144
Chapter 144: Rather, It’s Good
“No one has ever welcomed my existence until now. So, will you welcome me?”
The man’s question went unanswered by Mu Hwi.
Yet, the man didn’t wait for a reply and took another step forward. He naturally chose an empty spot around the campfire and sat down.
As the man bent to sit, Myeong San and Dokgo Yul tensed as if to rise, but Mu Hwi calmly restrained them by gripping their arms. The man paid no mind and settled into his seat.
Even seated directly before the campfire, the man’s face remained oddly half-shrouded in shadow.
Myeong San and Dokgo Yul were frozen like mice before a serpent, while only Mu Hwi stared unflinchingly at the man who carried darkness with him.
“Mu Hwi, Dokgo Yul, Myeong San. So, this is how you look.”
The man’s voice as he recited their names carried a serene tone, yet it resonated with a gloominess as if echoing from the depths of a cave.
Mu Hwi narrowed his eyes at the dark figure who, unsurprisingly, recognized Dokgo Yul but even knew Myeong San.
“Did you come looking for us?”
At Mu Hwi’s question, the man shook his head.
“I came to this place. It’s merely a coincidence that you were here.”
The man lifted his head, slowly surveying the courtyard, the modest hut, and the silhouette of Sword Peak Mountain surrounding them.
“Truly serene. The mountain resembles a sword. No wonder the Sword Saint and Sword Devil settled here. A fitting mountain for swordsmen to dwell.”
At the mention of the Sword Saint and Sword Devil, the expressions in Mu Hwi and Dokgo Yul’s eyes shifted. It was only natural—this stranger was referring to Hyeon Jo and Dokgo Heon.
Dokgo Yul let out a sigh as he watched the man casually mention his master. Recently, he had broken through his limits, ascended to the pinnacle of martial arts, and was experiencing a new realm.
Yet, the man’s darkness seemed to swallow that new realm whole. Dokgo Yul struggled against the oppressive feeling that his very existence was being negated.
“What… Is your relationship with my master?”
Dokgo Yul bit his lip and barely managed to force out the words.
“I was the one who ended the Sword Devil’s last moments.”
The man then turned his gaze to Mu Hwi.
“And I was the one who ended the Sword Saint’s last moments as well.”
He smiled. But there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion in that smile—it was as if his facial muscles had merely twitched.
Dokgo Yul’s lips parted slightly at that emotionless grin. The muscles in his forearm, gripping the hilt of the Ghost Eternal Sword, twitched violently. Just as Dokgo Yul was about to lunge at the man, Mu Hwi seized his shoulder and pressed him down.
“Mu Hwi!”
Dokgo Yul, glaring at Mu Hwi for restraining him, couldn’t help but flinch. Mu Hwi’s widened eyes were filled with a chilling murderous intent.
Though usually concealed, Mu Hwi’s killing aura was now overwhelmingly dense and brutal. Dokgo Yul, who rarely flinched at anything, was stunned just by the sight of Mu Hwi’s eyes.
For a moment, merely meeting Mu Hwi’s gaze made Dokgo Yul feel as though his entire body was being torn apart by dozens of blades.
“Who are you?”
A low, growling voice erupted from Mu Hwi, his violet pupils blazing with killing intent. Yet, the man’s voice remained as calm as the darkness enveloping them.
“Heukcheon (Black Heaven). It is both the name of my existence and the name of the demonic path I embody.”
“Heukcheon…”
Mu Hwi chewed over the word as if tasting it. The black mask he had seen at the end of his past life—the one he couldn’t find even in the Black Night Palace. He never expected to encounter him here, of all places.
The unexpected situation brought scattered thoughts to mind.
Could he kill this man if he drew his sword now? Should he prioritize protecting his two disciples, Myeong San and Dokgo Yul, in this situation?
Heukcheon watched Mu Hwi’s hardened expression and twitched his facial muscles again.
