For a thousand Autumns: chapter 1
Chapter 1
Several days had passed since the War of the Demonic Dragon, the feast that had ended without a victor.
The upper echelons of the cult were in an uproar over Cheonma’s sudden rejuvenation and the unresolved matter of his successor, but to Seok Munpyeong and his comrades—low-ranking warriors of the Outer Compound, the lowest of the low—it was all someone else’s problem. After the feast, they returned to patrolling the outer walls. If the weather was foul, they drank because it was foul; if the day was bright, they drank because it was bright. Life went on as it always had.
Though feared in the Jianghu as monstrous cultists who, according to rumor, devoured children for breakfast and drank the blood of maidens instead of wine, their daily life was just that: daily. They didn't spend every waking moment killing people.
“My, what beautiful sunlight.”
Seok Munpyeong, who had been making irregular rounds to check on the discipline of the guards, shielded his eyes from the blinding rays and looked up at the clear sky.
It was late autumn, and the air was cool, but the sun was fierce. An old saying went, ‘Send your daughter-in-law out in the spring sun, but your own daughter in the autumn sun’, yet sending a daughter out in this light would surely turn her skin as dark as a Kunlun slave’s. Thinking this, Munpyeong didn’t mind the sharp sunlight. He knew it was always like this around this time of year, and it was a welcome reminder that the seasons were changing.
The Heavenly Mountains were located closer to the Tarim Basin than to the Central Plains. This land, sometimes called the "lands beyond the pass," was high and arid, blessed with clear skies year-round. It was a rugged, barren place, more harsh than gentle, famous for its extreme heat and cold. He wasn’t born here, but after nearly a decade stationed in the Heavenly Mountains, he had grown accustomed to the unforgiving climate. Now, it felt more like home than the Central Plains ever did. Time was a frightening thing.
“Squad Leader Seok Munpyeong. There you are.”
Half patrolling, half sunbathing, Munpyeong was strolling along in a lazy mood when a strange voice called from behind. He turned to see an unfamiliar face, yet the man looked at him as if they were well acquainted. Munpyeong felt a flicker of curiosity.
“What is it? Do you have business with me?”
Despite the cool weather, he could see beads of sweat on the man’s forehead.
`Has he been looking all over for me?`
Hiding his thoughts, Munpyeong calmly surveyed the man. His attire was unremarkable: the standard black uniform issued to all low-ranking cultists, with leggings of the same color. There were no crests to denote his rank or affiliation, and he projected no particular martial aura. He was utterly ordinary, but his very plainness was unsettling, as if he had deliberately erased any distinguishing features.
“I am Yu Ja-saeng, of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion. I have a message for you, Squad Leader Seok.”
`I knew it,` Munpyeong thought, nodding to himself. `Only someone in intelligence would dress like that.`
Realizing the man had come specifically for him, he furrowed his brow. Though they were both warriors of the Outer Compound, there was a strict hierarchy between a member directly attached to one of the main pavilions and a mere squad leader from the Soul-Slaying Squad, a subordinate unit of the Red Tiger Pavilion. On paper, Munpyeong’s rank was higher, but in terms of actual influence, he was no match for a direct subordinate of the three great pavilions. Yet this man was acting deferential, as if Munpyeong were his superior. It was strange for a member of the proud pavilions.
`Something isn't right.`
Sensing this was no ordinary situation, Munpyeong remained inwardly vigilant as he responded.
“Oh? What is it?”
Now that he knew the man’s affiliation, his own tone had to change. He asked with the same politeness.
“The Pavilion Lord is looking for you. He wishes to see you at once.”
“...The Pavilion Lord?”
He had braced himself for something unusual, but this was far beyond anything he could have imagined. Munpyeong blinked in bewilderment, trying to confirm what he had just heard.
“You don’t mean… the Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion?”
“Yes. He is the one who summons you,” the man said curtly, cutting off Munpyeong’s disbelief.
`Really? The Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion wants to see me?`
His heart hammered in his chest, though he had committed no crime. The name alone had that effect. The Grim Reaper. The Judge of Life and Death. To the warriors of the Outer Compound, the Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion was a figure of comparable terror.
`What on earth did I do?`
His mind raced. The only recent mistake he could recall was getting drunk and forgetting to drag the passed-out Choi home...
Clutching his pounding heart, Seok Munpyeong followed Yu Ja-saeng. He had no idea what this was about, but a sense of foreboding washed over him.
***
The Outer Compound of the Demonic Cult was composed of three organizations: the Red Tiger Pavilion, to which Seok Munpyeong belonged; the Water Field Pavilion; and the Secret Inquiry Pavilion. Of these, the most prosperous was the Water Field Pavilion, which handled finances, but the most feared and secretive was the Secret Inquiry Pavilion, which dealt with information.
The Secret Inquiry Pavilion not only gathered intelligence from outside the cult but also from within. It wielded immense influence over the Hall of Law, the Inner Compound’s body responsible for punishment, making it a place as dreaded as the halls of Hell itself.
For several years now, the Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion had been none other than Po Yeong-ui, the “Smiling Dagger.” The third disciple of the current Heavenly Demon Lord and one of the Four Scions, Po Yeong-ui lived up to his chilling moniker. His methods were sharp and his temperament cold, making him perfectly suited for his role.
To a low-ranking warrior like Seok Munpyeong, both the Four Scions and the Pavilion Lord were beings from a distant, higher world. Po Yeong-ui was both, a man who might as well have been a god in the heavens.
`A heavenly being.`
The thought seemed oddly fitting, Munpyeong mused as he stared at the man before him. The man standing in his presence was astonishing, though not in the way he had expected. The sight was so stunning that for a moment, the tension that had gripped him on his way here evaporated.
The man was gently caressing his own chin, as smooth as ivory, with long, delicate white fingers. His eyes, deep in thought, were as clear and profound as autumn waters. His slender frame was wrapped in a robe as white as snow, and his hair, tied back to flow over one shoulder, was as long and dark as a storm cloud. Standing by the window in the soft sunlight, lost in thought, he was breathtakingly beautiful. A man of such rare beauty, captured in a moment of picturesque melancholy, looked like a figure straight out of a masterpiece painting.
`Incredible. I’d heard he was handsome, but I never imagined this. I can’t even tell if he’s a man or a woman.`
Unwittingly captivated by this stunning beauty, Munpyeong was having thoughts that would get him killed if Po Yeong-ui could hear them. Men, as a species, have a weakness for unparalleled beauty, and Munpyeong was no exception. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
“I heard you were the disciple of Man Ja-oe, the Black Night. Is that true?” Po Yeong-ui asked abruptly, breaking his reverie.
Munpyeong, equally lost in his own thoughts, was startled by the unexpected question and looked up.
“You could say I was his disciple, I suppose. I did learn a few skills from him.”
The words tumbled out before he could think, his reluctance plain to hear. He immediately regretted his overly honest answer, but it was too late.
Po Yeong-ui turned to him with a cold gaze.
“What kind of answer is that? Are you his disciple or not?”
His voice was as sharp as his moniker. The chilling stare brought Munpyeong back to his senses. He straightened up and began to explain himself clearly. No matter how much he admired beauty, survival came first. To lose his head because he was smitten with a man’s looks would be a joke even in the afterlife.
“The old man Man—that is, Man Ja-oe—was not my formal master. He didn't think much of me, and I only picked him up off the road; I never truly served him as a teacher. I was a young wanderer at the time and found him dying. I saved him, and he insisted on repaying the debt. He didn't teach me all of his skills; there wasn't time. All I learned were some tracking arts and a lightness skill, things you could call miscellaneous tricks. I learned nothing more.”
His connection with the old man Man had been a curse. Or rather, the meeting was ordinary, but the aftermath was dreadful. For a year and a half, the old man, insisting he couldn't live with a life debt, had taught him the lightness skill and tracking arts. In return, Munpyeong found himself hunted by the Tang Clan, mistaken for the disciple of a man they were pursuing for the crime of assassinating one of their own.
Munpyeong felt deeply wronged by it all. Not only had he never asked for the lessons, but he hadn't even known Man Ja-oe was a fugitive from the Tang Clan. He had shown a moment of pity for a dying old man, been forced to learn his martial arts, and was nearly killed by the Tang Clan as a result. Their pursuit was relentless and vicious. Even with Green Water, No Shadow—said to be one of the finest lightness skills in the world—he couldn't shake them completely.
That was why he had come all the way to this remote region of Xinjiang and sought refuge in the Demonic Cult. It was the only way to escape the Tang Clan’s grasp.
“If you learned his tracking arts and lightness skill from him, you learned everything that matters. You say the most amusing things.”
Despite his heartfelt story, Po Yeong-ui’s response was completely off the mark. Munpyeong felt a surge of frustration. `What do you mean, everything that matters? If I’d learned all his skills, would I still be hovering around the first-rate level? That old man was a transcendent master, you know!`
He desperately wanted to argue, but the words died on his lips. Though Po Yeong-ui had said he was “amusing,” his face was anything but amused. Munpyeong wisely shut his mouth under the man’s gaze, which was so cold it could freeze a person alive. He returned to his deferential posture and tried to figure out why Po Yeong-ui was asking these questions.
“The tracking art you learned, how far can you follow a target?” Po Yeong-ui began to probe for details.
Munpyeong, his mind racing, answered seriously. “With a Scent-Chasing Incense, I can track a target for a thousand li. Without it, I can follow a peak expert for four hundred li, and a first-rate expert for six hundred li.”
It had been a while, but a skill once learned is never forgotten. That should still be accurate.
“What about masters above the peak level? For example, a transcendent master? Or even higher?”
There was something suspicious in his drawn-out questioning. Munpyeong narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, “Surely you don’t mean a master at the Profound Realm?”
To his direct question, Po Yeong-ui gave a direct answer.
“Yes. Let’s say, the Profound Realm.”
`Are you trying to get someone killed?` he thought, but saying that to the pretty-faced grim reaper would get his own head chopped off right now.
“It’s impossible to plant Scent-Chasing Incense on a Profound Realm master. In fact, it's risky even with a transcendent master. At that level, their senses are so heightened they would feel something is amiss without any special training. I could follow their tracks, but catching up is impossible. They would sense me if I got within a hundred li.”
A Profound Realm master. Even just tracking one was beyond the capabilities of a mere first-rate warrior like him. So Munpyeong stated plainly that he couldn't do it.
Hearing his answer, Po Yeong-ui once again stroked his chin. It seemed to be a habit of his when he was deep in thought.
“Impossible to catch up, but you can follow their tracks…?” Po Yeong-ui muttered to himself.
A sense of unease crept over Munpyeong. From the beginning, Po Yeong-ui had been focused on strange points: that learning tracking and lightness skills from Black Night was all that mattered, and now, that a Profound Realm master couldn't be caught but could be tracked. He was only hearing the information that served a specific purpose, and it was deeply suspicious.
`What is this man planning to make me do?`
Munpyeong was quick-witted. It was the only thing he had gained from his years as a wanderer. And his intuition told him that whatever Po Yeong-ui had in mind was no ordinary task. It certainly wouldn't be an easy one.
“What about your lightness skill? Green Water, No Shadow isn’t particularly fast, but I’ve heard it’s the most durable movement art in the world. The saying that a single breath of inner energy can take you ten li may be an exaggeration, but it must be more efficient than most. How long can you sustain it?”
This time, Po Yeong-ui asked about his lightness skill. Was he trying to uncover all his secrets? The vague anxiety Munpyeong felt began to take on a definite shape, but he had no choice but to answer.
“That is an exaggerated rumor. If a single breath could take me ten li, Green Water, No Shadow would be the greatest movement art in the world. I can run for two days without rest at the speed of a swift horse, but no more than that.”
In truth, a single breath *could* take him ten li. Without that level of efficiency, a man with his mediocre martial arts would never have escaped the Tang Clan’s net. Green Water, No Shadow, despite its elegant name, wasn't a fast technique. Its strength lay not in speed, but in endurance. A skill that allowed him to run for ten days on minimal energy was far more useful to a low-level warrior like him than a technique that could cover a hundred li in an hour.
“Hmm. Is that so? Good. Not bad.”
Despite not being told the whole truth, Po Yeong-ui nodded, seemingly pleased with his answer.
`Should I have downplayed it even more?` Munpyeong inwardly regretted, but it couldn't be helped. Po Yeong-ui would have some idea of his skill level, so a ridiculously low estimate would only arouse suspicion.
Po Yeong-ui fell into deep thought again. For Munpyeong, who had to wait for his judgment like a prisoner before a judge, the silence stretched longer than death itself.
