Chapter 156
Heaven-Slaughter Star.
Because of Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art and its inherent violent killing intent, this is a suspicion that’s always shadowed me.
That’s why I’ve done some research—so I know quite a bit about Heaven-Slaughter Stars.
It’s not quite a matter of innate talent or physique.
Tang Sowol’s Poison Spirit Constitution or Seol Lihyang’s Pure Yin Physique—these kinds of unique constitutions are, strictly speaking, a form of disability.
Whether it’s internal energy accumulating as poison or excess yin energy—either way, to the average civilian, it’s practically a curse.
Exceptional talent is really just the desperate survival mechanism of a body trying to adapt under extreme conditions.
So why are these constitutions praised as blessings today?
Simple: because people have worked tirelessly to overcome them.
Those with Poison Spirit Constitution learned poison arts, which enabled them to control the poisons accumulating inside their bodies and avoid dying of self-intoxication. Those with excess yin or yang found martial techniques that could moderate the effects and prevent death from blocked meridians.
Countless other constitutions were gradually analyzed and resolved by geniuses born with them.
Thus, what once were heaven-sent punishments became regarded as talents.
All except one: the Heaven-Slaughter Star.
It cannot be fixed.
Despite numerous attempts, the outcome is always the same:
Once someone is consumed by the killing aura of a Heaven-Slaughter Star, they never return to sanity.
They lose reason, become obsessed with slaughter, and, in pursuit of bloodshed, awaken talents rivaling even the greatest martial prodigies.
Unable to be cured, and sure to slaughter those around them if left alone, the Heaven-Slaughter Star eventually came to be seen as a public enemy of the martial world.
If one is confirmed, they must be killed—before they mature, before they awaken to bloodlust.
This is the unwritten rule of Murim, written in blood.
My own technique might raise suspicion, but I am not labeled as one.
Unlike a true Heaven-Slaughter Star, who is swept away by blind and overwhelming bloodlust, I have control over mine.
But now, to hear that Gakjeong took such a being as a disciple—
“So… he tried to sever the fate of a Heaven-Slaughter Star.”
“You’re correct, Sir Benefactor,” Jeonghyeon replied. “My master found his disciple at a place called Salcheongyo.”
“Salcheongyo…? What kind of place is that?”
“A cult. They preached that since the world is in chaos, all martial artists causing that chaos must be exterminated.”
“…Isn’t that just the Demonic Cult?”
I frowned, recalling similar stories.
But Jeonghyeon shook his head with a chuckle.
“They sound similar, but they’re fundamentally different in one way: sincerity.”
“Sincerity…?”
“Yes. Whether you agree with the Demonic Cult or not, they believe what they preach. They genuinely think that martial artists—and the martial arts that produce them—should disappear. And they act accordingly.”
“That’s true. Some even vow to kill themselves once their mission is complete, since they, too, have learned martial arts.”
“You’ve had more tangled run-ins with the Demonic Cult than any other post-regression martial artist I’ve met,” Jeonghyeon said, nodding.
He paused briefly, then continued:
“Why are they so sincere? Because they’re victims. But in Salcheongyo’s case, it was the opposite.”
“…You mean they were perpetrators?”
“Not exactly. But they exploited victims, so yes, you could call them perpetrators.”
In the growing chaos between the orthodox and unorthodox sects, innocent civilians had lost family, lovers—everything.
Salcheongyo preyed on them, whispering the things they most wanted to hear.
Martial artists, whether righteous or evil, will soon all die.
The Heaven-Slaughter Star is a divine punishment sent by the heavens to purge them.
We’re raising such a being now. He’s exceptional, so we need funds. Will you support us?
A classic con.
They fed off victims’ grief, claiming they were nurturing a divine executioner.
“But… they were really raising a Heaven-Slaughter Star?”
“Surprisingly, yes. They originally found one by chance and built their entire scam around it.”
“…They had guts, I’ll give them that. One wrong move and they could’ve been the first to die.”
“They didn’t really understand what a Heaven-Slaughter Star was. Their plan was to restrain him and hand him to the Murim Alliance for a reward before he got too strong.”
“They even planned their final scam? Either insane or just plain ignorant. If word got out they’d been secretly raising a Heaven-Slaughter Star, the Alliance would’ve executed them on the spot.”
“They didn’t get that far. Word of Salcheongyo eventually reached the Alliance. My master, I, and many top martial artists moved in to exterminate them.”
Salcheongyo wasn’t nearly as dangerous as expected.
They preyed on civilians, staged phony executions using low-tier martial artists to keep morale high, and that was it.
