“No one has ever welcomed my existence. So, will you be the one to welcome me?”

Mu-hui didn’t respond to the man’s question.

Without waiting for an answer, the man moved forward and casually took a seat by the campfire. As he bent to sit, Myung-san and Dok-go Yul stirred, ready to rise, but Mu-hui gently held them back, calming his two disciples. The man sat down, seemingly unbothered.

Even seated right in front of the fire, the man’s face was half-shrouded in shadow, giving him an eerie presence.

Myung-san and Dok-go Yul were frozen like mice before a snake, while only Mu-hui dared to meet the man’s gaze directly.

“Mu-hui, Dok-go Yul, Myung-san. So, here we meet.”

The man’s voice was calm, yet it carried a deep, cavernous echo that hinted at something ominous.

Mu-hui frowned, surprised that this dark figure recognized not only Dok-go Yul but also Myung-san.

“Did you come looking for us?”

The man shook his head at Mu-hui’s question.

“I came to this place. It just so happens that you are here.”

He lifted his head, taking in the courtyard, the small house, and the surrounding peaks of Geombong Mountain.

“It’s truly serene. The mountain resembles a sword. Is that why the Sword Saint and the Sword Demon settled here? It’s a fitting place for sword masters.”

At the mention of the Sword Saint and the Sword Demon, Mu-hui and Dok-go Yul’s expressions shifted. It was only natural, given that a stranger was speaking of their revered predecessors, Hyeon-jo and Dok-go Heon.

Dok-go Yul sighed, watching the man who had suddenly brought up his master. He was in the midst of breaking through a barrier, experiencing a new realm of mastery. Yet, the man’s darkness seemed to swallow that newfound realm whole, leaving Dok-go Yul struggling against the oppressive feeling of his very existence being negated.

“What is your connection to my master?” Dok-go Yul managed to ask, biting his lip.

“I was there at the Sword Demon’s end,” the man replied, turning to Mu-hui. “And I was there at the Sword Saint’s end as well.”

He smiled, but it was a smile devoid of any emotion, as if his facial muscles were merely twitching.

Dok-go Yul’s mouth fell open at the sight of that emotionless smile. His arm, which held the Ghost Sword’s hilt, twitched violently, ready to spring into action. But Mu-hui’s firm grip on his shoulder held him back.

“Mu-hui!” Dok-go Yul protested, glaring at Mu-hui, only to flinch at the sight of his master’s eyes, which were filled with a chilling, murderous intent.

Though Mu-hui kept it under control, the intensity of his killing intent was so dense and brutal that even Dok-go Yul, who was not easily shaken, was taken aback.

Just meeting Mu-hui’s gaze made Dok-go Yul feel as if his body was being torn apart by countless blades.

“Who are you?” Mu-hui’s voice rumbled low, laced with the lethal intent that filled his violet eyes. Yet, the man remained as calm as the darkness surrounding them.

“Black Heaven. It’s both my name and the name of the dark path I follow.”

“Black Heaven…” Mu-hui repeated the name, tasting it as if it were bitter. He recalled the black mask he had seen at the end of his past life. He hadn’t expected to encounter it here, of all places.

The unexpected situation brought a flood of thoughts.

Should he draw his sword now and try to kill him? Or should he prioritize protecting his disciples, Myung-san and Dok-go Yul, in this precarious situation?

Black Heaven watched Mu-hui’s stern face and let his facial muscles twitch again.

“I’ve heard that for someone in the martial world, your nature is quite fierce. Yet, here you are, not attacking the enemy of your master.”

Black Heaven continued, meeting Mu-hui’s eyes. The murderous intent that had filled Mu-hui’s gaze subsided, replaced by his usual sharp focus.

“Have you chosen to protect rather than seek revenge?”

Black Heaven went on.

“In a way, I too have reasons for revenge. My first disciple, the former master of the Black Night Palace, was killed by the Sword Demon, and my second disciple, the White-faced Ogre, was killed by you, Mu-hui. We’ve both lost a master and a disciple.”

“So, the master of the Black Night Palace was your disciple too?”

“She was the third. But I’m more intrigued by you than by avenging my disciples.”

Black Heaven’s interest shifted to Dok-go Yul and Myung-san. His gaze moved from Dok-go Yul to Myung-san, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. The shadows seemed to ripple as he did so.

Under Black Heaven’s gaze, Myung-san’s already labored breathing hitched.

“An ordinary talent, but with a strong heart that surpasses it. In the dark arts, sometimes the heart matters more than talent. You’re better than my disciples.”

Most would have collapsed or fainted under his gaze and aura, but Myung-san held his ground, earning a rare compliment.

“I often wonder what might have been if I had let the Sword Saint and the Sword Demon live a little longer. But seeing you today, I realize it was a pointless regret. Would you have grown this much without their deaths? Your master’s death became nourishment for you.”

Black Heaven’s words, treating their master’s death as mere nourishment, left Dok-go Yul pale and Mu-hui’s eyes darkened.

The darkness that clung to him, the ominous aura in his every move, and his words revealed a lack of humanity. It felt like conversing with something wearing a human guise.

Mu-hui sighed.

“What is your purpose in appearing in the martial world?”

“Purpose, you say…”

For the first time, Black Heaven’s words trailed off.

If he had a clear purpose like other dark practitioners—seeking chaos, unifying the martial world, or being recognized as a new Heavenly Demon—he wouldn’t have let his disciples roam so freely.

