Chapter 42…
“Alright, that’s it for today’s stream. Did you all have fun? Whew, I sure did!”
Mudan, Hwasan, Jongnam, Gongdong, Cheongseong.
These were the sects that had been annihilated today by the brightly smiling man.
Such a refreshing smile—just looking at it made one think:
[Oh, Heavenly Demon!!!]
[When will you stream again tomorrow!?]
[Same time as always, right??]
[But today’s my first time watching Kangho Sword Chronicles! Please tell us, Heavenly Demon!]
[Every day from 7 PM to 11 PM. Fixed schedule.]
[Thank you! Thank you!]
[Heavenly Demon descends! Ten thousand demons rejoice! Heavenly Demon descends! Ten thousand demons rejoice!]
[Long live! Long, long live!]
Thus, countless followers began to gather.
With his relentless destruction of sects, people found themselves unknowingly drawn in. They began to call themselves disciples of the Heavenly Demon Cult.
Starting with No. 1, then No. 2, No. 3, No. 4…
Numerous believers of the Heavenly Demon Cult appeared.
They proudly called themselves the “Heavenly Demon Corps” and passionately supported Lee Ji-han’s transformation into the Heavenly Demon.
[Ah, our Ji-han worked so hard.]
[Look, he even smiles at his older sister!]
[How could someone with such a pretty smile have a scary nickname like Heavenly Demon?]
[lolol yeah, Ji-han really is handsome.]
[He’s so cute when he takes care of little kids!]
[Go rewatch “Zombress” vods—his chemistry with the kid is so good you’ll forget all about that Heavenly Demon stuff.]
Others went even further, sanctifying Lee Ji-han as if he were a saint, calling themselves the “Saint Corps.”
The two groups clashed fiercely in the chat, and thanks to that, countless amusing messages filled the stream today.
‘Image-making really is important. But to split into such extremes… this kid Ji-han is something else.’
Manager Kim Su-ho couldn’t help but smirk watching it all unfold.
Just over a month since starting his streams, his friend was already becoming a streamer with the firepower and fandom to rival veterans. He was incredibly proud.
It was like seeing his own unrealized dream fulfilled through Ji-han. That made him want to help even more.
“…But the fandom isn’t uniting into one.”
After Ji-han’s stream ended, Su-ho watched the two fan groups still bickering in the chat and let out a small groan.
“Hm, maybe I really do need to become a ‘braver maker.’”
Image management was a serious issue.
Ji-han was like a newborn sponge, absorbing influences from everything around him. He needed proper direction.
“If only that kid were a little more cunning, I wouldn’t have to worry about this.”
But Su-ho was the type to focus on what needed to be done.
Stretching out, he began setting up an online fan café.
After that, he’d need to recruit editors. And more chat moderators besides himself.
“Can’t handle streaming director duties and chat management all at once.”
He thought of the people he’d already shortlisted. Tomorrow, he’d reach out before the stream, post recruitment ads for editors, too.
“Hm.”
It was tiring, but also enjoyable.
The feeling of growing together with his friend.
Of course, he was supporting from behind the scenes.
“Like a rocket booster, really.”
A booster must eventually fall away, so the satellite it launched can become a star in the sky. But not yet.
For now, he needed to help Ji-han become more independent.
Smiling faintly, Su-ho began typing on his keyboard again.
“Whew.”
Stepping out of the VR capsule, Lee Ji-han looked over his stiff body.
His body wouldn’t move as he wanted—but VR gave him freedom, and that freedom brought happiness.
Kangho Sword Chronicles, unlike Zombress or Zeg, gave him something new.
Internal energy. That mysterious power made his body move faster and more lightly.
When he felt like he was sprinting across empty air, or treading on others’ shoulders to soar through the sky—he felt like a completely different person.
It wasn’t that violence itself awakened in him. The reflexes from fighting games lingered, but Ji-han simply loved this sense of freedom.
“They called it… Qinggong, right?”
He recalled Namgung Hyung’s explanation:
–Disciple, focus your inner energy into your legs and body, making yourself lighter. This is qinggong; most players learn it.
“I really like this.”
He wanted to use qinggong mindlessly, over and over.
If only he could move so freely in reality too—would he have achieved better results? Would he have avoided injury?
Thoughts like that.
But those were old pains, no longer hurting.
Now, he was living a new life as a streamer.
That gave him strength.
With a bright grin, Ji-han stepped out, peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes, and took a quick shower.
“Done streaming, huh, oppa?”
His younger sister, Ji-hye, came out from working on her assignments, smiling as she handed him a cold glass of water.
“Your stream was so fun again today.”
Dressed in light clothes fresh from the shower, Ji-han accepted it.