Finally, Po Yeong-ui looked up. His eyes, now firm with decision as if he had finished his calculations, fixed on Munpyeong.
“You. You’re with the Soul-Slaying Squad, you said?”
“Yes, Pavilion Lord.”
“Congratulations. You’ve been promoted. As of today, you are a member of the Demon Shadow Corps. I will write you a letter of introduction. Take it and report to the Inner Compound.”
With a tone that held no hint of congratulation, Po Yeong-ui sat at his desk and began to write furiously. The words were so unexpected that Munpyeong at first stood there blankly, not understanding what he had heard. Only when the words “Demon Shadow” finally registered did his face turn pale.
“...Excuse me, Pavilion Lord.”
Hoping against hope he was wrong, Munpyeong had to ask. Whether he died here for being a fool or died there for showing up unannounced, death was death. He might as well die here.
“This Demon Shadow Corps you speak of… surely it’s not the one with *those* Demon Shadows?”
As expected, Po Yeong-ui did not disappoint. He looked up, his sharp eyes filled with irritation, as if wondering how such a fool was still alive. His gaze was positively menacing.
“I don't know what you know, but in our cult, there is only one group that can use the name ‘Demon Shadow.’ And that is the Demon Shadow Corps.”
The words were like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Seok Munpyeong stared at Po Yeong-ui, his face a mask of despair.
`No, you can’t just say that so easily, Pavilion Lord!` he wanted to scream. `If this Demon Shadow is that Demon Shadow, then my promotion makes no sense! This is unthinkable, absurd! Who would consider this a proper personnel change?`
The words piled up in his throat, but he couldn't speak. He was too stunned to form a coherent sentence. While he stammered, a letter was placed against his chest. As soon as he took it, he was ushered out and found himself standing on the path.
Dazedly, he looked up at the dark eaves of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion casting a shadow over him. He didn’t know what had just happened to him. It felt like a dream, or like he had been chased by a ghost. And if it was a dream, it was a truly spectacular nightmare. `Ha, haha. I’m going crazy. I was having a perfectly peaceful day, and now this.`
Stunned, Munpyeong tried to escape reality, but his attempt was swiftly crushed. The sun above was too bright, and an ominous crinkling sound came ceaselessly from his chest.
He looked down at the letter tucked into his robe. On the fine paper envelope, written in sharp, clear script, were the words: “To Be Opened by the Master of the Demon Shadow Corps.”
`Am I really going? To the Demon Shadow Corps?`
He could see the words, but they didn't feel real.
***
Within the Demonic Cult, Cheonma—the Number One Under Heaven, the Demon of All Demons—was a being like the sky above the sky. Even Po Yeong-ui, the mighty Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion and one of the Four Scions, was but a firefly before the sun compared to the supreme Heavenly Demon Lord.
The Number One Under Heaven.
The strongest of the strong, who had earned the title of “Heavenly Demon,” a title bestowed only six times in the cult’s thousand-year history. An absolute being who might one day ascend to become a Demonic Immortal. The man responsible for the Hunan Bloodbath and the hero of the Longzhong Pact...
Within the cult, tales deifying Cheonma were endless. If they were all true, he had three eyes and six arms, could bed a hundred women in a night, and travel ten thousand li in a day. Honestly, Seok Munpyeong, having come from the outside world, never believed such tales. He hadn't joined the cult out of admiration but out of desperation, fleeing for his life. He felt little loyalty to the organization and no particular reverence for the strong, so personal worship was out of the question. He was more skeptical than the believers, his cynicism fueled by the rampant exaggerations.
`As if.`
`No way.`
That was his mantra whenever he heard a story about Cheonma. He figured his feelings were closer to those of a typical martial artist in the world than a true cultist.
And yet. Or so he had thought.
Standing before the imposing plaque with the three characters for “Thunder Palace” written in a powerful, soaring script, Seok Munpyeong realized he had greatly overestimated himself. Perhaps the last ten years in the cult had brainwashed him after all, because simply standing before the building where ‘that man’ lived was enough to make his legs tremble.
Though he had been cynical, to him, too, Cheonma was a legend. A man whose mere glimpse from a distance was a story to be told for a lifetime. And now, like a bolt from the blue, he had been assigned to Cheonma’s personal guard. It didn’t feel real.
`Me, of all people, as Cheonma’s personal guard? Something has to be wrong. I’d die with a flick of his finger. What good would someone like me be by his side?`
Finally grasping the absurdity of his situation, Munpyeong couldn't bring himself to step inside the Thunder Palace. This had to be a mistake. He didn't know how a man like Po Yeong-ui could have made such an error, but it was clear that neither Cheonma nor the Demon Shadow Corps had any use for him. Perhaps he could empty chamber pots or sweep the floors. But even then, trained servants would do a better job. They would be more efficient, more graceful, and certainly more pleasant to look at.
“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you.”
But as the great doors of the Thunder Palace swung open, the man who appeared before him said something completely different from what he had expected. Munpyeong stared blankly at the face of the man welcoming him. After a full day of shocks, he was almost too numb to be surprised.
`Ho Wan-pyeong, the Soul-Cleaving Saber...`
The man who had come to greet him personally was none other than the eldest of the Four Scions, Ho Wan-pyeong. He was the first disciple taken in by Cheonma Hyeokryeon Sang, and the lord of the Inner Guard Pavilion, the most powerful martial force in the cult. That very man.
“You were waiting for me?” Munpyeong asked, his voice sounding distant and unreal.
Ho Wan-pyeong, whose face was as kind as Po Yeong-ui’s was cold, nodded with a smile.
“I received a message from Third Brother. He said you would be coming. And that you have a letter for me?”
`‘A letter for me.’ So he's the master of the Demon Shadow Corps.`
Only then did Munpyeong realize that the mysterious leader of the Demon Shadow Corps was Ho Wan-pyeong.
“This isn’t the place for a long talk. Shall we go inside? I have some excellent tea. We can talk over a cup.”
Until this morning, all Munpyeong had known was that Cheonma had a secret guard unit called the Demon Shadows. Now he knew they were organized into a Corps, and their master was Cheonma’s first disciple.
Seeing two of the Four Scions in succession made it all feel real. Or rather, it made him realize that he had truly stepped into the tiger’s den. It was unlikely that such high-ranking figures would waste their time on a prank. The foreboding he had felt earlier was about to become reality.
`Stay calm, Seok Munpyeong. Keep your wits about you.`
Shaking his head to clear the daze brought on by the shocking turn of events, Munpyeong felt a jolt of tension run down his spine. The blood began to return to his cold fingertips.
They say that even if you’re dragged into a tiger’s den, you can survive if you keep your wits about you. With two of the Four Scions and Cheonma’s secret guard involved, this was clearly a matter far beyond his ability to handle. But he had no intention of being swept along meekly. Once was enough to be hounded by a power he couldn't control. He refused to be caught up in something not of his own making simply because he was weak. All he wanted was to lie low and keep his head down. The greatest value he pursued in his life was comfort.
“This way. Come in.”
Ho Wan-pyeong, personally guiding him without calling a servant, swung open the door to a pavilion within the Thunder Palace. A rich scent of ink and fragrant paper wafted out. It smelled like a scholar’s study, but the iron-clad defense of the black-robed guards suggested it was a place of greater importance.
`I don’t know where this is, but I have to find a way out, no matter what,` he vowed, forcing his reluctant feet forward.
**Tinkle.**
A clear sound of water was followed by the subtle aroma of tea. The gentle fragrance matched the simple, unadorned white porcelain cup, but the deep and clean after-scent told him this was no ordinary tea.
“This is White Downy Silver Needle from Songxi. Some people dislike its mild flavor, but I find its understated aroma quite pleasant.”
Ho Wan-pyeong smiled softly as he pushed a teacup toward Munpyeong. Munpyeong lowered his gaze and watched the elegant tea leaves dance up and down in the pale apricot-colored liquid. After silently observing their delicate movements, he took the cup. The warmth spread through his cold hands.
`Is this what they call the honor of a lifetime...?`
Munpyeong thought grimly as he sipped the tea. Seeing two of the Four Scions in one day was unusual enough, but to be served tea personally by a figure like Ho Wan-pyeong... he didn’t know what to make of the situation. He was beyond grateful; he was bewildered. The honor was so overwhelming that it made him suspicious.
`What do they want me to do that they're treating me like this?`
The ancient story of the general who won his subordinate's loyalty by sucking the pus from his boil came to mind. Munpyeong knew that excessive kindness from a superior always had a reason. His already sharp sense of caution honed itself to a razor's edge as he carefully lowered his eyes.
“I heard Third Brother had a letter for me.”
Ho Wan-pyeong, who had been observing Munpyeong demurely sipping his tea, spoke with a sudden smile. Startled, Munpyeong hastily pulled the letter from his robes and handed it over.
Ho Wan-pyeong took the letter without ceremony and began to read it right in front of him, the good-natured smile never leaving his lips. To an outsider, he might have looked like a simple, kind-hearted man, but Munpyeong was not fooled. The greatest lesson he had learned from his rough life in the Jianghu was that a man always lives up to his name. If he were truly as simple as he appeared, he would never have earned the fearsome moniker "Soul-Cleaving Saber." Munpyeong had etched that fact into his very bones.
“A sudden promotion, and to the Thunder Palace, no less. I imagine you have many questions.”
After reading the letter thoroughly, Ho Wan-pyeong looked up. Believing the main topic was finally at hand, Munpyeong politely affirmed his words.
“Yes, Corps Master. I don’t know what I can possibly do here.”
“Third Brother wrote that you have learned a skill that will be useful to us. I hear you are Black Night’s disciple?”
He couldn't make the same mistake twice.
“Yes, that is correct.”
A man like Ho Wan-pyeong, who wore a mask of kindness while sizing you up, was far more dangerous than someone like Po Yeong-ui, who was openly cold. Munpyeong became even more deferential than before. Ho Wan-pyeong’s smiling eyes fixed on him, their depths impossible to read.
“What we want you to do is not so difficult. It only requires a keen eye and steady patience. As you can tell from your assignment, you will be in charge of His Lordship’s protection. From now on, you will be his shadow.”
Munpyeong knew that “Demon Shadow” meant the shadow of Cheonma. The Demon Shadows were Cheonma’s direct, secret guard unit, a name no one else could use, just as Po Yeong-ui had said. The question was why Ho Wan-pyeong was entrusting such an important task to him. His specialty wasn't stealth; he had never even learned it. How could he blend into Cheonma’s shadow and guard him like the other Demon Shadows? Even if forced, it was a task he couldn't perform.
He didn't speak, but his expression was a storm of conflict. Perhaps noticing this, Ho Wan-pyeong smiled faintly and continued his explanation.
“Naturally, we are not asking you to perform the duties of a regular Demon Shadow. You know yourself that you are not suited for that task. What I want from you is a slightly different role. I want you to be his shadow, and at the same time, his tail.”
`Could ‘His Lordship’ possibly mean the ‘His Lordship’ I’m thinking of?`
Munpyeong was thrown into confusion. It sounded absurd, but Ho Wan-pyeong’s expression was not that of a man joking. A cold chill began to creep into Munpyeong’s heart.
`So, a Demon Shadow is ‘His Lordship’s’ shadow, and I’m supposed to be his shadow and his tail? A tail means tracking his movements and reporting back. So, you’re telling me to tail ‘His Lordship’ himself?`
“...Me?”
`What are you saying? Why don’t you just tell me to hang myself? You want me to track Cheonma? You might as well ask an ant to track a tiger! Put your hand on your heart and think about it. Does this make any sense? Do you think I’m crazy enough to do it just because you tell me to?`
...He couldn't voice the long train of thought, and only managed to repeat that one word.
`It can't be. Please say it isn't so.` His pitiful eyes pleaded for that one denial, but Ho Wan-pyeong mercilessly crushed his hopes.
“Third Brother says that you are the only one in the entire cult who can do this. I trust Third Brother. If he says you can do it, then you can. I’ll be counting on you. Please, serve His Lordship with all your heart.”
Ho Wan-pyeong’s words were smooth and eloquent, but they were pushing Munpyeong straight into his grave. Panicked, Munpyeong hastily opened his mouth. If he simply nodded yes now, his life was over. With his life on the line, he had no room for etiquette. Whether he died here or there, it was all the same. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well struggle to live.
“H-how am I the most suitable person? There are many in the cult who have learned tracking arts. And as for lightness skills, there are countless who are faster and more skilled than I am. Green Water, No Shadow only sounds impressive; it’s not a particularly fast technique.”
