The incense was burning low in the Black Sun Pavilion (흑일각 / Heug-il-gak / 黑日閣).
Scrolls fluttered slightly under the slow breeze creeping in through the open wooden panels.
A group of workers sat huddled around a low table, documents and ink stones spread across the surface.
But their focus had long since drifted.
"I'm telling you..."
Muttered Investigator Ha Rin, rubbing her temples.
"...he hasn't said a word to anyone since morning assembly."
"That's not new."
Said Jung Do, lifting a brush to correct a name on a census report.
"He's never been one for chit-chat."
"No, I mean it's different. He's been spacing out.
Just staring at reports without moving.
You think he's... alright?"
Jung Do gave a light chuckle, setting the brush aside.
"It's the Chief Overseer we're talking about.
The Blood Sun Blossoming Blade.
He's probably solved a dozen internal audits in his head by now."
Still, their eyes shifted toward the tall windows, where the orange sun spilled gold over the floor.
"Where is he now?"
"Last I saw, he went up toward the west stairs.
Alone."
The two glanced at each other.
"You know what, you might be right.
Someone should check on him."
Jung Do frowned. "Where's his assistant?"
Ha Rin hesitated.
"…He said the Chief sent him away.
No one's been near him since."
That gave them both pause.
Finally, Jung Do sighed and stood up.
"Come on. Just a few words.
If he turns us to ice, that's on you."
They made their way out, walking the curved stone path that led toward the western stairwell carved into the side of the mountain.
The wind was colder here.
And there he was.
Seated alone on the steps, high above the compound.
The Chief Overseer.
He sat still, back straight, one hand resting beside his sheathed sword, the other hanging loosely off his knee.
The setting sun burned orange-red across the horizon, slipping between two jagged mountains.
It reflected in his hair, black as pitch, loose and flowing behind him.
"…He's not wearing his jade pin."
Ha Rin whispered.
Strangely enough, even without it, his long hair rested perfectly behind him, as though even the wind obeyed.
And then he turned.
His eyes were open—fully. Narrow no more.
His black robes, pristine and unbothered by dust, billowed gently.
Gold-tasselled sheath in his right hand, relaxed. Still.
Jung Do cleared his throat and bowed.
"Chief Overseer… forgive the interruption.
Are you… well?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze returned to the horizon.
"Has the pavilion's logistics inventory been reshelved according to classification protocol?"
His voice was quiet, yet it cut like steel.
"Not yet..."
Ha Rin muttered.
"We were getting to it—"
"You shouldn't delay.
See to it."
There was no anger. No reprimand. Just expectation.
A calm, cold expectation that weighed more than any shouting ever could.
He stood then, not facing them, both hands behind his back, sword still in hand.
The wind caught his robe, flaring it gently behind him.
White-yellow flower petals, carried from some unseen source, drifted around him in silence.
The investigators bowed again, both hands in fists as custom demanded, and turned to leave.
"…I think he's part ghost."
Ha Rin muttered under her breath once they were safely down the steps.
Jung Do didn't look back.
"Shut up. He will hear you."
---
I inhaled, then let out a slow, deliberate breath.
The air here… it was different.
More refined, pure in a way that opened the lungs completely, like it had never known the smog and staleness of city air.
Each breath felt like a kind of clarity, as though the very mountains had wrung the impurities out of the wind before letting it pass into the Black Sun Pavilion.
It was easier to think here. Really think.
But no matter how clear the air, no matter how long I sat at this spot for the past three days, my mind still struggled to fully grasp the truth of it.
I was possessed by a game.
The thought alone would've been laughable if it wasn't my reality now.
Ridiculous, absurd, something that might spark a weak chuckle on someone else's lips.
But for me?
It was terrifying.
Because this wasn't just any world.
This was Murim.
A cruel, hierarchical world where strength determined life, death, and everything in between.
A place where demonic sects warred against righteous alliances, where betrayal was as common as breath, and where the foolish or weak were chewed up and forgotten in the name of martial arts.
And me?
