Deep in the mountains stood a shabby, weather-beaten hut.
In its spacious courtyard, two burial mounds rested side by side.
Cheon Woojin stood before them, his gaze lingering on the graves.
His thoughts drifted back to the final words of the two men who had raised him.
His Black Master, who had dressed entirely in black—from his hair and eyebrows to his martial robes and even his monk's garments—had always insisted that his disciple become the greatest villain under heaven.
"Woojin, my boy! If the sole disciple of this Black Master doesn't become a villain, what kind of absurdity would that be? In this rotten world crawling with hypocrites, there's no greater shame than refusing to become a villain! And remember this well—the bastards of the Orthodox Path are the worst of the lot!"
A faint smirk tugged at Cheon Woojin's lips.
Even now, he could almost hear his Black Master's rough, booming voice.
His White Master, on the other hand, had remained a gentleman to the very end. Stroking his snow-white beard, the old man would endlessly preach the virtues of righteousness and the principles upheld by the Orthodox Path.
"You may be the Black Master's disciple, but you're mine as well. Woojin, my boy, if only you'd met me a little sooner! Why, you could've beaten every villain under heaven to death, starting with that Black Master of yours. Ah, what a terrible waste of talent!"
"Don't listen to that senile old fool."
"Hoho! Mind your tongue!"
"Why don't you shut yours?"
The memory of his two masters bickering, even as death approached, remained vivid in his mind.
"Woojin, my boy. Become a villain, just as the Black Master wishes."
"Oh? So you've finally come to your senses on your deathbed!"
"Become a villain to villains."
"...Good heavens."
"You have inherited the teachings of this White Master, a genius the likes of which the world rarely sees. What could you possibly have to fear? You have mastered everything we had to teach you. Show kindness to the righteous and ruthlessness to the wicked. Be a good man to the good, and a villain to the evil."
Naturally, such conversations always ended with the two old men seizing each other by the collar.
His masters had once told him that they had enjoyed making wagers against each other since their youth.
But how many people in the world knew of their peculiar relationship?
One was the Black Master, the greatest public enemy of the murim.
The other was the White Master, one of the Three Great Prodigies of the Orthodox Path.
Two men who should have been bitter enemies, yet had spent their lives arguing like old friends.
And even on their deathbeds, they had made one final wager.
When their remaining years finally came to an end, what would become of the orphan into whom they had poured everything they knew?
Would he grow into the greatest villain under heaven, as befitted the Black Master's disciple?
Or would he become a righteous man who would change the world?
Neither old man had known the answer when they closed their eyes for the last time.
That was how completely they had devoted their lives to raising Cheon Woojin.
Of course, Cheon Woojin himself had no idea what the future held.
Truthfully, he had never been particularly interested in becoming either a hero or a villain.
He was simply grateful.
When he had been nothing more than a helpless orphan with nowhere to go, those two men had taken him in, fed him, clothed him, given him a home, and taught him everything they knew.
What more could he have asked for?
For a moment, Cheon Woojin stood lost in his memories.
Then, just as he was about to bow before their graves, he stopped.
Another memory surfaced.
"Woojin, my boy. Ten years from now, if the world calls you a villain, you may bow before my grave and carve your name upon my gravestone."
"And if the world calls you a righteous man, then you shall bow before this White Master's grave and carve your name upon mine."
Remembering their final instructions, Cheon Woojin smiled bitterly.
"To think you'd forbid me from even bowing at your graves..."
They truly had been incorrigible old men, right to the very end.
Cheon Woojin reached down and picked up the two items his masters had left behind.
The Black Master's Crescent Moon Staff.
And the White Master's Crane Feather Fan.
They were the only keepsakes the two men had left him.
More importantly, they were the signature weapons of the Black and White Twin Elders.
Having inherited and mastered both their martial arts, Cheon Woojin was now their rightful successor.
And so, those weapons naturally belonged in his hands.
He turned to leave.
But just as he took his first step—
"..."
A chilling presence swept through the courtyard.
A heartbeat later, ten figures clad in black descended from above, landing around the hut and cutting off every avenue of escape.
"Are you the Black Master's disciple?"
"He's carrying the Crescent Moon Staff. It must be him."
The men exchanged a few words among themselves.
