A village we discovered not long after crossing into Xinjiang Province.
Of course, the entire province wouldn't have fallen under the Demonic Cult's control, so there were bound to be villages where ordinary folk lived.
That's what I had thought.
"Just what in the world happened here…?"
That was, until I was shocked by the Demonic Qi that blanketed the entire village.
Great Master Jeonghyeon's hands trembled. It was partly because, having cultivated Buddhist martial arts, he was sensitive to Demonic Qi, but there was a more fundamental issue at play.
Just as Seol Ri-hyang's practice of Yin-Cold Energy Cultivation didn't mean the internal energy of the surrounding area naturally converted into Yin Energy.
Practicing Demonic arts doesn't mean one can change the environment around them.
That's not the way of a Martial Artist, who refines Natural Qi into internal energy before accepting it—that's the way of a Spirit Beast, which takes in Natural Qi as it is.
…And now everyone knows. The Heavenly Demon once delved deep into the ways of Spirit Beasts in order to fight them.
In other words, the Heavenly Demon had done something to that village.
It didn't take long to reach this conclusion.
"Everyone, be on guard. It seems the Heavenly Demon has prepared a welcome greeting for us."
"Well, well. Treating guests this shabbily is a bit much."
The Murim Alliance Leader gripped his staff, while the Lord of the Black Alliance grumbled as he drew his twin spears.
Even those who didn't know the full details drew their weapons instinctively—some following orders, others driven by the growing sense of dread that crept closer with every step.
And just as they finished steeling themselves and stepped into the village.
They found it. A monster with three heads and six arms.
…This wasn't a metaphor. Three people had been bound together, forced to move as a single body.
"What the hell is this…?"
Even I, who had fought the Demonic Cult once before my regression and had glimpsed fragments of the Heavenly Demon's memories, had never seen anything like this.
No matter how insane the Demonic Cultists were, I never thought they'd go this far.
I frowned from shock and instinctive revulsion—but only for a moment.
The Demonic Qi surrounding the village suddenly surged, and the eyes of those bound together began to turn red.
It was a clear sign of Qi Deviation.
"Kuaaaah!"
"Stop! Please stop…!"
"Isn't this enough?!"
The three bound men thrashed their heads and begged, but nothing changed. The flow of Demonic Qi remained fierce, and the three, unable to control their rampaging internal energy as if drawn by it, fell into complete Qi Deviation.
Now they could no longer even speak properly, only letting out monstrous screams—three heads and six arms. They began charging toward me, swinging fists and claws.
It was startling, but I raised my sword to cut them down. Each one seemed to be a Martial Artist of considerable skill… but bound like that and fallen into Qi Deviation, they were no different from beasts with nothing but strength.
Just as I was about to cut down the one charging at me, without even knowing what was happening—
KWAANG!
Another three-headed, six-armed creature smashed through the house beside us and pounced on the one charging at us.
"…Huh?"
Then came two more three-headed, six-armed creatures. Or rather, a fight between six Martial Artists who had fallen into Qi Deviation.
As if I didn't even exist, they fought with their clumsy bodies, as if trying to kill each other.
Rough killing intent burst forth. Monstrous screams and shrieks crossed, and with punches that could hardly be called martial arts, they shattered each other's bones, and with raised fingernails, they tore off handfuls of flesh.
It was too brutal and base a slaughter to be called a fight between Martial Artists.
At first, I thought it was some kind of trap meant to whittle down the Martial Artists of the Orthodox-Unorthodox Alliance, even if only a little.
Taking civilians hostage, forcing us to fight to save them, with someone inevitably sacrificing themselves… that kind of trap.
But the scene unfolding right before my eyes was something entirely different.
They tied the Martial Artists up in groups of three, and now they were making them fight each other. I couldn't fathom the intention at all.
I kept my guard up and watched quietly, and before I knew it, the battle between the two Three-Headed, Six-Armed creatures had ended—one side had collapsed. It was the one that had charged at us first.
Thud!
Two of the three bound ones were dead, and the last had suffered minor injuries, so of course, it couldn't hold out and fell over.
And the victorious Three-Headed, Six-Armed creature examined the fallen one closely… then suddenly untied the rope binding itself.
"So it could untie itself…?"
