He stepped forward, his teammates moving aside instinctively at his presence. Mu Yichen’s eyes locked onto the blade, his pulse drumming. To make certain, he reached out his hand.

  The sword did not allow it. The moment his fingers neared, the weapon recoiled, light shimmering sharply, a clear rejection.

  The answer was undeniable.

  That man, the half-broken stranger with lifeless eyes, was the one.

  And yet… no one else understood. His companions turned on the stranger, calling him thief, intruder, a parasite trying to steal their hope. Their voices were sharp, full of fury.

  The man did not respond. He only stood there, sword in hand, eyes filled with confusion.

  Mu Yichen could have ended it. He could have spoken one truth, and the world would have shifted. The hero would have been recognized that day, the chosen one acknowledged.

  But he didn’t.

  Because for the first time in years, something stirred inside him. Interest. A flicker of entertainment in the dull gray haze of his perfect, empty life.

  And so, Mu Yichen closed his mouth and let the lie stand.

  They cursed the man. They branded him a thief.

  And Mu Yichen watched in silence, allowing the world to believe he was the chosen one.

  He did not know it then, how deeply that choice would carve scars into the man’s life. How much harm his selfishness would cause Lee Aseok.

  All he knew was that he had found something that finally broke the monotony.

  A fragile, broken figure who carried the sword that had rejected him.

  His first mistake was not letting go.

  Mu Yichen at that time didn’t know what kind of harm he had already dealt Lee Aseok with his silence.

  His selfish choice, one moment of boredom disguised as curiosity, would become the seed of destruction in another man’s life.

  The world, as expected, turned its back on the truth.

  The real chosen one was branded a thief. A fraud. A pathetic parasite who had dared to touch what was never his.

  Meanwhile, Mu Yichen was pitied. Comforted. The sympathy poured onto him as though he were the victim, as though his hands had not been the ones holding the lie in place.

  Nobles, guilds, and even the government bent over backwards to console him. It was laughable, yet fascinating.

  And in the middle of that chaos, Mu Yichen made a discovery.

  The so-called thief—Lee Aseok—wasn’t just anyone. He was also a student of his uncle, Mu Haejoon.

  That revelation hooked Mu Yichen further. His uncle’s hidden apprentice, dragged into this mess, despised by the world, burdened with dull eyes yet still clinging to that sword. A pathetic, broken thing… but interesting.

  So Mu Yichen extended an offer.

  “Join my team.”

  It was a command disguised as kindness.

  Park Taegun and Seo MinHyun had bristled instantly, openly against the idea.

  They didn’t want a stranger. Especially not this stranger, the man everyone mocked, the one whose very presence drew whispers of contempt.

  But Mu Yichen had already decided.

  He played the role flawlessly, gentle, patient, and endlessly understanding.

  While the world spat on Lee Aseok, Mu Yichen offered him a smile.

  While others sneered, he reached out a hand. He never scolded, never mocked. He shielded him in silence, pretending ignorance of the cruelty surrounding them.

  And Lee Aseok, burdened with guilt, began to bend.

  Because deep down, Lee Aseok believed it too, that he had stolen the holy sword from Mu Yichen.

  That perhaps he had ruined the destiny of the rightful chosen one. That guilt was the chain, and Mu Yichen quietly tightened it.

  He wore the mask of the victim perfectly.

  Letting Aseok believe he had wronged him, letting him carry that weight. Slowly, patiently, he stepped into Aseok’s comfort zone.

  And what he found there startled him.

  After spending more time with Lee Aseok, Mu Yichen discovered something that disturbed and fascinated him in equal measure.

  Lee Aseok was fragile, yet resilient. His frame weak, his presence easily overlooked, but his persistence was abnormal.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  A man who didn’t know when to stop. A man who refused to collapse, even when crushed.

  And then there was his obsession.

  Lee Aseok treated the holy sword as though it were a child entrusted to him.

  He cleaned it meticulously, polished it with care, handled it with reverence that bordered on worship. Every motion of his hand was deliberate, almost sacred.

  Mu Yichen recalled his uncle’s words about his second disciple, someone who loved swords too much, someone who lacked talent and strength, but was unyielding in his devotion.

  Even then, Mu Yichen hadn’t imagined that this so-called thief was the low rank no one remembered.

  On impulse, Mu Yichen had made the offer.

  “Let me teach you more about swordsmanship.”

  And for the first time, he saw it. Lee Aseok’s lips curved in the faintest, smallest smile.

  Not one born of joy, but of something deeper, like a dying flame that had flickered back to life for an instant.

  Mu Yichen felt his chest tighten, his heart skip an unfamiliar beat.

  Days later, he caught sight of him again.

  Lee Aseok was sitting alone at a roadside stall, quietly eating a humble meal.

  The picture was unremarkable, almost pitiful, yet Mu Yichen found himself unable to look away. Until the spell broke.

  A man approached. An unawakened civilian. His face twisted with rage as he pointed at Aseok.

  “You shameless thief! Walking around with the holy sword as if you deserve it!”

  The man kicked the table. Bowls shattered, food spilled into the dirt. The meager meal scattered, trampled under passing feet.

  Lee Aseok didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise his head. He simply set down his chopsticks, pulled out the money to pay, and walked away—calm, silent, as if he hadn’t heard a word.

  Mu Yichen, watching from the shadows, felt a sharp pain lance through his chest.

  As if someone had crushed his heart in their fist. He wanted to speak. To intervene. To stop this farce. But before he could….

  The space split open.

  A dungeon break erupted without warning. Cracks split across the street, black mist surging as grotesque monsters spilled forth, their snarls drowning out the noise of the crowd’s screams.

