A year ago, Taewoon stepped into a state of ascent so profound he couldn’t explain it himself—and that was when he began to notice the strange things about his master.
Even before that, the man had always been a little out of step with everyone else. His way of speaking and thinking was slightly misaligned with the common sense of this place.
So when he would, in subtle ways, stare at empty air or say things that made no sense, Taewoon hadn’t thought much of it.
But once he started seeing that blue light circling around him, an odd anxiety began to take root.
Worse, whenever that light appeared, something he didn’t like always followed. Lately, his patience had been scraping the bottom.
‘Don’t look at that vague, half-imaginary light—look only at me….’
But that, too, would soon be fulfilled. Judging by his master’s reactions, the end of these matters was near. After that, there would be no one left to interfere, and the two of them could live peacefully together.
“A messenger eagle. So it’s starting soon….”
Sihyun brushed back his mussed hair as he watched the eagle circle his head a few times and descend, eyes on the band around its ankle.
The entrance to the Demonic Cult lay deep within the Ten Thousand Great Mountains, at a harsh, rugged point, and on top of that it was sealed by a flawless geomantic formation—no one could simply walk in.
But the message tied to the eagle said the formation’s Life Gate would open briefly two quarters from now, and included a short note on the method of entry.
“Can we trust that man…?”
“Taewoon, you still suspect Yeom Bigwang?”
“It’s not so much suspicion as… it seems you place too much trust in him, Master….”
Seeing Taewoon droop his broad shoulders and fumble over his words, Sihyun smiled helplessly, cupped both cheeks, gave them a playful squeeze, and teased him.
“Why, does it feel like your master trusts someone else more than you?”
“W-what?! No! That’s not it….”
It had only been a joke, yet it looked like he’d hit the mark.
Even with a major battle right ahead, Taewoon was flustered, waving both hands in denial, and Sihyun couldn’t help but crinkle his eyes and laugh.
At the same time, the thought of what would happen after this battle made his hand tense without meaning to.
“Master?”
“Huh? Ah?”
“You’ve been a little strange lately. Are you truly all right?”
“Of course! I must just be nervous, thinking this is the last step. There isn’t much time left—let’s move.”
Sihyun naturally stepped away from the close distance between them and turned his back on Taewoon, who still stood rooted to the spot.
Taewoon lifted the hand that had fallen to his side and slowly brushed the spot on his cheek where Sihyun’s hand had just been, a slight furrow forming between his brows.
That awkward smile again—it felt like a reminder of the secret being kept from him, twisting his insides.
“Let’s go.”
“…Yes.”
But the moment Sihyun double-checked the route on the minimap and the note, pushed off the ground, and gave the signal, Taewoon’s face was once again calm and gentle—as if he’d never made that expression—and he flowed forward with lightness skill, following right at Sihyun’s back.
The final battle would truly begin any moment now.
All this time, he had been in steady contact with the Illusory Heir, Yeom Bigwang, managing the internal situation of the cult and cutting off any possible sources of aid; the result was obvious even without seeing it.
And although Taewoon was an illegitimate son, given the cult’s worship of strength, once the battle ended he would easily seize the Heavenly Demon’s seat. The quest would be completed perfectly, or so Sihyun thought.
He rolled his slightly stiff joints and let a small smile appear.
***
Back to back, Taewoon and Sihyun swung their swords countless times. Screams, scarlet droplets, and the reek of blood filled every direction, but there was no time to pay those things any mind.
The fighting itself unfolded without trouble. Since the greatest concern—the formation—had been passed without any damage, the reaction inside was sluggish to the point that many couldn’t even lift their weapons. Sihyun actually had to hold back his strength as he moved.
—Bong. Bong.
Only after the hundreds who had charged in without proper defenses fell under their hands did the alarm bell finally begin to peal like mad, announcing an external threat.
And soon enough, he felt familiar auras approaching. Their inside allies.
“Taewoon, you head straight for the main hall.”
“No. I’ll go with you, Master.”
“This is where we split. Don’t waste strength—keep yourself whole and take care of Yeon Museong.”
Sihyun’s voice struck out then—unyielding, leaving no room for argument.
At such times, no matter how stubborn he was, the outcome rarely changed. So Yeon Taewoon bit his lower lip, nodded, and turned away. He had to remain the good disciple.
“…Don’t get hurt. All right?”
The warm, worried voice reached him from behind. Only then did Taewoon stretch his full lips into a long smile and lean forward into motion.
It wasn’t long before his toes touched down without a sound on a floor of marble and granite.
His destination lay right ahead—close enough that a single roll would do. Provided he dealt with the swarm of cultists clustering around it.
Clad head-to-toe in black, they were advancing in a rough battle formation, the killing intent pouring off them churning the air as if it had substance.
But cutting through the ones rushing him was so easy it was yawn-worthy. Taewoon swung his sword as casually as stomping an ant trail, lopping heads from the cultists in black who surged like a swarm.
