The Great Heavenly Demon Sovereign - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 1
Prologue
The child was an orphan.
Abandoned so early that he didn’t even have a name.
Not until he met Bu Chanyang, a mortician who specialized in preparing the bodies of those who died away from home for proper burial.
―I never imagined you were hiding in the snow….
It was winter, when bitter northern winds swept across the land.
Beneath a snow-laden tree, Bu Chanyang extended his hand toward the child huddled there.
―Will you not follow me?
The child, whose eyes had been vacant and unfocused, reached out with a hand pale and frozen as fish flesh.
And so that child took Bu Chanyang’s surname and was given the name Bu Eunseol.
* * *
Pyeong-an Funeral House.
A modest establishment that primarily prepared the bodies of those without relatives or who had died abroad, referred by the constabulary.
Inside Pyeong-an Funeral House.
Upon a wooden preparation table lay the corpse of a middle-aged man.
Before it stood an elderly man with white hair and a young attendant, facing one another.
The mortician who operated Pyeong-an Funeral House—Bu Chanyang. And Bu Eunseol.
“Hmm.”
Bu Eunseol examined the corpse on the table with an intensely serious gaze.
“Eunseol.”
“Yes.”
Bu Eunseol’s eyes widened as he studied the body intently.
With skin as pale as snow and dark pupils, had his eyebrows been trimmed into a crescent shape, one might have mistaken him for a girl—such was his delicate appearance.
“Now, tell me what you observe.”
“Allow me one more careful examination.”
Yet despite his beautiful features, Bu Eunseol’s voice was cold and low.
It was a voice as dry and harsh as the bitter winter wind.
“Mm.”
Bu Eunseol made a sound of acknowledgment and spoke while studying the corpse carefully.
“He appears to be a martial artist.”
“A martial artist?”
“Yes. Judging by his well-developed musculature, he seems to have trained in martial arts since childhood.”
Bu Chanyang blinked his eyes with a faint smile playing at his lips.
“How so? His body is gaunt, and there are no calluses on his hands.”
Bu Chanyang shook his head and pointed to both of the corpse’s hands.
“Swordsmen who have mastered blade techniques always bear calluses on their palms. Yet this man bears no such marks.”
Sword practitioners who train daily in their craft naturally develop calluses on their hands from gripping the hilt tightly.
But the corpse before them had hands as soft as a woman’s, with no trace of calluses whatsoever.
“There exist hand techniques in the martial world such as the Jade-Breaking Palm and the Heavenly Strength Hand. When one masters such specialized techniques, the calluses on the hands disappear.”
“Then this person is a master swordsman who has trained in some specialized hand technique?”
“No.”
Bu Eunseol shook her head with confidence.
“This person never trained in hand techniques.”
“Then why does a swordsman lack the telltale marks that appear on sword masters?”
“Because this person is a master of the Ground-Lying Swift Sword.”
“Ah, and how can you tell?”
Bu Eunseol smiled faintly and pointed to the left thigh of the middle-aged man’s corpse.
“This person’s left leg shows abnormally developed musculature, like that of a kicking technique master.”
“Couldn’t this person simply be a master of kicking techniques?”
“No. The development here is definitive proof that this person trained in the Ground-Lying Swift Sword, which requires the lower body to be firmly planted to the earth.”
Bu Eunseol pointed to the muscles of the middle-aged man’s left leg as it lay on the preparation table.
“If this person were a kicking master, the gluteal muscles and the front thigh muscles—which add power to kicks—would be developed instead.”
Bu Eunseol indicated the sole and calf of the corpse.
“But in this person, only the front calf muscle on the left side is most prominently developed. That is the unmistakable evidence of training in the Ground-Lying Swift Sword.”
“Hahaha.”
Bu Chanyang patted Bu Eunseol’s head with evident pride.
“Your grandfather has nothing left to teach you.”
It was always like this.
The two of us would discuss the cause of death and which wounds proved fatal as we cleaned each body.
“Even a master of the Ground-Lying Swift Sword could not escape the Dark Shadow Flying Needle.”
Bu Chanyang pointed to the area near the corpse’s neck.
The wound there gaped open like the wings of a butterfly.
“The assassin likely timed the Dark Shadow Flying Needle to strike as the swift sword was being unleashed, severing the carotid artery in one blow. There were probably two attackers, and both were masters of concealed weapons.”
Bu Chanyang clicked his tongue and spoke softly.
“When executing a one-strike-certain-death swift sword, one must always guard against that final hidden move.”
