Heavenly Demon Bastard
A forest so deep that no ordinary person could easily pass through.
Before a collapsed cave stood a man dressed in splendid silk robes.
He appeared to be in his late twenties at most—a handsome man. But his white hair gave him an otherworldly, mystical aura, as if he weren't entirely human.
“……”
He stared silently at the cave entrance, then indifferently drew his sword and swung it.
It looked like a casual swing.
Yet a brilliant white energy shot from the blade—bright enough to dazzle—and struck the cave rubble.
In that instant.
―――!
The boulder pile blocking the cave vanished in a heartbeat.
The astonishing part wasn't that it had been pushed back or shattered—it had simply ceased to exist.
No vibration. No noise.
The cut surfaces of the rubble sizzled faintly, as if melted.
The man sheathed his sword calmly and proceeded inside.
The first thing to greet him was a nose-assaulting stench.
Rotting corpses littered the area.
He approached one, checked something, nodded, and ventured deeper into the cave.
An altar.
Around it, people in black blood-red robes bustled about, investigating something.
He'd made no sound, exuded no presence, so no one noticed him until he drew near.
They jumped in shock at the sight of the man approaching the altar.
“Who are you!?”
The man didn't answer. His gaze swept over them.
Seven in total.
A smirk crept across his face.
“I wondered where that stench was coming from. Turns out it was Demonic Cult bastards crawling around. Such turbid, filthy black energy.”
“I asked who you are!”
“How dare you.”
His eyes were clear, but laced with stark madness.
“Demonic Cult dogs defiling the martial world.”
The man drew his sword. Dazzling white light erupted from it again, like the sun rising. The black-robed figures gasped in horror.
“That's... Sword Qi...!”
Their words went unfinished. Their bodies erupted in flames. They died without even a scream.
“Tch.”
The man clicked his tongue and approached the altar, inscribed with details of the Soul Swap Great Law.
But cracks spiderwebbed across it—the ritual was unusable now.
“Lost a useful pawn.”
His sword gleamed white once more, and the altar melted away.
That day.
The nameless forest burned in a mysterious blaze.
One black-robed survivor watched from hiding.
He'd stepped out to send a carrier pigeon and lived.
Soul Swap Great Law. Sword Saint Appears.
Murim Return was a blockbuster hit.
It had to be—every cliché from the wuxia genre was crammed in.
There's a reason they say familiar flavors hit hardest.
Why bring this up?
“Halt! This is Earth Bandit Stronghold territory!”
“Uahaha! Hand over everything you've got!”
“Leave the carriage, and we'll spare your lives!”
Again. Again. Again.
Bandits. For the fourth time.
Wuxia cliché.
The protagonist runs into bandits on the road.
With this population, how are there so many bandits? On frequented paths, maybe—but even on deserted trails?
“I'll handle it.”
“Do it. Leave it to Tak Horak.”
“Yes.”
Almost simultaneously with Sa Wol's response, the bandits' screams echoed. Tak Horak had charged out.
“S-spare me!”
“Aaaagh!”
Not even killing them—just acupoint strikes to paralyze—and they wailed like that.
Damn Demonic Cult.
Insolent.
I'm a demon anyway.
Hold your tongue.
It was all because our group screamed “Heavenly Demon Divine Cult”—or rather, Divine Cult.
We couldn't advertise it, so Sa Wol, Tak Horak, and I traveled separately in a small group. Tak Horak was insurance—Sa Wol alone might snap and do something drastic.
Anyway, our small size made us look easy prey. Flies swarmed us.
The Black Shadow Corps was the Divine Cult's premier strike force. “Premier” was a bit ambiguous.
Not lacking in achievements or skill. Like at the Soul Swap cave—they excelled in tracking and assassination.
Combat power? Not lacking there either.
Captain Sa Wol was a mature Peak expert. Lieutenants like Tak Horak were generally Peak First-Rate.
First-Rate alone made you a top dog anywhere. Even Third-Rate could lord over a village.
Sure, they slipped against Dok So Gong—but that was my intel lapse. Minor issue.
The Black Shadow Corps' fame wasn't for that. It was the all-black getup.
Wrapped head to toe in black cloth. Not madmen obsessed with black, but...
Black clothes, black masks, black shoes, black scabbards, black hilts, black carriage, black horses.
Hell, even their rice bowls, chopsticks, and spoons were black.
Overkill.
This is all your fault.
Demons venerate the dark hue by nature...
Shut up.
All because Sado Hwan loved black.
Even Pa Cheon was black. Obsessed, confirmed.
The Corps benefited, though—instant “infamy,” the martial artist's top virtue.
Problem in the martial world, though.
A huge black-clad group? Like yelling “We're Black Shadow Corps!” through a megaphone.
