Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue
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I had many names.
That was just how things worked in the martial world.
From ones that seemed flawed at first glance, like Earth Dragon or Sword Cat, to ones that made your face burn just hearing them, such as World's Best Swordsman or Martial God.
The stronger you were, the more glibly you boasted, and the more trouble you stirred up, the more bizarre and varied nicknames clung to a martial artist.
And in the current martial world, there were seven names known far and wide.
Huashan's Crimson Flower Divine Sword, the Beggars' Sect's Fiery Beggar Hero, Wudang's Wudang Ghost Axe.
The Dugu Family's Black Mysterious Sword Emperor, the Wandering Expert Thunderbolt Spear.
The Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's Asura Demon Buddha, and finally, the Heavenly Demon.
They were the seven absolutes reigning over the three heavens of the righteous, demonic, and cult martial worlds: the Righteous Heaven Alliance, Demonic Heaven, and Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
The world called them the Three Heavens Seven Absolutes.
And I was one of them.
Among my many, many titles, the most famous was Wudang Ghost Axe.
It was a straightforward, simplistic nickname combining my sect, the Wudang Sect, with the "ghost" from my foul temper and the axe I wielded.
And it was precisely why I considered such nicknames an unparalleled blight on the rivers and lakes.
While others reveled in being called Sword Emperor or Sword God with their Black Mysterious Sword Emperor or Crimson Flower Divine Sword, who in the world could understand my unique sorrow of being labeled a "Wudang axe ghost"?
Someone of my caliber should have graduated from nicknames like "ghost" long ago.
Immortal, Venerable, God, Emperor, Sovereign... I deserved a name that screamed power and might just looking at it.
Liking dark, sinister ones like "Spear Ghost" or "Sword Ghost" was for immature kids around fifteen.
"Hey."
Of course, such trivial titles meant nothing now, with no one left to even call me by them, no matter how hard I searched.
"Ugly Mug."
Yeah. I didn't care. No matter what anyone called me, I was unfazed...
"Open your eyes, Virgin Sixty Years."
"You lizard bitch."
The most hated among my many nicknames rang in my ears.
I snapped open my one remaining eye, and in my blood-red vision, the detestable face of that demonic witch came into view.
One-eyed, eunuch, bald, virgin, six-foot child, one-armed, idiot fool... Half the names stuck to me had spewed from that cursed mouth of hers. Most were slander, of course.
"Oh ho, you're still alive."
The one rudely calling a person by a derogatory slur instead of a proper nickname was none other than one of the Three Heavens Seven Absolutes: the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's cult leader and the last surviving follower.
The Heavenly Demon.
Through the waterfall of pitch-black hair cascading down and tickling my forehead, eyes deep as abysses gleamed.
More precisely, unlike other peak martial artists whose eyes shimmered with multicolored light from their internal energy, hers sucked in even the surrounding colors into her pupils.
Setting aside her incomprehensible martial arts that defied common sense, the petite Heavenly Demon's face, twisted in her usual unsettling smile, was pale under the moonlight.
"So why aren't you answering? I thought you were dead."
"Almost was."
I felt a firm yet soft, contradictory sensation against the back of my head, so she must have placed it on her thigh, like a pillow for sleeping.
Her knees folded, my head resting on them, her waist bent as she peered down at my face.
It was a posture utterly defenseless for a martial artist.
'Right now... maybe I could smack that annoying face?'
Staring into those pitch-black pupils that didn't even reflect my image, I imagined something I'd never succeeded at in thirty years.
'Layer the subtleties of Thousand Catty Weight on the back of my head to pin and seal her leg, then use a shockwave from the shoulder acupoint as propulsion for a fist strike...'
With grand plans in my chest, I circulated my scant remaining internal energy to assess my body, only for my attempt to fail spectacularly. My left arm, fine until yesterday, was gone from the shoulder down.
Since losing my right arm at thirty and living as a one-armed man for the past thirty years, with my left gone too, I had no means to strike her.
A Taoist priest's small, merry rebellion ended before it began.
'Damn it.'
I sighed deeply and continued the Small Heavenly Circulation.
My condition was worse than expected.
Several large holes punched through my body, legs twisted grotesquely— it was a miracle I was still breathing.
"Damn it. My state looks just like a maggot. Why wake me to show this hideous sight? Just let me die unknowing."
"Hm. Hideous? To me, it's quite appealing. Doesn't it prevent that insolent scheming to punch my face, ignorant of the sin and grace of kneeling my knee?"
A grumpy remark drew a chilling, sinister reply.
Words I'd normally scoff at sent shivers down my spine in my current state.
I scowled and muttered.
"...Crazy bitch."
"You're too kind. In my cult, that's high praise."
Yet another proof of the sage's wisdom: never converse long with Demonic Cult scum.
"So, when will you recover?"
The Heavenly Demon asked indifferently.
"Recover? What?"
I shot back quizzically, genuinely puzzled.
"Your body. This isn't your first time wrecked like this, right? Eight years ago, was it? Your head's left side smashed, lower jaw blown off, yet now your tongue wags smoothly."
What a cockroach in human form. That Ugly Mug's life sure clings tenaciously.
The Heavenly Demon muttered irritably, chuckling to herself.
Her head and shoulders shaking made her hair brushing my forehead sway annoyingly.
Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. With enough time and energy, I could regenerate lost eyes, severed guts, or limbs.
"Who knows..."
Even shattered dantian or burst heart—I could heal if one remained. Due to the unique heart method I'd created and mastered.
Of course, only I could. Other martial artists lived with whatever they lost, even a finger, let alone a dantian. I'd failed to restore my eye and right arm before perfecting my arts.
