Dawn of the Limitless
A poison administered across seven separate doses to plunge its victim into qi deviation.
Its greatest virtue was absolute stealth.
Throughout the course of all seven administrations, the victim felt nothing amiss. Only when precisely ten days had passed after the seventh and final dose did the venom awaken. The instant the victim circulated their qi, the venom would ride the flow of internal energy, contorting their meridians and triggering a violent, fatal deviation.
Without a single symptom during ingestion, with a prolonged delay before activation, and with the eruption occurring during meditation, onlookers invariably mistook the tragedy for a cultivation blunder—a simple, fatal error in regulating one's internal art. Worse still, once the victim drew their last breath, the poison dissolved entirely, leaving behind neither scent nor stain.
It was a truly insidious concoction.
'So why in the world was it used on this child?'
As one might expect from its dreadful potency, brewing this poison was outrageously expensive and excruciatingly delicate. Even if the boy belonged to the Namgung Clan, he clearly held little importance here; he was lucky if he wasn't actively persecuted. It was hardly something one would squander on a neglected runt.
Above all else, it was a poison born of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult. Or rather, it used to be.
'Yoma.'
The man had been an elder of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult before Yun ascended to the throne of Cult Leader. His personal martial arts had been shallow, yet he possessed an unnatural knack for bizarre sorceries and ingenious craftsmanship. The Seven-Fold Traceless Poison was his handiwork. Trading on those twisted talents, Yoma had enjoyed the favor of the previous Cult Leader, wielding considerable sway within the sect. But once the Heavenly Demon claimed supremacy, he had cast the wretch out.
'He crossed the line. Far too many times.'
Even among the members of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult—madmen whom the rest of the world reviled as the Demonic Cult—Yoma stood out as peerlessly deranged. So he had expelled him. Not a single cultist had voiced a complaint. In a realm that revered pure martial strength above all, watching a weakling strut about relying on parlor tricks and foul sorcery had grated on everyone's nerves. Even Yoma's direct subordinates had shown neither pity nor regret at his exile; they had simply looked away in complete indifference.
It had been astonishing how thoroughly despised a man could be. Having cast him out into the world, the Heavenly Demon had never given him another thought, yet here his phantom had surfaced, of all places.
'Still, why does the poison linger in this body?'
It had already served its purpose by claiming Namgung Yun's life. By all rights, it should have dissolved and vanished without a trace.
'Not to mention that if he suffered qi deviation, his meridians should be ruined, yet they're completely intact.'
Could it be something other than the Seven-Fold Traceless Poison? '…Wait. Did whoever administered it botch the dosage?'
Unlike medicine, which demanded strict adherence to a regimen, poison usually operated under no such delicacy. So long as the dose exceeded the lethal threshold, more was simply better; the heavier the dose, the surer the kill. Yet an intricate concoction like the Seven-Fold Traceless Poison demanded rigorous precision.
'What happened when the instructions weren't followed?'
Its defining advantages were lost, naturally. If an individual dose fell short, it produced no effect at all, simply dissipating after a certain period. 'On the other hand, if a single dose was excessive, the venom would activate immediately on the spot, striking the victim dead without leaving a trail.'
In that case, the cause of death was not qi deviation, but sudden heart failure. Considering that, the pristine state of the meridians made total sense.
'And the heart?'
Fortunately, nothing seemed fundamentally wrong, though he caught a faint, unnatural stiffness within the rhythm—the lingering aftereffect of cardiac arrest, no doubt. 'It likely restarted the moment my soul settled into the vessel. Lucky for me, there shouldn't be any lasting damage.'
In that case, there was no need to fret over the body any longer. Purging the Seven-Fold Traceless Poison from his system was well within his power. In fact, if handled properly, he could refine the dormant venom into a catalyst to bolster his internal energy.
'Next comes finding the culprit.'
Though waking in Namgung Yun's flesh had never been part of any grand design, now that he aimed to reach the martial pinnacle he had missed in his past life, he could hardly overlook someone attempting to murder his vessel. Yet how was he to root them out?
A sudden thought brushed his mind.
Yun turned his gaze toward the bedside table. Resting there was the medicinal pill left behind by Seo Won-gil. Scraping off a tiny speck with his fingernail, he placed it on his tongue. The distinctive, bitter tang of refined medicine spread across his mouth. Sitting quietly upon the bed, he turned his senses inward.
Before long, he felt a wisp of medicinal potency silently seeping into the dormant Seven-Fold Traceless Poison.
