Chapter 2
Episode 2
What else does an assassin have to offer?
A distant past.
A world that had now become his previous life.
When Se-woon opened his eyes, all he saw was pitch-black darkness.
No—could he even say he saw the darkness when he couldn't make out a single inch in front of him?
'...Feels like my head's about to split.'
His body felt as heavy as lead, and his mind was so dizzy he could barely string thoughts together.
KREEEEE—!
Suddenly, a scream of agony tore through the air nearby.
A voice so wretched it sounded as though the person wished for death.
"Ah... Aah..."
Only then did the memories of last night—like a nightmare—begin flooding Se-woon's mind with vivid clarity.
WHOOSH!
The halls of the Sichuan Tang Clan, where he had been born and raised, were engulfed in raging flames.
And amidst it all, his mother, father, sister, and the clan's servants were brutally slaughtered, bleeding out under the blades of the Blood Cult's demonic warriors.
"...I have to... save them."
Se-woon, barely conscious, tried to push himself up.
No—he attempted to.
Thud. CRASH.
Staggering, he collapsed back onto the ground.
He couldn't stand properly.
A horrific pain suddenly shot through his right leg.
Shrouded in darkness like a curtain, Se-woon curled in on himself and ran his fingers over the source of the pain near his ankle.
His fingertips came away sticky with blood.
A deep stab wound had been carved into his right ankle.
The tendons had been severed—to ensure he couldn't walk.
CLANK!
And to make matters worse, his ankle was shackled with heavy iron chains.
"Huff... Hah..."
Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, Se-woon dragged himself forward, leaving smears of blood on the ground until his hand grasped something cold as ice—iron bars.
Only then did he realize he had been imprisoned in the Blood Cult's underground dungeon.
Alone.
The sole survivor.
Se-woon couldn't cry. He couldn't scream.
He realized that grief, when it surpasses what one can bear, doesn't even allow tears to fall.
'If only I had been stronger...'
All that remained was endless regret.
Not only had he failed to protect those precious to him—he had been nothing but a burden until the very end.
And in the end, he hadn't even died fighting alongside them.
He had survived.
Cowardly. Alone.
That was what truly drove him to despair.
SWOOSH—
But then—
From the depths of the suffocating darkness—
Tap. Tap.
Someone approached.
Se-woon's breath hitched, his heart pounding wildly.
A terrifying demonic energy seeped through the air, swallowing the entire space in an instant.
The pain was so intense it felt like his skin was burning.
WHOOSH!
Dozens of torches lining the walls ignited simultaneously, illuminating the surroundings.
The Blood Demon.
The devil responsible for all this ruin had revealed himself.
'I'll kill you—I'll destroy you!'
Se-woon wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and snap the monster's neck—but, agonizingly, he couldn't move a muscle under the crushing weight of the demonic energy.
Then, the Blood Demon's hollow gaze settled on him.
"Tang Se-woon."
The Blood Demon's voice, infused with overwhelming internal energy, felt like fingers clawing at the inside of Se-woon's skull.
Blood nearly sprayed from his mouth, but he clenched his teeth and endured.
Instead, he glared back with pure hatred.
But the Blood Demon paid him no mind.
"I've heard the Tang Clan possesses a metallurgical art capable of forging Divine Artifacts."
"—!"
The next words out of the Blood Demon's mouth were something Se-woon had never expected.
How did this monster know about something even the Tang Clan's inner circle kept secret?
"A legendary skill only your clan's founder was said to have mastered."
HUM—!
A resonant hum filled the air as the Blood Demon's blood-stained robes billowed.
CLANG! BOOM!
Then, from within his robes, an array of bizarre hidden weapons and mystical armaments emerged, radiating an eerie aura.
All of them—levitating effortlessly through supreme Void Grasping.
"But it seems you completed it."
They were weapons Se-woon had forged during the war against the Blood Cult.
The reason he alone had been spared.
It was because the Blood Cult wanted the Divine Artifacts he had created.
"Forge me a sword. Do this, and you will live."
The moment the Blood Demon finished speaking—
SWISH!
The blades of the floating weapons all turned toward Se-woon.
The message was simple.
Refuse, and he would die.
But Se-woon had no intention of obeying.
"Stop... your nonsense... and just... kill me."
He spoke defiantly, as though he held no lingering attachment to life.
He welcomed death.
It would reunite him with his family.
But then—
"So you don't care if the rest of your clan dies?"
"—!"
At those words, Se-woon's pupils trembled as if struck by an earthquake.
The rest of his clan?
Could there truly be survivors?
"Wh-Who... are you... lying to?!"
Just as Se-woon's voice shook uncontrollably—
The space before him warped like a vortex.
The Blood Demon's sorcery unfolded.
Soon, the air shimmered like a bronze mirror, reflecting a scene from elsewhere.
Ugh... Ughhh...
It hurts... It hurts so much...
"Ah... Aah..."
A single tear of blood rolled down Se-woon's cheek as he stared at the vision.
There were fewer than ten survivors—and their condition was beyond wretched.
Some had no ears.
Some had no eyes.
Others had lost both legs.
They were in such a state that they couldn't survive without assistance.
Se-woon clenched his eyes shut.
Even if the entire world condemned him for it, what he had to do now was clear.
"...If I forge the sword... will you promise to spare them?"
"If the result satisfies me."
"...I'll do it."
Se-woon decided to use the Tang Clan's secret arts for his enemy.
He could never abandon them.
But he hadn't given up entirely.
'I still have one last move.'
A single thread of determination still burned in Se-woon's eyes.
A will for brutal vengeance.
Se-woon continued in a calm, measured tone.
