Category: Struggle for Supremacy in the Demonic Path

“Are you referring to the young lady?”

“Young lady, my foot. Just call her Seol.”

“I’ve seen her from a distance a few times… but I’ve never spoken to her directly.”

“That’s only because you’ve been so busy.”

Bi Unseong gave Sa Dobin a subtle glance.

Sa Dobin caught on to his intent and spoke up.

“Leader Yu.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you take the kids out for some fresh air for a moment?”

Yuwol looked confused, unsure of his meaning.

Sa Dobin, as if handling official business, got straight to the point.

“We’re planning to send the young lady down from the mountain.”

Only then did Yuwol understand what Sa Dobin had meant earlier.

Sa Dobin continued,

“She’s twenty now. It’s about time she learned about the world of martial arts. Things have been quiet in the martial world lately, so the timing seems right. It would be best to do it before the Seven-Year Pact ends.”

Yuwol nodded silently.

“So, we’re thinking of entrusting her with a small business in Gansu.”

“A business?”

“We haven’t decided yet. We may let her handle everything herself. And for that…”

Sa Dobin took a breath, his expression turning slightly apologetic.

“You’ll have to escort her.”

Yuwol remained silent for a moment.

Bi Unseong and Sa Dobin watched him carefully. Tasking the leader of the Black Wind Division with babysitting a sheltered young lady—it was a request that disregarded rank and command structure, making them feel apologetic.

Yuwol responded calmly,

“Understood. Leave it to me.”

The moment Yuwol agreed without hesitation, Bi Unseong’s expression brightened.

“Well, what can I say? Once you have children of your own, you’ll understand how I feel. I apologize.”

Yuwol, having already accepted the task, replied with formality,

“It’s only natural that I take on this duty.”

He was the type of person who, once he made a decision, never looked back.

“I appreciate that.”

“When do we depart?”

“It’ll take a few days to prepare everything.”

“We have several ongoing matters.”

“Hand them over to the Iron Cavalry Division. I’ll speak to their leader myself.”

“Understood.”

“And…”

Sa Dobin’s tone turned serious.

“Word will reach the Righteous Alliance and other people eventually, but try to keep a low profile.”

Yuwol silently nodded.

“Leader Yu.”

Bi Unseong’s voice softened.

“If she misbehaves, discipline her. Even if that means giving her a good spanking.”

“Are you serious?”

Yuwol asked earnestly, causing Bi Unseong’s voice to waver.

“…Just not too harshly.”

A faint smile played on Yuwol’s lips.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

The three of them continued discussing Bi Seol’s departure for a while.

Eventually, Yuwol left the room first. As he stepped out, Bi Unseong called after him.

“Leader Yu.”

“Yes.”

Bi Unseong’s gaze deepened as he looked at him.

“…Bring her back alive.”

—

Passing through more than ten layers of strict security, Yuwol finally left the Heavenly Demon Palace and headed straight to his personal training hall.

In the thirty-pyeong-wide hall, one corner was piled high with unsheathed blades. Next to them was another heap of broken swords.

At the center of the training hall stood a single iron rod.

The rod was horizontally placed at about half a handspan in height, its ends firmly secured by heavy iron blocks. It was about two feet long, resembling a short staff.

A faint bluish hue shimmered on its surface, indicating that it was no ordinary iron.

Yuwol extended his hand.

Whoosh.

One of the swords from the pile flew into his grasp.

He stepped toward the iron rod.

After silently gazing at it for a moment, he closed his eyes and steadied his breath.

“If you can cut through this rod with an ordinary blade, without using internal energy, I will teach you the latter seven forms of the Nine Infernal Blade Techniques.”

The voice echoing in his mind belonged to the Heavenly Demon, Bi Unseong.

Three months ago, Bi Unseong had secretly given him this new challenge.

Five years ago, Bi Unseong had taught him the Nine Infernal Blade Techniques, which were divided into the first seven forms and the latter seven forms. What he had learned was only the first half.

Yuwol still did not fully understand why the Heavenly Demon had passed the technique onto him.

Five years ago was the year the Seven-Year Pact had brought peace to the martial world, and the year he had become the youngest division leader in history. Rumors and criticisms had been rampant at the time. Perhaps this training was meant to silence the doubts. Or… was there another reason?

He sometimes wondered if Bi Unseong was searching for a successor. Though that was the last thing Yuwol wanted.

Regardless, the transmission of the Nine Infernal Blade Techniques had been conducted in absolute secrecy. No one knew about it except Sa Dobin.

He had already mastered the first seven forms to perfection.

Apart from the official techniques he had used to cut down the Wind Demon, most of the martial arts he employed were a modified version of the Infernal Blade Techniques, utilizing only about thirty percent of its potential.

Even so, he was already known as the Seven Blades of Ruin.

If he could fully master the latter seven forms, which were said to be far more refined and powerful, the results would be unimaginable.

Yuwol, who had been steadying his breath with closed eyes, suddenly opened them.

In that instant—

Whoosh—

A sharp gust of wind echoed through the hall.

Yuwol appeared motionless.

Then—

Clang.

The sword in his hand shattered belatedly. The strike had been so swift that the break occurred with a delay.

Yuwol clenched his wrist, his expression tightening.

He had failed to cut the rod once again. That was the fastest he could swing.

Bi Unseong wouldn’t have given him an impossible task. But at this moment, that iron rod was a monster—one that refused to die, no matter how much he struck it.

Frustrated, Yuwol threw the broken blade aside.

The shattered weapon landed with a metallic clang, merging into the grave of discarded swords.

Yuwol unfastened the front of his robe.

On his chest, a crimson handprint was etched.

The Five-Colored hand print.

Like a brand, it was embedded into his skin, each of the five fingers glowing faintly in red, yellow, blue, purple, and black.

The scar on his left cheek throbbed.

He slowly touched it.

—

Memories are powerless against time.

There was a time when he swung his sword only to survive, only to grow stronger.

He had thought that the stronger he became, the greater his thirst for revenge would be.

But the opposite was true.

As time passed, his hatred faded.

Even unforgettable events… eventually succumbed to time.

—

Yuwol’s eyes turned bloodshot.

Even if he wanted to cry, he could no longer shed tears. He had already lost the most precious human ability—to cry when he needed to.

A surge of dark energy erupted from his body. The entire training hall trembled under the invisible storm.

Yuwol’s fist struck the air.

Boom!

A deafening explosion rang out as a hole burst open in the thick steel wall of the training hall.

Dust rained down from the ceiling.

“Hoo—”

Yuwol exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

As his breathing steadied, a face suddenly appeared in the hole he had just created.

It was Jinpae, looking cautious.

“There’s a problem.”

Yuwol straightened his robe. His expression had already returned to calm.

Jinpae hesitated before continuing.

“Captain Bai Wei has been taken to the Command Hall.”

“For what reason?”

“They’re investigating internal corruption.”

Yuwol’s expression turned slightly weary.

Jinpae looked uneasy.

“Tell them we have an important operation and need him released.”

Jinpae hesitated before adding,

“…I think you’ll need to handle this personally.”

Before Yuwol could ask why, Jinpae explained,

“The Command Hall’s chief won’t let him go easily. The way they’re handling this, it’s clear they want to meet you.”

Yuwol nodded in understanding.

“Let’s go.”

With long steps, he left the training hall and headed toward the Command Hall.

---

“Oh, Leader Yu. What brings you here?”

Command Division Leader Gu Ho-yeol looked surprised by Yuwol’s visit.

Gu Ho-yeol was a middle-aged man with a solid build and a strict demeanor. As the head of the Command Division, responsible for overseeing the unruly martial artists, he was known for his meticulous and unyielding nature.

“Come, have a seat.”

Yuwol sat across from Gu Ho-yeol at the table set in the middle of the office.

“What kind of tea would you like?”

“I’m fine.”

Declining the tea, Yuwol got straight to the point.

“I heard one of my subordinates has been captured.”

Gu Ho-yeol poured tea into his own cup and replied.

“Most people prefer Dragon Well or Tieguanyin, but I like this Biluochun. It’s a tea that only grows on the east and west hills of Dongting Lake.”

Ignoring Yuwol’s words, he continued talking about tea as if he hadn’t heard him.

“I’ll send you some later. Even Master Sword has taken a liking to it after I introduced it to him. Now he’s more obsessed with it than I am. Haha.”

“Thank you.”

Yuwol expressed his gratitude with a calm expression.

Sipping his tea, Gu Ho-yeol eventually spoke.

“The discipline within the cult has been slackening lately. Ever since the Seven-Year Pact, there’s been no real conflict with the Justice Alliance, so naturally…”

Yuwol cut him off firmly.

“I’d like you to delay the interrogation of my subordinate.”

Gu Ho-yeol’s expression stiffened slightly, but Yuwol continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Our main unit has an important operation coming up. I need him.”

Gu Ho-yeol called for the warrior waiting outside. The Black Enforcer who had captured Baek Wi entered the room.

“Bring me the Black Wind Squad case file.”

“Yes. Here it is.”

As if he had been expecting the order, the Black Enforcer immediately handed over the file.

Flipping through the pages, Gu Ho-yeol read aloud.

“Bai Wei, Fourth Squad Leader of the Black Wind Squad. Took a bribe of three thousand nyang from the Heungan Branch Leader.”

After scanning the document for a moment, he shook his head.

“This is troublesome… very troublesome.”

Yuwol glanced at Gu Ho-yeol.

Their gazes met midair, both unreadable.

“I’ve already arrested the Heungan Branch Leader. If I go easy on your man while punishing the other, wouldn’t that be unfair?”

Yuwol stared at him for a moment before standing up. He didn’t bother mentioning getting authorization from the cult leader to descend the mountain.

Running to a stronger elder for help after getting beaten up was what children did. Adults had their own way of handling things.

“I understand.”

“Don’t take it too personally.”

Without another word, Yuwol stepped out.

As soon as he left, a cold sneer formed on Gu Ho-yeol’s lips.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Then, turning to the Black Enforcer beside him, he asked,

“What about him?”

“He’s a tough one. Still refusing to talk.”

“Make sure he confesses.”

“Yes. Mad Dog is handling the interrogation personally. He’ll break soon.”

“We need justification. Once we prove his crimes, we’ll have a reason to investigate the Black Wind Squad Leader. And once that happens, he’s finished.”

“But… aren’t we pushing too hard? If the cult leader gets involved, things could get complicated.”

Unlike the cautious Black Enforcer, Gu Ho-yeol was resolute.

“The cult leader won’t interfere. No, he can’t. That bastard, the Black Wind Squad Leader… He’s just that kind of person.”

Looking out the window, Gu Ho-yeol spotted Yuwol leaving the building.

Tapping his fingers against the window frame, he murmured,

“He’s grown too much. Before he gets any bigger, he needs to be stepped on.”

---

Meanwhile, Jinpae, who had been waiting outside, rushed over to Yuwol.

“How did it go?”

Yuwol glanced up at the building. Gu Ho-yeol was staring down at him from the window.

Then, shifting his gaze back to Jinpae, he said,

“He wants a fight.”

Jinpae smirked.

“Who’s out on missions right now?”

