Agony lanced through Ga Woon-seong’s leg with every attempt to shift his weight; the crude wooden stake embedded in his thigh felt as though it were tearing the muscle fibers apart. His left arm was gone, lost somewhere in the bloody chaos, and the vision in his right eye had succumbed to absolute darkness.
Yet, somehow, he remained standing. His body was ramrod straight, his sword held firm.
Death held no fear for him now. All that remained was a burning desire to drag at least one of his tormentors down to the underworld, to offer a meager solace to the departed souls of his comrades. He craved revenge, but his ravaged vessel refused to obey. The only sensation remaining was the desperate, clawing grip of his fingers around the sword hilt.
“Remarkable.” One of the five masked figures, seemingly the leader, stepped forward. “To still be on your feet in such a state.”
“You bastards.” As Ga Woon-seong forced the words past his teeth, bloody froth dribbled from his lips. “I’ll drag every last one of you… down to hell with me!”
“We wouldn’t expect anything less.” The leader nodded slowly, drawing the black sword strapped to his back. “Out of respect, I shall grant you a swift end.”
Ga Woon-seong impassively raised his remaining right arm. He had endured countless attacks, rising again and again like a broken puppet pulled by invisible strings, driven not by exceptional skill, but solely by the unyielding vow of vengeance etched into his marrow.
Shing!
The leader’s black sword cut the air—a precise, deadly arc aimed unerringly at Ga Woon-seong’s heart.
Thud.
A dull, heavy sound echoed in the sudden silence. Without even a cry, Ga Woon-seong’s knees buckled, and he collapsed into the dirt.
“Truly a tenacious one.” The leader withdrew his sword from the fallen boy’s chest, shaking his bloodied blade. Just then—
Crunch. Crunch.
The soft, deliberate sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Turning, the assassins saw a figure approaching calmly, an iron sword held loosely in his left hand.
It was Bu Eunseol.
“That sword…” The leader’s eyes narrowed, then widened as he focused on Bu Eunseol’s back. Slung across it was a black sword identical to their own, the standard issue for trainees of the Extreme Assassination Pavilion’s martial training hall. “Why are you carrying that black sword?”
To the masked man’s question, Bu Eunseol replied with stark simplicity. “It seemed useful.”
The unexpected, almost flippant answer chilled the leader’s gaze. Bu Eunseol had approached from the direction where three of his comrades had been lying in ambush. Seeing this stranger carrying one of their weapons rendered further conversation pointlessly redundant.
Flash!
In that instant, a blinding glint erupted from Bu Eunseol’s right hand.
The core principle of the assassin’s True Cultivated Technique often revolved around single-strike killing arts. Bu Eunseol struck first, preempting any attack they could launch.
“Ack!”
A masked figure standing to Bu Eunseol’s side choked, hands flying to his throat as a desperate gurgle tore from his lips. The lightning-fast strike had severed his carotid artery in a single, clean motion.
“Attack!”
The remaining four assassins reacted instantly, drawing their black swords and lunging.
Swish-swish-swish!
A deadly storm of precise steel rained down. But Bu Eunseol’s body seemed to anticipate the trajectories, dropping flat to the ground in a smooth, fluid motion that defied the violence of the assault.
“Ah!”
Cries of disbelief escaped the assassins. The technique they had unleashed, the Fatal Blood Projection Stance, was an all-out, single-strike killing art aimed at vital points. Bu Eunseol’s utterly nonchalant drop caused their fully committed strikes to whistle harmlessly through empty air.
Hiss!
Rising like a phantom, Bu Eunseol’s iron sword seemed to writhe, alive like a striking serpent.
“Uwaack!”
Another assassin cried out as the iron blade pierced cleanly through his heart. Bu Eunseol had seamlessly executed the sixth form of the Flower Rain Thirteen Forms, Long and Short Mutually Compared, immediately followed by the seventh form of the Blazing Shower, Thunder-Cleaving Sword, Body of Wood, Heart of Stone.
“What kind of sword art is this?!”
Utterly dumbfounded, the remaining assassins stared in horror. How could a rigid iron sword bend and weave with such impossible fluidity, striking vital points with unerring accuracy?
Shudder.
The tip of Bu Eunseol’s sword trembled faintly, signaling another shift in his technique. Almost simultaneously, another agonized scream echoed through the clearing.
“Aaargh!”
A swift, straight thrust suddenly curved into a wide arc, slicing deeply into an assassin’s side.
“He—He’s a sword demon!”
