Chapter 13: Celestial Silk and Heavenly Net
Episode 13
Celestial Silk and Heavenly Net
Rewinding time.
Three years after Se-woon was taken captive by the Blood Cult.
"Damn it!"
A demonic cultivator slammed the forge door shut with enough force to nearly break it before storming out.
Se-woon stared blankly at the wreckage left behind.
The forge was in complete disarray—another tantrum thrown by a frustrated visitor.
With a weary sigh, he began cleaning up, moving mechanically through the familiar routine.
This was nothing new.
Time and again, those who failed to obtain a Divine Artifact from him would throw fits before leaving.
The only casualties were the tools and materials—never Se-woon himself.
Not a single scratch marred his body.
No demonic cultivator dared lay a finger on him.
And that had nothing to do with any improvement in his martial prowess.
"...How laughable. My enemies are the ones protecting me."
His voice was bitter.
Over the past three years, Se-woon's standing within the Blood Cult had risen to the point where even the elders hesitated to provoke him.
This was due to two reasons:
First, after obtaining his second demonic weapon, the Twin Polar Fangs, the Black Executioner's Third Tiger had completed a series of impossible assassinations, ascending to the rank of Great Chieftain at an unprecedented young age.
Second, the Poison Demon, Poison Demon Yayul Seung, who had been on the verge of being stripped of his elder status, had recently acquired his third demonic weapon and used it to slaughter the Sword Lord of the Shooting Sun, one of the Ten Great Masters of the martial world.
"Those who obtain the Demon Smith's Divine Artifacts gain power beyond their limits."
That was the rumor spreading like wildfire through the Blood Cult.
Demonic cultivators who had once hesitated to sacrifice their martial arts now clamored for Se-woon's creations.
But Se-woon found no satisfaction in this.
If anything, his self-loathing grew deeper with each passing day.
His rising reputation meant only one thing:
More innocent lives had been lost to the weapons he forged.
"Kuhaha! That bracelet of yours is truly a masterpiece!"
"Seeing my own grandson forge a weapon of slaughter for me—his grandfather's sworn enemy—must be twisting Tang Ui-tae's face in the afterlife! Kihihihi!"
Among them, the voice that tormented Se-woon the most belonged to the Poison Demon, Yayul Seung.
A madman among madmen, who had poisoned thousands of civilians just to lure out the Sword Lord of the Shooting Sun.
"What do you say? Still refusing to become my disciple? With your talent, and being Tang Ui-tae's grandson—oh, the irony is delicious!"
"Kihihihi! You belong to me. Forever. My puppet, never to escape my grasp."
The lunatic had been babbling incessantly about making Se-woon his disciple—
Creak.
The forge door opened again.
"Damn it."
Se-woon didn't bother turning around.
The curse slipped out before he could stop it.
Which monstrous fiend had come for him this time?
SHWING!
"—!"
A blade-like sound tore through the air.
WHOOSH!
Before he could react, something lashed around his neck and limbs, binding him instantly.
The attack carried unmistakable killing intent.
Se-woon struggled to free his throat with both hands while trying to identify the mysterious weapon.
"...A sleeve?"
A long, silken sleeve—flexible as a serpent's body—had coiled around him.
The energy imbued within it was extraordinary.
CRACK!
The silk tightened abruptly.
THUD!
"Kgh—!"
Se-woon lost his balance and was dragged backward, his body scraping against the ground until he lay sprawled at the feet of his attacker.
"Tang Se-woon. Atone for your sins with your life."
A voice as cold as the blizzards of the North Sea rang out.
It belonged to a woman—one he didn't recognize.
Se-woon raised his head to see her face.
Clad in bloodstained robes, her features were marred by a deep sword scar.
He had never seen her before.
"Sniff... Sob... Master... My sisters..."
"Hahaha... Ha... Hah..."
"Call the assassins! I'll kill them... Kill them all!"
She wept, laughed, then descended into madness—her sanity clearly fractured.
"...Who is she?"
As Se-woon struggled to place her, her erratic state momentarily stabilized.
Her eyes locked onto his—mirroring his own gaze.
The eyes of a vengeful ghost.
"Because of the sword... you forged... everyone died."
"Ah."
Finally, Se-woon understood.
The Divine Maiden Sect—a renowned orthodox faction known for its defensive arts and unique martial techniques—had recently been massacred.
Only one disciple, taken captive, had survived.
It had been the latest successful mission of the assassins.
She was a victim—someone who had lost everything because of the weapons he had crafted.
"Sniff... Why? Why did you forge such cursed blades? You... You were once part of the orthodox sects too!"
"..."
"We didn't refuse to help you... We couldn't! We were fighting the Blood Cult too!"
Seo Su-rin screamed at him, her voice thick with anguish.
For a moment, Se-woon's vision blurred, his heart tearing apart as if shredded.
He had known this day would come—but the reality was more crushing than he had imagined.
Swoosh.
At the same time, he stopped resisting the silk coiled around his neck.
As if surrendering to her will, he yielded—ready to die.
Su-rin's hands trembled.
"...Why... aren't you fighting back?"
"I don't have the right."
"Don't you dare pretend to be noble! You filthy traitor—!"
"And besides... you won't be able to kill me anyway."
"—!"
Cutting her off, Se-woon slowly rose to his feet.
CRACK!
