Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: I Became the Eon Family's Scoundrel (1)
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On the corpse of what was called a Disaster-class Demon Emperor or Demon God, I suddenly realized one fact.
"...Hoo. I'm about to die soon too?"
The one move I had no choice but to unleash to kill the bastard called the Lord of Lords that I was sitting on.
Because of that single move, my right chest below to my side was cleanly pierced through.
"Heh heh. My stomach felt a bit bloated from breakfast, but now it's vented clean—feels all refreshing inside."
Even the guild members who put up with such nonsense all became guests who never return. I closed and sealed the gate myself, and potions or whatever were used up ages ago.
So, I'm about to face death now.
As I realized that fact...
The Nightmare Lord—the very reason I could use black magic—spoke to me.
"Not regretful? If you want, I could yield the seat beside me."
I graciously raised my middle finger to the likes of him.
"You demon... no, don't pull any tricks, Nightmare Lord!"
"What trick did I even pull?"
"Our contract was clearly just to take out this bastard I'm sitting on. No intention of handing over my soul."
"...How rude. At first, yeah, I approached because your special soul tempted me. But that was 'cause I never thought you'd actually pull it off. Now that the Lord of Lords is a cold corpse and the throne's fallen to me, your soul doesn't tempt me anymore."
"Yeah. Not buying it."
"Wow. Did you really live getting duped your whole life? No wait—if we're counting deceptions, you've screwed me over way more times?! How many Satans did I lose gigs over because of you?!"
That long tongue—he's still coveting it, plain as day.
"You think I'd trust a demon bastard's words? I declare: no more deals, period."
"No, really—it's pure friendship! I just wanna watch you a little longer! First time demon blood feels this hard done by!!"
No.
Don't switch it up.
Go away.
"Whatever. Go play King of Kings or Masked Singer by yourself."
"It's Lord of Lords?!"
Yeah?
Anyway, teaming up was shit!
Never see each other again!
I'm gonna leisurely review my life's highlight reel, so don't make noise.
I meant it.
'A pretty decent life, all told.'
A life leaving no real regrets.
I'd indulged in wealth and fame to the point of nausea.
Ever since the first gate cracked open on some bigwig's inauguration day, with demi-humans and monsters raining from the sky.
The new breed called Hunters or Awakened showed up, sealing those gates that popped like bolts from blue sky, spewing all sorts of monsters.
A bit self-aggrandizing to say it myself, but let's spit it out.
I was among the top five strongest in the world, of that Hunter or Awakened lot.
'SSS-rank.'
The kind classified as super-superpower nation-level, national treasure hunter.
'Earned me plenty of cringey nicknames too.'
Necromancer King, One-Man Army, Heir of the Nether King, Lord of the Necropolis—that sort.
So, what regrets...
'Ah. Just that one thing stings.'
Not finishing that wuxia novel I'd been hooked on lately?
I released my flickering consciousness without a shred of clinging.
But then!
My sluggishly blinking awareness suddenly accelerated, like getting sucked into somewhere.
'What the—?'
And in an instant!!
Accompanied by the nose-stinging reek of herbal medicine, my eyes snapped open!
"Y-Young Master Yong-un has awakened!"
Thus, I became the Pearl Eon Family's utter scoundrel—a murim clan straight from the novel I'd been reading.
But no problem.
I'll find the answer.
As always.
"Y-Young Master Yong-un has awakened!"
Starting with the first servant spotting me bowing frantically and shrieking that I'd woken, total pandemonium erupted.
"If you know that, then hustle! Why're you standing around?! Fetch the Family Head and Plum Blossom Madam, quick! Send word to that quack doctor too!!"
Clatter-crash along with a youth freshly out of boyhood bursting in wearing training garb, raising a huge racket.
"Today was the crisis point! His pulse is back!!"
Not long after, a doctor with a white headcloth came flying in, eyebrows flapping wildly as he took my pulse.
"A miracle! A miracle! Either Guanyin Bodhisattva or Bhaisajyaguru Buddha surely aided the Eon Family!"
And babbling about miracles and whatnot, he jabbed seriously dubious needles—disinfection in question—all over my body, turning me into a human helicopter.
If it'd ended there, I wouldn't call it pandemonium...
Next up arrived right away.
"...Yong-un."
Next was a middle-aged madam draped in elegant yet refined silk palace robes.
She dashed in on dirt-stained footwraps, calling herself my mother, peering down at me anxiously with big deer-like teary eyes.
'Hmm.'
She's genuinely stunning.
A real beauty.
To borrow phrasing from that wuxia novel I'd been devouring lately...
Porcelain-white skin contrasting lustrous three-strand hair, matched with sharp, refined features?
