Tidings from the Central Plains
“Grandpaaa—!”
Just as Woon-hyeon was about to unleash a sharp rebuke at the Dark Shadow Demon Lord, Yeon-woo tugged urgently at the hem of his robe.
“Let’s hurry back! You promised we’d eat rabbit meat! Come on! We even brought the salt, see?”
“Rabbit meat?”
The Dark Shadow Demon Lord’s face lit up, his eyes flashing with eager delight.
Watching the man display not even a speck of remorse for his earlier insolence, Woon-hyeon pressed a hand against his throbbing temple and let out a quiet sigh. Of course. Demonic Cultists. By nature, they were shameless, insolent reprobates through and through. How was this man any different from the five first-rate martial artists who had banded together just to slaughter a child?
“Yes, let us head back.”
Deciding that dwelling on the Demon Lord would only shave years off his life, Woon-hyeon took Yeon-woo’s small hand in his. He resolved to ignore the uninvited guest and focus purely on what needed to be done. Or so he had intended.
“…Just what do you think you are doing?”
Woon-hyeon stared down at the campfire. There sat the Dark Shadow Demon Lord, crouched innocently beside Yeon-woo, happily warming his hands over the flames. He had trailed behind them up the mountain looking bizarrely cheerful, and though Woon-hyeon had found it suspicious, he had chosen to ignore him rather than engage. Yet here they were.
“Roasted rabbit sounds amazing, doesn't it?” the Demon Lord purred.
“Uh-huh! It’s super delicious! You sprinkle salt like shhk-shhk! Then you chomp, chomp, and eat it all up! Mmm!”
“Really, really? Ah, I can hardly wait—”
What in the world was this absurd spectacle? He was giggling and chatting with Yeon-woo as if they were lifelong companions! Unable to bear it, Woon-hyeon dumped the dry branches he had gathered onto the ground and barked, “What right do you have to look forward to anything? There is none for you!”
“I figured you’d say that, so I caught some on the way up.”
As if waiting for that very opening, the Dark Shadow Demon Lord produced two plump wild rabbits from his sash. Yeon-woo gasped in delight, clapping her hands. “Whoa—two of them!”
Woon-hyeon stared in utter disbelief. Recovering his scowl, he snapped, “Do you expect us to roast game that hasn’t even been dressed? Yeon-woo is starving, and to make her wait through butchering—”
“Hup!”
With a flick of his wrist, the Demon Lord tossed both rabbits high into the air and drew a slender dagger. A blur of steel flashed through the breeze—swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. Before the carcasses even touched the ground, skin and meat had been parted with surgical perfection. The entrails had vanished entirely, discarded without a trace.
Woon-hyeon’s mouth fell open.
Yeon-woo cheered and broke into enthusiastic applause. “Waaah!”
“……”
Watching the terrifying Demon Lord puff his chest out with preening pride before a seven-year-old child’s clapping made Woon-hyeon’s head throb twice as hard. In the end, he abandoned all hope of chasing the pest away and resigned himself to roasting the meat in silence.
Any expectation that the Dark Shadow Demon Lord would leave after eating proved entirely unfounded. When Yeon-woo resumed her training, he lingered nearby without the slightest intention of departing. At times, he sprinted alongside her as she scrambled up and down the rugged trails, cheering her on; at other times, he perched atop a massive boulder, snickering as he watched her struggle.
When they crossed over to yesterday’s mountain using the excuse of retrieving the dried rations, he tagged along and smacked his lips alongside Yeon-woo. Just like that, an entire day slipped away under his idle watch.
“Urrgh… Yeon-woo is so sleepy…”
Exhausted from a regimen even more brutal than the previous day's, Yeon-woo hastily shoveled down her dinner and collapsed straight into bed.
Click.
The bedroom door closed softly, and within moments, the steady, rhythmic breathing of a deeply sleeping child drifted through the wood. Only after carefully probing the surroundings to ensure there were no lurking presences or hidden perils did Woon-hyeon finally turn around.
The Dark Shadow Demon Lord stood with his arms folded across his chest, gazing at Yeon-woo’s door with a strangely fond, contented smile.
“Why have you not left?”
At Woon-hyeon’s voice—colder than frost compared to how he spoke to Yeon-woo—the Demon Lord’s eyes curved behind his mask.
“Why do you keep trying to chase me away? Are we strangers?”
“We are strangers.”
Not merely strangers, but bitter adversaries. They were people who, by all rights, should have sought each other’s throats—people who could not, and should not, ever bridge the chasm between them. In fact, even at this very moment… it would hardly be surprising if this demon struck to take his life where he stood.
“You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings.”
“Grieve as much as you please. And kindly get lost.”
“Harsh. Did you really have to tell me to get lost…?”
Seeing the man pout with mock dejection, Woon-hyeon knitted his brows. Did I just speak my thoughts aloud? It had been an accidental slip, but he quickly dismissed the embarrassment. Thinking about it, he hadn’t said anything untrue.
Chuckling at Woon-hyeon’s unapologetic glare, the Demon Lord reached into his robes and produced a slip of paper folded in half.
“I brought something you might take an interest in.”
“What is that?”
“News from the Central Plains.”
“……!”
Woon-hyeon’s face hardened. He crossed the room in swift, measured strides, snatched the paper from the Demon Lord’s grasp, and snapped it open. As his eyes traveled down the brushstrokes, his expression darkened with terrifying speed.
“Is this the truth?”
The Demon Lord smiled faintly. “What, you don't trust it? Because it comes from the hand of a Demonic Cultist?”
“……”
Instead of answering, Woon-hyeon’s knuckles tightened around the parchment, crumpling its edges.
