Return of the Mount Hua Sect Chapter 0: Preface

…This…

His teeth were so tightly clenched they felt on the verge of shattering.

His fists were balled so hard that dark red blood began to drip.

Tremors and convulsions wracked his body uncontrollably.

An anger so intense it could have turned his hair white.

Red. Everything appeared red. The entire world before his eyes was painted scarlet with blood.

The once vibrant, verdant mountain peak was now stained crimson; its inherent nature obliterated in a single devastating day.

Death. Only the stark reality of death remained.

What meaning could all this bloodshed possibly hold?

With a ragged breath, Chung Myung clawed at the hilt of the sword impaled in his shoulder, wrenching out the fractured remnant of the Plum Blossom Sword.

His left arm was gone—only tattered fragments of his sleeve fluttered eerily in the wind. Though his legs remained intact, he could barely summon the strength to move. A gaping wound, the size of an infant's head, marred his stomach.

Yet, paradoxically, Chung Myung felt no physical pain.

The agony of his physical wounds paled in comparison to the tempest raging within his heart.

“...Sahyung Jang Mun.” He located the desecrated corpse of Jang Mun, the leader of Mount Hua Sect.

Why was this so profoundly unfair? Why were the deceased denied even the peace of having their eyes closed?

“Sajae…” The bisected remains of Sajae Chung Gong haunted his vision.

“Sajils…”

Everyone was gone. Slain.

All the most promising disciples of Mount Hua Sect, those who had pledged to ascend the mountain together, to fiercely protect their borders, to etch their names into legend, had departed to a realm from which no return was possible.

And their Sajils had followed them into that abyss.

Chung Myung gritted his teeth, the sound a harsh rasp against the unnatural quiet.

Their sacrifice was indeed noble. Their deaths, just and honorable.

But who, in their right mind, would dare to laud their demise? Who could possibly offer such a hollow commendation!?

Chung Myung’s gaze sharpened, fixing upon the architect of this devastation, the source of his unfathomable, searing rage.

The Demon from the heavens, the supreme leader of the Heavenly Demon Sect: the Heavenly Demon himself.

The sight of this loathsome individual, seated in lotus position amidst the carnage, stirred a maelstrom of emotions within Chung Myung. Even within this hellish tableau, the Heavenly Demon exuded an unnerving tranquility.

No, “tranquility” was not the right word. Dozens of swords protruded from his body, and two spears were embedded in his gut. Every warrior present had dedicated their life's efforts in a final, desperate attempt to fell this monstrous entity.

The climactic battle between the last remaining squad, comprised solely of the martial world's elite, and the Heavenly Demon had culminated in utter annihilation.

Was this conclusion satisfactory? Would the spirits of the fallen find peace?

They would not.

Even if they could, Chung Myung certainly could not. It took every fiber of his being to suppress the all-consuming rage threatening to shatter his very sanity.

The Heavenly Demon’s pale, vacant eyes flickered open, seemingly gazing towards the indifferent blue sky above.

“…Mount Hua Sect.” Barely three words escaped his lips, a final, raspy sigh.

These words, now eternally seared into Chung Myung’s very soul, had been uttered by the mouth of the demon.

“What a pity, disciple of Mount Hua Sect. Had you managed to escape this place, you could have boasted of your great deeds.”

“…Silence your vile mouth.”

“You can still take solace in your accomplishments. With the combined efforts of countless individuals, your blade finally found my flesh.”

“Shut up!” The mere mention of his sect’s name, spoken by that wretched tongue, caused Chung Myung’s stomach to clench with nausea.

“A shame indeed.” The Heavenly Demon was fading. Even as the most powerful demon in history, the shattering of his dantian and the ruin of his internal organs meant his end was nigh.

A final, fleeting clarity—his current state was nothing more than the death throes of a legendary being.

But a perplexing question remained: why did a dying man appear so utterly at ease!? Chung Myung found the Heavenly Demon’s demeanor utterly baffling.

“If only I had one more day, I would have truly become a being worthy of the title ‘Heavenly Demon’. Such is fate, I suppose.”

Chung Myung tightened his grip on the sword he’d retrieved from his shoulder. The razor-sharp edge bit into his already wounded palm.

One step.

Another agonizing step.

At the conclusion of a long and brutal war, Chung Myung hobbled towards the dying Heavenly Demon.

“Remember this, disciple of Mount Hua Sect.” Chun Ma’s eyes, even as Chung Myung drew near, seemed utterly devoid of feeling. “This is not the end. The Demons shall return. And when they do, the world will fall under the dominion of the Demons. The demonic forces can never be truly stopped—”

The Heavenly Demon’s head detached, rolling to the ground with a sickening thud.

Chung Myung brought his foot down, crushing the Heavenly Demon’s skull, his eyes still chillingly open.

“It’s…”

The war had officially concluded. The world would hail this moment as a victory. But Chung Myung understood with chilling certainty: there was no true victory here. No one had emerged triumphant from this conflict.

Finally, Chung Myung’s remaining strength deserted him. The inevitability of his own demise loomed.

He raised his head towards the heavens. Despite the horrific bloodshed below, the sky remained a serene blue, utterly indifferent to the tragedy unfolding on the earth.

Everyone who had ascended the mountain was now dead. Even if any had miraculously survived, they were likely clinging to their last breaths. No other clan had endured such catastrophic losses as Mount Hua Sect.

“Sahyung Jang Mun… I said it, didn’t I?”

He remembered his words. Now, Mount Hua Sect would be interred upon this very mountain. All the disciples had followed their masters into death’s embrace. All that remained were the young children, completely oblivious to the legacy of Mount Hua Sect.

And… regret. Profound, soul-crushing regret lingered.

Was there any meaning to what had transpired? Did the blood spilled by Mount Hua Sect signify anything at all?

“I have no idea, Sahyung Jang…” Chung Myung collapsed onto his side.

The pristine white robes, adorned with the five-leaf plum blossom emblem, spread out before his dimming vision.

An innocent demise.

A solitary end, with no one to bear witness. The great Plum Blossom Sword Saint of the Mount Hua Sect was meeting his end like a stray dog.

“…Still, your end was far preferable to mine.” For you, there was someone to mourn your passing. Chung Myung wept for them.

Chung Myung’s sight began to blur and fade.

Had he dedicated even a fraction more of his life to diligent training, would he have been capable of rescuing even a single soul?

What if he had heeded the stern admonishments of his teachers…?

What if he had truly mastered the Mount Hua Sword art, rather than merely the Plum Blossom Sword?

But alas, nothing remained but regret. All that was left were his lingering regrets.

And the gnawing worries for the future of his Sect.

The thirteenth disciple of the esteemed Great Mount Hua Sect, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung, who had vanquished the Heavenly Demon atop the treacherous Hundred Thousand Mountains belonging to the Heavenly Demon Sect, slipped into an endless slumber.

This brief, somber tale constituted his sole enduring legacy.