Chapter 1: Prologue: Repay Kindness with Blood, Carve Vengeance in Flesh
Chapter 1
Prologue: Repay Kindness with Blood, Carve Vengeance in Flesh
Boom! Boom!
The deep, resonant sound of war drums echoed through the air.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of drumbeats overlapped, creating a cacophony as if the world itself were collapsing.
But soon, the sound faded.
No—more accurately, it was drowned out by another noise.
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
Se-woon's heart pounded violently, swallowing the drumbeats whole.
Finally—
The day of vengeance he had awaited for fifteen long years had arrived at last.
Creeeak—
At that moment, massive gates swung wide open.
The Martial Alliance.
Before Se-woon's eyes lay the vast inner hall of what was once the greatest faction in the martial world, uniting both orthodox and unorthodox sects.
"Se-woon, this is where all the righteous warriors who uphold justice in the martial world gather."
A distant childhood memory surfaced—his father's hand guiding him into this very place. Back then, his father had gently patted his head, his eyes brimming with pride for the Martial Alliance.
But.
"...You were wrong, Father."
Not anymore.
Breaking free from his thoughts, Se-woon stepped forward, carrying a chest.
He walked with a limp, flanked on both sides by the leaders of the Martial Alliance standing in solemn formation.
And then—
Thud!
All of them dropped to their knees in unison, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
"Ten thousand blessings upon the Demon Lord! Long live the Heavenly Demon!"
"Long live the Heavenly Demon!"
As if devoid of shame, they shouted with veins bulging in their necks, competing in fervor.
"Now, only these despicable traitors remain..."
The righteous warriors who once fought for justice had all met gruesome deaths.
All that remained were these beasts—no, worse than beasts—who had sold out their own kin to save their worthless lives.
"...Myself included."
A heavy guilt weighed on Se-woon's darkened expression, though for what reason, none could say.
Above the kneeling orthodox martial artists fluttered a banner emblazoned with the character for "Blood."
Yes. Today was the day the Blood Cult would unify the Central Plains' martial world and ascend as its sovereign ruler.
Tap. Tap.
Eventually, Se-woon halted at the center of the hall.
"O exalted Lord, the Demon Smith has prepared the eleventh Divine Artifact in honor of this glorious day."
Sword Demon, the Sword Demon and deputy leader of the Blood Cult, bowed deeply toward a certain figure as he spoke.
There was only one person Sword Demon would address as "Lord."
The one who now sat—no, sprawled—upon the throne that once belonged to the Martial Alliance's leader.
A devil so wicked he had piled mountains of corpses from the Heavenly Peaks to Kaifeng.
The Heavenly Demon descended upon this world.
The Blood Demon himself.
"Bring it forth."
The sheer force in the Blood Demon's voice was terrifying.
Even the orthodox martial artists, merely hearing his words, trembled violently, barely suppressing the blood rising in their throats.
Yet Se-woon remained composed, slowly advancing toward the Blood Demon with the chest in hand.
"Four paces away."
Exactly as planned, Se-woon knelt when he was four steps from the Blood Demon, raising the chest high above his head.
Click.
Sword Demon approached and opened the lid.
Whoosh—
"—!!"
Everyone in the hall gasped—except the Blood Demon.
What lay inside was a single sword.
A vicious demonic aura, so chilling it raised goosebumps, surged from the blade.
For a fleeting moment, greed flickered in Sword Demon's eyes.
Even in the presence of his master, the demonic sword stirred the primal desires of a devil—so much so that he couldn't resist its allure.
It was often said that once one reached a certain level of mastery, weapons became trivial.
But the creations of this crippled blacksmith were different.
Poison Demon Yayul Seung, once the lowest-ranked elder of the Blood Cult, had wiped out half of the Ten Great Masters after obtaining a bracelet.
And a mere assassin, previously just another member of the Blood Cult's assassination squad, had slain the Martial Alliance's leader with a dagger.
Over fifteen years of enslavement, Se-woon had forged ten weapons—each known as one of the Ten Demon Blades—playing the greatest role in the Blood Cult's conquest of the martial world.
"If only I had that..."
A sticky lust gleamed in Sword Demon's eyes.
As if entranced, his guard dropped, and he leaned forward to retrieve the Divine Artifact from the chest.
The moment Sword Demon's body perfectly obscured the line between Se-woon and the Blood Demon—
"Now—!"
Whoosh!
Se-woon's dormant upper dantian suddenly activated.
Click!
A faint mechanical sound came from beneath the chest.
Then, a hidden compartment in the floor slid open.
Thwip!
A hole pierced clean through Sword Demon's forehead.
Not a single sound of tearing air accompanied it.
It happened in less than an instant.
As Sword Demon's eyes dimmed and his body collapsed—
A blade forged by Se-woon for this very moment—formless, shapeless—streaked toward the Blood Demon like lightning.
