Again?
The vivid '' emblem embroidered on their chests marked them as warriors of the Murim Alliance. Behind them, more figures emerged one after another. Elders from Shaolin, Huashan, Wudang, Kunlun, Emei, Beggars' Sect, Zhongnan, Jecheon, Qingcheng, and Kongtong. All nine great sects in full force.
And that wasn't all. The Nangong family, Sichuan Tang family, Hebei Peng family, Jeonjeol family, and Murong family. Elders from the five great families whose prestige rivaled the nine sects. Beside them stood the savage experts of the Evil Alliance, reeking of bloodlust, while in the dark shadows lurked the Blood Cult shamans, whose presence was so devoid of killing intent that it sent chills down the spine.
It wouldn't be wrong to say the entire martial world had gathered here.
Cheon Woo-jin smirked.
"Never thought I'd see the Alliance Leader and Alliance Heads here."
"Agreed."
"The jianghu was never a merciful place, was it? You were simply too strong."
Cheon Woo-jin silently gazed at the scene. The righteous sects, evil factions, and Blood Cult—who had spent their lives at each other's throats—now all faced the same direction, united solely to erase him.
It was absurd. And somewhere, bittersweet.
He fell silent for a moment before speaking.
"...Haha. Was I that terrifying?"
He chuckled softly.
"Sima Strategist. Impressive. You rallied them all with that silver tongue of yours. A fitting title, Grand Strategist of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult."
Sima Gil's eyes flickered with an unreadable light—guilt, perhaps, or defiance.
"They united like this. Must've promised them a scrap of land in some forgotten corner of the Central Plains."
Sima Gil said nothing.
"..."
"That's your one flaw, Sima Strategist. Believing others think as rationally as you. Heh heh heh. I have much to say, but now's not the time."
Righteous sects, evil factions, Blood Cult, and even the Demon Cult's leadership. Every power in the martial world had assembled to eliminate one man: Cheon Woo-jin.
He let out a hollow laugh.
"So."
Cheon Woo-jin slowly rose from his seat.
Whooooosh—!!
Vast demonic energy boiled up from his dantian, enveloping his body in crimson-black haze. The Formless Poison coursed through his meridians, gnawing at his strength, but the Heavenly Demon's majesty remained unbroken. If anything, his eyes burned deeper.
"You judged that the entire 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 Squad, drew his blade and stepped forward.
"Do you wonder about a friend on the verge of meeting the King of Hell?"
"Haha. You underestimate me too much. To catch me, you'd have needed every sect leader and family head here."
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 why I'm called the Heavenly Demon... from the afterlife."
At that instant, the Murim Alliance Leader's scream echoed across the hall.
"Everyone!! Form the array!!"
The form of Shipman Mountain Range's peak had changed. Streams ran dry, and the mountains and forests were bathed in eternal 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 mountain like an earthquake.
One day, two days, three. Even for the Heavenly Demon at the Transcendence Realm, suppressing the poison ravaging his body while facing the united might of righteous, evil, Blood Cult, and Demon Cult forces without respite was a war of attrition with limits.
On the sixth day, over half the alliance forces had vanished without a trace. Huashan elders, evil faction masters—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 debris-strewn Matheonru Tower, Cheon Woo-jin leaned on his sword like a cane, barely standing.
"Hoo... Not like the old days."
Master Xu Kong, former Shaolin abbot, cried out in horror.
"Namo Amitabha! You monster... committing such slaughter and still standing! Are you even human?!"
"Heh heh, that's rich coming from you, Master Xu Kong. Didn't you come here to kill me? Hardly the Buddha's will."
"Shut your mouth!!"
Then, Sima 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 encircled Cheon Woo-jin.
"As expected... magnificent, Cult Leader."
Sima Gil smiled bitterly, black blood dripping from his lips.
"Righteous, evil, Blood Cult, and our Divine Cult's full might. The entire martial world upon you, and you endured seven days."
Cheon Woo-jin sensed the sinister aura cloaking Sima Gil.
"Shamanism."
