Chapter 2 : An Assassin Doesn’t Just Hand Out Gifts

Chapter 2: An Assassin Doesn’t Just Hand Out Gifts

What would an assassin give?

A distant past.

A world that had now become his former life.

What Sewoon saw when he opened his eyes was nothing but pitch-black darkness.

No, it would be more accurate to say he saw darkness so deep that not even an inch ahead was visible.

‘…It feels like my head is about to split open.’

His body felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, and his mind was so dizzy he could hardly continue any thoughts.

Kkyaaaah!

At that moment, a scream filled with agony burst out nearby.

It was a voice so desperate it sounded as if the person wished to die instead.

“Ah, aaah.”

Only then did the nightmare-like memories of the previous night begin to vividly resurface in Sewoon’s mind.

Fwoosh!

The halls of the Sichuan Tang Clan, where he was born and raised, blazed fiercely in a violent fire.

And in the midst of it, his mother and father, his sister, and the family’s servants were being gruesomely slaughtered by the demonic practitioners of the Blood Cult.

“…Must save them, I must save them.”

Out of his mind, Sewoon tried to lift his collapsed body.

No, he tried to, but—

Thud. Bang.

He staggered and fell helplessly.

He couldn’t even stand properly.

It was because of the terrible pain suddenly surging from his right leg.

Because of the darkness that hung like a curtain, Sewoon curled his body and reached toward his ankle with his hand, where the pain throbbed.

His fingers felt sticky blood.

A deep stab wound had been carved into his right ankle.

The tendon had been severed so he could not walk.

Crack!

Moreover, his ankle was bound by a solid iron shackle.

“Huff, huff.”

Enduring the excruciating pain, Sewoon crawled across the floor, leaving a trail of blood, until his hand touched cold, steel bars like ice.

Only then did Sewoon realize that he had been imprisoned in the underground prison of the Blood Cult.

Alone, he had survived.

Sewoon neither wept nor screamed.

He realized that sorrow beyond what one could endure no longer even allowed tears to flow.

‘If only I had been stronger…’

All that remained was endless regret.

That instead of protecting his loved ones, he had only become a burden to the very end.

That he had failed to die fighting alongside them and instead had survived alone, cowardly.

That truly drove him to despair.

Sssss…

But then it happened.

From the depths of the pitch-black darkness—

Step. Shuff.

Someone was approaching.

Sewoon’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart began pounding like mad.

A terrifying demonic qi quickly filled the entire space.

It was so overwhelming, it felt like his entire skin was burning.

Fwoosh!

Dozens of torches mounted on the walls lit up all at once, brightening the surroundings.

The Blood Demon.

The demon who had caused all this catastrophe revealed himself.

‘I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!’

Sewoon wanted to rush in and snap the bastard’s neck right then and there, but crushed by the demonic qi, he could do nothing.

At that moment, the Blood Demon’s hollow gaze landed on Sewoon.

“Tang Sewoon.”

At the voice of the Blood Demon, infused with immense inner strength, Sewoon felt as if his skull was being split from within.

He almost coughed up blood but clenched his teeth and endured it.

Then he glared at the Blood Demon with murderous intent.

But the Blood Demon didn’t even seem to care.

“I heard the Tang Clan possessed the metallurgic arts capable of crafting divine artifacts.”

What the Blood Demon said next was completely unexpected by Sewoon.

How did this monster know about something only a few in the clan even knew?

“A legendary technique said to be possible only by the Tang Clan’s founder, wasn’t it?”

Wooooom!

With a resonant hum, the Blood Demon’s blood-colored robes fluttered.

Swish! Boom!

Then, from within his robes, a myriad of eerie hidden weapons and mystical weapons emitting spiritual energy were revealed.

Those objects floating in the air due to perfected psychokinesis were all—

“But it seems you completed the form.”

They were creations born from Sewoon during the war against the Blood Cult.

The reason he alone had survived.

