Chapter 2

One day, the tiger whose very existence had kept peace over the mountain was gone.

The wolves, jackals, badgers, and rabbits that had held their breath under the weight of that fearsome presence were drunk with joy.

No more need to cower in fear.

Now they could emerge from their damp dens and dance with abandon, breed to their hearts’ content, and live in peace.

But has the world ever been so accommodating?

The mountain’s territory was fixed, and the vegetation to be consumed was far from infinite.

Naturally, the rabbits began fighting amongst themselves.

They had bred so many mouths to feed that failing to secure enough food meant watching every last one of them starve to death.

And what of the carnivores?

Swaggering about as though they were the masters of it all, they spilled blood here and there across the land — and the mountain grew far more chaotic than it had ever been when the tiger still lived.

That was the martial world of the present.

Forty years since the Heavenly Demon’s death.

Sixty years since he had entered the Taegeuk Cave.

As with the Yangtze River — as the old generation receded and a new generation rose to claim the Central Plains as their own — the Orthodox Martial Alliance had dissolved.

The Demonic Alliance had collapsed long before that. And the demonic cult, ravaged by internal strife among those vying to become its next leader and split into factions, had lost any need to unite under a single banner.

The martial world of today was one where the distinction between orthodox, unorthodox, and demonic had vanished entirely — a world of warring powers where, regardless of ideology, anyone would join hands with anyone else so long as there was profit to be had.

And so…

* * *

‘You absolute sons of — !’

A baby screaming with every ounce of strength it had. Or rather, to the people around it —

“Waaaaaah!”

— it was the vigorous cry of a newborn announcing its arrival into the world.

“My lady, it’s a boy. Congratulations.”

At the midwife’s blessing, the mother who had endured a grueling labor curled a faint smile onto her lips and gathered the child into her arms.

A late delivery and a difficult one at that.

Her entire body was drenched in sweat.

The contractions had gone on for two full days — through which the woman had fainted and revived again more times than she could count — and she had fought through all of it to bring forth a son.

Yet even so, she thought not of her own suffering but of her son’s ordeal in pushing his way out.

“My son… you did well.”

“Waaaaaah!”

The baby cried again.

What that cry actually meant, of course, was:

‘What is the meaning of this?! How dare you treat me, Baek Gang-hwi, this way! Put me down this instant, you woman!’

But resistance was futile.

“How remarkable. Eyes open the moment he’s born? In my fifty years of being a midwife, I’ve never seen such a thing. Goodness me — what a clever little one. Look at him reaching out his arm like that — it seems he’s trying to embrace his mother.”

“So it seems.”

“He will surely become a great man, my lady.”

The woman wrapped both hands around the small, plump, precious little fist and smiled.

“Waaaaaah!”

‘Let go! I said let go!’

But resistance remained utterly pointless.

What in the hell…

What kind of absurd situation was this?

He had thought it was ascension.

Departing from the body he had grown accustomed to, he had drifted — like a leaf borne on the wind, like a leaf floating on still water — wandering without direction or destination.

A drifting of the soul.

He had believed it to be the process of shedding the shell of this mortal life and making his way toward his true form.

Then, at some point, he had found himself trapped in a dark and narrow space, suffocating — but only briefly before an agony like being crushed from all sides seized him, a pressure like his skull being ground down until it burst, and he was shoved through and out somewhere.

Well. Could there be ascension without suffering?

This was ascension, after all.

That was what he had thought.

When his vision brightened and he beheld the world around him, he had assumed it was the immortal realm.

But something was wrong.

A room, its four walls screened by folding panels and draped cloth.

On a low wooden bed lay a deep crimson silk blanket, and between the warmth radiating from a brazier heaped with glowing red coals, a rich and fragrant smell permeated the air.

And beyond that?

A medicinal decoction simmering in an earthen pot. Bronze scissors and warm towels. Talismans of every variety whose purpose he could not quite determine.

His mind went blank for a moment.

Was this not a birthing room?

Then this wasn’t ascension, but… r, reincarnation?

Oh, for the love of —

“Thank you for coming to me, my son.”

The woman who appeared to be his mother pressed her cheek against his.

‘Get off me — mm.’

He had been clenching his gums, ready to resist — when he felt a dampness against his cheek.

‘She’s… crying?’

He despised it.

Women crying.

But then — why?

The warmth held within her tears sent a faint, aching tremor through some corner of his chest.

‘…Mm.’

A strange feeling.

An emotion he had never experienced in all his previous life.

What would you even call this… could it be a mother’s affection?

Damn it all. He’d have to have felt it before to have anything to compare it to.

He had no memory of something akin to this in his previous life. Taken by the demonic cult as a child, he had faced death so many times that somewhere along the way he had forgotten what emotions felt like. In his pursuit of strength alone — all the way until he claimed the supreme seat of cult leader — he had never once loved a woman.

No. He had to be wary of women who approached him.

