VORTHAS

The sky above Mount Cheon-Wol wasn't crying.

It was vomiting blood.

Thick, crimson rain hammered down on the ruins of an ancient stone temple. Once sacred and magnificent. Now? Nothing but charred rubble, smoke still curling from its bones.

The stench of iron and burnt flesh clawed at the throat — thick, sticky, suffocating. As if the world itself was gagging on the weight of so much death.

Thousands of bodies lay scattered across the blood-soaked field.

Crimson robes. Flaming Skull insignia. The Hwa-Goo Hyeol-Gyo cult.

To them, a name of glory.

To Jin Mu-Hwal? Just a label for ants who'd fooled themselves into believing they could become dragons.

And in that sea of corpses…

One man still stood.

Jin Mu-Hwal. The Mad Demon. Cheon-Wol Ma-Joo.

His breathing was steady. Not ragged. Not trembling. His shoulders rose and fell with the terrifying ease of someone who'd just finished pulling weeds in the backyard — not single-handedly butchering three thousand elite martial artists down to the last man.

He glanced down at the longsword in his right hand. Cheon-Ma-Kum.

The obsidian blade was now drenched a wet, deep crimson. Blood still dripped lazily from its tip into the mud.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Matching the low growl of distant thunder.

Jin Mu-Hwal exhaled. A dry scoff escaped his lips — quiet, yet cutting clean through the roar of the rain. And dripping with absolute disgust.

"Trash."

He shook his head slowly.

"'Mightiest Sect of the North.' 'Heirs to the Eternal Flame.' Hah. Where's that flame now?"

A thin smirk.

"All I see are wet candles. Snuffed out before they ever got to burn. Pathetic. All that swagger. All that noise. And softer than a bowl of baby porridge."

He stepped forward. His shredded boot pressed down on the face of a fallen elder. The old man's skull caved slightly under the weight. His eyes stared emptily at an uncaring sky.

"What a disgraceful face, old man," Jin Mu-Hwal said, flat as stone. Yet his words pierced right down to the marrow.

"Even dead, you wear the expression of a fool afraid of losing his treasures. Where's your pride? Where's the dignity of a warrior?"

He pressed harder.

"You died like a stray dog crushed by a wagon. Not a knight in battle. Worthless. Garbage not even fit to be buried."

He laughed. Dry. Hollow.

No joy in it whatsoever.

Just madness — creeping through the gaps of his teeth.

The laugh of a king savoring the total ruin of an enemy kingdom.

But behind that laughter… a memory flickered. Sharp. Stabbing. Not of war — but of a wound far deeper.

---

(Flashback: Three Days Earlier)

The moon had been bright that night over the private pavilion of the Cheon-Wol Sect. A cool breeze carried the delicate scent of plum blossoms.

Across from Jin Mu-Hwal, a woman in pure white poured wine into his cup.

Soft features. Gentle eyes that always looked at him with nothing but love. This was Yeo-Rin. The only soul in the entire world who could make the Mad Demon set down his sword.

"Mu-Hwal," she whispered, her fingers tracing the old scar on his cheek.

"Enough. Rest a while. The world isn't running away. Let's just… enjoy tonight."

She smiled — warm, sweet, disarming.

"Tomorrow… let's go to the southern islands. Just the two of us. Forget the sect. Forget the wars."

Jin Mu-Hwal stared into her eyes. And for a moment — just a moment — the mask of the Mad Demon cracked.

A small, genuine smile crossed his lips. The kind very few had ever seen.

"You're right, Yeo-Rin," he said softly, holding her hand tight. "I'm tired. After all this is over… I promise. We'll disappear."

"I'll be a farmer. And you — you can be my loud, nagging farmer's wife."

They laughed together. Light. Happy. Real.

Yeo-Rin rested her head against his shoulder.

"I'll hold you to that promise, my husband. Don't you ever lie to me."

"I have never lied to you," Jin Mu-Hwal whispered.

He didn't know.

Those words would be the last lie to shatter his soul.

---

(Flashback: Two Days Earlier)

The atmosphere in the main training hall was… different.

A scrawny young man with thick spectacles — Gwak, Jin Mu-Hwal's most loyal and most cowardly disciple — was rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach, absolutely howling with laughter.

"Master! MASTER!" Gwak screamed between gasps, tears streaming down his face. "No way! The Sword Sect Elder actually believed you wear pink underwear on purpose?! His face went completely white, Master! He said it's the ultimate sign of supreme power!"

Jin Mu-Hwal lounged on his throne, chewing absently on a pear. His expression was utterly deadpan.

"It is pink. My wife bought it for me. Said it would make me look… more approachable."

Gwak nearly choked to death laughing.

"APPROACHABLE?! Master, you're the MAD DEMON! Your enemies would die laughing if they ever found out! This is our greatest secret weapon!"

