And the fire of pure evil from his mother's eyes reflected full in the young boy's hazel eyes.

Chapter 1

His name was Chiun and he was the Master of Sinanju and he was leaving.

Although it was late spring, winter refused to release its grip on the Korean peninsula. Despite the cold morning, the village of Sinanju was alive with celebration. There was rice wine and cakes, cured fish and dried fruit. There was singing and dancers and the laughter of children. All taking place under a sky of perfect white-streaked blue.

Such it was when a Master left. Such had it always been. Tributes and laudations came from those whose needs were sustained by the Master's toil.

The tiny fishing village of Sinanju in North Korea had seen many such celebrations. For five thousand years it had been home to the most feared assassins in human history. The discipline that had risen from the rocks near the shore of the West Korean Bay was the source of all the lesser martial arts. They were but rays, pale reflections of the blinding glory of the sun that was the discipline known as Sinanju.

"Hail, Master of Sinanju, who sustains the village and keeps the code faithfully," called the villagers as Chiun passed by. "Our hearts cry with joy and pain at your departure. Joy that you undertake this journey for the sake of we, the unworthy beneficiaries of your generosity. And pain that your toils take your beauteous aspect from our midst. May the spirits of your ancestors journey safe with you who graciously throttles the universe."

As Master of the village, Chiun accepted the words with a stoic face. The praises continued to fall on his proudly erect back as he passed through the crowd.

Of course he knew the hymns of honor that trailed him were hollow. There was more beneath the smiling faces. Here the hint of a frown, there the beginnings of a scowl. Facial muscles ached from frozen smiles. They lied to him now because none dared express his true feelings.