Chapter 3

The last surviving bandit chief actually knew martial arts.

He unleashed his techniques at me in an instant.

The strike came so fast there was no way for me to avoid it.

I fully expected to die.

But nothing happened.

I wasn’t hurt.

Not even a sting.

And that was when I understood:

I’m not just strong.

My body itself is inhumanly tough.

The bandit chief slashed at me with a blade shimmering with wavering heat, like a mirage rising from steel—

and still, not a single cut hurt.

More than anything, that shimmering heat was... fascinating.

While he swung wildly, trying to kill me, I neither dodged nor stepped back. I simply stared at him.

That alone was enough to terrify him beyond reason.

He looked at me as if he were looking at a ghost—

then collapsed to his knees and begged for his life.

But behind him, my eyes caught the mutilated corpses of the villagers.

I didn’t hesitate.

With one strike, I tore the bandit chief’s head clean off.

And so, I became the only survivor of the village.

I buried all the bodies myself, on a sunny patch of earth.

Only when I finished did government soldiers arrive.

They asked what had happened.

I lied and told them the bandits massacred the village and fled.

Even if I told them the truth—that I killed them all—they would never believe it.

The soldiers took me to another village.

But life there was unbearable.

People feared the child who survived alone.

They pointed, whispering that I was a devil’s spawn.

They said calamity followed wherever I stayed.

They came often.

They taunted me.

They bullied me.

I endured.

Endured again, and again.

Until I finally exploded—

and in a heartbeat, I knocked a dozen villagers flat on the ground.

Of course, I held back.

I knew exactly how strong I was.

After that, the bullying vanished as if it had never existed.

And in that moment, I realized:

Strength is the only truth.

From then on, I lived however I wished.

Anyone who provoked me—I never let it slide.

One day, I caught sight of their eyes again.

Eyes filled with fear.

They called me “evil seed.”

A demon’s offspring.

I hated people.

I hated the world.

But I couldn’t just wander around killing everyone.

So I left for the mountains—

a mountain where no one lived.

There, I began to farm, just as the old villagers had once taught me.

Enough to feed myself.

A quiet, solitary life.

And in that solitude, peace began to return.

As I looked at the rice paddies and fields I tended with care, the memories of the past slowly faded.

Until one day—

my younger brothers appeared.

Without greeting me, they stormed straight into the field I had nurtured with care.

They uprooted my crops, cooked them on the spot, and ruined the entire field.

I grew furious—but because they were “visitors,” I spoke kindly.

I asked them to restore everything they ruined.

They snorted, scoffed, and charged at me, declaring they’d kill me instead.

At first, I truly considered killing them.

Then I changed my mind.

After all, I hadn’t seen people in so long.

Their presence °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° was... strangely welcome.

So I decided to educate them instead.

One of them slapped his palm against my stomach.

The sound thundered loudly—like a log slamming into a drum.

But that was all.

It stung—a little. Barely worth noting.

I scratched my belly, and the one who hit me stared as if the world had ended.

“Why are you still standing after taking my Blood-Shadow Ascending Palm?!

Spit blood and collapse already!”

What is he talking about, I thought, and said aloud:

“That little tap won’t make anyone spit blood.

If you want blood... at least this much.”

I rushed forward and slapped my palm into his abdomen.

SPLAAAT—

Blood sprayed from his mouth, and he collapsed unconscious.

The remaining three wore expressions I had seen countless times.

The look of men seeing a ghost.

The look of witnessing something forbidden.

The look of disbelief.

“He’s no pushover! All together!”

The three of them charged.

One vanished into mist and reappeared before me, stabbing a dagger straight toward my eye.

CLANG—

...Or so he thought.

But it was the dagger that bounced away.

I rubbed my eye as if it itched.

The shadow-man’s eyes bulged as though they would burst.

“Y-you... monster...”

Calling a person a monster—really?

SMACK—

I slapped him across the face.

Something flew out of his mouth, and he collapsed on top of the first one.

“Die!”

“You freak!”

Sigh. These idiots.

I turned toward the last two—

and suddenly, their movements became crystal clear.

Strangely slow.

Why can I see them like this?

It felt like I could dodge at will.

I tried—

and dodged.

Tried again—

and avoided another attack.

Why are they suddenly moving so slowly?

Are they underestimating me?

Trying to trick me?

I decided to watch how long they’d keep attacking at this pace.

Time passed—hard to say how long.

The two were panting, out of breath.

Staring at me with that familiar gaze.

I nodded.

Time to send them to sleep.

I rushed forward and slapped them both across the face.

They collapsed neatly atop the others.

That was my first meeting with my younger brothers.

They woke the next day—

and immediately attacked again, unwilling to accept defeat.

A single slap didn’t teach them enough, I realized.

So that day, I knocked them out slowly and thoroughly, step by careful step.

A week passed.

They crawled before me, pledging to serve me as their “Eldest Brother.”

Ridiculous—

I was clearly much younger than they were.

But they told me:

“In the martial world, the strong are the elders.”

I was the strongest—

therefore the elder brother.