"Shut your mouth, idiot," Jin Mu-Hwal grumbled, flicking a fruit seed at his disciple.

Gwak caught it with his mouth. Snap!

"Hehe, understood, Master! But seriously…" Gwak's grin settled into something a little more earnest. "When the great war finally breaks out… leave me one enemy, okay? I need one big name to make my own reputation fast. Promise me, Master."

Jin Mu-Hwal looked at his disciple for a long moment.

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes — as if he wanted to say something important.

But in the end, he just sighed.

"Fine, Gwak. When that day comes… make sure you're standing right behind me."

His gaze sharpened, pinning his disciple down.

"Never leave my back. Do you understand?"

"Because that's the only place you'll ever be safe."

"Yes, Master! Standing behind you is the safest place in the entire world!" Gwak pumped his fist with pride.

A faint smile. "Good. Remember that promise."

---

(Present: Peak of Mount Cheon-Wol)

The smile was gone now.

In its place — a gaze cold enough to freeze fire.

Promises. Every single one. Lies.

Yeo-Rin? The woman he loved was the mastermind who'd lured him into this trap. That sweet smile that night… a mask. Hiding the knife she'd plunge into his back from the one direction he'd never see coming.

Gwak? The disciple he'd raised like his own son… was the one who activated the Dimension Destruction Formation right behind him. The moment his guard was down.

They knew they couldn't beat him in a fair fight.

No sword under heaven could pierce Jin Mu-Hwal's defenses in open combat.

So they chose the coward's path.

Destroy the sky itself.

---

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet heaved violently.

BOOM!

From deep fissures in the earth, dark purple light erupted — not a physical attack, but a wave of spiritual energy tearing straight into his soul.

Thousands of glowing runes ignited in the air, weaving into a massive dome that sealed off the entire mountain peak.

"What is THIS?!" Jin Mu-Hwal roared, eyes blazing crimson.

He tried to leap — but the air itself had turned denser than molten lead.

Outside the dome, he saw them. Thousands of silhouettes. The Orthodox Alliance and his rival Demon Sects. Joined together.

They were performing a mad ritual: sacrificing ten thousand elite martial artists at once.

The blood of ten thousand vaporized into fuel — feeding a spell meant to tear apart the very fabric of space.

They weren't attacking his body.

They were destroying the dimension he stood in.

"You… DARE?!"

His voice thundered, shattering eardrums for miles.

---

Two figures appeared, floating before the dome.

Yeo-Rin. And Gwak.

Yeo-Rin's face was soaked with tears. But her hands never stopped forming those spell seals.

"Forgive me, Mu-Hwal… This world is too small for two suns. You have to go."

Gwak kept his head bowed. Unable to meet his master's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Master… I needed a great name. And your name… is the greatest of all."

"YOU… WORTHLESS… DOGS!"

Jin Mu-Hwal's scream tore through the chaos. Pitch-black aura erupted from his body — a maelstrom of pure destruction, slamming against the dome.

The ground around him disintegrated. Boulders the size of houses were hurled into the sky.

He swung his sword —

slashing at empty space hundreds of times in a single breath.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The blade struck something invisible. Cracks spiderwebbed across the purple dome — only to seal themselves shut again, fed by the endless stream of sacrificial blood.

The pressure mounted. Crushing. Maddening.

Jin Mu-Hwal's bones began to splinter. His skin peeled back, seared by unstable dimensional energy. His entire body — crushed, stretched, torn apart in a thousand directions at once.

"Damn it… DAMN IT ALL!"

Blood gushed from his mouth. His nose. His ears. His vision swam.

But his will —

His will refused to die.

---

He looked at Yeo-Rin one last time.

She was still crying. And still casting.

Gwak hid his face, trembling like the coward he'd always been.

"Bastards…" Jin Mu-Hwal hissed through the storm of energy ripping his body apart.

"You think this will kill me? You think destroying the vessel… kills the flame?"

His body began to dissolve — particles of black light consuming his flesh, grinding his bones into dust. The pain was indescribable. Beyond anything a living soul should endure.

And yet.

In the midst of total annihilation…

Jin Mu-Hwal laughed.

A laugh that started deep in his chest and exploded outward — roaring louder than the collapse of dimensions. The laugh of a man who had lost everything.

And now had nothing left to fear.

Wild. Unhinged.

Pure, distilled hatred.

---

"FINE!"

"IF THIS IS THE FATE YOU'VE CHOSEN… THEN HEAR MY CURSE!"

With the last fragment of his strength, Jin Mu-Hwal gathered every shred of energy from his soul-core. Not to attack.

To plant a seed.