The Alliance dismantled them almost immediately.
Then we moved to kill the Heaven-Slaughter Star hidden within.
In the underground chamber, a small child was sobbing as he dissected a fresh corpse—clearly forced to do it.
When he saw one of us, not from Salcheongyo, he burst into tears and said:
“I don’t want to kill anyone anymore.”
“That was the first meeting between master and disciple.”
A Heaven-Slaughter Star doesn’t begin life as a killer.
At first, they’re just slightly more violent, a bit short-tempered, exuding the occasional trace of killing aura.
Only later, when the bloodlust consumes them entirely, do they awaken as Heaven-Slaughter Stars.
A child of six or seven can’t possibly be all that murderous.
But this one… looked exactly like the legends.
“Salcheongyo taught him to act like that. Told him he was a Heaven-Slaughter Star, forced him to wield a sword, and made him kill.”
I see.
If he didn’t act the part, their cultists wouldn’t be moved—and wouldn’t donate.
But to force a child who doesn’t know any better to kill…
“That’s… unforgivable.”
“My master thought the same. Still, he believed everyone deserved one chance.”
Though known as Punisher Asura, Gakjeong had always kept compassion in his heart.
No matter the crime, he gave each person one opportunity to redeem themselves.
Even a Heaven-Slaughter Star who wept, saying they didn’t want to kill—he couldn’t just cut them down.
“So my master took the child in. The others objected, of course. But he swore an oath to get their permission.”
“What kind of oath?”
“He vowed to teach the child Buddhist disciplines that could suppress and control the killing aura. But if the child failed and gave in to bloodlust…he would personally kill him.”
At that point, the rest of the picture came into focus.
Gakjeong took the boy in and taught him sincerely.
Jeonghyeon, I assumed, must’ve cared for the boy too.
But… a Heaven-Slaughter Star is a Heaven-Slaughter Star.
Eventually, the disciple lost control.
And Gakjeong had no choice but to kill him with his own hands.
Whether out of grief, guilt, or some other reason, he destroyed his own dantian.
Thus, the former abbot of Shaolin became a wandering monk, studying scripture as a scholar monk.
While I let out a quiet sigh, the others around me nodded solemnly.
“…I thought he was just a weird old monk.”
“So that’s why he could escape ropes and heavy luggage like it was nothing.”
“This One didn’t know either. That part was never part of the rumors.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” Jeonghyeon interjected.
“When he brought the disciple to Shaolin, he kept everything secret—so no one would know a Heaven-Slaughter Star had ever entered. Even his death was disguised as an accident.”
Fair.
There would’ve been no benefit to revealing any of that.
But there was one thing I still didn’t understand.
“Thank you, Master Jeonghyeon. That explains most of it.
But may I ask—what was Monk Gakjeong doing outside the temple in the first place? I don’t mean to boast, but this time… he really could’ve died.”
I knew firsthand how formidable he still was, even without inner energy.
But his aged body could probably only handle first-class martial artists at best.
That’s strong enough to command some respect—but not enough to survive an unlucky encounter with a Peak Stage expert.
Jeonghyeon gave a wry smile and replied.
“…He couldn’t let go.”
“Excuse me?”
“After burying his disciple, he passed the abbotship to me.
Then he began devoting himself to deeper research into Heaven-Slaughter Stars.”
“…So that’s why he calls himself a scholar monk?”
“It’s one of the reasons.”
He chuckled softly.
“It’s regret, really.
If only I had done this instead…
If only I had known more back then…
Could I have suppressed the bloodlust? Could I have saved my disciple?”
He must’ve known his obsession was self-destructive.
I may not know much about Buddhist teachings, but I’ve heard enough to understand this much:
Desiring what cannot be changed only leads to suffering.
To be free, one must let go, accept, and move on.
But… people can’t always do that.
Even when we know we should let go, our hearts cling tighter.
“My master began compiling everything he had learned from teaching his disciple and all the records left in Shaolin to fully analyze the Heaven-Slaughter Star. Then one day, he claimed he had discovered something—and ignored my protests to pack his things and leave.”
“…What was it?”
“He said Heaven-Slaughter Stars appear according to a cycle.
And that cycle was due to repeat.”
“…What?”
“So he snuck out, saying he would personally find the next Heaven-Slaughter Star.”
A rule… a cycle?
I said nothing.
I couldn’t.
Because in my past life—
When I was around twenty—
A Heaven-Slaughter Star appeared in Yunnan and annihilated the Jeomchang Sect.
He might’ve been off by a few years…
But Gakjeong had uncovered part of a truth that no one else in Murim ever had.