'Hmph. When did he say he would return?'
It seemed a little conversation was in order.
With the matter of the poison settled, Namgung Yun slipped into meditative breathing. It was time to take a proper measure of this vessel. First and foremost was internal energy.
'Judging by the meridians, he hasn't cultivated anything particularly profound.'
Hardly surprising. When taking one's first steps onto the martial path, orthodoxy dictated building a foundation with a stable, safe cultivation method rather than pursuing raw efficiency. Even within the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, where men resorted to every bizarre and extreme method imaginable in their thirst for power, a great many disciples still adhered to this orthodox principle. The problem was that he did not know what specific art the boy had trained in.
'I'll start with the Three Talents Heart Method.'
It was the very foundation of foundations. An art so common that even street thugs knew its mnemonics, yet in stability and the sheer purity of qi it yielded, it stood head and shoulders above nearly any peerless scripture in the world. Whatever cultivation technique one practiced, circulating the Three Talents Heart Method would cause no friction.
Yun guided the sluggish internal energy into motion.
'Hm?'
Abruptly, several verses drifted into his thoughts.
'The internal art the original Namgung Yun cultivated.'
At first, they emerged in scattered, jagged fragments, but as his breath settled deeper into the cycle, they crystallized into clarity. 'It seems memories surface bit by bit whenever I encounter something related to them.'
He dissected the emerging mental scripture with surgical detachment. Entertaining stray thoughts during meditation was usually a straight road to qi deviation, but the Three Talents Heart Method was one of the few arts stable enough to permit it.
'The Dawn Sky Art, is it?'
As expected, it was not an exceptionally high-tier discipline. Yet that was only from the perspective of an ancient monster who had mastered countless supreme techniques. To an ordinary martial artist, diligent cultivation of this art offered a sturdy path to become a First-rate master, with the potential even to peer into the Peak realm.
'More than anything, it's intriguing.'
The inescapable instincts of a lifelong martial artist stirred within his blood. It was not as though he had never witnessed Orthodox martial arts before. Yet every sect possessed its own distinct philosophy and flavor. Though the old adage held that all rivers eventually flow to the same sea, looking at it from the other side meant there were ten thousand different starting points.
'So this is the martial heritage of the Namgung.'
He quickly grasped the intent and framework behind the Dawn Sky Art. Naturally, his inner qi shifted, tracing the pathways dictated by the technique. What began as a cautious trickle gradually swelled into a surging stream.
'Too many redundancies.'
That flaw did not diminish the inherent value of the Dawn Sky Art, of course. Calling them redundant was merely the judgment of a transcendent master; for a developing disciple, every one of those meticulous, cautious safeguards formed the bedrock upon which to raise a mountain.
'I have no use for training wheels, however.'
And so he pruned them. He sliced away the excess, layer by layer, until nothing remained but the bare, luminous core of the Dawn Sky Art.
'Ha. True to the Namgung name.'
Most martial arts of the Namgung Clan aspired toward the fierce, unyielding majesty of the heavens. True to its name—the Dawn Sky—the art was designed to cultivate a vessel capable of holding that roaring sky. Naturally, its deeper principles overflowed with yearning and reverence for the heavens above.
Yet Yun merely scoffed.
'You dare preach of the heavens to the Heavenly Demon?'
He had been the sky that overshadowed the Demonic Cult—the demonic heaven that blotted out the sun itself. However high the Namgung’s sky reached, could it ever eclipse the sky of the Heavenly Demon? Wielding principles of this caliber was child's play.
'Yet... it might prove quite useful.'
His thoughts drifted back to his final moments before awakening in Namgung Yun’s flesh. The reckless, mad gamble he had made at the end of his lifespan, grasping blindly for the realm that lay beyond.
'I failed, but I did not walk away empty-handed.'
Profound truths surged into his awareness: the supreme mysteries of the Divine Art of the Heavenly Demon accumulated over a century and a half; the newly unraveled truths of the Dawn Sky Art; and countless other insights gleaned throughout a lifetime of violence and enlightenment. He fused them together in the crucible of his mind. From that union, a singular new martial art was born.
'Magnificent.'
Truth be told, even in his prime as the Heavenly Demon, such a synthesis would have been impossible. It succeeded solely because of the fleeting glimpse he had caught of that unreachable realm during his final breath. 'A mere fragment yielded this much. If I truly attain that realm, what kind of power will I command?'
