The orthodox sects, which systematically taught martial arts and trained disciples, had produced many outstanding figures over the years.
In contrast, the demonic sects—driven by profit and power—were always fragmented and disorganized. From time to time, martial artists who stood unmatched under the heavens did emerge among their ranks, but in terms of overall power and influence, the demonic factions inevitably fell behind the orthodox sects.
In response, the Ten Demonic Sects—known as the very heavens of the demonic path—united their strength to form an alliance of demonic martial clans. This alliance came to be known as the Demon Sect (Majeon).
Also referred to as the Demonic Martial Alliance, this organization was modeled after the orthodox Martial Alliance, aiming to unify the chaotic forces of the demonic world, and the center of power for this alliance had become the Majeon.
***
Around noon.
At the entrance of Majeon, a massive crowd had formed. Because every entrant had to sign the guest register, the long line showed no sign of shrinking.
“Ahh, they’ve gathered like clouds,” muttered Mo Gwang, the gatekeeper of Majeon, letting out a deep sigh. Hearing this, his fellow gatekeeper, Jang Sam, shook his head.
“Of course. They say as long as you’ve got talent, they’ll teach you martial arts regardless of your affiliation. Who in their right mind would miss such a chance?”
“Damn it. If only I were younger, I’d apply to become a Ten Demon Successor myself.”
The Ten Demon Successors Plan.
In response to the rise of the demonic path, the righteous martial alliance had recently begun training eighteen Righteous Successors as a countermeasure. In response, Majeon also announced its own initiative: the Ten Demon Successors Plan.
“Regardless of faction, we will select ten gifted individuals and pass down the martial arts of the Ten Demon Sects!”
As news of the Ten Demon Successors spread, the demonic martial world was set ablaze.
“Let’s go to Majeon!”
The Ten Demon Sects, often referred to as the ten pillars supporting the demonic path— To be able to freely learn world-shaking martial arts that could tear the sky and raise the earth? Even disciples of demonic sects and noble families who had previously looked down on Majeon flocked there in droves. As a result, the gatekeepers of Majeon were stuck doing their duties without rest, even through shift changes.
“Another day gone like this…” As Mo Gwang muttered while watching the setting sun dip behind the mountains, his friend Jang Sam nodded in agreement.
“It should quiet down a bit from tomorrow.” But far in the distance, against the backdrop of the sunset, a small shadow approached with a slow, trudging gait.
It was a skinny boy carrying a bundle.
“Huh?” Watching the boy, Mo Gwang rubbed his eyes.
The boy’s hair was unkempt, and his clothes were torn to shreds like ragged cloth. His shoes were nearly falling apart, and the soles were caked with blood. What he wore looked like the ritual robes used by morticians during funeral rites. On his back was a bamboo box carrying funeral items—and a sheathed sword.
“Did someone die?”
“Who’d be dead, you idiot? The Ten Demon Successor tournament hasn’t even started yet.” Mo Gwang, scolding his companion, muttered under his breath.
“And who in a place like Majeon would hire a young undertaker like that?”
“Y-Yeah, that’s right.” Jang Sam, who stood beside him, looked dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open.
“But what is with that appearance? He looks like a walking corpse.”
The boy’s wild, tangled hair nearly covered his eyes and his lips were so chapped, they were bleeding. It looked as if he had walked nonstop for three or four months.
Step, step.
The boy moved slowly, one sluggish step at a time, until he finally arrived at the front gate.
Swoosh—
The boy, Bu Eunseol, looked up at the towering gates of Majeon and clenched both fists tightly.
“Grandfather…”
His dim, weary eyes were now burning with a crimson glow.
“This is the beginning.”
***
After burying his grandfather in a sunny place, Bu Eunseol had cleaned up the funeral home.
The household had been so sparse that, aside from the ritual supplies, all that remained were Bu Zhanyang's ritual robes, sword and a bamboo box to carry various ceremonial items.
“Huh?”
