Chapter 1 :

-Splash

The man staggered as his foot stepped into a pool of blood.

“Hoo.”

As the man steadied himself and let out a long sigh, the pupils of the three martial artists facing him quivered.

“W-we must strike!”

Though they cried out to overcome their fear, none dared step forward and only exchanged glances.

“Are you afraid. Oh, Master of the Namgung Family?”

The man, brushing back his blood-soaked long hair, drew out the sword that pierced his chest and jutted from his back.

-Slash!

“A fine sword.”

That was expected.

It was the sword of the Sect Leader of Wudang, who bore the title of Sword Immortal.

But its master had become just another corpse scattered about, his neck severed by this man’s blade.

“Amitabha. For now, we must…”

Before the Shaolin Abbot could finish advising not to face the mortally wounded man and to buy time instead, the man’s staggering figure blurred.

-Claaang!

Startled by the man who had suddenly closed the distance, the Abbot hastily blocked with his Buddhist Palm, but was driven back by the rebound.

The Namgung Clan Head and the Sect Leader of Mount Hwa watched with hesitation, unsure whether to aid the Abbot or not.

“W-will you only stand there and watch?!!”

At the Abbot’s desperate cry, the two martial artists gritted their teeth and charged at the man.

“Die, you monster!”

“Die!!”

-Slash!

-Stab!

-Slice.

Chilling sounds echoed through the hall.

His side was split open by the Namgung Clan Head’s sword, and his leg pierced by the Mount Hwa Sect Leader’s blade.

Yet the man’s eyes gleamed with murderous light as he cut off the Shaolin Abbot’s head.

Even as blood flowed endlessly from his lips, he smiled.

“Pah!”

He spat upon the rolling head and fallen corpse of the Abbot, and a fierce aura burst from his body.

-Thud!

The Namgung Clan Head instantly leapt back, widening the distance.

But the Mount Hwa Sect Leader, a step slower, felt his face fill with fear as the man closed in on him.

“M-m-monster…”

-Clang!

With only one exchange of blades, his grip tore open and blood spurted forth.

Divine Demon Jeong Cheon.

Even the demons of Tianshan had yielded a step to the lone demon martial artist—his fearsome might left all in shock.

To capture him, the elite masters of the Nine Great Sects had gathered.

Yet the result was a crushing defeat.

Even if they managed to kill him now, the Nine Great Sects had already suffered devastating losses.

-Claaang!

The Mount Hwa Sect Leader’s sword spun away into the air with a pitiful cry of steel.

At the same moment, his body split in two and fell in vain.

-Thrust!

The instant a burning pain struck his back, the man drove his own blade into his stomach.

-Stab! Stab!

“Gah!”

The Namgung Clan Head, who had stabbed him in the back, was dumbfounded as the man suddenly thrust his sword into his solar plexus.

“Ghk! E-even to the end… you refuse to die cleanly.”

-Slice.

The man withdrew his sword, turned, and smiled.

“And just who’s that supposed to benefit?”

-Slash.

He severed his foe’s head, then at last sank to his knees.

“Haa.”

With a final sigh, his vision dimmed.

Though pierced through the heart, the man who had slain three masters gazed one last time at the overcast sky.

“Master… forgive me. I could not find any trace of Mu-geom.”

With those last words, he collapsed face-first into the pool of blood he had made.

As his eyes closed, the days of his life rushed past before him.

The days of growing as an orphan, harboring venom just to survive.

Meeting his master and becoming the sole successor of his lineage.

The battles with the demon martial artists of Tianshan.

At their end, forming a brotherhood with the Tianshan Cult Leader.

The woman he loved.

The bloody battles fought against those who called themselves the Righteous Faction, for her revenge.

And so, having slain all he wished to slay, today he ended his life here.

“Twenty years in the martial world. I’ve had my good run before leaving…”

As the burning pain of his wounds dulled and his heavy body felt light, he knew death had come.

A hazy spirit, a weightless body.

Sleep rushing over him.

Into eternal rest, never to wake again, into the void…

-Clap clap clap!

“You bastard, where do you think you’re going, pretending to faint?”

‘An illusion?’

As he was about to enter eternal rest, a stinging slap on his cheek stirred his irritation.

To surrender to sleep and pass into death—yet what madness was this, interrupting him?

-Smack smack smack!

As he sank again into his final sleep, burning pain flared across both cheeks and rang in his head. Unable to endure, he forced open his heavy eyelids.

“You think if you collapse pretending to faint, I’ll just pass you by?”

A fierce face, with a thick beard and a large mole beside the nose.

A foul stench every time he opened his mouth.

And a hand the size of a pot lid gripping his collar.

“You’re not the one who struck my cheek, are you?”

The burly man stared in disbelief at the youth who, upon opening his eyes, raved like a madman.

“Playing mad again, are you?”

As the man’s massive palm rose again—

-Crunch!

The man seized the fingers gripping his collar and snapped them.

“Aagh!”

Though only the index and middle fingers were broken, the man drove his foot mercilessly into the brute’s groin.

“Urk!”

Rising from the dirt floor where he had lain, the man spoke.

“I’ll ask again. Were you the one who struck my cheek?”

He placed his foot upon the throat of the fallen brute.

No matter how large the body, the throat could not be sturdy.

As he pressed his weight down, strange sounds came from the brute’s throat.

-Crack. Snap.

“W-wait… ghk!”

When the man lessened his pressure, the brute began to speak.

“I-I only came to collect a debt…”

The man swept back his fallen hair with an irritated look.

It was a habitual gesture before he killed.

“I asked if you were the one who struck my cheek.”

As he was about to crush the brute’s throat, someone came running, calling out to him.

“Y-young Master!”

The man in shabby clothes ran up, his own cheeks swollen red, and was shocked to see him with his foot upon the brute’s neck.