◈ The Patriarch of the Namgoong Clan, Imperial Sword Namgoong Woon-hyeon, has fallen in battle against the Heavenly Demon.
◈ The Namgoong Clan has elevated the Imperial Sword’s younger brother, Namgoong Mo-hyeon, as its new Patriarch.
◈ Carrying forth the noble will of the Imperial Sword, the Murim Alliance has commenced recruitment for a New Demonic Cult Subjugation Expedition.
Every single line was something he desperately wished to reject, yet not a single word could be dismissed as falsehood. The conspirators who had plotted his assassination on Mount Seolhon would naturally twist the aftermath to serve their own ends.
To think they would exploit my very death…
Reprehensible, hypocritical scoundrels. A faint, venomous tremor ran through the hand clutching the paper.
“Why did you give this to me?”
“Because you are the Imperial Sword.”
“And what difference does that make?” Even if the Central Plains had descended into this farce, there was nothing his broken body could accomplish. “The Imperial Sword died that day upon the snowy peaks.”
“So you have no intention of returning?”
“The word ‘return’ belongs only to those who have a home waiting for them.”
“In that case, why not join our Cult?”
Woon-hyeon’s brow furrowed sharply, his gaze cutting into the Demon Lord with piercing severity. “I would sooner perish than dishonor the righteousness and spirit of the Namgoong name.”
“So you *do* intend to go back after all.” The Demon Lord chuckled, as though amused by the utter predictability of the response.
Woon-hyeon could not dispute it. Even if he could never set foot in the Namgoong Clan or the halls of the Murim Alliance again, in his heart, he knew he would return to the Central Plains one day. He had no desire to wither away his remaining years in the rugged shadow of the Hundred Thousand Mountains. That was precisely why he had promised Yeon-woo that he would take her there.
Closing the distance between them, the Dark Shadow Demon Lord leaned in slightly.
“Don’t you want vengeance?”
His voice was soft, little more than a whisper, yet it rang with unmistakable clarity—a honeyed, silken goad urging him toward blood. Woon-hyeon gave a thin, dismissive laugh and turned his head away.
“Truly, Demonic Cultists through and through.”
“You know, saying things like that in this territory is rather dangerous.”
“Strike me down if it pleases you.”
“Mmm… pass. Little as it may seem, I happen to be a man who honors his promises.”
A promise? Woon-hyeon cast a questioning look at him, but the Demon Lord merely offered an inscrutable shrug. Shaking his head, Woon-hyeon turned toward his quarters. He had long realized that asking when this demon intended to leave was a complete waste of breath. Yet, before taking more than two steps, he halted.
“The Central Plains will not march upon you so easily.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Woon-hyeon looked back over his shoulder. “It is as I said. They may claim to be raising a new subjugation expedition, but they will not be able to mobilize their forces with haste.”
There was bound to be internal strife over leadership and vested interests.
“Though they have declared my demise, they never recovered my corpse. That alone means they have failed to convince every sect and clan across the realm.”
“Does whether they believe it or not really matter? The Namgoong Clan has already seated a new patriarch upon the throne.”
“I was poised to assume the mantle of Alliance Leader.”
Though betrayed by those he had trusted most, countless martial artists throughout the Central Plains still held unshakeable faith in his honor. Moreover, with his cause of death officially announced as a sacrifice in battle against the Demonic Cult, what sect or clan could dare dismiss a hero who gave his life for the realm?
“So long as the majority of martial artists refuse to accept my death, the consensus will lean toward recovering my remains rather than launching a reckless crusade.” They would prioritize propriety and duty over immediate vengeance.
“Hoh.” The Demon Lord stroked his chin, his interest clearly piqued. “The orthodox factions are as hypocritical as ever. A pathetic lot that cannot even draw their blades without wrapping themselves in moral justification.”
“They simply place value upon benevolence and righteousness.”
“Which makes them exhausting. Why bother when you could just chop them all to pieces?” The Demon Lord grinned beneath his mask. “Sure you don’t want to join our Cult?”
“Be on your way.”
Woon-hyeon turned his back on him once more. Finding something thoroughly entertaining in that steadfast, dismissive demeanor, the Dark Shadow Demon Lord burst into easy laughter. Leaving that chuckle behind, Woon-hyeon finally stepped into his room.
“Thank you for the tidings,” he murmured quietly just before the door clicked shut.
Hearing that parting courtesy from a man who feigned indifference while stubbornly clinging to his orthodox dignity, the Demon Lord smiled softly into the dark.
Clack.
The latch fell into place, and a heavy stillness settled over the mountain night. The Demon Lord hummed a low, thoughtful tune and slowly turned around.
Searching for the corpse rather than launching an invasion, is it…? In the end, it meant they were still coming. And if the Imperial Sword’s deduction held true, those dispatched to find the remains would be the ones who had remained fiercely loyal to him.
Did the Imperial Sword…
The Demon Lord glanced back at the darkened window of Woon-hyeon’s chamber.
…already anticipate their arrival?
Behind the porcelain white mask, his deep-violet eyes cooled into calculating clarity. A fleeting, wry chuckle slipped past his lips.
“Well, look at that.”
The old master had intended to return from the very beginning.
Early the following morning.
Fwoooosh—
Sitting in silent meditation as he guided his internal qi through his channels, Woon-hyeon suddenly snapped his eyes open. He rose immediately, snatched up his sword, and stepped toward the door. Yet the instant he pushed it open to step outside, a slender arm shot across his path, barring his way.
“……?”
Frowning in surprise, Woon-hyeon lifted his gaze to the figure standing before him.