Present: Year 1525, Mount Hwangsan, Twenty Years After Reonhwa's Death
The air atop Mount Hwangsan was thick with the stench of blood and scorched earth, the sacred peak reduced to a battlefield littered with corpses. Cheon Hajin, the 73rd Heavenly Demon, stood at the summit, his silver hair matted with gore, his black robes tattered, Bloodreaver dripping crimson in his hand. His crimson eyes burned, his qi a black storm at the peak of the Life and Death Realm, radiating a Slaughter Domain that crushed the spirits of the ten thousand warriors arrayed against him—Orthodox Faction, Unrivaled Clans, Unorthodox Sects, all united to end the Neck-Slashing Demonic Emperor.
At the forefront stood a figure Hajin hadn't seen in years, yet recognized instantly. Namgung Mak Gyonwoo, the golden boy of the Murim world, clad in white robes emblazoned with the Namgung Clan's azure dragon. His sword, Heaven's Edge, gleamed with celestial qi, and his eyes—sharp, haunted—carried the weight of a man who'd lived this life before. Behind him stood ten women, their beauty and power unmistakable: the heroines of his harem, each radiating qi that could shake mountains. Hajin's lips curled into a bitter smirk, his thoughts sharp as a blade. So he's already gathered them all, huh. The Secret Ending route. Fucking typical.
Mak stepped forward, his face a mix of anguish and resolve. "Why are you doing this, Woojin?" he shouted, his voice cracking over the battlefield's din. "Why?!"
Hajin's laugh was a raw, guttural thing, echoing like a death knell. "You don't always change, Mak," he rasped, his crimson eyes locking onto his old friend's. "Always the naïve fool, even if you regressed already." The words hit like a slap, Mak's eyes widening. Hajin's transmigrator knowledge—his memory of The Way to Break Fate's routes—gave him the edge. He knew Mak was a regressor, living this life again, chasing a perfect ending. But Hajin wasn't part of Mak's story anymore. He was the calamity that broke it.
*****
Flashback: Year 1504, Jade Lotus Sect, One Year Before Reonhwa's Death
The training grounds of the Jade Lotus Sect shimmered under a golden sunset, cherry blossoms drifting like soft lies. Kang Woojin, sixteen and scrawny, ducked under a wooden sword swung by Namgung Mak Gyonwoo, his friend and fellow disciple under Cheon Reonhwa's tutelage. Mak, a year older, was everything Woojin wasn't: tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that charmed and a natural talent for qi that made the elders nod in approval. Woojin, the mongrel, was his shadow, but Mak never treated him as less.
"Too slow, Woojin!" Mak grinned, spinning his sword with a flourish. "You're gonna eat dirt again if you don't move faster!"
Woojin smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Keep flapping your mouth, pretty boy, and I'll shove that sword up your—" His words cut off as Mak lunged, their wooden blades clashing in a rapid exchange. Reonhwa watched from a nearby pavilion, her silver hair glinting, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She called out corrections, her voice a whip that kept them sharp, but her rare smiles were for them both.
After training, they collapsed under a cherry tree, panting and laughing. Mak tossed Woojin a waterskin, his grin wide. "You're getting better, mongrel. Might even catch up to me in a decade."
Woojin snorted, splashing water on his face. "Dream on, hero. I'll have you eating my dust before you charm another heroine." He smirked, nodding toward three girls watching from the courtyard: So Yuhwa, the fiery swordswoman; Baek Somin, the serene healer; and Jang Miran, the cold archer. Mak's budding harem, already orbiting him like moths to a flame.
Mak flushed, scratching his neck. "They're just… friends."
"Friends?" Woojin laughed, loud and mocking. "You're a damn womanizer, Mak! Three heroines trailing you like lost puppies, and you're not even trying. Save some for the rest of us, yeah?"
Mak shoved him, laughing. "Shut up, Woojin! At least I don't trip over my own feet trying to impress Reonhwa."
Woojin's grin faltered, his cheeks heating, but he recovered with a punch to Mak's shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll tell Yuhwa you cried when you lost that spar last week."
Their banter was easy, their bond forged in sweat and shared bruises. Mak was the golden prodigy, Woojin the scrappy outcast, but under Reonhwa's training, they were equals, brothers in all but blood. They'd sneak rice wine from the sect's stores, spar until dawn, and dream of changing the Murim world. Woojin envied Mak's ease, his charm, but never resented him. Mak was the light to his shadow, and in those days, before everything went to hell, that was enough.