“Second, Third, and Fifth squads are deployed.”

Striding forward, Yuwol ordered,

“Call all the squad leaders back by midnight.”

As Yuwol walked away, Jinpae turned to look up at the Command Division building.

Gu Ho-yeol was glaring down at them with a displeased expression.

Grinning broadly, Jinpae met his gaze.

With an irritated flick, the curtains were drawn shut.

Bang!

The Narakdo pierced through the man’s back and embedded itself deep into the iron door. The man’s body, which had been writhing as it hung from the blade, soon went limp. He had not been one of the hundred greatest experts in the martial world, but he had been strong enough to crush ordinary masters with ease. His death was empty and meaningless.

Yeo Ga-hwi’s legs gave out, and he collapsed on the spot.

Yuwol didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small medicine bottle, looking down at Pungma’s corpse with an unreadable expression.

Then, he tilted the bottle.

Sizzle—

Smoke rose as the lightning-shaped wound began to melt away, accompanied by a foul stench.

Yuwol slowly turned to look at Yeo Ga-hwi.

“Gah!”

Startled by that gaze, Yeo Ga-hwi hiccupped. He was facing someone who would even destroy a corpse to hide his martial arts. There was no doubt about what would happen to him after witnessing everything with his own eyes.

As he trembled, hiccuping pathetically, Yuwol stepped toward him.

Yeo Ga-hwi’s last desperate struggle for survival began.

“D-Do you take me for a fool? That list of names is fake! If you kill me, my companion will send the real list to both the Orthodox Alliance and the Demonic Alliance!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“W-What?”

“It’s fake anyway.”

“Wh-what did you say? That’s impossible! I confirmed it through the Tong-eui-mun Sect myself—!”

“The Tong-eui-mun Sect members you met were all fakes. A fabrication of our Ink Dragon Corps.”

Yeo Ga-hwi stood in stunned silence, completely shocked. His hiccups had stopped as if they had never existed.

“Then… all of this was a trap?”

His voice was now trembling with tears.

“You said you only came to retrieve an item…”

“The item I spoke of… was not that item.”

“What…?”

Yuwol reached out his hand, and the Narakdo embedded in the iron door shot out, flying into his grip. The corpse of the gatekeeper that had been hanging from it tumbled down the stairs.

Staring blankly at the fallen corpse, Yeo Ga-hwi finally understood.

The ‘item’ Yuwol had come to collect was Pungma’s life.

And his own.

Tears streamed down Yeo Ga-hwi’s face.

“Please… spare me.”

But Yuwol’s response was chillingly indifferent.

“In the martial world, people die over a single silver coin. You dreamed of a fortune worth a million taels—surely you don’t find it too unfair?”

Swish!

With a sharp slicing sound, Yeo Ga-hwi’s head flew into the air.

Yuwol rummaged through the corpse, retrieved the banknote, and then slowly ascended the stairs. As he walked, he pulled something from his robes and rolled it to the ground. A small bead tumbled down the steps.

At the moment Yuwol stepped out and closed the door behind him—

BOOM!

The underground chamber collapsed in a thunderous explosion.

---

And then…

How much time had passed?

Rustle.

From beneath the rubble of the collapsed stone chamber, someone stirred.

Astonishingly, it was the middle-aged man in a flowery robe—the very first person who had seemingly died.

Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms wide, as if waking from a deep sleep.

Crack, crack!

The sound of bones grinding together echoed from his chest, which had been shattered by Pungma’s strike.

Hummmm—

A tremendous aura surged from his body.

It was unmistakably demonic energy.

And shockingly, it surpassed even that of Pungma and Yuwol.

Plop.

The face mask, which had perfectly imitated the expression of the flamboyant man, slipped from his face and fell to the ground.

He turned toward the iron door Yuwol had disappeared through. His back shook lightly.

He was laughing.

---

Chapter 3: Ninefold Demon Devouring Art

Three days later, at dawn.

Divine Demonic Sect’s headquarters in Great Sky Mountain.

In the front yard of the Black Wind Squad’s residence, the Whirlwind Pavilion, the loud voice of Bai Wei, the Fourth Squad Leader of the Black Wind Squad, rang out.

“Shit! Let me go!”

Two men firmly held his arms. They were warriors from the Command Pavilion. Standing before them, silent, was a middle-aged man—the Black Commander, who had led the Command Pavilion warriors here.

Bai Wei’s expression turned ferocious. He was a head shorter than the two men holding him, and his height was always the first thing people noticed. However, the real reason he left a strong first impression wasn’t his size but his body—his copper-toned muscles looked tough enough to make a sword spark upon impact. Even when he smiled with good intentions, people instinctively flinched, wondering, Why does he look like that?!

And now, with his face contorted in rage, he truly looked like a Demonic God of Fury.

His weapon was a mighty bow so strong that ordinary experts couldn’t even draw it, earning him the title Dominating Demon Bow.

“Let go, or I’ll kill you!”

The two warriors holding him looked troubled. Bai Wei was unrelenting, and they kept glancing back and forth between him and the Black Commander.

“You can’t.”

“If you don’t let go by the count of three, I’m gonna start breaking bones! One! Two! Three!”

Thunk!

Without waiting for a response, Bai Wei slammed his forehead into the face of the warrior holding his right arm.

Blood gushed from the warrior’s forehead as he staggered back.

Bai Wei then snapped his head toward the man on his left and barked,

“One! Two—!”

The warrior flinched in terror and instantly let go, jumping back several steps.

Smack!

But at that moment, someone struck the warrior hard on the back of the head.

It was the Black Commander.

“You idiot! You just let go because he told you to? How the hell am I supposed to trust fools like you?!”

The Black Commander sighed, rubbing his temples, then turned to Bai Wei with a scowl.

Bai Wei clicked his tongue.

“So what now?”

Without a word, the Black Commander swung his hand.

Smack!

Bai Wei’s head snapped to the side.

A moment later, he slowly turned back, his eyes filled with murderous intent.

“You just hit me?”

The Black Commander repeated the words right back at him.

“You just hit me?”

Smack!

The Black Commander struck him again, sending Bai Wei’s head whipping in the opposite direction.

Demonic energy flared from Bai Wei’s body.

But the Black Commander met his gaze head-on and shouted,

“Yeah, I hit you! Do you even know who I am?!”

The Command Pavilion was the Divine Demonic Sect’s internal affairs and oversight division, responsible for investigating corruption within the sect. Along with the Scarlet Tiger Corps, they were one of the two most powerful factions under the direct command of the Heavenly Demon himself.

The Command Pavilion’s authority was so great that even the Six Demon Lords, the highest-ranking elders, had to be carefully around them.

The Black Commander, who had just struck Bai Wei, was a veteran among the Thirty-Six Black Commanders.

“Shit, so what if you’re in the Command Pavilion?”

At Bai Wei’s crude response, the Black Commander’s eyes sharpened.

“You little bastard! Just because you’re in the Black Wind Squad, you think you can do whatever you want?”

“If I’ve done nothing wrong, why are you dragging me away?”

“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about. An investigation will prove it.”

“And if you lock me in a dark room and start making up crimes? Isn’t that your usual trick?”

“Oh, so you wanna go all out, huh?”

“I don’t know, damn it! Who the hell is overseeing you guys?”

The Black Commander, as if he no longer saw any value in dealing with the situation, snapped irritably at his subordinate warriors.

“What are you waiting for? Take him away!”

Shaking off the warriors’ grasp, Bai Wei shouted again.

“To hell with the Black Commander or whatever! Let’s settle this like men, one-on-one!”

The Black Commander looked at him, dumbfounded.

At that moment, two men walked out side by side from the building.

It was Jinpae of Iljo Hall and his right-hand man, Seo wong.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

At Jinpae’s stern question, Bai Wei shouted back in frustration.

“Hyungnim! Is this how it’s supposed to be? They won’t even tell me what’s going on and just try to drag me away. I swear I’m innocent!”

His terrifying face looked as if tears might start falling at any moment.

Jinpae raised a hand to calm Bai Wei, then turned to the Black Commander.

“What’s this about?”

At Jinpae’s appearance, the Black Commander eased up a little. Jinpae was the oldest of the Black Wind Corps’ captains, and he was known to act with the wisdom befitting his age.

“Captain Jin, a word in private.”

The Black Commander pulled Jinpae aside.

He whispered in Jinpae’s ear.

“A report came in about internal corruption. Even for you, Captain Jin, I can’t say more than that.”

“Internal corruption?”

Jinpae looked surprised, but the Black Commander wore an uncomfortable expression and said nothing more.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Jinpae nodded, indicating he got the message.

He turned to Bai Wei and spoke reassuringly.

“Just go quietly. Don’t worry about what comes after.”

Perhaps because he couldn’t defy Jinpae’s words, Bai Wei sighed in resignation and allowed himself to be taken away.

Even as he was dragged off, his mouth didn’t stop running.

“I’m innocent! You lot better brace yourselves. You three! Get back home right now and spank your kids’ butts a few more times while you still can. If I’m found innocent, I’ll skin you alive and bury you right here side by side! I swear to the heavens, I’m innocent!”

And with that, Bai Wei was taken away by the warriors of the Command Pavilion.

Watching him go, Jinpae muttered with concern.

“That bastard’s temper will cause a mess even after he’s locked up. He’ll end up shouldering a crime he didn’t commit… We need to get him out fast.”

Hearing this, Seo wong scratched his head awkwardly.

“Hmm… That might be a little difficult.”

“Why?”

Seo wong hesitated for a moment.

Sensing something, Jinpae pressed him.

“You know something, don’t you? Spill it!”

With a resigned look, Seo wong answered.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?”

Jinpae stared at him, and suddenly, realization dawned on him.

“Don’t tell me… That bastard actually took money?”

“…Yeah.”

“Damn it. How much did he take?”

“Seems like about three thousand nyang.”

“What? Three thousand nyang? That crazy bastard! Since when did you know about this?”

“…Last month, during their squad’s gathering, he invited me and a few of my guys to a big drinking party. Bai Wei got drunk and let it slip. Said he took some under-the-table money from the Xing’an branch lord during a previous operation. The guy was desperate to join the main headquarters.”

Jinpae turned to look in the direction Bai Wei had been dragged off, wearing an incredulous expression.

“So that bastard took three thousand nyang and still shouted about being innocent? Just what kind of sky was he swearing his innocence to?”

“Well, technically speaking, he’s not guilty. Baek Captain isn’t the type to interfere in appointments. He just took the money and kept his mouth shut. He didn’t ask for it first.”

Jinpae exploded.

“You idiot! How is that any better? That bastard. If Elder Yu finds out, he’s dead meat.”

Seo wong pouted and muttered.

“You always go on about Elder Yu when he’s not around, but in front of him, you grovel.”

“You—!”

“Haha, just joking. But did Elder Yu return already? That was quick.”

“He barely stepped inside before getting summoned.”

“To where? The Command Pavilion?”

Jin Pae shook his head and silently raised a thumb.

At that moment, Yuwol was stepping into the Heavenly Demon Palace’s lord’s office.

As he entered, Bi Unseong greeted him warmly.

“Oh, Elder Yu, you’re here.”

