The Trials of the Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture
When I opened my eyes, a familiar landscape filled my vision. A white expanse where the boundary between sky and earth had dissolved into primordial chaos. An infinite realm where even the concepts of up, down, left, and right lost all meaning.
...I'm back in here again.
It hadn't appeared during my catnaps, but the moment I tried to get some proper rest, it dragged me in like a vengeful spirit. The strength drained from my body. Just thinking about another blood-soaked brawl with that 'Geomjeong-i' bastard made tears sting at the corners of my eyes.
Exhausted beyond measure, I collapsed onto the ground and hugged my knees. I was tired—mentally, physically, completely spent.
A cigarette... God, I want a cigarette.
I craved one so badly that the pack I'd quit twenty years ago suddenly felt like the only thing that could save me. If I could just take one long drag right now, I'd ask for nothing else in this life.
What terrible crime had I committed to deserve this kind of torment? They call it the hero's fate, a path of trials, but this felt like outright abuse.
Lost in that gloomy thought, I dragged both hands down my face. That's when my left hand caught my attention. The intricate, bizarre pattern of the tattoo. The mark of the Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture that Guyu Majon had passed on to me coiled around my left hand and arm like a living thing.
I heard dreams are the footsteps of the unconscious...
If that was true, then this space was a world shaped by my own subconscious. So why was I still stuck in this borrowed woman's body even here, instead of my original form—the majestic, powerful body of the great hero Bae Taeseong?
The tattoo made sense; it was recent, burned intensely into my mind. But why had my real appearance—that imposing, muscular frame—never once manifested in this place?
This space was full of things I couldn't understand.
...Sigh. None of that matters right now.
I looked ahead. Across the endless white void, that grim-reaper-like Geomjeong-i would be waiting for me. I already knew that no matter how long I sat here trying to waste time, this dream would never end on its own.
“Huu...”
I let out a sigh so heavy it felt like the ground itself might sink. Then I kicked off the ground and sprinted forward.
Great completion. Mysterious movement and terrifying speed.
According to Geomjeong-i, my realm inside this space had reached the Peak level. In the real world, however, I was still only First-class. The difference was something I could feel in my bones.
The speed I managed while awake, stumbling along in those pathetic makeshift shoes, was nothing compared to the Phantom Butterfly Soul-Bewildering Steps I unleashed here. It was like running with shackles on my ankles and then suddenly being set free.
For reference, my knowledge—gained from devouring countless martial arts manuals in the name of general education—ranked the realms like this: Third-class, Second-class, First-class, Peak, Super Peak, Transcendence, Profound Realm. (There were supposedly higher stages like the Life and Death Realm, but those belonged to the realm of fantasy.)
According to Cheon Dok No-ong, it normally took ten to fifteen years to learn proper martial arts and reach the First-class level. Of course, talent and circumstances created massive variations.
Disciples of major sects or heirs of powerful clans could shorten that to seven or eight years with spiritual medicines and expert tutors. And the rare prodigies called geniuses of the age sometimes reached First-class in just five years.
By that standard, the fact that I—a person with zero internal energy—had reached First-class in only two months wasn't just impressive. It was historic. Sure, maybe I really was some miraculous existence humanity had produced. The problem came after that. The Peak realm.
Even talented people had to grind their bones for over twenty years to have a chance of touching it. And from Peak onward, effort alone wasn't enough. A wall of pure talent blocked the way. Most martial artists, no matter how hard they trained, remained stuck at First-class for life. Only the chosen few could cross that barrier.
That was why the Murim world was flooded with First-class experts while Second- and Third-class practitioners weren't even considered true martial artists. The gap between First-class and Peak might be a single word on paper, but the actual difference was like heaven and earth.
I hadn't fully realized it while trapped in the Repentance Cave, but now that I'd stepped into the real world and used martial arts with my own body, the disparity hit me like a hammer. If my dream self was a Ferrari, my real body was a broken-down power tiller.
Lost in these thoughts, I arrived in front of Geomjeong-i in the blink of an eye. He stood there as always, wrapped in pitch-black darkness.
“Hey, you son of a bitch! I already escaped—can’t you stop dragging me in here?”
I grumbled at Geomjeong-i, who somehow looked even darker today. He tilted his head.
“...‘Son of a bitch’? I thought my name was Geomjeong-i.”
Look at this rude, brainless murderer.
“It was an insult, okay? What exactly are you good at besides killing people?”
“...Do you want to die?”
“Ha! Of course that’s all you’ve got.”
I was already irritated, and honestly, dying this way or that way amounted to the same thing. So I stood tall in front of him. After all, this was the woman’s cursed ability that had been born specifically to kill me.
But his next words cracked my bravado.
“I... can kill you very painfully.”
“...?”
“For example, I could slice off only your flesh with thousands of cuts while keeping you alive the whole time...”
