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Chapter 1
Countless self-proclaimed kings run rampant—chaos and destruction fill the land.
A cruel world where the weak survive only at the whim of the strong.
The Demon Realm.
For ten thousand years, monstrous overlords capable of toppling mountains and parting seas lurked in their territories, salivating with greed and biding their time.
And then, a being appeared before the kings of collection—beings whose power was so immense, the term “absolute” still fell short—
…that being displayed the very pinnacle of arrogance.
The Demon King (魔F).
The bold claim of ruling the entire Demon Realm made countless kings stir.
And so, after half a year of tension, a sacred new monarch was born in the Demon Realm.
He called himself…
Cheonma (Heavenly Demon).
Decades passed under Cheonma’s reign over the vast Demon Realm.
And then, the Smoking Demon King vanished.
—
His whole body ached. Nausea churned in his stomach.
His head throbbed, and even opening his eyes was a struggle.
“…Ugh?”
Barely managing to sit up, Cheon Mujin furrowed his brow and looked around.
A stiff, crude bed of rough cloth. Furniture so simple it was practically pitiful.
And walls—not of wood—but fabric.
“A tent?”
As he struggled to lift himself, more details came into focus.
Four empty bottles scattered on the floor.
If he drank all that alone, his pounding head made perfect sense.
He exhaled to release his inner energy—but then frowned again.
His qi wouldn’t circulate properly.
It budged a little, but barely—a mere tremble.
His stiff, weak body didn’t move as he wished.
It was a situation that should have made anyone anxious, even furious.
But Cheon Mujin remained calm.
He forced his shivering body to stand.
First, he had to assess the situation.
He walked slowly to the tent entrance and lifted the curtain.
As sunlight beamed down, a slight smirk formed on his lips.
The warm rays gave him a sense of peace, outweighing the lightheadedness.
And then—
> “Oho! The young master is already awake?”
> “Wow, no need to rush. You could’ve slept in.”
Cheon Mujin tilted his head at the men approaching with smiles.
Unfamiliar faces—but strangely familiar presences.
> “Our young master’s so hungover he can barely open his eyes. Here, have this first.”
One of the men handed him a bottle.
He looked to be in his early twenties, handsome with sleepy-looking eyes.
Without a word, Mujin opened the bottle and chuckled.
Liquor—for a hangover?
> “Drink this first. As for the mission, we’ll handle it—”
Waking up from a hangover only to be offered more alcohol—it made no sense.
But the man was brimming with confidence, so Cheon Mujin simply nodded.
> “Sure. I’ll leave it to you.”
But then—
> “Young master, what do you think you’re doing?”
A voice, full of fury.
A sharp, official tone far too forceful for a subordinate.
Cheon Mujin smirked.
> “I’m quitting drinking today. So piss off.”
> “You little… we spoiled you too much—!”
It was the other men who reacted.
Apparently enraged by the scolding of their companion, they bristled with murderous intent.
Cheon Mujin’s smirk deepened.
> “Really? If you’re going to spoil me, do it all the way. Now get lost.”
As he turned his back, waving dismissively, a voice called out.
> “Cheon Gongja.”
> “What.”
> “What are you thinking? You should know your position.”
> “My position?”
A thinly veiled threat.
After a brief pause, Mujin stepped toward the man.
And then—slap.
He lightly patted the man’s cheek with a mocking smile.
> “That’s not something a low-level grunt like you should worry about.”
> “…Are you picking a fight?”
> “A fight? That’s odd. Do you usually pick fights with people beneath you?”
“Beneath you.”
The man’s hand twitched.
> “H-hyungnim!”
Too late—
Crack!
A clean blow to the cheek sent Mujin’s head snapping sideways.
He staggered back several steps, clutching his face.
> “Aha. So that’s how it feels.”
Nodding at the lingering pain, Mujin chuckled.
> “This body’s utterly useless.”
It was far too weak for someone supposedly trained in martial arts.
> “…What are you rambling about?”
> “Just talking to myself. Anyway, kid…”
He twisted his lips into a smirk and drew his fist back.
The other man laughed in disbelief.
He dares?
Even without internal energy, their training levels were worlds apart.
He had no intention of dodging.
But—
> “Youth sure is bold.”
Grinning, Cheon Mujin launched his fist with all the power his frail body could muster.
From foot to hip, shoulder to wrist—
He executed the perfect rotational punch—
Smash!
A sickening crack echoed as the man flew backward.
His body slammed to the ground.
It was the kind of force that seemed like it could rupture internal organs.
> “Hyungnim!! Are you okay?!”