Inside the room was also the Grand Strategist, Sa Dobin.

After offering a respectful bow to Bi Unseong, Yuwol gave Sa Dobin a slight nod.

Sa Dobin returned it with a friendly smile.

“Come, have a seat. It’s been hot lately. You must be exhausted.”

Bi Unseong grasped Yuwol’s hand and guided him to a seat.

“Where are you coming from?”

“There was a dispute between Seokcheon’s branch and the dispatched Ghost Shadow Unit.”

“I see. Was it resolved properly? Well, since you went yourself…”

“Seokcheon agreed to yield.”

“Haha. That must have pissed off Dugu a bit.”

Dugu was the master of Seokcheon.

At that, Sa Dobin interjected cautiously.

“He probably expected this outcome anyway. Making a fuss was just his way of asking for attention.”

Bi Unseong nodded.

“Shall we find him a position in the inner ranks next year?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Now, have some tea before it gets cold.”

Yuwol took a sip. In the sweltering summer, the taste of hot tea had its own charm.

“And here.”

Yuwol pulled out a ledger and a fake registry from his robe and handed them to Sa Dobin.

Slipping them into his own robes, Sa Dobin quietly asked.

“Who was it?”

“It was Senior Pungma.”

As if he had expected this answer, Sa Dobin simply nodded.

“We might be in for a bit of trouble.”

He was referring to the Demon Sword.

“I’m prepared.”

Bi Unseong, who had been quietly drinking his tea, feigned ignorance. If the Seokcheon operation was a public mission, Pungma’s case was a secret one, led by Sa Dobin. Naturally, Bi Unseong knew about it, but publically, it was a matter of discretion.

Setting his teacup down, Bi Unseong casually asked.

“By the way, have you met our Seol yet?”

The middle-aged man in the floral robe instinctively drew his sword. It was the treasured sword of Master Lee Cheong, which he had purchased earlier.

Clang!

With a crisp sound, the sword snapped in half.

The broken blade was caught between Pungma’s index and middle fingers.

Witnessing such immense strength, Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong swallowed dryly. A renowned sword capable of slicing through steel like tofu had been broken by mere fingers. That was a level far beyond their comprehension.

“…Hup.”

The man in the floral robe gulped.

If his opponent hadn’t been Pungma, he might have raised his voice, accusing the seller of peddling a fake. But now, he had no such luxury.

Pungma, as if putting on a show, slowly clenched his right fist in front of the man’s face.

When his fist closed completely, an astonishing phenomenon occurred—the air around it trembled, producing a distinct wind sound.

Whoooosh—

Hyeol bong and Won Ryeong’s faces turned pale in an instant. It was only then that they truly realized their opponent was Pungma.

Before they could react, Pungma’s fist was already in motion.

Crunch!

With a single strike, the floral-robed man’s chest was crushed. His body flew like a kite with its string severed, slammed into the wall, and bounced off lifelessly, still clutching the broken sword.

“Continue.”

As if nothing had happened, Pungma crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

Hyeol bong and Won Ryeong exchanged glances, their eyes filled with unspoken agreement—if it came to it, they would join forces. But since their opponent was Pungma, such a thought provided little comfort.

Yeo Ga-hwi smiled as he looked at the three remaining people.

“As I mentioned earlier, the starting price is fifty thousand nyang.”

At that moment, Hyeol bong, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.

“How can we be sure that it’s genuine?”

As if expecting the question, Yeo Ga-hwi unhesitatingly pulled a document from his sleeve and unfolded it.

“You must have heard of Tong Eui Mun.”

A well-known intelligence organization in the martial world—Tong Eui Mun.

“We selected a few names from this register at random and had them verified. And this here is Tong Eui Mun’s guarantee that the list is genuine.”

In the intelligence world, a guarantee from Tong Eui Mun was synonymous with truth.

Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong let out low sighs.

Both of them had come on a mission to verify the authenticity of this information—one from the Justice Alliance, the other from the Dark Alliance. Just as Jinpae had brought the Black Wind Squad, they had warriors waiting nearby, poised to act. But with Pungma here, their backup was meaningless.

A register of high-ranking officials in the Demonic Sect.

When they first received the information, they hadn’t been sure whether to believe it. Yet, despite their doubts, they had been sent because if the information proved true, it would shake the martial world to its core.

For the Justice Alliance, allowing such intelligence to fall into the hands of the Dark Alliance was unacceptable. The opposite was true for the Dark Alliance. Even if this didn’t immediately lead to war, it was a piece of information with enormous political implications.

This time, Won Ryeong stepped forward.

“There is something I am curious about. If one of us purchases it, the other two could return and leak the information. That would reduce its value, wouldn’t it?”

The answer came not from Yeo Ga-hwi but from Pungma, who still had his eyes closed.

“The only person leaving this room alive will be the one who buys the item.”

Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong’s faces darkened. In an instant, the auction had turned into a forced sale.

Hyeol bong spoke firmly.

“This is too important a decision for me to make alone.”

Yeo Ga-hwi wagged his finger.

“I know you’ve been given full authority for this matter.”

Their expressions stiffened further.

He was right. Both of them had been granted discretionary funds by their respective factions in case the information proved to be genuine.

A heavy silence fell. And once again, it was Yeo Ga-hwi who broke it.

“Well, well. All this hesitation is slowing things down. Let’s be frank, then.”

His voice carried a commanding tone.

“In this room, we have representatives from the Justice Alliance, the Dark Alliance, and the Divine Cult (Demonic Cult).”

He had accurately identified them all.

Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong turned to look at Yuwol. They had already guessed each other’s identities, but they hadn’t expected that a member of the Demonic Sect would be here as well.

Yuwol calmly admitted his identity.

“This belongs to my sect, so I will reclaim it.”

Yeo Ga-hwi smiled with satisfaction.

“Well, as long as you have the money…”

He was confident because he had Pungma on his side. Riding the same boat as a martial artist whose strength rivaled the Six Demon Lords—why worry about storms?

Yuwol took something from his sleeve.

Swish.

A small envelope flew through the air and landed in Yeo Ga-hwi’s hands.

Yeo Ga-hwi opened it and was visibly shocked.

Inside were ten crisp promissory notes, each worth ten thousand nyang.

“…Surely not?”

Yeo Ga-hwi looked at Yuwol, dumbfounded.

“I will purchase it immediately for one hundred thousand nyang.”

Yeo Ga-hwi had never expected this.

With trembling hands, he carefully inspected the promissory notes.

“…Hmm.”

A faint groan escaped him.

They were all authentic. Yeo Ga-hwi nodded toward Pungma.

Pungma burst into hearty laughter and stood up.

“Haha! What a bold fellow.”

Since the item’s owner had been decided, he didn’t hesitate.

Whoooosh—

Violent winds howled from his fists.

Pungma was about to strike down both Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong.

Realizing the imminent danger, they drew on every ounce of their internal energy to defend themselves. But before they could react—

Swoosh!

A powerful force erupted from Pungma’s fists.

Kwaaang!

A thunderous explosion shook the sealed room.

Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong instinctively exhaled a long breath.

The explosion they heard should have been the last sound of their lives.

But it wasn’t.

Yuwol had blocked the attack with both arms outstretched.

Despite the extraordinary feat, his voice remained calm.

“They must not be killed.”

“For what reason?”

Pungma’s voice was a mix of irritation and amusement.

Yuwol slowly lowered his arms.

“Because the Seven-Year Pact has not yet ended.”

The Seven-Year Pact.

Five years ago, after an endless cycle of bloodshed, the righteous and the demonic factions had agreed to a seven-year truce. Two years remained.

“If you kill them, this deal is off.”

At Yuwol’s firm declaration, Pungma’s face contorted with rage.

“You dare set conditions for me?”

The wind howled even more violently as his anger surged. But then, he sneered.

“Then I’ll set my own condition.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll spare them, but in exchange—I’ll kill you.”

Yuwol smirked, his eyes cold.

Pungma grinned.

“I’ll kill you and then renegotiate with them.”

He planned to kill Yuwol, pocket the hundred thousand nyang, and sell the register again.

Yeo Ga-hwi hesitated, sensing the danger in the air.

“Senior…”

Before he could stop him, the doorman urgently grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Yeo Ga-hwi simply wanted to close the deal. Holding one hundred thousand nyang in his hands made his heart race. His cut alone was twenty thousand nyang.

But the situation was spiraling in the opposite direction.

Yuwol’s next words, spoken in an icy tone, sealed their fate.

“This is the martial world of Pungma? How pitiful.”

Pungma’s eye twitched, his pride wounded.

In the next instant, dozens of wind blades rained down on Yuwol.

Slash!

Blood spurted from Yuwol’s shoulder.

Psh! Psh! Psh!

As more blood droplets scattered, a flicker of surprise crossed Pungma’s face.

His attacks had barely left shallow cuts.

Yet Yuwol hadn’t even tried to dodge.

For the first time, Pungma felt intrigued.

With a flick of his fingers, Yuwol’s bamboo hat flew off, revealing his face—cold eyes beneath a deep, sword-scarred brow.

The raging winds suddenly died down.

Pungma turned to Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong.

“Get out.”

The two of them moved toward the stairs without hesitation. They had once been forcibly taken aboard the ferry crossing the underworld. Fortunately, due to a fight between the next passenger and the ferryman, they had been able to postpone their departure to the next boat.

Standing behind Yuwol, they couldn’t see his face. And as they left, they never once glanced in his direction.

A young demon who possessed the energy to stand against Pungma.

Naturally, curiosity arose, but that was synonymous with being an extremely dangerous individual. There was no reason to board the boat they had just struggled to disembark from.

Now, as if trapped in a hellish chamber where only survival mattered, four people remained. But this wasn’t a game where the last person standing was the victor. This was a game where those who remained to the end were bound to die.

Pungma spoke in a low voice.

“So it was you.”

Who could forget, having once seen Yuwol’s deep scars and icy gaze? Pungma remembered him exactly.

“The brat from the Black Wind Corps!”

His demeanor shifted slightly. The murderous aura lessened.

Had it been five years ago? That was the year Yuwol was appointed as the Grandmaster and the year Pungma retired.

A few days before his retirement ceremony, Pungma had attended his final event within the sect—Yuwol’s appointment as the Black Wind Corps’ Grandmaster. Yuwol was already a well-known figure within the sect.

The youngest Grandmaster in the history of the Black Wind Corps. Not position to position, but a direct promotion from squad leader to Grandmaster. The unprecedented decision had drawn the attention of all the demons.

That day, Yuwol’s inaugural speech was remarkably brief.

“If you can… don’t die.”

As Yuwol stepped down from the podium, Pungma shook his head.

Such childish bravado, he had thought. An act soaked in superficial theatrics.

But the response from the Black Wind Corps was unexpected.

“Waaaaah—!”

Their cheers echoed through Grand Heaven Mountain. They had taken that single sentence to heart. Pungma understood demons better than anyone. And he knew how difficult it was to truly inspire warriors as proud as the Black Wind Corps. But that day, their cheers were genuine.

Pungma, who had been silently watching Yuwol, finally spoke.