And so I became their Eldest Brother.

But even after that, they never stopped.

Whenever there was even the smallest gap, they attacked me with every trick they knew.

Thanks to them, life was never boring.

They were like mischievous children showing affection—

but of course, that didn’t mean I let things slide.

They attacked their Elder Brother.

And for that, they had to pay.

There was always only one result:

I subdued them with the same relentless strength every time.

It’ll be a long time before I see my brothers again.

Later, people in the Central Plains would call them the Four Heavenly Demon Kings.

Someday, when they’re grown, I’ll find them.

Their nickname sounds impressive—

for such weaklings.

They must’ve invented it to sound intimidating.

Honestly, maybe no one will even know who they are.

Who would recognize a title created by such frail fools?

And when we meet again, they won’t recognize me either.

That thought felt... a little sad.

So I made a decision.

I would make them my younger brothers again.

...Perhaps I’ve been thinking too long. I’m getting sleepy...

****

SHIVER—

“Hrk! Wh-what was that chill...?”

“You too? I suddenly got the shakes...”

“Damn it. The monster must’ve awakened.”

“Every time he looked for us, this happened...”

“He can’t be awake already. Impossible...”

“Mistake’s on us for thinking he follows human logic.

At least we bought ourselves time to run—

on a normal day, he’d sprint after us the moment we moved.”

“...Fair. Think he’ll come looking?”

“Hey! Keep horrifying thoughts inside your head!”

“We need to hurry and master the Art of Thousand Faces and Compressed Bone.

This is not the time to relax!”

“R-right! Let’s rush!”

“Actually—

we should split up.

If we spread out, our chances of meeting that monster are lower.”

“You’re right. It’s been fun, everyone.

Let’s never meet again.”

“...Goodbye.”

And so the Four Heavenly Demon Kings scattered in all directions.

****

Two years later.

Now able to walk, Jeok Wigang toddled around the sect grounds, exploring every nook and cranny.

Seeing him brought warm smiles to everyone’s faces.

“Young master, you can’t go that way. It’s dangerous.”

“Okay-sh...”

His tongue was still short.

Today, Wigang was headed toward the library.

Not a large one, but filled with books.

He had been going there every day lately.

People watched with admiration.

“Our young master must be a genius. At that age, and already loving books so much.”

“He mastered the Thousand-Character Classic at one year old, didn’t he?”

“News spread everywhere—‘a prodigy born in the village.’ You should’ve seen the Sect Leader’s face that day!”

“Oh, I saw. He smiled ear-to-ear the whole day.”

“What books is he reading now?”

“Mostly martial arts manuals, I think.”

“Martial arts? Can he even grasp the depth at that age?”

“Who knows? What matters is that he’s interested.”

“True. Under his generation, the True Martial Gate might become the Number One Sect of the Central Plains.”

“Let’s make sure we work hard too—

so we don’t embarrass our young master.”

“Haha, of course. Come on.”

Their voices drifted to Wigang’s ears.

Good people.

I’m happy.

In this life, I vowed never to lose my parents.

And now, I had even more people I needed to protect.

To protect them, I needed to understand martial arts.

Not divine secrets or supreme skills.

My power already surpasses those.

What I need are forms.

I’m strong—

but my movements are sloppy.

They work on weaklings like my brothers,

but not on real masters.

I dismissed the Four Heavenly Demon Kings as boastful weaklings,

but in truth, I’ve never met an actual top-tier martial artist.

Real masters wouldn’t be caught by my clumsy movements.

So I needed proper forms.

As for inner cultivation?

I don’t need it.

I have more strength than I can use.

Still... perhaps I should learn it, just in case.

I am, after all, the son of a warrior.

Fine.

I’ll learn it.

You can never know too much.

Listen to me—don’t I sound refined?

Must be all the reading.

Knowledge is power.

If I’m to protect my family, I must know many things.

And to stop those who once took my parents from me.

For now, things are peaceful.

But peace never lasts unless you guard it.

Who knows when or where enemies might come to shatter my happiness?

So I set aside all martial arts that require inner energy.

For now, I can’t use any.

That left one manual:

the Threefold Essence Fist, a technique anyone in the world could practice.

With my current body, it was the best choice.

Frankly, calling it “martial arts” was embarrassing,

but as a method for building physical strength, it was excellent.

FWOOOM—

As I punched out, the air rippled—

an Air-Rending Pulse tearing through the room—

WHOOOM—

A powerful Fistwind swept outward in all directions.

Such force, from a two-year-old.

Anyone who witnessed it would have fainted on the spot—

but I felt only dissatisfaction.

“Is it because my body is small?

Weaker than I expected.”

It was hard to control the exact output of strength.

If I used everything, the house would collapse.

I tried to match the level I used in the past—

but it came out far weaker.

“Fine. Let’s start by getting the form into my body.”

Jeok Wigang began practicing the Threefold Essence Fist with his short arms and legs.

Others shunned this technique, not even recognizing it as martial arts.

But for Wigang, the fact that his movements finally had proper forms—

not just random flailing—

was pure joy.