"...But forging a Divine Artifact requires something."
"Speak."
"Your martial arts. Hand them over."
"—!"
For the first time, a flicker of bewilderment flashed in the Blood Demon's eyes.
But it lasted only a moment.
SWOOSH!
"How dare you spout such insolence?! The Cult Master, in his boundless mercy, has spared your wretched life, and yet you—!"
Suddenly, the Sword Demon appeared beside Se-woon, blade drawn, snarling like a beast.
The pain was so intense it felt like his skin was being flayed.
But even as the Sword Demon's blade bit deep into his neck, Se-woon didn't so much as blink—keeping his gaze locked on the Blood Demon as he continued.
The Blood Demon's eyes had already returned to their hollow emptiness.
"...I cannot forge a weapon... without knowing the martial arts of its intended wielder. So... hand over yours."
A chilling silence fell over the space.
Amidst the stillness, Se-woon struggled to steady his pounding heart.
'To kill him... I must first understand his martial arts.'
Even the greatest masters of the Orthodox Faction had clashed with the Blood Demon—yet none had ever uncovered even a hint of his techniques.
And then—
"Deputy, sheathe your sword."
"But—how could—"
The Sword Demon shot the Blood Demon a startled look, but upon meeting those empty eyes, he could only bow his head.
"This humble one... has overstepped."
WHOOSH—
The Sword Demon vanished like a passing wind.
Now alone with Se-woon, the Blood Demon spoke again.
"You're asking for the martial arts that will kill me."
"...!"
Despite having seen through Se-woon's true intent—
"Very well. I look forward to it."
The Blood Demon answered with sincerity.
Freed from the dungeon, Se-woon was assigned to the Blood Cult's forge as a slave.
A crippled blacksmith with a deformed dantian, incapable of even basic self-defense—he was nothing but a laughingstock among the strength-worshipping cultists.
But exactly one year later—
Se-woon's standing had completely changed.
The impact of forging the first of the Ten Demon Blades—the Sword of the Demon God: Primordial Slaughter—for the Blood Demon was immense.
A demonic sword so exceptional that even the Blood Demon, who had never been satisfied with any weapon before, declared it "acceptable."
In battle after battle, the Blood Demon wielded Divine Artifacts that eclipsed his previous feats.
The cult's elite, witnessing the sword's earth-shaking power, flocked to Se-woon with frenzied greed.
Some tried bribing him with wealth.
Others resorted to threats.
But none succeeded.
Se-woon forged Divine Artifacts only for those he chose.
No one knew his criteria.
But even being chosen came with a price.
-To receive a Divine Artifact, surrender your martial arts.
Se-woon—no, the Demon Smith—took martial arts as payment for his creations.
Martial arts were a warrior's lifeblood.
No matter how much one desired a Divine Artifact, surrendering their techniques was no easy decision.
Thus, the second of the Ten Demon Blades didn't appear until a full year after the first.
CLANG!
CLANG!
Though night had fallen, the rhythmic hammering echoed through the forge.
Se-woon, as always, worked alone, lost in his craft.
'Hah... Finally, the opening and closing of the upper dantian feels natural.'
Or rather, he was refining the Blood Demon's martial arts he had acquired.
"Demon Smith, are you here?"
And then—his visitor arrived.
Without pausing his hammering, Se-woon glanced at the newcomer.
"Ah, you are here."
A boy, not even twenty, stood there with an unassuming face.
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Third Tiger of the Black Kill Squad."
The boy offered a friendly smile as he spoke.
Of all the cultists who had sought Se-woon out, this one held the lowest rank.
Probably here for supplies.
Se-woon lost interest and returned to his hammering.
"I came to request a dagger."
"...What kind?"
Then—Third Tiger.
No—the one who would later be known as the Killing Guest—smiled like a crescent moon.
"Hmm... Something that can pierce the Blood Demon's throat?"
"...!"
CLANG—!
Se-woon's hammering stopped.
He raised his head and locked eyes with the boy.
In those fathomless pupils flickered a terrifying killing intent.
This was no joke.
"...What can you offer me?"
"What else does an assassin have to offer?"
Just like Se-woon, he had once been forced into the Blood Cult.
And until the brink of death, he was the only one who shared Se-woon's goal.
"The art of killing a target."
The last heir of the Killing Gate.
Third Tiger of the Black Kill Squad.
No—Se-woon's only friend grinned as he spoke.
"DIE—!"
Se-woon clashed head-on with Hoseong's furious charge.
True to its name, Red Sunset Sword, Hoseong's blade was bathed in crimson light.
SHING!
In an instant, Hoseong closed the distance and swung downward.
A flawless slash.
Even in his frenzied state, Hoseong's swordsmanship remained intact.
A lightning-fast vertical strike.
SCREEEECH—!
"?!"
But Se-woon effortlessly blocked it—crossing his twin daggers in an X-shape.
The sword slid against the daggers' edges, sparks flying.
'What?!'
Hoseong's eyes trembled in shock—he had been certain his blade would cleave through.
WHOOSH!
Se-woon, having effortlessly nullified the attack, closed the gap with lightning speed.
SCREEE!
The twin daggers in his hands emitted a spine-chilling screech—audible only to him.
With a sound like tearing air, the blades crisscrossed like the fangs of a shark closing in on prey.
SLASH!
A gruesome slicing sound followed—and something soared into the sky.
"GYAAAAAH—!"
Hoseong screamed.
His severed arm, still gripping the Qingcheng Sect-emblazoned sword, twitched on the ground.
'Next—the heart.'
It was the moment Se-woon executed the signature assassination technique of the Killing Guest—
One-Point Kill.