"I WILL NOT DIE! MY SOUL IS IMMORTAL — FORGED IN HATRED! IF THIS UNIVERSE REJECTS ME, I SHALL VANISH INTO THE ETERNAL VOID! BUT HEAR ME… DO NOT THINK I AM GONE FOREVER!"

His blood-red eyes locked onto Yeo-Rin and Gwak — piercing through the madness of collapsing space.

"I WILL RETURN!"

"And when I do… I will make you wish you had never been born."

"I will destroy everything you love."

"Just as you destroyed my life."

BOOM!

The dimensional dome collapsed entirely.

A cataclysmic blast swallowed the peak of Mount Cheon-Wol. Blinding white light consumed everything — erasing Jin Mu-Hwal's existence from the world of Murim.

No body. No trace.

The Mad Demon was gone.

Or so they claimed.

---

Darkness.

Silence.

And then — a crushing weight inside the lungs.

"HAAAHHH!"

A body shot upright, gasping desperately for air — as if dragged from the bottom of the ocean.

Jin Mu-Hwal's eyes flew open. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs. Phantom pain from the dimensional collapse still pulsed through every nerve ending.

"Where…?" he rasped.

His voice sounded strange. Younger. Lighter.

He immediately checked himself — hands, chest, legs. Whole. Unbroken. No burns. No wounds.

But something was wrong.

The energy inside him was sluggish. Clumsy. And it was foreign — cold, liquid, running through his veins like something that didn't belong.

Slowly, Jin Mu-Hwal sat up.

A cramped room. Rotting wooden walls. The air stank of damp, mold, and animal filth. In the corner: a pile of straw and iron chains bolted to the wall.

"A prison…?" His mind spun. "Did I fail? Is this hell?"

He tried to stand. His legs wobbled.

This body was weak. Pathetically weak. Not the body of a Martial God — but a malnourished boy.

Suddenly, the iron door screeched open.

Blinding light flooded in. Jin Mu-Hwal squinted.

A massive man with a whip strode in, flanked by two guards. Their uniforms were rough, dirty-gray — nothing like Murim robes.

"Oi! Slave Number 734!" the big man barked in a foreign tongue.

Yet Jin Mu-Hwal understood every word perfectly.

"Get up! Don't play dead! Fall in line or I'll whip the hide right off your back!"

Slave?

Jin Mu-Hwal narrowed his eyes.

And the guard froze.

The big man's eyes went wide. His face drained of color. The whip nearly slipped from his fingers.

"W-What… what's wrong with your eyes…?" he stammered, voice trembling.

"And your hair… why is it so black? Like a starless night… Like the mouth of the abyss!"

Jin Mu-Hwal frowned. He turned his head.

There — on the floor — a murky puddle reflected his face.

A young man. Seventeen, maybe. Handsome, but gaunt and pale. Old whip scars across his cheeks and arms.

But what stood out.

What was terrifying.

His hair. Jet-black. A darkness that swallowed light.

His eyes. Pitch-black. Deep. Bottomless. Hungry voids.

In this world — on the continent of Vorthas — everyone had hair of silver, gold, red, or blue. Their eyes glowed with elemental radiance.

No one in thousands of years had possessed hair and eyes as black as the void.

The Color of the Curse.

The Color of the Ancient Demons — long erased from memory.

The guard stumbled backward, hand flying to his chest in a warding gesture.

"W-What kind of monster are you?! Have you been touched by the plague of darkness?!"

---

Jin Mu-Hwal stared at his pale hands.

Then, slowly, he touched a lock of his black hair.

And the corner of his mouth curled upward.

Not confusion.

A familiar, crooked smirk. The very same smirk that once made the entire world of Murim hold its breath.

Arrogant. Unhinged. Dangerous.

"Black…?" he murmured.

The foreign energy in his veins began to stir — pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"So. In this land… my natural colors are considered strange and frightening. Is that it?"

He lifted his head slowly. His gaze shifted — completely transformed.

Even in a weak body… the spiritual pressure of a Demon King who had slaughtered millions remained undeniable.

The air in that tiny cell grew heavy. Suffocating. Cold.

"Hey. Guard."

His voice was low. Calm. But laced with a dangerous, quiet promise.

"You asked why my eyes are black?"

One small step forward.

The guard scrambled backward, cold sweat soaking his back.

"Because where I come from," Jin Mu-Hwal whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark, wicked amusement…

"Black is the color I chose on purpose."

"So that when my enemies' blood splashes all over me…"

"…it doesn't look quite so messy."

He laughed.

The exact same laugh he'd laughed on the peak of Mount Cheon-Wol — just before the sky collapsed.

"And it seems… in this new world…"

"I have an awful lot of cleaning up to do."

---

This world had no idea.

No idea at all — that it had just let in a man who carried hell itself inside a pair of pitch-black eyes.