Meeting the Benefactor
"Urgh..."
Not even a proper groan could escape his lips. There wasn't a single inch of his body left unscathed. Bruises bloomed purple across his skin, and the gashes from sharp blades oozed blood without end. Several joints screamed with every twitch, clearly shattered beyond repair. And they'd stabbed him so viciously in so many places that his body was practically a pincushion.
The weird part was that some spots felt nothing even when prodded with a sharp skewer. 'No way... are my nerves starting to die off?'
The day he'd been kidnapped. A masked man driving the carriage had struck his pressure points without mercy, knocking him out cold. When he finally came to, this was where he found himself.
Pitch-black darkness, without a sliver of light anywhere. The stench of blood and rot assaulted his nostrils. It looked like some secret underground prison—more like the bowels of hell, doubling as a torture chamber for the worst kind of sadists.
No sunrises or sunsets here, so tracking days was impossible. But he'd counted the meager scraps of garbage they tossed in just to keep him barely alive. Roughly a week, he'd guess, since getting locked up.
And during that long, hellish week...
He'd endured every imaginable torment a human could suffer. Pain beyond anything he'd dreamed possible—not even in nightmares had he conceived of such brutality.
The reason? It was so absurdly unfair he wanted to spit blood.
The vicious bastards who'd snatched him asked only one thing while ripping out his nails and carving his flesh: "How did you know I'd cultivated the Reverse Heaven Demonic Art?"
Are you insane?! How the hell should I know if you've learned some demonic art or not!
He swore he had no clue. Hell, he'd never even heard of such a thing in the real murim world.
"Th-that was just novelistic imagination...!"
He denied it through bloodshot tears, but they wouldn't hear it. They just smirked and hounded him relentlessly on how he'd come up with such details for his novel. Stubborn as rocks, those bastards.
This is enough to drive anyone mad!
If he'd actually known something, he'd have spilled it gladly to end this. But what could he do when he truly didn't? How do you prove a fiction born purely from scraped web novel tropes and wild imagination?
In the end, the terrifying masked leader who'd dragged him here turned away coldly when he wouldn't break. He left orders for the torturer to beat the truth out of him without mercy, then vanished.
A week like that. And now, hell's routine returned once more.
The torturer's rough hands gripped a massive hammer crusted with dried black blood from countless victims, reeking of decay.
'Starting with blunt force today?'
His toes—the hammer's usual target—clenched instinctively. Not that he had any strength left after the aftereffects; it was pure desperate survival instinct, hoping tension might dull the pain just a fraction.
"Well now, esteemed Author Yulgong."
The torturer bared yellowed teeth in a demonic cackle.
"Can't risk smashing those precious fingers of yours—they might still pen something for our lord."
He swung the heavy hammer through the air with a whoosh, stepping toward his feet.
"But hey, who needs to walk when you can still write from a wheelchair?"
He flicked his tongue like a snake, passing sentence.
"Today, I'll grind those toes of yours to dust."
Not even his toes, the rude bastard spat as he strode forward.
Huh? When did that iron door to the torture chamber creak open?
The moment he blinked in confusion at it—
Shwick.
A chilling, razor-sharp sound sliced through the damp air. Like thinly shaving frozen pork belly at a butcher shop with the finest blade—bones and flesh parting in a cold rasp.
And moments later...
"Huh...?"
The torturer standing before him, hammer raised, watched his own head loll off limply.
It hit the ground and rolled right to his feet with a thud-thud-thud.
"Eek!"
The severed head stopped at his toes. Those lifeless eyes, oblivious even in death, locked onto his. He jolted back, sucking in a gasp.
Thud.
The headless body finally collapsed, unable to defy gravity, kicking up a cloud of ancient dust.
He stifled a cough amid the rising haze of filth and blood.
Behind the fallen corpse stood a petite shadow, silent.
Long, disheveled hair hung in wild tangles. Ragged, filthy clothes everywhere. But the slender lines peeking through marked her unmistakably as a woman.
In her small hand gleamed a bizarre sword, trailing endless cold mist that didn't match her appearance. Transparent and blindingly beautiful, like ice carved straight from an eternal glacier.
"Wh-who...?"
His cracked voice barely formed the words. Her gaze slowly pinned on him.
"You..."
Her voice trembled violently.
"Are you... really Author Yulgong?"
What the hell kind of plot twist is this? Why's this woman storming a hellhole prison alone to find me?
His mind already shattered from a week of torment, he shrugged into fatalistic surrender.
He nodded his crusted head weakly.
"Yeah... I'm that damn Yulgong. What of it?"
He barked a hollow laugh.
"What're you doing here? Come to finish me off?"
At his prickly retort, she rushed forward a step, shouting.
"The epic scene where Cheon Ujae falls from the Manjangae Cliff and gains a massive fortune!"
Her eyes blazed madly.
"Are you the great author Yulgong who wrote that?!"
Damn this novel. It must've driven the entire murim insane.
He snapped irritably.
"Yes! I wrote it! Want me to spoil what Cheon Ujae does next at the cliff bottom while I'm at it?"
Veins bulging, he snarled.