Slash—
In an instant, sticky dark-red blood sprayed everywhere, drenching the white stone, and a few drops spattered his shoes.
“Shit, it’s going to stain my clothes.”
Master bought these for me….
Still moving like a machine, Taewoon muttered low, brows knitting a fraction.
Then he tossed the sword he’d been swinging up into the air and took a few steps back from the blood-pooled flagstones, faint disgust in his bearing as if he were avoiding something filthy.
The sword he’d flung shot forward as if it had a will of its own, piercing dozens of cultists in a single line.
“Sword control!!”
Those still standing with both feet on the ground let out cries of shock and began to retreat in fits and starts.
“W-we can’t win…. We’re going to die….”
Sure enough, a few of them dropped to their knees, babbling strange words with faces full of awe.
Click.
Even then, the milk-pale blade showed no mercy; after swiftly cleaning up the roadblock ahead, it returned to Taewoon, shook the blood from itself mid-flight, and slid into its scabbard without a sound.
Without even using lightness skill, Taewoon strolled into the main hall right before him.
There were still plenty of fighters capable of attacking, but no one stepped up to block that unhurried stride.
Step. Step.
In the empty space, his footsteps echoed hollowly. Before long, a middle-aged man, dressed entirely in black, walked out slowly from the inner side.
“Is this for your mother’s revenge.”
His voice was low and weighty, suited to his station. Taewoon stopped and tilted his head slightly, as if puzzled.
“Revenge? She’s the one who sold me to slavers.”
“…Then why, exactly, do you harm my Divine Cult in this way?!”
“Hm. I need to become the Heavenly Demon. There’s someone who wants that…. Why not yield even now? Do that, and I’ll let you off.”
Taewoon narrowed the outer corners of his eyes and curled one side of his mouth, smiling with a wicked lilt.
Yeon Museong’s face crumpled as if his pride had been torn to shreds by the flippant, unheard-of manner of speaking and its absurd content. He raised the sword he’d been holding down toward the floor without a shred of hesitation.
He’d known the orthodox martial world had been overturned six years ago. Whoever had done it, he’d been smug enough to think they were just doing his job for him.
But three years ago, the Demonic Cult itself began suffering direct damage, and Yeon Museong had regretted not cutting down the threat before the orthodox fell.
And now the reason was that?
“Don’t regret this.”
“Don’t see why I would….”
In an instant, the air that had been flowing warm and leisurely swelled tight, as if it would rip apart at once.
Ffft—
After the briefest moment, the stillness—like a vacuum where even motes had hung motionless—shattered with Yeon Museong’s smallest movement.
Clang—!! KRA-KA-KA-BOOM!!
When the two swords collided, the shockwave raked and shredded the floor and pillars. In the span of a heartbeat, they traded dozens of blows—far too fast for an ordinary eye to track.
Taewoon’s sword thrust straight for the centerline at high speed; Yeon Museong spun his body, flowed around it, and swept his blade to target the lower body.
‘So he doesn’t carry the title Heavenly Demon for nothing.’
The attack he’d meant to end in a single stroke missed by a hair, and Yeon Museong looked a little different in Taewoon’s eyes.
But in Taewoon’s vision, everything still moved slow. The dust pebbles popping up in lazy arcs. The minute shift of eyes and twitch of muscle that telegraphed a strike for the legs. All of it etched sharp on the dark blood-tinted retina.
Naturally, Yeon Museong’s blade didn’t inflict even a speck of damage and passed by in vain. Taewoon kicked off the floor, vaulted up, and, almost to humiliate him, flicked Yeon Museong’s edge with the tip of his foot to lift his body.
Clang! KRA-KA-KANG!!
Two silhouettes knotted at the center of the hall. Again, internal energy flared a dark crimson, tangling as if to devour each other, smashing a pillar before scattering.
A thick cloud of dust spilled out, and the two, flung back past each other, landed amid broken debris and stared in silence for a beat.
Then Yeon Museong coughed up a mouthful of dark blood, and the silence broke.
“…Kh— How—how does someone like you know the Heavenly Demon’s Divine Art… and at your age, already at the tenth level….”
“Ah, that.”
Yeon Museong spoke first. His voice was loaded with disbelief, but Taewoon didn’t care—his cheeks tinted faintly as he tapped the floor with his toe.
“Obviously my master taught me.”
“Ghh— Do not spout lies! Kh— That’s a hidden manual passed down only to successive Heavenly Demons!”
For the first time, Yeon Museong’s face, which had hardly changed, twisted savagely.
“Then I guess it wasn’t that, after all.”
“Ghh— What charlatan did you learn from!”
In a blink, the emotion that had surfaced across Taewoon’s face vanished, and the ruby-bright eyes some would call beautiful sank bottomless and black.
“Let’s cut your mouth off first.”
His voice scraped out like something being planed away, chilling the wide hall as it spread and faded.