There was a Blood Chronicle.
Blood Demon Dan Cheonhwa.
The ninth leader of the Blood Heaven Cult, a criminal who had committed unspeakable atrocities, was responsible for this man-made disaster.
His depravity compelled the Martial Alliance to intervene.
The Nine Great Sects and One Beggar's Union, pillars of the Orthodox Martial World, vowed to behead him, opening their gates wide.
The Five Great Clans, renowned as the most powerful forces in the Martial World, mobilized their martial might and financial resources to hunt down the Blood Heaven Cult.
At the vanguard of this pursuit stood the Four Saints and Six Kings.
Considered the ten strongest masters in the Orthodox Martial World, they unleashed their full might and, after five years of relentless warfare, finally severed the Blood Demon's head.
Thwack.
The vast, dark Great Hall.
The sound of something being severed was followed by a thud.
It was the Blood Demon Dan Cheonhwa's head.
"...It's finally over," said the man gazing at the severed head.
An ethereal old man, dressed in pristine white robes, with equally snow-white hair and beard, stood like an immortal sage.
At Sword Saint Mok Seon-oh's words, all eyes in the hall turned toward him.
Demon blood dripped from the tip of his snow-white sword, each drop creating a chilling atmosphere as it splattered onto the floor.
Yet none present felt fear.
For this was the moment when the Blood Demon's vile deeds had finally come to an end. Joy was the only emotion that filled their hearts.
Amidst the celebration, the Sword Saint turned his gaze from the fallen Blood Demon's body toward a firmly shut side door.
I tried to protect that place.
Having faced the Blood Demon directly, the Sword Saint knew something others didn't: the Blood Demon could have escaped, yet he refused. Instead, he desperately channeled his demonic energy, as if he couldn't bear to surrender whatever lay behind him.
That was why the Sword Saint had been able to defeat him.
The Sword Saint's eyes narrowed. What could possibly be in that place that would drive a being like the Blood Demon to such lengths? Curiosity surged within him.
Splatter.
As the Sword Saint stepped through the blood pooling on the floor, the man standing behind him asked, "Elder Brother? Where are you going?"
The speaker was a middle-aged man whose ragged appearance screamed "beggar." Yet an ordinary beggar would never have been standing here.
Beggar King Ma Il-seok.
He was the Union Leader of the Beggar's Union, one of the Nine Great Sects and One Beggar's Union, considered the pillars of the Orthodox Faction.
"I'll take a quick look around," the Sword Saint said.
"Hmm? If that's the case, I'll join you. This junior brother will personally assist you."
"How thoughtful of you."
The Sword Saint replied jokingly, and the Beggar King followed behind him, chuckling heartily.
They passed through the Great Hall stained with the Blood Demon's blood and approached a side gate.
Before it, the Sword Saint raised his sword and sliced through the gate, finally revealing what lay beyond.
The Sword Saint's expression froze.
"...A child."
Behind the side gate lay a newborn infant, swaddled in a cloth and lying on the altar.
Whether it was oblivious to the chaos or simply deeply asleep, the child remained peacefully slumbering.
The Blood Demon's child?
This was the Sword Saint's first thought.
He had entertained the notion that even a demon capable of such atrocities might cherish its own child, but the thought quickly vanished.
...No. What parent in this world would place their own child on an altar?
This was unmistakably an altar.
And the scent permeating the air was undeniably the scent of blood.
The Sword Saint easily deduced the altar's purpose.
Black Magic.
They must have intended to use this child in some dark ritual.
Fury surged through the Sword Saint.
Driven by rage, he approached the altar to rescue the child.
As he reached the altar and cradled the child in his arms, the Sword Saint shuddered violently.
"Elder Brother?"
The Beggar King, who had belatedly caught up, called out to him.
Immediately upon seeing the child, his expression hardened in an identical manner.
The reason for their reactions was singular: the child's eyes, which had unexpectedly opened, were crimson as blood.
The Beggar King murmured under his breath, "Heavenly Killing Star..."
In the Central Plains, crimson eyes carried only one meaning: the Heavenly Killing Star.
A star of death and destruction, whose very existence plunged the world into chaos.
The child bore this cursed fate.
"We must kill it," the Beggar King declared.
His words carried the weight of his position as leader of the Beggar's Union, the intelligence hub of the Central Plains Murim.
"This child could grow into another Blood Demon. We must kill it while it's still an infant."
The Beggar King now understood the chaos and calamity that those born under the Killing Fiend star had wrought upon the Martial World.
Far beyond Xinjiang, the Heavenly Demon Yi Mu-baek had stained Western Murim red with blood.
The Sword Fiend Seo Woo-jin, once a mere wandering swordsman, had united Southern Murim and forged the Black Sand Alliance, a Heretical Martial Alliance.
And what of Oh Chun, the Demonic Sword? Born into the prestigious Oh Clan Manor, his only legacy in life was the slaughter of a hundred thousand commoners—a sin of unparalleled wickedness.
"Elder Brother, we must kill it now," the Beggar King urged.
The Sword Saint's brow furrowed at the Beggar King's insistence.
He deeply agreed with the Beggar King's words, yet his hesitation stemmed from the fact that this child cradled in his arms was still an infant.
"...Such a tiny child."
"Elder Brother..."
"Look at him. He hasn't even been weaned yet, yet he doesn't even fuss."
"Don't be fooled! This is a Killing Fiend!"
"Before that, he's a child."
The Beggar King's expression hardened.
Even in this tense moment, the Sword Saint gazed at the child with sorrowful eyes.
"...Isn't he still just a child who hasn't become anything yet?"
The Beggar King's expression turned fierce.
"This child will bring bloodshed."
"Has there ever been a day in the Martial World without bloodshed?"
"It might not be the blood of martial artists!"