“Why don’t you ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Why I’m doing this. Why I abandoned the place I dedicated my life to.”

Yuwol replied coldly.

“I’m not curious.”

Pungma’s face stiffened. His pride was clearly wounded.

“You insolent wretch! Mind your tone.”

Yuwol’s voice remained ice-cold.

“You have already been stripped of the right to be called a senior.”

Veins bulged on Pungma’s forehead.

This time, Yuwol asked,

“And why don’t you ask?”

“Ask what?”

“How I intend to deal with a traitor like you.”

“What?”

At that moment, Yuwol smiled.

His smile only ever meant two things. A small smirk in moments of genuine joy, and a smile when he had decided to kill.

This was undoubtedly the latter.

Pungma sighed lightly and shook his head.

“I’ll let you live, so just go. Return and deliver this message—Pungma of the past is already dead.”

Yuwol, instead of answering, reached behind his back and drew the Narak Blade.

He slowly unwrapped the cloth wrapped around it.

“If the Pungma of the past is dead… then the man before me is nothing.”

Sensing the situation taking a dangerous turn, Ye Ga-hwi cautiously intervened.

“Let’s all calm down for a moment…”

Yuwol’s gaze turned chillingly sharp as he spoke to him.

“To think you’d dare pull such a stunt, relying on a mere old man. Do you truly take our sect so lightly?”

For Pungma, this was a provocation he could no longer tolerate. Dark energy exploded from his body.

“I’ll kill you!”

At the peak of his unleashed demonic energy—

Yuwol, who had been facing Ye Ga-hwi, suddenly spun like a flash of light toward Pungma.

Flash.

What Pungma saw was a streak of blinding light.

And the source of that light was the Narak Blade in Yuwol’s hand.

Crack!

Like a thunderbolt splitting the heavens, a chilling sound of something being carved apart echoed in the air.

Pungma, wide-eyed, muttered blankly.

“What was that… just now?”

Yuwol gave no reply.

Instead, it was Pungma himself who sank to the ground.

Thud.

Feeling the coldness of the floor against his back, Pungma finally realized—

It wasn’t Yuwol who had sunk into the ground.

It was he who had collapsed backward.

“…Huh?”

Pungma abruptly shot back to his feet, acting as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, Ye Ga-hwi, watching him, let out a horrified scream.

“Senior!”

Pungma, looking puzzled, followed Ye Ga-hwi’s gaze—his finger was pointing at his chest.

Lowering his eyes, Pungma finally saw it.

His chest was soaked in blood.

He unfastened his now-blood-drenched robe.

Etched deep into his chest was a sword wound, shaped like a lightning strike.

“The Thunderclap Strike of the Nine Calamities Demon Blade? That’s the Sect Leader’s technique… How do you know this…?”

Before he could finish, a heavy groan escaped his lips.

Pain, white-hot and numbing, surged from his chest.

And then—

With a sickening sound, blood erupted from the lightning-shaped wound like a waterfall.

“Aaaargh!”

But the one who screamed was not Pungma.

It was Ye Ga-hwi, horrified by the frightening sight.

Drip. Drip.

The fountain of blood slowed to a trickle.

Pungma, his face now deathly pale, spoke with great difficulty.

“You… must know… why I betrayed the sect. If you knew… then…”

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Yuwol’s gaze.

Pungma’s final words hinted at a hidden story he could not bring himself to reveal.

Thud!

Leaving behind an unfinished truth, Pungma fell backward.

He would never rise again.

The wind would never again howl through his clenched fists.

Ye Ga-hwi’s heart pounded wildly.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined someone could kill Pungma with a single strike.

“Huh? Huh?” The man who always had something to say could now only mutter the same words over and over.

Meanwhile, the gatekeeper standing beside him reacted differently.

Without hesitation, his body leaped up the stairs toward the door on the second floor.

Ye Ga-hwi, dazed, watched the white streak of light fly past and muttered weakly.

“…Blade Control Technique.”

At the entrance of the Mu Family Estate, Yuwol was met by an ordinary-looking middle-aged man.

“Where are you from?”

“I came from Geumsan.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m here to buy a gift for a friend.”

After confirming the prearranged passphrase, the man checked the entry token Yuwol handed over.

“You’re late.”

As if Yuwol was the last guest, the man firmly locked the gate.

Due to the nature of the event, no further identity verification was possible. All the guests today were individuals who took extreme measures to conceal their identities.

The gatekeeper’s steps were slow yet disciplined as he led the way. Though he worked as a mere gatekeeper, Yuwol could tell he was a master capable of channeling energy into his blade.

Crossing a garden in full bloom with crepe myrtles, the man guided him to a secret underground chamber within the Mu Family Estate.

The space was too large to be called a room, yet too modest to be a grand hall. Already gathered inside were a dozen martial artists.

Most wore bamboo hats pulled low or covered their faces with veils. Some had their faces exposed, but their rigid and unnatural expressions suggested they were wearing human-skin masks.

As Yuwol entered, all eyes briefly turned toward him before shifting back.

He positioned himself to the side.

The exact number of people in the room was ten. Among them, a middle-aged man in a sleek black martial robe with a bamboo hat was his subordinate—Jinpae, the First Squad Leader of the Black Wind Unit.

Jinpae, in his mid-forties, was the eldest among the five squad leaders of the Black Wind Unit and the only one who was married. With a rugged appearance and a straightforward personality, he was the least “demonic” of the five. His external technique, specializing in fists, was known as Dominating Iron Fist.

As Yuwol discreetly scanned the room, his eyes gleamed when they landed on a particular middle-aged man.

The odd curve of the sword at the man’s waist and the distinctive way he clenched his fists felt familiar.

Retracing his memories, Yuwol soon recalled who he was.

The man was Won Ryeong, the Deputy Leader of the Cheonryong Unit under the Justice Alliance. Two years ago, during an operation, Yuwol had crossed paths with the Cheonryong Unit, and he had encountered Won Ryeong then.

Yuwol’s memory, especially when it came to enemies, was said to be extraordinary. Fortunately, Won Ryeong did not recognize him.

“The Deputy Leader of the Cheonryong Unit is here in person?”

This indicated how seriously they were taking this matter.

Yuwol examined the remaining guests. If the Justice Alliance had caught wind of today’s event, there was no way the Dark Path Alliance wouldn’t have as well.

Closing his eyes, Yuwol sharpened his focus, reading the energies flowing within the chamber.

Sinister energy.

His gaze fixed on a woman in a corner wearing a face veil. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with piercing eyes.

Though she concealed it well, he could faintly sense traces of orthodox dark arts in her energy. These arts were exclusively practiced by warriors affiliated with the Dark Alliance.

Yuwol sent a secret transmission to Jinpae.

“Among the field operatives of the Dark Alliance, who’s the most prominent woman lately?”

Jinpae responded immediately.

“If it’s a woman, it must be Blood Bee of the Dragon-Tiger Strike Force.”

The Dragon-Tiger Strike Force was an elite unit the Dark Alliance took pride in.

“Have you seen her before?”

“From a distance, a few years ago. Why do you ask?”

“The veiled woman behind you—she’s likely Blood Bee. The man next to her is Won Ryeong.”

“Damn. How did they find out?”

“Looks like someone deliberately leaked the information.”

“That bastard has really stirred up a storm.”

A cold smirk curled on Yuwol’s lips.

“They’ll soon realize there’s nothing worth feasting on at this banquet.”

Just then, the door opened, and two men entered.

The man in the lead was a middle-aged individual in his mid-forties, dressed in yellow robes, followed by an elderly man who appeared well over seventy.

Even Yuwol, composed as he was, was taken aback by their arrival.

The man in yellow spoke.

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Yeo Someone.”

Yuwol knew his full name well.

Yeo Ga-hwi.

In his younger days, he was a notorious master thief, but one day, he suddenly vanished from the martial world.

When he reemerged years later, he was no longer a thief. Using his old connections, he became an illegal auctioneer, dealing in stolen goods. This new career made him even more famous than when he had been scaling walls.

But Yuwol wasn’t shocked because of Yeo Ga-hwi. It was the elderly man behind him, casually tapping his lower back as he took a seat.

Wind Demon!

Wind Demon was a former member of the Demonic Cult who had retired due to age. Despite being on par with the Six Demon Lords, he had famously refused to join the Elders’ Council. His aloof nature kept him from mingling with others.

Jinpae, who had also recognized him, sent a hurried transmission.

“It’s Wind Demon, damn it.”

Yuwol bit his lip. He had expected some heavyweights to be involved.

Sa Dobin had emphasized multiple times that he had to personally handle this operation.

But Wind Demon’s presence was completely unforeseen.

“What do we do? Should we abort the mission?”

Jinpae’s cautious inquiry was met with Yuwol’s firm response.

“We proceed.”

It was clear Yuwol had already made up his mind.

“Are you sure?”

Jinpae’s voice held a slight tremor. No matter how deep the corruption ran, Wind Demon was not someone to trifle with.

Beyond his formidable martial prowess, he was also close friends with the Demonic Sword—the strongest among the Six Demon Lords.

This situation was becoming increasingly troublesome.

Meanwhile, Yeo Ga-hwi greeted the assembly with a beaming smile.

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for making the effort to be here. I see we have some new faces today as well—pleasure to meet you.”

Gaining access to these stolen goods auctions was no easy feat. Yeo Ga-hwi was meticulous when selecting participants, allowing entry only to those who had traded with him for over five years and had a trustworthy recommendation.

“Well then, shall we begin?”

At his signal, the gatekeeper brought in a large box.

From it, he retrieved a sword and handed it to Yeo Ga-hwi.

“Here is our first item of the night.”

As Yeo Ga-hwi unsheathed the blade, a razor-sharp edge gleamed under the light.

Even at a glance, it was evident this was no ordinary weapon.

“The Crimson Heart Sword, once wielded by the late Grandmaster Lee Cheong.”

“Oh!”

Several guests exclaimed in awe and stepped closer to examine it.

Swinging the blade lightly, Yeo Ga-hwi smirked.

“The scabbard and hilt have been completely modified. Even if Grandmaster Lee were to rise from the dead, he wouldn’t recognize it. Bidding starts at seven thousand nyang.”

Without hesitation, a man in a flamboyant robe raised his hand.

“Seven thousand.”

Immediately, a short man beside him lifted his hand as well.

“Eight thousand.”

Like devoted sons discovering their late father’s treasured relic, the two fiercely competed, and the price quickly soared to fourteen thousand nyang.

Eventually, the short man conceded.

The sword was handed to the robed man, who promptly pulled out a promissory note and completed the transaction.

Caressing the blade with satisfaction, the robed man beamed, while Yeo Ga-hwi grinned, pleased.

For every item sold, Yeo Ga-hwi took a ten percent commission.

Ten percent of fourteen thousand nyang—one thousand four hundred.

Without lifting a finger, Yeo Ga-hwi had just pocketed a fortune.

For the thieves who had risked their lives to steal it, the fee was outrageous, yet they gladly relied on him.

Handling stolen goods was a dangerous business, after all.

The gatekeeper then presented a smaller box.

“Our second item of the night.”

When Yeo Ga-hwi opened the box, three beads resembling black pearls lay neatly inside.

