Heir: Jongchil 8
The leader of the Demonic Cult is known in the martial world by the title of Heavenly Demon. No one could wear that title better. It's a fact both the righteous sects and demonic factions agree on.
I'd impersonated one of the Heavenly Demon's disciples. The kind of brazen lie only a madman with no guts—or rather, no brains—would dare tell. And yet, surprisingly, it was a lie that could actually work. The reason? The Heavenly Demon had way too many disciples.
Unlike ordinary martial artists who cherished master-disciple bonds, the current Heavenly Demon took in anyone with talent, no questions asked.
He'd glance around the Demonic Cult or wander the rivers and lakes, and if he spotted some promising sprout, he'd take them as a disciple on the spot. Even Maro, one of his disciples, probably didn't know how many there were in total. Hell, maybe even the Heavenly Demon himself had lost count.
That's why he takes in disciples so indiscriminately—to pit them against each other.
Becoming a disciple of the Heavenly Demon meant earning the basic qualification to inherit the Demonic Cult. But naturally, only one person could succeed. Which meant everyone else was doomed to be cannon fodder.
Who in their right mind would volunteer for that role?
Disciples of the Heavenly Demon were fated to fight each other. And the Heavenly Demon subtly encouraged it, proving the law of the jungle through his own students. A true head of the Demonic Cult through and through.
"Fine. I get it—you're not interested in the cult leader position. Next question. Why are you helping me?"
Maro still hadn't fully dropped his guard around me. We'd only met today, and I hadn't even shown my face. It was natural for him to be wary.
I had no intention of easing his suspicions anyway. Not like I could, even if I tried.
As long as he listens seriously to what I have to say, that's enough.
I gave him a plausible excuse.
"If you're going somewhere, there has to be something coming back. I'm not helping you out of the goodness of my heart."
"Martial world logic, huh. So what do you want?"
"This."
I touched my thumb to my index finger, forming a circle. Nothing beats the universal sign of goodwill.
Maro's brow furrowed.
"Money?"
"Yeah. In this martial world, it's the second most important thing after power."
The term "financial power" didn't exist for nothing. The martial world was a full-blown capitalist society.
Of course, I wasn't actually helping him for money. My goal was clear: steal his golden opportunity.
"Too straightforward—it's a letdown. Helping me just for cash? Do you even know what that entails?"
"I do. It means going up against the Three Elders."
"If you know the Three Elders that well, you must know how tenacious and dirty that old fox is... Helping me to get a cut sounds like the hardest way to make money I can think of."
"What are you talking about? I'm a gambling master. Every bet I make moons."
"Moons? What's that mean?"
"Figure it out from context."
He stared at me with tense eyes. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't see inside the Leon Mask.
His demonic energy flickered briefly. From the flow of his inner power, it seemed he'd enhanced his eyesight with it.
His suspicious expression didn't fade. He'd failed to see through the mask.
"Fine. So your goal is money. How much exactly?"
"If you're gonna be the future Demonic Cult leader, you need to think big. I don't know the exact value of the cult's business interests. So, half should do nicely."
His brow twitched at the outrageous demand. This time, it wasn't suspicion—it was pure annoyance.
"You're insane. Planning to swim in a river of silver?"
"The more, the better."
Half of the Demonic Cult's business interests.
The cult's main base was stuck in the backwater of New Frontier, but its influence stretched across the Central Plains.
Pragmatic to a fault, the Demonic Cult jumped into anything profitable, no matter what. Half of that could easily control the economy of an entire province. The "river of silver" metaphor might not be exaggeration at all.
It was an absurd demand, but anything less wouldn't justify my actions. I waited for his response.
Maro stood there pondering for a long while, seriously weighing my proposal. I prodded him as he mulled it over.
"Right now, the leader's seat is miles away for you. With my help, it'll be right at your feet."
"Even if we decode this treasure map, my chances of becoming leader aren't great."
He had a solid grasp of his situation. But he didn't know the future. In Extreme Sword Heavenly Star, the next cult leader was Maro.
"And even if I did become leader, pawning half the cult's economy is the last thing I'd want. No matter how I look at it, half is too much."
"Someone once said you shouldn't do good deeds for free."
"I'm not asking for free. I just don't want to get ripped off. Ten percent."
"Hilarious. Slicing it in half, then half again. You're the desperate one here."
"Twenty percent. That's my final offer. And if we don't negotiate..."
His demonic energy stirred. This time, it surged violently, unlike before. Another attempt to pressure me. It didn't faze me, of course.
"Look at your position right now. You can't afford to make enemies."
"True. I can't afford enemies. Especially if you side with the Three Elders—you'd be a scary one."
