The Faith of a Dying Village

"No?"

"No, it's responding to the Yeokcheon energy."

I spread my hand. Black flame unfurled across my palm.

It was a power of negation. A black flame that seemed ready to deny everything in existence—everything except itself.

I looked at the will flowing into Yeokcheon. It was a primal emotion, the kind of desperate power that came from frail souls who had failed to overcome the trials life had thrown at them, begging for someone—anyone—to believe in and fix things on their behalf.

"A pitiful power, isn't it."

Paewang didn't entirely disagree.

"I was weak once too. But I climbed to the summit on my own strength. Of course, I'm the exception among exceptions. Human talent comes in an astonishing variety."

Paewang closed his eyes as if sifting through old memories. Then a note of deep disgust bled into his voice.

"That faith turning toward you—it's repulsive. If I were you, I'd want to destroy the very place where that faith began."

"...I'll handle it myself."

"That's the spirit. And there's a religion near here, founded by someone with a power much like yours."

Paewang paused there and looked at me.

"The Demonic Cult."

"...The Demonic Cult, you say?"

"That's right. A cult that worships a man called the Heavenly Demon as a god. Their core fighting force already degenerated into a Villain organization—what were they called, some Ten Great Evils or other."

"You mean the Jecheon Sect?"

"Ah, that was the name. Anyway, the Demonic Cult is weaker than you'd think. They're barely at the level of a village."

"How many members?"

"Just over a hundred. Which is exactly what's strange. The power of faith gathered by a mere hundred people should be negligible."

Paewang stared off to one side with suspicious eyes.

"Seems I've found myself some work. It's my territory, so I'll have to deal with it personally, tiresome as that is. Oh well. I suppose this humble body will graciously step in."

"I can handle it alone."

"Fine. Then do it that way."

Paewang granted it without hesitation.

"You're my guest, but you're also a warrior. If you've resolved to stand entirely on your own, then stand. The road will be treacherous, but the destination won't disappoint you."

Paewang spoke while gazing at me with an oddly nostalgic expression. Surely he wasn't projecting his own youth onto me.

'I was far more impressive than that.'

If he had any conscience at all, he couldn't possibly think otherwise.

We reached the village in no time. It hadn't been far at all.

Old concrete houses lined the paths, and the villagers were loading plows and farming tools into their carts. They pretended not to notice me, but their eyes kept flicking my way in sidelong glances.

'Unpleasant.'

I swept the village with my Divine Sight. Most of them were civilians. But here and there, individuals harbored a sinister energy—not Yeokcheon, but a dark, festering power that smoldered beneath the surface.

"A sad thing, truly. However hard a sparrow tries to imitate the Vermilion Bird, all it does is tear its own legs apart. The glorious holy sect that my former master founded when she conquered Murim is long gone. At some point, they became a genuine Demonic Cult."

Heukcheon murmured in a bitter voice.

I walked through the village. At its center stood a statue.

A woman who resembled Heukcheon—no, who was her spitting image—raising a sword toward the heavens. Beneath it was an inscription.

'Now they're even committing fraud?'

"But Master. Doesn't 'First Heavenly Demon' sound far better than 'Tenth Heavenly Demon'? And she looks strong, too. Above all, since my former master was the sovereign of the holy sect that unified Murim, 'First Heavenly Demon' is the correct title."

Heukcheon was desperately defending her former master. She had said she was a part of the Heavenly Demon, so perhaps she was simply ashamed of it herself.

'To think that exposing one shame could reveal yet another beneath it.'

And even now, Heukcheon was crumbling with embarrassment. I gave her a brief, pitying look.

I circled the village, but nothing special caught my eye.

"Hmmmm..."

Yeongcheon was studying the village with a peculiar expression.

'What's wrong?'

"It feels strange, Seoha-nim. There's something enormously important here, and it's as if I've forgotten what it is. No—could this be close to a forbidden seal?"

"A forbidden seal?"

Heukcheon tilted her head.

"Yeongcheon, it's a wonder you survive with all that worrying. You may be as useless as I am, but the current Master is generous of heart. He won't cast you aside, so fret no more."

"Seoha-nim, may I hit Heukcheon?"

'Do as you like.'

I sat down in the grass and gazed at the village. A cozy rural scene. Nothing out of place.

Except that every time a few of the villagers bowed toward the statue, Yeokcheon stirred.

'The funny thing is, the power is actually accumulating.'

It was minuscule. Measured in Yeokcheon, you'd have to drop five decimal places just to register it. But if this was a number that grew on its own, without any effort on my part, it was quite substantial indeed.

'Should I take them in?'

