The Greatest Under Heaven
If you asked a hundred people in today's murim which organization reigned supreme in the world of information, the answers would likely split down the middle — half naming the Hao Gate, half naming the Cheonjeong Gate.
On the matter of intelligence, these two powers were unquestionably the finest in all the murim, rivals for the very top.
The world is wide. It holds many people — and many beggars. Six hundred years ago, the Beggars' Sect, which had once commanded staggering fame, was annihilated, and both of these powers absorbed the countless beggars who had belonged to it.
In truth, almost no one alive knows what happened six hundred years ago. Call it a wiped history, if you like. The Nine Sects and One Alliance that once lorded over the world — the Shaolin Temple, the Mount Hua Sect, the Beggars' Sect, every last one of them — suffered devastating blows. Some sects vanished in an instant, others barely survived, but the difference was only a matter of time; the overwhelming majority were destroyed all the same.
People call that event the Great Cataclysm, and even now there are those who wander the land investigating it.
The information organizations. The Cheonjeong Gate and the Hao Gate — those were the ones.
Both powers maintained branches across the entire murim, and it was into one of them — the Wi Commandery branch of the Jeok Nation's Cheonjeong Gate — that a man came crashing in.
Won Sunsang, branch manager of the Cheonjeong Gate, who had been seated at his desk inside tending to business, was knocked clean out of his chair. Scrambling to his feet, he asked in a trembling voice, "G-Great Hero... what... what brings you to this humble place...?"
The man called Great Hero burst into a hearty laugh.
Huahaha-ha.
At that peculiar laughter, Won Sunsang smiled awkwardly along.
"Now listen. I am about to ask you a question. You had best answer it properly. Do you understand me?"
"What choice would I have...? Ask me anything you please."
There was a reason Won Sunsang had no option but to grovel like this.
The man called Great Hero was, in fact, the Great Elder of the Asura Sword Sect.
Only a madman would take the Great Elder of the Asura Sword Sect — famous for its tyrant's path — lightly.
Worse, as an organization that dealt in information, they knew at least the broad outlines of who this man was. He was indeed a martial artist who walked the tyrant's path. But when he was angered — when he was truly enraged — no one alive could stand in his way. In those moments, it would be no exaggeration to say he ceased walking the tyrant's path and walked the mad path of a demon incarnate.
Once upon a time, ten great clans had earned Myo Man-li's fury. Within a single day, every one of them had been erased from the world.
It meant, quite simply, that the man was properly insane. He asked, "Yi Do. Where is that boy right now?"
"Wh-who do you mean?"
"Oh-ho. Must I say it twice?"
"...You don't mean... the Cruel Mad Sword?"
"Yes, that Cruel Mad Sword. Huahaha-ha. Really, that boy... of all the epithets to receive first, he picked a delicious one... Hahaha."
"...I... to be honest with you, I don't know where he is."
Click. Myo Man-li's laughter cut off.
"Not since... not since he razed the Killing Curtain branch in Suju Prefecture. But if I were to venture a guess..."
"Venture it."
"...Would he not have gone to the black market?"
"The black market?"
"Yes. He left Jangryeong Commandery carrying a considerable sum and went straight to the Killing Curtain branch in Suju Prefecture, so I can't imagine anywhere but the black market. Beyond that, they say he stole a sizable amount of money from the Killing Curtain branch itself as well. According to the witnesses, he had come to take back the payment from the Sangun Merchant Alliance — the very money used to commission his own death in the first place — and then..."
"Things went sideways, so he killed them all?"
"Yes..."
"Hahahaha! My, my... isn't that something? Magnificent, isn't it?"
"...Is it?"
"It is magnificent, beyond doubt. Is that not the march of a man that wretches like you could not even dream of imagining? Now that is the true road of the tyrant's path... Huahaha. My mood could not be better."
Isn't that less a tyrant's path than a mad demon's path...
Ahem.
"...I... forgive my presumption, but why do you seek the Cruel Mad Sword?"
"Why, you ask? Are you an information broker or not — do you truly not know what martial art that boy wields?"
"...His martial art — the sound of thunder rings out whenever he swings his blade... Don't tell me..."
"Yes. That is it."
The hallmark of Myo Man-li's Five Thunder Demon-Sweeping Sword Art was the roar of thunder it dragged in its wake. Should Myo Man-li, a master of the Realm of Harmony, draw in the qi of nature itself, he became lightning incarnate, striking down five bolts of thunder in the blink of an eye.
Won Sunsang tilted his head. "But Great Hero, you strike down five bolts at once. I heard the Cruel Mad Sword strikes only a single bolt..."
Let me say this plainly: they were different.
No one would mistake them for the same martial art. The people of the murim were no fools; they might think the two arts were of a similar lineage, but never that the one was the Five Thunder Demon-Sweeping Sword Art itself.
The same held true for Myo Man-li.
"Two possibilities, then."
"...Two?"
"Either he learned the Five Thunder Demon-Sweeping Sword Art I gave him in some strange fashion — or he created his own, however he pleased."
"...The latter is surely impossible."
