It had always been this way. The people of Sinanju always walked uneasily when the Master was in residence. Although tradition dictated that every Master take the pledge not to raise a hand against a member of the village, one never knew. Especially in these days of uncertainty. This Master who walked among them would be the last. All gathered there this day knew it was so.

Chiun. That was all he would ever be. Not Chiun the Great or even Chiun the Lesser, for honorifics like "great" or "lesser" were bestowed only on those who did not fail. And this Chiun-Who-Would-Have-No-Title had failed like no other Master before him.

"Cursed are we to live in this time, with this Master who has failed us," the women said in hushed voices when they thought the failed Master Chiun was out of earshot.

"Silence," the fearful men insisted. They cowered at the edge of the crowd, behind the women and children. "Yes, he has failed. But even in failure he is strong."

"Not strong enough to find a suitable heir. Not strong enough to protect the village of his ancestors. His strength has waned. The time of the great Masters of Sinanju is over."

Although whispered, their words still carried. Chiun did not let them know he could hear every barbed word.

Such it was for a Master of Sinanju. The ability to detect a lone truthful whisper in a chorus of joyful lies was but a single skill in the arsenal of Sinanju.

He left the crowd to their fraudulent celebration. He spurned the main road from the village, taking the path that led into the rocky hills above the shore. Chiun skittered along the treacherous path in seeming defiance of the force of gravity. His surefootedness would have seemed miraculous to many, given his apparent age.