“These are Poison-Repelling Beads, issued exclusively to the division leaders of the Justice Alliance. They are of the highest quality, with an efficacy three times that of ordinary ones.”

Poison-Repelling Beads were rarely traded items. Moreover, top-grade ones were so rare that one might only see them once in several years.

The eyes of the crowd began to gleam with interest.

“Starting at fifteen hundred nyang, with each bead priced at five hundred nyang.”

Yuwol glanced at Won ryeong. Despite the fact that the Justice Alliance’s Poison-Repelling Beads were being illegally traded, he showed little concern. It was clear that his presence here today was not because of these beads.

After several rounds of bidding, the Poison-Repelling Beads were ultimately sold for seven thousand nyang.

The prices of the sword auctioned earlier and now these beads were unimaginable sums for ordinary people. Clearly, every guest present tonight was someone of extraordinary background.

The third item Yeo Ga-hui presented was a small medicine bottle.

He carefully held it out, pausing for a moment, as if to emphasize its significance. And indeed, the words that followed were shocking.

“This is Seven Steps Death Powder from the Sichuan Tang Clan.”

A stir rippled through the audience. Seven Steps Death Powder was one of the seven deadliest poisons of the Tang Clan, a product incomparable to the previous two items in both value and danger.

Yeo Ga-hui carefully placed the medicine bottle inside a small wooden case.

“As you all know, no matter how skilled one may be, a single drop of this poison ensures death before they take their seventh step. The bidding starts at ten thousand nyang.”

In truth, the cost of its raw ingredients barely amounted to a few dozen nyang. Yet, no one protested the staggering starting price. Even with a million nyang, acquiring this poison was impossible unless one was an acknowledged master from the direct lineage of the Tang Clan.

After fierce competition, the Seven Steps Death Powder was finally sold for twenty-seven thousand nyang to a middle-aged man dressed in a crimson robe. Despite its immense value, no one questioned its authenticity or how it had been obtained. That alone was proof of the trust they placed in Yeo Ga-hui.

“And now, the final item of the night.”

The eyes of those who had left empty-handed turned to him. This auction was a rare event, held only every few months if one was lucky—some years, there was no auction at all.

“But before that, I have something to say.”

Even as all eyes focused on him, Yeo Ga-hui did not speak right away.

As the tension built, he finally lowered his voice and spoke in a whisper.

“This item comes from Daechonsan.”

At those words, the room fell silent.

An item from Daechonsan meant one thing—it belonged to the Demonic Cult. A heavy stillness settled over the room.

“I’m out.”

One of the men stepped forward, shaking his head. He was the short man who had previously bid fiercely for the sword.

After offering a slight nod to Yeo Ga-hui, he swiftly ascended the stairs and left. Yeo Ga-hui made no move to stop him. If anything, his expression suggested that he had expected this.

Seeing him leave, another person followed suit.

“I’ll see you at the next gathering.”

His expression made it clear—he had no intention of gambling with his life.

As the two departed without hesitation, others began to follow.

Yuwol quickly sent a covert message to Jinpae.

“Jin Captain, have our men tail them and identify who they are.”

In other words, follow them as they leave this place.

“Understood. Stay safe.”

As Jinpae reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, concerned for Yuwol. But then he let out a small chuckle. If this was a situation Yuwol couldn’t handle alone, his own presence wouldn’t change the outcome—it would only add to the burden. Besides, Yuwol had always returned safely from even the most impossible situations. Today would likely be no different.

Once Jinpae stepped out, the iron doors shut firmly behind him.

Sending Jinpae away had only been an excuse. The real reason was that this matter had to be handled in absolute secrecy.

“Tch, such cowards…”

Clicking his tongue, Yeo Gahui shook his head. Then, as if those who remained were the truly courageous ones, he raised a thumb and smiled.

There were only four people left—Yuwol, Won ryeong, Hyeol bong, and the man who had bought the first sword.

The latter seemed quite pleased with himself for staying, as if he had become part of some elite group of the brave.

“Fortune never favors cowards, after all! Hahaha!”

His gestures and speech made one wonder if he truly deserved the fine sword at his waist.

Looking around at the four remaining guests, Yeo Ga-hui smiled in satisfaction.

“Well then, shall we get to the main discussion?”

Won ryeong shot a glance at Hyeol bong, who, in turn, kept a wary eye on Yuwol. The only person visibly excited was the man in white.

“What exactly is this item?”

Even as the man pressed for answers, Yeo Ga-hui did not rush.

Unlike before, he did not reveal the item first—he simply stated the price. A price so shocking that everyone in the room was left speechless.

“The starting bid is fifty thousand nyang.”

The man in white flinched so hard it seemed like he had leapt in place.

For a moment, he thought he must have misheard—perhaps it was five thousand instead of fifty?

Yet, Yeo Ga-hui remained completely composed.

“Bidding starts at fifty thousand nyang, increasing by increments of five thousand. If you wish to buy it outright, the price is one hundred thousand nyang.”

The sheer absurdity of it left the man dumbfounded. Even Won ryeong and Hyeol bong couldn’t hide their shock.

“What is it, stir-fried Millennium He Shou Wu seasoned with Great Rejuvenation Pill , with a side of Ethereal Stone Milk for refreshment?”

It was his best attempt at a joke, but no one laughed.

Fifty thousand nyang was, with slight exaggeration, enough to buy an entire small city.

“Heh…”

Yeo Ga-hui let out an enigmatic chuckle and pulled a small book from his robe.

All eyes immediately locked onto the palm-sized booklet. The man in white, in particular, looked like he might bore a hole through it with his stare.

“What kind of martial arts manual is worth that much?”

Naturally, he assumed it was a martial arts tome.

“This is not a martial arts manual.”

“Then what is it?”

“This is… an Identity Register.”

At those words, the man in white erupted in anger.

“An Identity Register? So, just a list of names on some sheets of paper? And you’re asking for fifty thousand nyang?!”

He turned to the others, hoping for support, but the three remained silent.

“Of course, the names written here are no ordinary names.”

Yeo Ga-hui made a motion as if to open the book but then hesitated, as if its contents were far too sensitive to reveal lightly.

Breaking the suffocating silence, he finally spoke in a low voice.

“This is a register of all the branch leaders and above within the Demonic Cult spread throughout the Central Plains. Their current aliases, their locations, and the businesses they use as fronts—everything is recorded in detail.”

The man in white froze.

Even knowing that the item came from the Demonic Cult, he had never imagined it would be something of this magnitude.

If this fell into the hands of the Justice Alliance, it wouldn’t be just a list—it would become an execution ledger. The righteous sects and the dark factions alike would fight fiercely for this document.

A shiver ran down his spine. His instincts screamed at him—leave this place immediately.

“Ahem, this is of no use to me. I have no intention of buying, so I’ll take my leave.”

Trying to sound nonchalant, his voice cracked, and his legs trembled as if they belonged to a frail old man.

As he climbed the stairs, he turned back to Yeo Ga-hui.

“And don’t worry—I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

It was a mistake.

Whoosh.

His body was suddenly yanked into the air as if by an unseen force.

“Kuhk!”

The one who had seized him was none other than Pungma, who had been dozing off at the table.

“You talk too much.”

Murderous intent flickered in Pungma’s eyes.

Crunch!

Startled gasps echoed through the manor, even among the Seven Slaughterers of the Central Plains.

As the doors shattered, the scene inside came into Yuwol’s view.

There were five of the Seven killers present. They encircled the members of the Liu Merchant Guild, who were kneeling in the courtyard, as if ready to kill them.

A fleeting moment of silence followed.

Just as the third-ranked killer closest to Yuwol moved his lips to speak—

Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!

A sharp gust of wind swept through.

At that instant, all five killers collapsed simultaneously, their bodies flipping over as they hit the ground.

They had died together, so their final screams blended into one.

None of them knew how they had perished.

Only after they fell did the hostages grasp what had happened.

Tiny arrows, embedded precisely in the foreheads of the fallen assassins—each barely a quarter the size of a normal arrow.

Yuwol now held an unusual weapon in his hand.

It was a type of crossbow designed for rapid-fire, but its shape and size differed greatly from the ones commonly used by government forces or sects.

It lacked the typical semi-circular metal draw mechanism, making it only half the size of a standard crossbow. But the most remarkable feature was the number of arrows loaded in its magazine.

The most advanced repeating crossbows in the martial world, such as the Six-Shot Repeating Crossbow, could fire up to six bolts in succession.

Yet, Yuwol’s crossbow held a staggering forty-eight bolts in its magazine.

Faintly engraved on the side of the weapon was a single inscription:

Flying Strike Bolt.

It was the invention of Phantom God Demon, one of the Six Demon Lords of the Demon Cult, and the exclusive weapon of the Black Wind Brigade—the Flying Strike Bolt.

The sound of a woman pierced the air as a door burst open.

Second-ranked killer, Yi Sal entered using Lady Shim, the wife of Master Liu, as a human shield. He cowered behind her, pressing a blade to her throat.

“You bastard! Move and this woman—”

Swish!

Before he could finish, an arrow struck Lady Shim’s left arm.

“Aaah!”

She screamed, clutching her arm. Her body instinctively recoiled from the blade, exposing Yi Sal’s face.

Swish!

Another merciless bolt sliced through the air.

Yi Sal’s final thought—“This lunatic!”—remained in his throat as he collapsed. He had never imagined that his opponent would shoot the hostage without hesitation.

In mere moments, six assassins had fallen.

As Yi Sal crumpled backward, an arrow embedded in his forehead, the only sound left in the room was the ragged breathing of Il Sal, the last survivor.

“If you come in… I’ll kill every—”

Yuwol was already inside.

Swish!

A short, strangled cry was all Il Sal could manage before silence consumed the room.

With the final assassin dead, the battle was over.

From outside, Zheng Ji and the sub-branch warriors cautiously stepped in, their jaws hanging open.

They alternated between staring at Yuwol and the corpses of the Seven Killers.

“Wait… it’s already over?”

To Zheng Ji, it had all happened in the blink of an eye. Not a single casualty, aside from Lady Shim’s injured arm.

Yuwol motioned for Zheng Ji to take the hostages outside.

The moment the order was given, the warriors swiftly moved to clear the area. Master Yu, his shaken wife, and their household members were escorted out.

Once they had all left, Yuwol spoke in a low voice.

“You’re done hiding, aren’t you?”

His chilling voice drifted over the corpse of Yi Sal and reached the rooftop.

Rustle.

An old man appeared atop the roof. His frail frame was hunched, his long, sickly-green nails glistening ominously.

“Impressive, truly impressive!”

The voice grated on the ears, matching his disturbing appearance.

He was none other than Poison Claw Elder, a rogue martial artist infamous throughout the martial world.

Though he followed the ways of the Dark Path, he did not belong to the Dark Alliance. He lived by his own rules, having killed many Dark Alliance experts over the years.

Yu Wol’s voice remained calm.

“Was this your doing?”

Poison Claw Elder smirked as if it were obvious.

“We’re both professionals. No need for dramatics.”

He clicked his tongue at the corpses of the Seven Killers.

“Those kids just wanted to survive… What a shame.”

