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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue
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The child was an orphan.
Abandoned so young, he didn't even have a name.
Not until he met Bu Jan-yang, a mortician who specialized in funerals for those who died away from home.
—I thought you were hiding in the snow...
It was a winter of harsh north winds.
Bu Jan-yang extended a hand to the child huddled beneath a snow-covered tree.
—Won't you come with me?
The child, sitting with a vacant gaze, reached out a hand, frozen as white as the flesh of a fish.
And so the child took Bu Jan-yang's surname and was given the name Eun-seol.
* * *
Pyeong-an Funeral Home.
It was a small mortuary that primarily handled the unclaimed or those who died away from home, reported by the constabulary.
Inside Pyeong-an Funeral Home.
On the wooden embalming table lay the corpse of a middle-aged man.
Before it stood a white-haired old man and a young boy, facing each other.
They were Bu Jan-yang, the mortician who ran Pyeong-an Funeral Home, and Bu Eun-seol.
"Hmm."
Bu Eun-seol was examining the corpse on the table with a very serious gaze.
"Seol-ah."
"Yes."
Bu Eun-seol, who had been intently studying the body, widened his eyes.
With skin as white as snow and dark eyes, he had features so delicate that if his thick eyebrows were shaped into half-moons, he could be mistaken for a girl.
"Now, tell me what you see."
"Let me look one more time."
But contrary to his beautiful features, Bu Eun-seol's voice was cold and low.
A low, dry voice, like the biting winds of midwinter.
"Hmm."
Humming to himself, Bu Eun-seol studied the body intently and spoke.
"He seems to be a martial artist."
"A martial artist?"
"Yes. Judging by his well-balanced muscles, he must have trained in martial arts since childhood."
A smile touched Bu Jan-yang's lips as he feigned a blink.
"Why do you say that? His body is thin, and he has no calluses on his hands."
Shaking his head, Bu Jan-yang pointed to the corpse's hands.
"Swordsmen who practice the sword always have calluses on their palms. But this man has no such marks."
Swordsmen who trained daily would naturally develop calluses from gripping the hilt of their sword.
But the corpse's hands were as soft as a woman's, with no trace of calluses whatsoever.
"In the martial world, there are hand techniques like the Jade-Shattering Hand or the Heavenly Steel Hand. Mastering such special techniques can make calluses disappear."
"Are you saying he was a master of the sword who also practiced a special hand technique?"
"No."
Bu Eun-seol shook his head with confidence.
"This man did not practice any hand techniques."
"Then why does a man who used a sword lack the telltale signs of a swordsman?"
"Because he was a master of the Ground-Crouching Fast Sword."
"Oh? And why is that?"
Smiling, Bu Eun-seol pointed to the middle-aged man's left thigh.
"This man's left leg muscles are abnormally developed, like those of a master of kicking arts."
"He could just be a master of kicking arts, no?"
"No. It's clear he practiced the Ground-Crouching Fast Sword, a style that requires planting the lower body firmly on the ground."
Bu Eun-seol indicated the muscles of the middle-aged man's left leg on the embalming table.
"If he were a master of kicking arts, the muscles in his glutes and the front of his thighs, which add power to kicks, would be more developed."
Bu Eun-seol pointed to the corpse's sole and calf.
"But on this man, only the anterior muscle of his left calf is significantly developed. This is proof that he practiced the Ground-Crouching Fast Sword."
"Hahaha."
Bu Jan-yang patted Bu Eun-seol's head, looking proud.
"There's nothing more for this old man to teach you."
It was always like this.
The old man and the boy always discussed the cause of death and the fatal wound as they cleaned the bodies.
"So even a master of the Ground-Crouching Fast Sword couldn't evade the Shadow Dart."
Bu Jan-yang pointed to the corpse's neck.
The wound there was wide open, like the wings of a butterfly.
"They must have thrown the Shadow Dart just as he was executing his fast sword technique, severing his carotid artery in an instant. There were likely two assailants, both masters of hidden weapons."
Bu Jan-yang clicked his tongue and said softly.
"To wield a fast sword that kills in one strike, one must always be wary of the final move."
Bu Jan-yang and Bu Eun-seol began to clean the body with great care, talking as they worked.
"Oh my, a crime of passion this time."
The next body on the table was that of a young man, his face cruelly disfigured.
