The Sin I Committed
"Haa... So boring. Utterly, endlessly boring."
Atop the Demon Tower, the highest peak of the Shipman Mountain Range in the Heavenly Demon Cult—where even the clouds lay beneath his feet—the Heavenly Demon, Cheon Woo-jin, gazed endlessly at the clear blue sky.
"That's why I'm telling you, stop with the weird stuff every day and just conquer the Central Plains. You won't have time to be bored then."
Responding to the Heavenly Demon's mutterings was his close friend and Great Protector, the Sword Demon Young Il-rang.
"No thanks. I'd have to fight all the time again. Scary."
"Aren't you the strongest under heaven...??"
"What does that matter? Scary is scary, and if I don't wanna, I don't wanna."
'I don't want to see you lot dying either.'
He didn't voice the latter part.
Young Il-rang let out a deep sigh.
"Haa... My lord. The people's morale is low right now. We've got overwhelming power, but we've been preparing on this barren land for ten whole years already. Someone's bound to revolt soon."
Cheon Woo-jin looked at his friend. A comrade he'd fought alongside countless times over the past fifty years. Even if he couldn't trust anyone else in the world, this man before him was different.
"So, you're rising up too?"
"Do I have a hundred lives or something? Against you, who's reached the Transcendence Realm? You're joking..."
His words were flippant, but Cheon Woo-jin didn't mind. The reason? Fifty years ago, he'd been from a small country on Earth called South Korea. So what if the guy talked back a bit? As long as he used proper respect, it was fine.
"Why has heaven bestowed upon me this hell of endless boredom?"
"Must be sins from your past life."
Cheon Woo-jin clicked his tongue at Young Il-rang's words.
"Tch. The only sins this venerable one committed back home were reading exactly two novels."
There it was again. That same old story about coming from some far-off eastern land he'd heard a million times over fifty years. Young Il-rang was sick of it, but since it was his lord, he asked politely out of courtesy.
"What were the novel titles?"
"Heavenly Demon's Lone Journey."
"Hm, basically describes you now, my lord. Did this eccentricity of yours come from that? And the other one?"
"The Young Master of the Swordsmanship Ducal House Obsesses Over Me Alone."
"...I must've misheard, my lord?"
"That's what it was."
Cheon Woo-jin looked back up at the sky. Outwardly, he appeared a handsome young man just past twenty. He exuded no apparent energy, looking utterly ordinary. Yet this was the result of achieving Return to Youth and Return to Primal Simplicity—states reachable only by those who had transcended the ultimate martial realm of Transcendence, beyond even the Profound Realm.
'In the end, I can't go back, huh.'
Cheon Woo-jin recalled that day fifty years ago.
He'd been hooked on a wuxia novel called Heavenly Demon's Lone Journey, pulling an all-nighter, utterly captivated by its overwhelming appeal. He'd even splurged on the same author's romance fantasy follow-up, The Young Master of the Swordsmanship Ducal House Obsesses Over Me Alone. The memory was still vivid.
And when he opened his eyes, he was dumped in the middle of the Demonic Cult's training grounds from the novel.
To survive, he struggled desperately. He gripped his sword through the agony of shattered bones and torn flesh. He seized the novel's fortuitous encounters, cut down approaching enemies, and climbed blood-soaked mountains.
After fifty years of gore-filled strife, Cheon Woo-jin ascended to the throne of the Heavenly Demon.
In his seventy-second year, he broke through to the Transcendence Realm—a realm no one in martial history had ever touched.
But that night at the pinnacle, Cheon Woo-jin looked at the sky and wept for the first time.
He had won. Become the strongest under heaven.
'Now I can find a way back home!'
That's what he'd thought.
But he never found a way to return to his homeland.
Cheon Woo-jin despaired. He missed home. A steaming bowl of spicy ramen, the fizzy bite of cola, a crispy piece of fried chicken—they were desperate cravings. Even if he took the whole world, he couldn't hold those simple things.
So he poured the Cult's vast wealth and power into that hobby.
He gathered the realm's finest chefs. They kneaded flour into noodles and rice cakes, approximated gochujang, and clumsily mimicked tteokbokki, ramen, and seasoned chicken.
But the ingredients were different, and they never quite nailed those nostalgic flavors.
Still, that crisp bite of fried chicken was the sole thread pulling him back to his days as a South Korean youth, Cheon Woo-jin.
The cultists watched with baffled eyes. But none dared question the Heavenly Demon's will.
Silence hung for a while.
