Chapter 5: A Predator Does Not Hide Its Claws
Chapter 5: A Predator Does Not Hide Its Claws
We didn't have to go far to find a hunting ground.
The back mountain of the Main Cult was notorious for its rugged terrain. It was a forbidden zone, fortified with defensive perimeters and complex mechanical formations. In this desolate wilderness, there were only two people: my father and me.
‘Actually, make that three.’
My father’s personal bodyguard, Hwi, would be trailing us from the shadows.
I used to call him Uncle Hwi. I saw him often as a child, though those visits grew rare as I got older. Hwi was the only man my father trusted implicitly. If I had Lee An, my father had Hwi.
I circulated my energy to scan the surroundings, but I couldn't detect a single trace of him. He truly lived up to his reputation as a master of stealth. Of course, even a man as skilled as Hwi… had died at Hwa Mu-gi’s hands on that fateful day.
The first thing my father said to me once we were deep in the woods was:
“What is with all that cumbersome luggage?”
I was hauling a leather pouch nearly as large as my own torso.
“Supplies for a few days, Father.”
“A few days? I intend to head back down before nightfall.”
“One never knows. You might find hunting with me so enjoyable that you’ll want to stay a while longer.”
My father’s expression shifted, making no effort to hide his skepticism at such a ridiculous notion.
“You certainly have vivid dreams.”
Though we had been together for less than an hour, I realized something I hadn't known before: my memories of my father were quite distorted. I remembered him as a man of almost no words, yet he spoke far more than I had recalled.
“You were more impressive than I expected.”
He was evaluating my performance against Gu Pyeong-ho. Though my movements had lacked internal energy, they were seasoned by the combat experience I had accumulated in my previous life. I didn't bother trying to deceive him.
“I was hiding my true strength.”
“It seemed so.”
I added a joke, riding the momentum of the conversation.
“I’m not some hissing house cat, Father. I’m a predator that simply knows how to hide its claws.”
My father stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me.
“If you are a predator, why hide your claws?”
“Ah, I hadn't considered that perspective.”
“That is why you are a cat.”
As he turned back, he asked abruptly, “What stage have you reached in the Flying Heaven Sword Technique?”
The Flying Heaven Sword Technique was the martial art passed down through the bloodline of the Heavenly Demon. While it couldn't compare to the Nine Calamities Demonic Art—which was reserved solely for the Heavenly Demon—it was an extreme-rank martial art considered on par with the techniques mastered by the Demon Lords.
Of course, mastering a superior martial art didn't automatically make one stronger. Depending on the practitioner, someone with a "weaker" technique could easily kill a master wielding a legendary one.
Knowing I couldn't deceive him, I answered honestly.
“I have reached Great Achievement.”
In that instant—!
Swoosh!
A streak of Finger Wind fired from my father’s fingertip, grazing my cheek. If I hadn't instinctively tilted my head, it would have punched a hole straight through my skull.
My father looked at me, his expression genuinely surprised.
“You truly have reached Great Achievement!”
I shouted back, rubbing my stinging cheek.
“Good heavens! You fired that without even believing me? What would you have done if I hadn't dodged?”
“You would have paid the price for lying. If you had truly reached Great Achievement, you would have been able to dodge it.”
“Scars do not suit this handsome face I inherited from you, Father!”
After a short snort, my father resumed walking.
‘No wonder I was so terrified of him back then.’
What kind of father fires a Finger Wind at his own child’s face without hesitation? It wouldn't have killed me, but it would have left a hideous, permanent wound.
Walking ahead, my father spoke without looking back.
“To reach Great Achievement at your age… is remarkable.”
In my past life, I hadn't reached Great Achievement until well into my thirties, so his surprise was natural. Since my father was a man who took martial arts more seriously than anything else, that was high praise indeed.
“Thank you.”
After that, we hiked the mountain for a long time in silence.
If we were in a room together, such silence would have been suffocating. But climbing a mountain was different. Simply moving our feet in rhythm felt like a wordless conversation.
I was the one to break the quiet.
“Who taught you how to hunt?”
After a brief pause, my father spoke.
“I learned from my older brother.”
“I had an uncle?”
“He is dead. I killed him when he was your age.”
A heavy silence fell. Instead of offering empty words of consolation, I spoke my honest thoughts.
