Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue
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“Alliance Leader.”
Was I dreaming, even for a moment?
As my mind cleared, the familiar voice of the Divine Physician reached my ears.
It felt like we'd shared quite a lengthy conversation just yesterday, yet oddly, it seemed like ages had passed.
In that instant, I realized.
'The time has come.'
The shadow of death that had been creeping up on me had now completely engulfed me.
“Alliance Leader, you've regained consciousness. Can you speak?”
I tried to open my mouth. But neither my lips nor my jaw would move.
Naturally, no voice came out. All I could make out was the blurry face of the Divine Physician and the ceiling of my bedroom. Sensations were almost entirely numb.
Yet, strangely, my hearing was perfectly fine.
“Alliance Leader.”
I couldn't clearly see his face, but I could tell his voice was trembling ever so slightly.
“This subordinate's failings have brought you to this state.”
Why is this your fault?
“In the afterlife, I will serve you once more.”
Then, from afar, a chorus of voices rang out.
“Alliance Leader!”
“Alliance Leader! Please, wake up!”
“You mustn't go, Alliance Leader!”
Deep sorrow filled their voices.
Even in my final moments, I couldn't hide my embarrassment. These people had endured every hardship imaginable because of me—what made them weep as if I were such a fine leader?
Some were even wailing openly. They must have grasped from the Divine Physician's words that there was no hope left.
'Enough already.'
Honestly, it was closer to guilt than embarrassment.
By my own measure, I was an utterly foul-tempered man. A side effect of the family secret art, sure—but someone of the Martial Alliance Leader's stature should at least show some basic dignity, even if not outright solemnity...
I just couldn't manage it.
Well, at this point, side effects be damned. It might just be my nature.
'Still, thank you for mourning this unworthy Alliance Leader...'
That's when I heard whispers.
“He's finally going.”
“Damn it! I prayed to the heavens for ten years, and that tiresome bastard somehow lasted that long.”
“Tougher than a tiger's sinew, that one.”
Thank you...
“But what if he suddenly sits up again? He's done it before. Even in the fight with the Demon Immortal, he kept bouncing back like nothing.”
“Shh! Don't let that devil hear you!”
...Those damned bastards.
Rage boiled up, making my eyes twitch. My hearing was so acute I could hear ants crawling—enough to catch every mutter from those who despised me.
They had to be the ones booted from key posts for war profiteering. Given the situation, I spared them summary execution and just worked them to the bone, and now they flap their impudent mouths at the moment of my death?!
“Don't underestimate the Mad Demon's vitality. Come on, let's pray from the heart for him to kick the bucket properly.”
I was about to curse inwardly when I froze.
'Mad Demon...'
Crazed devil.
It was the infamous moniker those ungrateful wretches—and my enemies—had pinned on me.
'Well, with all the evil karma I've piled up.'
Even if they called me worse than Mad Demon, I'd accept it stoically.
People say I have a fiery temper, but my blade always turned toward evil.
Not entirely wrong, but ultimately, it was just the job. I never sought the lofty title of Martial Alliance Leader in the first place.
Life's like that. You can't always do what you want or have everything you desire.
In the end, I was merely an ill-tempered everyman, a touch more skilled in the martial arts than most.
'Still.'
My family came to mind.
It was a life foisted upon me by others and the world, but the one light I truly grasped.
'At least I restored the family honor.'
That was enough.
Now the world could never point fingers at my home or clan again.
Well, unless some utter wastrel in the next generation ruins it—but that's beyond my control.
Thinking of the family conjured my brother's warm smile unbidden.
'It's not because you're the Alliance Leader. You've got to outlive this worthless big brother, at least. We'll look after the family, so relax and take it easy.'
My chest tightened.
He'd saved me when I lived worse than a beast and turned our hellish clan into paradise. Without him, I'd have died or fled long ago, abandoning everything.
'The legacy we've left behind—it's not bad at all, is it?'
The jianghu was one thing, but the family lived again.
That mattered more to me.
'I've done my part.'
Yes, more than enough...
Twitch!
Suddenly, my vision bleached white as monstrous agony tore through me.
'Gah!'
I felt my mouth gape wide. Even my keen hearing muffled.
I knew what this meant.
'Demon Immortal!'
Five years after the twenty-year war with Holy Blood Palace ended.
For those five years, the Demonic Energy left by Holy Blood Palace Lord Demon Immortal Neng Heng had relentlessly devoured my life force. And now, at the very end, it flared up again.
The voice of Neng Heng—my life's greatest foe—echoed like a hallucination.
“I'll be waiting. Until you arrive.”
Oh, really?
Wait right there. A rematch in hell? I'd welcome that, you bastard!
Fueled by fury toward him, I endured on sheer malice, but the torment redoubled with every blink.
A scream erupted from my gaping mouth.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
“Alliance Leader!!”
After howling for what felt like ages, the world abruptly went dark.
And then...
“Huh?”
I blinked without thinking.
What is this place?