The demonic sword had merely been bait.
The true weapon had been hidden beneath the floor all along.
"Blood Demon—I'll sever your lifeline with your own martial arts!"
Se-woon poured every ounce of his upper dantian's energy into the formless blade.
CRACK!
BOOM!
A deafening explosion erupted.
Unbelievably, the intangible blade shattered dozens of layers of protective energy—even piercing straight through the Blood Demon's left eye.
Squelch! Crunch!
A horrific sound echoed as the blade churned through his brain.
Success!
At last, vengeance was complete—
"Ah—"
But his triumph was short-lived.
Despite his eye being pierced and his brain scrambled—
"Amusing."
The Blood Demon murmured softly, as if completely unharmed.
SNAP!
"Ghk!"
In a flash, the Blood Demon seized Se-woon by the throat and lifted him high.
"I... failed."
This entity, who had devoured every curse and sorcery in existence, defied even death itself.
"A dagger without form, without even detectable energy—truly intangible and spiritless."
Though nothing was visible in the Blood Demon's grip, a blade hovered there unmistakably.
"Was this the eleventh Divine Artifact you sought to create?"
The Blood Demon's demonic energy tore through Se-woon's body, inflicting indescribable agony.
"...Yes. I call it the Formless Dagger. The thing that was supposed to put a nice, clean hole in your skull."
Yet Se-woon answered defiantly, without so much as a whimper.
"You may take pride in it. Had my final technique not been perfected, you would have succeeded."
"...What a shame."
The Blood Demon asked:
"Was this vengeance?"
"Cough... I never forget debts—of gratitude or hatred."
"Indeed. Your bloodline was always thus."
As if recalling old memories, the Blood Demon murmured softly.
Repay kindness with blood.
Carve vengeance in flesh.
A single phrase that summarized the clan the Blood Demon had wiped from existence.
"Yes. That is our blood."
Se-woon glared back with a lifetime of hatred and killing intent.
"A pity. Had you not exhausted all your innate energy, I might have spared you."
The entire hall reeled in shock.
In all the countless battles the Blood Demon had fought—against thousands, tens of thousands—
Never once had he shown mercy.
Yet Se-woon had no intention of begging for his life.
"...Better... to burn in hell... for eternity... than live... by your hand..."
"Eternity, you say—"
The Blood Demon chuckled briefly.
Then, with hollow eyes filled only with emptiness, he gazed at Se-woon before speaking again.
"My loyal servant. As the sole martial artist of the Central Plains to leave a scar upon me, I bestow this gift upon you as your reward."
Whoosh!
The intangible dagger hovering in the air shifted ever so slightly.
Thud!
"—!!"
Se-woon felt a searing heat erupt in his right eye, as though flames had ignited within it.
Through his rapidly blurring vision,
he saw Blood Demon's faint smile as the demon's lips moved.
'......Di...e...?'
He barely managed to decipher just two syllables.
What in the world had the demon uttered?
That final question marked the end,
as darkness descended upon Se-woon's world like the arrival of night.
On the day the Demonic Path's reign began under the Blood Cult's rule,
the last descendant of the fallen Sichuan Tang Clan—
once called the Divine Craftsman, now known as the Demonic Artificer—
Tang Se-woon, met his end.
"You dare ignore me?!"
A voice thick with rage pierced the air.
'—!'
In an instant, Tang Se-woon's eyes snapped open.
No—he realized belatedly that his eyes had already been open.
Miraculously, the darkness had vanished, and all his senses had returned.
'Where is this—?'
The scene before him was neither
the Martial Alliance's headquarters where Blood Demon had slain him,
nor the Blood Cult's thunder prison where top-tier criminals were confined.
Instead, Se-woon stood frozen in an elegant tavern room, a lavish drinking banquet spread before him.
Five or six martial artists in their mid-twenties sat glaring at him from their chairs.
'What in the world—?'
Utter bewilderment overwhelmed him.
Was this a dream? Or was his life flashing before his eyes?
Yet the pungent aroma of alcohol stinging his nose and the vivid sensations of his body left no room for illusion.
First—stay calm.
The sole reason he'd survived fifteen years in the Blood Cult was his unyielding mental fortitude.
As his inner turmoil settled, the situation gradually came into focus.
'Wait, these bastards...'
He suddenly recognized every face staring him down.
Then, the man seated at the head of the table spoke.
"Tch—Nam-pyeong! Does this brat still wet behind the ears have any right to act so insolent toward me?"
The owner of that furious voice—the one that had jolted Se-woon awake.
Red Sunset Sword I Hoseong.
Once the Qingcheng Sect's head disciple, now the youngest disciple under the Martial Alliance Leader.
Right—that pockmarked, hideous face was impossible to forget.
"O-of course not. I've no idea why Young Master Tang is making such a scene."