“You did the right thing.”
My father stopped and turned to look at me with a sharp, piercing gaze.
“Otherwise,” I continued, “I would never have been born.”
After staring at me coldly for a moment, he started walking again.
Even for my father, the wounds left by the slaughter of his own kin must have left a scar. I had seen it many times in my past life—those who appeared strongest on the outside often carried the deepest rot within.
That was why I spoke so bluntly, like lancing a boil. There was a lesson I learned in my previous life: you can bury a corpse, but you can never bury a wound of the heart.
Perhaps that was why he finally opened up.
“At the time… I could not find another way.”
I knew what he meant. He hadn't found a way to win the succession struggle without killing his brother.
My response was firm.
“Do not expect that of me either.”
My father glanced back at me. His gaze was even colder than before, but I said what needed to be said.
“I cannot do what you could not, Father. Besides, you should only say such things if you gave me a brother worth agonizing over. You know as well as I do how despicable and cruel he is.”
“You certainly have no qualms about insulting him behind his back.”
“He deserves every bit of it.”
In truth, even this wasn't enough, considering the atrocities my brother would commit in the future to secure his position.
“He is toiling away at the borders, yet here you are, insulting him from the comfort of home.”
“When one is the First Young Master of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, they wouldn't suffer even if they were locked in the deepest cell of the Underground Prison, let alone the borders.”
My brother was currently away on my father’s orders. At this point in time, he hadn't yet revealed his true colors. Because he was capable, my father trusted him more than me. Not only that, but many cultists were already scrambling to align themselves with him.
“My brother will never give up the position of successor. To think I can become the successor while letting him live is nothing but foolish arrogance.”
The expression my father gave me seemed to say, ‘Were you always this kind of child?’
My eyes met his with a steady answer: ‘Yes.’
My father resumed his pace. I never married in my past life, so I didn't know exactly what a man felt toward his child. I was curious—what kind of existence was I to him?
We continued to climb for some time.
“Shh.”
I looked up at my father’s signal. He was pointing toward the distance.
“Do you see it?”
I widened my eyes, but I saw nothing but dense forest.
“I don't see anything.”
“I do.”
“What is over there?”
“Dinner.”
“Then we should catch it.”
As I reached for the bow strapped to my leather pouch, my father checked my haste.
“How do you plan to catch something you cannot even see? First, close your eyes and feel your surroundings.”
“Yes, Father.”
When masters assess an opponent, they do so through the vibrations in the surrounding air—what is commonly referred to as an opponent’s Aura.
The only Aura I could feel nearby was my father’s. It was calm. And that was why it was terrifying. I knew better than anyone how ferocious this Aura could become when provoked. Beneath that peaceful sea slept a typhoon capable of upending the world.
“Now, release a single strand of energy. Just one.”
I did as he instructed.
“Slowly. Do not let the energy break. Imagine your body is a spool and pull the thread out slowly.”
In my life before regression, I had never projected such a thin strand of energy. Usually, projecting energy was meant to suppress an opponent’s momentum. This was a method I had never even considered.
“Thinner. It must not break!”
This was the first time I realized that energy projected from the body could extend this far.
“Further, further, further.”
If my father hadn't been there encouraging me, I never would have been able to maintain the connection. And then, my energy touched something.
“Did you reach it?” My father sensed the contact as quickly as I did.
“Yes. I feel it.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I think it’s a tree.”
Surprisingly, I could sense the texture. It was just a feeling, but it was definitely a tree.
“Search around it. Slowly.”
The thread on the spool was almost gone; it felt as though the energy might snap at any moment. But I didn't lose my focus. I stretched my energy even further to scout the area. Then, beneath a tree, I discovered a living presence.
“Is it a wild boar?”
When my father didn't answer, I slowly opened my eyes. He was staring at me with a look of pure astonishment.
“Or is it a bear? Its fur felt stiff and its body long, so I thought it was a boar.”
“It is a boar.”
I looked toward the spot where my energy had reached. It was still invisible to the naked eye. I had identified a boar deep within the distant forest.
“It is not easy to hit it in one go from this distance,” my father muttered, seemingly unable to believe what he was witnessing.
Come to think of it, the technique from a moment ago wasn't just a parlor trick for hunting. It was a formidable secret technique that could be applied to high-level martial arts.
