Namgung Heavenly Demon - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 1

The scent of blood filled Cheonmajeon.

The once magnificent hall had long since become a massive slaughterhouse.

At its center, Cheonma sat on a throne covered in blood and parted his lips.

“With merely this much, how dare they….”

Between the broken pillars, the corpses of those who had pointed their swords at him formed mountains.

They were the elders and protectors of Makyō who had prostrated themselves at his feet and sworn loyalty until recently.

Their faces were eerily carved with shock, disbelief, and belated regret.

He slowly lowered his head to look down at his own body growing cold.

His left arm had been severed, and dozens of deep wounds were carved all over his body.

He swallowed a bitter smile inwardly as he looked back on the past.

It had been the life of an orphan with no one in the world.

To avoid starving to death, he had pounced on scraps of discarded food like a beast.

Even those were often stolen from him.

Thanks to that, instead of his stomach filling up, malice filled up instead.

One day, while swinging his fists driven by malice to survive.

A martial artist approached and extended his hand.

―You have martial talent. Follow me and I won’t let you starve to death.

The hope of escaping from hunger.

He had no choice but to follow.

The martial artist who took him away simply walked ahead silently without any particular explanation.

The place they arrived at was in front of a massive and gloomy Sanmun without even a nameplate hanging.

Only then did he realize from the eerie mixture of blood and killing intent.

That this place was Makyō.

Even so, he was happy for a moment.

At least here, he wouldn’t starve to death.

‘…It was a foolish delusion.’

Cheonma gave a bitter smile.

Life in Makyō.

There, death circled around him in an even more cruel form.

To survive, he swung his sword and used countless corpses as stepping stones.

An endless series of struggles.

And at the end of that endless struggle, he came to be called Cheonma, above all people.

However, he couldn’t sleep peacefully for even a single night.

Not even for a moment was he allowed a life for himself.

Cheonma was the master of all demons.

Since that itself was the reason for Makyō’s existence, everything would collapse if he stopped.

But who would have thought that the end of that race would be ugly betrayal.

‘Even the young sect leader pointed his sword at me.’

Even the young sect leader, to whom he had taught everything, ultimately became a bloody lump rolling on the cold floor.

‘…Everything would have become his soon anyway. Foolish bastard.’

It was futile.

Cough.

With violent coughing, dark red blood poured onto the floor.

Suddenly, he looked down at the blood on the back of his hand.

It was an unfamiliar sight.

How long had it been.

Since he had seen so much of his own blood this close.

The fishy scent of blood brushing his nose.

It was no different from the blood of the fallen traitors, just a disgusting smell.

‘Right, my blood was the same as theirs. It’s just been so long that I’d forgotten what it even smelled like.’

Was this the first time since crossing swords with that tenacious bastard Namgung Mugang?

It was the moment he wore a self-deprecating smile.

“Ugh….”

Someone staggered and raised their body from the pile of corpses.

It was Daehobpyeong, who had assisted Cheonma like a shadow his entire life.

He walked toward the throne in a miserable state.

Cheonma leaned against the throne and watched Daehobpyeong approaching.

“…You’ve finally returned to your original eye level, Daehobpyeong.”

Daehobpyeong knelt powerlessly before Cheonma.

A broken sword fell from his hand with a thud.

“My lord Cheonma….”

“Why was it?”

Cheonma asked.

It wasn’t anger or resentment.

Only terrible emptiness and fatigue were contained within.

Daehobpyeong raised his head with difficulty.

“This too is merely the result of struggle. Wasn’t this the demonic path you showed us….”

With those final words, Daehobpyeong’s head fell powerlessly.

Cheonma looked down at his corpse growing cold.

‘The result of struggle.’

A contemptuous smile crossed Cheonma’s lips.

‘It’s nothing but clumsy imitation. True struggle is something that holds no meaning the moment you’re defeated.’

He felt no sympathy for his former subordinate who had failed to fully understand the demonic path he had taught.

Only contempt remained for the foolishness of desecrating his teachings.

‘At least it wasn’t boring.’

He had executed all the traitors, but in return, he too had lost everything.

Gradually, everything grew distant.

The stinging smell of blood, the deathly silence that filled Cheonmajeon.

And even the pain.

Cheonma’s gaze turned to the sword gripped in his hand.

A sword with a bluish light flowing around it.

It had once been pointed at him, and afterward had spent half a lifetime cutting down countless enemies in his hands.

‘Namgung Mugang….’