Martial artists spot them? Instant hunter squads, heaven-and-earth nets.
Just for being Divine Cult.
So only Sa Wol, ultra-loyal Tak Horak, and I rode in the carriage—changed clothes too.
The rest followed scattered, half a day's distance apart, relaying signals undetected.
Less eyes on us, but small group with carriage? Prime robbery bait. Like these bandits.
“How much longer to the Divine Cult?”
“About seven weeks left.”
“Seven weeks.”
A week? Three more bandit packs, my guess.
Why fuss over bandits? Mere rabble.
I know.
Bandits aren't scary. I'd handle if fighting myself, but lazy—Sa Wol and Tak Horak cleaned up with a word. Easy.
But this Murim Return world brimmed with clichés. That's the worry.
Per wuxia tradition: where bandits lurk, righteous sect juniors await.
'Young martial heirs purge bandits preying on the common folk on their first foray.'
History-proven cliché.
Already minimizing eyes with small group—if juniors show...
Plus, Cheonghae Province—Kunlun Sect turf.
One of the Nine Great Righteous Sects, frontline guardians bordering the Divine Cult.
More vicious and relentless than Tang Clan on Cult matters.
And Kunlun juniors had annoying skills.
Best avoid—
Then.
Someone approaches.
Sa Wol's transmission rang in my ear. Telepathy over speech—something suspicious.
I cracked the window.
Bad feelings never lie.
A young man approached. Coincidence would be nice, but straight at us.
Long hair tied high in a hero's bun, deep blue robes embroidered with a white dragon.
Dragon? Kunlun Sect.
And handsome enough to rival Sado Hwan. Like most Murim Return leads—beauties and hunks.
Kunlun. Young. Handsome.
Murim Return otaku me knew instantly.
He glanced between bandits and us, smiled brightly.
“This poor Daoist is Un Yeop Ja of Kunlun. Might I pay respects to the noble inside the carriage?”
“……”
Exactly as expected.
Couldn't ignore self-intro like that.
This is different.
Until now, I'd projected powerhouse aura—even Divine Cult vibes—to convince Sa Wol and the Corps.
Not now.
Un Yeop Ja.
Kunlun's top junior.
'Dies heroically leading against the Cult later, but strong.'
By war arc, power inflation explodes.
Super Peak rules regions—but late-game, everyone's Super Peak.
Un Yeop Ja hit it later too.
So now? Early Peak.
Can't underestimate. Even Sa Wol wouldn't guarantee victory.
Un Yeop Ja mastered Kunlun's Cloud Dragon Great Eight Forms.
A movement art mimicking dragons soaring skies. Aerial mobility—uncatchable.
Not true flight, but freakishly fast and elusive.
We couldn't match. Sa Wol's arts excelled stealth, not speed or distance.
So project “strong, but not easy prey”—no Cult vibes. Absolutely.
“Hoo—.”
I circulated qi, exhaled confidence, opened the door.
Un Yeop Ja cupped hands at me.
“Pleased to meet you. Un Yeop Ja.”
First impressions: looks passed. Voice key too.
Trustworthy timbre. Mid-low, steady. Like coffee ad narration.
“Greetings. Kim Dong Yun here. Heard much of Kunlun's fame. Pleased, Daoist Un Yeop Ja.”
Said my real name after ages.
Sado Hwan shell.
Inside: modern me, Kim Dong Yun.
“……Daoist? Too much honor.”
“Fitting for a famed Kunlun Daoist.”
“Did fellow Daoist Kim purge these local bandits?”
“Yes.”
“Heard of a massacre near Seonyeong, came patrolling—saw you spared them all.”
Seonyeong? Dok So Gong's work.
I smiled innocently, feigning ignorance.
“Bandits are living beings too. Mercy through lesson over death.”
“Compassionate.”
Un Yeop Ja nodded, continued.
“If I may, unusual surname.”
“From distant borders.”
His eyes flashed—inhuman blue glow swirled.
Why Kunlun juniors headache.
Un Yeop Ja detected truth from lies.
Murim Return had such oddballs. Like the Sword Saint, Murim Alliance Lord.
Saw qi with eyes?
Rare—top five talents.
Truth confirmed, next question.
“Borders... from the Demonic Cult, perhaps?”
Straight for throat.
I approached.
His hand went to sword.
“No attack intent.”
Truth sensed, he yielded space.
Out of Sa Wol and Tak Horak's earshot, I smirked, whispered.
“Heavenly Demon bastard.”
“……”
“That rip-apart-and-kill Heavenly Demon fucker.”
“……”
“Heavenly Demon……”
“Enough. Not Demonic Cult.”
Whatever.
My “Heavenly Demon” meant another novel's.
Pretending to be the Heavenly Demon