“If I had to say, it’s waiting.”

For the first time, a human emotion seeped into Black Heaven’s voice: boredom.

“Waiting for what?”

Mu-hui asked, as the darkness around Black Heaven deepened.

“Do you know of the dark sect, the Demon Dragon Forest, that appeared in the martial world centuries ago?”

Mu-hui nodded. He had read records left by the Forward Sword Sect, which had been destroyed by the Demon Dragon Forest.

“Did you know that the Demon Dragon Forest was preparing to reemerge from the shadows recently? Of course, that’s no longer the case.”

“Why not?”

“Because the master of the Demon Dragon Forest died by my hand. It won’t appear for at least two hundred years. It claimed to be the greatest in the dark arts, but it was merely a fleeting amusement.”

Black Heaven’s words left a heavy silence in their wake.

After a moment, he looked back at Mu-hui, the darkness creeping toward him.

“The current martial world holds no promise. Only this vast world remains.”

In an era teeming with masters, the martial world was Black Heaven’s last hope for satisfaction.

“The Three Seats, and you, Mu-hui, who have already defeated several supreme masters. I’m watching you closely. One day, we’ll meet again.”

Mu-hui remained silent at Black Heaven’s declaration.

Dok-go Yul was equally speechless. Black Heaven seemed in no hurry to say more. Then, unexpectedly, Myung-san spoke up.

“What if your expectations are disappointed again?”

“If a world can’t satisfy even a single being, does it deserve to exist? Starting anew, shaping a new martial world to my liking, wouldn’t be difficult. I’ve already raised many disciples and sects. It’s just a matter of increasing the number.”

Black Heaven, lost in thought as he looked at Myung-san, continued.

“I’m curious what the righteous and the unorthodox would look like if they, like the dark arts, harbored resentment and grew in power over centuries. Would they be any different from the current dark arts?”

He turned to Mu-hui.

“What do you think, Mu-hui?”

“There’s no need to think about it. It won’t happen.”

Mu-hui’s inner energy, the Purple Cloud Divine Art, surged with intensity.

Starting from his shoulders, the purple aura expanded, pushing back the darkness that had swallowed the campfire’s light.

The energy wave carried Mu-hui’s resolve, a testament to his deepened understanding of the Formless Sword.

Black Heaven, realizing this from the mere presence of the energy wave, nodded.

“Have you made progress? You’re better than when I saw you at Mount Okhwa.”

Mu-hui narrowed his eyes at Black Heaven’s words.

The mysterious gaze he had felt at Mount Okhwa was no illusion. Knowing this, Mu-hui let out a cold laugh.

“Originally, I would have arranged a meeting with the Three Seats and other supreme masters long ago. The delay is solely because of you.”

The darkness that had been swirling around began to envelop Black Heaven. Mu-hui’s purple aura couldn’t penetrate it.

“Mu-hui. Keep improving. If you remain at this level when the time comes, wouldn’t it be too disappointing?”

“It will be disappointing. Because when the time comes, my sword will be at your throat.”

The murderous intent that had been simmering beneath the surface surged toward Heukcheon like a flood.

“You dare to look down on me? You’ll pay for that. I’ll tear you apart.”

Mu-hui’s killing intent was so intense that the darkness surrounding Heukcheon seemed to ripple violently.

“Train, and train again. I hope your final desperate struggle reaches me.”

Heukcheon nodded, finally showing a smile that seemed almost human after hearing Mu-hui’s words.

With that, Heukcheon vanished into the shadows. The campfire, which had seemed to lose its color, slowly regained its warm glow, casting a gentle light.

“Gasp!”

Even after Heukcheon disappeared, a heavy silence lingered before Dokgo-yul let out a ragged breath. He panted, rubbing his neck.

“I can’t even tell if I’m still alive.”

“With that kind of courage, how did you ever think of drawing your sword?”

“Ugh!”

At Mu-hui’s remark, Dokgo-yul sighed deeply.

“To think I trembled in fear with my master’s enemy right in front of me. Have I ever felt so powerless despite all my training?”

He looked at his right hand, still trembling as it gripped the Ghost Blade, and turned to Mu-hui.

“What do you make of that Heukcheon?”

Mu-hui didn’t answer immediately. It was hard to sum up in just a few words.

He seemed like a madman with a veneer of civility, but his occasional words suggested he was beyond mere madness, as if he had stepped outside the bounds of humanity or was deeply twisted. In another light, he resembled a child without a moral compass, seeking amusement in the most dangerous ways.

Was this what they called “Transcending the Demonic Path,” one of the stages of the demonic arts?

Though he appeared calm, it was impossible to gauge the depth of the emptiness and madness lurking within him. He was a man who resembled the darkness he carried with him, a dangerous shadow that consumed everything without reason or purpose.

Reflecting on Heukcheon, Mu-hui nodded to himself.

“All the better.”

He had faced the black-masked Heukcheon, his nemesis from a past life and one of his goals in this one, and now had the chance to assess his opponent.

It was time to seize this opportunity and hone his swordsmanship further. Mu-hui reached out and grasped the hilt of the Simmyung Sword for the first time.

The cold blade calmed his mind. With the sword in hand, Mu-hui closed his eyes.

He intended to imprint every detail of Heukcheon—the aura, the presence, the way he spoke—into his mind, even the smallest nuances.