The Smallest Reason to Cling to Life
Ella tilted her head at Cheon Woo-jin's words.
"Stew... from the troops?"
"Ah, no. What kind of food is this?"
Cheon Woo-jin showed curiosity as he propped himself up. His body wouldn't obey him properly, trembling all over, but his head locked precisely on the silver tray Ella held.
Her face was full of bewilderment as she stammered a reply.
"Th-this? It's y-your favorite food, Young Master. Red ham potage."
"Good, I see. Bring it here quickly."
At Cheon Woo-jin's urging, Ella handed over the bowl with a dazed expression. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Just thirty minutes ago, Young Master Kael had stopped breathing entirely. His pulse hadn't even been there—she'd been pacing in panic, wondering whether to call a physician or report to the family head. But she hadn't acted fast. If the young master died, she wouldn't survive either.
Then suddenly, with a gasp, he'd come back to life, and he seemed like a completely different person. The hunched, corpse-like posture was gone, and those rotten-fish eyes now sparkled with life. And what was with that strangely aged way of speaking?
Wh-what the hell? Am I hallucinating from the shock?
Ella swallowed cold sweat inwardly as she cautiously offered the bowl.
"Y-yes, h-here you go, Young Master. It's hot, so be careful eating it."
Cheon Woo-jin ignored her warning. He seized the bowl with both hands and shoved his nose right up to it.
This aroma! I'm not imagining it!
It was a meager soup for an invalid—solids strained out, just thin broth. Visually, it was nothing more than watery red porridge. But that pungent, spicy tang hitting his nostrils was exactly the scent etched deep in Woo-jin's memory.
Of course, it wasn't the perfect stew loaded with chili powder that he'd loved back home. But the subtle processed meat flavor wafting over the broth...
This has ham in it! Definitely ham!
With trembling hands, Cheon Woo-jin scooped up a spoonful of broth and slipped it between his lips. The moment it touched his tongue and slid down his throat...
Th-this can't be!
Had he ever been this shocked since ascending to the Heavenly Demon's throne? Cheon Woo-jin's eyes flew wide open, just like when he'd reached the Transcendence Realm.
Back in his days ruling the Heavenly Demon Cult from Shipman Mountain Range, he'd used his immense power to scour the Central Plains for ingredients. He'd threatened the world's top chefs to mimic his homeland flavors. But Murim's ingredients were utterly different from Earth's. Too greasy, with overpowering spices that made true Korean tastes impossible to replicate. Fifty years of effort, and all he'd gotten was pale imitations. How he'd regretted not learning to cook back home.
But this dish in his mouth was different. No solids, sure, but the meat stock base and processed meat taste were perfect—no different from flawless Korean army base stew.
He slurped down half the bowl in seconds, smacking his lips before demanding urgently,
"Y-Young Master!! Eat slowly!!"
"Th-this... Could you make it spicier? Sprinkle on some hot powder, turn it fiery red—that'd be perfect..."
Ella's eyes went round at Woo-jin's request, utterly baffled.
Is the young master out of his mind? He used to cough just from this spiciness...
Kael's current body was like a block of ice. Innately frail, plagued by some unnamed illness, he couldn't even maintain body temperature. His hands and feet were always freezing, so this soup was made with just a hint of spice to forcibly warm him and aid circulation.
Ella waved her hands in distress.
"I-it's possible, but... Your stomach is too weak right now, Young Master. Anything too spicy could make you sick..."
Cheon Woo-jin paused his spoon, realizing with a start.
Right, the body's condition. This rotten shell can't handle spice yet. What a pity.
Still, a faint, irrepressible smile crept across his lips as he smacked them. Just moments ago, he'd been despairing over this trash body and depleted inner power, ready to embrace quiet death. But one bowl of army base stew porridge had changed everything. That umami lingering on his tongue had ignited a massive spark of survival in his cooling heart.
How could I forget something so crucial, you idiot?
A memory from fifty years ago, sealed deep in his mind, surged up.
'Heavenly Demon's Lone Journey' was a novel he'd devoured obsessively through sleepless nights. By contrast, 'The Duke's Son of the Swordsmanship Family is Obsessed with Me'—Sword Duke Obsession for short—was something he'd forced himself to buy and read out of loyalty to the same author. The plot was riddled with absurd, logic-defying setups that had him chuckling in disbelief more than once. Strangely addictive, though. And among all those ridiculous elements, one stuck in Woo-jin's brain.
Korean food exists in this fantasy world.
