Chapter 124
I hate fire.
To be exact, I hate the memories fire brings back.
The helplessness I felt watching someone die in my arms, unable to do anything.
The despair of holding a sword in my hands, yet having no one left to swing it at.
And the resentment that kept piling up with nowhere to go—that alone was enough to twist the core of my mind.
Of course, now I’ve gone through something that can’t even be explained as mere regression. I’ve saved those I couldn’t save before, killed the enemies I once couldn’t.
So the demon in my heart has settled, and I no longer boil with uncontrollable rage.
But fear—that still remains.
Part of it is a vague fear of the Heavenly Demon, but at its root, it’s fear of loss.
Yes. I have to admit it. What remained after I cast off my inner demon was fear, and a weakness I had long ignored.
Coming face to face with what I once couldn’t see through the haze of killing intent was not a pleasant experience.
In that sense, the scene unfolding before my eyes now held no small significance.
The frost sparkling beneath her feet. The cold gleam in her eyes. The qi that rode her song and pierced the space between us.
“Ah…”
Seol Lihyang, who had leapt out in spite of the danger, looked—strangely—like her former self before my regression.
And I didn’t mean just in appearance.
The heat from the Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art that had engulfed the area had weakened.
Just breathing moments ago felt like it would burn my lungs, but the violent Yang Qi had now subsided.
The sword held by the Bloodflame Fist Demon, who had seized it and poured his internal qi into it, was still hot—but no longer searing my skin.
She had said she couldn’t keep up with the speed of the Bloodflame Fist Demon and me.
I had tried to solve it by receiving Yin Qi directly from her—but the answer Seol Lihyang presented was far more daring.
Just as the Bloodflame Fist Demon had recklessly unleashed his internal qi across the area to gain the upper hand—
Seol Lihyang, unable to follow our movements, had instead poured all of her Yin Qi into the entire battlefield.
Normally, that would be impossible.
Even though she’d reached the cusp of Peak Stage after gaining insight at the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering, she was still just a first-class warrior.
The Bloodflame Fist Demon, on the other hand, had reached Sub-Perfection long ago. His fist techniques may have stagnated, but his control over internal qi had only improved.
So Seol Lihyang’s effort should have failed—her power insufficient to produce any meaningful effect.
At least, that’s what would’ve happened under normal circumstances.
But Seol Lihyang possessed the Pure Yin Physique—not quite as extreme as the Extreme Yin Pulse, but still a natural constitution that allowed her to produce several times more Yin Qi than usual, with a refinement even greater than that of Extreme Yin Pulse.
And the Glacial True Qi—while difficult to master—was a rare technique, even among the masters of the North Sea Ice Palace. Not only that, it specialized entirely in the control of cold qi.
But most importantly—she wasn’t just someone with these two gifts. She was Seol Lihyang.
A song echoing as if from every direction. Beautiful, yes—but laced with a murderous chill that made my spine tingle.
This was the first time in this life Seol Lihyang had directed killing intent at someone. And it was so chilling that the cold itself was almost secondary.
It wasn’t the kind of killing intent I carried.
It wasn’t overflowing with power or suffocating in its thickness.
It was perfectly controlled. And fanatical to the point one could hardly believe it came from a human being.
I knew what to call this all too well.
Demonic Aura.
Seol Lihyang now, just like in my previous life, was emitting guigi—with nothing but her own human body.
No, it wasn’t real guigi. But it looked the part—because she was throwing everything of herself into it.
Over her dark eyes shimmered a cold blue gleam, reminiscent of the Demonic Sound Witch I had known in my previous life.
So that’s how it is.
Though fully conscious, she was not in her right mind. It was a state I knew too well.
Seol Lihyang was ready to burn her core essence if necessary.
Maybe it’s because she grew up watching a martial artist like me from up close. She’d developed a strange habit—stepping even deeper into danger when things got dangerous.
But this wasn’t a reckless, thoughtless act.
Unlike the deadly chill in her eyes toward the Bloodflame Fist Demon, her gaze toward me was full of unwavering trust.
Seol Lihyang remembered.
She remembered me saying that if we could just neutralize his Yang Qi, we might be able to defeat the Bloodflame Fist Demon.
She believed in that single statement—and staked her life on it.
And if that’s the case, then I must respond in kind.
“You wretched wench! Do you think this pathetic interference will—!”
The moment the Bloodflame Fist Demon tried to separate part of his qi into a flaming mass and hurl it at Seol Lihyang—
“Silence.”
Ssskuk!
A slash of crimson sword qi sliced across his wrist, cutting through the flame just as it began to surge forward.
“You...?!”
He recoiled in shock. The Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art flared again in response to his spilling blood, but… it no longer felt threatening.
No matter how fierce his fire was—if Seol Lihyang was suppressing that heat, it wouldn’t reach me.
“There’s no time. Within the span of a single quarter-hour, one of us will die.”
It was a resolve I had long since accepted—but I said it aloud anyway.
Not for myself, but for Seol Lihyang to hear.
A plea—hold on just a little longer, don’t burn your core essence.
Whether it reached her or not, I didn’t know.
But I knew what I had to do.
I withdrew all the internal qi I had used to protect my body, and all the killing intent I had released to suppress him—and I poured it all into my sword.
Fwhhh!
The dark red aura burning on the blade grew brighter, transforming into a visible flame.
Unlike the fire of the Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art, it radiated no heat. It was so dense with killing intent that it felt almost cold.
A fire that wasn’t a fire—Sword Flame—and it devoured the flames of the Bloodflame Fist Demon.