Every single one of them had been an assassin’s ploy, coming for his life.

But now something hot was welling up from within — some corner of his chest had gone soft and warm — and he found he could not bring himself to pull away from her touch.

‘…F— fine. She’s crying, so… there’s no real need to push her away. It’s not like my cheek is wearing down.’

For a moment, he let his body rest in the woman’s hands.

It was an unfamiliar emotion — one he had never experienced or learned — but it was not entirely unpleasant. In some way, it even brought a kind of ease to his mind.

Perhaps it was instinct, an instinct born from being an infant.

But then.

“My lady, the blood-nourishing herbal soup is ready. The physician himself wrote out the prescription.”

“How kind.”

“Allow me to take the child. I’ll bring him to show the master.”

“Please do.”

The woman held him out toward the midwife.

How was it that the warmth, so abruptly taken away, left such an aching absence?

‘W— wait. Just a little longer… hm? Surely just a little longer is fine. It’s the first time. I’ve never felt a mother’s affection before.’

He screamed with everything he had, but all that came out was a wailing cry of “Waaah!”

And so he was bundled in red cloth and handed over to the old woman’s arms.

He knew he would be returned to her — and yet he watched the woman with a distant, longing gaze — when the cold hit him all at once.

They had stepped out of the birthing room.

Outside stood two men. One dressed as a Taoist. The other in a hakchang-ui, a scholar’s overcoat, with a clean and refined appearance.

The moment he laid eyes on them, all traces of that tender feeling vanished without a trace and sparks flew in his eyes.

A— a Taegeuk crown?!

‘Timber-face! What are you doing here?!’

Sudden fury surged through him.

What reason could there be for skipping ascension and waking into a new birth?

It could not possibly be his fault.

It was that scoundrel Yoo Gil-cheon’s doing — transmitting the ascension method incorrectly.

He wanted nothing more than to tear the man to pieces on the spot, but the midwife had not only wound him tight in red cloth — she had gone and swaddled him in thick blankets on top of that, leaving nothing but his face peeking out.

“Would you like to hold him?”

“Mm.”

At the midwife’s offer, the one who appeared to be his father received him with careful, two-handed deliberateness — the tightly bundled little package.

He looked indifferent on the surface, but his eyes were brimming with pride.

What was this emotion?

A father’s love?

A feeling of cherishing and caring from the heart while showing nothing on the outside… the strangeness of it held him, and he could do nothing but stare up with bleary, entranced eyes.

“Ha ha ha! Just look at the lungs on the boy. Your son is going to be a general, I’d wager.”

Just as he was absorbed in that unfamiliar warmth of paternal feeling, the Taoist burst into a hearty laugh and declared.

‘Shut your mouth, Taoist. Don’t come near me — you give me chills.’

He glowered with eyes full of resentment — but the Taoist seemed to find even that endearing, clicking his tongue with a tsk tsk.

‘This bastard, I swear—!’

“Waaaaaah!”

He had no choice but to cry.

It was a cry of righteous protest directed squarely at that Timber-face of a Taoist.

Just you wait, you wretched Taoist!

He would accept this birth. He would accept this fate.

But he would grow and grow and grow until he could hunt down every last Taoist in the world and wipe them from the face of the earth!

“Ha ha! Look at those eyes. Black as ink and cute as anything. Staring at me like that — you like me already, don’t you.”

You’re mistaken. That was a glare.

Whether you find it endearing or not — I was glaring at you, and I have made a solemn vow of vengeance.

But perhaps sensing something of that feeling —

The one who appeared to be his father shot the Taoist a deeply displeased look.

“That is going too far, elder brother.”

“Hm?”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“Wh— what did I say?”

Faced with his father’s icy rebuke, the Taoist looked flustered.

Good on you, Father.

Since things have come to this, I will grow up regarding you as my father.

But then.

“A general — from our family?”

“Ah, right. That was a slip of the tongue. My apologies. Ha ha ha!”

Something about this exchange was odd.

The displeasure was because of the word general? Why?

“Watch and see. I will raise this child to be the most brilliant strategist our Zhuge household has ever produced.”

His mind went blank.

What was that just now?

Zhu— ge?

Did he say the Zhuge household?

Me?

I — Baek Gang-hwi, master of ten thousand demonic soldiers, patriarch of the demonic path, the one who claimed the title of Heavenly Demon and stood as the greatest under heaven — I have been born as a son of the Zhuge family?

Those ink-stained lackeys of the martial alliance lord? Those who do nothing but scheme their underhanded and vicious schemes? And not even the head of that family — a household content to spend their entire existence as the second-most-powerful, eternally in someone else’s shadow—

“I’ve already chosen a name.”

“Oh?”

“The generational character is Mun, so it will be Mun-hyeon.”

“Oh! One who governs writing well — a man of virtue and wisdom… Truly a fine name.”

No! I refuse! I refuse that name!

Mun-hyeon. What kind of name is Mun-hyeon?!