A horrifying sound echoed as the energy strangling his throat intensified.
But Se-woon didn't stop moving.
"S-Stop! I'll break your neck!"
"You... can't. The Divine Maiden Sect's martial arts... have no... killing techniques."
"...!"
He was right.
The Divine Maiden Sect had always adhered to a strict code of non-lethality.
Though rooted in Taoist principles, their philosophy wasn't purely religious.
They believed true chivalry required no killing—a creed they upheld fiercely.
It was why they were respected across both orthodox and unorthodox factions.
And yet, that very creed had led to their annihilation at the hands of a single assassin.
"...And you've never killed anyone before either."
Thud.
Su-rin collapsed to the ground.
The silk binding Se-woon loosened and fell away.
"Kgh... Sob... Why... Why us...?"
Her killing intent was half-formed—real in its hatred, but lacking the true cruelty of one who had taken lives.
Then—
WOOF! WOOF!
"Find the runaway slave!"
"Dammit! Execute her on sight!"
Se-woon's heightened senses picked up the voices of a search party approaching—accompanied by Hound Demons, beasts capable of tracking prey across vast distances.
Time was running out.
Se-woon grabbed a dagger from the floor and strode toward Su-rin.
He forced the blade into her hand—
"—!"
STAB!
—and drove it into his own chest without hesitation.
Blood sprayed.
The dagger sank deep into flesh.
But Se-woon didn't even flinch as he met her gaze.
"Ah... Ahh..."
She was the one shaking.
If she applied even a fraction more force now, Se-woon would die.
Staring at her bloodless face, he spoke.
"I promise you this."
"...What?"
"I will die by your hand."
"—!"
"Cough! But not today..."
Blood trickled from Se-woon's lips.
Su-rin was stunned.
He wasn't using any protective energy—if he were an ordinary man, the pain alone would have knocked him unconscious.
Yet his eyes burned with unwavering resolve.
"I will give you the power to take revenge."
"—!"
"...So hide your true feelings. Survive at all costs—and slaughter every last one of your enemies."
Se-woon's final words to her:
"Me."
"The assassins."
"The Blood Demon."
WHOOSH!
Se-woon pumped the bellows, rapidly raising the forge's temperature.
HUM!
Within the flames, Meteor Sword emitted a shriek-like resonance as it melted.
The blade and crossguard were forged from Meteor Iron—a material that should have been impossible to melt with the heat of an ordinary forge.
Meteor Iron, remnants of fallen stars, carried unique energies that required either high-level sorcerers or the legendary White Night Ironworks—the greatest forge in the Central Plains—to process.
Yet at this moment—
Drip. Drip.
Like tears, the Meteor Sword liquefied at an astonishing speed.
"Perfection lies within the flow of slowed time."
This was all possible due to the activation of Divine Artifact Creation, the power of the Golden Wrist Cauldron.
ROAR!
The forge, infused with the cauldron's energy, was melting the unmeltable.
"A fabric that can block all things—and cut through all things."
The bellows weren't blowing mere wind—they were exhaling the breath of a master smith.
CLANG!
CLANG!
The relentless hammer strikes pushed the material beyond its limits.
The molten Meteor Iron shed its original form, transforming into something entirely new.
RUSTLE.
Spread across the anvil and spilling into the air, the iron rippled like a celestial maiden's fluttering robe.
The closest comparison was a pi-baek—the long, decorative shawls noblewomen draped over their shoulders.
"Only enough material for one piece..."
What Se-woon was reforging now was the fourth of the Ten Demonic Weapons—once the symbol of the Blood-Silk Demon Queen, Seo Su-rin.
"Celestial Silk."
But it was incomplete.
True Celestial Silk consisted of nine layers of pi-baek.
The Meteor Iron from Meteor Sword was only enough to craft a single layer.
But that didn't matter.
"Because what I'm making now isn't Celestial Silk."
FLICK!
Se-woon tossed the silk high into the air.
As it reached the ceiling—
SHWISH!
—it split apart like a downpour, fracturing into hundreds, thousands, millions of threads raining down.
Like a net cast across the heavens.
This was the sibling creation to Celestial Silk—
A weapon surpassing even the legendary Heavenly Silkworm Thread, renowned as the thinnest and toughest silk in the Central Plains.
Se-woon's personal armament—
"Heavenly Net."
Countless threads coiled around his hands, forming a pair of gloves thinner than gauze.
And just as the process concluded—
SHING!
A blade surged toward Se-woon's neck, cloaked in razor-sharp sword energy.
"Die!"
A black-clad assassin, hidden in the rafters until now, had struck at the perfect moment.
The instant of relaxation—when the target was most vulnerable—was Assassination 101.
...But he had overlooked one crucial detail.
CRACK!
The blade froze mid-air, unable to pierce Se-woon's neck.
FZZT!
Orange sparks flickered in the air like will-o'-wisps.
"?!"
"For an elite of the Martial Alliance, you're embarrassingly sloppy."
What the assassin had missed:
Se-woon had never let his guard down.
The black threads of Heavenly Net, connected to Se-woon's ten fingers, had ensnared the blade mid-strike like a spider's web.
Se-woon had been aware of the intruder the entire time.
Staring at the shocked assassin, Se-woon smirked.
"Huryong Wiju. No—Son Woo-gon?"
One of the Four Tyrants of Sichuan.