“We’re not looking for someone fast. No matter how swift one’s movement, no one can be faster than His Lordship. And getting too close will only get your head chopped off, so speed is useless. We want someone who can keep track of him from a distance. That’s why your Green Water, No Shadow is perfect. I’ve heard your skill is efficient and durable; though not fast, it is long-lasting. That should be enough to follow his trail, even if you can’t catch up to him.”
“B-but my martial skill is shallow. I’m barely at the first-rate level; in fact, it’s embarrassing to even call myself first-rate. How can I possibly...”
“That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. In fact, that makes you even more suitable. If you were too strong, we couldn’t have sent you. If you were to displease him, your life would be forfeit, guard or not. Actually, that’s what happened to your predecessor. His Lordship despises anything cumbersome.”
Ho Wan-pyeong said it casually, but Munpyeong’s face turned pale. How could he not, hearing that Cheonma’s temper was so foul he would kill his own guards without a second thought? And it sounded like he was next in line.
“But that won't apply to you. If your skill was even at the peak level, we wouldn’t have chosen you. But you are only at the cusp of the first-rate, and you were originally a low-ranking nobody, weren’t you? You are too insignificant for the Lord to dirty his own hands on. He may not seem it, but he has a soft spot; he doesn’t bother with opponents who are too weak. With a name like Cheonma, he can't just strike down anyone. As I said before, in that sense, you are the perfect man for the job. You meet all our conditions.”
It was like giving a disease and then the cure. The way he soothed and threatened in the same breath was masterful. Munpyeong didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was a blow to his pride to be told he was too pathetic for Cheonma to kill personally, but he couldn't complain if it meant he would survive.
`What is this? Why is this happening to me?`
He had a mountain of complaints, but he didn't dare voice them. He was afraid of Ho Wan-pyeong, but he also realized it would be useless. The way Ho Wan-pyeong spoke, it was clear he wouldn't let him go. `You’re the one. Only you can do this!` When someone pushes that hard even as you try to back away, they're not going to let you escape.
`Damn that old man Man! Why did he have to force his unwanted skills on me and get me into this mess!`
Swallowing back tears of blood, Munpyeong cursed the blameless old man. It was a belated curse, but at this moment, the old man was more detestable to him than Po Yeong-ui or Ho Wan-pyeong. If he had at least learned some proper martial arts, it wouldn't have been so unfair. Why teach him *that* of all things, and twist his peaceful life into such a knot? First hunted by the Tang Clan, and now ordered to tail Cheonma. He was the root of all this trouble.
***
The current prosperity of the Demonic Cult was due first to the existence of Cheonma Hyeokryeon Sang, and second, to his complete domination, using his immense power, of the Northern and Southern Heavenly Mountain Roads that cut through the Heavenly Mountain range.
These roads, known since ancient times as the Northern Route, were part of the so-called Silk Road, the most important overland trade route to the Western Regions. The orthodox sects of the Central Plains were deeply unsettled by the fact that the Demonic Cult controlled this lucrative route, steadily accumulating wealth and power, but there was little they could do. Xinjiang was too far for those accustomed to the comforts of the Central Plains, and as long as Cheonma was watching, no one dared to covet this enormous prize.
It had been forty years since the cult seized control of the Northern Route. As a result, exotic goods were a common sight within the cult. In addition to the taxes collected from managing the roads, the cult's own merchant caravans traveled back and forth to the Western Regions, so it was only natural that foreign goods flooded the cult's domain.
Seok Munpyeong had lived in this environment for over a decade. He was now so accustomed to it that he no longer marveled at items with a style completely different from those of the Central Plains. Silk from India, no matter how colorful, was still just silk, and an ivory wine cup, though exquisite, was a pie in the sky. Having grown used to the sights of the Western Regions, he no longer found everything novel. Familiarity bred indifference.
`Even so, this is...`
Despite his jadedness, he couldn't shake his curiosity about the bizarre object before him. If Cheonma were here, it would be another story, but His Lordship had been absent for seven days now. It had been a week since he'd been forced to accept his mission and enter the Thunder Palace. He had yet to see Cheonma even once since taking on his guard duty.
At first, he had been terrified, convinced his head would soon roll, his fate sealed. But as time passed without so much as a glimpse of Cheonma or even his shadow, that fear gradually subsided. The Lord had to actually appear for him to do anything. To remain constantly afraid when he hadn't even seen the man's face was an insult to his pride, even for an ant like him before a tiger.
Munpyeong slowly turned his head to look at the strange object. The floor was covered so lavishly with Persian carpets that the wood was invisible. The corners of the bed were draped with ethereal India silk. The strange furniture, neither chest nor cabinet, was carved with winged, monstrous beasts. All of it was peculiar, but none was as spectacular as that one object.
**Tick-tock, tick-tock.**
The thing that made the incessant, annoying sound was a bizarre contraption with three needles moving at different speeds and a swinging, round pendulum. On a flat board, an unknown diagram was painted, and the needles, joined at their tails, rotated above it. Covering the mysterious board was a piece of glass so thin you could barely tell it was there.
In Munpyeong’s experience, the more transparent the glass, the more valuable it was. In the Central Plains, pale glass was prized over dark, and clear glass over colored. The glass on this object was thinner and clearer than any he had ever seen. It was transparent as clear water, a priceless treasure. What kind of object was it to be adorned with such a valuable plate of glass? Munpyeong was deeply curious.
The constant **tick-tock** was not pleasant. The object wasn't particularly beautiful, nor did it seem to have any special use. The only strange thing it did was ring a bell at the same time every day. Not knowing why it did this, Munpyeong found it simply a nuisance.
`I never would have guessed. That Cheonma was this kind of person. What would Choi and Im Hak say if I told them? They’d probably call me a liar.`
With Cheonma absent, Munpyeong had nothing to do but stand guard in the bedchamber like a punished schoolboy, his mind wandering. There were countless rumors about Cheonma, but he had never heard that he liked foreign objects. Nor had he heard that he took such frequent trips, leaving his disciples, the Four Scions, scrambling to track his whereabouts. The name "Heavenly Demon" had become a legend, but only his shadow remained. There was no clue as to the real man, not even in the myths surrounding him.
`Is this what it’s like to become a hero of legend?`
This unexpected side of Cheonma was so new to Munpyeong that he found himself pondering such metaphysical questions. He really did have too much time on his hands.
How long had he been standing there?
Tired of observing his surroundings, he had started counting how many times the strange contraption ticked in a quarter of an hour when the door suddenly burst open. Munpyeong, who had been standing in a relaxed posture, snapped upright and whirled toward the door.
A tall, imposing man was striding in without any announcement. His attire was as exotic as the room’s decor. At first glance, he looked like a merchant from Persia. He wore wide, black cotton trousers and a cloak that reached his feet. Sand cascaded from his shoulders with every movement, as if he had just crossed a desert. He was so tall that Munpyeong, a tall man himself, had to look up, and his build was so impressive that his mere entrance was intimidating.
`What in the world...?`
Munpyeong watched the brazen intruder with a bewildered expression. The man, who had brought a sandstorm into the luxurious room without a second thought, threw off his dust-caked cloak and called out loudly for the maids.
“Yehwa! Ranran! Bring me bathwater and tea. And make them both hot!”
A cloud of dust rose from the discarded cloak. As Munpyeong stared, dumbfounded, the man turned and his eyes fell on him. The man, who had been acting as if he owned the place, narrowed his eyes upon spotting Munpyeong.
“What are you?”
The man asked the very question Munpyeong wanted to ask. His voice was deep and resonant, but his face was so young it could be called boyish. He was strikingly handsome, but his face was too smooth. His cheeks were soft, his neck covered in fine downy hair. At most, he couldn't have been more than twenty-three or four.
`Who is he? He seems to be of very high status.`
Pondering the man’s audacious behavior, Munpyeong wracked his brain. `Let’s see. The youngest of the Four Scions is the Phantom Whip, but she’s a woman, and she’s over thirty. The next youngest is Po Yeong-ui, and I already know his face, so not him. Wait. Isn’t this the Thunder Palace? And this room is none other than Cheonma’s bedchamber. The only person who would dare to act like the master here is... damn it, Cheonma himself!`
Running through the possibilities, Munpyeong belatedly realized the man’s identity and gasped in silent horror.
`It-it-it’s him! Cheonma!`
He had been momentarily confused by the man’s youthful appearance, but on second thought, the only person who could act so freely in Cheonma’s bedchamber was Cheonma.
`So the rumors of his rejuvenation were true! I heard he’d become young again, but I never imagined he’d become this young!`
Nearly making a grave mistake due to the man's appearance, Munpyeong hastily dropped to his knees in a show of respect.
“Loyalty. I greet my glorious master, the Lord.”
If he could, he would have performed a full prostration, but Cheonma, for all his power, was not the emperor, so he simply bowed his head to the ground. He could feel a gaze looking down on him.
`What is he thinking? He’s not going to cut off my head for being slow to greet him, is he?`
Munpyeong broke out in a cold sweat, not daring to lift his head. It was improper to raise one's head before being told, and besides, he was afraid his head would fly off if he did.
“Enough of that. Answer the question. What are you? And why are you here?” a noble command came from above.
The tone lacked any semblance of dignity, but Cheonma’s natural authority and resonant voice masked this fact. Munpyeong, not noticing, bowed his head even lower and answered respectfully.
“This subordinate’s name is Seok Munpyeong. I have been ordered to serve Your Lordship at your side.”
Cheonma was silent for a moment, only a low “hmm” escaping his lips.
“Lift your head.”
The command was given in a somewhat indifferent tone. Who was he to disobey? Munpyeong carefully raised his head and looked at Cheonma.
Cheonma, who had been standing over him, bent down. To Munpyeong’s astonishment, he brought his face level with his, inspecting him as thoroughly as one would a horse at market. His face was that of a young man, but his eyes were deep. Bright and piercing, they were so profound that even a master would find it hard to meet his gaze, for they held the traces of the long years he had lived.
**Tsk.** Munpyeong heard Cheonma click his tongue. He seemed displeased, but Munpyeong couldn't fathom why.
“Who sent you here?” Cheonma asked again.
Munpyeong answered with the same earnestness. “The Lord of the Secret Inquiry Pavilion sent me. My duties were assigned directly by the Master of the Demon Shadow Corps.”
“Those fools and their useless games,” Cheonma muttered to himself. “If they were going to send something, they could have at least sent something decent. What am I supposed to do with this?”
`‘This’? Is he talking about me?`
Understanding the insult, a faint blush rose on Munpyeong’s cheeks. He was embarrassed, but honestly, he had no rebuttal. It was a shameful truth, but his martial skills were not up to Cheonma’s standards. Even Ho Wan-pyeong had said he was chosen for his insignificance. How pathetic must he seem to Cheonma? It was the first time he had been treated like a useless object to his face, but given who his opponent was, he felt no urge to argue. It was a verdict from Cheonma himself. Even if he didn't agree, there was nothing he could do.
“You have long legs. Have you learned a lightness skill?” Cheonma asked, as if he had already assessed his entire physique in the short time they had been standing there.
Munpyeong cautiously affirmed. As he did, Cheonma’s hand landed on his thigh. It rested there for a moment, then began to grope and stroke it. Munpyeong was horrified but dared not pull away. It was unthinkable to recoil just because a superior was touching him.
“Horse muscles. It seems you’ve learned a skill for endurance, not speed. Your muscles are evenly distributed, with no useless bulk. Your specialty must be swift movements. Do you use a fast saber? Or a fast sword?”
“A fast sword.”
“Then your back must be in good shape, too. Since you’ve never carried a heavy weapon, your back muscles must be lean.”
Cheonma nodded to himself as if that pleased him. Munpyeong felt a strange sensation, like a cow at a slaughterhouse. The way he was being inspected from head to toe, questioned in detail, felt like he was being graded for quality, part by part. He wondered if he was about to be taught something, but on second thought, he was no peerless genius. It was unlikely he would catch Cheonma’s eye. That hope, too, died quickly.
“We greet our glorious master, the Lord. We celebrate your return to the cult.”
“We greet our glorious master, the Lord. We celebrate your return to the cult.”
As if having just heard the summons, two beautiful maids flew into the room and bowed. In the outside world, they would have been famed for their beauty, but Cheonma’s gaze upon them was detached and indifferent.
“I will bathe in hot water. Bring me tea.”
“The tea is here, my Lord. The bathwater is being prepared now.”
If Yehwa was elegant, Ranran was radiant. As the elegant Yehwa began to undress the Lord, the radiant Ranran lifted a teacup from the tray she held and presented it to him. The Lord drank the tea while being attended to. A rich, strong aroma, starkly different from the subtle fragrance of the White Downy Silver Needle Ho Wan-pyeong had served, filled the room. The scent was so strong it had to be black tea. Munpyeong, who had found Ho Wan-pyeong’s preference for white tea unusual for a man, now thought Cheonma, who drank black tea, was even more eccentric. Cheonma's tastes were as peculiar as the decor of his room. To Munpyeong, a common man who drank nothing more than simple dark tea, it was beyond strange.
