Chapter Title: Prologue
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"Am I finally dead...?"
Gang Si-do would die if his head was lopped off. How much more so for a human?
Thud!
The Wind Thunder Axe slipped from his blood-soaked hand and crashed to the ground. The axe he usually swung as lightly as a switch now felt as heavy as a thousand tons.
Yeon Ho-jeong stared down at his hand.
His hand, wrapped tightly in iron chains, was completely mangled. It was a miracle he'd managed to grip and swing an axe the size of a man's torso with it.
Clink!
The shattered chains fell away.
"Knew it would end like this."
The bitterness drowned out the pain. With a hand like this, he couldn't even hold chopsticks, let alone an axe.
But he'd traded blows with the Evil Lewd Cult Leader, said to be the most vicious of the Three Teachings. Wasn't that enough? Sure, both he and that bastard were now in the same boat, unable to feed themselves.
"Is that guy dead?"
Yeon Ho-jeong turned his head.
An old man was leaning against a small rock. It was Mo Yong-gun, the Martial Alliance Leader and head of the righteous factions of the era.
"Didn't you see his head fly off?"
"I didn't see it."
Yeon Ho-jeong frowned. Up close, Mo Yong-gun's eyes were clouded over. Excessive internal energy drain and severe injuries had blinded him.
He walked over to Mo Yong-gun and collapsed onto the ground.
"It's all over."
"You did well."
Yeah, he'd worked hard.
To take down just the Evil Lewd Cult, the righteous and black factions had joined hands. The cult's savagery had been enough to erase centuries of deep-seated hatred and distrust between the two groups.
That savagery, and the unprecedented alliance, would end today.
Along with his own life.
"Are you alright?"
"...More or less."
"Well, a man once called the Black Path Grandmaster for the first time in history should be."
That much, huh...
Yeon Ho-jeong didn't mention that the cult leader's final strike had severed his heart meridian.
Nor that his meager remaining internal energy was barely keeping him alive, and death was imminent.
"The world will be shocked. What's got you singing my praises?"
"Just stating facts. Without you, we could've crushed the black faction alliance ten years ago."
"Then you lot would've been torn apart before today."
"True enough. 'A blessing in disguise,' they say. Who'd have thought we'd owe you."
Yeon Ho-jeong let out a wry chuckle.
Mo Yong-gun sighed softly before speaking.
"Why'd you make that choice?"
"What choice?"
"You're not originally from the black factions, are you? You could've gained fame as one of the world's top masters with us. Why cross over and become their leader?"
"Why bring that up now?"
"Curiosity before death."
Mo Yong-gun's voice rang strangely hollow.
Yeon Ho-jeong gazed down at him and sighed.
"How long can you hold out?"
"Not even half an incense stick."
Damn it.
Normally, he'd see right through another's condition. But his severed heart meridian and depleted true energy had dulled his senses.
'This guy's done for too.'
Bitter, somehow.
"No last words?"
"My life is my last words."
"Fitting for a Martial Alliance Leader."
"So, your answer?"
"It just happened that way."
There was a reason, of course. But he had no desire to ramble about the past to a dying man.
Mo Yong-gun smiled.
A blind man's smile stirred an inexplicable pity in the beholder.
"That's you alright."
"I'll watch your final moments."
"Thanks."
People really changed when death loomed. Him, and this man too.
"And..."
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"..."
"Lame..."
Squelch.
Yeon Ho-jeong's eyes sharpened.
"Kuh-wek!"
He vomited blood. A foul stench rose from it.
He looked down at his solar plexus. A tiny needle, barely visible to the naked eye, was embedded there.
'Ox Hair Needle?!'
He raised his trembling head. The bloodied old man's face came into view, his breaths ragged, his complexion unnaturally dark.
Bloodshot veins burst in Yeon Ho-jeong's eyes.
"D-Dang Gwan...!"
The head of the Sichuan Tang Family and vice leader of the Martial Alliance—a heavyweight.
Yeon Ho-jeong had clearly seen Dang Gwan's chest pierced by the Evil Lewd Cult Leader's Yin Desolate Finger. Even if it missed the heart, the finger wind should've ruptured his heart meridian. How was he alive?
No, why the hell attack him?
"I won't ask for understanding."
Yeon Ho-jeong glared at Mo Yong-gun—no, Dang Gwan.
Dang Gwan spoke bitterly.
"If I die, who stops you? The righteous martial world now... can't stand against Black Emperor Castle."
"Cough!"
"I'll apologize in the afterlife. Let's go together."
Damn it, he would've died on his own if left alone.
The tenuously mended heart meridian snapped completely. His internal energy evaporated under the Tang family's deadly poison, Intestine Severing Powder, and his organs began to melt. The agony was so intense no scream escaped.
You bastard, even your poisons are vicious as hell?
Thud!
Yeon Ho-jeong dropped to his knees.
At the same instant, Dang Gwan toppled over. Having completed his final mission, his tension released, he died first.
"Why..."
The words slipped out unbidden.
Guilt flickered across Dang Gwan's face.
"Truly sorry."
Yeon Ho-jeong's vision clouded over.
'Why's the end always such a mess?'