"...Do you know how much worry this mother endured? It's the Eon and Lee ancestors who helped us. Helped, I say."
But why's she keep calling herself 'mother' to my face?
'I'm an orphan who lost his parents young...'
That was when.
Exactly twenty years rewound—this top-world beauty, prime candidate for all-time beauty debates—dabbing tears into a handkerchief before me, as I puzzled over it.
A thought flashed across my mind.
'...Hold up.'
Wuxia novel?
'Come to think, that young servant who bolted out earlier yapped about Young Master Yong-un.'
At that cry, this noble lady came sprinting in footwraps, muttering about Eon ancestors helping.
Eon ain't a common surname.
Yong-un ain't some trendy name either.
Mashed together: Eon Yong-un.
'The only Eon Yong-un I know's that sniveling shithead from the novel I read up to recently.'
This instant.
My stunned brain, frozen by the baffling scene, spun back up—thought puzzle pieces slotting into place one by one.
No result without cause in this world; this mess has one too.
And the prime suspect ticking 'wuxia novel', 'Eon Yong-un', and 'me' all at once? Just one.
'Possession.'
Come to think, right at death's door, last-last moment—I'd unwittingly grumbled about regretting not finishing the novel.
Nightmare Lord.
Or Demon Emperor now?
Anyhow, that pretty bastard must've overheard and pulled some unasked-for stunt.
'...Fuck me.'
Curse words welled right to my tongue tip.
But I couldn't voice the rising grunt.
"...Kuhk."
Throat clogged tight—physically impossible anyway.
And the middle-aged man presumed father and Family Head barreled in with a roar.
"You bastard Yong-un!!!!"
This body's presumed dad stormed in, neck veins bulging, bellowing loud enough to split the heavens.
"You should've died! Died right there!! How dare you wake up alive?! Gam Chief Steward! Gam Chief Steward, you there?!"
"Yes. Family Head."
"Hand over that sword you're wearing!!"
He yanked the blade from the attendant guard's waist and hoisted it like he'd cleave me in two.
"I'll personally execute this wretched spawn and beg the ancestors' forgiveness!!"
At that, mother flung her arms wide to block.
"Lord Husband! How can you speak such terrifying words to a child just rousing from death's door?!"
"Madam, out of the way!!"
"I won't!"
I stared at the spousal spat hurtling toward asura hell—not ending at mere water-cutting. Muttered to myself, 'Screwed.'
Exactly two months since I opened eyes in Eon Yong-un's body.
In that time, I'd roughly scoped my predicament.
'I've slipped into Murim Academy's Sword Genius.'
Murim Academy's Sword Genius.
The novel I'd daily anticipated—my emotions parched from lifelong hunter grind since kidhood, lips unmoving even at heavy media.
Murim vet readers griped, "This ain't wuxia!!"
'But I dug it.'
Me, a wuxia vet too.
Objectively, a polarizing light wuxia. Protagonist the classic ultra-forgiving great hero type—frustrating eps galore from excessive mercy.
'But nailed light wuxia laughs and great hero epic scale.'
So I'd fiercely clapped back at the haters: "Murim Academy's Sword Geniusis proper wuxia!"
'Plus, gate orphan awakened young as hunter—no formal schooling—so academy vibes hit extra.'
My teen memories? Just AI and dummy bot drills.
Protagonists' academy antics? Pure fun.
'Was genuinely hooked.'
Last life moments, curiosity over next chapter trumped unfinished dreams or meals.
But thinking didn't equate to wanting to dive in for the finale.
'Goddamn demon prick.'
Sigh.
Fine, concede—maybe a smidge.
Okay.
So, novel dive? Cool.
'But why this Eon Yong-un fucker, of all people.'
Sum this body's Eon Yong-un in one phrase?
"That... utterly infamous... f-fucking bastard?!"
That was when.
As I mulled Eon Yong-un's karmic backlog...
"Young Master, lunch brought."
Exclusive attendant Wang Sam knocked with midday grub.
"Yeah. Enter."
Menu: piping-hot duck meat.
"Chew well, sir."
I shooed Wang Sam off after an "Got it," popped duck in mouth, resumed pondering.
'Twenty.'
Modern eyes? Not old.
But factor this world's standards and his birth spoon? Whole different tale.
'Wuxia-wise, twenty for normie—farmer joe—means family's set.'
Proper house kids? Scholar-official track or murim ambitions.
'Yet Eon Yong-un, Pearl Eon Family eldest son...'
Pearl Eon Family.
Renowned for Eon Family Fist and Corpse Manipulation Technique; split Hebei turf with saber-famous Peng Family. Murim powerhouse.