It was precisely because the Blood Cult sought to obtain the divine artifacts he had created.

“Forge my sword. Then you shall live.”

The moment the Blood Demon finished speaking—

Sssht!

The blades of the hidden weapons and weapons floating in the air all pointed at Sewoon.

The meaning was simple.

Obey, or be killed.

But Sewoon had no intention whatsoever of doing as he demanded.

“Bullshit… Cut it out and just… kill me.”

He spoke firmly, as if he had no lingering attachment to life.

Rather, he welcomed death.

Because he could finally reunite with the family that was waiting for him.

However—

“Does that mean you don’t care if the rest of your clan dies?”

At the Blood Demon’s following words, Sewoon’s pupils trembled as if struck by an earthquake.

The rest of the clan?

Could there still be survivors of the Tang Clan?

“W-who are you trying to… deceive?!”

Just as Sewoon couldn’t hide his trembling voice—

Suddenly, the air distorted like a vortex.

The Blood Demon’s sorcery had begun.

Soon, the air reflected something like a bronze mirror.

-Ugh, ughhh.

-It hurts, it hurts so much.

“Ah, aaah.”

A drop of bloody tear ran down the corner of Sewoon’s eye as he looked inside.

There were fewer than ten survivors, and their condition was utterly horrific.

One had no ears.

Another had no eyes.

One had both legs severed.

They couldn’t even sustain basic life without the help of others.

Sewoon shut his eyes tightly.

Even if the entire world were to condemn him, he knew what he had to do now.

“…If I forge the sword, can you promise to spare them?”

“If the result satisfies me.”

“…I’ll do it.”

Sewoon decided to use the Tang Clan’s legacy for the sake of his enemy.

He could never abandon them.

However, he had not given up everything.

‘I still have one final move left.’

There was still a glimmer of determination in Sewoon’s eyes.

A will directed at a desperate revenge.

He continued in a calm, even voice.

“…But to forge a divine artifact, I’ll need something.”

“Speak.”

“Give me your martial arts.”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed the Blood Demon’s eyes.

But only briefly.

Ssssh!

“How dare you speak such madness in this sacred place? The Cult Leader has graciously decided to spare your wretched life, and you dare speak such insolence?!”

Suddenly, the Sword Demon appeared beside Sewoon with his sword aimed and growled.

It felt as if his flesh was being peeled off.

But even though his neck was deeply slashed by the sword tip, Sewoon didn’t blink and continued to stare straight into the Blood Demon’s eyes.

The Blood Demon’s eyes had already returned to a void of emptiness.

“…If I don’t know the martial arts of the one who will use the divine artifact… I can’t forge it. So I’m saying… hand over your… martial arts.”

A cold silence settled over the space.

In that stillness, Sewoon barely calmed his pounding heart.

‘To kill him, I must first understand his martial arts.’

Renowned leaders of the orthodox sects had all fought the Blood Demon, yet none had found even the slightest clue about his martial arts.

And finally—

“Vice Cult Leader, withdraw your sword.”

“But how—”

The Sword Demon looked at the Blood Demon in shock, but soon had to bow his head when he saw the hollow gaze.

“This subordinate was mistaken.”

Whoosh—

The Sword Demon quietly vanished with the wind.

In the space where only the two remained—

The Blood Demon looked at Sewoon and spoke again.

“So you’re asking me for the martial arts that could kill me.”

Even though he had fully seen through Sewoon’s true intent—

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

He answered sincerely.

After leaving the prison, Sewoon was assigned as a slave to the Blood Cult’s smithy.

Due to a malformed Dantian, he couldn’t even properly use basic defensive martial arts, and to the strength-worshipping members of the Blood Cult, he was nothing more than a pitiful object of ridicule.

But exactly one year later—

Sewoon’s position had completely changed.

After he completed and delivered the first of the Ten Demonic Weapons, the “Demonic Sword of the Demon God – Execution,” to the Blood Demon, the impact was tremendous.