But despite his words, there was amusement in his expression.

Yuwol gazed up at him lazily.

“I’m busy. Get to the point.”

The old man’s grin widened.

“Seven Strikes Abyss… the martial world sings your name, yet you remain elusive. I didn’t want to climb all the way to Great Heaven Mountain just to find you.”

“So you started this mess?”

“Exactly. What? Feeling guilty over the lives lost because of you?”

Yuwol let out a dry chuckle.

Poison Claw Elder’s grin grew as he continued.

“I told them I’d go find you myself, but they tried to stop me. That only made me more curious. So how about this? Just give me a taste of your Seven Strikes, and I’ll leave quietly. Don’t worry, I won’t spread rumors if you fail to kill me within seven moves. I know how important reputation is for someone bound to an organization—”

He never finished his sentence.

Swoosh.

Yuwol had already closed the distance, his figure flickering forward in an instant.

Poison Claw Elder reflexively lashed out with his right claw. He had no time to think—no time to utter even a single curse.

Yuwol’s speed defied imagination.

The old man’s deadly claws, which had stripped flesh from countless victims, slashed through empty air.

Crack!

A sickening crunch filled the night.

“Urgh!”

Yuwol had caught Poison Claw Elder’s right arm under his armpit and snapped it cleanly.

Without hesitation, he seized the old man’s throat and leapt down.

Thud!

Poison Claw Elder crashed to the ground like a discarded rag doll.

Yu Wol stomped on his chest.

Crunch!

Three, maybe four ribs shattered instantly.

“Guh…”

Poison Claw Elder had so much to say—praise, curses, regrets—but all that came out was a gurgle of blood. His arrogance had cost him dearly.

As Yuwol pressed his foot harder against the old man’s chest, his gaze swept over the five decapitated bodies of the Liu Merchant Guild members.

“You caused five deaths.”

Poison Claw Elder’s eyes trembled.

Yuwol now aimed the Flying Strike Bolt at his face.

The old man’s desperate, pleading gaze met Yuwol’s unreadable eyes.

A smirk curled Yuwol’s lips.

“We’re both professionals. No need for dramatics.”

Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!

Five bolts pierced Poison Claw Elder’s face.

---

Chapter 2: Register of the Dead

Half an hour later, Yuwol sat in a marketplace twenty li (10 km) away, enjoying a bowl of noodles.

An old man ran a cart stand, his silver hair as thick with wrinkles as the deep flavors in his soup.

Across from Yuwol, the old man fanned himself idly.

After Yuwol slurped down the last of the soup, the old man finally spoke.

“It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Yuwol’s response was curt. His Seven Strikes Abyss Sword was wrapped in white cloth, and his bamboo hat hung on his back like a shield.

Unbothered by Yuwol’s bluntness, the old man chuckled.

“I figured as much. That’s why I came all the way here. You on a job?”

Yuwol nodded.

“I need to get moving soon.”

“You should be busy. It’s good to be busy when you’re young.”

The old man began fanning himself more quickly.

“It’s already getting hot.”

“Still no news?”

The old man smacked his lips and shook his head.

“It’s embarrassing to even say there’s no news anymore.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed Yuwol’s cold gaze.

The old man was an information broker, a retired veteran of Tong-eui-mun, a renowned intelligence organization in the martial world. He had taken up selling information as a pastime to earn some pocket money, and it was five years ago that he first crossed paths with Yuwol.

What Yuwol had asked him to investigate was a particular martial art.

Five Coloured Blood Hand.

“The martial art you’re looking for hasn’t been used even once in the past ten years. Are you sure such a technique even exists?”

Yuwol silently nodded and pulled out a pouch of money, placing it in front of the old man.

“Well, I suppose it’s just a job for me as long as I get paid.”

Sighing, the old man accepted the pouch and added with a weary tone,

“I’ve spent my entire life digging up information, but I’ve never run into something this frustrating before.”

Just as Yuwol was about to stand up, he noticed two children watching him from a distance. A boy in tattered clothes and a girl who seemed a little younger. Their identical eyes and facial structure made it obvious they were siblings.

To be precise, it wasn’t Yuwol himself that had caught their attention—it was the bowl of noodles sitting in front of him. They licked their lips and swallowed repeatedly, unable to hide their hunger.

When their eyes met Yuwol’s, the children flinched. It was because of his sharp features and the scars on his face.

Without a word, Yuwol placed a few coins on the cart’s counter.

“You kids are lucky today.”

The old man gestured for them to come closer. Hesitantly, they approached.

The old man brought over the small stool he had been sitting on and sat the girl down.

“Thank you.”

The boy bowed politely to Yuwol.

“I will repay this kindness someday.”

It seemed he was afraid Yuwol might see them as mere beggars.

As he stole glances at Yuwol, his gaze lingered on the sword strapped to his back. Summoning his courage, the boy finally spoke.

“Mister, when I grow up, I want to be a warrior like you.”

“I’m not a warrior.”

Yuwol’s blunt response didn’t deter the boy.

“No, you are. My late father told me that a true warrior is someone who doesn’t ignore others in need. To me, you are a warrior.”

A faint smile formed on Yuwol’s lips. It didn’t suit him at all—so much so that the contrast made it strangely captivating.

“You brat, you’ll starve before that happens.”

The old man chuckled, setting down two bowls of noodles.

The children eagerly began eating, shoveling the food into their mouths.

The boy gently patted his sister’s head and spoke kindly,

“Eat slowly.”

“Mhm. This is really good.”

“I’ll buy you plenty of it when I start earning money.”

“Really?”

Despite his ragged appearance, he tried to act like a dependable older brother.

Yuwol’s gaze deepened as he watched them. A sorrowful longing flashed through his eyes.

A distant memory echoed in his heart.

“Big brother, I love you the most in the whole world.”

The children had no idea what it meant to survive in the martial world. Especially not while taking care of a little girl.

They didn’t know how many predators lurked in the alleys, preying on orphans. If they kept wandering the streets like this, it was only a matter of time before the boy was sold off as a laborer on a fishing boat and the girl ended up in a brothel.

But for now, they were happy. At least, they hadn’t been separated yet. At least, they hadn’t experienced the pain of losing each other.

Clang.

Yuwol clutched his chest. A dull ache spread through him, and his demonic energy threatened to surge.

With a silent nod to the old man, he turned away from the cart.

The children were too absorbed in eating to notice his departure.

A short distance away, a man had been waiting for him. Seo wong, a member of the Black Wind Squad’s First Division.

When Yuwol approached, Seo wong bowed politely.

“You’ve arrived.”

“Where is it?”

“The Wu Manor. It’s not far from here.”

“And Chief Jin?”

“He infiltrated first. The auction will begin in half a shichen (1 hour).”

Seo wong took out a piece of paper and a wooden pass, handing them over.

“Here is the necessary information and an entry token. The original attendee has already been taken care of.”

Yuwol glanced over the paper before pocketing the pass.

Seo Ung added a few more details.

“The original owner of Wu Manor retired and moved away recently, leaving the estate empty. It seems the culprits are using it without permission. So far, we’ve confirmed that at least ten people have entered.”

Yuwol gave a silent nod.

At that moment, he recalled the warning Sa Dobin had given him before he left the mountain.

“If you pull the line, a monster might surface. Be careful.”

That brief statement carried a heavy meaning.

For the past six months, Sa Dobin had painstakingly set the bait, cleared out distractions, and patiently lured in his target. Now, the fish had bitten, and it was time to reel it in.

He had personally requested Yuwol to handle the matter—discreetly. That alone showed how difficult and sensitive this task was.

As Yuwol took a few steps, he glanced back at the cart. The children were still engrossed in their meal. The boy was transferring some of his noodles to his sister’s bowl.

A flicker of emotion crossed Yuwol’s gaze.

It was rare to see him hesitate, and Seo wong swallowed nervously as he watched.

Still staring at the children, Yuwol asked,

“Who’s in charge of this district’s branch?”

“The Wolf Blade, Zheng Ji.”

“Tell him to look after those kids.”

“…Pardon?”

“Repeat my words exactly. If he tries to recruit them into the cult or lays a hand on the girl, I’ll grind him into dust. Just keep an eye on them until they grow up. I’ll cover the costs and repay the favor personally.”

Knowing Yuwol’s temperament, Seo wong didn’t question him.

“Understood.”

With a firm response, Seo wong turned and walked toward the children.

Yuwol pulled his bamboo hat low over his face and took the opposite path.

With each step, the warmth in his gaze faded, replaced by the familiar icy sharpness.

His destination was Wu Manor—where the real work was about to begin.

Before long, Bi Unseong spoke calmly.

“If you move, I must move. If I move, the whole Jianghu moves. And if, by some stroke of bad luck, the Jianghu goes mad and starts rampaging, no one will be able to stop it. In the end, the only way to put it to rest will be to feed it the blood of the Jianghu until its belly bursts.”

Bi seol bit her lip lightly.

The words ‘So I have to live trapped here forever?’ lingered in her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them.

She knew what her father meant.

But… but still…

She had been born the daughter of a Jianghu warrior. Whether she liked it or not, she had learned martial arts and grown up as one of the Jianghu.

Unfortunately, her world within the Jianghu had always been limited.

A world where everyone was courteous, where everyone was careful.

Even the most terrifying demonic masters, whom the Jianghu feared to even meet eyes with, would smile at her and show her respect. No matter what she did, everything was forgiven, and no one ever treated her honestly.

That was her Jianghu.

She longed to be free.

Her gaze trembled slightly as she looked at Bi Unseong staring silently at the river. The thought that she had troubled her father over something impossible left a stinging pain in her heart.

Father… I’m sorry.

As she pondered how to end the conversation, she buried her guilt deep in her heart and pushed forward in her own way.

“I’m going to turn rebellious!”

Covering her face like a tragic heroine, Bi seol ran off somewhere. Of course, each step she took was a blend of exaggerated playfulness and genuine sorrow.

How much time had passed since she left?

Still staring silently at the river, Bi Unseong finally spoke in a low voice.

“Summon the Fourth Strategist.”

A reply echoed from the void.

“Yes.”

About a quarter of an hour later, the Chief Military Strategist of the Demonic Cult, Sa Dobin, arrived. Despite being in his forties, his clean appearance and youthful impression made him seem much younger.

“You called for me?”

Bi Unseong let out a sigh and dramatically raised both hands.

“I’ve lost.”

Sa Dobin looked puzzled, prompting Bi Unseong to elaborate.

“Our Lady Bi seol has declared her independence.”

At last, a smile tugged at the corner of Sa Dobin’s lips.

Bi Unseong turned his gaze back to the river.

“I suppose I’ll have to let her get some fresh air this time.”

Sa Dobin fell into brief contemplation. Though he was one of the greatest minds in the Demonic Cult, he always made careful judgments—even if it was a decision made by the Heavenly Demon himself. It was precisely this open and serious approach that allowed him to uphold his weighty position as the Chief Military Strategist.

Soon, Sa Dobin spoke.

“You’ve made a wise decision. Sooner or later, this was something she had to experience.”

He added one more thing.

“Bi seol is much more thoughtful than she appears. There shouldn’t be any major issues.”