If I gathered these people, settled them into a small organization in Korea, and let them live there, I'd have built a factory that automatically produced Concept stats. They would offer me their faith; I would invest money in return. That was a rather decent deal, wasn't it?

I extended my arm toward the village. And the power of faith began gathering before the statue, flowing toward me.

I converted all the faith that had accumulated on the statue into Yeokcheon, then absorbed it through the Breath of Absorption. And as the faith was drawn into the Yeokcheon energy—

Yeokcheon had risen. Yet I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made a strange face.

'Underwhelming.'

It was, quite literally, an ambiguous amount. Judging by the wear on the statue, they must have been offering their faith here for at least half a century—and absorbing all of it yielded only this much.

'What a wasted trip.'

The moment that thought crossed my mind, something reacted to my senses. A colossal power wreathed around her. Yeongcheon and Heukcheon abandoned their bickering mid-sentence and fixed their gazes on her.

"Are you her descendant?"

The sun was setting. A woman in Chinese dress stood with the crimson dusk at her back. A martial robe painted with black flame; her hair, black shot through with red, was pinned up with a jade hairpin, lending her a bewitching air—and she was glaring at me with open hostility.

"..."

The power I felt from her was profoundly familiar. Yeokcheon energy—and within it, the power of flame.

'So she built something like my Black Flame Radiant Divinity, did she?'

Back when the Heavenly Demon lived, the woman had abandoned her own rank for the sake of obtaining Yeokcheon's power. Five hundred years had passed since then; it was no surprise she'd acquired other powers along the way.

"Master, be careful. That woman's mood is anything but ordinary."

"Seoha-nim, Zhuque adored the Heavenly Demon—and envied the women at her side so bitterly that she wished them dead. She may well have come here to kill you. If you share some of your Yeokcheon energy with me, I'll unfold a spatial technique at once and get you out of there."

'You can do that now?'

"I absorbed quite a lot of the Yeokcheon energy from the dragon last time, so yes."

'Then please do.'

Having told Yeongcheon as much, I drew the Heukcheon Demonic Sword.

"She's grown weaker than she was back then, hasn't she."

'Her?'

"Master, do not underestimate the holy sect. The divine beasts were the most exceptional of all creatures—the Heavenly Demon cherished them above everything. They feasted on every elixir in existence, and the dragon that was absorbed into my former master was once a monster capable of briefly binding even a Transcendent."

"Zhuque in particular stood at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the very pinnacle of raw power alongside that dragon. There's no harm in being careful, Seoha-nim."

'Is that so.'

At Yeongcheon's words, I sharpened my guard.

"Master?"

Heukcheon made an incredulous face, but I deliberately ignored her.

"Wielding the sacred relic of our sect, and wielding her power besides? Absurd."

"Why is it absurd?"

"Was the succession never even completed properly? You needn't know, outsider."

She gritted her teeth and glared at me. A thick killing intent pierced through my skin—and its foundation was a monstrous, all-consuming jealousy. Perhaps because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she had never been chosen by the being called the Heavenly Demon.

"I've changed my mind. Rather than rebuilding the Demonic Cult and reenacting her myth here, I'll kill you first."

'How conveniently opinions shift.'

Just as I was thinking how absurd that was, Zhuque stretched her hand toward me.

Fwoooosh!

Black flame roared to life, as if to drown the world in darkness.

'So it really is black flame.'

Calmly, I observed the black flame Zhuque had conjured through my Divine Sight. Like my Black Flame Radiant Divinity, it was a flame built upon the foundation of Yeokcheon energy.

Similar to mine—and yet not.

She had forcibly pressed Yeokcheon energy onto the flame's innate nature. The Yeokcheon energy recoiled in instability, and the result was a forced, uneasy harmony. That thing was being held together by sheer will. Maintaining it like that would burn through her mental strength at an appalling rate, and its output would be disappointingly modest besides.

It meant she still couldn't properly handle Yeokcheon energy. In other words: crude.

'Unexpected.'

"Behold! This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠power, born of fusing Yeokcheon energy with my flame! With this, I shall reenact her myth right here—"

"That's not how you do it."

"What did you say? You, the Heavenly Demon's descendant, dare to speak of her—"

Fwoosh.

A small black flame bloomed in my palm. But it burned with perfect stability. Perhaps if Zhuque trained for another few thousand years, she might produce a flame like this.

"H-how..."

"That's the difference between being chosen and being passed over, I suppose."

Strictly speaking, it was the difference in our Concept stats.

"Come at me."

I beckoned lazily with my fingers and regarded her with haughty eyes.

"I'LL KILL YOUUUUU!!!"

Zhuque promptly lost all reason and hurled herself at me.