“For someone associated with the Taoist sect, I heard your temperament was rough. Yet, you refrain from attacking even with your master’s killer before you.”
Heukcheon continued, staring into Mu Hwi’s eyes. The murderous intent that had filled him moments ago had subsided, replaced by his usual sharp edge.
“You chose to protect rather than seek revenge.”
Heukcheon went on.
“In a way, I, too, am in a position to seek revenge. My first disciple, the former Black Night Palace Lord, was killed by the Sword Devil, and my second disciple was killed by you, Mu Hwi. We’ve each lost a master and a disciple.”
“Then, is the current Black Night Palace Lord also your disciple?”
“That child is the third. Still, my interest in you outweighs any desire for vengeance for my disciples.”
Heukcheon’s attention shifted to Dokgo Yul and Myeong San. His gaze, previously fixed on Dokgo Yul, now turned to Myeong San. Though obscured by darkness, the shift was palpable.
As Heukcheon’s gaze landed on him, Myeong San’s already ragged breathing became even more erratic.
“A mediocrity. Yet, you possess a heart stronger than your talent. When mastering demonic arts, mindset often matters more than innate ability. You surpass my disciples.”
Children Myeong San’s age—and even most seasoned martial artists—would typically convulse or faint under his gaze and aura. But Myeong San endured, earning Heukcheon’s faint praise.
“I often wonder. What if I had let the Sword Saint and Sword Devil live a little longer? But seeing you today, that regret is meaningless. Had they not died, would you have grown this much? Their deaths became nourishment for their disciples.”
At Heukcheon’s words, treating their masters’ deaths as mere fertilizer, Dokgo Yul’s face paled, and Mu Hwi’s eyes grew colder.
Every subtle movement and the darkness swirling around him exuded ominousness. His speech revealed a faint humanity—it felt like conversing with something otherworldly wearing human skin.
Mu Hwi exhaled sharply.
“What is your purpose in appearing in the martial arts world?”
“Purpose, purpose…”
For the first time, Heukcheon’s words trailed off.
Had he possessed a clear goal, like other Demonic Cult seeking bloodshed, dominance, or recognition as a new Heavenly Demon, he wouldn’t have let his disciples roam so freely.
“If I must define it, I am waiting.”
For the first time, a trace of human emotion colored Heukcheon’s voice.
It was boredom.
“Waiting?”
What could he possibly be waiting for?
As Mu Hwi pressed, the darkness around Heukcheon deepened.
“Do you know of the Demonic Cult who appeared in the martial arts world centuries ago—Muryongnim?”
Of course, Mu Hwi knew. In the records left by the Jincheon Strange Sword, he had read that the Jincheon Sect was annihilated by a Demonic Cult named Muryongnim.
“Did you know Muryongnim was preparing to re-emerge in the martial arts world from the shadows? Though, of course, that won’t happen now.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the Lord of Muryongnim died by my hand. He won’t appear for at least another two hundred years. He called himself the Number One in the Demonic Path, so I sought him out—only to find him barely worth a moment’s amusement.”
Heukcheon’s words cast another silence over the group.
After briefly gazing at the night sky, Heukcheon lowered his head and stared at Mu Hwi again. The inky darkness crept slowly toward Mu Hwi.
“The current generation of Demonic Cult holds no promise. All that remains is this vast martial arts world.”
Compared to other eras, the current martial arts world teems with countless masters. To Heukcheon, it was now the last place harboring the potential to satisfy him.
“The Three Seats, and you, Mu Hwi, who has already defeated several absolute masters. I’ve been watching you all. When the time comes, we will meet again.”
Mu Hwi remained silent at Heukcheon’s answer.
So did Dokgo Yul. Heukcheon, too, seemed disinclined to say more. Then, suddenly, Myeong San spoke.
“And if this expectation of yours is shattered again, what then?”