The absurdity lasted only a moment. It grabbed the one among them who was most severely injured and barely breathing, then tossed him aside, and filled the empty spot with the one who was in the best condition among the three-headed, six-armed creatures that had just collapsed.
Then it tied itself up with the rope again, glanced this way once, and disappeared into the village.
What remained in its place were two dead bodies. And the one who, even as it was dying, was struggling to tie itself and the corpses together to form another three-headed, six-armed creature.
At the sight so utterly unexpected, I and everyone else stood frozen. Then, from within the collapsed rubble, an old man walked out.
His face was wrinkled, his back was bent, and his steps were slow. As he walked with a cane, not a shred of internal energy could be felt from him.
The old man was truly an ordinary civilian. …That was what I thought, until he brought his cane down on the one who was pulling at the rope even as it died.
How strong could an old man be, after all? But as if to make up for his lacking strength, he had attached a sharp blade to the end of his cane.
Thunk.
The martial artist who had been stabbed through the neck from behind came to a complete stop.
No matter how out of his mind he was, no matter that his life was about to end… the old woman who bowed her head spoke in a voice far too calm for someone who had just killed a man.
"Welcome, guests from the Central Plains. I do hope the gift prepared by the Cult Leader was to your liking."
"…Listen here, old woman. What in the world is going on, and what is this talk of a gift from the Heavenly Demon?"
In response to my question, the old woman smiled a kindly smile and answered politely.
"This village was once an ordinary village. That is, until a group of martial artists from the Central Plains came over that ridge and we took them in."
The old woman's ensuing explanation was a familiar one.
Martial artists who had been wounded in factional strife and fled to this place.
The villagers, taking pity on them, treated their wounds, gave them shelter, and accepted them as members of the village…
But the martial artists, realizing they were the strongest here, began to oppress the villagers who had cared for them with force, committing every kind of atrocity.
This was a story I knew all too well. The Jeoksa Faction had settled in my childhood hometown in much the same way.
Unorthodox Sects—especially those ambiguous figures pushed out of the mainstream—taking control of a small rural village and lording it over the people was common enough.
Still, most of them never rose above the level of thugs and ruffians of the black path.
That was only natural. The moment they crossed the line, the Black Alliance, blinded by their kill count, or the rising talents of the Orthodox Sects, blinded by fame and righteousness, would come swarming in.
So they should have stirred up just enough trouble to be properly wicked, yet still liveable—but that was a line few managed to walk.
The ones who had entered this village apparently hadn't kept to that line.
Perhaps it was because the nearest opponent worth watching out for was too far away in Xinjiang Province, or perhaps it was because they had been driven to the brink of death by lack of strength and, ashamed of their disgraceful flight, had become all the more obsessed with the logic of power.
Of course, it could simply be that they were born wicked.
Either way, one thing was certain—they had crossed the line, and crossed it far too greatly.
"They turned every woman in the village into their playthings, tore apart anyone who resisted limb from limb as an example, and even committed worse deeds from time to time."
"…Foolish bastards. To settle in one place, you need a certain degree of coexistence."
The Lord of the Black Alliance let out a deep sigh and lowered the spear he was holding.
It might have been because the old woman posed no threat… but as a man who had spent his whole life trying to find the proper line for the Unorthodox Sects' martial artists, the sense of hollow disappointment must have been immense.
Naturally, the village could only grow smaller. With far more people dying meaninglessly than being born, it was inevitable.
And so, around the time the villagers had dwindled and empty houses had become noticeably more numerous—
The old woman's granddaughter fell gravely ill, they said.
Hers was a family of frail constitution. Her mother had long since died of sickness, and her father had been the very first to resist the violent martial artists, and was killed for it.
The granddaughter, left alone with the old woman. Unable to just watch the child suffer, the old woman begged the martial artists and managed to buy medicine from a distant village, but…
"When I returned, my granddaughter was already dead. It wasn't the sickness. A man who wanted to have his way with even a sick child—she resisted him and was beaten to death."
Finding her granddaughter's body discarded outside the village, the old woman buried her along with the medicine, and then headed straight for the Shiwan Dashan Mountains.
"…In truth. It was I who suggested letting those wicked ones in. So this old woman must see it through to the end, mustn't she?"
