Seong Ja-myeong had once said to me,
"You’re meticulous about the basics, Three."

"It’s all I have, so I make an effort to build on it."

"Admirable. Many lose their way later because they neglect the fundamentals. Of course, I’m no teacher worth mentioning..."

In the dim light, Seong Ja-myeong extended his hand.

"The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art's first form is Ghost Hand, Lone Demon. As you know, Three, it’s a fist technique designed to strike down opponents. But, Three, among its variations is one that incorporates kicks."

"You mean Demonic Kick?"

"Exactly. The first form has its foundation in Ghost Hand, Lone Demon, but there are four other forms you can derive from it."

Seong Ja-myeong clenched his hand in the air.

"White Snake—to seize your enemy."

He turned, striking at an invisible opponent from the side.

"Fang Strike—to drive your elbow into them."

His arm, imbued with energy, vanished for an instant in the motion.

"False Blood—a feint to deceive your enemy."

His extended leg lashed out toward an unseen foe’s midsection.

"And finally, Demonic Kick—a powerful and decisive finishing blow."

"..."

His stance was flawless. I didn’t know much, but one thing was clear.

He was stronger than me. He had trained in martial arts for far longer.

"Impressive."

"I’m flattered, but it’s nothing worth boasting about. Even what I’ve learned is incomplete, just an imitation picked up by watching others."

Seong Ja-myeong wiped his nose with a sheepish smile.

"But it seems I can help you with a few things, Three. Let’s start slowly."

"Are you sure? I’d hate to take up your time..."

"Three, weren’t you the one who helped me first?"

Seong Ja-myeong grinned.

"And don’t think of this as repayment. Three."

"Excuse me?"

"This is an investment. From what I’ve seen, you’ll climb far higher than me someday."

He winked at me.

"When you look down on the world from above, don’t forget who contributed to your ascent."

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Exactly. What am I even saying?"

Seong Ja-myeong laughed, and I found myself laughing along with him.

"Now, let’s practice, Three."

I followed his movements, extending my hands and adjusting my footwork.

I struck forward.

Again, I struck forward.

Boom!

My body slammed into a tree. Agonizing pain coursed through me, but I forced myself to stand.

A blade came whirling toward me, and I narrowly avoided it. My ear was sliced off, but I charged forward regardless, colliding with Yi Ho and tumbling to the ground.

"You crazy bastard!"

I had to move within the blade’s range.

Never give the enemy an advantageous space.

Think. Keep thinking, Jeok Woon.

Move. If you stop, you’ll die.

The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art.

First Form: Ghost Hand, Lone Demon.

I lashed out with my hand. Yi Ho twisted his head, dodging my attack.

My fist struck empty air, but I refused to let him escape.

I grabbed at his retreating body.

"White Snake—to seize your enemy."

Following my memory, I brought my hand down, gripping his wrist and twisting it.

I hurled him away.

"Ugh?!"

Yi Ho stumbled back, but he quickly regained his footing, stabbing his sword into my shoulder.

Pain erupted, and my vision dimmed. When I regained focus, I saw my severed arm hovering in the air.

It was gone. But I grabbed it immediately, forcing it back into place and screaming.

Don’t stop.

Jeok Woon.

If you’ve started running...

---Never stop running!

"You insane bastard!"

Yi Ho twisted his blade, unleashing a technique I didn’t recognize. The idea of dodging didn’t even cross my mind.

Instead, I focused on his face, catching the fleeting expression of surprise.

Hesitation. A crack in his confidence.

If he falters, I can follow.

I twisted my body, ignoring the sword lodged deep in my torso.

Bleeding. Struggling.

"Fang Strike—to drive your elbow into them."

I slammed my elbow with everything I had.

"Gah?!"

For the first time, I landed a solid hit. Gasping for breath, I pushed forward.

Another Ghost Hand, Lone Demon narrowly grazed Yi Ho’s chin. Close, but not enough.

But Yi Ho knew my limits. He could endure my relentless attacks.

"False Blood—a feint to deceive your enemy."

I assumed the stance of Ghost Hand, Lone Demon, crouching low.

Drawing strength into my legs, I tensed as if ready to burst forward.

I exuded killing intent.

Yi Ho reflexively swung his sword, predicting my trajectory.

My neck.

He aimed for my neck.

But I didn’t move. Holding my ground, I waited for his stance to break.

For my bluff to create an opening.

"What the...?!"

His stance faltered.

Now.

"Demonic Kick—the finishing strike."

I spun and kicked with all my strength.

"Urgh?!"

Yi Ho dropped his sword as he flew back. He reflexively struck out with Ghost Hand, Lone Demon, grazing my cheek.

Blood splattered. He wasn’t going down quietly. His hand twisted again.

"White Snake—to seize your enemy."

Pain surged as my shoulder was gripped and twisted violently.

"Argh?!"