“You were planning to tease me when I failed, weren't you?”
“Because you were supposed to fail.”
“I am your son, Father.”
“Even I couldn't do it on my first try.”
“Do I not possess the Heavenly Martial Physique?”
At the mention of the Heavenly Martial Physique, my father’s eyes changed slightly.
Back then, I had felt a deep sense of resentment toward him regarding my physique. Why did a man who pursues strength so relentlessly—a man who would hold a martial arts tournament just to find a talent capable of crushing his own children—neglect me so much despite my Heavenly Martial Physique? Why didn't you support me?
I had even wondered if he was jealous of me. Yes, back then, I was that petty.
But now I know. The world doesn't move solely according to my desires. It’s not about asking for special treatment because I have the Heavenly Martial Physique; it’s about utilizing this body to become a special person on my own. Only when the expectations of the world are placed upon that "specialness" does the Heavenly Martial Physique truly become a blessing.
“What are you doing? Do you intend to skip dinner?”
I powerfully drew my bow toward the spot where I had felt the energy.
Twang.
*
A campfire crackled in the darkness, and well-dressed boar meat was roasting over the flames.
“When did you learn to dress game?”
“I learned from a book.”
“You seem quite practiced for someone who learned from a book.”
Father, I’ve probably caught and eaten hundreds of boars in my time.
I subtly shifted the topic.
“That thing you’re sitting on was prepared specifically for flattery. It was worth the effort of lugging it up here.”
My father was sitting on the tiger skin I had brought in my pouch. At my boast, the corners of his lips curled up slightly. It’s rare for a sneer to look so natural on a person’s face, but my father managed it effortlessly.
“Did you ask to go hunting with me to get on my good side and become the successor?”
“No. I know well enough that such things don't work on you, Father.”
“I’m glad you realize that.”
“I can become the successor without your help.”
“You’re quite confident.”
“Of course, my greedy, cruel, and ill-tempered brother will try to stop me.”
“Insulting him behind his back again, I see.”
“He deserves it. Where else would I get the chance to openly insult him in front of the judge who decides the scores?”
Father, if you truly wanted peaceful brotherly love, you should have decided from the start. You should have said, 'This person is the successor, don't even think about it.' Even then, succession struggles are messy affairs where people kill each other, aren't they?
“Why did you say you wanted to go hunting with me?”
“There are two reasons. First, I wanted to learn something and become stronger. I think I succeeded in that.”
“And once you are strong?”
My father’s eyes turned provocative, as if asking if I would then aim for his seat. I answered quickly.
“The reason I want to be strong isn't because I want to become the Heavenly Demon. You are still in your prime, Father; I don't want to waste my youth pining for your title. As long as I can become the successor and learn the Heavenly Demon’s martial arts, I am satisfied.”
Given our ages, my brother and I must have seemed woefully inadequate to be successors in my father’s eyes. In my previous life, my father didn't name my brother as successor until ten years from now.
But I can't wait ten years. Being a "talent hidden in a bag" isn't enough. It’s time to poke the awl through the bag and make my presence felt.
That’s why I need to be granted the Nine Calamities Demonic Art as soon as possible. I must reach a realm beyond the ordinary. Since my father, who reached the Ten-Star Great Achievement, lost to Hwa Mu-gi, I must reach the Twelve-Star Great Achievement.
“I sometimes imagine how infuriating it would be to encounter someone I desperately want to beat to death, only to find I lack the power to do so. I want to be strong simply to avoid that fate.”
My father’s expression remained unreadable. “And the second reason?”
“I wanted to spend time alone with you. It’s the first time, isn't it?”
The sneer on my father’s face deepened. “That is the kind of cheap sentimentality that gets people killed.”
“How can it be cheap when I am with the strongest man under heaven? If we sing, it will be the greatest song under heaven; if we drink, it will be the greatest wine under heaven. Even if you were to take a sh—”
“That’s enough.”
“Yes! I shall keep my mouth shut for the next hour.”
Our eyes met, and I gave him a pleasant smile. It was likely the first time I had ever smiled like that in front of him. My father, however, simply turned his head away coldly.
‘When I thought of you, Father, I had no real memories to speak of. A memory of being afraid isn't exactly a fond one. In this life, I won't let my memories be so desolate. But don't be too flattered. I’m doing this for myself, not for you.’