The Sin I Committed
"Haa... So boring. Boring beyond belief."
Atop the Matheonru Tower, the highest peak of the Shipman Mountain Range where even the clouds lay beneath his feet—the sacred heart of the Heavenly Demon Cult—the Heavenly Demon, Cheon Woo-jin, gazed endlessly at the clear sky.
"That's why I'm telling you, stop with the weird crap every day and just conquer the Central Plains already. 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.
"Nah. I'd have to fight all the damn time again. Scary."
"You're the strongest under heaven, aren't you...?"
"What does that matter? Scary is scary, and if I don't wanna, I don't wanna."
'I don't wanna watch you lot die either.'
He didn't voice the last part.
Young Il-rang let out a deep sigh.
"Haa... My lord. The people's hearts are turning against us. We've got overwhelming power, but we've spent ten whole years on this barren land just preparing. Someone's bound to rise up soon."
Cheon Woo-jin looked at his friend. A comrade who'd fought by his side countless times over the past fifty years. Even if he trusted no one else in the world, this man was different.
"So, you're rising up too?"
"Do I have a hundred lives or something? Against you, who's reached Transcendence Realm? You're joking... "
His words were flippant, but Cheon Woo-jin didn't mind. After all, fifty years ago, he'd come from a tiny country on Earth called South Korea. So what if the guy talked back a bit? As long as he showed proper respect.
"Why has heaven cursed me with this hell of boredom?"
"Must be sins from your past life."
Cheon Woo-jin clicked his tongue at Young Il-rang's words.
"Tch. The only sin I committed back home was 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 titles?"
"Heavenly Demon Solo."
"Hm, basically describes you now. Did your eccentricity come from that? What's the other one?"
"The Young Lord of the Sword Noble House Obsesses Over Me Alone."
"...I must've misheard, my lord?"
"That's the one."
Cheon Woo-jin looked back up at the sky. He appeared as a handsome youth just past twenty. No outward aura at all—just an ordinary look. But that was the result of achieving Return to Youth and Return to Origin, realms beyond even Profound Realm and Transcendence Realm, attainable only by those who'd reached the pinnacle of formlessness.
'Can't go back after all, huh.'
Cheon Woo-jin recalled that day fifty years ago.
He'd binged the martial arts novel Heavenly Demon Solo all night, hooked on its overwhelming thrill, then impulse-bought and devoured the same author's romance fantasy, The Young Lord of the Sword Noble House Obsesses Over Me Alone.
When he opened his eyes, he was dumped in the middle of the Heavenly Demon Cult's training grounds from the novel.
To survive, he struggled. He swallowed the pain of shattered bones and torn flesh, gripped his sword, preempted the novel's lucky encounters, cut down approaching enemies, and climbed blood-soaked mountains.
After fifty years of gore-drenched strife, Cheon Woo-jin ascended to the throne of the Heavenly Demon.
In his seventy-second year, he broke through to Transcendence Realm—a height no one in martial history had ever touched.
But that night at the peak, Cheon Woo-jin looked at the sky and wept for the first time. He'd 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.
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 all he craved.
Even owning the world couldn't give him that one simple thing.
So he poured the cult's vast wealth and power into recreating them. He gathered the realm's top chefs, kneaded dough into noodles and rice cakes, approximated gochujang, and clumsily mimicked tteokbokki, ramen, and seasoned chicken.
The ingredients were wrong, the flavors never quite hit. But the crunch of perfectly fried chicken—that texture alone pulled him back to his days as a South Korean youth, Cheon Woo-jin.
The cultists stared in confusion. But none dared question the Heavenly Demon's whims.
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, yearning for a far-off place called home. Even after fifty years together, Young Il-rang never fully understood that look.
"...My lord."
"Call the Strategist."
Young Il-rang's face lit up.
"Oh? Conquering the Central Plains at last?"
"We'll see. Gotta talk to him first."
"Talk?"
"You said the people's hearts are turning. He'll know things I don't."
Young Il-rang stared at his lord's face for a moment, then nodded quietly.
Three days later.
In the open pavilion of Matheonru Tower, where moonlight shattered brilliantly, Cheon Woo-jin met the Strategist Sima Gil, who oversaw the cult's major affairs and intelligence network.
"Come in, Strategist."
"Heavenly Demon's return brings fortune to all demons. Strategist Sima Gil greets the Lord."
"Skip the formalities and sit. Looks like 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 Strategist's words were logical and airtight.
"Do you really think we need to conquer the Central Plains?"
Sima Gil replied,
"Only heaven knows all intentions."
At the cryptic words, Cheon Woo-jin raised his cup.
"All that talking's got my throat dry. Have a drink, Strategist."
He downed the plum-scented liquor in one gulp. 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 tiny popping sound.
A subtle feeling, but a clear sign of poison.
Cheon Woo-jin slowly set the empty cup on the table.
"...What is this, Strategist?"
His voice held more doubt and bitterness than anger.
"What do you mean, Lord?"
Sima Gil smiled calmly, fiddling with his own cup. An elderly man with flowing white hair. But his eyes gleamed with sharp edge.
"This is Formless Poison, isn't it."
Even at Cheon Woo-jin's blunt callout, the Strategist showed no panic. A supreme toxin—colorless, odorless, formless, only detectable after it struck. An ordinary warrior would already be vomiting black blood from all seven orifices, dead on the spot.
But Cheon Woo-jin suppressed the poison in his dantian with bottomless profound inner energy, sitting calmly.
"Haha, as expected of the Lord. Formless Poison, and you're still fine. Truly the greatest of all time."
Sima Gil rose slowly, offering a cupped-fist salute. Respectful in form, but blatant killing intent leaked out.
"Hm... I thought I'd treated you fairly."
"Treated me fairly? Is that what you call it?"
Sima Gil's wrinkled face twisted, erupting in mad fury.
"I need you! Where's the lord I knew, the one who screamed we needed Sima Gil's power to claim the world?!"
Cheon Woo-jin didn't interrupt. He just stared straight into the Strategist's eyes.
"You've reached the ultimate pinnacle no Heavenly Demon ever has! Under your overwhelming might, the Heavenly Demon Cult has entered its greatest era in history! The hypocrites of the orthodox sects piss themselves at our name alone—the imperial court itself treads carefully!! No!! Not the cult!! It's you!! Cheon Woo-jin, the greatest of all time—they fear you!!"
The Strategist's voice tore through the night air of Matheonru Tower.
"So why?! Why not advance on the Central Plains?! With power to unify the martial world and place the heavens under your feet, why hole up in the kitchens kneading mystery dough and frying beast meat?! Is this what a Heavenly Demon who commands the world does?!"
Cheon Woo-jin sighed shortly.
Becoming the strongest and claiming the world—that might be every martial artist's dream. 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 poisoned me with Formless Poison?"
"Just that?! Conquering the Central Plains is the Heavenly Demon Cult's ancient aspiration, my lord! We don't need a lord who turns this mighty cult—built on our blood and sweat—into his playground!!"
No sooner had Sima Gil's shout ended than—
Boom—!
From all sides of Matheonru Tower, thick killing intent surged as dozens of shadows leaped up, filling the pavilion. Every elder of the Elder Council. Leaders of the martial forces, including the Demon Sword Unit and Blood Shadow Unit. The cult's top brass, who held its fate in their hands, all drew weapons and surrounded Cheon Woo-jin in layers.
But Cheon Woo-jin's eyes passed over the cult executives, fixing on what lay behind them.
An aura that shouldn't be here.
Slowly emerging from the darkness were warriors clad in pure white uniforms.