Cheon Woojin merely watched them in silence.
Enemies of the Black Master?
His White Master had once warned him that in the murim, a master's grudges often became the disciple's burdens.
"The only people I'd truly call my enemies are those bastards from the Demonic Cult. Your Black Master, however? Hah! Practically the entire murim wants his head. You'd best remember that, Woojin. Once you enter the world, you'll have to watch your back."
Recalling those words, Cheon Woojin gave the men a small nod.
"I am Cheon Woojin, disciple of the Black Master."
One of the black-clad men stepped forward.
Judging by the way the others deferred to him, he appeared to be their leader.
He studied Cheon Woojin from head to toe before speaking.
"I bear you no personal grudge. Hand over the Crescent Moon Staff, and we'll leave without causing any trouble."
Cheon Woojin raised the weapon in his hand.
Forged from dark iron, the Crescent Moon Staff bore the marks of countless years. Despite its age, its heavy, unyielding frame looked sturdy enough to crush anything in its path.
"This staff?"
"That's right. It belonged to us in the first place. Now that Senior Black Master is dead, it's only right that we reclaim it."
"Ah, I see."
Cheon Woojin nodded thoughtfully.
Apparently, these men weren't enemies of his Black Master after all.
That reminded him of something the old man had mentioned countless times.
"The Dark Heavenly Son! You could say most of the great villains of this era were raised under that bastard's teachings. I was one of them myself. But the year I turned forty, I severed all ties with that rotten lot. So listen carefully, Woojin. If you ever meet anyone claiming to belong to the Dark Heavenly Son's lineage, don't waste your breath talking. Just smash their skulls in!"
Of course, the White Master would have been equally delighted to see those villains beaten to death.
For once, both his masters had been in perfect agreement.
Still, Cheon Woojin decided to make certain.
"Are you disciples of the Dark Heavenly Son?"
"Our master was one of his disciples. The Dark Heavenly Son was a towering figure who raised countless villains in his time. Those villains went on to raise disciples of their own."
"I see."
Cheon Woojin nodded as though everything had finally fallen into place.
"Then I suppose we're fellow disciples of a sort. Since you're disciples of one of the Dark Heavenly Son's disciples, we're connected through the same lineage."
He brought his hands together in a respectful martial salute.
"My respects, senior brothers."
The men in black exchanged bewildered glances.
So this is the Black Master's disciple?
They had approached him with considerable caution.
After all, the Black Master's reputation alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of countless martial artists.
Yet the young man standing before them seemed remarkably agreeable.
He looked barely old enough to have entered the murim, much less inherited the teachings of that infamous monster.
And now he was addressing them with perfect courtesy.
Perhaps this would be easier than expected.
Cheon Woojin extended the Crescent Moon Staff toward their leader.
The gesture was unmistakable.
Go ahead. Take it.
Nevertheless, the black-clad leader was no fool.
He had been painstakingly trained by one of the greatest villains of the age.
There was no chance he would lower his guard simply because the young man appeared harmless.
He approached cautiously, one deliberate step at a time.
As he advanced, the other martial artists tightened their encirclement.
Soon, they had formed a ring around Cheon Woojin, no more than a single zhang—roughly three meters—away.
The leader reached out toward the Crescent Moon Staff.
At the same time, his left hand hovered near the sword at his waist, ready to draw at the slightest sign of treachery.
He had taken every precaution.
He had left nothing to chance.
And yet—
The instant his fingertips brushed the dark iron staff...
His vision blurred.
For a fleeting moment, the Crescent Moon Staff seemed to twist and stretch like taffy before his eyes.
Then—
Shriiiing!
His sword had barely begun to leave its sheath.
CRACK!
His head burst apart like an overripe gourd.
But the attack did not end there.
The Crescent Moon Staff swept outward in a magnificent arc, tracing a perfect black full moon around Cheon Woojin.
Dark Sky Full Moon.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Blood, flesh, and shattered bone exploded into the air.
It was over in an instant.
Ten heads burst almost simultaneously.
Among the ten martial artists, only those with the highest cultivation had even managed to reach for their sword hilts.
None had drawn their blades.
Thud!
Cheon Woojin struck the ground lightly with the Crescent Moon Staff.