The name of the one who had handed him that sword rose clearly in his mind.

‘In the end… I couldn’t keep my promise.’

The memory of that day when they had set everything aside and crossed swords.

His lifelong nemesis and the only worthy opponent he had truly acknowledged deep in his heart.

How much had he dreamed of that final duel with him, of its conclusion.

He never imagined he would perish like this because of ugly betrayal, because of the tiresome shackles of this demonic path.

A faint smile appeared on his blood-stained lips.

Self-mockery and longing brushed past simultaneously.

‘How I truly miss those times….’

That was his final thought.

His eyelids, submerged in blood, grew heavy, and finally the world was swallowed by darkness.

The man who had endlessly raced down the path of survival and struggle to reach the pinnacle of the demonic path.

Cheonma, Cheon Myeonghyeon.

His life came to an end like that.

Leaving behind the thirst of being unable to keep one promise.

* * *

Darkness without end or beginning.

Ah, so this is the afterlife.

Just as a fire gives off no light when extinguished, when a person dies, everything disappears.

It was exactly as they said.

The name Cheonma that once commanded the world, the peerless martial arts built through countless brushes with death.

And the pain of betrayal and the emptiness of the final moment—none of it held any meaning now.

An absolute void where everything grew dim.

Perhaps this was the complete rest he had longed for all his life.

He calmly accepted this end of all things.

A brutal life that had required endless running.

If this infinite darkness was its destination, he thought it wasn’t such a bad ending.

Everything annihilated, returning to nothingness.

That would be the natural order.

How much time had passed?

No, did time even exist in this place?

In the perfect silence that seemed eternal, suddenly.

Very far away, he saw a single point of light smaller than a pinhole.

‘…Light?’

He thought all perception had already vanished, yet what was that?

‘An illusion?’

The light was very faint but definitely existed, and strangely, the thought followed that he must move toward it.

He didn’t hesitate.

After all, he had nothing left to lose or regret.

The last remaining fragment of consciousness naturally flowed toward that light.

The light grew closer and closer.

And finally, the moment he was sucked into that light.

Intense dizziness struck as countless sensations rushed in like a storm.

“Kugh!”

When he came to his senses, the first thing he felt was terrible pain.

His head felt like it would split, and every bone in his body creaked as if displaced.

“Huff, huff.”

With each breath, a burning heat rose from his lungs.

At that moment.

‘…Breath?’

The dead couldn’t possibly breathe.

He forced his heavy eyelids open.

What his blurry vision showed was hundreds of swords stretching endlessly.

So many swords were stuck in the ground that it could be called a graveyard of blades.

At the same time, unfamiliar memories flowed into his mind like a storm.

Namgung Cheon, the youngest son of the Namgung Clan.

That was the name of this body.

“Namgung…?”

The name he muttered.

Those two characters were familiar.

One of the Five Great Families of the Realm, with the grand reputation of being the Realm’s Greatest Swordsmen.

In his memories, the Namgung Clan had always wielded power from the center of the martial world.

‘…They were impressive indeed.’

The memories of Cheonma, not Namgung Cheon, naturally continued.

The Great War between Righteous and Demonic factions that had stained the world with blood.

At that time, he had been the Young Sect Leader.

And the Namgung Clan had been a core pillar of the Righteous Faction Alliance.

The Namgung Clan had always been the most troublesome enemy.

They always stood at the vanguard, blocking Makyō’s path.

As the Young Sect Leader, he had taken to the battlefield several times to break their momentum, but each time he had to accept considerable losses.

‘And…’

Among those fierce war memories, one presence stood out particularly clearly.

A man who, though young, had already mastered the clan’s swordsmanship and wielded blue sword energy.

Namgung Mugang, who was considered the next clan leader of the Namgung Clan at the time.

‘The father of this Namgung Cheon, and the current clan leader…’

To think he would end up in the body of the son of someone he had once considered a worthy opponent when he was Cheonma.

A hollow laugh escaped him naturally.

The thought of seeing him again stirred strange feelings, but he wouldn’t recognize him anyway, and he had no intention of revealing himself.

He would simply dismiss it as a strange twist of fate.

‘This isn’t the time for sentimentality.’

Cheonma quickly returned to reality and examined the Namgung Clan through Namgung Cheon’s memories.

Clan Leader Namgung Mugang had been away from the clan for an extended period.

Because of this, the clan’s interior was chaotic, with schemes and plots running rampant.