"The resentment must have been extreme. That's why the wounds are like this."
Bu Jan-yang and Bu Eun-seol began to prepare the body meticulously.
*Grumble.*
Just as they finished placing the body in the coffin, a loud noise rumbled from Bu Eun-seol's stomach, signaling the end of their work.
"Hahaha. Your stomach clock is always right on time."
As Bu Eun-seol lowered his head in embarrassment, Bu Jan-yang looked up at the sun, now high in the sky.
"How about we go to the tavern for dinner tonight, for a change?"
"No. Let's just have noodles. I'll cook them for you."
Bu Eun-seol shook his head impassively, and Bu Jan-yang's expression darkened.
Morticians who prepare the bodies of those who die alone.
They were the lowest class of morticians, treated even worse than butchers.
Moreover, the foul stench of death never left their bodies.
People would point fingers, calling them unlucky, and they were often turned away at the doors of taverns.
Knowing this, Bu Eun-seol rarely ventured outside the Pyeong-an Funeral Home.
"Alright. Let's do that."
The old man and the boy sat on the wooden bench and began to eat their noodles.
Though the only side dish was pickled radish, Bu Eun-seol ate happily, savoring every bite.
It was a warm meal he could never have dreamed of during his time as an orphan.
And with him was his grandfather, Bu Jan-yang, whose gaze was even warmer.
"What are you staring at?"
"Ah, it's nothing."
Bu Eun-seol was happy, regardless.
He hoped that days like these would stretch on forever, that this life would continue for a long, long time.
* * *
Deep in the night.
An oil lamp was lit in the single room of Pyeong-an Funeral Home.
Bu Jan-yang sat at a wooden table reading a book, while Bu Eun-seol slept soundly in a corner of the room.
"That's wrong."
"Hm?"
"He wasn't stabbed from behind. The weapon was held steady, and he was pushed onto it. I'm sure of it."
Even in his dreams, Bu Eun-seol was preparing bodies and analyzing the cause of death.
"The boy. He's a natural-born mortician."
Bu Jan-yang watched him and smiled warmly.
The boy was the apple of his eye.
In truth, he had never married nor had children of his own. But after taking in Bu Eun-seol, he came to know the true joy of life.
The happiness that is warmth.
*Whoosh.*
Just then, he heard the sound of a distant wind.
But with his keen hearing, Bu Jan-yang knew it was the sound of air being torn apart—the telltale sign of someone moving with incredible speed.
"..."
Rising to his feet, Bu Jan-yang's face grew cold.
*Good men don't come, and those who come aren't good men.*
"Hoo."
Blowing out the oil lamp, Bu Jan-yang quietly left the room.
He opened the main gate and slowly stepped outside.
*Whoooosh.*
As a desolate wind blew, the dark sky seemed to deepen into an even blacker shade of night.
Bu Jan-yang stood before the gate, his eyes closed.
He seemed lost in deep thought, but he was actually using the supreme art of Sky-Piercing Eavesdropping to scan everything within a three-hundred-*jang* radius.
"So that's what it is."
Opening his eyes again, Bu Jan-yang muttered with a grim expression.
He went back into the room and woke Bu Eun-seol.
"Seol-ah."
"Yes. Huh?"
"Shall we play the corpse game today, too?"
"At this hour?"
Bu Jan-yang spoke to the boy, who was rubbing his eyes.
"This time, the game is a little different. You must not come out until the sun rises, no matter what."
"Until the sun rises?"
"Yes. If you succeed this time, I'll have that ritual robe and peach-wood sword you've been pestering me for."
"A ritual robe and a peach-wood sword?"
Bu Eun-seol's eyes flew open.
He was still too young for a properly sized robe and sword, so he had constantly pestered Bu Jan-yang for them.
But Bu Jan-yang had always refused, saying he wasn't old enough for them yet.
"I'll do it right away."
Excited, Bu Eun-seol started to climb into one of the upright coffins, but Bu Jan-yang stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"This time, you'll get into the iron coffin."
"The iron coffin?"
The iron coffin was, as its name suggested, made of solid iron.
Long ago, when Bu Eun-seol had asked about its purpose, Bu Jan-yang had said:
—This is the coffin I'll use when I die.
"I don't want to. The iron coffin is..."
Sensing something was wrong, Bu Eun-seol shook his head, but Bu Jan-yang gave him a benevolent smile.
