In a quiet corner of South Korea, a timid orphan named Joon-Ho trudged through life, enduring daily torment from his classmates. With no family to turn to, he buried himself in his love for martial arts manhwas, fantasizing about worlds where justice prevailed and strength determined one's fate. His favorite tales often featured demonic martial arts—feared and revered techniques that could topple entire sects.
One rainy evening, cornered by his tormentors in an alley, Joon-Ho's life came to a tragic end. Their cruel laughter was the last sound he heard as darkness consumed him.
Yet, death was not the end.
When Joon-Ho opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the cool mountain breeze brushing against his skin. The landscape was unlike anything he'd ever seen—majestic peaks, lush forests, and an air so pure it felt otherworldly. He realized he was no longer in his old world.
As he rose, memories and knowledge flooded his mind. Techniques, forms, and philosophies from the demonic martial arts he'd read about came to him as if he'd practiced them his entire life. His hands moved instinctively, forming the first stance of the Heavenly Divine Demonic Art, a technique said to be impossible to master. The ground beneath him cracked with raw power.
Confused but intrigued, Joon-Ho began exploring the mountain. Deep in the woods, he stumbled upon a hidden cave. The walls were adorned with ancient carvings of demons and battles, and the air was thick with an eerie energy. Exhausted, he lay down on a smooth stone inside and fell asleep.
When he awoke, the first thing he saw was a man clad in crimson robes kneeling before him. The man's eyes were wide with reverence and fear.
"Blood Demon," the stranger whispered, his voice trembling. "Have mercy on us. Please, return to lead the Blood Cult."
Joon-Ho blinked in confusion, his mind racing. Blood Demon? Blood Cult? The terms felt familiar yet foreign. His awkward silence stretched, and the man's head dipped lower, as if he feared retribution.
"…Uh, what?" Joon-Ho muttered, scratching the back of his head.
The stranger's expression turned to one of desperate hope. "You truly have returned! The prophecy was true! The heavens have blessed us once more!"
Joon-Ho felt a cold sweat break out on his back. What is going on? Joon-Ho stared at the kneeling man, his heart racing. He tried to make sense of the situation. The term "Blood Demon" echoed in his mind, pulling at his memory. In the manhwas he loved, the Blood Cult was known for its fanatical loyalty to anyone who could wield the Blood Demon Divine Arts—an ancient, forbidden martial technique that made its practitioners almost invincible.
"Wait," Joon-Ho muttered to himself. "If they think I'm the Blood Demon... does that mean I can actually use those arts?"
Curious, he reached inward, focusing on the strange energy now coursing through his body. His instincts took over, and with a single thought, a crimson aura erupted around him. The power was overwhelming, an ominous presence that seemed to make the air tremble. The kneeling man gasped, tears streaming down his face.
"It's true… It's really him…"
Joon-Ho clenched his fists, testing the newfound strength. The Blood Demon Divine Arts were as vivid in his mind as the Heavenly Divine Demonic Arts, techniques he'd only read about. It wasn't just knowledge—his body instinctively knew how to perform them, as if he had mastered them through countless lifetimes.
He released the terrifying aura, letting it fade, and stood tall. Though he was still reeling from the situation, he realized he needed to act the part if he wanted to survive in this strange world.
"What's your name?" Joon-Ho asked the man, his voice steady.
"My lord, I am Baek-Ho, a humble servant of the Blood Cult," the man said, bowing lower. "We have awaited your return for centuries."
Joon-Ho sighed inwardly. This is insane. Do I even want to get involved with something like this?
Over the next few days, Joon-Ho stayed in the cave, trying to piece together his thoughts. The Blood Demon Divine Arts fascinated him, but the idea of leading a cult—especially one as notorious as the Blood Cult—felt absurd.
Yet, the cult members kept coming. Day after day, more and more of them appeared, drawn to the aura he had released. Some brought offerings, others wept openly, and many simply fell to their knees in worship. Their unwavering faith in him as the "Blood Demon" made it impossible to think clearly.
"Why are you all so obsessed with me?" he asked one day, frustration leaking into his voice.
An elder member, trembling with emotion, replied, "Because you are the chosen one, the embodiment of our salvation. Only you can lead us to greatness once more."
Joon-Ho sighed, running a hand through his hair. Greatness, huh? I don't even know what I'm doing here…
Despite his doubts, he couldn't ignore the pull of the arts he now possessed. The question that haunted him was simple: Should I embrace this role or try to escape it?