He slowly stroked his sword.
“Or cut off all your limbs, leave just your head and torso, and slowly dry you to death... Things like that?”
“.....”
...I hadn’t thought of that.
Having your head fly off in one clean strike and being carved up alive were two completely different things. As expected, it was best not to unnecessarily provoke Geomjeong-i. In the human world, smooth interpersonal relationships were important. Yes, definitely.
I instantly switched gears and offered the friendliest smile I could muster.
“Hahaha! It was a joke! Just a joke! You know, the kind of thing friends do... building camaraderie? Banter? That sort of thing. Don’t take it to heart.”
“Joke? It didn’t sound like one... I felt bad.”
“Come on! How can you not trust people at all? You’re going to hurt my feelings!”
I waved my hands and feet desperately, making every excuse I could think of. I’d always believed a hero should remain dignified... but I really hated pain. Being carved up alive sounded even worse.
When did this bastard get so sharp?
I needed to change the mood. That was when I noticed a small black sandcastle sitting beside him, radiating ominous dark energy. Desperate to avoid triggering his emotions, I forcefully changed the subject.
“Oh? What’s that black sandcastle? Did you make it? Wow! It’s really well done. It’s practically art!”
I threw in some empty flattery to keep his attention diverted.
Geomjeong-i lowered his gaze to the sandcastle.
“I didn’t make it.”
He lifted his head and stared directly at me.
“Where did you pick up such an ominous martial art this time?”
“...Martial art?”
I didn’t understand at first, but then it clicked.
“Ah! The Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture!”
The method of transmission had been different from normal martial arts, but I had indeed received it—a tattoo—from Guyu Majon. Come to think of it, every martial art I’d learned had manifested in physical form inside this dream space. So that sandcastle had to be the Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture given shape.
“Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture? What do you think? Does it look useful?”
“....”
After a brief silence, Geomjeong-i gave his assessment.
“It’s more useful than the last ‘cannibal’ one—the Phantom Butterfly Soul-Bewildering Steps.”
“Oh!”
“But... it’s a very unpleasant object.”
He continued.
“If you intend to learn it, you’ll need considerable resolve. If you don’t want it, I can erase it for you. Shall I?”
I fell into thought.
If Geomjeong-i calls it ‘useful’... that means it’s an incredibly powerful art.
The Phantom Butterfly Soul-Bewildering Steps, which he had once mocked as trivial, possessed insane performance. I used it every day, so I knew its power intimately. Yet he had rated the Heavenly Demon Soul-Snatching Scripture as useful? Just how heaven-defying was this thing?
Plus, Guyu Majon had said it was a one-person transmission. Its rarity alone made it priceless.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll decline.”
“You’ll regret it...”
“I won’t. Actually, even if I do, that thing is mine.”
“Understood. Then let’s stop talking and begin.”
I panicked at his sudden shift in attitude.
“What? Why? What are we starting? The mood was good just now!”
Without answering, Geomjeong-i assumed the sword-drawing stance of Heugam-dol.
The opening stance. A lightning-fast draw aimed to sever the head.
“I haven’t been able to summon you here every day lately. There’s no time. I have a lot piled up as well...”
I hurriedly took the opening stance of the Dark Heaven-Defying Sword’s first form, Heugam-dol, and shouted.
“What do you mean you have a lot piled up?! Am I just a tool to satisfy your desires?!”
“Question and answer are useless!”
[Whoosh!]
Geomjeong-i’s sword strike flew toward my head like a bolt of lightning.
[Boom!]
I deflected his blade and prepared my counterattack.
“Fine, you rotten bastard! Let’s settle this once and for all!”
-----------------------------------
I woke from the dream.
When I opened my eyes, a pale dawn was creeping across the eastern sky.
Fuck... I died twenty-five times.
I was exhausted. My body felt refreshed as if I’d slept deeply, but my mind was in tatters. Cursing under my breath, I pushed myself upright.
Beside me, the demonic bastards were still traveling peacefully through dreamland.
So peaceful. How nice.
How wonderful it would be if I could sleep that soundly without a single worry.
...Wait a second.
Hadn’t we clearly agreed to take turns standing night watch before going to sleep? The order had been obvious: me first, then Cheon Dok No-ong, and finally Gapjil Jijon.
My head creaked as it turned toward Gapjil Jijon. The old man was snoring loudly, dead to the world.
...But why the hell are you sleeping?
Did he not understand the concept of a night watch? This old fart had the nerve to skip his turn and just lie there snoring?
Without hesitation, I raised my palm. Then I delivered a full-swing slap straight to his bright, shiny forehead.
[Slap!]
“Quack!”
A scream like a pig being slaughtered echoed through the dawn forest.
“Aren’t you going to wake up?! Why are you the one sleeping?!”