It was a demonic sword so satisfying that even the Blood Demon, who had previously fought barehanded because no weapon sufficed, declared himself “pleased.”

On countless battlefields thereafter, the Blood Demon exhibited many divine techniques that overshadowed his former feats.

After witnessing the earth-shattering power of Execution, the demonic practitioners went mad and began to seek out Sewoon.

Some tried to bribe him with wealth.

Others tried to threaten him with force.

But none of them had their wishes fulfilled.

Because the only ones Sewoon forged divine artifacts for were those he personally chose.

No one knew by what standards the selection was made.

But even being chosen was a problem.

– If you want a divine artifact, offer your martial arts.

Because Sewoon—no, the Demonic Craftsman—took martial arts as the price for forging a divine artifact.

Martial arts were life itself to a martial artist.

No matter how badly one desired a divine artifact, offering their martial arts was never an easy choice.

That’s why the second of the Ten Demonic Weapons didn’t appear until a full year after Execution had been completed.

Clang!

Clang!

Though the night was deep, the sound of hammering echoed through the smithy.

That day too, Sewoon was left alone, fully immersed in tempering.

‘Hoo, only now has the opening and closing of the upper Dantian become natural.’

No—more precisely, he was diligently training in the martial arts he had inherited from the Blood Demon.

“Demonic Craftsman, are you there?”

And then he came.

Without stopping his hammering, Sewoon checked the visitor.

“Oh, you’re here.”

A simple-looking boy, not even twenty years old, stood before him.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Samho of the Black Kill Unit.”

The boy began to speak with a friendly smile.

He held the lowest rank among the demonic practitioners who had ever come to see Sewoon.

Probably here to pick up supplies or something.

Sewoon soon lost interest and focused on hammering again.

“I came because I want a throwing dagger.”

“…What kind?”

Then Samho—

No, the one who would later be called the Assassin—his eyes curved like a crescent moon.

“Hmm, something that could pierce the Blood Demon’s neck?”

Clang!

At last, Sewoon’s hammering stopped.

He looked up and met the boy’s gaze.

In the depths of his eyes, impossible to measure, a horrifying killing intent flickered.

It was no joke.

“…What can you give me in return?”

“Well, what does an assassin have to offer?”

In the past, he too had entered the Blood Cult under the same circumstances.

The only one in the Blood Cult who had shared the same goal until the brink of death.

“How to kill a target.”

The last successor of the Gate of Assassins.

Samho of the Black Kill Unit.

No—Sewoon’s only true friend—spoke with a sly grin.

“Dieee–!”

Sewoon collided head-on with the charging Lee Hoseong.

Just like its name, Red Mist Sword, Lee Hoseong’s blade was already enveloped in crimson haze.

Slash!

In an instant, Lee Hoseong closed the gap and slashed down with his sword.

It was a flawless, swift strike.

Though he had lost his reason, his swordsmanship remained unchanged.

A single vertical strike crashed down like a thunderbolt.

Screeeech–!

But Sewoon blocked that critical blow effortlessly by crossing his twin daggers in an ‘X’ shape.

The sword slid across the blades of the daggers, emitting orange sparks.

‘What the?!’

Lee Hoseong’s eyes trembled as if hit by an earthquake, convinced the strike would cut through.

Crack!

Sewoon, having nullified the opponent’s attack with ease, rushed toward Lee Hoseong like a flash of lightning.

Screech!

The twin daggers in his hands let out a chilling wail that only Sewoon could hear.

With the tearing sound of the air itself, the two daggers crossed like a shark’s jaws locking onto prey.

Slice!

At the same moment, with a chilling slicing sound, something soared high into the air.

“Gaaaah!”

Lee Hoseong screamed.

His arm, still clutching a sword marked with the Qingcheng Sect’s emblem, writhed on the ground.

‘Next is the heart—’

It was the moment when the signature assassination technique, “One Point Kill,” of the Assassin, was revived in Sewoon’s hands.