time to find a place to rest for the night, but in this era of Joseon,

  there was no such thing as a modern inn.

  Fortunately, there would be a 'Won' nearby—a state-run public lodging facility.

  These were primarily established at key transit points or rugged mountain passes, and among them were 'Seung-won,' which were managed by resident monks.

  These places offered travelers a room for the night and a simple meal in exchange for

  a small fee of rice, barley, or a piece of cloth. Often, the meal was nothing more than a lump of plain white rice without a single side dish, but in the heart of these deep mountains, even that was a feast beyond compare.

  Un-bong searched his memory to gauge the location of the nearest Seung-won.

  It had already been four or five hours since he had left the temple, and his legs were finally starting to feel heavy.