Myo Man-li barked a derisive laugh. "How would you know? What business does an information peddler have gauging the limits of a boy you've never laid eyes on? What exactly do you think you are?"
"...That was out of line. Forgive my careless words."
"As long as you know. The black market, is it... Now, from this moment, you will draw up a list of every black market the boy might visit."
"Right now?"
"What, would you rather do it after you're dead?"
A chill ran down his spine.
It had surely been meant as a joke — but with Myo Man-li, it was entirely something he was capable of carrying out.
"I'll have the information for you at once."
"Good. If I bring my disciple by, I'll introduce you to him as well. It will be a most fruitful acquaintance. Huahaha-ha."
Won Sunsang cursed inwardly.
Son of a bitch.
Not only the Cheonjeong Gate — every organization that dealt in information pointed to the same destination for Yi Do: the black market.
Think about it with ordinary sense, and there was nowhere else it could be. Setting aside the extraordinary business of raiding the Killing Curtain in the first place, the money he had walked away with amounted to 120 gold taels, plus silver worth roughly another 30 gold taels.
All told, 150 gold taels — and on top of that, whatever funds he had brought from Jangryeong Commandery. No one knew the exact amount, but it was certain to be considerable. So what would anyone do with it?
Buy elixirs, obviously. Or purchase armaments.
Any martial artist would do the same. Already a hunted man, the surest move was to swallow an elixir if he had to and aim for his next realm.
And yet.
This was hardly the first time Yi Do had been hunted.
Though the world knew him as a newcomer fresh out of the hinterlands, in truth he was a battle-worn veteran who had once climbed all the way to the ranks of the Ten Great Masters Under Heaven. And that title meant the ten strongest among every martial artist in all three nations of this land — not merely the murim of the Jeok Nation, but of the Yeon Nation and the Wi Nation besides. More than that, Yi Do had never built a faction.
He had climbed to that height alone. If his movements had been so easily predicted, he would have died in a ditch long before he ever came near the Ten Great Masters.
It was true that he intended to buy elixirs. But he did not move along the obvious route.
Head south-southeast from Suju Prefecture and you reach Wi County — a port city where commerce flourished tremendously. That was where Yi Do was now.
Under a black conical hat and a dark robe, Yi Do's appearance differed greatly from the face that had been described in every wanted notice. His eyes were narrowed into long slits, his lips thinned; his nose, by contrast, rose remarkably high. To any observer, he wore the look of a thoroughly sly, unsavory man.
Like a common thief, one might say. No one seeing this face would ever think of Yi Do.
"Mom, look over there. That mister is really ugly."
At the innocent voice of a small child, Yi Do turned his head. The child's mother, meeting his eyes, flinched. He considered forcing a smile, then simply moved on.
Rarely did it happen, but Yi Do's expression was faintly pleased.
Opportunity comes to everyone.
Whether or not one can seize that opportunity is a separate matter — what matters is that it comes at all.
I seized mine.
After I left the Yi Clan in my past life, the place I turned toward was this very Wi County.
I wanted to board a ship and go somewhere where no one knew me. The Yeon Nation, the Wi Nation — or some forgotten corner of the Jeok Nation, it hardly mattered. I simply refused to be tangled up with the name of Jangryeong Commandery itself. And so it was in Wi County that I met my Master.
I learned a very great deal from him.
If something stands in your way, crush it. If you live carrying regret, you will regret until the very moment you die — so even if the world brands you a Public Enemy of the Murim and every soul under heaven turns against you, do not run. Stand and fight. And if someone does you a wrong, repay it without fail.
He taught me much.
People do not change. I did not think I had changed — only that the eyes of those who looked at me had. In my days living under the Yi Clan's roof, I had bowed my head through every moment of my existence. I did not want to live that way, and my Master prized that resolve of mine highly.
Not once in my life have I forgotten his teachings.
Even if I were to die tomorrow, I would live without regret.
Bowing your head once is the hard part; the second and third times come easy. The fourth is easier still, and the fifth goes without saying.
Before my regression and after it — not for a single instant have I ever resented my Master.
I never blamed him. I never hated him.
When the Ten Great Masters Under Heaven came at me as one, I could have fled. I could have bowed. I had my chances. The Heavenly Emperor offered me the seat of vice-alliance leader of the Murim Alliance. the Flame Emperor offered me the vice-sect leader's seat of his sect. The Heavenly Dragon Divine Emperor offered me lordship over the Cheonmun Sect.
I refused them all.
That I could not stand the men themselves was beside the point. Why had they come to kill me?
All that talk of my being the disciple of a Public Enemy of the Murim — it was merely the pretext they had manufactured.
Their true purpose was one thing and one thing only.
The Asura Heaven-Breaking Five Secrets.
They coveted that martial art. That was all.
The Asura Heaven-Breaking Five Secrets was my Master's trace in this world — the one remaining thread binding him and me. An heirloom I would never trade for a mountain of gold, a symbol I would not exchange for the world itself.
How could I hand that to another?
Kill me a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times — my answer would not change. It was only a life, after all.
Better to break than to bend.
In a life lived without regret, how could one ever bow one's head? Even if I never reach the end, a life lived without regret is enough.
And so I fought the six of them.