"From the Blood Cult. I couldn't have dreamed of it alone, but you've exhausted yourself so thoroughly."
"Teaming with those vermin. A mistake, Strategist."
"You still call me Strategist."
"Your intentions haven't changed since then. To me, you are."
"..."
Sima Gil's face wavered briefly.
"Too late, my lord."
"Yes... far too late."
The talisman in Sima Gil's hand pulsed. Light flared from the surrounding shamans, twisting space itself.
Soul Exile Array
A forbidden ritual demanding the caster's life as sacrifice, banishing the target's severely weakened soul to another dimension forever.
Sima Gil crushed the talisman. As it crumbled, a massive purple magic circle unfurled beneath Cheon Woo-jin. 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 brow furrowed. An immense force began ripping his soul from his flesh—a pain beyond physical tearing.
His vision flashed 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 he couldn't savor even that.
Then—
"Sima Gil, you bastard!!"
Cheon Woo-jin turned toward the voice. Young Il-rang stood amid the rubble, one arm lost, body caked in blood, gripping his sword with one hand, eyes bloodshot.
"How dare you!! Dare betray my lord!! Our lord!!"
The one precious bond Cheon Woo-jin had forged in this world. Only Young Il-rang had stood by the Heavenly Demon to the death, reaching this place.
Cheon Woo-jin smiled.
"Hahaha. What a sight, Il-rang."
"My lord!! No!! My lord!!"
Young Il-rang charged 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.
'Yes, this end isn't bad. 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 rot, but faint floral notes and the fresh crispness of laundered linens. His back rested not on cold stone, but something cloud-soft enveloping his body.
'Where...?'
Cheon Woo-jin slowly lifted his heavy eyelids.
'Am I alive?'
His eyes met an ornate marble ceiling. At its center hung a massive crystal chandelier sparkling with light. A style utterly alien to the Central Plains—opulent, Western luxury.
'No way...'
He tried to sit up urgently, but his body rebelled. Propping himself on his elbows, he scanned the room in confusion.
That's when the girl in a black-and-white maid outfit by the bed, fidgeting anxiously, gasped wide-eyed. A freckled brown-haired teen, late adolescence.
She clapped 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 over, face alight with joy.
"Y-Young Master Cael!! You've awakened!!"
'Young Master...?'
That was the first morning the absolute Heavenly Demon, Cheon Woo-jin, greeted in the world of The Duke's Frail Son Obsesses Over Me Whenever He Sees Me.
"So... you're saying I've finally woken after a long time."
Ella, the girl who'd screamed moments ago, replied.
"Yes, Young Master. And you were clearly... gone just thirty minutes ago...."
Cheon Woo-jin's eyebrow twitched.
"Gone?"
"M-Must've been my mistake! Anyway, you need to eat! Wait here, I'll fetch some soup right away!"
Once Ella left, Cheon Woo-jin pondered deeply.
'Soul Exile Array.'
He knew of it. How many spells had he researched to return home? But this wasn't teleportation. It severed and banished the soul from the body to an unknown realm—a forbidden art he'd discarded for its uncertainty.
'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 took over.
'Hah... Insane.'
Why revive him for this nonsense instead of letting him die?
Instinctively, he assessed his new body.
'Pathetic wreck. Meridians blocked, no intact qi pathways. Even idle, it'll kill me.'
In the martial world, he'd possessed a sturdy vessel. Here, it was frail enough to drop dead any moment. Naturally, all his cultivated martial arts were gone.
Realization brought crushing deprivation and futility.
"Haa... Ridiculous...."
How to survive in this rotten shell? Cheon Woo-jin considered death preferable.
'Yes, die. Skip a day without food, and this husk will oblige.'
Lying in bed, he sorted his affairs.
'Il-rang... probably gone too....'
Bitterness surged. Perhaps he'd meet Il-rang in hell. With martial worlds and this bizarre place, why not hell?
Having let go of everything, awaiting quiet death—
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.'
Yet—
'Hm? What's that smell...?'
A familiar aroma assaulted his nose. Cheon Woo-jin flung off the covers, tracing the source.
"Th-this!! Army stew!"