If it’s already been decided that I’ll carry the Zhuge name — even keeping the generational character — at least give me something else!

Mun-yong — emphasizing swiftness and courage! Mun-gwi — strong as a ghost! Mun-mu — in honor of martial arts mastery — damn it all, there is nothing you can attach to the character Mun that doesn’t sound wrong.

But his fierce resistance—

“Waaaaaah!”

— became a resounding wail that delighted his father and the Taoist.

“Ha ha ha! Look, the little fellow is pleased!”

“Isn’t he?”

“Of course! Of course he is. Just as you said, he’ll certainly be a great scholar. Look — see how bright his eyes are? He’s happy about it.”

That was a glare, you Timber-faced bastard!

“Elder brother exaggerates — a basic foundation in scholarship is enough. As long as he grows up healthy, I could ask for nothing more.”

At the Taoist’s words, his father smiled with warm contentment.

“Mun-hyeon! From this day forth, that is your name! Ha ha ha ha!”

Shut up! Shut up! I don’t need that name!

Baek Gang-hwi cried that day as though releasing every ounce of grief he had never permitted himself to cry in his previous life.

“Allow me to recite a blessing for the child’s peaceful life.”

“Thank you, elder brother.”

That day, Baek Gang-hwi seriously weighed whether he should commit a monstrous act of wickedness at the very moment of his birth.

“Waaaaaaaaah!”

“Oh — midwife! Why has the child’s face gone so red?!”

“Pardon?”

Perhaps he had cried too much, overwhelmed by the layers upon layers of wrath boiling up inside him.

A heat rash had broken out across his face.

The startled midwife made a frantic fuss about fetching a physician, his father didn’t know what to do with himself, and that wretched Taoist was earnestly chanting incantations, claiming he could cure the rash.

In any case, there was no shortage of chaos.

Ah, life.

How did I end up like this?

Of all families — the Zhuge family.

When he could barely manage with both hands soaked in blood — now he would spend his days staining them with ink.

* * *

Splrrt.

“Oh my, the young master has such a healthy constitution. A lovely golden color.”

At the maidservant Sohye’s remark, mother Baek Su-hyeon smiled — and Baek Gang-hwi, no, Zhuge Mun-hyeon, simply let go and surrendered to the situation.

This wasn’t a one-or-two-day affair.

Babies by nature went through an endless repetitive cycle of eating, soiling themselves, and sleeping.

He had been embarrassed at first, but after doing it about twelve times a day he’d gone entirely numb to it.

Growth was simply not something that bent to one’s will.

What did it matter that he had been the greatest under heaven?

What use were all the memories of his previous life?

Right now he was simply a baby past his hundredth day, moving however others’ hands decided to move him — a puppet with strings attached. Though barely born, he had already passed through self-reproach and arrived at detachment.

The Buddha was truly extraordinary.

Genuine admiration for him grew of its own accord.

To take seven steps and cry out “In the heavens and on the earth, I alone am supreme” the moment you were born — how extraordinary must that be?

Small wonder he had sought ascension.

If the immortal realm and paradise were filled with such remarkable individuals.

“But I do worry about him learning how to speak a bit late.”

“What do you mean?”

“His crying was so vigorous when he was born, and yet since then, not even a babble…”

“Perhaps the young master is simply a quiet sort.”

“Goodness!”

Baek Su-hyeon laughed lightly at Sohye’s remark.

True — he had been quiet.

Because this wretched fate had left him with no desire to speak.

But then Baek Su-hyeon’s smile gave way to a look of faint sorrow.

For some reason, it tugged at his chest.

Even carrying all the memories of a previous life, he found himself affected by every small shift in her expression.

It was said that a child could read its mother’s emotions from her face alone — and apparently that was quite true.

“My lady, just wait a little longer. He might start talking sooner than anyone, before his first birthday even.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course.”

At Sohye’s words, Baek Su-hyeon nodded, seemingly reassured at last.

Mm. Should I give her something to be happy about?

She was the one who had allowed him to experience a mother’s affection for the very first time — something he had never had in his previous life. Surely a little babble was the least he could do.

No — she had given him her body to be reborn through. She was, by every measure, his mother.

Zhuge Mun-hyeon held Baek Su-hyeon’s gaze and moved his lips.

“Mama. Food.”

Her eyes went round.

She was so startled she kept looking back and forth between Sohye and herself.

Even I’m surprised by this.

He had only meant to show her a bit of babbling.

How had it come out so clearly… Well, if this is all it takes, then the Buddha is hardly all that special, is he?

“D— did you hear that?”

“I— I did, but… it was so clear…”

Neither of them seemed able to believe it.

Fine, he’d do it once more.

“Mama. Food.”

Just two words — but Baek Su-hyeon’s eyes went wide enough to pop clean out of her head, and she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“C—  Court lady!”

That day, Zhuge Mun-hyeon shattered the Zhuge household’s record for the youngest to ever speak.