Second-best becomes the worst; when it looks like the best, it turns second-best.
Always had been. His fate—seemingly lucky yet hilariously unlucky—was kicking up a fuss to the very end.
Mastered legendary martial arts, but never became the world's best. Thought he'd risen high, only to lead the black demonic sects.
A tiring life, burdened with responsibility without true supremacy.
Still... he'd lived hard.
'Alliance Leader. Apologize properly in the afterlife, you.'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Ever diligently seek, loyal to the Yu family, knowing a thousand years, hoping harmony with the gods..."
The voice chanting rhythmically was clear and pure.
'Hm?'
Beyond the soothing tone calming his mind, a heavy incense scent wafted in.
'What? A temple?'
But it wasn't sutras?
"Please continue to watch over us, that our family's glory may endure a thousand years."
The resonant voice came with movements around him.
Yeon Ho-jeong opened his eyes.
'Huh?'
All around, front, back, left, right—people knelt, bowing in reverence.
Yeon Ho-jeong blinked.
'What the hell's going on?'
But why?
This place felt strangely familiar. The people's attire, that antique yet simple altar—they seemed seen before.
Then, someone tapped him from behind. Without thinking, Yeon Ho-jeong turned.
His mouth gaped open.
"Huh?"
A boy peeked up from his bow. And that boy's face paled.
The boy gestured frantically. Hurry and bow!
But Yeon Ho-jeong couldn't.
"Ji-pyeong?!"
The solemn atmosphere plummeted instantly.
The air chilled rapidly. But Yeon Ho-jeong had no mind for it.
This boy before him.
Lively face, starry eyes—impressive. It was his little brother. Twenty-six years ago, perished with their family in the clan massacre. Here he was, alive and well.
'Dream? Illusion?'
No way. He wasn't some fool who'd confuse reality with dreams or hallucinations.
Even if not real.
Their bond shattered, but he'd longed to see family even in dreams. A fierce emotion surged from deep within.
"P-Pyeong-ah!"
Yeon Ho-jeong pulled the boy into a fierce hug.
Confusion etched Yeon Ji-pyeong's face. Has he lost his mind?
The boy whispered urgently, small and quick.
"H-Hyung! Don't! We'll get in trouble!"
"You rascal!"
This warmth, the subtle tremble.
Definitely his brother. Yeon Ho-jeong's vision blurred.
"Hyung! Hyung! Ah, seriously, why..."
That was when it happened.
"Ho-jeong."
Yeon Ho-jeong froze stiff.
His brother's face and voice matched memory perfectly. And this voice now...
Releasing Yeon Ji-pyeong, he slowly turned.
A middle-aged man stood before the altar, glaring terrifyingly.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Not a harsh scolding or question. Just a flat tone laden with crushing weight.
As a child, he'd feared and hated that voice. Avoided the man because of it.
"Father?"
The middle-aged man, Yeon Wi, furrowed his brow.
His son rose dazedly, stumbling over—utterly unlike himself. Eyes filled with emptiness, disbelief, shock, and joy.
Impressive moment, indeed. His eldest had never met his gaze since childhood. Always hunched under oppression, shoulders never straight.
"F-Father!"
Yeon Ho-jeong ran toward Yeon Wi, arms wide for an embrace.
Yeon Wi's hand moved.
In one motion, he seized Yeon Ho-jeong's wrist and twisted.
Thud!
'Gah!'
Yeon Ho-jeong dropped to his knees. Energy flowing from the wrist sapped strength from his legs.
"Causing a scene during the ancestral rite? Are you truly sane?"
That spine-chilling voice now sounded endearing.
Yeon Ho-jeong lifted his head.
A flicker of bewilderment crossed Yeon Wi's face gazing down. Sorrow filled his son's eyes.
Something's off with the eldest today.
"I'll deal with your disruption after. Go to the study and wait."
His usual cold tone.
But the reply was anything but.
"Yes!"
Too spirited, wasn't it?
Visibly flustered—a rarity—Yeon Wi turned away stiffly. Yeon Ho-jeong stood, glancing around.
All rite participants stared. Twenty or so pairs of eyes brimmed with confusion.
Smiling back, Yeon Ho-jeong's face suddenly hardened.
'Wait.'
Overwhelmed by emotion, he'd only now realized how bizarre this was.
He looked down at his chest.
No Ox Hair Needle.
'Am I not dead?'
That wasn't all.
'No, beyond not dying...'
Scanning surroundings again, astonishment dawned on Yeon Ho-jeong's face.
'This is my past.'
He checked his hands, felt his body. Ran fingers through hair, examined clothes.
Yes. His body, yet not. His battle-hardened frame was scar-free, hands smooth—no calluses.
Slim build, clean hands—clearly his child self.
"Can't be. Is this even possible..."
"What are you muttering?!"
Yeon Wi finally snapped. Yeon Ho-jeong ducked sheepishly and slipped away.
Once out, he looked around once more.
"...This really is my home!"
One of the Seven Great Families, hailed as the martial world's top clans.
Only fifty years old, yet its presence rivaled the other six.
The steel clan of Bi Mountain Yan Family.
Eldest young master Yeon Ho-jeong had returned.