“First, you will attend to my bath. Keep in mind that if you are useless even for that, then there is nothing to be done. Ranran, guide this man to the bath.”
As if Cheonma wasn't strange enough, he now gave a bizarre order.
`Attend his bath? A personal guard attending a bath?`
For a moment, Munpyeong was speechless, but when he heard the words “if you are useless even for that,” he understood the Lord's intent. In Cheonma’s eyes, this was all he was good for. His martial skill was too lacking for a guard, and it was too troublesome to assign him elsewhere, so he would be used as a servant instead.
It was an outrageous treatment that showed no regard for a warrior’s pride, but faced with such an opponent, Munpyeong became infinitely humble. So humble, in fact, that he began to think this treatment wasn't so bad after all. Honestly, attending a bath wasn't a difficult task. Wasn't it far better to empty dirty water and scrub a man’s back than to risk his life tailing Cheonma?
To repeat, his life's goal was nothing more than peaceful existence. He was sick and tired of a tumultuous life and was willing to do anything as long as it didn’t complicate his own.
Thick steam clouded his vision. He waved his hand to clear it, but his sight didn’t clear quickly. A damp, floral scent wafted through the windowless, dim bathroom. The sound of hot water being poured into the tub echoed off the tiled walls.
`I’ve never seen such luxury.`
Munpyeong looked around, inwardly amazed. He had known the pavilions of the Thunder Palace were lavishly decorated, but the bathroom was in a class of its own. Not even the emperor could have a bath as magnificent as this. Munpyeong had never been to the Forbidden City, let alone Beijing, but he was sure of it. The large tub, big enough for three or four people, was lined with the finest marble from Yunnan. In fact, the entire bathroom floor was marble. The wide alcoves were finished with ebony, a wood resistant to moisture, intricately carved with scenes of a peach blossom paradise that continued across all four walls, beautifully colored. To light the dark room, lanterns with oiled paper were placed around, holding candles made from whale oil. The freshly heated water was scented with sweet fragrant oils.
He saw the beautiful Ranran, her long sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, scattering flower petals on the water. Her arms, white as silver fish, were wet to the wrists. The sight was so beautiful that Munpyeong found himself captivated.
“Change your clothes, Warrior Seok. You cannot attend the bath in such attire.”
Perhaps noticing his dazed stare, Ranran spoke to him in a chilly tone. She was a radiant beauty whose cheeks looked like they would burst with sweet juice if bitten, so even her cold words sounded lovely. But it was a forbidden thought. He couldn't dare to have impure thoughts about a maid who served Cheonma, so he couldn't even bring himself to say she was beautiful.
“I have no other clothes, Lady Ran. I would have to go back to my quarters to change.”
At her remark, Munpyeong gave an awkward smile and looked down at his own clothes. He knew he wasn't dressed for attending a bath, but unfortunately, his quarters were too far from the Thunder Palace.
“That is not what one wears to attend a bath. So-hong, bring him the clothes. You brought the loosest-fitting ones as I instructed, didn't you?”
“Yes, Lady Ran. I chose the most spacious one.”
Though Ranran and Yehwa attended to Cheonma directly, they couldn't do all the menial tasks themselves, so they had maids under them. One such girl, a familiar face, stepped forward and handed Munpyeong a garment as thin as a cicada’s wing. It was a translucent gauze robe, so sheer it was shocking to even call it clothing.
“What is this?” Munpyeong asked, taking it dumbly. He couldn't imagine this was the robe he was meant to wear.
Ranran lowered her eyes demurely and began to dry her wet arms with a towel.
“It is required attire for anyone attending His Lordship's bath. Please wear it and return it clean.”
“...What?”
“You cannot attend him without wearing that robe. Even though you are the one in question, Warrior Seok, rules are rules. You must abide by them.”
He asked again, bewildered, but the answer was the same.
`You want me to wear this? This is a gauze robe fit for a woman in a brothel!`
Faced with this unexpected obstacle, Munpyeong’s face hardened. Attending a bath was one thing, but wearing a gauze robe was another matter entirely. To appear before Cheonma in such a disgraceful state was no different from throwing himself into a fire. If he was merely laughed at, he would be lucky. But what if he wasn’t? What if the sight displeased the Lord? If that happened, it would be Munpyeong who died, not Ranran.
“Lady Ran...”
“Do you know how they present a concubine to the emperor's bedchamber? First, she is washed clean and inspected naked. Her hair is combed with a fine-toothed comb to check for hidden objects, and they search even a woman's most private places to guard against any eventuality. Then, her naked body is wrapped in a blanket and carried on a eunuch's back. That is the imperial custom. The place may be different, but this is also the residence of a supreme being. It may not be the imperial palace, but it has its own rules. If you think you cannot follow them, you will be able to do nothing here. Do not appeal to me for sympathy.”
Ranran gave a truly terrifying example. Hearing her words, Munpyeong’s face went pale.
`The emperor’s concubine? Of all the examples to give.`
He understood her point, but the example was too extreme. As a grown man, he was no stranger to lewd jokes, but he had no immunity to discussing such things with a beautiful young lady. Though it was Ranran who had said the harsh words, Munpyeong felt as if he had been the one to harass her. He couldn't speak, just stammered. The pure heart of a bachelor who had harbored fantasies about young, beautiful women was thus shattered.
“I understand what you mean, Lady Ran. So please, say no more.”
Unlike Ranran, who was perfectly composed after her shocking speech, Munpyeong didn’t know how to face her. He awkwardly clutched the gauze robe. He glanced around, hoping she didn't expect him to change in front of her. Sensing his hesitation, Ranran announced she would wait outside and retreated.
Fumbling, Munpyeong took off his black uniform and put on the thin garment, which was more cloth than clothing. As expected, it was tight across the shoulders. One wrong move and the seams would burst. It was a small mercy that the sleeves were wide; otherwise, his arms wouldn't have fit.
He folded his discarded clothes and examined his reflection in the gauze robe that revealed almost everything. It was hideous. The robe certainly made it impossible to hide a weapon, but that was its only merit.
`Being a supreme ruler can't be easy either,` Munpyeong sighed, adjusting the collar of the garment that felt like he was wearing nothing at all. To have to see a grown man in this state every time he bathed… Munpyeong wouldn't want that position even if it were offered to him.
As he was thinking this, the bathroom door creaked open. Munpyeong flinched and looked up. Cheonma was striding through the open door. Not just Cheonma, but a *naked* Heavenly Demon.
The naked Heavenly Demon was supremely confident. Well, looking at him, he had every reason to be. He was over six feet tall with an extra handspan, and his physique was beyond magnificent. It was a body that would capture the gaze of any man.
When one undergoes a metamorphosis of bone and sinew, the skeleton realigns and the muscles find their proper place. Old skin peels away for new, old teeth fall out for new ones, and new hair grows. All the impurities accumulated from eating cooked food are expelled, the body’s turbidity vanishes, and one attains the most ideal form a human body can possess. That was metamorphosis. And he had done it not once, but twice. It was impossible to find a flaw in such a body. Even his skin was as transparent and smooth as a newborn baby’s, making one want to touch it.
`Looking at him, who would think he’s over eighty? Rejuvenation really is something else. It’s like living a second life.`
Munpyeong, in his thirties and already feeling his youth slipping away, felt a pang of envy, despite being a young man compared to Cheonma. It was a magnificent body, even to another man. Anyone who saw such a body would surely want to be held in its embrace.
`Someone’s got it good. Money, status, fame, and on top of that, a second youth. Heaven really isn’t fair to all.`
Cheonma stepped into the tub without hesitation and submerged himself in the hot water. The splashing sound brought Munpyeong to his senses. He picked up a bowl of fragrant oil and approached Cheonma from behind.
Cheonma had his eyes closed, his long hair draped over the edge of the tub. His forehead, tilted back, was as elegant as carved ivory.
`What should I do?` Though ordered to do it, Munpyeong had never attended another man's bath before and hesitated. His eyes fell on Cheonma’s hair. The ebony locks were caked with dust and completely unkempt. Tangled and hardened by the desert wind, they were covered in a fine layer of sand.
Deciding it was best to wash the dust out first, Munpyeong spoke cautiously.
“I will wash your hair first… if that is all right?”
He asked timidly, lacking confidence, and Cheonma nodded. Fortunately, since he was already leaning back with his hair outside the tub, there was no need to ask him to change his position.
Munpyeong pulled over a water bucket left by Ranran and slowly began to wash Cheonma’s hair. The hair, black as seaweed, was healthy and smooth. There wasn’t a single gray strand. He carefully untangled the knots and rinsed out the dust. He washed it once with fragrant oil, then rinsed it again with warm water. By the time he had washed it with the utmost care, his shoulders ached. He had underestimated the task, thinking it was just simple service. But once he started, he realized it wasn't easy. It required more mental effort than physical. Serving a difficult master meant that even washing his hair was a nerve-wracking ordeal.
“Are you going to play with my hair all day? The water is getting cold.”
How much time had passed? Cheonma, who had been silently letting him work, spoke for the first time since entering the tub. His voice, slightly husky and languid, had a sensual quality. Munpyeong, his cheeks flushed from his focus on the task, looked up. He had been wondering if he was taking too long. It was probably time to do something else.
“Shall I scrub your back?” Munpyeong asked innocently, not knowing what else to do.
At his question, Cheonma burst out laughing. For some reason, he seemed to find his words highly amusing.
“You look naive, but you’re quite something. Well, you were sent by Yeong-ui. You wouldn’t be a complete amateur, would you?”
Without turning his head, he reached out and grabbed Munpyeong’s wet forearm. Before Munpyeong could react, he lost his balance. Pulled effortlessly, he felt himself falling into the tub and squeezed his eyes shut. `What is happening?` He was a warrior, yet he hadn't even had time to defend himself.
The still-warm water enveloped his entire body. Soaked from head to toe, Munpyeong looked up at Cheonma with a bewildered expression. Water droplets formed on his blinking eyelashes and fell.
“My Lord?”
“Sometimes, a feigned clumsy seduction is more arousing than a well-practiced caress. You’ve been well-trained. Is this Yeong-ui’s preference?” Cheonma murmured.
Munpyeong was deeply uncomfortable with his attitude, especially because as he spoke, Cheonma pulled him onto his lap and committed the outrage of caressing his chin with his other hand. His naked buttocks met a naked thigh. The intimate contact sent a shiver down his spine.
Something was terribly wrong. Something he had never imagined could happen to him was happening. Munpyeong struggled to comprehend the absurd situation.
“If you don’t wish for me to scrub your back, how about a massage, my… my Lord?”
He tried to inch his buttocks back as he spoke, but Cheonma’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, almost into an embrace. The faint smile on his lips showed it was deliberate. Finding himself sitting on Cheonma’s thigh, his own genitals pressed against the Lord’s, Munpyeong realized that any further denial of reality was impossible.
Cheonma held his waist with one hand and caressed his cheek with the other, his intent as clear as day to any normal adult male.
“What are you doing, my Lord?” Munpyeong cried out in panic, pushing against Cheonma's chest with both hands. The wet gauze robe clung to his body, making the already charged atmosphere even more so.
Cheonma laughed again. While Munpyeong was frantic over the outrageous situation, the perpetrator himself seemed to be enjoying his confusion.
“Yeong-ui taught you well. Pretending to be a cultist was quite stimulating, I admit. Where did you learn your martial arts? You seem to be at least first-rate. Are you from the Lower Trades Sect? Or the House of Illusory Games?”
“I am from neither, my Lord. I am a member of the Demonic Cult.”
“Ah, is that so? Of course. Continue.”
Cheonma murmured languidly and kissed Munpyeong’s shoulder. At that, Munpyeong realized that Cheonma truly mistook him for a pleasure boy. He had no idea how someone could look at him—tall, old, well-built, and with an ordinary face—and think he was a pleasure boy, but it was clear Cheonma was under that absurd delusion.
`Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why is this happening to me!`
Faced with this truly lamentable situation, Seok Munpyeong groaned, utterly dumbfounded. He had never been in such a predicament in his entire life.
“My Lo—*ungh*—my Lord.”
He twisted his body to escape, but it was useless. Cheonma had a firm grip on his waist, holding him immobile. With Munpyeong on his lap, he began to molest him without hesitation. The sight of his own nipple in Cheonma's mouth was enough to drive him mad. Munpyeong gripped Cheonma's shoulders tightly. He tried to ignore his buttocks sliding on the Lord’s hand, his own member brushing against Cheonma’s enormous one, and desperately forced the words out.