"Cheon Ujae finds the Sky-Shattering Fist God's insights in that dark cave, becoming invincible with his fists—"
Thud!
Before he finished, she dropped into a perfect full prostration, ice sword and all.
And then she uttered the most baffling, surreal words.
"I pay my respects to my benefactor!"
Huh? Benefactor? What did I do?
"Me...? Your benefactor?"
His dumbfounded echo made her lift her head from the floor.
"Yes, that's right."
Her voice quavered as she began her tale.
"My name is Seol Muyeong."
Deep sorrow and resentment swirled in her clear eyes.
"I grew up under my father, who ran a tiny martial arts hall in a remote village at the northern edge of Henan Province."
She stared into the void, dredging up memories.
"His only child, a treasured daughter. We weren't rich, but no one in the world was warmer or happier."
Sudden backstory time. Overwhelmed by her raw sincerity, he listened silently.
"Then came that fateful, unlucky day. A procession from a famed orthodox clan—its patriarch himself—arrived at our humble hall."
Her fists clenched white-knuckled.
"They were heading to the Murim Alliance in Nakyang on urgent business and politely asked to stay the night as dusk fell."
"Uh... and?"
He prompted cautiously. Bloodshot fury erupted in her eyes.
"Father saw it as an honor to host such renowned guests of the jianghu. He welcomed them gladly."
Her lips quivered.
"But... that was the start of our hall's horrific tragedy."
He swallowed hard.
"Deep into the night. Worried our noble guests might be uncomfortable, Father quietly checked near their rooms."
"So... he saw something?"
"No. He said everything seemed fine, so he turned back to sleep."
Tears splattered the floor.
"Next morning at dawn, the lofty patriarch and his entourage left for Nakyang without a word, faces cold as ice."
Killing intent thickened her voice.
"That very night..."
"That night?"
"A horde of pitch-black-masked thugs swarmed our hall!"
Her shoulders heaved with sobs.
"No questions, no mercy—they slaughtered our innocent family without rhyme or reason."
Her brow furrowed as the blood-soaked memory resurfaced; she pressed on desperately.
"Father sensed the danger and hid me in a secret underground chamber only he knew."
"Ah..."
"Then he faced them alone, drenched in blood. Spitting it up, he demanded to know."
Her eyes burned with her father's final silhouette.
"What justified this heaven-defying outrage? What crime had we committed?!"
Her whisper twisted into a curse beyond rage.
"Those beastly thugs licked their bloody blades and sneered."
It was a clear declaration of slaughter to silence witnesses.
"Father looked baffled, then... as if recalling the previous night, he asked desperately."
She sucked in a breath.
"By any chance... Patriarch Moyong...?"
Moyong patriarch? His heart plummeted at the name of that mighty clan.
Fierce flames of rage leaped from her eyes.
"At those words, the masked man grinned like a demon."
"With that, his blade severed Father's neck in one stroke."
She bit her lip, unable to continue. Just like the torturer's head moments ago, rolling across his prison floor.
"I cowered breathless in that cramped, dark hideout, trembling until the screams stopped and dawn broke."
Her slender hand crushed the ice sword's hilt.
"Somehow I escaped the hall, disguised as a beggar, and slipped into Nakyang."
Perfect prologue to a revenge tale—one he'd written a thousand times.
"Then, in Nakyang's markets, I overheard the crowds buzzing with excitement."
She looked up at him.
"Hero Cheon Ujae fell from Manjangae Cliff—only to find a miraculous hidden cave of fortune!"
No way. Please, tell me no.
His heart pounded in frantic dread.
"I had no power to avenge my clan, no allies, no options."
Her gaze held that era's desperation.
"Nothing but a miracle straight out of a novel."
She swallowed.
"So... I headed straight for Manjangae."
No! You madwoman!
"Without hesitation, I leaped into the abyss below that dizzying cliff."
She actually jumped?! It was pure fiction from my head—100% fake, a novel!
Shock and absurdity left him gaping, frozen.
A third-rate web novel scribbler's drivel, and this murim lunatic stakes her life on it!
But her next words shattered his shallow worldview.
"And... at the foot of that dreadful cliff."
She reverently raised her sword, trailing cold aura.
"A cave truly slumbered there, miracle of miracles, harboring fortune."
For real?! Holy shit, it actually exists?!
His pupils dilated wildly, like an earthquake in his eyes.
The Manjangae fortune cave was a pure dopamine-fueled fabrication.
Why the hell did it sit there in real life?!
"In that mystical cave, I met Seola—this blade, awaiting an owner for centuries."
She caressed the stunning ice-forged sword lovingly.
"Seola granted me overwhelming frost power on the brink of death."
Her eyes chilled, exuding venomous killing intent.
"I sealed that immense force in my dantian through bone-scraping agony. And today, I come to Moyong Sega—those vile beasts—for revenge. First, I infiltrated the prison."
What insane coincidence...
"Hoping, just maybe, some family survived, locked away here."
She shook her head.
"No survivors. But I overheard the torturer mention you."
Her clear eyes blazed fiercely at him.
"That you—Author Yulgong, who gave me a reason to live and led me to that miraculous fortune—are my benefactor!"