Bu Chanyang and Bu Eunseol continued their discussion as they began carefully cleaning the body.
“Ah, this one is a crime of passion.”
The corpse now on the preparation table was that of a young man whose face had been brutally disfigured.
“The hatred reached its peak. That is why such wounds were inflicted.”
Bu Chanyang and Bu Eunseol began the ritual cleansing with utmost care.
Growl.
Finally, as we finished placing the body in the coffin, a loud rumble echoed from Bu Eunseol’s stomach, announcing the end of our work.
“Hahaha. Your belly’s clock is always punctual.”
As Bu Eunseol lowered her head in embarrassment, Bu Chanyang gazed at the sun climbing toward its zenith.
“Shall we go to an inn this evening for a change and eat there?”
“No. Just noodles. I’ll prepare them deliciously for you.”
Bu Eunseol shook her head matter-of-factly, and Bu Chanyang’s expression darkened.
Embalmers who prepare the bodies of the dead.
We are among the lowest of embalmers, treated as less than butchers.
The stench of death clung to my body relentlessly, never fading away.
People pointed fingers and called me unlucky, and innkeepers turned me away at the door without fail.
Knowing this, I rarely ventured beyond the Pyeong-an Funeral House.
“Yes, let’s do that.”
The two of us sat on the wooden bench and began eating noodles.
Though the only side dish was pickled radish, I could eat with genuine pleasure and contentment.
It was warm food I could never have dared to eat during my orphan days.
And there was Grandfather Bu Chanyang, whose gaze was even warmer than the meal itself.
“Why are you staring like that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
I was simply happy with everything.
I wished for these days to stretch endlessly ahead, for this life to continue for as long as possible.
* * *
Deep in the night.
A lamp burned in the small room of the Pyeong-an Funeral House.
Bu Chanyang sat at a wooden table reading a book while I slept soundly in the corner of the room.
“That’s incorrect.”
“Hmm?”
“It wasn’t a stab from behind—the blade was fixed in place and then driven through. I’m certain of it.”
I was analyzing the cause of death even in my dreams, muttering about corpse examination.
“This child… truly a heaven-sent coroner.”
Bu Chanyang smiled warmly watching me.
My granddaughter, so precious he wouldn’t feel pain even with her in his eyes.
In truth, he had never married nor fathered children. But since bringing Bu Eunseol into his life, he had discovered the true flavor of existence.
The happiness of warmth itself.
Whoosh.
Then, from far away, he heard the sound of wind rushing.
But Bu Chanyang, blessed with keen hearing, recognized it as the sonic boom of someone executing an impossibly swift lightness technique.
…
As Bu Chanyang rose to his feet, his expression turned cold and rigid.
Those with good intentions do not come calling; those who come calling harbor no good intentions.
The principle was ancient and immutable.
Whoosh.
Bu Chanyang extinguished the lamp and quietly left the room.
He opened the gate and stepped slowly outside.
Whiiiiing.
As the desolate wind swept across, the pitch-black sky seemed to deepen into an even more impenetrable darkness.
Bu Chanyang stood motionless before the gate, eyes closed.
Though he appeared lost in thought, he was actually employing the supreme technique of sonic perception—sweeping through three hundred paces in all directions with meticulous precision.
“So that’s how it is.”
Bu Chanyang opened his eyes again, muttering with a desolate expression.
Then he returned to the room and woke Bu Eunseol.
“Seol.”
“Yes? Yes?”
“Shall we play the corpse game again tonight?”
“At this hour?”
Bu Chanyang spoke to Bu Eunseol, who was rubbing her eyes, in a gentle voice.
“This corpse game is a bit different. You absolutely must not leave the house until the sun rises.”
“Until the sun rises?”
“Yes. If you succeed this time, I’ll get you the proper robes and peach sword you’ve been pestering me about.”
“Proper robes and a peach sword?”
Bu Eunseol’s eyes snapped open.
Being still young, she had no robes or sword that fit her, so she had constantly pestered Bu Chanyang about it.
But Bu Chanyang had always refused, saying she was not yet old enough to wield such things.
“I’ll do it right away!”
As the excited Bu Eunseol moved toward one of the standing coffins, Bu Chanyang waved his hand.
“This time, you’ll enter the iron coffin.”
“The iron coffin?”
The iron coffin was literally a coffin made of metal.
Long ago, when Bu Eunseol had asked about its purpose, Bu Chanyang had said this.
―That’s the coffin to use when your grandfather passes away.
“I don’t want to. The iron coffin is….”