As Eunseol packed up the only things his grandfather left behind—his ritual robe and sword— he suddenly noticed a small box lying neatly beside them. He blinked.
“What’s this?” When he opened the box, inside was a ritual robe perfectly sized to fit Bu Eunseol’s body, and a pair of small swords.
“...”
It was clear now: Bu Zhanyang had bought them in advance for Bu Eunseol’s birthday. He had prepared them for the path ahead.
“Happy birthday”
Looking at the small note tucked inside the box, Bu Eunseol broke into sobs once again.
“Grandfather…” Hugging the box tightly to his chest, Bu Eunseol wept silently.
The kindest grandfather in the world.
The man who had filled this cold, uncaring world with warmth.
The one person he loved most—Bu Zhanyang—was no longer in this world.
“Revenge… I will get my revenge!” With the box held tight in his arms, Bu Eunseol cried out. His eyes were completely dyed in the color of blood. The childlike innocence he had once held so purely had twisted into vengeance and madness the moment his grandfather was brutally murdered. Once everything had been tidied up, he put on the ritual robe his grandfather had left him, slung the bamboo box over his back, and stood tall.
“I must learn martial arts.”
The monster who killed his grandfather was surely a powerful expert from the demonic path. If that was true, then he had to go to where the demonic practitioners gathered. He had to learn the martial arts capable of destroying them.
And the answer was already clear.
“Majeon.”
The sacred ground of demonic martial arts. The gathering place of the greatest masters of the demonic world.
And right now, Majeon was holding the Ten Demon Successors tournament, seeking to teach demonic martial arts to ten prodigies under the age of eighteen.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
***
“What brings you here?”
The low voice snapped Bu Eunseol out of his thoughts.
“I’ve come to participate in the Ten Demon Successors Tournament.”
Mo Gwang looked down at the Bu Eunseol in ritual robes, sighed and pointed toward the guest registry.
“Please sign the log.”
Bu Eunseol picked up the brush and wrote only his name.
Mo Gwang spoke again.
“You must also write your sect.”
‘Sect…’
Bu Eunseol didn’t even belong to a sect, nor had he received formal martial arts training.
After a moment’s hesitation, he took up the brush again and wrote in bold, flowing calligraphy.
“Zhanyang Sect, Bu Eunseol.”
As they glanced at the registry, Mo Gwang and his companion Jang Sam exchanged a bitter smile.
“…Another one from a wandering, no-name sect,” Mo Gwang muttered with a sigh.
Since the announcement of the Ten Demon Successors plan, countless disciples had arrived at Majeon—not just from prominent demonic sects, but even from obscure, backwoods third-rate sects. However, this was exactly why the ranks of Majeon never quite filled out completely.
“Then read this and stamp your fingerprint.”
Mo Gwang handed over a single sheet of paper lying next to the registry.
Bu Eunseol accepted it, and saw it read:
“In order to prevent disputes, all rights over the body of the applicant—should they die—are to be ceded to the Main Hall.
So even if I lose my life…”
The rest was left for the applicant to complete.
In short, once someone applied to become one of the Ten Demon Successors, whether they died during training or were beaten to death by the instructors, they forfeited any right to protest. It was, essentially, a bodily rights waiver—a document that made any objection impossible.
‘No way he’ll sign that.’
Mo Gwang watched Bu Eunseol with a mocking smile. So far, countless drifters had shown up at Majeon, only to turn back after reading that waiver. No one in their right mind—or not completely obsessed with martial arts—would willingly sign something that surrendered their body. But…
Without hesitation, Bu Eunseol bit his finger, drew blood, and stamped the waiver.
“This bastard's insane…” Mo Gwang felt his hair stand on its end when he met the cold and pupils of Bu Eunseol’s eyes.
“Can I enter now?”
“Y-Yes… go ahead.”
Bu Eunseol stepped inside and took a deep breath.
“So this is Majeon…”
He had imagined the inner halls of Majeon—where demonic martial masters gathered—as something like a den of devils, a chaotic place of evil. However, the interior was magnificent and majestic, and at the same time, it had a solemn atmosphere like a temple.