The sheer prospect made his pulse race.
'To reach it, I must bring this art to perfection.'
It remained incomplete, a raw template that needed to be tempered and refined as he came to understand the true meaning of Righteousness and Chivalry. Even in its embryonic state, however, it yielded nothing to the peerless divine arts of the world. And should he bring it to fruition, it would undoubtedly become the swiftest vessel to carry him toward that unreached summit.
Hence, he gave it a name.
'Limitless Divine Art.'
A declaration of unyielding conviction: boundless, unstoppable, charging down the path none had ever walked.
With that, he forged a resolve within his heart.
'From this day forward, I live as Namgung Yun.'
His past life as the Heavenly Demon had been turbulent and drenched in blood, yet he harbored no regrets. 'It was right for that life to end as it did.'
Now, he would devote himself to living as a member of the Orthodox faction, etching the essence of righteousness and chivalry into his very flesh and bone. His path was set.
"Hoo..."
Exhaling a long, steady breath, he opened his eyes.
'The boy's foundation in mental cultivation wasn't half bad after all.'
Such progress did not come from merely putting in hours of meditation. 'Not only is his skeletal frame solid, but his innate comprehension must have been remarkable.'
A genuine prodigy. To be blunt, had someone of this caliber crossed his path back when he was the Heavenly Demon, he would have seriously considered taking him as a personal disciple. That was how exceptional Namgung Yun’s raw talent had been.
'Yet for someone with such gifts, his actual martial prowess was utterly abysmal.'
Though he did not yet know the boy's full history, Yun was already certain he wouldn't have cared for the original owner of this body.
Having circulated his qi, the dull aches throbbing throughout his frame eased considerably. Stepping down from the bed, Namgung Yun loosened his joints with a light stretch.
'Not bad.'
In terms of raw might, his former body had stood in an entirely different dimension, but this fresh vessel possessed the unmistakable vitality of youth.
'Time to take a look outside.'
Pushing open the door, the estate grounds unfolded before his eyes. Stately, grand pavilions rose in layered splendor, interwoven with meticulously pruned trees, flowering shrubs, and ornate garden decorations.
'Lavish.'
While the headquarters of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult had been far vaster in scale, its culture worshipped strength alone, leaving its architecture austere and brutally functional. This place was far more refined.
As Yun stepped out to survey the grounds, Eun-sam came scurrying over.
"You are awake, Young Master."
"Indeed."
"Would it not be wiser to rest a while longer?"
"Lying trapped inside only leaves my limbs stiff; it feels as though recovery is slipping further away. I merely intend to take a stroll nearby for some fresh air, so do not fret."
"As you wish, Young Master." Eun-sam bowed deeply and stepped back.
Yun circled the pavilion he inhabited.
'His treatment in the clan certainly leaves much to be desired.'
Though elegant on its own merits, the building paled in comparison to the surrounding residences. 'The location confirms it.'
A towering wall ran close to the pavilion's edge, clearly serving as the demarcation between the inner and outer courtyards. That meant this building sat at the outermost fringe of the inner compound—hardly a residence fit for a direct descendant of the Clan Patriarch.
Still, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves and warm sunlight spilled down, offering a pleasant serenity. But as Yun was enjoying this modest quiet, an abrasive commotion shattered the peace.
"P-Please, wait! The young master is gravely injured! It is not a good time to receive guests...!"
"Tsk! Why make such a fuss? Do you take me for a villain who came to harm him?"
"It is not that, young master, but..."
"Out of my way. I came to offer him an apology, didn't I?"
The frantic protests of Eun-sam clashed with an unfamiliar, haughty voice. Though hidden behind the pavilion wall, someone had clearly come calling. Judging by Eun-sam’s desperate tone, the visitor was hardly a welcome friend.
Yun strolled toward the commotion.
Beside a flustered Eun-sam stood a young nobleman. The youth, who looked ready to barge through the front doors at any second, caught the sound of approaching footsteps and turned toward Yun. A beaming smile spread across his lips.
"Well, look at that! I thought you were bedridden and groaning in pain, but you can still wander about on two feet, can you?"
Taken on their own, the words sounded like a kinsman rejoicing over a relative's recovery. Yet one look at his face would disabuse anyone of that notion. It was a sneer so dripping with contempt it instantly turned one's stomach.
At that moment, another shard of memory surfaced in Yun's mind.
The boy's name was Namgung In.
He was the very bastard who had painted this body blue and black with bruises.