Sensing something amiss, Bu Eunseol shook her head, and Bu Chanyang wore a benevolent smile.
“Don’t worry. Your grandfather is simply testing you to buy you those robes and sword.”
“Really?”
“Of course. When have I ever broken a promise to you?”
As he gently stroked her head, Bu Eunseol giggled and nodded.
“Understood!”
Clang.
Bu Chanyang’s eyes grew clouded as he watched Bu Eunseol enter the iron coffin.
‘That girl.’
Whoosh.
When the sound of a blade cutting through air came again, Bu Chanyang’s face, which had worn a smile, turned rigid.
Thud thud.
With a cold expression, he stepped outside the gate and stood motionless like a stone monument.
How much time had passed?
“Seven-Finger Demon Blade, Bu Chanyang.”
Then a low voice reached Bu Chanyang’s ears.
“I’ve finally caught your tail.”
As Bu Chanyang opened his eyes, the Black-Robed Man approached with his body held rigidly upright.
It was truly a remarkable display of lightness technique.
“The Seven-Finger Demon Blade.”
Bu Chanyang exhaled a deep sigh.
“A name I haven’t heard in quite some time.”
The Seven-Finger Demon Blade, Bu Chanyang.
The foremost blade master of the demonic path.
A martial arts fanatic who severed three of his own fingers to cultivate a heretical sword technique.
The Great Killing Star who mercilessly slaughtered countless righteous masters and even reclusive experts of previous generations.
This demonic sect member, who had thrown the martial world into terror, had even ascended to the position of Vice-Master of the Demon Hall—what could be called the demonic counterpart to the Murim Alliance.
Truly, he was a master who had achieved every glory a martial artist could attain.
“Is that how you wished to live?”
The Black-Robed Man gazed at Bu Chanyang, his smile turning cold and sharp.
“You spurned even the position of Vice-Master of the Demon Hall and vanished from sight… and now you skulk about like a rat, performing the contemptible work that even vagabonds shun. It’s laughable.”
“Haha.”
Bu Chanyang let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
“I took up this work to atone for the wrongs I committed over the years.”
“Atone?”
“Those who died by my hand under the guise of protecting the martial world’s peace.”
As Bu Chanyang continued, his eyes grew hollow and distant.
“Yet the Murim Alliance has done it again… created another being like myself.”
Bu Chanyang could discern that the Black-Robed Man was repeating the very deeds he himself had once committed.
“Of course, my continued existence would be inconvenient for them. I am the greatest shame of the righteous faction, after all.”
“Then take your own life.”
“In the end, you too will be discarded, just as I was. Brutally.”
“You worry about strange things.”
The Black-Robed Man spoke with absolute confidence.
“Do you think I will become a mere tool for slaughtering righteous masters like you did?”
“The fate of a spy who hides their true identity and wanders the martial world slaying masters is always the same, isn’t it?”
In truth, Bu Chanyang was not a crazed killing star who slaughtered righteous masters, but rather a double agent meticulously cultivated by the Murim Alliance itself.
“The Murim Alliance has long created double agents like myself and you, to slaughter the righteous faction members who were thorns in their side. To reshape the righteous sects to their liking and dominate the martial world.”
“You certainly talk much.”
“I speak because I walked this path first.”
The Black-Robed Man let out a scoff and continued.
“Are you asking for respect as a senior?”
“How could there be hierarchy among spies?”
Bu Chanyang shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips.
“I merely advise you to cease this work while you still can.”
“How touchingly kind of you.”
The Black-Robed Man shook his head and drew forth an insignia from his waist.
“Bu Chanyang. Do not assume that because you suffered such a fate, others must suffer the same.”
The credential the man presented gleamed with five-colored radiance, inscribed with the characters ‘Sungwi Unit’.
It was a badge marking him as a member of the Sungwi Unit, one of the Seven Great War Brigades of the Murim Alliance.
“I am different from you. I have not hidden my identity and have openly registered myself with the Murim Alliance. From here on, I shall ascend the path of advancement.”
The Black-Robed Man’s smile brimmed with ambition.
“Once I dispose of you, I shall receive at minimum the rank of Vice-Commander… perhaps even Commander of a Unit.”
“I see.”
Bu Chanyang exhaled a turbid breath.
“You truly are different from me.”
The Black-Robed Man was indeed a different sort of person.
Rather than merely being raised by the Murim Alliance and following its commands, he was baring his fangs to devour the Alliance itself.
“Since you understand, then die gracefully.”

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