“If a martial arts world cannot satisfy even a single being, does it deserve to exist? Starting anew—reshaping the martial arts world to my taste—wouldn’t be so bad. I’ve already nurtured many disciples and sects. Increasing their numbers is hardly difficult.”
Lost in thought while looking at Myeong San, Heukcheon continued.
“I wonder how the orthodox and unorthodox sects would look if, like the Demonic Cult, they festered in the shadows for centuries, nursing grudges and growing stronger. Would they differ from the Demonic Cult of today?”
Heukcheon turned his gaze back to Mu Hwi.
“Mu Hwi. What do you think?”
“No need to think. It won’t happen.”
The Purple Sunset Divine Technique, pushed to its extreme.
Starting from his shoulders, the elongated Purple Sunset slowly unfurled, pushing back the darkness that had even swallowed the campfire’s light.
Mu Hwi’s will was naturally infused into the Purple Sunset Divine Technique’s energy waves—proof that his comprehension of the formless sword had advanced further.
Heukcheon nodded, having grasped this in an instant just by enduring the energy.
“You’ve made progress. You’ve improved since I saw you at Okhwasan.”
At Heukcheon’s words, Mu Hwi furrowed his brow.
The inexplicable gaze he had felt at Okhwasan in Jangsu—now he knew it hadn’t been mere delusion. A cold smile curled on Mu Hwi’s lips.
“Originally, I would have already arranged a meeting with the Three Seats and other absolute masters. The delay is solely because of you.”
The surging darkness around Heukcheon gradually began to envelop him. Mu Hwi’s purple sunset could not penetrate it.
“Mu Hwi. Train harder. When the time comes, if you remain at this level, it would be utterly disappointing.”
“It will be disappointing. By then, my sword will be buried in your neck.”
The killing intent Mu Hwi had restrained until now surged toward Heukcheon like a flood.
“The price for daring to look down on me will be exacted in full. I’ll tear you apart.”
The darkness shrouding Heukcheon rippled violently under Mu Hwi’s killing aura.
“Train. Train relentlessly. I await your final struggle reaching me.”
Heukcheon nodded. Only after hearing Mu Hwi’s words did he show a smile resembling that of a human.
And with that, Heukcheon vanished into the darkness. The campfire, which had seemed drained of color, finally regained its hue and began emitting a faint glow.
“Haaah!”
Even after Heukcheon’s disappearance, a long silence lingered before Dokgo Yul let out a ragged breath. He panted heavily, clutching his throat.
“I can’t even tell if I’m still alive.”
“With nerves like that, how did you even think of drawing your sword?”
“Huu…”
At Mu Hwi’s words, Dokgo Yul let out a deep sigh.
“To cower and tremble before my master’s killer—I’ve never felt so powerless despite all my training.”
Dokgo Yul looked at his trembling right hand, still gripping the Ghost Eternal Sword, and asked Mu Hwi:
“That man, Heukcheon—what do you think he is?”
Mu Hwi didn’t answer.
It was difficult to define in a single word.
He seemed like a refined madman, yet some of his words transcended madness, straying slightly—or drastically—from humanity. In another light, he resembled an amoral child seeking amusement.
Was this the feeling of Transcending Demonic Technique (脫魔), one of the pinnacles of the demonic path?
Outwardly serene, but the depths of his being hid an immeasurable void and madness. He was the living embodiment of the darkness he carried with him.
A dangerous darkness that consumed everything without reason or purpose.
Recalling Heukcheon, Mu Hwi nodded.
“Rather, it’s good.”
The enemy from his past life, the black mask that was one of his goals in this life—he had finally faced Heukcheon and gauged his strength.
Now was the time to seize this opportunity and hone his sword further. Mu Hwi reached out and grasped the hilt of the Sim-myeong Sword for the first time.
The cold blade steadied his mind. Holding the sword, Mu Hwi closed his eyes.
He would etch into his memory every detail of Heukcheon—his energy, presence, speech, even the smallest mannerisms—from their brief encounter.