Every time the iron sword moved, it seemed to carry the inescapable touch of Death itself. Gripped by terror, the last two assassins simultaneously executed their movement techniques, scattering left and right.
Whoosh!
Watching them flee, Bu Eunseol smoothly plucked the black sword from his back and hurled it like a flying dagger.
Thunk.
The black sword, lighter and shorter than his iron one, flew true, embedding itself deeply into the back of the assassin escaping to the right. However, the one fleeing left continued his desperate run.
I survived!
Relief surged through the fleeing assassin, but as he ran, his eyes suddenly caught sight of a dark figure standing unsteadily in the distance. It was Ga Woon-seong, somehow back on his feet despite the sword wound to his chest.
How is that bastard…?
He was certain he had pierced the boy’s heart. How could he possibly be standing?
Unless…
A sudden, chilling memory surfaced—a fragment of anatomical knowledge from the advanced halls of the Extreme Assassination Pavilion.
His heart… it’s positioned differently.
If one were to draw a centerline down a human body, the heart typically resides slightly to the left. However, rare individuals possessed anatomical variations, their hearts positioned closer to the center, or even slightly to the right.
“I’ll kill you again!”
Channeling all his frustration and fear from the encounter with Bu Eunseol into his blade, the assassin charged Ga Woon-seong, unleashing his sword art with desperate fury. He poured all his rage and helplessness into the attack.
But there was one crucial factor the assassin failed to consider: Ga Woon-seong no longer valued his own life in the slightest.
“Die!”
Ignoring the black sword plunging once more toward his already wounded chest, Ga Woon-seong charged forward recklessly, driving his own iron sword deep into the assassin’s body.
Shunk.
The assassin’s eyes froze, wide with disbelief as the iron blade pierced his heart. He died instantly, unable even to scream.
“Finally… revenge…”
Ga Woon-seong looked down at his trembling hand, then crumpled to the ground with a soft thud.
“…I did it.”
Riddled with fatal wounds, he should have been dead long ago. Only the sheer, burning intensity of his obsession had anchored his soul to his failing body.
“I did it…”
A faint, strange smile touched Ga Woon-seong’s lips as a blurry shadow appeared before his fading vision. It was Bu Eunseol.
“Are you satisfied?”
“What…”
“You just said you achieved your revenge.” Bu Eunseol’s expression was unexpectedly serious, his voice devoid of its usual flatness. “I wish to know how it feels… to complete one’s revenge.”
“How it feels…”
A peculiar, almost serene smile ghosted across Ga Woon-seong’s lips. The emotions swirling within his eyes were a tangled skein—relief, exhaustion, perhaps even a flicker of peace—too complex to be captured by a single word.
Exhale.
Before he could articulate the feeling, his eyes remained open, fixed on the empty air, as the last breath left his body.
“…”
Bu Eunseol stood silently, gazing down at Ga Woon-seong’s lifeless face for a long, quiet moment. Perhaps it was because the assassins who had brutally murdered his friends were now all dead, but the tension seemed to drain from Ga Woon-seong’s features in death; his eyes gently closed, and the complex smile softened into one of undeniable relief.
Will I be able to smile like that?
Bu Eunseol looked up, his gaze lost in the vast emptiness of the sky, before shaking his head sharply.
This is no time for sentiment.
The kill-or-be-killed third trial had begun in earnest. The entire island had already transformed into a veritable hell. Shaking off his momentary introspection, Bu Eunseol took a deep breath, his expression hardening once more, and moved quickly away from the clearing, vanishing back into the depths of the forest.
Whoosh.
Long after Bu Eunseol departed, leaving the clearing silent save for the wind, a grey mist began to coalesce, swirling in from all directions. The ethereal tendrils gathered, thickening and gradually taking on a vaguely human form.
“So, that is the one.”
A low voice murmured from within the swirling grey shape.
“Using the Flower Rain Sword Sect’s basic sword forms, deemed utterly useless in practical combat, to cut down assassins from the Extreme Assassination Pavilion… Interesting.”
The voice held a potent mixture of keen curiosity and amusement.
“He reached the Advanced Hall, so his final trump card will likely be the first technique of the Flower Rain Sword…” The tone shifted subtly, now tinged with a hint of regret. “He may have learned the Way of the Beast, but there are no signs of deep cultivation in his martial arts.”
Though possessing remarkable talent, the island teemed with prodigies whose skills rivaled, or perhaps even surpassed, Bu Eunseol’s. These others had benefited from systematic training since childhood, their bodies meticulously prepared to absorb even Supreme Peerless Arts. More importantly, each harbored hidden claws—lethal techniques reserved for moments of absolute desperation.