Well... I could just lay low, couldn't I?
Live in some remote village off the map like any self-aware transmigrator would.
Disappear into obscurity.
Let the chaos play out and avoid it all.
But I couldn't.
Because leaving the sect now,especially without cause, would raise too many questions.
Suspicion would breed faster than flies on corpses.
And more importantly...
I possessed the body of Nam Gyeol.
The only character I'd been assigned during my brief, uninspiring time at SilverLine Studios, my old job.
No big titles.
No flashy promotions.
No role in worldbuilding or story direction or creative direction like I dreamed of.
Just a menial character to "flesh out" the Demonic Faction's civil branch.
No one else wanted it.
It wasn't even meant to be important.
But I accepted it.
Took it seriously.
Worked on it like my life depended on it.
Because back then, it kind of did.
A salary was a salary.
Corporate work didn't care about passion—just completion.
And if designing one character in a faction nobody liked paid the bills, then that was enough.
At first, Nam Gyeol's purpose was simple: act as a supporting character for players who joined the demonic faction. Help them navigate cases. Serve as flavor text.
Maybe appear in a few other quests.
Rarely did anyone pick the demonic faction.
Most players leaned toward the Orthodox sects.
Joining the righteous Murim Alliance, earning titles like Heaven's Blade or Seven-Sealed Monk.
No one cared about some dark-robed investigator in a faction known for blood rituals and insanity.
And yet... that gave me the freedom to build Nam Gyeol however I wanted.
To imagine he had depth. Story. History.
And I treated him like he belonged among the major figures, like the young masters or the Supreme Demons.
Even the Cheonma.
I had loved building him because no one else would.
And now, here I was.
Sitting on the very same steps I'd placed in his concept art, watching the horizon split open as the sun dipped between two jagged mountains.
I sighed, then muttered under my breath.
"...Wow. Minjae really did a number on the graphics..."
It was breathtaking.
The detail.
The palette of burnt gold and coral pink bleeding through the clouds.
The exact kind of landscape we referenced during meetings.
It was strange seeing it in person—unsettling, really.
Especially knowing that one of the core genres here was supposed to be horror.
"Shit…"
I looked down at the white sheath in my hand. Hugged it loosely to my chest.
Of course.
Nam Gyeol's core narrative was horror.
At the time, I thought it would be thrilling to take on.
Make him a stoic investigator-type in a blood-soaked sect, complete with psychological tension and monstrous secrets.
I poured everything into it—ritualistic crimes, suppressed memories, ghost-infested reports.
I made him layered.
I thought it was fun.
But now?
"Life really has a funny way of circling back..."
I dropped my gaze, resting my chin just slightly against the sheath's lacquered surface, and stared at the marble stairs.
The edges of my robe pooled beside me, brushing against the cold stone. I touched the fabric slowly, almost reverently.
Felt the seams. The embroidery. The weight.
"This is really real..."
I muttered to myself, pressing my fingers against my chest, arms, face—anywhere.
Anything to wake up.
There had been hope, in the beginning.
That maybe I'd passed out at my desk again.
That I'd just overworked myself into a fevered dream.
I'd even tried sleeping over and over again here in the Black Sun Pavilion, hoping I'd blink awake to the hum of fluorescent lights and the whirr of my PC.
Instead, I slept. Then woke. Slept again. Woke again.
Until the people here—my subordinates—started whispering behind my back, unsure whether to approach me or leave me be.
But I was their Chief Overseer.
Too high up to confront casually. Too cold to speak to without nerves.
I couldn't even blame them.
Still…
It couldn't all be a dream.
That incident back at the office—that moment—it replayed in my mind.
The monitor glowing bright white.
The high-pitched static.
The sudden pain behind my eyes. Blood gushing from my ears. My nose. My mouth.
I shivered at the memory. Just for a moment.
I don't know how many times I went over that same sequence in my head.
But by the second day here, I knew one thing for sure:
I wasn't going back.
So I made a decision.
I'd live as Nam Gyeol.
...