“That’s what worries me even more. If she were just a reckless child, I’d have fewer concerns.”

The real trouble was just beginning.

“She says she wants to earn her own money.”

“Hahaha.”

Sa Dobin laughed heartily. Given Bi seol’s usual mischievous antics and outlandish ideas, it was hardly surprising. The thought of the Demonic Cult Leader’s daughter descending into the mundane world to make money was simply absurd.

“Hm… Once she’s down there, she’ll be running wild in her pursuit of wealth. Where would be best?”

After a moment of thought, Sa Dobin answered decisively.

“There are two places that come to mind. First, Guizhou. We hold eighty percent of the power there, and neither the Justice Alliance nor the Dark Alliance has much influence. No matter what trouble she causes, we can clean it up easily. It’s a very safe option.”

Bi Unseong nodded silently.

Strangely, even the assurance of safety didn’t make him look entirely satisfied.

Sa Dobin continued.

“The second option is Gansu. This is where both our sect and the Heretical Alliance have the weakest presence. The area is primarily controlled by the Gongtong Sect, but external forces such as the Tang Clan, Xinjiang, and Qinghai are all eyeing it, hoping to establish a foothold. Furthermore, mid-sized sects like the Hundred Flowers Clan and the Myriad Beasts Sect have a strong influence there. Compared to Guizhou, it will be at least ten times harder for her to settle down.”

“And yet, you’re recommending Gansu?”

“If you’re truly sending Bi seol down to experience the Jianghu properly, I assume you’d want her to face real challenges. That is, of course, under the condition that someone absolutely trustworthy accompanies her to ensure her safety.”

“Hahaha.”

Bi Unseong burst into a hearty laugh, and Sa Dobin felt inwardly satisfied.

For a strategist, the greatest joy was reading their lord’s heart correctly.

“Then who should I send with her?”

Bi Unseong’s concern brought a slight smile to Sa Dobin’s face.

This was about his precious daughter, Biseol. No doubt, Bi Unseong had already made up his mind about whom to send. Sa Dobin had a good idea of who that person was. There was only one individual who had earned the Heavenly Demon’s absolute trust in recent times.

Even so, Sa Dobin feigned ignorance and tossed out a different name.

“The Fist Demon is due to descend soon.”

“He drinks too much. No.”

“Then the Demon Sword…”

“He’s too bloodthirsty. He’d be a disaster waiting to happen… No.”

“The Phantom God Demon?”

“Just between us… don’t you think he’s a bit too stiff?”

As Sa Dobin prepared to suggest another name, Bi Unseong raised a hand to stop him.

“Enough of this game.”

Sa Dobin smiled as he bowed respectfully.

“My apologies. I will summon the Black Wind Commander immediately upon his return.”

“He’s away?”

“Yes. He’s on a mission.”

“Tough work in this heat.”

Bi Unseong looked up at the sky, his expression turning serious.

“If I send Biseol down… will they make a move?”

Sa Dobin’s gaze followed the Heavenly Demon’s to the drifting clouds.

After a brief silence, he answered calmly.

“They have already begun moving.”

“I see.”

With that, Bi Unseong fell silent, and Sa Dobin bowed respectfully before taking his leave.

“Then, I shall take my leave.”

“Good work.”

Even after Sa Dobin departed, Bi Unseong remained still, watching the river in silence.

Then, a voice came from the void. It was Yun Maksoo , the Red Tiger Division Commander.

“What is it about the Black Wind Commander that you find so appealing?”

“For one, he’s gentle. When I look at him, I remember my younger days. And his name—Yuwol. After dealing with nothing but brutal men, even his name sounds pleasant.”

Yun Maksoo cautiously spoke.

“May I say something?”

Bi Unseong coldly refused.

“Don’t.”

He already knew what Yun Maksoo was about to say. Lately, there had been murmurs that he was showing too much favor to the Black Wind Commander.

“…My apologies for speaking out of turn.”

Bi Unseong called his name warmly.

“Maksoo.”

He rarely used such a familiar tone, only when speaking sincerely.

“Yes.”

“Among the Demon Lords, the strongest is the Demon Sword, right? If he and that kid fought, who do you think would win?”

“Probably the Demon Sword. He’s relentless.”

“But if you had to bet your life on the outcome… where would you place your life?”

“……”

“If the Cult were destroyed and you had to escape first, who would you entrust your family to?”

“……”

“If you were dying… who would you want by your side?”

“……”

“…So let them have some favour. And tell those envious bastards to shut up.”

---

Near Heishan, Guangxi Province

The front gate of the Liu Family Manor creaked open halfway.

Through the narrow gap, a hand suddenly thrust out, dropping something outside.

Thud.

It was the severed head of a young man, his eyes rolled back in death.

As the gate closed again, one of the black-clad warriors swiftly retrieved the head and stepped back.

The scene was grim—martial artists dressed in dark uniforms surrounded the Liu Family Manor’s walls, while twenty corpses, clearly their fallen comrades, lay neatly lined up to the side.

The severed head was handed to Zheng Ji, the head of the Heishan Branch of the Demonic Cult.

Zheng Ji’s expression twisted as he examined it.

“Who is it this time?”

Before the man delivering the head could respond, a middle-aged woman rushed forward, grabbed the lifeless head, and wailed in grief.

“Oh no! Jombok, my son! How could you die like this? What cruel fate is this? Jombok—!”

Her cries echoed through the tense air. Two warriors gently pulled her aside.

Li Yan, the deputy leader of the branch, leaned in and whispered to Zheng Ji.

“We must go in now, even if it means taking risks. Four hostages have already been killed.”

Zheng Ji shook his head firmly.

“No! Even if it means abandoning Master Liu, I will not allow any more of our people to die.”

Earlier that morning, twenty of their warriors had entered the manor to suppress the intruders, only to be slaughtered.

Li Yan sighed, understanding Zheng Ji’s reluctance. Even if they launched a full-scale attack, there was no guarantee they could defeat the enemy.

Zheng Ji’s voice rose in frustration.

“Why the hell are those lunatics looking for the Black Wind Lord? If they want to die, they should go find him themselves instead of causing havoc in my territory!”

The crisis had begun with what seemed like an insignificant report that morning.

The message stated that intruders had stormed the home of Master Liu, the head of the Liu Trading Company—one of the Heishan Branch’s primary financial backers—and taken hostages.

At the time, Zheng Ji hadn’t been too concerned.

He assumed it was the work of ignorant rogue martial artists who had no idea that the Demonic Cult was backing the Liu Trading Company.

So, he sent twenty men with a simple order—slaughter those bastards and bury them.

But just half an hour later, a new report arrived.

A thunderbolt from a clear sky—his twenty warriors had been annihilated.

After gathering the remaining forces and rushing to the scene, Zheng Ji had confirmed three key facts.

First, their enemy was the notorious Seven Killers of Chongqing, infamous figures in the martial world. While they had a fearsome reputation, Zheng Ji couldn’t understand why they had chosen now, of all times, to launch an attack, as if they had bet their lives in a drunken wager.

Second, if the situation worsened, he might lose his position as branch leader. With barely fifty warriors under his command and nearly half already dead, it was not an unfounded fear.

Lastly, the attackers were searching for the Black Wind Lord. Until he arrived, they planned to kill a hostage at regular intervals.

“But were those bastards always this strong?”

Zheng Ji couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He had thought twenty warriors would at least inflict some damage, even if they couldn’t fully subdue the Seven Killers.

Yet, not a single enemy had even been injured.

Creeeak.

The gate opened again.

Thud.

Another severed head rolled onto the ground, and wails of grief erupted anew. Family members who had just arrived upon hearing the news collapsed in sorrow.

“Sir, please save my son! Please, I beg you! Sangman, my son!”

A middle-aged woman clutched Zheng Ji’s robes, sobbing uncontrollably.

Annoyed and frustrated, Zheng Ji scowled.

“You think I don’t want to save them?”

Warriors came and dragged the grieving woman away.

It was maddening.

“When is the Black Wind Lord arriving?”

Zheng Ji’s impatience grew.

Li Yan glanced down the mountain path and answered.

“He completed his mission in Shichen and departed for here. He should be arriving any moment now.”

“Damn it. By the time he gets here, everyone will be dead.”

“Still, why are the Seven Killers looking for him?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Li Yan’s voice lowered with concern.

“…Will he really come?”

Zheng Ji hesitated, his own doubts surfacing.

“Wouldn’t he?”

“The Black Wind Unit is the most elite force in the cult, second only to the Iron Cavalry. And he became its leader at an unprecedentedly young age.”

“How old was he then?”

“Twenty-seven. That was five years ago, so he’s thirty-two now.”

“A brat’s been leading the unit for five years already?”

Zheng Ji scowled.

At forty-seven, he was still stuck as a mere branch leader, and even that position was in jeopardy.

“Shit. He has to come… Hey, quiet them down!”

Frustrated, Zheng Ji stomped his foot.

Just then, one of his subordinates called out in relief.

“There! He’s coming!”

All eyes turned to the path leading up from the valley.

Thudududu!

A group of riders galloped forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“It’s the Black Wind Unit!”

Excited murmurs spread among the Heishan warriors.

The Black Wind Unit—one of the Demonic Cult’s most elite forces, rivaled only by the Iron Cavalry—was both feared and revered.

Thudududu!

Twenty riders, aligned in two rows, thundered along the road.

“Huh?”

Zheng Ji and his men watched in shock.

The Black Wind Unit did not stop.

They rode straight past them.

Only one rider broke away from the group, galloping up the mountain path toward them.

All eyes focused on him.

The lone warrior reined in his horse in front of the Liu Family Manor.

He dismounted.

It was the man Zheng Ji had been desperately waiting for—Yuwol, the Black Wind Lord.

Dressed in a black martial robe layered with a flowing black overcoat, he exuded an eerie darkness.

His gaze was icy, his presence oppressive, and the scar on his left cheek only heightened his intimidating aura.

On his back hung a massive saber, secured without even a scabbard.

A single engraved word glinted on the darkened steel—Narak.

The saber Narakdo, the very weapon that made Yuwol a nightmare to the martial world.

“Draw the blade, and in seven moves, your soul descends to hell.”

Thus, he was known as Seven-Move Narak.

Recognizing the weapon, Zheng Ji rushed over hastily.

“I am Zheng Ji, the branch leader of Heishan.”

He bowed deeply.

“What’s the situation?”

Yuwol’s voice was curt.

Technically, the rank difference between a branch leader and a unit commander was marginal.

But as the leader of the Black Wind Unit, one of the cult’s most powerful forces, Yuwol wielded authority that far outstripped Zheng Ji’s.

Damn, he’s as cold as the rumors say.

Zheng Ji forced a smile and quickly explained.

“The Seven Killers of Chongqing have taken over the Liu Family Manor and are holding hostages.”

“And?”

“They’re demanding to see you. There are about twenty hostages, and so far, they’ve executed—huh?”

Before he could finish his sentence, Yuwol had already shattered the manor’s gate.

Prologue

There are people who come to mind from time to time as we go through life.

I, too, have such a person.