Young Il-rang glanced sideways at his lord's profile. Those eyes gazing at the sky held that same distant light as always—toward a faraway place called home. Even after fifty years together, Young Il-rang could never quite understand that gaze.
"...My lord."
"Summon the military advisor."
Young Il-rang's face lit up.
"Oh? Conquering the Central Plains at last?"
"Who knows. I need to talk to him first."
"Talk?"
"You said morale is low. The advisor knows things I don't."
Young Il-rang stared at his lord's face for a moment, then nodded quietly.
Three days later.
In the outdoor pavilion of the Demon Tower, where moonlight shattered especially brightly, Cheon Woo-jin met with Sama Gil, the military advisor who oversaw the Cult's major and minor affairs and intelligence network.
"Come in, Military Advisor Sama."
"Heavenly Demon's reincarnation brings fortune to all demons. This humble advisor, Sama Gil, pays respects to the Cult Leader."
"Skip the formalities and sit. Seems you've got a lot to say."
"I won't deny it, my lord."
They sat facing each other and discussed the Cult's recent affairs. The advisor's words were logical and airtight.
"Do you really think we need to conquer the Central Plains?"
Sama Gil replied,
"Only heaven knows all intentions."
At those cryptic words, Cheon Woo-jin raised his cup.
"All that talking's got my throat dry. Have a drink, Advisor."
He downed the plum-scented liquor in one gulp, and his brow twitched faintly. It was off. A strange sensation from the tip of his tongue clashed with the demonic qi coiled in his dantian, producing a subtle popping sound.
It was faint, but a clear sign of a foreign substance.
Cheon Woo-jin slowly set the empty cup on the table.
"...What is this, Advisor?"
His voice carried not anger, but thick doubt—and bitterness.
"What do you mean, Cult Leader?"
Sama Gil smiled calmly, fiddling with his own cup. An elderly frame with flowing white hair. But his eyes gleamed sharply.
"This is Formless Poison, isn't it."
Even at Cheon Woo-jin's blunt call-out, the advisor showed no panic. A supreme lethal toxin—colorless, odorless, formless, detectable only after it struck. An ordinary warrior would already be spewing black blood from all orifices, dead on the spot.
But Cheon Woo-jin suppressed the poison in his dantian with bottomless profound inner energy, holding his seat calmly.
"Haha, as expected of the Cult Leader. Untouched even by Formless Poison. Truly the greatest of past and present."
Sama Gil rose slowly, clasping his hands in salute. A pose of respect, yet blatant killing intent leaked from it.
"Hm... I thought I'd treated you fairly."
"Treated me fairly? Is that what you call it?"
Sama Gil's wrinkled face twisted, erupting in mad fury.
"I need you! Where is the lord I knew, the one who cried out that Sama Gil's power was needed to claim the world?!"
Cheon Woo-jin didn't interrupt. He simply stared straight into the advisor's eyes.
"You, Cult Leader, have reached the pinnacle of martial arts that no previous Heavenly Demon achieved! Under your overwhelming might, the Heavenly Demon Cult has entered its greatest era of prosperity in history! The hypocrites of the orthodox sects piss themselves at our name alone—the imperial court itself watches its step!! No!! Not the Cult!! They fear you!! Cheon Woo-jin, the greatest of past and present!!"
The advisor's voice tore through the night air of the Demon Tower.
"So why?! Why do you not advance on the Central Plains?! With power to unify the martial world and place the heavens under your feet, you hole up in the kitchens kneading mystery flour dough and frying beast meat! Is this what a Heavenly Demon who commands the world should do?!"
Cheon Woo-jin sighed shortly.
Becoming the strongest and claiming the world. It might be the dream of every martial artist. But for Cheon Woo-jin, who'd been searching for a way home, conquering the Central Plains was just a waste of time.
"That's why you fed me Formless Poison?"
"Just that?! Advancing on the Central Plains is the Heavenly Demon Cult's long-cherished wish, Cult Leader! We don't need a leader who turns this mighty Cult—built on our blood and sweat—into a playground!!"
No sooner had Sama Gil's shout ended than—
Kwaaaang—!
Thick killing intent erupted from all sides of the Demon Tower as dozens of shadows surged up, filling the pavilion. Every elder of the Elder Council. Leaders of the elite forces, including the Demon Sword Unit and Blood Shadow Unit. The highest echelons gripping the Cult's fate—all drew weapons and surrounded Cheon Woo-jin in layers.
Yet Cheon Woo-jin's eyes passed over the Cult executives, fixing on what lay behind them.
A presence that shouldn't be here.
Slowly emerging from the darkness were warriors clad in pure white uniforms.