Prologue

"…."

His teeth clenched tightly, almost as if they would break.

The pressure in his clenched fist was so intense that his nails dug into his palm, blood slowly dripping out.

His convulsing body could no longer be controlled.

A fury that could turn his mind completely white overwhelmed him.

Red.

Everything was red.

Everything in his vision was stained with dark crimson blood.

Just a day ago, the mountain peak that was green and full of life now lay covered in human blood, its color forever changed in just one day.

Death.

Only death remained in this place now.

Why did so much blood have to spill?

Chung Myung raised his hand to grip the sword blade that had pierced his shoulder. The broken Plum Blossom Sword's blade slid out.

His body was far from normal.

His left arm was torn off, only the sleeve fluttering, and one of his legs was nearly severed, unable to perform its function. But what was worse was the massive hole in his abdomen, large enough to fit a child's head.

Yet, Chung Myung felt no pain.

Compared to the agony tearing at his heart, the pain in his body was nothing.

"…Jang Mun-sa-hyeong…"

His eyes locked onto the mangled corpse of Hwasan Jangmun, Cheongmun, who had once stood beside him.

What could have been so unjust?

What could have been so unfair, that even in death, his eyes could not close?

Not just the sect leader.

"Master…"

The image of Cheonggong, whose body had been split in two, stabbed into his eyes like a dagger.

"Sajil…"

They were all gone.

The sworn brothers who had ascended this mountain with him, vowing to protect the martial world and make Mount Hua's name known across the world, would never return.

The same fate awaited the disciples who followed them.

Chung Myung gritted his teeth.

It was a noble sacrifice. A death beyond comparison, full of righteousness and chivalry.

But who could dare praise such a death?

Who would dare!

Chung Myung slowly turned his head.

His gaze burned with hatred as he looked upon the mastermind behind all this destruction, the one who had created this hellish scene.

The Demon of Heaven.

The leader of the demonic sect, whose name was cursed for staining the world in blood, Chun Ma.

Even in this horrific hell, Chun Ma seemed disturbingly calm. Sitting cross-legged amidst the bloodshed, his composure caused even Chung Myung, who prided himself on his hatred, to feel a strange sensation.

No, "calm" wasn't the word for it.

He was riddled with over a dozen swords, and two spears had pierced his body, yet there was no sign of him feeling the weight of the wounds.

All of them had given their lives to bring this monster to his knees.

The final desperate strike of the twenty or so martial sects, made up of the best of the best. Their clash with Chun Ma had led only to mutual destruction.

Was he satisfied?

Could those who perished here truly die content, knowing their sacrifice was in vain?

It couldn't be.

Even if they did, Chung Myung could never feel that satisfaction. All he could do now was to reign in the boiling anger and hatred burning within him.

At that moment, Chun Ma's eyes slowly opened.

His empty, transparent pupils locked onto Chung Myung.

Then, his mouth slowly parted.

"…Hwasan."

The first words from his mouth were the name of Mount Hua.

Hwasan.

Those two characters that were like a brand on Chung Myung's heart, now spoken by the devil's lips.

"How unfortunate. If only you could return alive from this place, you could live your life in the glory of having killed me."

"…Shut your mouth."

"You should be proud. Even though many helped you, it was your sword that ultimately reached me. I, the Demon of Heaven, acknowledge that your sword, the sword of Mount Hua, is the greatest in the world."

"Shut up!"

Even hearing the name of Mount Hua from that cursed mouth was unbearable.

"Unfortunate."

Chun Ma was dying.

No matter how much of a legendary demon he was, once his internal organs were pierced, survival was impossible.

The moment of "returning light" before death.

What remained of Chun Ma was merely the final struggling of a dying man.

But why? Why did this dying man seem so composed?

Chun Ma was an enigma Chung Myung couldn't understand.

"If I had been given one more day, I would have truly become the being worthy of the name 'Demon of Heaven.' But, I suppose this too was my fate."

Chung Myung gripped the blade with all his strength. The sharp edge bit into his palm, but he didn't care about that.

One step.

Then another.

Limping forward, Chung Myung made his way toward Chun Ma, toward the end of this long and terrible war.

Even as he approached, Chun Ma's eyes remained dull and empty.

"Remember this, disciple of Hwasan. This is not the end. The demons will return. And when they do, true demonic rule will begin. No one will be able to stop the demons…"

Swoosh!

The sound of the sword cutting through the air echoed through the quiet mountaintop.

Thud.

Chun Ma's head fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Chung Myung stomped on the severed head, still staring at him with those transparent eyes.

"…."

The war was over.

The world would remember this battle as the victory of the final warriors. But Chung Myung knew better. There was no victory here. No one won.

Finally, his legs gave way, and Chung Myung collapsed.

Death, unavoidable death, was now coming for him as well.

Chung Myung raised his head and gazed at the sky.

So much blood had been shed, so many had died, but the sky was still as indifferent and blue as ever.

'What will happen to Mount Hua now?'

Everyone who had climbed this mountain to kill Chun Ma had died. Those who remained would suffer from the devastation, but no sect had suffered as much as Mount Hua.

"Jang Mun-sa-hyeong… I told you."

I told you not to sacrifice everything for righteousness.

The disciples of Hwasan had all died here.

And those who followed the disciples of Cheongja were gone too.

What was left were children too young to fight.

And...

Regret. Only regret remained.

Was there meaning in all this?

Did the blood of Mount Hua shed here have any meaning?

"I don't know. Jang Mun-sa-hyeong…"

Chung Myung's body slowly collapsed to the side.

His dying eyes locked onto the blood-soaked white robes and the five-petal plum blossom embroidered on them.

A warrior's death.

A lonely end, with no one to witness it, as his life was discarded like a blade of grass, marked only by the Plum Blossom Sword he had carried for so long.

"…At least it's better than mine."

At least there would be someone to mourn.

Chung Myung wept for them.

His fading vision followed the figure of his sect leader.

'Forgive me, Jang Mun-sa-hyeong.'

If only I had been a bit more dedicated, could I have saved at least one?

If I hadn't been foolish enough to wander outside the sect, ignoring the words of my master and brothers.

If I had truly embraced the sword of Mount Hua, instead of wearing the empty title of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, would the outcome have been different?

Futile.

All futile.

What remained was only regret.

And concern for the sect.

'Plum blossoms always fall.'

But after the cold winter, they bloom again.

'Mount Hua.'

Chung Myung's consciousness began to fade.

The 13th disciple of Mount Hua.

One of the Three Great Swordsmen of the World.

Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung.

He severed the head of the world's most fearsome demon, the Demon of Heaven, and died at the summit of Ten Thousand Mountains.

The world would remember only a few lines of his tale.