<Chapter 3>
Seol Woon-yeong, the only survivor of the Seol Clan massacre, mastered martial arts and wandered the Central Plains in search of her enemies.
She had only one reason to live:
— Avenge my family and return to the Seol Clan.
Time passed, and Woon-yeong became known by the nickname Hwayong Nachal (Flower-Faced Rakshasa) — a beautiful face paired with merciless hands.
That endless time felt like it would never end.
The martial world of the Central Plains had existed for thousands of years.
Countless factions had risen, seeking to unify the martial world, and though there had been upheavals, the martial artists of the Central Plains had always managed to push them back.
But the rise of the faction known as Heavenly Palace (Cheongung) was nothing short of shocking.
— The Heavenly Demon of that generation was defeated by the vice lord of Cheongung, and the Demonic Cult vanished from Xinjiang.
The Heavenly Demon Sect, considered the most powerful force, had disappeared.
The Demonic Cult, feared even by children and long regarded as the enemy of the Central Plains martial world — was gone.
Some laughed at the fall of a powerful enemy. Others warned that Cheongung must be watched carefully. But most people weren’t particularly concerned.
They believed the martial world would continue as always.
But they had forgotten: it was not they who had protected the martial world all this time, but their ancestors.
And only after being trampled by Cheongung did they realize — too late — that the long peace had dulled their swords.
They were simply, brutally swept away.
Clans, families, and countless warriors perished.
In the decade since Cheongung began its rise, half of the martial factions — regardless of whether they were righteous or evil — had been wiped out.
— The Lord of Cheongung intends to perform a grand ritual using the Heavenly Demon Sect’s secret vault (Heavenly Demon Treasury).
This news reached the Martial Alliance, which was barely holding on.
The Alliance’s final strike force set out for Mt. Tian (Tianshan), once the sacred ground of the now-vanished Heavenly Demon Sect.
Among the ten strongest warriors in the world, Seol Woon-yeong, known as the Ghost Sword of the Flower Face, stood at the vanguard.
It was only natural.
She was finally going to cut down her enemy. She couldn’t fall behind.
— It was Cheongung who orchestrated the Seol Clan massacre.
— Are you… certain?
— Would I lie about something like this? Before they revealed the name Cheongung, their most frequent activity in the shadows was absorbing merchant families. If you compare similar cases, you’ll see.
Yeo Hae-shin, leader of Hao Mun (information guild), was never wrong.
Their enemies were many, and they were strong. Woon-yeong’s battles were always brutal. Every day was war. Every moment, hell.
Yet she survived.
Slashed, stabbed, broken — still, she lived and wielded her sword. Walking through carnage, she grew stronger.
Because she had to return to the Seol Clan — alive.
The battle on Mt. Tian felt endless.
How many hours had passed? Had a new day begun? Perhaps days had gone by.
Cheongung warriors in black continued to block her path.
Woon-yeong gripped her sword again and swung it relentlessly. There was no mercy in her strikes. There never had been.
Slash, stab, slash again…
Her blade became soaked in the blood of the black-clad warriors.
How many had she felled? As another one collapsed, a memory from the past overlapped with the present.
“If only I had swung my sword like this back then… If I could have stopped them…”
Though nearly thirty years had passed, Woon-yeong was still stuck in that day — the day she fled alone from the Seol Clan.
She didn’t take up the sword for any grand reason.
She did so simply because her father, Seol Ja-dan, had wielded a sword. That image was burned into her memory.
So she moved — and swung.
She raised her bleeding right arm, the same arm that had held a sword for over twenty years.
The sword, now like an extension of her body, began to hum faintly.
It cried out on her behalf, as she herself could not.
Bravely — and gratefully.
In the next moment, she stood alone.
Dragging her sword, she trudged forward with heavy steps. At last, she stood before the great doors of the Heavenly Demon Treasury.
She mustered her remaining strength and pushed the heavy doors open.