'Novel lore: sixty years back Righteous-Demonic War wrecked 'em bad—sect tanked.'
That massive righteous vs. demonic hegemony clash sixty years ago.
Aftermath: droves of direct/indirect kin dead. Corpse Manipulation Technique—one twin pillar—lineage severed.
"Slurp slurp. But proverb: rich endure three gens minimum."
Pearl Eon Family: that exact case.
Corpse line cut? Eon Family Fist alone kept murim fame solid.
Bumped from Five Great Sects? Still top ten when lining up murim clans.
'War sacrifices scored Murim Alliance aid and such?'
Recap.
Eon Yong-un: born Pearl Eon eldest, all expectations loaded. "Waa! Baby Yong-un!"—instant tiger-facewashed murim golden spoon.
"Munch. So what'd this prick stack by twenty?"
Quail-egg inner energy.
Plus IOU ledgers piled at every Jinju/Hebei brothel from whoring binges.
"Normies scratch from home plate or first; this third-base starter lives like this—pitiful, yeah..."
Eon Yong-un's depths? Had a basement level.
'Gambling.'
Eon Jeong-ung, fed up with scoundrel shit, cut funds—ordered training focus. Eon Yong-un? Dove into gambling dens.
Seed money: snuck mom's jewels, sold 'em.
Sucker-style total wipeout, natch.
Thenceforth, gambling inescapable.
'Had to recoup.'
Video unnecessary. "Win back, repay." Or "Win big, recover."—back to tables.
No house eats full losses; fresh stakes needed.
Thus: pawned clan secret arts for fat pots.
Corpse Preservation Manual
Eon Family Soul Binding Technique (Upper Volume).
He figured unnecessary.
'Eon's Corpse line? Practically extinct post-war.'
Bloodline snapped; all-op Corpse arts in lost lower volume—gone sixty years.
Upper? Just wonky inner art splitting qi upper/lower dantian—inefficient mess.
Preservation? Mere embalming tricks.
Not just him—most Eon folk agreed.
'Modern Pearl Eon shelves pipe-dream Corpse revival; goals on world-top fist master via Eon Fist.'
But sane folk don't hawk "maybe restore someday" lower's upper proxy.
Our Eon Yong-un? Utter wastrel—dreamed it up and did it.
...Such a diligent dumbass.
"...Damn, this house nails duck."
Tender as hell, zero off-taste.
Or... murim constitution kicking in?
Anyway.
Pawned the manuals, dove back in.
Lost again.
But stakes? Catastrophic.
'Even shithead Eon Yong-un clocked he was fucked—tried snatching manuals back physically.'
But foes scheming hard? Brought real guards.
Mere first-rate Eon scrub's qi and fist mastery? No contest.
Outcome.
Smeared Pearl Eon name in mud. Lost manuals. Beaten half-to-death, hovering life-death.
'Eon Yong-un's rap sheet up to my possession.'
After: booted from home.
Grudges bro who claimed his spot, family—goes dark.
'Dark? Buds yellow, guts black from jump?'
Whatever.
Timeline: roughly two years hence. Caps novel volume as Demonic Cult-colluding villain.
Dies to bro Eon Yong-myeong.
'Stifling.'
Future stuff—as possessor, I'll nix it.
But karma stack? Monstrous.
'No wonder change efforts post-mobility ignored—save mom Plum Blossom Madam...'
Morning runs. Shadowed clan warriors' drills.
Tried everything; responses meh. Past probe? Nodded sagely.
'Were I Family Head Eon Jeong-ung? Meridians snipped, dantian trashed, cave-dumped day one.'
Thus, diverged hard from trope 'scoundrel tales' I'd devoured.
Other wastrels? Field training slim-down flips gazes. Me? Perception shift near impossible.
"Then just get exiled outright?"
I mulled.
Fist-trumps-law era: powerless exile = de facto execution.
'But I'm no normie.'
Exile?
On second thought, zilch to fear.
"Actually ideal."
Tethered to Pearl Eon? Gains aplenty.
Booted?
Scoop 'certain opportunity' pre-main plot.
No clan shield? Hebei creditors, this body's grudge-moths swarm fire-like.
Still unfazed.
"Got self-defense chops."
Mid-think, duck stripped to bones.
Halted rumination, slurped final oil-slicked fingers.
Evoking expulsion-moment flyswarms.
Hand atop bone heap.
"Rise."
The neatly culled duck bones atop the plate responded to my technique, clattering as they slotted together.
Crack—
Clack-clack—
Soon, the assembled duck skeleton flapped its meatless wings and let out a shrill "Quack!!"
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