Not a staple, of course—just brief mentions of protagonists enjoying it as a rare treat at festivals or special occasions. But the mere fact thrilled Woo-jin now. If there was ham stew, then chicken, ramen, soybean paste stew—they had to exist somewhere on this continent.
Ha! Life's full of twists—what a stroke of genius!
And there was another core setting of this fantasy world that set his heart racing.
They even have cola here!
According to the novel, some eccentric imperial mage tower alchemist had accidentally created it while brewing elixirs: a black, sweet, fizzy drink. Hard to obtain and insanely expensive, sure. Back in his room fifty years ago, he'd scoffed at the sheer idiocy—cola in a medieval fantasy?—mocking the author's wild imagination.
Now? Woo-jin wanted to prostrate himself in gratitude for that contrived nonsense.
I've got to live! I don't know when this wretched life ends, but I have to taste all the Korean food and cola out there first.
And so, the Heavenly Demon Cheon Woo-jin resolved to carry on—not for world domination or revenge, but for a single, obsessive craving for food. Sometimes, the reason to cling to life was something very small.
Cheon Woo-jin scraped the bowl clean and handed the empty dish to Ella.
"Did you make this food?"
"Y-you ate it all!? Y-yes! I'm the only one here!"
Cheon Woo-jin tilted his head.
Just one maid in this huge house?
A bit odd, but not the time to dwell.
"Good, it was delicious. From the next meal, make double this amount."
"D-double?"
"Yes—gotta eat a lot to get healthy fast, right?"
"Y-yes! Understood, Young Master! I'll show you my skills, Ella will!"
"Good. Now go."
"Yes, Young Master. Rest well, and ring the bell if you're in pain!"
Ella left, the door clicking shut.
Hoo, what a kind-hearted girl. Good cooking too... Should teach her a martial art sometime.
Woo-jin slowly crossed his legs into a lotus position on the bed. Bony joints creaked painfully.
"Kuh...!"
Ridiculous. Just sitting cross-legged hurt this much?
This decayed husk can't even chew meat. First, assess my exact condition.
Cheon Woo-jin had reached the ultimate, beyond-human Transcendence Realm. Orthodox old-timers claimed it was below Profound Realm out of pride, but they were the same pinnacle—legendary heights revered in myths. The Heavenly Demon had already touched that peak.
I've walked that path once. No reason I can't again.
Restore this broken body through cultivation, then roam the continent savoring perfect Korean dishes. That was Woo-jin's grand, perfect plan.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. Focusing inward, he prepared to circulate the introductory heart method of his signature art, the Heavenly Demon Divine Art: the Heavenly Demon Illusory Art.
Demonic arts twisted the mind and risked qi deviation, but the Heavenly Demon Divine Art was supreme, transcending those flaws—he judged it safe from the start.
Cautiously, he sank his consciousness into his dantian, peering into his true inner workings—not the shell, but meridians and qi-blood.
But his brow furrowed darkly almost immediately.
Damn it, worse than I thought.
The dantian meant to hold the Heavenly Demon Illusory Art wasn't empty—it was shriveled like a deflated pouch. The Eight Extraordinary Meridians were cracked and blocked like drought-stricken fields. Qi-blood was all twisted or severed abnormally. Forcing even a speck of the art's domineering power could burst his vessels and kill him in a spray of blood.
Cheon Woo-jin agonized. Even the supreme Heavenly Demon Illusory Art was fundamentally demonic. Accumulating even a trace of demonic qi in this body was impossible.
But were there no options?
No.
His mind held more than just the Heavenly Demon Divine Art. The vast Heavenly Demon Repository beneath Shipman Mountain Range had housed thousands of Murim manuals, including countless lost orthodox arts. In his disinterested conquest days, he'd crammed them all into his head out of boredom. Who knew it'd pay off?
Forcing demonic arts is suicide. Start with a gentle, nature-attuned orthodox Taoist heart method.
It wouldn't be demonic qi, but the Heavenly Demon Divine Art could adapt. Switch back later once the body recovered.
Decision made, he selected from his mental library the heart method with minimal qi deviation risk and least strain: the Taiji Mysterious Heaven Heart Method.
Perfect. Always wanted to try this one.
Woo-jin chuckled wryly.
Me, learning Wudang's Jang Sam-bong's method... Hilarious.
Resolved, he formed the signature mudra on the bed and began slow, shallow breathing.
"Huuu..."
The room's air rippled faintly. Around his gaunt torso, tiny, pure strands of qi gathered like silk threads, drawn slowly inward.