“Really? Seeing you smile like that this past month—it feels like you’re finally alive again.”
The siblings used to bicker a lot.
But after Ji-han’s injury, their relationship grew cautious. Ji-hye worried about saying something that might hurt her foolishly kind brother.
Lately though, that distance seemed to be closing again.
“Yeah, I feel alive too. Even to me.”
The black sheep of the Lee family.
After his injury, everyone treated him like fragile glass. He had some resentment, but… for someone who knew only sports, it really was like being trapped in a cage.
But a cage also protected the bird from dangers outside—cats, wild dogs. A strong barrier to keep harm away.
Ji-han understood that, so he accepted it despite the frustration.
But now, the little bird had stepped outside the cage.
With VR wings, he could fly.
That was what he’d always longed for.
That small flight made him feel alive again.
“I’m glad, oppa.”
“…Yeah, things have really changed.”
“And you’re getting popular, you know? A bunch of my friends say they watch your streams.”
Ji-hye giggled mischievously. Ji-han flinched in surprise.
“What!? Your friends watch!?”
“Yep, and they’re all jealous, saying you’re so handsome.”
Ji-han scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“They don’t know what you’re really like—such a buzzkill, hehe.”
“…Buzzkill, huh.”
“But really, these days you’re cooler than ever. Even more than when you were an athlete.”
Those words struck Ji-han deeply.
There was a time when sports were everything.
When losing that, his life crumbled.
But now, after overcoming it all, he was being recognized again—even by family.
And all because of games.
It felt strange, so he just smiled awkwardly.
“Anyway, oppa, give me your autograph sometime, hehe.”
“Autograph? I’m not an athlete anymore.”
“A streamer autograph! Bet lots of people would want one. I could trade it for test notes or something, hehe.”
Ji-hye’s shamelessness made Ji-han laugh.
“If it makes things easier for you, I’ll sign as many as you want.”
“Great! Then promise me, okay?”
For the first time in a while, they shared a warm moment.
Smiling softly, the siblings went back to their rooms.
“Good night, oppa.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Ji-han lay down, but couldn’t sleep.
Partly from the lingering excitement of the game.
But more than that, the happiness of being recognized by his family.
Restlessly turning in bed, he pulled up videos of other Kangho Sword Chronicles streamers.
Not just because he couldn’t sleep—he wanted to become a better streamer.
A cooler older brother.
He studied how others played and communicated, soaking it all in like a sponge.
Ji-han was a genius.
But more than that, he was the rare kind of genius who worked obsessively hard.
“……”
Like back in his athlete days, he focused intently, analyzing movements, almost pathologically, almost obsessively.
But it didn’t feel tiring.
Then as now, such effort was the driving force that kept him going.
And so the deep night passed.
Three days later.
The Heavenly Demon’s conquest of the Nine Great Sects continued.
An unstoppable, tyrannical march.
Absorbing techniques from other streamers’ videos, Ji-han grew smoother, more natural.
He chatted more often, growing comfortable with both the game and streaming itself.
[lol Ji-han’s streams are way more fun these days.]
[He actually reads chat now unless he’s hyper-focused, love it.]
[Hilarious every time he calls out Heavenly Demon Corps nicknames and people lose their minds lolol]
[At this point it’s basically a religion.]
[“Pretzel’s Heavenly Demon Cult” lol]
[And we followers aren’t ashamed!]
[But isn’t the Saint Corps basically a cult too? In the end, Ji-han’s just a cult leader, huh?]
Glancing at chat, Ji-han laughed.
“A cult leader? Come on, guys, I’m not like that.”
His jokes had become lighter, his speech witty and relaxed.
He wasn’t just playing—he was enjoying streaming itself.
[lol but Ji-han, you do know your situation is ridiculous, right?]
[lolol like, who chats with viewers while smashing the Beggar’s Sect leader?]
[Do one thing at a time, dude!]
[lmao first they told you to read chat, now they’re telling you to focus on the game.]
[Now that you’re doing both, they still complain lololol]
The lively chat kept rolling, and Ji-han laughed along as he played.
[But isn’t the newbie tournament coming up?]
[Yeah, right?]
[We said we’d hide our true power, but… don’t you need to practice?]
[lol he’s already practicing!]
[lmao right, this is literally “Asura Mode”!!]
Catching himself, Ji-han chuckled.
“True, the tournament is right around the corner.”
Though he was engrossed in Kangho Sword Chronicles, the real reason he started was simple: the newbie tournament.
While waiting for Zombress’s patch, he needed something to pass the time—and the tournament just happened to come up.
Smiling slyly, Ji-han looked at his viewers.
“Should we make another bet? On whether I’ll win or lose this time?”
A mischievous grin spread across his face.
