The Heavenly Demon Divine Art

The Heavenly Demon Divine Art reacted strangely. Everyone treated my post like some kind of forbidden abomination that should never exist.

I figured there must be some misunderstanding, so I calmly left a reply.

Once again, a barrage of sharp, hooked questions poured in.

Spending ten years confined to a sickbed made me familiar with all sorts of things. I'd never read martial arts novels out of personal taste, but these days, Heavenly Demons weren't limited to those books. From fantasy academy students to hunters, healers, Korean medicine doctors, blacksmiths, farmers, chefs, bakers, masseurs, and more. In my world, Heavenly Demons were all-purpose workers who could do literally any job.

It seemed like a rather brutal conversation had taken place without me realizing.

In an instant, our inner sense of camaraderie skyrocketed. No wonder their speech patterns felt more modern than you'd expect from people in a martial arts gallery. It must have been her influence.

But the part that caught my attention was this: hundreds of years. Didn't that mean she was at least several hundred years old? At that point she wasn't an auntie or a grandma... she wasn't even a high school girl, was she? And someone like that was using the username Cute High School Girl? A strong warning bell suddenly rang in my instincts. This was something I absolutely could not say out loud. I desperately pushed the storm of thoughts out of my mind.

The gallery ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠owner had posted. The comment section froze instantly. When I returned to the post list, there was a new orange-highlighted post from the owner. And it was written to me. It seemed they weren't planning to kick me out of the gallery. That was a relief.

The post itself was short and concise. Beneath the difficult-to-understand phrases was a single file attachment that I couldn't possibly resist clicking.

I downloaded the file as if in a trance. It opened naturally, pouring out black-and-white illustrations and neatly formatted text.

For some reason, I felt an instinctive and intense aversion to the preface. Still, curiosity won out over that discomfort. I swallowed dryly and scrolled down.

Each character hammered information directly into my brain.

“Ugh…!”

It hurt. A splitting headache like thousands of needles stabbing into my skull. It hurt. It hurt so much I couldn't even make a sound. I'd experienced plenty of pain before, but this was a new kind. This kind of agony.

“Ughk.”

My back arched like a bow. Thanks to the Waiting Room's functions, I wouldn't die from shock, but the pain came through with perfect clarity. After what felt like hellish eternity...

“Haa, haa!”

My reddened vision slowly returned to normal. I barely regained my senses and checked the gallery.

They had already accepted my death as fact and were holding a full cyber funeral. I moved my fingers quickly.

Suddenly, the Waiting Room timer outside the gallery window caught my eye.

Before looking at the Heavenly Demon Divine Art manual, there had been over twenty-three hours left. Now only about four hours remained. It seemed like once that time ran out, I'd be forced into the first floor. Turning my gaze, I saw a swirling, dizzying door. To enter before then, I'd have to go through that storm-like gate of space and time.

Beside the gate of space and time, crude-looking swords were on display. Going in immediately was off the table, but recovering enough in four hours to walk around normally was realistically impossible. The only thing I could rely on was this unidentified martial art. Even though it was only the first stage—the Holy Fire part—the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠contents of the Heavenly Demon Divine Art manual were already lodged in my head. The problem was...

She had posted something. Thankfully, the kind high school girl responded immediately. High school girls are always right. Long live high school girls.

Of course I had no idea.

Anyway, I was only using the gallery. There wasn't really anything to be careful about. A small question arose, but I didn't bother asking. I didn't have time to waste right now.

The high school girl made it sound simple, but it wasn't simple for me at all.

“Ugh.”

Grunting, I forced my body into the lotus position.

She said that, but I only had four hours. A month was out of the question. I erased the concept of time from my mind. They say the more urgent something is, the more you should slow down, right? I closed my eyes. I recalled the meridian diagram the high school girl had drawn, which was so messy I could barely tell arms from legs. Inhale. Exhale. As I focused on my breathing, I felt a faint, alien sensation.

Breathing was something I was used to. My illness caused random bouts of extreme pain, and that bastard didn't even respond to narcotic painkillers. It was so vicious that even sleeping pills couldn't keep me down. In the end I gave up on solving it with medicine and, whenever a pain attack hit, I'd clutch the blanket and take deep breaths. It had probably become an instinctive response. That's how people are. You can get used to joy, but you never get used to pain. There is no adaptation to pain. You can only alleviate it through other means. That was the truth I had learned on my sickbed.

I observed my breathing, following that ticklish sensation. The moment the air traveled down my windpipe and reached the center of my chest, my heart jolted. Deep in my lungs, within the inhaled air, there was a tiny, faint spark.

Ah. So this is true energy.