Honestly, the Heavenly Demon probably could too, but she'd never suffered such wounds. The only human in history to truly attain indestructible diamond body.
Better not to get hurt at all than heal after.
Anyway, perhaps that's why she didn't know my exact state.
'Or maybe.'
She knew but ignored it.
But no time for such thoughts. Each word brought me closer to death.
So I said honestly.
"Not this time."
Internal energy in the dantian replenishes when depleted, but True Origin Vital Energy—the life force itself protected by it—does not.
Over decades of battles, I'd steadily consumed my True Origin Vital Energy, and in today's fight alongside the Heavenly Demon, it finally bottomed out.
With my left arm gone from the shoulder, my heart couldn't be intact, and my dantian—devoid of both energy and vital essence—was a pierced empty shell. Even drawing natural qi via deep breathing meditation wouldn't help without my innate vital energy; it'd be pouring water into a leaking jar.
The Heavenly Demon gazed down with her abyss-like eyes.
As if asking what wouldn't work.
"This was the best we could do."
Still not getting it?
"I'm dying, Heavenly Demon."
Dully, I muttered the obvious fact.
The Heavenly Demon's smile faded, her lips twitching faintly.
"Why."
Her question chained onto mine, frustrating me in this pointless exchange unworthy of Zen riddles.
"Why? You idiot. Who survives three head-sized holes in their body? You think True Origin Vital Energy or internal energy grows from the ground? Unlike you with overflowing power to waste, I've survived by precise control and calculation. That's why reckless qi projectors are trouble. Gobbling heavenly ginseng or millennium snow ginseng, they know nothing of thrift!"
"True Origin Vital Energy... yes. That's the issue."
Somehow interpreting my rant, she nodded to herself and placed her palm on my solar plexus.
I questioned the irrelevant act.
"What are you doing?"
The Heavenly Demon didn't answer, as if a martial artist deep in meditative circulation.
Moments later, my one eye widened fist-sized.
Transferring internal energy to another is called Force Transfer. Not easy, but not rare.
Elders past their prime often passed lifelong cultivation to prized disciples or heirs via Force Transfer.
But this energy flowing through chest acupoints, spreading body-wide, racing through my meridians to gather at Sea of Qi and fill my shattered dantian...
"True Origin Vital Energy...!"
The Heavenly Demon was shoving her innate life force—mine now, a stranger's. Unheard of.
Even ignoring feasibility, Force Transfer's abysmal efficiency meant a full cycle's worth from her would grant me barely over ten years.
In short, this mystic folly had a fixed end.
My crumpled heart absorbed the vital energy, regaining form. Red and white muscles writhed to seal body holes.
Conversely, as I revived, the Heavenly Demon's long hair grayed from the tips. The meaning was clear.
"Stop, stop it."
She dies, I live.
"Stop!"
That wasn't what I wanted.
I inhaled deeply, pouring my last internal energy into a shout.
"Get—out!"
A roar rivaling Shaolin Lion's Roar erupted. The Heavenly Demon flinched, withdrawing her long white fingers from my chest.
"Ugly Mug."
"...What."
Trembling entered the Heavenly Demon's voice. I replied weakly; my whole body's energy seemed drained. Death felt nearer.
"...Don't go."
With eyelids heavy as I neared the Yellow Springs, a sob-like voice reached my ears.
"Don't go, Ugly Mug..."
I couldn't help but be shocked.
The Heavenly Demon was crying.
Not a tear when her cherished Asura Demon Buddha died like a mother, nor when her cult followers worshipping her as god perished.
"Don't go, Ugly Mug... Don't die. Please? Let's keep living. Together, here..."
Sobbing like a child.
No, just a hallucination? Hard to judge rationally through death's fog.
But "don't go."
'Go? Where would I...'
For a cultivation Taoist, death isn't the end.
Daoist scriptures teach ascendants reach the Immortal Realm post-mortem.
The constellations circling infinite night skies are their final traces in the mortal world—or so I learned as a Daoist disciple.
Her pleading sobs raised doubts.
Does the Immortal Realm exist?
For a Taoist, is death truly not the end?
Where do I go upon dying?
The last, I could answer.
After my death, no Immortal Realm awaited.
No sect precepts or sage laws for a half-baked Taoist who'd forgotten both.
"Without you too, I..."
Hot tears fell on her paling, cooling cheeks. Hers.
Crying, her face looked so ugly. I thought to wipe them, raising a hand.
'Ah.'
No hand rose. Neither left nor right.
Only then.
Realizing I had nothing left, I sank into sticky helplessness.
-Crack! Smash! Snap!
'That insolent bastard!'
This... familiar feel.
-Crunch! Grind!
'Senior Brother! Hyeon-gyu Junior Brother will die at this rate! Stop him!'
'No, with Grand Senior Brother gone, what can I...'
The sensation clinging perfectly to my fist, warm and nostalgic as a mother's embrace...
'Groooan...'
'Hyeon-ye! Where's Hyeon-ye!'
...Nostalgic?
"Stop! Enough, Hyeonseong!"
"Huh?"
Instantly, the hazy black-and-white world regained color. My vision broader than usual, my nonexistent right arm gripped a man's collar.
The man's face was very familiar. Black-and-blue bruises swollen beyond recognition, yet all the more so.
"Senior Brother? No way. Why would Senior Brother be here now."
The battered-faced man was my senior brother, Wudang disciple Hyeon-gyu.
"Hyeonseong, stop. Please? Master Uncle will really punish us..."
And clinging to my equally nonexistent left arm with her whole body...
"Little Sister..."
My sister, dead thirty years ago.