“At this level… he won’t survive this Hell Island.”
The low voice faded, growing fainter until it vanished completely. The human-shaped mist dissolved, dispersing without a trace, as if it had never been there at all.
***
The third trial was a war of endurance.
Some relied on powerful martial arts to ambush their foes. Others utilized superior concealment techniques to lie in wait. Some formed alliances, gathering comrades to increase their numbers, while others, possessing exceptional leadership and charisma, built factions loyal to them.
In this landscape, Bu Eunseol was at a distinct disadvantage.
Loners inevitably became prey. There were no allies here, only enemies seeking his death. To survive, he had to cut down anyone who targeted him. But Bu Eunseol remained unfazed. The true enemy he needed to overcome was far stronger than all the trainees on this island combined. If he couldn’t surmount this level of trial, then even surviving here would be meaningless; he would never be strong enough to kill that person.
Pant. Pant.
Bu Eunseol’s body was slick with blood, both his own and that of others. No sooner had he left the forest clearing than he was set upon by four youths wielding paper-thin whips. They were trainees from the White Demon Monastery, practitioners of the White Demon Nine Netherworlds Whip Art.
Crack! Bang!
They surrounded him, their three-jang-long White Demon Whips snapping through the air, extending and retracting with blinding speed. It was the White Demon Monastery’s unique formation, the Emerald Luminous Golden Serpent Formation.
Whizz! Crack!
With each strike of the dozens of whips, sonic booms and sharp cracks echoed like thunder. Bu Eunseol moved with astonishing reflexes, weaving through the rain of lashes while seeking openings to counterattack.
Slice!
Darting through a gap in the whip images, he slashed at the wrist of one of the wielders.
Clang!
Bu Eunseol’s eyebrows shot up. His iron sword had only sliced through the sleeve; the wrist remained unharmed. He realized they had all wrapped the transparent sections of their White Demon Whips around their wrists and major joints for protection.
“The Flower Rain Sword art!” One of the youths recognized Bu Eunseol’s technique. “Use Spiritual Serpent Seeks Seclusion! Don’t give him room to use his sword!”
As time wore on, the density of whip shadows intensified, and more crimson bloomed across Bu Eunseol’s martial uniform. Yet, his footing remained stable, his eyes burning with an even fiercer light.
Zing!
One of the four whips, moving with the lithe grace of a viper, suddenly coiled around Bu Eunseol’s iron sword.
Got him!
The youth whose whip had ensnared the blade rejoiced inwardly. Swordsmen considered losing their weapon a profound dishonor. Furthermore, with the whip wrapped around the sword, not only had he dealt a psychological blow, but he could also force the confrontation into a contest of internal energy.
“What?!”
The celebrating youth’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
Thud.
Without a shred of hesitation, Bu Eunseol simply let go of the entangled iron sword.
Shwing.
In the next instant, he drew the black sword from his back and seamlessly continued his assault. He had never considered himself a true person of the Murim, nor did he harbor any particular pride tied to a specific weapon.
“Kuh!”
Witnessing this, the youths were visibly flustered, their coordinated attacks faltering for a crucial split second.
Flash!
As the torrential assault of whip images momentarily eased, Bu Eunseol seized the opportunity.
Swish-swish-swish-slice!
Alternating between fast sword forms and linked sword forms, he pushed them back, then swiftly moved outside the effective range of the Emerald Luminous Golden Serpent Formation.
“…”
Despite escaping the trap, Bu Eunseol didn’t flee. He stood his ground, black sword held ready. The youths stared at him, bloodied but resolute, and a palpable shiver ran through them.
This guy… he’s strong.
Although Bu Eunseol was clearly the one accumulating wounds, the youths felt an invisible pressure tightening around their throats, a suffocating sense of dread.
“What are you scared of?!” One of the youths gripped his whip tighter and yelled at his comrades. “Did you forget what the leader said? Once we deploy the Emerald Luminous Golden Serpent Formation, no one can defeat us!”
Leader?
Bu Eunseol, standing silently, frowned slightly. So, these four were merely following orders from someone else?
“Alright! Let’s do this!”
Their courage reignited, the youths began swinging their whips once more.
Whoosh.
The transparent White Demon Whips shimmered with a golden luminescence, creating the illusion of dozens of flashing snake shadows. They were preparing to reactivate the formation.
“…!”
Suddenly, the youths froze mid-motion.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
From somewhere in the distance came the distinct sound of numerous footsteps rapidly approaching their location.