It was a situation where worthless sons were causing trouble, tarnishing their father’s lofty reputation.

‘…Neglect, or tempering? I can’t tell.’

There was no need to fathom Namgung Mugang’s deep intentions right now.

After all, it wasn’t directly related to him at present.

What mattered now was the reality of this body he had entered—Namgung Cheon’s situation.

Cheonma searched through the memories.

Namgung Cheon, who had become his new flesh.

He was merely an insignificant youngest son in this power struggle.

With no will to train and no remarkable manifestation of talent, he barely maintained the value of being called a Namgung Clan young master.

People around him whispered that he had talent but was lazy.

Indeed, Namgung Cheon had been like that.

He extremely avoided competition, deliberately turned away from difficult matters, and simply lived quietly.

‘Why…’

It was incomprehensible.

No matter how outstanding his brothers were or how unstable his position within the clan, he was still direct lineage of the Realm’s Greatest Swordsmen.

‘That name alone could have afforded him many privileges.’

Digging deeper into the memories, Namgung Cheon’s childhood surfaced.

Brief moments when he had shown exceptional brilliance with the sword.

However, that light soon faded, and he had locked himself away in a shell called ordinariness.

‘…I see.’

Suddenly, a theory flashed through his mind.

Perhaps this brat Namgung Cheon had realized too early.

The storm his talent would bring.

And the life of struggle required to survive in that storm.

The jealousy and schemes between brothers.

The endless tests and competition.

Disgusted by all of it, perhaps he had given up everything.

Hiding his own light, concealing himself behind the shadow of ordinariness, yearning for complacent peace.

‘Ridiculous. To bury one’s own potential with one’s own hands.’

He neither could nor wanted to understand it.

A choice completely opposite to his own life, where he had struggled desperately to survive.

‘There is no peace for those who flee in fear. They merely become prey for the strong.’

A smile crossed his lips.

‘Your weakness has become a new opportunity for me. So I won’t be grateful. It’s only a natural result.’

This body, the talent you possessed, and everything you should have enjoyed.

From now on, it’s all mine.

He slowly raised his body.

Countless swords visible beyond the slowly burning lamplight.

‘Geomhongdong…’

A rite of passage that members of the Namgung Clan bloodline must undergo around the age of twenty.

The main purpose here was the selection of a sword, sword selection.

‘What nonsense. A sword choosing its master. And it’s also ridiculous that there aren’t only Namgung swords here.’

Geomhongdong didn’t contain only swords belonging to the Namgung Clan.

It also housed swords from worthy opponents who had crossed blades with Namgung swordsmen, as well as famous swords collected by the clan.

Truly a treasury and tomb of swords.

And whether Geomhongdong itself was special, intense energy was emanating from all those famous swords.

‘So that’s why. Why this Namgung Cheon lost consciousness.’

Those with weak mental fortitude would find it difficult just to endure the energy filling the entire cave.

Perhaps that’s why, contrary to the ritual name of sword selection, most were recognized simply for refining and enduring their mental strength.

‘But if one were to truly receive sword selection…’

Though rare enough to occur perhaps once every few decades, there were cases where sword selection truly happened.

And those who received such sword selection would gain high status and tremendous support within the clan.

Their chances of becoming the clan head would increase.

‘…A testing ground that also serves as selection.’

He recalled Namgung Cheon’s final memory.

Namgung Cheon had lost consciousness in the deepest part of Geomhongdong, here at Mangumsong, unable to overcome the sword energy.

‘If it was difficult from the entrance, why did he come all the way here?’

He pondered briefly, but it wasn’t an immediately important fact.

What mattered was one thing.

The fact that he, who had been Cheonma, had gained a new opportunity.

Yes, a new beginning.

In his previous life, he had always lived as if being chased, struggling to survive.

Even when he reached the pinnacle, there was no true peace.

A life marked by suspicion, betrayal, and endless struggle.

But now it was different.

This insignificant body of Namgung Cheon.

An existence no one paid attention to.

Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity.

To start everything anew.

His gaze slowly swept over the swords of Mangumsong.

The energy emanating from hundreds of swords.

It would have been unbearable terror for the previous Namgung Cheon.

‘Compared to the countless threats I experienced in my previous life, this is nothing.’

A smile bloomed on Namgung Cheon’s lips.

It didn’t matter if this body was ordinary.

‘I am one who created something from nothing and stood at the pinnacle of the demonic path.’

Because I was Cheonma.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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