Rumble…
As the doors opened, something began inside.
It seemed the terrible ritual the Grand Strategist had spoken of was beginning. Without hesitation, Woon-yeong threw herself inside.
Before the strike force had departed, she had spoken with Jeogal Dam and Namgung Hwi.
— So you’re saying… those bastards did all this for some chunks of iron?
— They’re not just chunks of iron. Long ago, the words of the Buddha…
— Skip that. You’re saying the vajras (diamond scepters) were somehow split up and kept by various sects.
— Yes. That’s essentially correct.
— And those bastards turned the Central Plains into a sea of blood just to find them.
— That’s right.
— So once I get inside that treasury, I’m supposed to destroy those “iron sticks”?
— It’s probably impossible to destroy them. They’re sacred relics of immense power. But… just moving them might be enough to interrupt the ritual.
— Alright. Then I’ll go in first. I’ll be the one to reach the treasury first.
This would be her final battle. At last, she could cut down the Lord of Cheongung and return to the Seol Clan.
Woon-yeong simply smiled.
The massive interior of the treasury was drenched in red — everything was red.
The floor was covered in blood-red beads the size of fists. Woon-yeong knew what they were.
“…Bloodstones.”
There had long been rumors circulating in the martial world about a pill called Shinhyeoldan.
It was said to expand meridians and increase inner strength, so many warriors began taking it.
But it had violent side effects and ultimately corroded innate qi.
These bloodstones were what remained from those who had taken it.
Those countless stones — each one a life.
“…How… how could they do something like this…”
Gritting her teeth, Woon-yeong looked ahead and saw a giant pool.
A pool of blood.
Around it stood dozens of spellcasters chanting incantations, and floating in the pool was something monstrous.
One head, then two… and likely one more hidden underneath. Multiple arms — probably six.
“…Asura…”
Grand Strategist Jeogal Dam had been wrong.
Woon-yeong could tell instinctively.
The vajras weren’t just weapons. The Cheongung bastards had wanted to destroy the only weapons that could kill this thing.
Woon-yeong dashed forward. Her target was that horrific monster.
Before they had entered Mt. Tian, Jeogal Dam had stood in her way.
— You don’t have to be the one at the front.
— No, I do.
— Why? Why must you be the one to go first?
Was he angry? What had made him so upset?
— Because… I’m the strongest. If I make it back, I’ll buy you tea.
Did Jeogal Dam laugh at that? Or was he speechless? She couldn’t remember.
Even right before the assault, she and Namgung Hwi were still arguing over who would take point.
— The vanguard shall be me, Namgung Hwi.
— No, I’m going. You lead the rear. Take responsibility for whoever survives.
— I will. But—
— I said I’m going. Take care of the rear. I’ll buy you a drink later.
He was someone she could trust to guard her back.
It seemed she owed them all far too much this time.
Woon-yeong realized she was dreaming.
For over twenty years, her nightmares had always been the same — the last day at the Seol Clan.
But now, she would carry this new nightmare with her for the rest of her life.
— I wish I could take the pain instead… My dear Yeong-ah, my daughter…
She remembered her father Seol Ja-dan’s voice when she had a fever.
— Wake up, child. Your father is hurting because of you.
— Yeong-ah, when you’re better, I’ll take you to the market. Anywhere you want to go.
She recalled her grandfather Seol Won-pyeong and her brother Seol Do-jin.
Sometimes when she opened her eyes, she saw her nanny Shin Ok-ryeo, and her maidservants Hong So-gyo and Shim Hyang-a.
Woon-yeong remembered each of their faces, their voices, and the warmth of the Seol Clan household.
And then — snap. Her eyes flew open.
She blinked. Again and again. She reached up to feel her neck. It was still properly attached.
“…I am Seol Woon-yeong. Ten years old. This is Yeonhongwon. The Seol Clan. It’s okay. It’s okay…”
Muttering to herself, she gently stroked the necklace around her neck.