“My Lord, *uugh*. My Lord! I am—of the Outer Compound of the Demonic Cult, *eugh*. From the Red Tiger Pavilion, Soul-Slaying Squad, Third Squad Leader Seok Munpyeong, assigned to the Demon Shadows, *ugh*, by order of the Corps Master!”
Cheonma’s hot, hard length pressed against Munpyeong’s pitiful testicles. As if overwhelmed by its sheer size, his own manhood, which had shriveled in fear, seemed pitifully small compared to Cheonma’s, which was swelling to its full, taut size. His nipple was being nipped by teeth, the crack of his ass rubbed by a thigh. Pushing with all his might did nothing; Cheonma was like a collapsed wall.
`At this rate, my ass is really going to be pierced.` For the first time in his life, his chastity was under threat. Seized by terror, Munpyeong desperately bent his knees to support himself. This unintentionally trapped Cheonma’s body between his legs, but at least it saved his rear.
“Ah, I see. A Demon Shadow? A mere first-rate master. An amusing setup. Go on.”
Cheonma murmured, still refusing to believe his hard-won explanation.
`Why won’t you believe me? Isn’t this a more plausible explanation than me being a pleasure boy?`
Feeling like he would cough up blood from frustration, Munpyeong cried out, almost in tears.
“My martial skill is only first-rate, but I am a Demon Shadow! My—my specialty is lightness skill! And tracking. *Haah*. I am a disciple of Black Night. I was ordered to monitor Your Lordship’s movements, *unh*, and to follow you!”
“I knew your specialty was lightness skill from the start. Didn’t I say? I like your long legs. They’re perfect for wrapping around a man’s waist.”
“My Lord, I really am a Demon Shadow. Please, stop this.”
“It’s a bit funny, calling a body like this a Demon Shadow. For a first-timer, you’re far too sensitive. You look like a body that’s been properly trained in every way.”
“I’ve had no such training! *Hah*. I am, I am really a Demon Shadow...”
Whatever Munpyeong said, Cheonma paid him no mind. He bit Munpyeong’s neck and grabbed his buttocks, his hard erection once again grinding against the cleft of his ass.
*Hiiieek!* Genuinely terrified, Munpyeong shuddered. At this rate, he really wouldn't be a first-timer for much longer. Munpyeong, who had never given a thought to the purity of his anus, who wasn't even aware of its existence most of the time, now fervently wished to remain pure forever. It might be a form of receiving grace, but he sincerely wanted to refuse this particular grace.
`Anyone, please, save me!!` Munpyeong prayed fervently to all the gods in heaven and earth.
“My—my Lord! Please!!”
“...That’s enough, Master. You’re going to kill the man.”
The monstrous erection reached the small, hidden fold between his buttocks. Just as the heavy object pushed its head against the opening as if to enter where it should only exit, Munpyeong, terrified, screamed out Cheonma’s name. It was a moment where he could have truly been pierced.
`I’m finished. I’m a dead man.` Squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the impact, Munpyeong didn’t even realize someone had entered the bathroom.
For a moment, all was quiet. The expected impact and the dreaded pain never came. Puzzled, Munpyeong managed to flutter his trembling eyelids open and looked around. Cheonma was still holding his waist firmly, but he had stopped his actions. Next to Munpyeong, who was sitting on Cheonma’s lap with the Lord’s erection between his buttocks, stood Po Yeong-ui, dressed in a pristine white robe like a crane, as still and silent as a painting.
“Pavilion Lord Po!”
Would it feel like this to meet a Buddha at the gates of hell? To find your lost mother in a crowded market? Looking at Po Yeong-ui’s cold face, tears welled up in Munpyeong’s eyes. It was the first time he had ever been so happy to see another person. It felt as if the heavens had answered his prayer and sent Po Yeong-ui.
“What is it, Yeong-ui? This is my private chamber, is it not?”
Cheonma, on the other hand, looked annoyed at the interruption and grumbled at Po Yeong-ui. His erection was still nestled between Munpyeong’s buttocks. It was certainly not a sight to be seen by a disciple, but Cheonma made no effort to hide it.
“What were you doing, Master?” Po Yeong-ui asked calmly.
Even faced with the sight of his master about to engage in a sexual act with another man, he was unruffled. He looked like someone who saw this sort of thing every day.
“Enjoying the gift you gave me. I never thought you’d actually keep your promise, but since I’ve received a gift, I intend to use it rather than throw it away. I can’t simply ignore the sincerity shown by my disciple, after all.”
Cheonma replied with brazen composure, not a hint of shame in his voice. It was a shameless answer that would have stunned most people, but Po Yeong-ui maintained his indifferent demeanor and asked again.
“Who do you think that man is, Master?”
“Who else? The pleasure boy you promised me. The one you swore you’d prepare as soon as I returned.”
To an outsider, it would have sounded like Po Yeong-ui had volunteered to be a procurer, but what he had actually said was slightly different. What Po Yeong-ui had said, precisely, was: “Does it make any sense for the Lord to be absent from the cult so often? And to travel alone, without even a guard? If you are that bored, then by all means, take a pleasure boy. I don’t care if you turn the Thunder Palace into a den of debauchery. It’s better if you indulge your vices within the cult.”
He had said it in a fit of anger, not as a suggestion to be acted upon. Moreover, Cheonma had gone on a trip right after hearing it and hadn't returned for over half a month. A person with any sense of decency wouldn't bring up such a thing as a promise.
Po Yeong-ui sighed heavily at his master, who had twisted his words to his own liking. As his face darkened with displeasure, Cheonma smiled faintly. He turned the question back on Po Yeong-ui in a deliberately suggestive tone.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me this boy isn't actually a pleasure boy? Then what is he? Is he really what he claims to be, a Demon Shadow? A mere first-rate master?”
A smile hung on Cheonma’s deep-set eyes, but it was not the kind one could share. Po Yeong-ui read the ominous signs in that smile and stiffened. Munpyeong did as well, though for a completely different reason.
`No way... Could it be?`
Munpyeong stared at Cheonma as if he had been struck on the back of the head.
“A first-rate master whose specialty is lightness skill, and he’s a Demon Shadow. If that were true, it would be quite amusing. Wouldn’t people say I have a tail on me?”
Cheonma murmured as if to himself, but everyone heard him. `If Seok Munpyeong is really a Demon Shadow, he’s a tail sent by my disciples. But my disciples would never dare do such a thing, so his purpose must be that of a pleasure boy.` The implication was simple, but its weight was heavy.
Po Yeong-ui turned pale, and Munpyeong’s face turned ashen. Realizing this wasn't an act of ignorance but something done with full knowledge from the start, he was speechless. His mind went blank. His shoulders, long exposed to the air and grown cold, trembled slightly.
Finishing his words, Cheonma gave Munpyeong a sharp pull. Forced to sit down hard, Munpyeong let out a cry. The penetrating tip of the erection pressed against the tender membrane. It hadn't torn yet, but the fully stretched opening throbbed as if bruised. Cheonma’s member was too large, and Munpyeong’s anus, being his first time and completely unprepared, was too tight.
As he gasped for breath, Cheonma’s lips descended on his. It seemed he intended to resume what had been interrupted.
“I will make good use of the gift I received, so you may leave now. Of course, if you wish to watch, you are welcome to stay.”
Annoyed by Po Yeong-ui’s presence as he was about to continue, Cheonma issued a command. The offer to stay and watch was just a taunt; his true intention was a clear dismissal. But Po Yeong-ui stood his ground, biting his lip in silence. Cheonma met his stubborn disciple’s gaze. As their eyes locked, Po Yeong-ui’s calm expression finally wavered.
“Master, it is Wan-pyeong. May I enter?”
Just then, Ho Wan-pyeong’s voice came from beyond the door.
`First Po Yeong-ui, now Ho Wan-pyeong?`
Cheonma frowned slightly at the repeated interruptions, but he seemed disinclined to stop a disciple who wished to enter and gave his permission.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Ho Wan-pyeong entered the bathroom. As if things weren't bad enough, Munpyeong, forced to receive another visitor in such a shameful state, turned a deathly shade of blue.
“Why so many guests today? Does it hurt you all to let me rest?” Cheonma grumbled, clearly displeased with the successive uninvited visits.
Ho Wan-pyeong smiled and greeted him. “Why do you say such sad things, Master? You have returned after a long absence. It is only natural for a disciple to come and pay his respects. Have you been well, Master? Did you enjoy your trip?”
Ho Wan-pyeong was utterly composed. He didn’t even blink at the sight of Munpyeong sitting naked on Cheonma’s lap, in the middle of being penetrated. Both he and Po Yeong-ui seemed unfazed by the sight of their master with another man, which suggested this was a common occurrence.
“My trip was fine. I was just about to recover from my travels, if you all hadn't bothered me. I am about to continue what I was doing. What do you intend to do? Continue standing there, or take a seat and watch?”
Cheonma greeted him with a languid air. His tone suggested he really didn’t mind if they watched, which made Munpyeong’s shoulders tense up.
Only then did Ho Wan-pyeong turn his gaze to Munpyeong, as if just noticing his presence. His eyes, always smiling and thus unreadable, fell upon the naked body. Overcome with shame at his exposed state, Munpyeong couldn't lift his head.
“That man is a warrior from my Demon Shadow Corps. You usually don’t touch your subordinates, so what is the occasion? He must be very much to your liking.”
Recognizing Munpyeong, Ho Wan-pyeong asked with brazen innocence. His open admission that Munpyeong was a Demon Shadow made the hearts of the other two men, who had already been through one round of this, sink.
“No, this is a gift from Yeong-ui. He may be a bit old and wilted, but he’s a pleasure boy.”
“I don’t think so. He is my subordinate. I specifically chose him to be assigned to you, Master. I couldn't possibly mistake him.”
Whether it was bravery or foolishness, Ho Wan-pyeong admitted to Cheonma’s face that Munpyeong was meant to be his tail. It wasn’t just a confession; it was a direct confrontation.
The corner of Cheonma’s mouth twisted in amusement at Ho Wan-pyeong’s audacity. He placed an arm around the trembling Munpyeong’s waist and turned to him.
“Wan-pyeong. What are you talking about? You dare to put a tail on me?”
Cheonma used the same tactic that had silenced Po Yeong-ui. This method—of breaking an opponent’s will by ignoring their transgression—was only effective for an absolute being who could overwhelm others with sheer presence, but it was quite useful for him. It was simple, allowing him to enforce his will with just implication and suggestion, and it was effective, inflicting a lasting sense of defeat on his opponent without a direct command.
This time, however, it didn't work. Ho Wan-pyeong took the very thing Cheonma had tried to overlook and laid it bare, deftly sidestepping the trap.
“Yes. A tail, if you wish to call it that.”
Ho Wan-pyeong admitted the truth with startling ease.
“You are persistent. Was the head I sent back last time not enough for you? Are you planning to make a screen out of your subordinates’ heads?” Cheonma whispered, his fingertips lightly tracing Munpyeong’s neck.
The languid touch sent a chill down Munpyeong’s spine. It was a light, caressing touch, but it was clear what would happen if any force was applied.
**Gulp.** Swallowing dryly, Munpyeong closed his pale eyes and opened them again. His lips felt parched.
“If necessary, I will build a screen. Why, I would build a nine-story pagoda. I will keep sending them until you accept.”
“Are you trying to wipe out the entire cult?”
“I don’t care. I would rather that than see you wandering around alone, Master.”
Even as he said something no leader should ever say, Ho Wan-pyeong showed no shame. Reading the firm resolve in his gentle yet unyielding eyes, Cheonma finally scowled.
“What is this game? Are you trying to break me?”
“It is neither a game to break you nor to win. Rather, I wish to kneel and implore you.”
Despite Cheonma’s undisguised anger, Ho Wan-pyeong remained resolute.
“Yes. As you said, that man is a tail. He is indeed a tail. But he is not a tail placed to inconvenience you, Master. He is there to ease our minds, not to trouble you. We have no intention of stopping you wherever you go, but we must at least know where you are. That is why we have committed this rudeness, knowing you would dislike it. You do not have to forgive us, but please do not refuse our intent. You may ignore him as if he doesn't exist. We will never let him trouble you.”
“Why are you so curious? What will you do if you know where I am?” Cheonma asked cynically. It was a malicious question that could be interpreted as, `What, so you can assassinate me when I’m alone?` but Ho Wan-pyeong pretended not to understand the taunt and gave a loyal answer.
“Does a child need a reason to worry about his parent’s well-being? That is how my heart feels.”
