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.