The rugged path was difficult for an old body to climb. But the old woman, having lost everything, leaned on her resentment and sense of duty as her walking stick, and somehow managed to endure.
It was said that upon arriving at the Demonic Cult, she laid out her circumstances and begged for their help.
Naturally, the Demonic Cultists, who carried similar pain, volunteered one after another to head to the village with the old woman… and they were able to subdue the scoundrels with ease.
After all, these were the sort who had been pushed back helplessly when facing fellow martial artists, and only showed off their strength against common folk.
Even if they couldn't reach a high level of mastery, the Demonic Cultists, who achieved quick results, would have been impossible to withstand.
…However, it was said that even this was too late.
The few villagers who had remained were already dead, and the scoundrels were in the middle of preparing to leave this place and return to the Central Plains.
In the end, the only person left in this village was the old woman.
A village with no one left. The only things remaining were the bound strangers, and the old woman thought.
"If they love fighting and slaughter that much, shouldn't they be made to live that way forever?"
And so, with the help of the Demonic Cult, she bound them together, and using Godok and seals, she made it so that exposure to a specific Demonic Qi would cause them to lose their reason and run amok. Thus, they would kill each other forever.
This was the true nature of the Three-Headed, Six-Armed creatures we had seen fighting among themselves.
Having heard the entire story, the Murim Alliance Leader and the Lord of the Black Alliance fell into thought and swallowed their words.
Though somewhat cruel, from a certain perspective, wasn't it a fitting punishment? If so, by the standards of the martial world, this constituted a just revenge.
…However, I, who knew the Demonic Cult well, thought a little differently.
"Elder. Judging by the energy felt from afar, it seems there are quite a few Three-Headed, Six-Armed creatures like the ones just now."
"Our village tends to be quite bustling around this time of day."
"Then, are all of them the enemies of that old man who destroyed the village and killed people for fun?"
"…"
The old woman smiled faintly and shook her head.
"No. In truth, they all died long ago. Those who remain here are… those who are destined to become someone else's enemies."
In other words, they were martial artists with no connection to her… who had yet to commit any clear wrongdoing.
They had simply caught the eye of a Demonic Cultist, and happened to possess just enough skill to be worth subduing, so they were brought here.
The Murim Alliance Leader, grasping the meaning of her words, trembled in shock.
"What… are you saying they are innocent young people?!"
"How can one who has taken up a sword and learned the arts of harming others be innocent? Even if not now, surely someday they would commit the same deeds. Just as you, honored guests, have killed many people yourselves."
"Y-you madman!"
The Murim Alliance Leader raised the staff he had been holding loosely, as if to strike me down at any moment… but he could not bring it down, only trembling in place.
No matter how much of a person who captured innocent martial artists and forced them to kill each other he was, the fact that he was an old man who had suffered such a tragic ordeal must have weighed on his conscience.
So, I swung my sword in his stead.
Slicing.
With a faint smile that was almost kind, the old woman's neck fell.
After confirming that the body, now bereft of its master, had crumpled to the ground, I spoke.
"Murim Alliance Leader."
"I'm sorry, White Moon Sword Lord. I…"
"It's fine. Just know this—what the Demonic Cult truly is."
There are certainly many in the Demonic Cult who carry tragic circumstances.
But even so, there are things that can be forgiven and things that cannot, are there not?
"The reason we take up our swords is also to draw a line."
The world had always been chaotic. What was right and what was wrong, where the boundary of acceptability lay and where the problem began.
We do not know that answer. We merely cut through the chaos with our swords and draw a single line.
We draw that line ourselves—the line called duty or conviction—and hold to it.
"But the Demonic Cult has no such line."
They are people who look only at what they have lost, and if the world is in chaos, they believe without a doubt that others should be thrown into chaos as well.
"Perhaps the Heavenly Demon's goal is to sap our morale."
What if one is not truly doing the right thing? What if the opponent is merely a pitiful victim?
Merely planting such doubt makes a person visibly weaker.
"Do not doubt. Take only the line you yourself have drawn as your standard."
The old woman's circumstances were pitiable, but forcibly dragging in innocent people and making them kill each other in agony crossed the line.
So I cut her down. That was all.
…Dealing with the Demonic Cult was never difficult, whether before my regression or now—but it was always exhausting.