Again?
Chest-embroidered with the vivid character ‘Martial’. They were warriors of the Murim Alliance. Following them, more shadowy figures continued to emerge. Shaolin, Huashan, Wudang, Kunlun, Emei, Beggars' Sect, Zhongnan, Jecheon, Qingcheng, Kongtong—the elders of all Nine Great Sects. And that wasn't all. Namgung Family, Sichuan Tang Family, Hebei Peng Family, Jeon Gal Family, Murong Family. Elders from the Five Great Families, whose prestige rivaled the Nine Great Sects. Beside them stood the savage experts of the Evil Alliance, reeking of bloodlust, and in the dark shadows, the Blood Cult shamans, whose presence emitted no killing intent—making them all the more chilling.
The entire martial world of the Central Plains had gathered here, and that wasn't an exaggeration. Cheon Woo-jin let out a smirk.
“To think I'd see the Alliance Leader and the Alliance Heads here of all places.”
“I concur.”
“The Central Plains was never a merciful place to begin with. You were simply too strong.”
Cheon Woo-jin silently gazed at the scene. The righteous sects, unorthodox factions, and Blood Cult—who had spent their lives at each other's throats—now all faced the same direction, united solely to erase one man: Cheon Woo-jin. It was absurd. And somewhere, bitterly poignant.
After a moment of silence, Cheon Woo-jin spoke. “......Haha. Was I truly that frightening?” He chuckled softly. “Sama Military Advisor. Impressive. To gather them all with just your three-inch tongue. A fitting military advisor to the Heavenly Demon Cult.”
Sama Gil's eyes wavered. A light that blurred between guilt and defiance.
“A united front, eh? Must've promised them a scrap of land in some forgotten corner of the Central Plains.”
Sama Gil said nothing.
“......”
“That's your one flaw, Sama Advisor. Believing others think as rationally as you. Pffft. I have much to say, but now's not the time.”
Righteous sects, unorthodox factions, Blood Cult, and even the Heavenly Demon Cult's leadership. Every force in the martial world had assembled in one place to eliminate a single man, Cheon Woo-jin. He let out a hollow laugh.
“So.”
Cheon Woo-jin slowly rose from his seat. Whoooosh—!! A massive demonic energy boiled up from his dantian, enveloping his body and rising as crimson-black haze. Though the Formless Poison coursed through his veins, gnawing at his strength, the Heavenly Demon's majesty remained unbroken. If anything, his eyes deepened further.
“You judged that the whole Central Plains charging at me would be enough to take me down.”
No one answered.
“What of Young Il-rang?”
The Sword Demon, leader of the Demon Sword Unit, drew his blade and stepped forward. “Do you, about to meet King Yama, still wonder about a friend?”
“Haha. You underestimate me too much. If you meant to catch me, you should've brought every sect leader and family head.”
Cheon Woo-jin's lips curled up. He took a single step forward. Boom—! Overwhelming pressure surged through the hall like a tidal wave.
“You'll ponder in the afterlife why... I'm called the Heavenly Demon.”
At that moment, the Murim Alliance Leader's scream echoed across the hall.
“Everyone!! Form the array!!”
The form of the Shipman Mountain Range's peak had changed. Valley streams dried up, and the mountains and grasses were dyed eternally red. It was a sight unprecedented in martial history. Factions that had vied for each other's throats their entire lives now stood side by side, fighting to erase one man. And that one man withstood them all alone.
With a flick of Cheon Woo-jin's hand, dozens of experts burst into bloody mist. Each stomp shook the mountains like an earthquake. One day, two days, three. Even for the Heavenly Demon who had reached the Transcendence Realm, suppressing the poison ravaging his body while facing the united might of righteous sects, unorthodox factions, Blood Cult, and his own cult nonstop was a war of attrition with limits.
On the sixth day, over half the allied forces had vanished without a trace. Huashan elders, unorthodox experts—all buried somewhere on this mountain. But Cheon Woo-jin's body was etched with countless wounds, great and small.
And on the morning of the seventh day, as the sun rose, atop the rubble-strewn Demon Tower, Cheon Woo-jin barely stood, using his sword as a cane.
“Hoo... Not like the old days.”
Heo Gong, former Shaolin abbot, cried out in horror. “Namu Amida Bul, you... monstrous... committing such slaughter and still standing! Are you even human!!”
“Pffft, that's a laugh, Monk Heo Gong. Didn't you come here to kill me too? Hardly the Buddha's will.”
“Shut your mouth!!”
Then, Sama Gil staggered out from a pile of corpses, one arm gone. In his remaining hand, he clutched a bizarre leather talisman swirling with ominous purple energy. Dozens of Blood Cult shamans surrounded Cheon Woo-jin.
“As expected... magnificent, Cult Leader.”
Sama Gil smiled bitterly, black blood dripping from his lips. “Righteous sects, unorthodox factions, Blood Cult, and our Divine Cult's full might. The entire martial world upon you, and you endured seven days.”
Feeling the sinister energy cloaking Sama Gil, Cheon Woo-jin said, “Shamanism, is it.”
“Borrowed from the Blood Cult. Alone, I couldn't dream of it—but you've exhausted your qi so thoroughly.”
“Teaming with those vermin. A mistake, Advisor.”
“You still call me Advisor.”
“Your intentions haven't changed, so to me, you are.”
“......”
Sama Gil's face flickered. “Too late, my lord.”
“Yes... far too late.”