"Young Master Tang, apologize at once! How dare you disrespect a senior of the martial world!"
As the tavern's young owner, Ju Nampyeong, spoke, Maeng Geuk of the Righteous Sword Sect chimed in.
Encouraged by their support, Hoseong's temper flared further.
"Say it again, you bastard! What exactly do you want me to do?!"
...Say it again! What exactly do you want me to do?
And astonishingly, Se-woon predicted Hoseong's next words with perfect accuracy.
Not due to some newfound clairvoyance.
'If that's the case, then behind me right now—could it be...?'
Se-woon swallowed dryly and turned his head.
"—!!"
Gods above.
There, trembling like a leaf with a face drained of color, stood a young woman.
Seol—his personal attendant.
In that moment, Se-woon understood that something beyond belief had happened to him.
'This can't be real. Have I truly returned to the past?'
Sixteen years into the past, no less.
How—and why—had he defied the natural order to reverse time itself?
Once again, his mind threatened to burst from the complexity.
'...No. Save those thoughts for later.'
Se-woon forcibly severed the spiraling chain of distractions.
Right now, he needed to resolve the immediate crisis.
If events unfolded identically to before, both he and Seol would be in grave danger.
Though sixteen years had passed, this particular memory remained vividly clear for good reason.
How could he ever forget?
The moment he became the laughingstock of Sichuan's martial world.
This banquet celebrated Hoseong becoming the Alliance Leader's disciple, forcibly gathering young talents from Sichuan's minor sects under the guise of hospitality.
In truth, it was merely Hoseong flaunting his newfound status.
Since the Leader's disciples inevitably rose to prominence, forging connections with Hoseong was crucial for these minor factions.
—Young Master Tang, is it true you were born with a deformed dantian?
—Haha, at least you've been blessed with peerless beauty.
Throughout the banquet, Hoseong had relentlessly mocked Se-woon and the Tang Clan.
Yet Se-woon had endured every insult with composure.
Until everything went wrong.
While Se-woon briefly stepped away, Hoseong forcibly seated Seol beside him and began harassing her.
—What is the meaning of this?! Apologize at once!
Returning to this sight, Se-woon had flown into a rage and charged forward.
The result? Utter humiliation.
'This time will be different.'
In that instant, Se-woon met Hoseong's glare head-on and spoke softly.
"I told you to apologize to Seol."
"—!!"
The young talents' eyes bulged like lanterns.
Hoseong's gaze now burned with murderous intent.
"...You want me to apologize to some lowly maid?"
"You forced an unwilling girl to sit with you and subjected her to filthy harassment. If you're human, you apologize."
"?!"
Human?
The young talents—Ju Nampyeong and Maeng Geuk included—gaped at Se-woon's scathing retort.
Hoseong trembled with barely contained fury when—
"And Seol isn't a servant. She's a properly hired attendant receiving fair wages."
"Ghk!"
Hoseong and the others paled.
Harassing a lowly servant versus harassing a common citizen were entirely different matters.
If this attendant filed a complaint with the Alliance, they could face severe punishment under Alliance rules.
As the young talents exchanged nervous glances—
CRASH!
The table shattered under Hoseong's qi-infused fist.
Whoosh!
An ominous aura now radiated from Hoseong's body.
"How absurd. Anyone hearing this would think I forced her."
His lips curled into a vicious smirk.
"I merely obliged when she came smiling and batting her eyes. Isn't that right, everyone?"
"Y-yes!"
"Ahem, indeed. The audacity of that girl."
Watching this farce, Se-woon shook his head in disgust.
"Trash will always be trash."
"Wh-what?!"
Though they bristled, Se-woon paid no mind, his voice icy.
"Do you know why my sister rejected you?"
"—!!"
Everyone froze in horror.
Se-woon had touched Hoseong's ultimate taboo.
The reason for Hoseong's endless humiliation of Se-woon and the Tang Clan?
His romantic confession to Se-woon's sister had been rejected.
"Your hideous face?"
"Shut up!"
"No."
"I said shut up!"
"Because she saw right through your despicable, ugly soul."
Before Se-woon could finish—
"You're dead—!"
Shing!
Whoosh!
Hoseong, having lost all reason, launched a forbidden sneak attack from the orthodox sects.
His sword drawn, he charged at Se-woon like lightning.
Though his life hung in the balance—
'Just as planned—he took the bait.'
Se-woon smiled inwardly.
Everything was proceeding perfectly.
His opponent was a first-class expert.
In his past life, Se-woon—with only third-rate internal energy—had been beaten to a pulp without landing a single proper counter.
'More than enough.'
The conditions remained identical now.
But the outcome would differ.
Because what resided in his mind had changed.
Shhk!
From his sleeves, Se-woon drew two practice daggers, gripping them in reverse hold.
'His martial arts should suffice.'
In that moment,
he resembled nothing less than a seasoned assassin.