"The novel, 'The Sacred Sword Saint: Because I Became the Legend of the Supreme Sword Master That Fights All Evil With the Power of Friendship' just hit its 2000th chapter? Who the hell reads that? Why are these web novels so damn long?"
"H-how'd you even memorize that title?"
"It made the online news. So… that's the only reason."
Kim Ho-jin shut his phone and adjusted the heating pad glued across his lower back.
He too, had been following that ridiculous web novel for 7 years before it gained its spotlight over a year ago.
Forty-five years old, face sharp enough to fool strangers into thinking he was 10 years younger—if they ignored the thinning hair clinging to his scalp… and the balding spot in between his head… and the wrinkles on his forehead…
Not every Korean man is kissed by the goddess of youth, okay?
He rummaged in the cabinet for that foul-smelling herbal packet that promised relief for his aching spine.
However, a buzz from his phone lit up the counter. He lifted his hand to pick it up.
Colleague: "Hey, drinks tonight? Don't be a ghost, old man."
He typed a single word back. No.
Laid off last week because of 'budget cuts.' Or maybe he was too old and expensive to maintain.
Or the damn nepotism happening in the company. He'd work his butt off for a promotion only for it to be given to the chairman's grandson.
Another message flashed on his phone. This one is different. His eldest son had just asked him if he was available this Friday.
'Dad, got soccer tickets. Wanna go?'
Ho-jin froze. The corner of his lip twitched. His son… actually invited him? He typed back before the chance evaporated. 'Yes. I'll go.'
The ache in his chest lightened. Maybe he could start over? Maybe some small vineyard in the countryside, bottles with his name on them. It was his dream to have his own vineyard.
At least, peace, for once.
He could get away from his divorce drama.
He poured himself a glass of cheap wine, settling on the couch with his guilty pleasure: the ridiculous web novel he'd been hate-reading for years.
Not for the saints or the hero. Screw those cardboard idiots. He only cared about one thing.
The villain.
The only sensible character he was fond of.
Ho-jin scrolled to chapter 2000, muttering under his breath. "Alright, bastard. Let's see what you're up to."
The words burned his eyes.
The villain—his villain—laid beheaded on the dirt. Dead. Tossed aside like a disposable joke.
"What—no. No, no, no. That's bullshit! They killed him?! That smug-ass hypocrite of a hero killed him?!" His voice cracked, wine sloshing down his chin. "You cowards, you gutless hacks! You needed him!"
If only Zaylknork didn't have to wait for a stupid blood moon and perform his theatrical nonsense for special effects, he'd still be alive!
That damn man worked this hard only to be killed?
He raised the glass to drown his outrage, but the liquid caught wrong. It punched into his windpipe. He choked, eyes bulging, wine burning through his nostrils as he clawed at his throat.
What—What's wrong with me?
Am I going to die to a damn cheap wine?!
His vision collapsed into blackness.
---
Ho-jin tried opening his eyes, his hands twitched as an attempt to look for his phone and call an ambulance, but he winced, pain crawling up to his brain.
Ah! My head hurts.
He tried shifting under his weight but stopped, when he heard a few voices murmuring.
Finally, someone came.
"Is Master okay? He hit his head pretty hard."
"Oh no. I hope his balls are intact. If not, we're doomed."
"Shut up, idiot! What if he decides to use one of us for his morning blood ritual?"
Ho-jin's eyes flew open. Blood ritual? Huh?!
"He's alive!"
He whipped his head around. He wasn't in his apartment. He wasn't even anywhere familiar.
The ceiling above him dripped with cracked stone. Two young men knelt beside him, dressed in robes splattered with something that smelled like blood.
"Master, please! Forgive us!" one shrieked, throwing himself face-first onto the floor.
"Master! Don't kill me!" the other wailed, clinging to his leg.
"Wh—where the fuck am I?!" Ho-jin lurched upright. His hand shot to his back. Huh!
The pain was… gone. The stiffness that ruled half his life had vanished. His spine was like liquid.
His body was light, he patted his behind. "My back… it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt!" His laughter cracked the walls. "Good god! I haven't even boiled the herbs yet! Am I dreaming?"
"Master…" The henchmen traded horrified looks.
One whispered, "Did he drink poisoned blood again?"
The other tugged at his sleeve, face streaked with tears. "You've received a letter… from the Hero. From Javander."
"Hero… who the hell is Javander?!" Ho-jin barked. "First, is someone playing a prank on me? Who are you two? Am I dreaming? Nonono."
The two disciples froze, their lips quivering as they burst into fresh sobs. "M-Master has finally lost it!!!"
Their cries echoed through the lair. Somewhere deeper in the cavern, doors slammed open. A chorus of trembling voices rose as more followers spilled in, all shrieking in unison—
"Master, don't devour us!"
"Master, please, at least let me write my will!"
"Forgive me for hiding snacks in your chamber!"
"Master Zaylknork, please give me my balls back!! I would never insult your morning routines again!"
Zaylknork? What the?
Ho-jin instantly flew out of his bed, his eyes searched for a nearby mirror, and when he took a look at himself…
The chaos swelled, bodies bowing and scrambling but he couldn't care any less.
I'm Zaylknork? He said as he touched his newly young face. He touched his dark hair, staring back at the red eyed man in his prime that seemed to be… him.
His hands then desperately tore his cotton clothes open, flashing the unknown people his washboard abs?
I have abs? Nice.
Wait, no. He slammed both palms against his face
Did I? Did I die? And get isekai'd? Is this really happening?!
Kim Ho-jin, forty-five years old, newly unemployed, and freshly resurrected into the body of the most feared villain in his favorite cringe novel—stood in the middle of it all, clutching his bare chest.
"I…" He blinked, a bit wine-dazed. "…I just wanted to watch a damn soccer game with my son."
Another henchman hugged his leg with teary eyes, "Master please grant bottleman 2 his balls back, he can't reproduce without one."
But before he could breathe, the crowd split as a young woman stumbled forward, her clothes torn, her knees scraping stone as she threw herself at his feet.
"Lord Zaylknork!" she sobbed, clutching his ankles like they were her last lifeline. Her face was streaked with dirt. "Please… release my son! He's only twelve! You don't need him for your… your blood ritual!"
Huh? Ho-jin was still confused… blood ritual?
If he could recall correctly, in this novel, 'The Sacred Sword Saint: Because I Became the Legend of the Supreme Sword Master That Fights All Evil With the Power of Friendship', featuring his favorite villain…
Oh. Now it clicks.
Zaylknork, the villain of this story, is a Tyrant Demon Lord.
If you can call him that…