It was a satisfying life, and a satisfying death. Even beginning again, I would make the same choice.
Which is why — today, I must meet my Master.
I wanted my questions answered.
I walked on in silence. The smell of the sea, the raucous clamor of the port. It sounded pleasant. I walked for a long while, then stopped.
A mountain. This place was called Mount Hwaseong.
My heart stirred, for the first time in an age. I was about to begin the climb when it happened —
A man was descending the mountain.
The moment I saw him, I froze where I stood.
A man I had never met, and yet his appearance was familiar. He was of remarkably slight build — about five feet — and the sword slung across his back, some four feet in length, was striking in its own right. Above all, at the middle of his ink-black scabbard, letters of gold read thus:
Central State.
A thread of memory flashed through my mind.
"Master. Your expression is poor today."
There was a great deal I did not know about my Master. You may think that a absurd thing to say, but it is the truth. As I said before, every time his body recovered, my Master would go off somewhere and return to our shack covered in wounds. It was not a rare occurrence — off the top of my head, it happened around fifty times.
When I asked whom on earth he was fighting, he would not tell me.
You need not know yet.
It is better you never know.
On those occasions my Master was utterly resolute.
And yet there was exactly one time he came back wearing a dark expression. It was then that I asked. And my Master said this to me:
"Debts and grievances... how they wound the heart."
I asked what he meant.
"There was a man to whom I gave this and that aid, meaning to repay a debt I owed. I am told that man has now died."
I asked who it was.
"The Central State First Sword, Cheon Yeo-bi. You have likely never heard the name."
The man descending the mountain before me was that very man — the Central State First Sword, Cheon Yeo-bi.
Noticing me, he curled his lips into a smile. "These slopes are treacherous — poor ground for travel. A mountain climber is a rare sight indeed."
I stared at him in silence.
The Central State First Sword. A man out of the Ten Thousand Year Snow Palace in the far north of the Wi Nation, he wielded a sword art of extraordinary destructiveness utterly at odds with his slight frame.
"A quiet one, I see. The rain yesterday made the slopes worse, so mind your step."
So I watched him as he passed me by.
I had once asked my Master a question. Did that man's death pain him so very much?
My Master said it did.
"A rare sort of man. It was but a small debt and grievance, yet to honor it he threw away his own body. They say that even in the moment the Yin-Yang Divine Gate captured him and put him to the torture, he never breathed one word of me."
I asked how his end had come.
"In the instant his tormentor looked away, he burst his own heart."
It was suicide.
How deeply my Master had trusted him, I learned from what came after. That night, my Master said he had somewhere to be and left the shack; he returned at dawn. That night, the Yin-Yang Divine Gate was annihilated. Its members, its chief steward, its servants, its porters — everyone belonging to the Yin-Yang Divine Gate died.
That was enough.
I spoke to the man as he walked steadily past. "Is she inside?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"I asked whether your master is inside."
A twitch ran between Cheon Yeo-bi's brows. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
I answered flatly. "This is the third time I've asked, and I'll let it pass. A woman of the Jeok family, who uses the character So and the character Ryeon — is she inside right now?"
Cheon Yeo-bi, who had been scratching his jaw, glanced around. No one was there. Not even the commonest mountain beast.
Cheon Yeo-bi asked me, "Where is it you come from?"
"A disciple come looking for his master. Does it matter where from?"
"I see."
As if nothing had happened at all, he went on scratching his jaw.
I blinked. In that blink of an eye, Cheon Yeo-bi drew the sword from his back and came hurtling at me.
In an instant he was before my face. I turned my head and lashed out a foot.
BOOM—!
His blade grazed my cheek, and my foot struck his abdomen.
And yet he was not driven back. His sword changed direction, plunging straight down toward my skull.
Tsk.
Clicking my tongue, I reached out. My blood-red hand snatched at the blade of the Central State First Sword. Cheon Yeo-bi's eyes flew wide, and my own crimson eyes were reflected in them. I paid it no mind. Curling my right fist tight, I let it fly.
Sun Asura Fist
A fist steeped in tremendous light, like the sun itself, struck true into Cheon Yeo-bi's side. But he was a master of the Five Qi Converging Realm, and true to that rank he instantly kicked off backward, spinning his body through the air — whirling some five times in a breath before landing. Astonishingly nimble, and his judgment was remarkable. The pure qi I had sent boring into his body scattered in all directions. Not bad at all. He touched his side with astonished eyes.
"...That martial art... Good heavens."
Flustered, Cheon Yeo-bi dropped to his knees on the spot. "Forgive my failure to recognize you. I did not know you were his disciple."
I drew my qi back in.
I asked flatly. "Is she inside?"
My tone had changed, but Cheon Yeo-bi paid it no heed. He said, "Your honored master has not yet returned."
My Master is the Public Enemy of the Murim.
The epithet is the Thousand-Year Demon God. The name is Jeok So-ryeon.
When the people of the world speak of my Master, they do not put Public Enemy of the Murim first. There is another modifier they attach before all else.
The Greatest Under Heaven.
The strongest martial artist in all the world.
That is my Master.
And I have come today prepared to take a hit.