Contrary to his appearance, Ho Wan-pyeong was a skilled speaker. Not in the sense of being eloquent, but in his ability to make others believe his words were sincere.
Cheonma gave a cold smile at Ho Wan-pyeong, who spouted such earnest words with an innocent face. `I thought I raised a bear, but he’s a fox.` Not only did he refuse to back down, but he also claimed the moral high ground. It was a stark contrast to Po Yeong-ui, who couldn't utter a proper rebuttal after being put down once.
“The dull one has become silver-tongued. You are more cunning than Yeong-ui.”
With a low laugh, Cheonma gently pushed Munpyeong away. Pushed off the Lord's lap, Munpyeong shuddered as he felt the unwelcome erection scrape its way out of him. Cheonma stood up from the tub, sweeping back his wet hair. Water droplets rolled down his slender, sculpted body. He walked, still dripping, and stood before Ho Wan-pyeong. The two men were of similar height and met each other's gaze. Cheonma lifted Ho Wan-pyeong’s chin with his fingers and asked coldly.
“No other reason? Can you take responsibility for your words?”
`You have no selfish motive for putting a tail on me to watch me? You expect me to believe that?`
It seemed to be a habit of Cheonma to say more with what was unsaid. Ho Wan-pyeong knew what he was asking but did not avert his gaze. His eyes, clear and deep, met the Lord's, as if he had nothing to hide.
“Do you wish for me to have another reason, Master? If you truly do, I will follow your will. I will create a reason for you if you wish.”
Coming from Po Yeong-ui, it might have sounded audacious. But from Ho Wan-pyeong, it sounded like a vow of unwavering loyalty. It was something Cheonma himself could never say, yet Ho Wan-pyeong said such things so easily. What was more surprising was that he mostly meant it. If they were just empty words, he could have ignored them, but because they weren't, it was a serious problem.
Though he had called him silver-tongued, Hyeokryeon Sang already knew that more than half of what Ho Wan-pyeong said was genuine. The other half, the selfish part, was likely not meant to harm him either. He knew this, and it was precisely because he knew that he couldn’t understand this disciple of his. He had picked him up when he was five and raised him with his own hands. Why had he turned out so strange? This was not what Cheonma had expected when he raised him.
“Useless fool.”
He offers an opportunity, but it’s not taken. He tries to be deceived, but he’s not deceived. The frustration boiled over. Annoyed, Cheonma spoke coldly and backhanded Ho Wan-pyeong across the face. Though it was a light blow, it was filled with emotion, leaving a red handprint.
Ho Wan-pyeong took the blow without flinching and bowed his head with a bitter smile. Cheonma ignored him and walked out of the bathroom. The way he left, full of irritation, showed he was more than a little upset.
“Bring me something to dry myself!”
At Cheonma's shout, the waiting Ranran quickly ran out and wrapped him in a long cotton cloth. The maid named So-hong dried his hair, while another bowed to dry his feet.
Staring blankly at the bustling maids, Munpyeong felt a gaze on him and looked up. His eyes met Ho Wan-pyeong's, whose cheek was now flushed red. Ho Wan-pyeong gave him a sharp, decisive look. It was an order to follow Cheonma at once.
`What, again?`
He had just suffered a terrible ordeal for simply trying to follow Ho Wan-pyeong’s orders. Faced with another unreasonable demand right after surviving a crisis, Munpyeong’s face twisted in a grimace.
`No. I can’t. You might as well kill me.`
Unwilling to attract Cheonma’s attention by speaking, Munpyeong conveyed his thoughts with his eyes. His resolve was firm enough to dare defy Ho Wan-pyeong.
“What are you doing? Get up,” a low voice echoed in his mind, transmitted through inner energy.
The voice striking his ears, Munpyeong bit his lip and glared at Ho Wan-pyeong. If he could, he would have answered with his own inner voice, but he had not yet reached that level of mastery. All he had was his glare. He stared straight into Ho Wan-pyeong’s eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. Whatever he said, the answer was no.
“The hardest part is over, so don’t worry. After what happened, it's unlikely His Lordship will lay a hand on you again.”
Seeing Munpyeong’s continued refusal, Ho Wan-pyeong tried persuasion. But Munpyeong wasn’t about to risk his body on a flimsy promise like “unlikely.” He had only known Cheonma for a few hours, but it was enough to realize how self-willed the man was. He was a man who would rape a subordinate just because he was annoyed. He was suspicious, ill-tempered, and had wandering hands. Cheonma was not a master he could serve with a willing heart, and Munpyeong had no desire to fall into his clutches again.
“Don’t make me threaten you. You already know a top-secret piece of information. What do you think is the best way for me to prevent that information from leaking out of the cult? If you do not carry out your assigned duty, I will have no choice but to take measures to protect the leaked secret. That would be very unfortunate for both of us, wouldn’t it?”
When persuasion failed, he resorted to threats. Murder to silence. Citing the most common method in the Jianghu for keeping secrets, Ho Wan-pyeong’s left hand slowly moved to the saber at his waist.
**Shing.**
With his thumb on the handguard, he pushed lightly, and the blade slid from its sheath. Only half a finger’s length of the blade was visible, but for a master of the saber to draw his weapon was no small matter. Munpyeong’s face fell. Ho Wan-pyeong was no street thug. He was one of the greatest saber masters in the world. Such a man would not draw his blade for an empty threat.
Munpyeong realized his words were not just a threat, but a real one. If he refused again, Ho Wan-pyeong would not hesitate to draw his saber and cut him down. He had no intention of knowing the cult’s secrets, let alone leaking them, but Ho Wan-pyeong would not care about his circumstances.
Ho Wan-pyeong’s cold gaze swept past his neck. Though it was only a look, it felt as if something had actually grazed his throat, sending a chill down his spine.
`Damn it. This is why I never wanted to get involved in the power struggles of my superiors!`
But regardless of his wishes, his ankle was already caught. Pushed into a corner, Munpyeong silently ground his teeth. A surge of anger rose in him, but he couldn't act recklessly in front of a man holding a saber. He was naked and unarmed, and even if he had a weapon, he was no match for Ho Wan-pyeong.
Munpyeong stood up and angrily threw off the wet gauze robe. His torso, red and bruised from Cheonma’s attentions, was exposed, but he didn’t care. They had already seen him in a worse state. There was no point in being ashamed now.
Splashing out of the tub, he threw on his clothes over his wet body. Cheonma outside was also dressed, but in fresh, clean clothes after being carefully dried by the maids. The contrast with Munpyeong’s pathetic, disheveled state was stark.
`He’s the perpetrator and I’m the victim, so why is there such a difference? Why do I have to suffer this and still have my life threatened? Damn the law of the strong. Damn this master and disciple!`
Munpyeong knew the answer to his own question. The humiliating ordeal he had suffered today was all because he was weak. Because he was a being who could be crushed with a flick of a finger, Cheonma had trampled on him without a second thought. Because he was an opponent who could be killed with a single swing of a saber, Ho Wan-pyeong was forcing his will upon him. If he had been someone troublesome to deal with, this never would have happened. It was a cold but true reality. The Demonic Cult, and the Jianghu, was such a place. There was no greater sin here than being weak.
Water dripping from his clothes, Munpyeong stepped out of the bathroom. Cheonma, who was about to leave, turned at the sound of someone following him. Munpyeong bit his lip and bowed his head, trying to hide the hardened expression of shame and humiliation.
He heard Cheonma click his tongue from above. An annoyed glance was shot toward the bathroom. But that was all. Ignoring Ho Wan-pyeong, who stood as still as water, Cheonma turned away from Munpyeong and began to walk toward the bedchamber with resolute steps. He paid no attention to Munpyeong, who was reluctantly following. In fact, he seemed to be unaware of the maids who had to scurry to keep up with his long strides. He walked as if he were alone, though he was followed by many. It was the walk of a man who believed he was the only one on earth. "Soli Deo gloria." I alone am the honored one.
***
Those unfamiliar with the Jianghu often confused them, but in truth, the Demonic Cult of the Hundred Thousand Mountains and the Demonic Cult of the Heavenly Mountains were completely separate groups with no connection to each other. The differences between them were deeper than the fact that one was in Guangdong, at the southern tip of the Central Plains, and the other was in Xinjiang, at the westernmost edge.
The name “Demonic Cult” was not a specific religious term. From the Way of the Celestial Masters of the Han Dynasty to the Red Turban Rebellion of the Ming, any religion persecuted by the authorities was labeled a Demonic Cult. The same was true for these two groups. But though they were lumped together under the same name, they had their own true names.
The southern group, occupying the Hundred Thousand Mountains and labeled a Demonic Cult by the imperial court, was actually the White Lotus Society. Founded in the Southern Song dynasty by Mao Ziyuan, it was a new sect that mixed Buddhist messianic beliefs with old Manichaean ideas, and was also known as the Zoroastrian Cult for its worship of fire. They were a purely religious group, and during the Yuan dynasty, they were famous as a patriotic organization fighting to overthrow the Yuan and restore the Song. The White Lotus Society, despite its short history, expanded rapidly thanks to the symbolic power of its messianic beliefs, and by the late Yuan, it had grown strong enough to contend for the throne alongside the great warlords of the era.
The man who founded a dynasty with the support of the White Lotus Society was none other than Zhu Yuanzhang. Born a poor peasant who had once been a bandit, he rose to power after receiving their support, conquering the south and eventually becoming the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty. However, Zhu Yuanzhang came to distrust the power that had made him emperor. Having used their power to establish his dynasty, he feared that another might do the same to him. He wanted the Ming Dynasty to belong to the Zhu imperial family, not the White Lotus Society. This was a man who had purged even his most loyal followers, like Li Shanchang and Lan Yu, who had helped him build the nation. He did not hesitate to discard those who had served their purpose. On the pretext of suppressing those who “deceive the world and delude the people,” he branded the White Lotus Society a Demonic Cult and ruthlessly purged them.
Even the prosperous White Lotus Society was no match for the government, which controlled hundreds of thousands of troops. They were pushed to the southernmost tip of the Central Plains. This was how the Demonic Cult of Guangdong came to be. But only the government and some orthodox martial artists called them that. They themselves never used the name. They called themselves the Ming Cult, meaning that the true light was with them, not the Ming imperial court.
The Demonic Cult of the Heavenly Mountains, however, was an ancient organization with a thousand-year history. As its name suggested, it was originally a religious group, but like the White Lotus Society, it was hated by the authorities of its time, branded a Demonic Cult, and driven from the Central Plains a thousand years ago. It had resided in the Heavenly Mountains ever since, maintaining its power. Having been called a Demonic Cult for so long, they were not ashamed of the name. In fact, they were proud of it, taking pride in having survived for a thousand years despite being ostracized. Their history was longer than that of any dynasty in the Central Plains.
The Heavenly Mountains Demonic Cult originated from the worship of Indra, a branch of Hinduism that came from India. Indra, also known as Śakra in Buddhism, is the most powerful of the tens of thousands of Hindu gods, ruling over rain, thunder, and lightning. The early cult revered its leader as the incarnation of Indra, a form of incarnate deity worship similar to that of the Potala Palace.
Over a thousand years, however, the cult gradually lost its religious character. The name “cult” remained, and traces of its origins could still be found in titles and the names of old buildings, but that was all. They no longer had doctrines or faith. They called themselves cultists but didn't know which god they worshipped. Even their leader, who should have been revered as the incarnation of Indra, was the subject of flimsy rumors about ascending to immortality or becoming a Demonic Immortal. If they had retained any religious character, such rumors would never have arisen. To relegate the incarnation of a god to the lower status of an immortal—who would dare to think such a thing?
In that sense, the rumors of Cheonma’s impending ascension were not proof of his deification, but of the cult’s secularization. Though called a cult, it was now nothing more than a martial organization.
But there was one person here who, for purely personal reasons, opposed the idea of the leader's ascension. A man who knew nothing of the cult’s history or religious doctrines, yet held a fierce aversion to the idea. His name was Seok Munpyeong, a new Demon Shadow assigned to guard the leader a few days ago.
`Ascend to immortality? That man? Ha! What nonsense!`
Munpyeong snorted at the thought. He had always been skeptical of the rumors about Cheonma, but since the incident in the bathroom, his skepticism had hardened. After “that incident,” he had come to hate all the exaggerated tales, especially the one about Cheonma’s ascension. He didn't just dislike it; he despised it. He considered it a rumor close to malicious deception.