"Don't worry. This old man is just testing you so I can buy you that robe and sword."
"Really?"
"Of course. Have I ever broken a promise to you?"
As he gently stroked his hair, Bu Eun-seol grinned and nodded.
"Okay!"
*Clang.*
As Bu Jan-yang watched Bu Eun-seol get into the iron coffin, his eyes grew dim.
*'My boy.'*
*Whoosh.*
The sound of tearing air came again, and the smile on Bu Jan-yang's face hardened.
*Thump, thump.*
He walked out the main gate with a cold expression and stood there, motionless as a village guardian post.
How much time passed?
"The Seven-Fingered Demon Blade, Bu Jan-yang."
A low voice reached Bu Jan-yang's ears.
"So, you've finally been caught."
When Bu Jan-yang opened his eyes, a man in black robes was approaching, his posture ramrod straight.
His lightness skill was truly astonishing.
"The Seven-Fingered Demon Blade."
Bu Jan-yang let out a deep sigh.
"It's been a long time since I've heard that name."
The Seven-Fingered Demon Blade, Bu Jan-yang.
The greatest saber master of the demonic path.
A martial arts fanatic who cut off three of his own fingers to perfect his tyrannical saber techniques.
A great star of slaughter who sought out and mercilessly butchered countless renowned heroes of the Orthodox Faction, and even retired masters of the previous generation.
This demonic master, who had plunged the martial world into terror, had risen to the position of Vice-Lord of the Demonic Palace, the demonic equivalent of the Murim Alliance.
He was a master who had achieved every glory a martial artist could hope for.
"Did you want to live that badly?"
The man in black regarded Bu Jan-yang with a cold smile.
"To abandon your post as the Vice-Lord of the Demonic Palace and vanish... only to hide like a rat, working as a mortician that even vagrants shun. It's laughable."
"Hahaha."
Bu Jan-yang let out a low laugh and shook his head.
"This old man took up the mortician's trade to atone for the wrongs I have committed."
"Atone?"
"For those who died by my hand, all in the name of protecting the peace of the martial world."
As he spoke, a desolate look filled Bu Jan-yang's eyes.
"But the Murim Alliance... has once again created someone like me."
Bu Jan-yang could guess that the man in black was doing the exact same work he once had.
"I suppose my being alive is an inconvenience. After all, I am the Orthodox Faction's greatest shame."
"If you understand, then take your own life."
"In the end, you too will be discarded like me. Utterly."
"You worry about the strangest things."
The man in black spoke with a confident expression.
"Do you think I would be reduced to a mere tool for slaughtering masters of both the Orthodox and Unorthodox factions, like you?"
"The end is the same for any spy who hides their true identity and wanders the martial world, slaughtering masters. Isn't that so?"
In truth, Bu Jan-yang was not a mad killer who butchered masters from all factions, but a double agent cultivated by the Murim Alliance with all its resources.
"For a long time, the Murim Alliance has been creating double agents like you and me. To eliminate Orthodox faction members who were thorns in their side. To shape the Orthodox Faction to their liking and reign over the martial world."
"You certainly talk a lot."
"I say this because I have walked the same path before you."
The man in black scoffed and said,
"Are you asking me to treat you as a senior?"
"Of course not. There's no seniority in the life of a spy."
A bitter smile formed on Bu Jan-yang's lips as he shook his head.
"I'm merely advising you to stop this work, while you still can."
"How terribly kind of you."
The man in black shook his head and took out a medallion from his waist.
"Bu Jan-yang. Just because you went through that, don't assume others will suffer the same fate."
The medallion the man presented glittered with five colors, and the characters for 'Star Guard' were engraved on it.
It was the insignia of the Star Guard Corps, one of the Seven Great Battle Groups of the Murim Alliance.
"I am different from you. I haven't hidden my identity; I am officially registered with the Murim Alliance. A path of success lies before me."
The man in black wore a smile full of ambition.
"Once I take care of you, I'll be made a Vice-Commander at the very least... perhaps even the Commander."
"I see."
Bu Jan-yang let out a murky breath.
"You truly are different from me."
The man in black was indeed a different sort of person.
He hadn't been raised by the Murim Alliance just to follow its orders; he was baring his fangs, ready to devour the Alliance itself.
"If you understand, then die quietly."