The talisman in Sama Gil's hand pulsed. Light rose from the surrounding shamans, twisting space itself.
A forbidden incantation demanding the caster's life as sacrifice, banishing the soul of an utterly weakened foe to another dimension forever.
Sama Gil crushed the talisman. As it shattered, a massive purple magic circle unfurled beneath Cheon Woo-jin's feet. Eerie screams not of this world echoed from it.
Cheon Woo-jin's body stiffened. He couldn't twitch a finger.
“Kuh...!”
For the first time, his brows furrowed. An immense force began ripping his soul from his flesh. Pain beyond bodily tearing. His vision flickered white. He resisted. But his poisoned body and depleted inner energy fell short.
As agony peaked, his mind cleared. Not injustice, but bone-deep fatigue washed over him. Then emptiness.
'Was longing for home... such a grave sin?'
A piece of crispy fried chicken. A spicy bowl of ramen. Fifty years of battle to become the world's greatest, yet denied even that simple comfort.
Then—
“Sama Gil, you bastard!!!”
Cheon Woo-jin turned toward the voice. Young Il-rang stood amid the rubble, one arm lost, body drenched in blood. Gripping his sword in one hand, eyes bloodshot red.
“How dare you!! How dare you betray my lord!!! My loooord!!!”
The one precious bond Cheon Woo-jin had found in this world. Only Young Il-rang had stood by the Heavenly Demon Cheon Woo-jin, fighting to the death to reach this place.
Cheon Woo-jin smiled. “Hahaha. What a sight, Il-rang.”
“My lord!! No!! My loooord!!!”
Young Il-rang charged toward Cheon Woo-jin with a gut-wrenching scream.
“Stay back, Il-rang.”
He wanted to stop him, but his body wouldn't move.
“I'll protect you! My lord!”
Young Il-rang's tear-streaked, bloodshot face burned into Cheon Woo-jin's retinas.
“Stubborn fool... never listens....”
With that, his vision faded. The rending sensation dulled, consciousness plummeting into an endless, silent abyss.
'A fine end. Thanks to you, Il-rang, I leave with a smile.'
He thought it was over.
How much time passed?
The first sensation was scent. Not blood or rotting flesh, but faint floral notes and the fresh crispness of laundered linens. His back rested not on cold stone, but something plush and soft, like lying on clouds, cradling his entire body.
'Where...?'
Cheon Woo-jin slowly lifted his heavy eyelids.
'Am I alive?'
First into view: an ornate marble ceiling. At its center hung a massive chandelier of glowing crystal. A style utterly alien to the Central Plains—opulent, Western, extravagant.
'No way...'
He tried to sit up urgently, but his body refused. Managing to prop up his torso, he scanned the room in confusion.
That's when the girl in a black-and-white maid outfit, fidgeting anxiously by the bed, went wide-eyed. A teenage girl, late teens perhaps, with brown hair and faint freckles.
She clapped both hands over her mouth in disbelief, then unleashed a piercing scream at Cheon Woo-jin.
“Kyaaaaah!!”
Cheon Woo-jin winced. How could a mere girl's shriek rattle his eardrums so?
“Quiet... down....”
The girl rushed to him, face alight with joy. “Y-Young Master Kael!! You've woken up!!”
'Young Master...?'
That was the first morning the absolute Heavenly Demon Cheon Woo-jin faced in the world of The Young Master of the Swordsmanship Ducal Family Obsesses Over Me.
“So... you're saying I've finally woken after a long time.”
The girl who'd screamed moments ago—Ella—replied. “Yes, Young Master. And you were clearly... gone just thirty minutes ago....”
Cheon Woo-jin's eyebrow twitched. “Gone?”
“I-I must've been mistaken! Anyway, you need to eat something! Wait just a bit—I'll fetch some soup right away!”
After Ella left, Cheon Woo-jin pondered deeply.
'Soul Exile Array.'
He knew of it. How many spells had he researched to return home? But that one didn't teleport the body—it forcibly severed and banished the soul to an unknown realm. That's why it was off his list.
'My soul, exiled by the Soul Exile Array, possessed this body?'
It made sense. Fifty years ago, when he'd fallen into the Heavenly Demon's Lone Journey world, something similar happened. The original owner died, and Cheon Woo-jin possessed the corpse to survive.
'Haa... Insane.'
Why revive him for this hellish ordeal instead of letting him die?
Instinctively, he assessed his new body.
'Pathetic. Not just the Eight Extraordinary Meridians—even the basic blood vessels are wrecked. It'll kill me just lying here.'
In the wuxia world, he'd at least possessed a sturdy frame. Here, it was frail enough to drop dead at any moment. Naturally, all his cultivated martial arts were gone without a trace.
Realization brought crushing deprivation and futility. “Haa.... What the... hell....”
How to survive in this rotten husk? Cheon Woo-jin considered death preferable.
'Fine, let it end. Skip a day without food, and this wretched body will give out.'
Lying in bed, he sorted his life.
'Il-rang... probably dead....'
Bitterness surged. Maybe he'd meet Il-rang in hell. Wuxia worlds and weird places existed—why not hell?
Having let go of everything, awaiting quiet death—then.
Knock knock—
Ella returned with soup. “Young Master, eat this!!”
But resolved to die, Cheon Woo-jin stayed silent.
'Ignore her, she'll leave... Sorry.'
But—'Hm? What's that smell...?'
A familiar aroma assaulted his nose. Cheon Woo-jin flung off the covers, tracing the source.
“Th-this!! It's... budae stew!”