`Even a Demonic Immortal is still an immortal. Is becoming an immortal something just anyone can do? It’s not a state you can reach just by being a little better at martial arts. He seems far from even being a decent human being. What are people expecting from a man like that?`
He wasn't a learned man, but even with his limited knowledge, he was certain of it. If Cheonma could truly ascend, then there was no one in the world who couldn’t, no fish that couldn’t become a dragon. He believed this firmly.
His conviction was born from what he had seen with his own eyes over the past few days. Of course, the incident in the bathroom had lowered his opinion considerably, but even setting aside his personal feelings, Cheonma was not worthy. He was not great, nor was he noble. He was a terrifyingly strong and arrogant ruler, but that was all. He was not a transcendent being, but rather a man who was troublingly, excessively human.
Day one. Cheonma didn’t get out of bed until past noon. At the time, Munpyeong didn't think much of it. The man had just returned from a grueling solo journey across the desert; he could be forgiven for sleeping in. But Cheonma woke up in the late afternoon, ate the lunch the maids had prepared, and then went back to sleep, not waking until evening.
Day two. Cheonma spent the entire day burning exotic incense from Turkey and flipping through books he had bought from Western merchants. The books were strange, with thick, leather-like pages, pictures, and colored illustrations. Munpyeong, curious, peeked over and saw they were filled with detailed depictions of human organs and viscera. It was enough to turn his stomach. `What a morbid taste.` There were so many beautiful paintings in the world, why look at something like that? After a moment of puzzlement, Munpyeong thought of a terrifying possibility and shuddered. The name that came to his mind was "jiangshi"—reanimated corpses. The ultimate weapon of the Demonic Cult from a few hundred years ago, a legendary monster. Fortunately, the technique to create them had been lost. All the gruesome rumors he had heard about the cult before joining flashed through his mind.
`Don’t tell me that man is trying to create those monsters again? I really don’t want to be` involved in gathering children’s brains and harvesting virgins’ blood...`
His heart pounding at the ominous possibility, Munpyeong watched Cheonma read.
Day three was even more of a spectacle. Tiring of his book, Cheonma threw it aside halfway through and summoned Ranran and Yehwa. The two maids, young enough to be his granddaughters, were each given a gift: hand mirrors painted with images of women with their breasts and nipples fully exposed. To Munpyeong, it was blatant sexual harassment, but the maids were so moved they shed tears. They voluntarily performed dances and songs to repay his grace, and Cheonma spent the rest of the day drinking and enjoying the entertainment of the flower-like young women.
The following days were much the same. Cheonma did not work, nor did he practice his martial arts. He didn't even meditate. He stayed cooped up in his bedchamber all day, eating and playing. When he did go out, it was only for a walk in the garden attached to his chambers; he never set foot outside the Thunder Palace gates. He was not only neglecting his travels but also his duties, to the point that Ho Wan-pyeong and Po Yeong-ui had to bring documents to his bedchamber for his approval.
In Munpyeong’s eyes, he was the laziest loafer imaginable. If he at least had the dignified air of an old man, it might have passed for a leisurely retirement. But what he saw was a young, virile man wasting his time in idleness. Munpyeong, who, unlike some, could not see beyond the physical and was bound to be swayed by appearances, spent his days feeling less like the guard of the Number One Under Heaven and more like the bodyguard of a rich, lazy young master.
In truth, right after the bathroom incident, Munpyeong hadn't completely abandoned his admiration for Cheonma. Having spent so long in a cult that worshipped him like a god, he had been naturally indoctrinated. And as a fellow martial artist, a long-held respect for a man who had reached the pinnacle of martial arts lingered stubbornly. The opportunity to observe a living legend up close was rare for a low-ranking warrior like him, so despite his inner complaints, he had paid close attention to Cheonma’s every move.
But the daily life he witnessed was nothing but a disappointment. What little respect he had left crumbled away like sand. Even if one had reached the pinnacle, how could one live doing absolutely nothing? Munpyeong was genuinely curious.
`Has he reached the peak of what a human can achieve and now has nothing left to do? Or has he accomplished everything a person can and now has no desires?`
He had even entertained such thoughts, but looking at Cheonma, who lacked even a speck of transcendence, they felt futile.
“My Lord. It is Yehwa. May I enter?”
The lovely voice of Lady Yehwa reached Munpyeong’s ears. He had been standing near the door, lost in thought so as not to disturb Cheonma, who was reading. The sound brought him back to his senses. The Lord, his nose buried in a book from the West, called her in absently. Munpyeong watched motionlessly as Yehwa opened the door and entered.
“What is it?” Cheonma asked. His tone was far too casual for a man of his stature.
`I’ve been thinking this for a while, but even the way he talks is strange,` Munpyeong grumbled inwardly, his face a mask of indifference. `At his age, with his status, isn’t it odd to speak like that? It might suit his appearance, but the man is over eighty. Why does he have no dignity in his speech? Even Po Yeong-ui speaks with more gravitas.`
“Second Young Master has sent a message.”
Cheonma, who had been paying no attention, finally reacted at the mention of the Second Young Master. Yehwa, bending her knees slightly, answered in a neat tone.
“Yes, my Lord. He arrived a short while ago.”
“He returned quickly. So, where does he want to meet?”
“He requests your presence at the Verdant Cloud Pavilion.”
A faint smile flickered across Cheonma’s handsome face and vanished. He smiled often, but it rarely seemed genuine. Surprisingly, this smile looked sincere.
“Prepare some snacks, Yehwa. And bring the satchel I brought from my travels.”
“Yes, my Lord. I will prepare them.”
Yehwa answered crisply and moved just as efficiently. The capable maid had everything ready in a mere quarter of an hour and returned to Cheonma.
The Lord stood up. Preferring comfort over formality, he was dressed in light, casual attire today. His hair was tied up high to keep it out of the way, and he wore leggings for ease of movement. He dressed for comfort, but from the side, the youthful outfit matched his appearance, creating a strange feeling. There was nothing about him that hinted at his true age. Anyone who didn't know his identity would mistake him for a witty and handsome young man.
Dressed like this, Cheonma headed out. It was the first time Munpyeong had seen him go outside since he arrived. His self-centered walk, which paid no heed to those following, was the same, but fortunately, Yehwa and Ranran had also learned martial arts and could keep up without difficulty.
Cheonma, two maids, and Munpyeong following silently behind. The four of them moved through the cult grounds with flying speed. Cheonma’s steps led him to the outskirts of the cult, to a small pavilion nestled in the mountains along the outer wall.
`Verdant Cloud Pavilion.`
Having been in charge of patrolling the outer areas, Munpyeong knew the place well. It was a small, cozy pavilion on the slope of Cloud Cliff Peak, one of the outer peaks surrounding the cult, with a view of the strange peaks of the Heavenly Mountains and a sea of blue-tinged clouds below. Munpyeong had always liked the place. Though it was a place low-ranking warriors were forbidden to enter, it was remote and unguarded, so he had snuck there with his comrades for a drink a few times. He had always thought it was a deserted place, but seeing Cheonma himself heading there made his heart skip a beat. He now realized just how lucky they had been. If Cheonma had walked in on them while they were drinking, their heads would have fallen like autumn leaves. They hadn’t sworn an oath to die on the same day, and he had no desire to share such a fate. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Welcome, Master. Over here.”
A voice from above made Munpyeong look up. He raised his gaze to the Verdant Cloud Pavilion and saw a loafer leaning against the railing, waving his hand languidly. The man called him "Master" but didn't even get up from his seat. He was a strange character with disheveled clothes and messy hair. "Loafer" was a kind term; one wrong step and he would look like a good-for-nothing wastrel.
Cheonma, who had been climbing the mountain with his hands behind his back, clicked his tongue and spoke to the loafer.
“What’s with your appearance? Anyone would think you were a beggar from the Beggars’ Sect.”
Munpyeong’s thought was slightly different. To him, the man looked more suited to the Lower Trades Sect. Specifically, like a pimp.
“Where would you find a beggar this handsome? With this face, I couldn’t even be a beggar, Master. The ladies wouldn’t leave me alone.”
A lazy grin spread across the loafer’s face as he replied. He seemed to be well aware of his own appearance. The face between the messy strands of hair was indeed handsome. Not on the level of Po Yeong-ui’s peerless beauty, but very good-looking, with slightly downturned eyes that gave him a gentle, puppy-like impression. It was certainly a face women would like, but to say such a thing in front of his master was absurd. Not just any master, but Cheonma. To speak so freely in his presence, this man must have left his liver somewhere, like the rabbit in the old tale.
“Crazy bastard,” Cheonma muttered with a sigh, as if at a loss for words.
But that was all. Seeing this, Munpyeong was inwardly shocked. He couldn't believe Cheonma had simply overlooked his disciple's insolence. Having witnessed how Po Yeong-ui and Ho Wan-pyeong were treated, he had thought of Cheonma as a harsh and strict master. It was no wonder, given that he had tormented his disciples for worrying about his safety, tried to have sex with a man in front of them, and even slapped his forty-year-old disciple across the face without hesitation.
But his behavior toward the man before him was starkly different. To this man, Cheonma seemed to be a rather easygoing and understanding master. He didn't act authoritative at all. He accepted the man’s behavior, which Po Yeong-ui or Ho Wan-pyeong would never have dared, as if it were nothing. The man never got up from his seat, and Cheonma sat down without telling him to. As he sat at the stone table, Yehwa took out snacks from the bamboo basket she carried and laid them out. Since they were to be eaten outside, there were more dry foods than soups.
“On my way here, I heard you returned in ten days, Master. At first, I thought I’d misheard. It took me almost twenty days to go to Yunnan and back, but you went all the way to Arasa and back in ten? Did you really go?”
With one arm on the table and chopsticks in his other hand before his master had even touched his, the man started his interrogation in a most ill-mannered way. Cheonma leisurely wiped his hands with a towel Ranran handed him and raised an eyebrow.
“This is Xinjiang, so of course Arasa is closer than Yunnan. It seems you haven’t even read the World Atlas I gave you.”
“World Atlas?” the man asked, bewildered. `What’s that?` His face was so genuinely curious that even Munpyeong, were he Cheonma, probably wouldn't have gotten angry.
“The atlas I gave you before. The one with maps of all the countries in the world... You don’t remember? Don’t tell me you sold it again.”
“Oh, that! No, I still have it. I just haven’t been able to read it. It’s written in Latin, how am I supposed to read it? I couldn’t even find the Central Plains in it.”
The man laughed loudly and nodded, as if only remembering after Cheonma’s direct reminder. His cheerful admission that he couldn't understand it made Cheonma frown again. He looked at the man with a displeased expression.
“Ignorance is not something to be proud of. One must learn to be human.”
“I have enough trouble learning what I want to learn, Master. I heard Latin is a dead language even in the West.”
“How can it be a dead language when there are still people who write and read it? Besides, in the West, all important scholarly records are in Latin. The same goes for the Western mathematics books you’re so interested in. You can’t decipher them without knowing Latin.”
“It’s fine. I can read the math books if I just know the symbols.”
“...So? You’re still not going to learn it?”
“Why do you only force these things on me, Master? You don’t force Eldest Brother or Third Brother. You don’t even mention it to Youngest Sister.”
“The youngest doesn’t have the head for it. Yeong-ui doesn’t have the time, and Wan-pyeong doesn’t have the need.”
Cheonma stated with conviction. Hearing this, the man narrowed his eyes in displeasure. He looked like he was dying to say, `I don’t need it either.`
Cheonma’s second disciple. That would make him Gwak Jin-mu, the Sword of Deceit. A master of the sword, but more famous for his skills in mathematics and mechanics. Gwak Jin-mu was known to have a very eccentric temperament, giving rise to the ominous saying in the Jianghu: ‘If you want to die quickly, provoke the Soul-Cleaving Saber. If you want to die in agony, provoke the Smiling Dagger. If you make an enemy of the Phantom Whip, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, but if the Sword of Deceit is your enemy, not even regret will be your friend.’
He looked to be in his late twenties, early thirties at most, but he was actually almost forty. They weren’t related by blood, so it wasn’t genetics. Cheonma’s martial arts must include a technique for preserving youth.
“By the way, what about the thing I asked for? Did you get it? The merchants said it’s a rare item even in Arasa and hard to find. You didn't come back empty-handed, did you?” Gwak Jin-mu changed the subject, trying to feign indifference.
For a master of mathematics, Munpyeong had imagined a cold, brilliant man, but the real Gwak Jin-mu was so eccentric that it was hard to get a read on him. He seemed more childish than eccentric, and he was bold enough not to be intimidated even in front of Cheonma. It was an insolent attitude, but Cheonma didn’t stop him. In fact, he was far more lenient with him than with his other, more respectful disciples, as if he liked his personality.
“Where in the world does a master show his hand first? You should be the one to present what you promised. If you didn't bring it, then I have nothing for you either.”