The blood and bits of flesh clinging to its surface shook loose.
Only then did the ten headless bodies finally collapse.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
One after another, they crumpled to the ground.
Blood spread across the courtyard, staining the earth a deep crimson.
Cheon Woojin lowered his staff.
His gaze shifted toward the dense thicket beyond the courtyard.
Rustle!
A faint disturbance stirred the leaves.
To ordinary ears, it would have been no more than the whisper of a passing breeze.
To Cheon Woojin, it might as well have been thunder.
Seven more, is it?
Having counted the hidden presences, he slipped a hand into his robes.
A moment later, he withdrew a white folding fan.
Snap!
With a flick of his wrist, the fan opened, revealing three elegant white cranes painted across its surface.
The Crane Feather Fan.
Cheon Woojin began fanning himself leisurely, as though he were merely enjoying a cool breeze beneath the shade of a tree on a sweltering summer day.
A gentle wind stirred at the tip of the fan.
Then it began to grow.
And grow.
By the time it swept across the courtyard, that seemingly harmless breeze had become a roaring gale.
Crane Wind Annihilation.
WHOOOOOSH!
The towering trees shuddered violently.
Thick branches bent beneath the onslaught, creaking as though they might snap at any moment.
Leaves were torn free and scattered through the air.
The entire thicket seemed to writhe beneath the force of the wind.
And yet—
Amid that violent tempest, the two burial mounds remained perfectly still.
Not so much as a single blade of grass stirred upon them.
THUD!
A heavy impact echoed from the forest.
Then another.
And another.
The black-clad men who had attempted to flee through the thicket collapsed one after another, their bodies torn open and bleeding.
Cheon Woojin calmly folded his fan and tucked it back into his robes.
Then he turned his head.
Behind him stood a single man in black.
Somehow, the man had survived the blade-like gale.
But there was no trace of relief on his face.
He stared at Cheon Woojin with eyes wide in terror.
"P-please... spare me!"
Cheon Woojin regarded him for a moment.
Then, rather than answering, he turned toward the two graves.
"Masters, what should I do?"
Naturally, the dead offered no reply.
Cheon Woojin looked at the Black Master's gravestone.
After a brief pause, he nodded.
"Yes. I understand."
"...?"
The surviving man's face drained of color.
A terrible sense of foreboding seized him.
Cheon Woojin glanced around the courtyard until his eyes settled on a fist-sized stone lying nearby.
He bent down and picked it up.
Then—
Whoosh!
CRACK!
The stone tore through the air.
The last man's head burst apart.
His lifeless body toppled to the ground without so much as a final cry.
Silence returned to the mountain courtyard.
Blood soaked the earth on every side.
Headless corpses lay scattered across the grounds.
And yet, the place where Cheon Woojin stood remained strangely serene.
Not a single drop of blood had touched his robes.
Cheon Woojin straightened his clothing and turned back toward the graves.
Since his masters had forbidden him from bowing, he brought his hands together and offered a respectful martial salute instead.
He could almost hear their familiar voices.
"Hahahaha! Serves those bastards right! That's my disciple! Now go find their master and smash his skull in too!"
"Well done, Woojin, my boy. Truly well done. There's no need to show mercy to villains. Spare such men, and you'll only invite danger upon yourself."
Imagining the proud expressions on his masters' faces filled Cheon Woojin with an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.
He lowered his head toward the two burial mounds.
It was time to say farewell.
"Masters, your disciple is a little nervous about venturing into the world."
His voice was quiet but steady.
"Still, I promise you this. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I will never conduct myself in a way that brings shame upon your names."
With those words, Cheon Woojin raised his head.
Then he turned toward the world beyond the mountains.
And in that moment, it was almost as though two familiar voices rang out behind him.
"Nervous? What the hell have you got to be nervous about? It's the world that ought to be trembling!"
"For once, the Black Master speaks the truth. Apart from the three martial artists who never feared us, there's hardly anyone under heaven who won't have reason to fear you. The entire murim will be watching your every move."
A gentle smile spread across Cheon Woojin's face.
Then, without looking back, he took his first step into the murim.
Would the path ahead lead him to become the greatest villain under heaven?
Or would he become a righteous man who would change the world?
That—
No one could yet say.