His subordinates rushed over.
> “Don’t bother him. Let him sleep,” Mujin said with a laugh.
As the man collapsed, Mujin twirled a finger at the others.
> “You all look pissed. Careful—your eyes might fall out. If you want a piece of me, come now.”
> “You little bastard! Just because you’re from the Cheon clan—!!”
The man charged, fury in his eyes.
But unlike his hyungnim, this one activated his internal energy without hesitation.
His fist surged forward—
And suddenly—
> “Huh?”
All he saw was empty sky.
When did I fall?
Even before he could understand what happened, he heard a click of the tongue.
> “Disgustingly weak.”
Mujin squatted down and slapped his forehead lightly.
> “You and I are both pitifully weak, man. And here we are wasting time. Pathetic.”
Only when the man’s face turned red did Mujin stop.
He watched him get up, rage rising again.
> “Good. I needed a warm-up.”
As another opponent approached, Mujin smiled.
> “Let me teach you about respect and courtesy.”
Snap.
His second provocation.
And of course—
> “You dare insult me, you worthless Sammu bastard?!”
> “Sammu Gongja, huh? It’s been a while since I heard that.”
Such a nostalgic nickname.
Mujin stepped forward.
As the enemy adjusted to the suddenly closed distance—
Wham!
A direct hit to the chin.
Thrown off balance, the man charged again, teeth clenched—
But then, Mujin noticed it.
His left leg—
It was being held.
Without even looking, he gathered his arm and raised his elbow—
A perfect close-range counter.
Then pushed with his right hand—
Thud.
The man collapsed.
Mujin turned to see his ankle gripped by another.
He grinned.
> “I like you. Let’s talk.”
> “Talk? What are you—”
> “I’ve been asleep too long. Memory’s a bit hazy.”
He lightly rested his right foot on the man’s hand—
And slowly applied pressure.
> “Aaargh!”
> “Let’s keep a respectful distance, shall we?”
He kicked the man’s chest, sending him sprawling.
> “Hey, let’s maintain eye contact.”
> “Y-you bastard!”
> “Watch your mouth. You insulting my dad, calling me a son of a dog?”
At that, the man went silent.
Mujin clucked his tongue.
> “So… you knew who I was and still tried this? Your crimes are piling up.”
> “W-what crimes?! You picked the fight!”
> “Ah, so that’s the issue? I saw liquor bottles in the tent. Turns out you supplied them.”
> “That was because you asked for—!”
> “Shhh. Let’s move on to the real questions. What year is it?”
> “Not the date—the year?”
> “A man can forget that, too. Answer.”
> “Uh… It’s 21st year.”
> “How long have I been at Mupungdae?”
> “About three months.”
> “Not bad.”
> “What’s not bad?!”
Ignoring the protest, Mujin fell into thought.
The 21st year. Only three months since he was assigned to the martial unit.
Not ideal—he’d wanted to go further back—but this would do.
> “Giro-in, I’ll stop calling you a quack.”
> “You keep saying weird stuff—!”
He knocked the man out with a light kick.
Then turned—
> “Guess you didn’t slack off in training after all?”
The “Hyungnim” from earlier staggered to his feet.
> “Perfect. I still have questions.”
The details were fuzzy—it was too long ago.
But if Mujin remembered correctly, during his first year in Mupungdae,
he’d wasted time hiding in the barracks.
Eventually, they’d dragged him out to train.
And one of the guys who took care of him back then was—
> “Was your name Sohyeongpyeon?”
> “You didn’t even remember my name?! It’s So Yeonghyeon, you bastard!”
> “Hey, people forget. It’s been ages. Don’t be petty.”
Mujin shrugged and stepped forward.
Standing before Yeonghyeon, he cracked his knuckles.
> “I could use a capable underling. Perfect timing.”
Taking a deep breath, Mujin drew up a tiny bit of internal energy.
At the same time, his gaze changed.
Instinctively, So Yeonghyeon flinched.
Mujin vanished.
In a blink, he closed the distance.
Though still not fully recovered, Yeonghyeon was a first-rate martial artist.
He raised his arms in defense—
But Mujin disappeared from view—
Crack!
A vertical uppercut landed on his jaw.
Before he could even groan—
Mujin’s fist moved again.
Side, shoulder, chest, jaw, temple—
Blows rained down one after another.
Painful, merciless strikes—almost designed solely to inflict pain.
They weren’t fast or heavy.
Then why—
Why couldn’t I resist at all?
Before he could process the question—
> “Take a nap.”
So Yeonghyeon’s consciousness faded to black.