“A-are you unharmed?”

“You know me?”

“Why would someone unwell come outside… Please, return inside at once.”

The man in shabby clothes pulled at his arm.

He shook off the hand and spoke.

“After I kill this one.”

As he pressed harder, the brute gasped.

“S-spare me!”

The shabby man also tried to stop him.

“You must not kill a member of the Protectors’ Gang!”

The shabby man stamped his feet in agitation as he tried to dissuade him.

He did not know why the member of the Protectors’ Gang was beneath the man’s foot, but should they give their enemies such a pretext, the already declining Yeomhwa Clan[TL/N: Flame Hwa Clan] might be doomed to annihilation.

With a reluctant look toward the brute, the man feigned yielding and followed the middle-aged retainer who pulled at him.

“I have been most worried. Where have you been, and what have you been doing?”

“I remember nothing.”

“Again… your sleepwalking affliction returns… Had you not been struck on the head by the Seven Injuries Fist back then, you would have become someone great…”

At those muttered words, the man realized at last that something was amiss.

“Struck in the head by some trivial Seven Injuries Fist? That memory does not exist for me.”

“More importantly—who are you?”

At his question came a weary sigh.

“Ahh… your symptoms grow worse. Once again you forget your retainers’ faces. I am Ma Sok, who has served you nineteen years, Young Master.”

“Ma Sok? Retainer?”

As a heaven-forsaken orphan, save for his master, the only ones he could call family were the woman he loved and his sworn brother of the Sun-Moon Divine Cult.

Having walked alone all his life, with none besides those three, he could never have had retainers.

“You are mistaken. I am Jeong Cheon.”

“What?”

Ma Sok, leading him, asked in surprise.

“What in heaven’s name do you mean? You have often forgotten yourself, but never mistaken yourself. And who is that? A name I have never once heard.”

At those words of ignorance, veins bulged on Jeong Cheon’s brow.

“I have walked alone, meeting and felling countless foes, and yet there is none in the martial world who does not know my name. And you say you know not of the Divine Demon Jeong Cheon?”

“D-d-d-Divine D—!!!”

Ma Sok quickly clamped his hand over his mouth and glanced nervously around.

Cold sweat streamed down his back, fearing some passerby might have heard.

He dragged the wavering man into a secluded alley and spoke.

“Young Master, listen well. While no one in our village doesn’t know of your illness, should such words reach the Nine Great Sects or any tied to them, disaster shall strike. To say, of all names, Divine Demon… no. Never must such words pass your lips again!”

Believing Ma Sok at last to recognize his name, Jeong Cheon smiled in satisfaction.

“So, I am that—mph!”

Ma Sok hastily covered his mouth.

“I told you, no! Call yourself the emperor if you wish, but you must not speak that name—the man died thirty years ago!”

Jeong Cheon’s eyes shook violently.

“Dead? Who? Thirty years ago?!”

He struck away Ma Sok’s hand and hurled questions.

“What do you mean who? Who else? That… that infamous demon who slaughtered the elite masters of the Nine Great Sects and forced them to seal their gates for fifteen years. It’s common knowledge—even a five-year-old in the neighborhood knows it—that the elite masters, the very pillars of the righteous sects, had to spill noble blood just to bring him down.”

Jeong Cheon gazed gravely at Ma Sok.

Indeed, his last memory had ended with countless mortal wounds, slaying his final foe.

No matter how he thought on it, such wounds could not be survived by the mere blink of an eye.

‘It really doesn’t make sense, but still…’

“Yet thirty years…”

“Young Master, I beg you! Even as it is, our house is fallen near to ruin. At least now, you must regain yourself!”

Ma Sok’s grip on his hand and his reddened eyes carried a sincerity that could not be feigned.

“Do you truly say thirty years have passed since then?”

His expression, laden with turmoil, was steeped in desolation.

He had accepted death, closed his eyes—and upon opening, thirty years had gone by.

“Young Master…”

Though this man was unknown, Jeong Cheon saw his sincerity and nodded.

His life had ended anyway, and he had slain all those he wished.

There had been no regrets, no lingering attachments.

“Very well. The name my master bestowed upon a nameless orphan was no great treasure. To cast it away is no loss. Then—what is my name now?”

“In the Hwa Clan, you are called Mu-jin.”

“Hwa Mu-jin… A surname as well. Then I am not of low birth, it seems.”

“Low birth? Never! Your grandfather was once a master acknowledged even by the Tang Clan of Sichuan!”

“A master of Sichuan? What was my grandfather’s name?”

Ma Sok’s chest ached as Mu-jin asked the name of his own grandfather.

Yet he explained patiently.

For he believed that someday, the gifted youth he once was would return.

“Young Master, your grandfather’s name was Ju-tae.”

“Hwa Ju-tae? Ah—then you mean the Flame Emperor.”

“Do you… remember?”

Ma Sok’s face lit with hope as Mu-jin recalled his grandfather’s alias.

“Yes. I had heard that even the ill-tempered Tang Clan of Sichuan yielded a step to him. Rumor had it he fell to an assassin’s ambush.”

Mu-jin spoke of his grandfather as though of another.

Yet Ma Sok thought this itself a great progress.

“The Immortal Qi treatment you received recently must be taking effect! Yes, that Flame Emperor was your grandfather.”

“Come to think of it, rumor spoke that he sired a half-wit son…”

“Y-Young Master! Such words must not be spoken aloud!”

Mu-jin then realized—that half-wit son was now his own father in this body.

“Ah, so it is thus?”

He did not care to know the details, but recalled hearing that the man was born with severed meridians, unable to learn martial arts.

Flame Emperor had striven in vain to cure his son’s crippled meridians.

“The son of such a man is me? No—this body?”