Murmur murmur.
As he walked further in, the sound of voices grew louder. He followed the noise and came upon a massive training arena. There, countless people were gathered, lined up like waves of clouds and at the far end stood a high platform.
“...”
Atop the platform stood a muscular old man with hair like a lion’s mane cascading down his back and behind him stood a middle-aged man with a refined and serene expression.
Jiiing
At that moment, a low sound rang out from the gong mounted on the arena stage. As the chatter from the massive crowd quieted, the muscular old man standing tall at the center of the stage began to speak calmly.
“I am the Chief Instructor, Hyeok Ryeon-eung.”
Immediately, murmurs rippled through the gathered participants.
Golden Arm, Bloody Eyes—Hyeok Ryeon-eung. As the head of Majeon, he had lowered his status to serve as the Chief Instructor to ensure the success of the Ten Demon Successors Plan. That fact alone showed just how seriously Majeon regarded this initiative.
“This gathering is to select the greatest talents of the Demonic Path.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was infused with powerful mana, so every person on the field heard it as clearly as if he stood right beside them.
“You must pass all the trials prepared by Majeon to even be considered a candidate for the Ten Demon Successors.”
He swept his gaze over the sea of young martial artists packed into the arena.
“From this moment, experts from the Medicine Hall will begin evaluating your bones and physique.”
As soon as he finished speaking, dozens of healers—haengrim—appeared from behind the stage.
“Only those selected by them will have a chance to become one of the Ten Demon Successors.” A buzz of discontent stirred again through the arena.
Especially among the young nobles from renowned demonic families, voices of protest began to rise.
“You're judging us by our physique? That’s absurd!”
“Just hold a proper martial arts competition instead!”
But no matter how loud the complaints grew, the healers from the Medicine Hall moved silently and efficiently, checking the bone structures and bodies of the youths, filtering out the strong from the weak. Eventually, one of the healers approached Bu Eunseol. The healer, who had been evaluating others dispassionately, stopped abruptly when he saw Bu Eunseol in ceremonial mourning robes.
“...A funeral disciple?”
Frowning slightly, the healer cautiously began inspecting Bu Eunseol—running his hands over his shoulders, back, and legs, carefully examining his physical structure.
“Unqualified.” The healer muttered coldly and moved past Bu Eunseol without another glance.
‘As expected.’ Bu Eunseol narrowed his eyes.
Up until now, the only “training” he’d ever done was preparing corpses. It would’ve been strange if his bones were deemed suitable for martial arts.
‘But this isn’t the end.’
He was certain of it. The bone evaluation wasn’t the final selection process. If it were, they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of having candidates sign in, submit waivers, and gather here in person.
“The First Trial is over!” A voice rang out. Those who had been chosen by the healers began to move away, and a heavy silence fell over the remaining crowd.
Of the thousands who had filled the arena—an area that spanned at least a thousand pyeong (roughly 3,300 m²)—fewer than 200 had been selected.
“This is absurd!” Suddenly, a young boy near the front of the crowd shouted angrily.
“If bone structure alone is all you’re judging us on, you could’ve just sent those Medicine Hall quacks to the sects! Why hold this whole damn tournament?”
It was a fair argument, one that echoed many of the others’ frustrations. Looking down at the boy, Hyeok Ryeon-eung responded calmly.
“There are two reasons.”
“First—when it comes to martial arts, physical constitution is paramount. This tournament wasn’t just to gather disciples from prestigious sects. We held it to discover exceptional talents, even those with no affiliation.”
“But still—”
“Second—though one's bones may be weak, there exist rare prodigies who can master martial arts regardless. This process allows us to find them.”
At that, the expressions of many of the remaining boys and girls brightened. There was still a chance.
"Now we begin the second phase of evaluation.”
Hyeok Ryeon-eung smiled coldly as he looked down at the participants gathered below the arena.
“From now on, you fight. And survive.”
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