*****
Flashback: Year 1505, Murim Alliance Headquarters, Months After Reonhwa's Death
The Murim Alliance's grand hall was a fortress of stone and arrogance, its banners proclaiming unity while its leaders schemed. Woojin, now seventeen, stood before the council, his tunic stained with blood and ash from Reonhwa's death. Beside him was Mak, his face pale, his usual confidence shaken. Woojin had dragged him here, his plan desperate but clear: reveal Mak as the lost son of the Murim Alliance Leader, Namgung Jin, to secure him as the heir. If Mak held power, he could protect Reonhwa's memory, challenge the Orthodox Faction's hypocrisy, maybe even save her. But it was too late—she was already gone, slaughtered by the Jade Lotus Sect's elders.
Woojin had uncovered Mak's lineage through Reonhwa's secrets—a hidden scroll detailing Namgung Jin's affair, Mak's birth, and his abandonment to protect him from assassins. Woojin presented it to the council, his voice steady despite his grief. "Namgung Mak Gyonwoo is your heir," he declared, shoving the scroll forward. "Test his blood, his qi. It's the truth."
The council, a nest of vipers in silk robes, hesitated. Namgung Jin, a towering man with eyes like steel, stared at Mak, his expression unreadable. The blood test confirmed it—Mak's qi matched Jin's, a perfect resonance. Murmurs rippled through the hall, some awed, others hostile. Mak was named heir, his future secured, but his eyes were on Woojin, filled with gratitude and guilt.
"I didn't ask for this," Mak whispered later, in a quiet corner of the headquarters. "You didn't have to—"
"I did," Woojin cut him off, his voice raw. "Reonhwa believed in you. She thought you could change things. Don't fuck it up, Mak." He turned away, hiding the pain in his eyes. He'd hoped making Mak heir would sway the Orthodox Faction, spare Reonhwa's life. But the elders had acted too fast, her blood already cold. Woojin's plan had failed, and his heart, once warmed by camaraderie, turned to ash. He left Mak behind, his path set toward the Demonic Cult.
*****
Present: Year 1525, Mount Hwangsan
Hajin's thoughts snapped back to the present, his Slaughter Domain pulsing as he faced Mak and his ten heroines. So Yuhwa, now a blazing swordmaster, stood at Mak's right, her blade crackling with fire qi. Baek Somin, her healing aura serene but deadly, flanked his left. Jang Miran's bow was drawn, her arrows laced with frost. The other seven—each a legend in her own right—formed a circle of power, their qi weaving a barrier that pressed against Hajin's own. The Way to Break Fate's Secret Ending, where Mak united all ten heroines, was in full display. Hajin's transmigrator knowledge flickered—he knew this route, knew Mak had once chosen a darker path in another life, becoming a Demonic Cultist in a secret bad ending. But here, Mak was the hero, and Hajin the villain.
"You can't win, Woojin," Mak said, his voice heavy. "Not against all of us. Stop this."
Hajin's grin was cold, Bloodreaver raised. "Win? I don't give a shit about winning, Mak. I'm here to break your world." He lunged, the Heaven-Splitting Slash tearing through the air, a black arc aimed at Mak's chest. Mak parried with Heaven's Edge, celestial qi clashing with demonic, the shockwave shattering the ground. The heroines moved, their attacks a symphony of fire, ice, and light. Yuhwa's sword burned, Somin's healing qi turned corrosive, Miran's arrows rained like a storm.
Hajin danced through the chaos, his Shadow Veil Step a blur, his Neck-Slashing Strike countering Yuhwa's blade, sending her staggering. He laughed, a manic edge to it. "Ten heroines, Mak? You really are a fucking womanizer!" The jab was a ghost of their old banter, but it cut deeper now, laced with betrayal. Mak's face twisted, pain and fury mixing as he struck again, his qi a torrent of azure light.
"You chose this, Woojin!" Mak roared, his Dragon Ascendant Strike shaking the peak. "You could've stayed with us!"
Hajin's Demonic Tempest met it, black qi swirling like a storm. "Stay? With the fools who killed her?" His voice was venom, his qi flaring. He knew Mak's regression, knew he'd tried to save Reonhwa in this life and failed again. They were both trapped, pawns of fate's cruel game. But Hajin would break it, even if it meant breaking Mak.
The battle raged, Hajin's Slaughter Domain clashing with the heroines' combined power, the mountain trembling under their fury. In his heart, Reonhwa's pendant burned, her voice a whisper: Defy them. And so he would, laughing into the storm of blades and qi, a demon against a hero who'd never understand.