  The monsters poured out of the rift like a tide of nightmares.

  Mu Yichen’s blade moved with mechanical precision, each strike a clean execution. He had long grown numb to the battlefield—the screaming, the blood, the chaos. It was all the same to him.

  But then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the man from earlier—the one who had cursed and kicked Lee Aseok’s meal—stumbling backward in terror. A clawed beast lunged at him, jaws wide open, ready to tear him apart.

  Mu Yichen’s body reacted first, yet he didn’t move. His blade paused mid-swing. He didn’t feel like saving that man. A man like that didn’t deserve to be saved.

  And then, a shadow cut across his vision.

  Lee Aseok.

  With nothing but that battered iron rod, he interposed himself between the man and the monster, the blow of the beast shaking through his thin frame.

  He twisted, pushed, countered, and with a raw, stubborn strike, he killed it. His breathing was ragged, his face pale—but the man behind him lived.

  Mu Yichen’s chest clenched as if gripped by a cold hand.

  Later, when the city was secure and the fires died down, he couldn’t hold back the question.

  “Why?”

  Lee Aseok froze, his hand still resting on the hilt of the holy sword strapped across his back.

  His face betrayed a flicker of discomfort. He knew Mu Yichen had seen it, the insult, the humiliation.

  Still, his answer came. Quiet. Firm.

  “I don’t have the right to decide if a person is good or bad. I’m not a god who can decide who lives and who dies.”

  His eyes lowered to the holy sword. His voice was almost reverent, almost trembling.

  “This sword… It's my job to protect humanity. To judge. Not me.”

  For the first time, Mu Yichen saw it.

  Lee Aseok, his thin figure illuminated by the fading glow of the holy sword—was radiant.

  A light that cut through his dull, lifeless eyes, a brilliance that even the blood and dirt couldn’t obscure.

  At that moment, Mu Yichen understood.

  This was what it meant to be the chosen one.

  This was what it meant to be a hero.

  The entire world had misunderstood.

  And it was his fault.

  Mu Yichen’s throat went dry. He wanted to correct it, to stand before the world and declare the truth.

  To reveal his hidden skill and admit the lie, that he was only holding the sword because the real chosen one had appeared.

  He would do it. He decided. He would announce it.

  But before he could, the news spread.

  The name Lee Aseok filled the headlines. Not as the chosen one. Not as the hero.

  As a criminal.

  As the man accused of using drugs.

  And the world spat on him once more.

  The headlines spread like wildfire.

  Chosen one accused of drug abuse.

  Holy sword thief revealed to be an addict.

  Mu Yichen couldn’t believe it. His blood ran cold the moment he saw Lee Aseok’s name smeared across every screen, every broadcast.

  He rushed to him.

  When he opened the door, the smell of medicine and stale air suffocated him.

  Lee Aseok lay crumpled on the floor, body trembling uncontrollably. His skin was clammy, his breath shallow.

  Scattered around him were dozens of pills—mana boosters, their labels torn, their bitter scent hanging thick in the room.

  Mu Yichen froze.

  A sharp crack split through his chest. He wanted to shout, to demand an explanation, to ask why Lee Aseok was destroying himself like this.

  But when he saw the pain twisting across that pale, exhausted face… his anger dissolved into something he didn’t want to name.

  He fell to his knees. His arms moved on their own, gathering Lee Aseok against him, holding him tight as if he could shield him from the world’s judgment.

  Lee Aseok shuddered in his embrace, fingers twitching, breath hitching.

  Mu Yichen pressed his face against his hair, whispering nothing, only clutching him tighter until the spasms began to fade, until the trembling eased.

  It was then, with his heart pounding painfully in his chest, that Mu Yichen realized.

  He had already fallen for him.

  When Lee Aseok’s eyes finally opened, they were dull again, emptied of light.

  He turned his face away, avoiding Mu Yichen’s gaze. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain.

  Mu Yichen’s rage flared again, not at him, but at the world, at the accusations, at the helplessness clawing at him. He swallowed it down, barely. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth.

  After that day, Mu Yichen never let him out of sight.

  Wherever Lee Aseok went, he followed. Whenever the whispers grew too loud, he stood between him and the crowd.

  Their relationship deepened in that shadowed closeness, forged not in peace but in desperation.

  But Mu Yichen was only one man.

  Dungeon breaks erupted one after another, dragging him into endless battles.

  The government pulled him in every direction, demanding the holy sword’s presence, demanding the false chosen one.

  And no matter how hard he tried to contain the rumors, no matter how he shielded Lee Aseok from the mobs and the sneers, the world’s opinion plummeted.

  Lee Aseok, the real hero, the real chosen one, was branded filth.

  And Mu Yichen could do nothing but watch as his light was buried deeper and deeper in the dark.

  No matter how many monsters they cut down, no matter how many gates they closed, nothing could erase the stain the world had painted on Lee Aseok.

  To the public, he was a fraud, an addict, a thief who dared to touch the holy sword.

  To Mu Yichen, he was the only one who deserved to wield it.

  And yet, all his efforts, shielding him from cameras, silencing rumors, holding him close at night when the tremors shook him, meant nothing. The world had already decided.

  Then one day, his mother found out.

  She summoned him into her study. The air was cold, heavy with incense. Her voice was sharp as steel when she spoke:

  “End it.”

  Author Note:

  Every “OH MY GOD ASEOK STOP” gives me the strength to write the next disaster.

  Mon ? Wed ? Fri

  (Yes, I too question my life choices.)

  https://www.patreon.com/c/LithutheBloom

  please leave a review or rating—it helps summon new victims readers. ??