Yes, Yang Qi is like a sharp awl. Even protected by internal qi, it pierces through.
But this level of density, combined with the killing intent within, could not be so easily overcome.
“You think that’ll change anything? I don’t need hostages anymore. I’ll kill that woman first, and then burn you!”
“No. That’s not going to happen.”
I no longer felt pain in my battered hands. I had forgotten pain, becoming one with my sword.
Entrusting myself fully to the state of Divine Sword Unity, I spoke.
“I’ve already decided.”
Because I would make it happen.
I swallowed the rest of my words and swung my sword—a simple, horizontal slash. Nothing fancy. Just a clean, fundamental strike.
One of the first three sword techniques I learned—the basics everyone scoffed at, yet no one could deny—this was the Three Fundamentals Sword, the technique known as Heaven-Cleaving Slash.
“Hah! And here I thought you were about to pull something—”
Ssskuk.
The Bloodflame Fist Demon scoffed as he punched forward—only to find a long cut scored along the side of his forearm.
“What the...?!”
He stared at his wound in shock.
He wasn’t surprised because I cut through the Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art—he’d already seen that once.
“What?! I couldn’t even see it!”
What truly shook him was that he hadn’t been able to react at all.
But I didn’t waste time celebrating. I swung again, expressionless.
Ssskuk!
A strong vertical slash—Mountain Pressing Down Peak. Straightforward, but immensely powerful. Another cut opened on his opposite arm.
Neither wound was deep. Slightly worse than the first, but nowhere near fatal for a Sub-Perfection master.
In fact, the blood only fueled the flames of the Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art.
But so what? My sword had only just begun.
As he expanded his aura to keep me at bay, I pierced through it with a flash of light.
Some called it Raging Winds of Eight Directions, others Path of the Sage’s Blade. But it was nothing grand—just a simple, direct thrust.
The carefully built-up aura scattered in an instant, and I kept swinging at the flustered Bloodflame Fist Demon.
The Red Snake Sword I stole with my eyes from the Red Snake Sect Master. The Blood Wolf Blade that persistently targeted wounds.
And the unstable Swift Blade I bought with nearly all my money from a nameless vagabond.
Every technique I’d ever learned now flowed out in succession.
It was a kind of consolidation—a deep examination of myself from the bottom up.
I may have housed a hellscape within my mental realm, but it wasn’t only filled with fire.
There was also the scent of a pear left behind. A camellia blooming red across a snowy field.
And always, always—there had been a sword in my hand.
Though I’d saved Seol Lihyang and Seo Mun-Hwarin, and slain the Black Sky Sword Emperor—marking an end to much of my inner torment—
The sword had been the sole exception.
Back then, I held a sword. And now, even now—I held a sword.
So I retraced my steps from the beginning, searching for the path ahead.
At first, my strikes were simple and lacked depth—but they grew ever more refined and complex.
The Bloodflame Fist Demon thrashed wildly and summoned ever more spectacular flames.
But that alone couldn’t block my sword.
The moment I grasped the essence of Forceful Blade, his pinky flew off.
When I understood the subtleties of Balance and Flow, a cut stretched from cheekbone to collarbone.
When I could finally wield True Swift Blade, a shallow wound opened on his chest.
I then learned how to maximize impact through rotation—and adapted it for defense, developing a technique to blend and break flame like Blossoms Grafted into One.
What had once only wounded his fists and forearms now carved into his entire body.
“This—this can’t be! It shouldn’t be like this!”
Now drenched in blood, the Bloodflame Fist Demon screamed in anguish. The flames of the Bloodflame Serpent Demon Art roared wilder than I’d ever seen—even before my regression.
But neither his cries nor his violent flames could reach me anymore.
I kept cutting. And cutting. As if I had become a blade myself.
Maybe a piece of my inner self reached him—because his face twisted in realization.
“You’re no different! That hatred of yours—it’s not even aimed at me or the Demonic Cult! You must have someone else to take revenge on! What right do you have to cut me down?!”
He’s not wrong. Technically speaking, there aren’t many I truly need to take revenge on.
The Black Sky Sword Emperor. The Heavenly Demon. A few other demon lords.
The Bloodflame Fist Demon wasn’t one of them.
In fact, in this life, none of the wrongs I sought vengeance for had even happened yet.
I’d slain the Black Sky Sword Emperor not for what he had done, but for what he would do.
I burned with hatred toward the Heavenly Demon not because he had invaded the Central Plains or killed Tang Sowol—but because he would.
My hatred had become directed at the entire Demonic Cult.
In that sense, I wasn’t all that different from him.
But—
“You’re mistaken about one thing. I’m not swinging this sword for vengeance. Or hatred with nowhere to go.”
“Then what?!”
People should know restraint. Know when to step back. Know how to reflect.
That kind of righteous talk isn’t for me. I just—
“I swing my sword for the one who believes in me.”
There is someone who believes in me—without condition. Who’s willing to risk her life for me.
Then it’s only right that I return that trust.
The Bloodflame Fist Demon’s eyes widened in shock—clearly not expecting that answer. It was the perfect opening.
But my sword technique had just reached its conclusion.
From the first sword I ever held, to the most recent insight I’d gained—
Even after pouring out everything I had, I was one strike short.
Then I’d simply take one more step forward.
As if pushed by all the time I’d spent to get here, my body moved on its own.
Even I couldn’t follow the strange arc my sword traced—as if it moved beyond my control.
Not quite the Divine Sword Unity—but something deeper. An unknown unity.
And then—the sword lodged itself in the Bloodflame Fist Demon’s throat.
The blood that gushed forth—could no longer become flame.