"Join hands or grab the knife. Pick one."
"Glad we see eye to eye. That's definitely different from the Three Elders."
My answer was set. I had no interest in Demonic Cult shares anyway.
I'll take the whole cult later. Not twenty percent—all of it.
I needed to keep things smooth with Maro for now. He'd make a great foothold for taking over the cult. I extended my hand to him.
"Looks like the deal's on. No need for a contract, right?"
"Of course not."
Maro and I sealed a massive deal without so much as a single sheet of paper.
"Good. Now that the deal's done, one question. I won't ask to see your face. But what should I call you?"
"People call me the Twin Black Lust Demon."
"Twin Black Lust Demon... You got a brother or something?"
"Got a sworn brother. Not important right now. Hand over the treasure map."
Maro pulled a small scroll from his bosom. The treasure map he'd obtained—or rather, received from the current leader.
In the original story, he couldn't decode it at this point. Four years later, during the next Yongho Contest, he deciphers it with Gong Woosun's help.
Normally, decoding the treasure map involved Gong Woosun, the true protagonist of Extreme Sword Heavenly Star. But four years ahead of schedule, I'd decode it.
The story's gonna twist like crazy again.
The story had already started veering off. Just my existence alone was derailing it from the original track.
I can't leave opportunities on the table out of fear the story won't follow canon—that's like shitting your pants over maggots. I have to maximize my info's value while grabbing every opportunity I can.
My immediate task: decode the Demonic Cult's treasure map.
I checked his map. It was a crude thing, barely better than a rough sketch. In the faded yellow corner of the scroll, the words "Hanan" were scrawled.
That was all he'd "decoded." Hardly decoding at all. But that single clue had led him here.
"My master gave me this. Said it'd lead me to a new realm. But I can't make heads or tails of it."
"Looks like you slacked on your training under him."
He bristled at my words.
"I've never slacked once! I was never even taught map decoding."
I knew where it pointed. The original story detailed the opportunity hunt.
But we couldn't head there right away.
"Tch. More tails on us."
Maro clicked his tongue and swung his hand. Black demonic energy swept through the air like a broom. Two men in all-black emerged from behind the hill's trees, faces masked.
"The Three Elders' hunting dogs."
Maro nodded at my words.
"Annoyingly persistent. Dealing with them comes first. And those two aren't all."
"I know. Two more in the back. That's all four, right?"
The pair bolted the opposite way, no doubt to report to the Three Elders. No letting them live, then.
"I'll take the runners."
"Perfect. A good chance to check my contractor's skills."
Maro trusted me—or rather, my power.
Time to meet expectations for now. I needed his trust too.
Time Acceleration
Catching the fleeing assassins was a breeze. Time Acceleration closed the gap in an instant.
They don't look that strong. Disposable pawns for intel.
Good. No messy fight needed.
Raw punch unleashing devastating force.
Thud!
I threw a punch. The fist wind ravaged the surroundings, sending leaves cascading and branches snapping. It slammed dead-center into one runner's skull.
"Gahk!"
The struck man groaned and flew through the air. His head smashed into a tree across the way with a wet crack. He flew so hard his skull shattered on impact.
"Mukbi!"
"That one's name is Mukbi? What a bumpkin name."
"Y-You bastard!"
Maybe because he'd spent so long with his dead buddy?
The survivor, who should have been begging for mercy, spat fury at me instead.
Wind Cutter
I neatly decapitated him with a blade of wind. No intel worth hearing anyway. No desire to torture him either. He could die like the extra he was.
Dealt with both in under a quarter-hour. I dusted my hands and returned to Maro.
Maro had just finished his two. One lay unconscious with his dantian shattered; the other trembled, minus an arm. Maro planned to interrogate the conscious one.
I crossed my arms and watched. True to Demonic Cult form, Maro was a torture pro. The one-armed guy spilled everything he knew in five minutes flat.
Once he had all the info, Maro plunged demonic energy into his heart. He finished the unconscious one the same way.
"This is a hassle. Looks like the Three Elders have my hideout pinned. Gotta move lodgings first."
"Aw. No treasure hunt right now?"
"Dodging the Three Elders comes first. If he's watching like a hawk, any martial arts or elixirs we snag get taken anyway."
"Fair enough. Meet tomorrow, then? Where?"
"Ganjeop Pavilion. Yeah, that works."
Maro named an unexpected spot.
"Hanan's top brothel, huh. You got taste."
"A place I'd never go normally. Even the Three Elders won't think to check there. More importantly, what's 'taste' mean? And you've been throwing around weird words all day."
"Figure it from context. Anyway, tomorrow at noon there."
I parted ways with Maro cleanly.