Prologue: Fiercer Than the Demonic Cult!
More vicious than the Demonic Cult! Monsters who weren't even human! Fools who couldn't tell ignorance from martial prowess! Creatures who heeded no common sense and chased only strength!
The Namgung Clan. That's what the world called the Namgung Clan.
* * *
Late at night.
A man sat drinking alone. Empty bottles already littered the table.
"Wasn't it today? The day the Namgung Clan picked their young master."
"Right! Had to be the eldest, Cheoncheon Geomryong Namgung Dae, yeah?"
"Tsk tsk. The second son, Changgung Geomryong Namgung Jung, ain't no slouch either."
"Heh heh, you folks. What about the rising star, the third son Namgung So?"
The inn buzzed with the one hot topic.
The young master selection tournament to choose the Namgung Clan's heir—the world's greatest clan. The three mentioned were direct sons of Namgung Hancheol, the world's number one martial artist and clan head. Everyone acknowledged them as the next in line. Honestly, any of them becoming young master wouldn't have been a surprise.
"But hey, you hear anything about the Namgung Clan's youngest son?"
"Oh, that useless trash they keep locked away in some deep corner? The one nobody's even seen?"
"Trash?! Watch your mouth, you fool! You say that and you're done for!"
The inn sat in Hebi, heart of the Namgung Clan's domain. Naturally, it fell under their influence.
But...
"Whew, dodged a bullet there. Let me rephrase: total unrecyclable waste!"
"Keh heh heh!"
"Keh heh, your mouth's as sharp as ever, friend. Haha!"
No one feared badmouthing the Namgung Clan's youngest son.
'Fuck...'
The man at the table tilted his cup, listening as he drank. Namgung Hancheol, the world's top martial artist, had four sons. Three inherited his genius outright. But the youngest, Namgung Daeso, got nothing. Worse, he was below average.
Hence his nickname: Waste Namgung Daeso.
And that man, tilting his cup in the inn right now, was Namgung Daeso himself.
Today, he'd been utterly crushed in the young master tournament. Worse, his dantian shattered mid-fight, turning him into the true waste everyone called him.
He wanted to die. No, just get blackout drunk and drop dead tonight.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Suddenly, someone spoke to him. Namgung Daeso just tilted his cup, ignoring it.
Thud.
The stranger plopped down across from him anyway. Namgung Daeso looked up.
An old man. Nothing more. He poured another drink.
"Innkeep! Five bottles here."
"Coming right up."
The booze arrived. Old man and Namgung Daeso drank in silence. After polishing off five, they ordered five more. With two left, the old man finally spoke.
"Eight years back, some mystery group raided us. Lost my wife and kid that day. Been lost in despair ever since. You look just like me back then."
Only then did Namgung Daeso really look at him. He saw the old man had eyes just like his own.
So what?
"Just drink quietly and fuck off."
Namgung Daeso had no time for sob stories. His own hell was enough.
The old man pressed on undeterred.
"I hunted that group with everything I had, but found nothing. Then one day, it hit me: what if I could go back in time?"
"Old timer, you drunk? Not in the mood for your bullshit! Shut up and drink!"
Namgung Daeso growled, but with no dantian, his threat rang hollow.
The old man chuckled, then continued.
"Keh heh. Eight years passed. I perfected a certain ritual... but when it came time, I got cold feet."
Damn old coot. Namgung Daeso figured he was wasted, crazy, or a con man. And on his shittiest day, this asshole shows up.
'Fuck...'
The curse slipped out. He thought of moving seats.
"Ha... what a shitty day."
Scrape. Wobble.
He stood, swaying from the booze. The old man caught him quick.
"I'm fine. I can walk."
"Tsk tsk... Thanks for hearing out a homeless old fart."
"...What the hell do you want? Some beggar-ass geezer."
Namgung Daeso muttered his real thoughts and staggered out.
How long did he walk? The old man's words echoed.
...No home.
'Guess I got no home now either.'
The tournament ended. Dantian shattered. Unlike his useful brothers, Namgung Daeso got kicked from the Namgung Clan.
True waste.
The severance pay? Blown at the inn.
With nothing left, he wandered aimlessly till he hit a mountain path. And wouldn't you know it, bandits appeared.
"Hey, buddy! Got any coin?"
"Nope."
"For real?"
"Yeah."
"Fucking beggar."
Stab.
The bandit ran him through without warning.
Rip.
'Huh... Dying like this? What a beggar-ass end.'
He hadn't wanted to live, but not like this. Strength fled his body. He felt the bandit rummaging his pockets but couldn't move.
"What? Just this scrap paper? Real beggar, huh?"
The bandit grumbled, yanked the sword from his heart, and left.
'Yeah. Better than living like shit.'
Namgung Daeso let it all go.
Then he spotted the scrap the bandit tossed.
'Oh... That off-key sound earlier? Must've been this tearing.'
A faint rip amid the flesh-tearing stab. The paper was covered in strange, rare script.
Not his. The crazy old man must've slipped it in while steadying him.
'Heh. Beggar-ass old timer.'
What a beggar-ass life.
Blood soaked the paper. The script smeared, spawning eerie new characters around it.
Breathing grew impossible for Namgung Daeso.
Moments later, he breathed his last.
And from the script burst a brilliant light.
* * *
Blink. Blink.
He was surely dead.
"Aigoo! Our little young master is so cute again today."
"Kyuu~"
"Yes~ Hungry, huh? Yes, yes. Just a moment."
"Kyuu?"
This was madness. He couldn't speak.