Dokgo Heon’s sword pierced through the back of the Dark Night Palace’s master, yet the master only responded with a sinister smile, even as his heart was impaled.

“Sword Demon. They say you’re the greatest swordsman of the unorthodox sects with your self-created sword technique. Seems it wasn’t just a rumor.”

“Shut up and die already, you old bastard.”

With a swift motion, Dokgo Heon withdrew his sword, unleashing a fountain of blood from the master’s chest. Despite the crimson spray that painted his vision red, Dokgo Heon unhesitatingly swung his sword again, severing the master’s head.

“Damn demonic bastards.”

The Dark Night Palace, a demonic force that had suddenly appeared in Shaanxi, leaving a trail of bloodshed. With the head of their leader now severed, this massacre, destined to be recorded as the Shaanxi Blood Incident, would end today.

As Dokgo Heon turned away without a second thought, blood dripped from his entire body with each step he took.

He was barely moving, his injuries severe enough that collapsing at any moment wouldn’t have been surprising.

Dokgo Heon approached a middle-aged man leaning against a rock and collapsed in front of him.

“Malco, are you dead?”

“Still breathing.”

Hyeonjo, the Volcano Sword Saint who had lost his eyes to the Dark Night Palace’s master, was barely clinging to life, tears of blood streaming down his face. Even in such a state, he clutched his broken plum blossom sword tightly, a sight that stirred something in Dokgo Heon’s eyes.

“It seems we won’t be able to fulfill our promise to create new sword techniques and duel.”

“Malco, even on the brink of death, you’re talking about swords.”

“Isn’t that how we’ve lived our whole lives, Sword Demon?”

“True. We’ve lived obsessed with the sword.”

Dokgo Heon, the Sword Demon.

Hyeonjo, the Volcano Sword Saint.

They were bound by the sword, sword friends. Though they first met as enemies, their relationship evolved with each clash of blades.

Enemies became rivals, and rivals became friends.

For swordsmen who met and bonded through the sword in the martial world, the distinction between right and wrong was trivial.

“Look after my disciple and the Volcano Sect. Just occasionally will do.”

“Have you forgotten who I am? Asking the greatest swordsman of the unorthodox sects to look after the Volcano Sect?”

“Haha…”

As the rock he leaned against became increasingly soaked with blood, Hyeonjo’s breathing grew fainter, and his voice weaker.

Dokgo Heon, who had remained unfazed by the pain coursing through his body, now furrowed his brow.

An orphan with nothing but a sword he found somewhere, Dokgo Heon had to become obsessed with the sword and ruthless to survive in the martial world.

Naturally, grudges accumulated, leaving only ill-fated ties.

And he severed all those ties with his blade.

In a life steeped in blood and resentment, Hyeonjo of the Volcano Sect was Dokgo Heon’s only good connection.

Dokgo Heon was witnessing the end of his first and last good connection.

Sensing Dokgo Heon’s sudden, ragged breathing, Hyeonjo smiled faintly and placed a red jade bracelet into Dokgo Heon’s hand.

“The Plum Blossom Token. It’s a sacred relic of the Volcano Sect. Deliver it to the sect leader.”

“You’re making a madman’s amount of requests, Malco.”

Despite his gruff words, Dokgo Heon secured the Plum Blossom Token on his arm, as if promising not to lose it.

“And to my disciple…”

Boom!

Hyeonjo’s final words were drowned out by a sudden explosion. Dark energy surged from behind, swallowing the rock whole. The rock, along with Hyeonjo, was ground to dust by the swirling dark energy.

In the blink of an eye, his friend was reduced to a pool of blood, and Dokgo Heon’s eyes filled with bloodshot rage.

At that moment, Hyeonjo’s wrist, still clutching the broken plum blossom sword, fell at Dokgo Heon’s feet.

Seeing this, a chilling, inhuman scream erupted from Dokgo Heon’s mouth.

For the first time, the Sword Demon’s unshakable reason snapped.

“Argh!”

Enraged by the sudden loss of his only friend, Dokgo Heon slashed wildly at the dark energy before him.

The dark energy, a formidable force, cracked his sword, yet Dokgo Heon extended his blade unwaveringly to the end.

As the storm of dark energy split apart, a massive, dark force surged through the gap like a bolt of lightning.

Having already pushed his body beyond its limits, Dokgo Heon realized the incoming attack but couldn’t respond.

Thud!

The force struck Dokgo Heon, sending him airborne, and the subsequent blows drove him back to the edge of a cliff.

“Ugh!”

Spewing blood in all directions, Dokgo Heon plummeted over the cliff. In his fading vision, he saw a man wearing a pitch-black mask.

‘That damned bastard, since when…’

There’s a saying that one’s life flashes before their eyes before death, but Dokgo Heon had no time for such reflections.

‘Malco!’

He had lost his friend right before his eyes and couldn’t even recover the body. Now, he too was facing death at the hands of that fiend.

“If I survive, I’ll find you and tear you apart…”

Fueled by rage and a thirst for vengeance, Dokgo He’s eyes burned a fierce red.

“Heh.”

Though his voice was barely a whisper, the masked man seemed to hear it, letting out a small laugh.

Dokgo Heon didn’t miss that brief chuckle.

‘Laughing? That bastard…’

Despite his murderous resolve, his eyelids grew heavier. Dokgo Heon struggled to gather his scattered thoughts and move his unresponsive body.

Thump.

Perhaps it was his will to live, or the resolve before death, but Dokgo He’s heart beat fiercely one last time.

Though his heart stopped, that resolute beat traveled up his arm to the Plum Blossom Token.

Suddenly, the token on his wrist emitted a brilliant, multicolored light, enveloping Dokgo Heon.

* * *

Thump.

“His pulse… his pulse is back!”

“What? It had just stopped, but the heavens have intervened. Oh, great celestial being!”

At the sound of a sharp, commanding voice, Dokgo Heon’s eyebrows twitched.

‘Am I alive? I was sure I fell off a cliff.’

Even without the cliff, the internal injuries he sustained at the end were fatal.

Instinctively, Dokgo Heon tried to move, but his body felt as heavy as waterlogged cotton, making even a finger twitch impossible.

With great effort, Dokgo Heon managed to open his right eye slightly.

He saw the bustling figures of the Volcano Sect’s disciples, wielding long needles.

“Elder Baekjin! Senior Brother has opened his eyes!”

“Mu-hwi, you’ve held on well. Don’t let go of your focus!”

Dokgo Heon looked on in disbelief at Baekjin, who was administering acupuncture to his body.

Baekjin. An elder of the Volcano Sect, in charge of the Flower Medicine Pavilion. The most skilled in medicine within the sect. Dokgo Heon had met him before when he treated an arm injury.

‘Why are they calling me Mu-hwi?’

Reflecting on the name, which seemed familiar, Dokgo Heon suddenly snapped to attention.

Mu-hwi.

The senior disciple of the second generation of the Volcano Sect.

And the disciple of his friend, Hyeonjo.

Dokgo Heon couldn’t comprehend why he was being called Mu-hwi.

“Damn it.”

Muttering a single word, Dokgo Heon lost consciousness once more.