At Cheonma’s words, Gwak Jin-mu’s eyes sparkled triumphantly.
“I may not be good at other things, but I always keep my promises. I know what kind of person you are, Master. The journey was long and hard, but finding it wasn't so difficult. Luckily, it was right where I had seen it before. It seems they hid it and then forgot where. I was the lucky one who stumbled upon it.”
He boasted, and with a grand gesture, he pulled a wine bottle from his robes. It was a plain white porcelain bottle with no pattern, but the mouth was sealed tightly with wax, indicating it contained a very precious wine.
“This is genuine Monkey Wine, brewed by the monkeys of Ailao Mountain in Yunnan. I’ve had my eye on it for five years, so it’s a precious vintage, at least six or seven years old.”
Amazingly, what Gwak Jin-mu had produced was the legendary Monkey Wine. When he cut the wax seal with a dagger and opened the stopper, an indescribably fragrant aroma filled the air. Placing the precious bottle on the table with a flourish, Gwak Jin-mu looked at Cheonma.
“Ranran, give Jin-mu the satchel.”
Cheonma, a man of action, commanded Ranran. She untied the satchel she had been carrying for him and placed its contents on the table. Gwak Jin-mu looked at the items with keen interest.
The first thing that caught the eye was a small ticking device that looked like a miniature version of the one in Cheonma’s room. There were two leather-bound Western books and a square box carved with the image of a winged beast. Lastly, there was a leather bundle wrapped around something.
To Munpyeong, they seemed like paltry items to trade for precious Monkey Wine, but Gwak Jin-mu clearly thought otherwise. His face was flushed with excitement as he stared at the items.
“So this is the legendary table clock.”
Gwak Jin-mu, who had been carefully examining the items, suddenly exclaimed as he looked at the small ticking device. He held it in his hand as carefully as if it were a precious jewel and gazed at it with the ardent eyes of a man in love. `Clock.` Munpyeong, who had been wondering about its purpose since he first saw it, silently rolled the name around in his mouth.
“I’ve never seen a clock this small in my life. Even in Beijing, where all the treasures of the world gather, I’ve only seen grandfather clocks as big as the one in your room, Master. This is so small. And the smaller it is, the more intricate.”
“And more expensive. That one small item cost five pearls the size of a fingernail.”
“But it’s worth it, Master. It’s the latest invention, a culmination of Western technology.”
“I know. That’s why I paid the price. The tools next to it were even more expensive. Just a few iron tools, and they demanded three pearls. Thieves. I was so annoyed I almost smashed their heads in, but I managed to restrain myself.”
At Cheonma’s words, Gwak Jin-mu’s head shot up and he hastily unwrapped the leather bundle. Inside the hastily opened bundle were small iron tools, each in its own leather pouch. They were so small and sharp that they couldn't have been forged by an ordinary blacksmith, but other than that, their purpose was unclear.
Looking at them, Gwak Jin-mu’s face was filled with pure joy. Not even King Goujian would have looked so happy upon receiving the legendary sword Gan Jiang. It was the look of a new mother gazing at her child.
“Thank you, Master. To think you went to such trouble. I really wanted these tools. Clocks are so ridiculously delicate that it’s impossible to disassemble one completely without specialized tools. Thanks to you, I’ll be able to see how this thing works. I’ll be careful not to break it when I take it apart.”
Gwak Jin-mu said, his voice filled with emotion.
`Huh? What did he just say?`
Munpyeong, who had been eavesdropping with a blank expression, was inwardly shocked at Gwak Jin-mu’s outrageous statement about taking apart a precious gift from his master, one that had cost five pearls. The thought that he might be about to witness the Second Young Master’s head being smashed in made his own heart clench.
“Don’t just take the clock apart. Try taking apart the toy next to it first. It’s a music box that plays a tune automatically when you open the lid. Its mechanism is similar to a clock’s, so it should be helpful.”
But once again, Cheonma defied Munpyeong’s expectations. He was uncharacteristically generous and kind. Not only did he give him an incredibly expensive item to dismantle, but he also provided another one for practice. He was treating him less like a disciple and more like a cherished concubine.
Gwak Jin-mu happily packed the items back into the satchel. Cheonma watched him with an indifferent expression, then casually waved his hand, using his inner energy to levitate the bottle of Monkey Wine into his grasp. He personally poured the wine into an empty cup. A fragrance even richer than before, a scent that could only be from the heavens, once again filled his lungs.
`So that’s real Monkey Wine.`
Munpyeong, a lover of alcohol, stared longingly at the cup in Cheonma’s hand. Any self-proclaimed connoisseur knew of Monkey Wine. Brewed by monkeys for their own enjoyment, it was one of the great legends of the Jianghu, like thousand-year ginseng or ten-thousand-year-old fungus. The wine, made and aged by nature, was said to boast a flavor deeper and more fragrant than any wine made by man. A wine everyone dreamed of but no one had ever actually tasted. That was the Monkey Wine Munpyeong knew.
Unbelievably, that very wine was right before his eyes. The saying that one sip makes you ten years younger and two sips grant immortality might be an exaggeration, but its taste must be truly exceptional. Just smelling it was enough to send him into a state of ecstasy.
Before Munpyeong’s transfixed eyes, Cheonma leisurely drained his cup. The way he savored the aroma and slowly rolled the liquid in his mouth, he looked as if he were enjoying tea, not wine. He didn't touch a single snack, though he had been the one to order them. Munpyeong understood completely. One couldn't defile the palate with the taste of snacks while drinking a fine wine like Monkey Wine. It was a wine that even the great Heavenly Demon could only taste on rare occasions. To not enjoy it in its pure form would be an insult to nature’s masterpiece.
He tried not to look, but his eyes were drawn to it. He tried to resist, but his mouth watered. It was Monkey Wine, Monkey Wine! A legendary vintage that any lover of alcohol would trade their life to drink. For Munpyeong, who had all but given up his beloved drink while following Cheonma, the alluring scent was a temptation as powerful as the devil's own.
**Gulp.**
Mesmerized by the rich aroma, Munpyeong swallowed, and then froze, belatedly realizing what he had done. The sound was tiny, but unfortunately, there was no one here who couldn’t have heard it. Sure enough, the ever-curious Gwak Jin-mu immediately looked up at him. Munpyeong, pale, tried to avoid his gaze, but it was no use. Gwak Jin-mu studied him with interest, then turned to Cheonma with a smile.
“I’ve been wondering about him for a while now... Master. What is that man? What is he doing following you?”
Gwak Jin-mu, who never beat around the bush, asked about Munpyeong’s identity directly. Cheonma put down his cup without a word, as if displeased by the question.
“It’s Wan-pyeong’s doing. Don’t ask me.”
His voice, thrown out dismissively, was as cold as ice. As if his good mood had been ruined, his tone was, for the first time since meeting Gwak Jin-mu, coldly subdued.
“Eldest Brother?”
Gwak Jin-mu’s eyes widened in surprise. A new interest sparked, he leaned forward and asked with eager eyes.
“What made Eldest Brother do such a thoughtful thing? I never thought he had it in him.”
“What? Thoughtful?”
Cheonma snorted at his words.
“That fool has no thoughtfulness in him. If he had even a little, the cult wouldn’t be in this state today. He’s a man who does nothing but cling to his master’s coattails. He can’t even be bothered to feed himself. What do you expect from a man like that?”
Cheonma spoke scathingly. For some reason, his tone even held a hint of resentment.
“But Eldest Brother is the most devoted to you, Master. You won’t find a more filial son. And he’s so considerate. Take this matter, for example. Look, which of us has ever cared for your needs in the bedchamber? Even our youngest sister, a woman, failed to be so attentive, but Eldest Brother took care of it. Why can’t you see his deep sincerity?”
The clueless Gwak Jin-mu, trying to defend his elder brother, said something completely off the mark. Cheonma snorted again.
“What delusion are you under? You think Wan-pyeong is the type to offer his master a male concubine? Wake up. That man is not a concubine, he’s a spy. A tail attached to my ass.”
Cheonma’s voice grew even colder. Realizing he had been on the wrong track, Gwak Jin-mu frowned. He repeated, "A tail?" and turned his gaze to Munpyeong.
“Don’t tell me Eldest Brother hasn’t given up yet? I thought I heard that the last person assigned to a similar mission had his head cut off.”
Gwak Jin-mu brought up a story Munpyeong knew but didn't want to be reminded of. At his question, Cheonma’s lips curled into a cold sneer.
“That’s right. I cut off his head and sent it back. And he sent another one.”
“Why did you let him be?”
“Because he said he would keep sending them, even if it meant building a tower of bones. As the Lord, I can’t very well wipe out my own cultists, can I?”
“...No matter what, you’re always lenient with Eldest Brother. You always end up giving in to him.”
“What?”
“I mean, Eldest Brother used his head, too. He was just talking big; he probably had no intention of actually building a tower of bones. That’s why he purposely sent a man like that. I could tell right away. He’s completely your type, isn’t he? Long legs, lean muscles, sturdy build. And tall. His chastity might be in danger, but his life won’t be. You’ve never killed a man who was your type, even if you’d kill a woman, right?”
Gwak Jin-mu grinned foolishly. He meant it as a casual joke, but his words sent a jolt of terror through Munpyeong’s heart. He had heard the words “chastity might be in danger,” words he couldn't just ignore.
`Was Cheonma really a pursuer of younger men? To the point that his disciple could joke about it so brazenly?`
Despite having experienced it himself, Munpyeong had been subconsciously denying reality. Faced with the truth, his mind went blank. If Cheonma were simply a man who favors men, that would be one thing. But his type was a man just like him. And Ho Wan-pyeong, that damn son of a bitch, had sent him as a Demon Shadow knowing that full well. The more he heard, the angrier he became.
`What the hell is this? So, Ho Wan-pyeong knew all along? He knew and sent me here to be a spy and a bed warmer at the same time? The incident that makes me shudder to even think about it wasn't just bad luck, it was inevitable?`
It was absurd. So absurd and infuriating that he felt like crying. The unexpected bombshell made Munpyeong’s blood boil. But Gwak Jin-mu, oblivious, just kept talking. His tone was still naive and glib, as if he were talking to a friend, not his master.
“Remember that time before? The bandits in the Tarim Basin who attacked you without knowing who you were. The Blood Wind or Red Wind Gang, or whatever they were called. You killed all of them, even their horses, but you didn’t kill their leader, did you? Because he was exactly your type. Eldest Brother must have a good memory to remember that and use it now. Or maybe this was Yeong-ui’s idea. He’s always been good at cunning schemes, hasn’t he?”
“Come to think of it, you’re my type too. Oh, so that’s why you’re so bold. You’re not afraid because you know I’ll never kill you, is that it?”
As Gwak Jin-mu teased him with a grin, Cheonma responded with shameless arrogance.
Listening to their conversation, Munpyeong felt dizzy. The exchange, already too intimate for a master and disciple, was escalating. What had seemed like a close, if overly familiar, relationship now just seemed like a dysfunctional mess. My god. A disciple who makes a joke of his master’s sex life, and a master who growls back, asking if he wants a taste. How depraved could they be?
`...Wait. This is no time to be worrying about others. I have to save myself first. If what the Second Young Master says is true, then what happened before could happen again. What am I going to do?`
Distracted for a moment by the absurd scene, Munpyeong quickly came to his senses. This was no time to be absent-minded. He had his own problems to worry about. Whether the master-disciple relationship was dysfunctional or so depraved they were sleeping together was not his concern. The real problem was him. He had been sent, half as tribute, without even knowing it.
If he could, he would have torn his hair out. Gwak Jin-mu’s mention of the unknown bandit leader was the final nail in the coffin of his worries. Though Gwak Jin-mu had omitted the epilogue, Munpyeong, with his own experience, could well imagine what had happened to that poor man. He might have survived, but it would have been a fate worse than death.
`How much must it have hurt? To be rammed by something that big, so big it was practically a horse’s.`
Munpyeong, whose ass had ached for three days after being penetrated only by the tip, without any preparation, felt a kinship with the bandit leader.
`I’ll die before I let that happen again. Once was because I didn't know, but a second time is absolutely out of the question.`
A quiet determination shone in Munpyeong’s eyes. With nothing to his name, he had only himself to value. He began to search for a way out. He had no intention of being a disposable pawn, used and discarded at his superiors’ convenience. He was a man who had picked up a sword to eat, who had learned martial arts to raise his price. He was less a warrior and more a mercenary. He had thrown himself into the Demonic Cult to survive, not to swear eternal loyalty. He was the kind of man who would do anything to live. For him, survival itself was honor.
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