I stood blankly in a void utterly devoid of light. Yet I could see myself clearly, clad in the Alliance Leader's dragon robe.
The pain had vanished as if it never was, my dulled senses restored.
What? Skipped the Yellow Springs straight to the afterlife?
Then, a chilling voice spoke.
“You've finally come.”
A deep, cave-echo rumble no human throat could produce.
Hairs rose all over my body.
“Who are you?”
The darkness quivered, voicing more dread.
“I've waited far too long.”
“What?”
“As the Intermediary, my sense of self was crumbling. Now, through you, I shall prepare the God's descent.”
Incomprehensible ramblings.
No time to decipher. The words barely ended when darkness squeezed in from all sides.
Instinctively, I swung a fist—but realized it was pointless.
This wasn't a realm for the living. My death was inevitable.
'A deathbed vision that's awfully barren.'
I closed my eyes slowly.
The crushing darkness bore down.
As my body pulverized in sensation, my consciousness snapped off.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Everyone struggles to contain anger at times.
Parents nagging you to study instead of play when youthful vigor surges—rage flares.
Or watching a once-prodigious child grow dimmer by the day, pent-up frustration explodes.
You pour your heart into something, yet the world ignores it—indignation surges.
Or your beloved spouse, once so endearing, starts smacking lips over a meal—irritation bubbles up unbidden.
Some rage without reason.
Born with anger issues, or foul moods like chronic melancholy sparking it.
I fit none of those.
Not quite sane, but no innate rage disorder either. Still, anger defined me.
Even I felt not fury, but sheer absurdity here.
“What a disaster.”
I blinked. An unfamiliar woman stood before me.
Barely past her bloom? Delicate features, but her blank expression radiated chill.
“You... was this all there was to you?”
Who? Me?
“Who might you...”
Bang!
She slammed the table, jolting drinks and dishes.
A young man bolted upright.
“Our ties end today. I'm disappointed, Young Master Murong.”
She spun away coldly, trailing a thick, somehow gloomy, musty scent.
'Young Master Murong, though?'
I frowned despite myself.
'I'm the Martial Alliance Leader, and it's "Young Master"?'
Youngest ever appointee, true—but over fifty. Not for a lad in his early twenties.
“Tch, manners dumped in the slop like rice... Huh?”
Grumbling, I cocked my head.
“Ah. Aah.”
Huh?
“Aah. Aaah.”
...?
“Aaah! Ack!”
No matter how I tried, the wrongness lingered.
“What? Why's my voice like this?”
Touching my throat, I flinched again.
Huh? Where's the beard?
My chin bore only prickly stubble, barely grown.
Not just that. Jaw, nose, hair—all wrong.
Panicking, I stared at my hands—and my eyes bulged.
“What the hell!”
Where were the hands scarred from savage training and endless battles?
Manly paws, yet pristine enough to shame a lady's. Jade-like at a glance.
Chills prickled my skin.
'Not my body?'
I lurched to my feet—and staggered.
“Hup!”
Legs lacked strength.
Grasping my knee, I felt knobby bone fist-sized. Scant muscle or flesh around it.
Elbows even stung. So gaunt, fabric chafed raw.
Wooden puppet? Limbs like this?
'Witch drained my essence?'
No such memory, though...
In my daze, a hand mirror caught my eye on the windowsill shelf.
“...!!”
A stranger stared back: pale, dark-rimmed eyes. Gaunt cheeks and jaw stark.
Handsome enough for "fine youth," yet so wasted he seemed neurotic, melancholic.
“...Me?”
Familiar, yet alien.
Staring blankly, I shoved brows up with fingers, yanked lips side to side.
Perfectly mirrored.
“T-That's me?”
Impossible!
“A dream? No? I already...”
Died.
Realization hit—hairs stood, heart thundered madly.
Yes. I died.
From the illness of unexpunged Demonic Energy courtesy of Demon Immortal Neng Heng.
'Impossible.'
I bolted from the room in a frenzy.
No clue why. Just had to get out.
“Huff huff!”
Bursting from the tavern's second-floor VIP room to the first. Mere sprint winded me, but no time for that.
Someone called from behind.
I let it slide through one ear, flung the ground-floor door wide.
Clang!
Outside, sun dipped behind western peaks.
Crimson sky. Mildly humid, brisk chill.
“Where's this?”
No familiar haunts.
Street teemed. Bustling city artery.
Diverse folk. Faces, gazes, moods all varied.
Their visages grounded me in reality.
“Didn't I die?”
Forget not dying.
“...Why in someone else's carcass?”
That snide girl called him Young Master Murong.
My surname Murong? Murong Cheon—that's me.
But not youthful me. Skinny once, sure—but never sickly gaunt like this. Face all wrong too.
“What nonsense is...”
Someone yanked my arm from behind.
“Hey, young master. Spare us a glance.”
Dazed, powerless, I let strangers drag me into an alley.
Thus, I returned from death.
To the husk of a scrawny youth, sickly enough to drop dead any second.