My shoulder fractured. I could feel the bones splintering. Yi Ho poured all his energy into crushing me from within.

"The likes of you, you useless trash!"

My body trembled. My breathing grew ragged.

The pain of recovery rivaled the agony of destruction. My vision flickered between darkness and light, Yi Ho’s twisted face looming over me.

My knees buckled. He stood above me now, looking down.

"This is an investment," Seong Ja-myeong had once said. "I think you’ll climb higher than me someday."

...That story.

...I’m sick of it.

"Ugh!"

I squeezed out every ounce of energy. The Heavenly Tribulation writhed, bursting blood vessels throughout my body. My vision blurred as blood streamed from my nose.

Don’t stop.

Jeok Woon. Please.

If there’s nothing left, squeeze out what you can.

"When you look down on the world from above, don’t forget who helped you."

Finish what you started.

"What the hell? How is he...? With a body like that... with no internal energy...?"

Don’t wait for the right time to overcome.

If you have to, do it now.

"There’s no way a third-rate worm like you—!"

Surpass it.

Now.

I straightened my knees and clenched my fist. Harder than ever before.

The beginning and the end.

The end and the beginning.

The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art.

First Form: Ghost Hand, Lone Demon.

My fist shot forward, engulfed in crimson shadows. Yi Ho’s face twisted in pain as his grip on my shoulder faltered.

My strike connected—flesh, then bone.

Bloodied teeth and broken cartilage scattered.

I turned, and the crimson shadow followed my movements.

With a final blow, I drove my fist into him.

A crimson flower bloomed in the mire.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

From the Heavenly Demon’s serene garden came a quiet query.

"Ilma."

"Yes, Cult Leader."

A single drop of water echoed as it fell from the bamboo fountain. The Heavenly Demon, smiling slyly, poured herself tea.

"Do you think my dog survived or died?"

Ilma replied without hesitation.

"He’s alive."

"Have you checked?"

"No. I don’t resort to shortcuts."

"Then how can you be so sure? Didn’t you say yourself he’s just an ordinary man?"

"I did."

"Did you sneak him a spirit pill?"

"As I said, no shortcuts."

"Interesting. So why are you so certain he’s alive?"

Ilma stared at the untouched teacup before her, the liquid threatening to spill over.

Sometimes, watching is enough to find peace.

That’s what he is.

"The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art is your creation, Cult Leader."

"Indeed. I poured quite a bit of effort into it, added some amusing quirks as well."

"I learned it, though I’ve yet to master it."

"It’s incomplete. The art has no defined endpoint. Those who rise in its ranks can escape its demonic influence, but..."

The Heavenly Demon rested her cheek on her hand, chuckling softly.

"Few reach that level. It’s a maddening art. Only a lunatic could truly master it. Even I abandoned it halfway through. Only those who’ve mastered the seventh form are few, and for the eighth form, it’s just you and me, isn’t it?"

"You’re correct, Cult Leader."

"So, what’s your point in bringing this up?"

"As I mentioned earlier, I haven’t mastered it. There are several reasons, but ultimately, it’s because I lack patience."

The Heavenly Demon yawned.

"Patience? That’s not patience. That’s just suicide. As I said before, this technique is for those who would burn their own lives to grab at the ankles of those above them—"

The Heavenly Demon paused mid-sentence.

After a brief contemplation, she asked,

"Don’t tell me… you taught him one of the methods to use the Heavenly Tribulation?"

"I did, Cult Leader."

"And did you confirm it?"

"I did."

"And? Was he still walking around?"

"He was screaming, but yes, he was walking."

"Ha! Hahaha! This is unbelievable! That brat is the toughest of the tough!"

The Heavenly Demon burst into laughter. Ilma, sitting opposite her, calmly reached for the teacup and took a slow sip of the tea that had almost overflowed.

"His talent is pitiful, but he fulfills conditions others cannot."

"Indeed. The Nine Heavens Blood Demon Art accelerates progress the more you teeter on the edge of death. The Heavenly Tribulation causes immense pain but keeps the host alive, healing even fatal wounds as long as the head stays attached. If conditions are met, one can repeatedly tread the line between life and death. The question is, will he go insane first or succeed first…? I suppose bringing him in was the right call."

"He will succeed first, Cult Leader."

"What makes you so confident?"

"He sincerely admires your power, Cult Leader."

Ilma spoke plainly, stating what she had observed.

That man was mad—mad in a different sense.

"Cult Leader, I wouldn’t dare imagine myself surpassing you."

"That’s how it is for everyone."

"But he’s different."

"Hmm."

The Heavenly Demon rested her cheek against her hand again, gazing into the distance.

"A blade forged through suffering, wielded by someone without talent. What a hilariously ordinary sword he is."

Her fingertips brushed her lips, and she smiled—a smile so captivating it nearly stole Ilma’s breath.

"A truly mundane sword. What an amusing man."