"It could be the blood of Demons, couldn't it?"
"Elder Brother! That child could slaughter thousands of innocent civilians!"
"He could also cut down tens of thousands of villains."
The conversation reached a stalemate.
The Sword Saint merely pitied the child who had yet to become anything, while the Beggar King urged him on, predicting future chaos.
At this rate, they might come to blows.
Only then did the Sword Saint finally lift his head, meeting the Beggar King's gaze directly.
"Beggar," he asked.
"..."
"Why did we come all the way here?"
The Beggar King clenched his fists tightly and replied, "...We came to capture the Blood Demon. And we succeeded."
"And why did we do that?"
"Why? Isn't it obvious?! For peace! For justice(?)! That's why we're here!"
"Then let me ask you this." The Sword Saint's expression softened with a hint of sorrow as he spoke in a quiet, measured voice.
"Is it justice(?) to kill a child who has yet to become anything, merely because he might pose a future threat?"
Thunk.
The Beggar King froze mid-stride.
His eyes widened dramatically, then narrowed into a wretched scowl.
The Sword Saint continued, his voice unwavering:
"Is our sole reason for wielding the sword merely this? Peace is the goal; this is only the path. But if we resort to dishonorable means along the way, can we truly call it righteousness?"
It was a sophistry.
For the sake of peace, such sacrifices were inevitable.
Yet the Beggar King found himself unable to retort.
Not because of any lack of argument.
But because the one standing before him, the one speaking these sanctimonious words, was none other than the Sword Saint himself.
Sword Saint Mok Seon-oh.
The man who held the highest seat among the Four Saints and Six Kings, and simultaneously, the great righteous hero revered by the Orthodox Martial World.
Unable to ignore injustice, constantly pondering righteousness, and never retreating in the face of danger, the Beggar King found himself unable to refute the words of the man he revered as his Elder Brother.
"Beggar, I cannot do as you ask."
The Sword Saint's gaze shifted to the child.
Amidst the echoing shouts, the child had been watching only the Sword Saint. When their eyes met, the child burst into a fit of giggles.
As the Sword Saint extended his hand, the child tightly grasped his index finger.
The Beggar King watched this scene, his face etched with worry and deep sorrow.
After what seemed like an eternity of agonizing thought, the Beggar King finally slumped his shoulders and muttered, "...Elder Brother, you are truly a coward."
His words, punctuated by hollow chuckles, were an unmistakable declaration of surrender.
The Sword Saint smiled gently.
"Thank you for indulging my stubbornness."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I will raise him myself."
The Beggar King tilted his head.
"You mean... you, Elder Brother?"
"Yes. Since I insisted on saving him, I must raise him with my own hands, wouldn't you agree?"
The child was still clutching the Sword Saint's finger. Suddenly, he brought it to his mouth and began sucking on it.
The Sword Saint burst into hearty laughter.
"...I will teach this child chivalry. I will raise him to live a life that defies fate itself."
"You're truly incorrigible, Elder Brother," the Beggar King said, shaking his head.
His tone was gruff, but it didn't betray any ill humor. In fact, quite the opposite might be true. He felt a refreshing sense of satisfaction.
Seeing even a child destined to become a Killing Fiend look at him with such hopeful eyes, the Beggar King once again recalled why he had come to respect the Sword Saint as his Elder Brother.
He's just a man of empty words, yet he always keeps his promises, no matter what.
In the Central Plains Murim, the weight carried by the title "Sword Saint" was equal to the weight of his righteous deeds. That was why one couldn't help but instinctively place their hopes on him.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the Sword Saint might raise this child to become a righteous hero rather than a Killing Fiend.
"Mok Ri-won."
"Yes?"
"That name would suit the child well. We'll use my surname, Mu, and for the given name, we'll combine 'Ri' from 'govern' or 'manage' and 'Yuan' from 'origin' or 'source.' This way, we're praying that the child will grow up to manage the innate origins within them well and develop self-control."
The Sword Saint lifted his head to meet the Beggar King's gaze. A strikingly handsome smile graced his face.
"What do you think?"
The Beggar King gazed at the child—a fair-skinned infant with eyes as red as blood. As the child grew, the crimson hue in their eyes would gradually fade. Unless the child were to become intoxicated by blood, that red would never reappear. If the child lived up to their name, the crimson glint in their eyes would never be seen again.
"...It seems like a good name," the Beggar King replied with a smile.
Then, in a slightly calmer tone, he continued, "Elder Brother, you've succeeded in persuading me. Since I trust you, I'll have no choice but to follow your lead. But..."
The Beggar King gestured toward the door with a flick of his chin.
"How do you plan to convince those outside?"
The question referred to the other great masters gathered in the Great Hall beyond the door.
The Sword Saint smiled awkwardly and replied, "I can only hope they'll understand."
"Those brutes? Absolutely impossible. Even if the others might waver, the Poison King will never allow it. The Tang Clan has already sacrificed too much in this war."
"That child shouldn't bear the weight of their grievances, should he?"
"At least, he won't see it that way."
The atmosphere grew tense once more.
The Sword Saint's contemplation deepened, and the Beggar King waited in silence.
The answer that emerged at the end remained unchanged.
"In the end, it seems right to seek their permission after all."
"Elder Brother..."
"I can't deceive them for my own selfish desires, can I?"
The Sword Saint smiled as he stepped down from the altar.
Now, a child lay cradled in his arms.
"Let's go."
The Sword Saint strode out of the hall.
Those who had been waiting for him outside, standing before the Blood Demon's corpse, showed varying expressions as they saw the child in his arms and heard his words.
The conversation that transpired in the Great Hall that day was never recorded.
The Central Plains Murim knew only one thing:
On the day the Blood Demon died, the brightest star of the Orthodox Martial World willingly relinquished his name.
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