A fleeting comment from a bored coachman as I ride in a carriage, a passing joke overheard from the next table while eating, or even the act of swatting away a fly that tickles my ass while sitting in the toilet—at such moments, his face sometimes resurfaces in my mind.

And now, as I blankly stand guard at the front gate of the Murim Alliance, watching the endless procession of people pass by, I find myself thinking of him again.

It has now been thirty years since I started guarding the entrance to the Justice Murim Alliance.

Half a lifetime spent watching those who come and go through this gate.

Tomorrow, I leave the Murim Alliance.

Thirty years of living by the sword, I am retiring with all my limbs intact—one could say my life turned out to be a moderate success.

On days like today, when the sunset is especially beautiful, I find myself thinking of him even more.

I met him only twice.

Ten years ago, the summer of that year was as boiling as it was unsettling.

That summer, my only son rebelled in ways I could not understand, my energy was not what it used to be, and I found myself feeling small as I watched my old peers, who had joined the Alliance with me, rise in rank.

That summer, I made a decision that would change my life.

A lifetime spent as a gatekeeper—yet I volunteered for an operation with the Demon Extermination Unit.

Of course, everyone around me objected.

They called me a mad old fool, but I ignored them all.

At the time, the officer in charge of the Demon Extermination Unit was Baek Gwang, the Severing Soul Sword—a man who had died in an operation five years ago.

I begged him, claiming it was my lifelong wish, and managed to join the mission.

If I had been any closer to Baek Gwang, he likely wouldn’t have granted my request.

Thinking back, he must have found my plea deeply offensive.

The Demon Extermination Unit was the elite among elites of the Justice Murim Alliance—tasked with fighting the Demonic Cult.

How arrogant it must have seemed for a washed-up gatekeeper to demand a place among them.

Perhaps he intended to use me as a cautionary tale to warn people about the demonic culet.

Regardless, that summer, I joined their mission.

The battle at Gisan Plain—a massacre so infamous that even now, the younger members of the Alliance still speak of it.

And that was where I met him.

---

Gisan Plain.

A place where blood flowed like rivers and corpses piled up like mountains.

So many bodies—finding ours among them would be a challenge.

Right here, next to the mutilated body of Yeo Beom, a once-proud member of the Demon Extermination Unit, now lying dead with both arms severed.

Right beside him, Sprawled out in a messy pile, feigning death—that was me.

“Just how many have died?” would be the wrong question.

The only fitting question was: “Did anyone survive?”

Amid the madness of battle, I felt nothing but regret.

Friend and foe alike had lost their minds.

This was no place for a middle-aged fool trying to escape his own insignificance.

Only then did I understand why the warriors of the Demon Extermination Unit, and even other combat units of the Alliance, were always so on edge—why they looked down on us mere guards.

When one fights battles like this every other day, how could they not go mad?

All I could do was keep my head down.

I clung to the rear, running for my life, ducking and weaving—praying desperately for survival.

I pleaded to the heavens, swearing I had made a mistake, begging to be spared.

But I wasn’t the only one praying.

As if the battlefield wasn’t terrifying enough, reinforcements from the Demonic Cult arrived first.

In an instant, the battle, which had been a back-and-forth struggle, was decisively over.

At the time, I had no idea they were the Black Wind Squad—the Demonic Cult’s infamous strike force.

The Black Wind Squad was said to be over a hundred strong.

But only twenty arrived that day—a single unit of the squad, most likely.

And he was their leader.

He was merely in his early twenties.

Yet his presence was unimaginable.

I could not measure his skill with my meager martial arts, but even now, when I think of him, only one word comes to mind.

Reaper. 

Wherever he passed, my comrades lay dismembered.

I was on the verge of taking my own life.

In the end, I could only hide among the corpses and play dead, cursing my foolish choices.

That day, all 120 members of the Demon Extermination Unit perished.

Hiding among the dead, hoping to survive—what a naïve notion.

The demonic warriors began checking the bodies, ensuring none had survived.

Eventually, my turn came.

“AAAAAHH!”

The first thing I did was scream.

Then, I hurled every curse I knew at the top of my lungs. Perhaps I figured that if I was going to die, I might as well go out swearing.
I don’t even remember what I said.

But after a long string of curses—nothing happened.

Opening my tightly shut eyes, I saw him staring down at me.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

“You are mistaken.”

For a moment, I was confused.

At first, I thought he meant my insults were wrong—that the true villains were not them, but us.

I trembled, unable to speak.

And then, to my shock—he turned and walked away.

Even in that heart-pounding moment, I was dumbfounded.

Why didn’t he kill me?

He stopped for a moment, raising his gaze to the sky.

And in that instant, I saw it.

The scar that stretched from his left cheek to his jaw, dyed red in the sunset.

Was it because he spared me? Somehow, the scar did not seem hideous.

It felt… sorrowful.

And then, a voice from the depths of my memory—innocent, childlike.

---

“What martial art leaves a five-colored handprint on the human body?”

I had always been teased for my poor memory, yet at that moment, an old day I should never have recalled surfaced in my mind.

Was it ten years ago? No—twenty years ago.

A boy.

Yes, a boy with a scarred face.

As I was leaving the Alliance after my shift, a child grabbed my robe.

I remember thinking, What bastard slashed this child’s face?

With an earnest look, the boy asked again.

“Warrior, who in the martial world uses a technique that leaves five-colored handprints?”

I should have asked him why he wanted to know.

I should have taken him in, fed him, and asked about his past.

But I had been too eager for a drink.

Carelessly, I answered, “The Heavenly Demon.”

I didn’t care—it was just the first thing that came to mind.

The leader of the Demonic Cult must know such techniques, right?

And then I left.

That boy… had the same scar as the man before me now.

“Ah…”

That boy was him.

Even after ten years, he had remembered me.

That was the last time I saw him—walking away, carrying the corpse of a fallen comrade.

Another ten years have passed since then.

I wonder if he’s still alive.

Did my careless words send him into the Demonic Cult?

I will never know.

Tomorrow, I leave the Murim Alliance forever.

It no longer concerns me.

And yet, on days like today, when the sunset is beautiful… I think of him.

How is he living now?

Has he found someone who uses the five-colored handprint as martial arts?

What kind of story does he have?

Is he happy now?

…My story ends here.

But the man who walked toward the sunset, carrying his fallen comrade.

The youngest leader of the Black Wind Squad, the most formidable strike force of the Demonic Cult.

Black Wind Leader, Seven Techniques of Inevitable Doom—Yuwol.

His story begins now.

---

Chapter 1: Snowfall

A middle-aged man in his fifties and a young woman in her early twenties sat side by side, casting their fishing lines.

If a traveler who loved to explore every corner of the Central Plains saw the scenery surrounding them, they would be left in awe. The landscape around them was breathtakingly beautiful, like a painting.

However, no such traveller would ever have the opportunity to admire it.

For this was no ordinary place, the man was no ordinary middle-aged man, and the woman was no ordinary young lady.

This was the very location that even the most infamous thieves, who slipped in and out of the Imperial Palace undetected, had never dared to approach—the back garden of the Heavenly Demon Palace, residence of the Heavenly Demon, the supreme leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult.

The middle-aged man was none other than Bi Unseong, the current Heavenly Demon.

Sitting beside him was his only daughter, Bi Seol.

If the greatest literary master in the world were to attempt to describe her, he would likely end up sighing and smacking his own forehead.

For there was no need for flowery words.

A single phrase would suffice—The Most Beautiful Under Heaven.

Yet, if that same literary master were given another chance to observe her closely, he would undoubtedly tilt his head and mutter, “Huh?”

There was one thing that could strip her of the title of ‘peerless beauty’ and turn her into a mischievous young girl.

It was the playful glint in her eyes, which spread across her entire face.

After staring at the flowing river for a long time, Bi Seol finally spoke.

Her voice was clear and graceful.

“Father, I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“I am twenty this year. I wish to descend the mountain and travel the martial world.”

“My daughter.”

“Yes, Father?”

“I also have a request.”

“What is it, Father?”

“Can’t you just stay put?”

Bi Seol’s elegant voice instantly transformed into the curt tone of a mischievous girl—her usual manner of speaking.

“What exactly are you worried about?”

“You just can’t.”

The Heavenly Demon’s voice, which normally carried the weight of commanding ten thousand demons, softened into that of an ordinary father with a daughter.

“Please let me go.”

“No.”

“I don’t want to keep freeloading. I’ll earn my own money and contribute to the household.”

“No one will blame you for idling. Just do as you please.”

“I won’t die, you know. Are you afraid I’ll get caught by some clueless Green Forest bandits and be dishonored? The moment they see my face, they’ll freeze on the spot. Don’t worry.”

Bi Unseong’s expression turned skeptical.

“You really don’t know your place.”

“Heh, don’t you think being your daughter means I don’t have to?”

“You’re getting cheeky.”

“If you’re that worried, I’ll disguise myself as a man.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll write on my forehead—Daughter of the Heavenly Demon Cult Leader. Touch me and die!”

“Still no!”

A brief silence followed.

“Father.”

Suddenly, Bi Seol’s gaze deepened, and her eyes welled up with tears.

Bi Unseong tensed slightly.

“Actually… I…”

She hesitated.

“They say I have an incurable disease. Nine Yin Severed Veins… Uncle Guilyeong diagnosed me himself, so it must be tru—”

Smack!

Bi Unseong mercilessly smacked the back of her head.

Bi Seol, on the verge of tears, shouted in protest.

“That was too much!”

But Bi Unseong merely continued staring at the river and spoke nonchalantly.

“The cure for Nine Yin Severed Veins was developed three years ago.”

Bi Seol blinked her clear, innocent eyes and scratched her head.

“By who?”

“The same Guilyeong who diagnosed you.”

“…That’s impressive.”

Another silence followed.

“Dad. Father. Honored Father!”

“No!”

“I’ll find a good husband and bring him back—with the condition that he becomes a live-in son-in-law.”

“You? You’d probably ruin every promising young man you meet.”

“Then on my way back, I’ll bring home a thousand-year snow ginseng. You’ve been getting a lot of white hairs lately. I’ll be generous and climb a cliff for you.”

At that, Bi Unseong looked up at the sky and called out.

“Leader Yun, are you there?”

A steady voice answered from the void. It belonged to Yun Maksoo, leader of the Red Guardians, the elite bodyguards of the Heavenly Demon.

“Yes. What are your orders?”

“How many thousand-year snow ginseng roots do we have in storage?”

“There are too many to count without checking the records. However, we have exactly fifteen ten-thousand-year snow ginseng roots.”

Bi Unseong turned to Bi Seol.

“Would one root be enough to make you come to your senses?”

At that, Bi Seol shot to her feet, her tall and slender frame radiating in her white martial robes.

“Am I really that much of a concern? Shouldn’t you raise me to be strong instead? Goodness, the martial world will laugh itself silly. The great leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult is trembling in fear over his own daughter.

What about the men who went out on your orders and never returned?

What about their families?

Don’t you think this is just too selfish?”

“That’s not why.”

“Then what?”

Bi Unseong’s gaze, fixed on the river, deepened.

Noticing the change, the playfulness disappeared from Bi Seol’s face as well.