"The sword will come to you."

Ilma spoke. An invisible force struck the back of my head.

"I told you not to grab it recklessly."

"...But—"

"Don’t argue. What can’t be done, can’t be done."

"Could you at least explain why?"

"Why?"

Ilma stepped in front of me.

"There’s no need for words. I’ll show you."

Something struck my chin, and I lost consciousness instantly.

When I opened my eyes again, Ilma was pressing her foot against my back.

"The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art's Ghost Hand, Lone Demon—it's the first form you learn upon entry. Its basic structure is singular, but its applications branch into many variations. Since it forms the foundation, it’s simple in shape, but there are four variations, each focused on striking, retreating, or swinging.

She lightly struck the air.

Crack! A sharp splitting sound filled the air, even though no internal energy was imbued in the strike.

"Powerful techniques require elaborate preparatory movements. Weaker ones can be scattered in quick succession. The art of chaining them together is key. By infusing energy into specific movements, you give them purpose. The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art is intricate—not simple at all. So, what about the sword derived from it? Is that simple? No, it’s even harder. A worthless wretch like you has no business trying to wield it yet."

"..."

"All these techniques and forms are things you can only begin if your body can handle them. Picking up a sword recklessly? Your energy pathways will twist, and you won’t even manage to mimic the basics. You’re third-rate."

"..."

"Did I say something untrue? You’re third-rate. Pathetically third-rate."

Ilma scoffed.

"Are you at least smart? Not even that. You’re pathetically stupid. Your sensory perception is garbage. There’s nothing extraordinary about you. The only thing slightly passable is your ability to adapt under pressure... and even that isn’t remarkable. You might have a sharp mind in other areas, but when it comes to martial arts, you’re hopeless. A complete idiot."

"..."

"Jeok Woon, you weren’t born for martial arts. Sure, the Heavenly Tribulation might gradually alter your nature, but can it erase what’s innate? Absolutely not."

"...Then why are you teaching me martial arts if I have no potential?"

"Because it’s the Cult Leader’s command. Nothing more, nothing less."

Her words chipped away at my pride. But I couldn’t deny them.

I wasn’t a genius. I was far removed from that realm.

She was right. I could only learn what I was taught, and even then, I had to repeat it countless times before I grasped it.

"The training I’m giving you now is to prepare your body for when you finally pick up a sword. So shut up and follow my instructions."

My broken pride lay scattered at my feet. I couldn’t even pick it up. I hung my head low.

I knew she was right. But the realization of my own insignificance was unbearable.

I knew I was ordinary.

But even so, I wanted...

To reach for more than I could grasp.

"...Still."

I lifted myself up.

"I want to move faster, even if it’s just a little."

"..."

"If I’m destined to wield a sword someday, I want to wield it sooner. Ilma, even if what I’ve been given is pitiful, it can’t destroy my aspirations."

"Full of greed, aren’t you?"

"I didn’t always have this greed. But..."

I thought of the Heavenly Demon’s face.

I smiled bitterly.

"The Cult Leader changed me. Ilma, I won’t pick up a sword just yet. But... teach me a way to grow stronger faster."

"Run too fast, and you’ll fall."

"I’ll balance myself to avoid falling."

"This isn’t something a third-rate fool can handle. Tell me, why are you in such a hurry? Do you really think—"

Ilma let out a sigh of exasperation.

"Do you think that body of yours can stand alongside the Cult Leader?"

"If it can’t, I’ll grind my soul away trying."

"..."

"I already died once, Ilma. The Cult Leader breathed life into an empty shell. Gave me a dream."

The pain of the Heavenly Tribulation surged through me.

But I welcomed it.

It reminded me that I was alive.

"I want to grow stronger as a martial artist."

"You’re an idiot."

Ilma stepped back, creating distance between us, and looked up at me.

"You’re a fool. A hopeless one. Your talent is abysmal. Like I said, you’re third-rate. But even for someone as pitiful as you, there’s one thing you have."

"What is it?"

"Endurance. That’s your sword. If you can endure, there’s a weapon I can teach you. But I wouldn’t recommend it to any other disciple. Still, if you master it, it’ll at least give you some fangs in that toothless mouth of yours."

"...What is it?"

"The Heavenly Tribulation. But neither I nor the Cult Leader uses it for a reason. It’s crude, messy, and makes you look like a lunatic to others."

Ilma drew her sword.

"If endurance is all you have, I’ll teach you this. It’s not graceful, but it’ll make you stronger. Your growth will be faster, too."

"I want to learn."

"I’m not finished. There’s a price. It’s built on endurance. The pain you’re experiencing now will double. Every step will bring headaches and agony that might drive you to stab yourself."

"..."

"Do you still want it?"

Ilma’s eyes pierced into mine.

I replied, "If there’s a way forward, not learning it would be more painful for me."

"Tch."

Ilma muttered, "You’re the craziest bastard I’ve ever met."

Bang!

A hand swept past my face. Blood trickled from my nose, slashed by the strike.

Yi Ho’s movements were sharp as steel. His internal energy tore through the air with precision.

"Where does a maggot like you think you’re going?"

His voice was icy, his movements devoid of hesitation—a killer through and through.

I pushed the Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art to its limits, channeling my energy into Ghost Hand, Lone Demon.

Our hands collided. I was sent flying back, pain shooting through my arm as it bent awkwardly.

Yi Ho sneered.

"Pathetic. A worthless worm."

Boom!

A blow to my stomach sent me reeling. My breath hitched, blood bubbling up my throat. Staggering back, I saw Yi Ho cracking his knuckles as he approached.

"Tell me, why did you come after me? Who’s this Seong Ja-myeong? Never heard of him."

"...Shut your mouth..."

"Seong Ja-myeong, huh? Doesn’t ring a bell. Why are you so worked up over someone I’ve never even heard of?"

His kick struck my chin.

"But judging from your eyes, you’re not like me. You don’t enjoy killing. That makes this even stranger. We’ve never met. We have no history. So why are you targeting me? Is it because of the weakling I killed yesterday? Was that Seong Ja-myeong?"

Yi Ho laughed, a grating, mocking sound.

"You pathetic worms stick together, huh? Here for revenge? With hands that can’t even throw a proper punch? What a joke. Seong Ja-myeong must be crying in hell. You’re garbage. Trash I’d love to tear apart limb by limb."

He stomped on my back, forcing me to the ground.

"Look at you. You and I are worlds apart, Number Thirty. I can’t even remember that guy’s number, but I do remember this—"

"..."

"He thought I was new. Walked up to me holding a snake and said, ‘Brother, you look hungry. Would you like this?’ What a fool. But I was hungry—just not in the way he thought."

Yi Ho grabbed me by the neck and threw me against a tree.

"Your friend was a joke. But you’re worse."

I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred.

Yi Ho’s sword gleamed as he closed in.

But even in the face of death, I thought only of one thing:

"Seong Ja-myeong... this world is too cold for people like you."

I stood up. Blood dripped from my wounds, mixing with the earth below.

"I’ll show you..."

Yi Ho laughed again. "What can you possibly show me, worm?"

I steadied myself.

"The moment this unfair world cracks apart."

With all the strength I could muster, I lunged forward.

"My name is Jeok Woon."

And I refuse to crawl.

The Heavenly Tribulation roared within me, a feral cry to break free of this pit.