Chapter 1 : Chapter 1

Chapter 1. Blood Demon Sword Commotion

My mom was a shaman.

When I was little, I didn't even know what that meant.

But around the time I turned ten, the kids at school started picking on me.

"Hey, I heard your family's got a shaman?"

"My dad says all shamans are con artists. That whole spirit possession thing or whatever–it's all some weird disease called schizo-something?"

"Is your mom a con artist? Wait, if she's got the disease, doesn't that make her a nutcase?"

"My mom's not like that!"

"Jang Yul's mom is a con artist!"

"She's a nutcase!"

"She's not!"

After a proper little exorcism with those brats, I came home. Naturally, I won the fistfight. I made sure those bastards would never spout that garbage again, but I couldn't help asking Mom.

"Mom, are you a con artist? Or are you a nutcase?"

"Oh, my dear boy. Why do you ask?"

"The kids said so. They said all shamans are liars and con artists. That it's some schizo-whatever disease!"

Mom smiled awkwardly and answered.

"I'm sorry."

Back then, I didn't understand why she was apologizing. My heart sank at her words.

"Mom, are you really a con artist? You're not, right? Right?"

Truly believing she was a con artist, I bawled my eyes out and threw a tantrum.

Mom didn't hit me with a switch like she usually did.

It wasn't until the year I turned fifteen that I understood what her apology really meant.

"……What is that?"

I could see ghosts.

***

My name is Jang Yul. A fifteen-year-old waiter.

The unusual part? I'm a reincarnator who remembers my past life.

"Jang Yul! I'm leaving the shop to you again today! Got some busy work to handle."

"Haha, don't worry, sir! Have a safe trip!"

Boss Jang, the inn's owner, entrusted me with the shop and headed straight out.

Busy work, my foot. I'd been watching that stride of his for three years now. He was obviously just going off to gamble. By now, I could tell where Boss Jang was headed just from his gait.

Still, I wasn't inclined to speak ill of him.

'As long as he doesn't fall behind on my wages, that's all that matters.'

I picked up the broom and started the last round of cleaning before opening, well-practiced in the routine.

After dying and opening my eyes again, I'd ended up in this godforsaken world. On top of that, I was an orphan this time around–without a single family member. The one who took me in back then was none other than Boss Jang.

I'd had to sell myself on being good with numbers, but regardless, he was the precious boss who'd hired a reincarnated orphan like me.

He'd even said recently–perhaps because he recognized my skills–that when he opened a branch of the inn, he'd leave one entirely in my hands. I couldn't fully trust that promise, but it gave me motivation.

'A self-employed man with his own shop–not bad at all. Mm-hm.'

A self-employed person with a proper shop of their own could be called a fine member of the middle class even in the modern era. Let alone in this age.

Of course, running an inn came with its difficulties.

Namely, the martial artists.

"Welcome!"

Seeing a martial artist walk in with a blade at his hip, I carefully lowered my gaze.

The warriors of Guangxi Province were notorious for causing trouble in inns. The worst customers from the modern era were nothing compared to these people.

Last time, some bastard smashed a perfectly good table over a fly supposedly in his drink. Not getting paid for the drinks was a bonus.

Another time, a group of them got so happy about becoming sworn brothers that they knocked over an entire wine barrel. Cleaning it up was my job. Lowlife bastards.

These thugs called martial artists were the kind of people who expressed every joy and sorrow through property damage.

I'd heard there were decent martial artists up in northern China called the Orthodox Faction, but in my opinion, they were probably all the same bunch of thugs.

"What can I get you?"

"Bring me some wheat noodles and Dukang wine."

"Wheat noodles and Dukang wine, coming right up!"

'Dukang wine, my ass.'

As if an inn like this would stock expensive wine like Dukang…… Ahem, our inn wasn't exactly shabby, but even the fanciest pleasure houses would have trouble getting Dukang wine.

The reason those bastards placed orders like that and I played along was that I'd catch a beating if I didn't humor their bluster. Thugs, the lot of them.

In any case, whenever martial artists came in, I rubbed my hands together and flattered them with a smile.

If I didn't, they'd latch onto any excuse to raise hell.

Once, I even got slapped across the face for supposedly glaring at someone. Damn thugs. I can't count the number of times I felt the urge to kill them.

But what could I do? A powerless waiter had no choice but to play along.

"Here are your wheat noodles and Dukang wine!"

"Mm, Dukang indeed. The flavor is superb."

He was drinking cheap baijiu and spouting nonsense with a straight face.

At any rate, these bastards were far worse than the modern-era gangsters who at least didn't touch civilians.

After I'd finished serving all the food, I surveyed the mood of the inn.

'Damn, something feels off today. It's way more dreary than usual.'

There were a lot of faces I'd never seen around here before. When unfamiliar martial artists showed up in droves, it meant something had gone down. A very uncomfortable situation for a waiter.

Then I caught sight of the red blade sitting on the table of a martial artist who'd claimed the center of the inn, and cold sweat ran down my back.

'Damn, is that a Cursed Sword?'

A blade that had killed many people and was steeped in blood and Lingering Resentment was called a Ghost Sword, or a Cursed Sword.

And the blade sitting on that table was caked in pitch-black Lingering Resentment. In RGB values, it was a solid 0, 0, 0.

'I didn't expect this ability to follow me even after reincarnation.'

Mom told me in my past life: once you start seeing these things, life gets exhausting. Was this life going to be exhausting too? This was truly a gift I was not the least bit grateful for.

On top of that, the Lingering Resentment clinging to that blade was no ordinary amount. In my previous life, Mom had once performed an Exorcism on a Cursed Sword like that, and after coming home she slept like the dead for an entire week. I nearly started planning her funeral.

'Please, don't let anything happen. Please……'

The martial artists' gazes were blatantly fixed on that blade.

Some sat frozen with their cups raised and mouths hanging open; others whispered among their companions.

They looked like hyenas that had caught the scent of blood.

In the modern world, people would wail and beg to have something like that dealt with if they saw it. But here, they were falling over themselves to claim it. What a joke, these thugs.

"Hey, waiter!"

"Ah, welcome!"

Customers continued to flood in like a tide.

Every single one was a martial artist.

The ordinary customers, sensing something was off, exchanged nervous glances and hurried out of the inn before even finishing their meals, slapping their payments down as they went.

Meanwhile, martial artists kept pouring in.

And their gazes all pointed at one thing: that Cursed Sword.

'Damn, something really feels ominous.'

But what could I do? A waiter had to hold down the inn no matter what happened.

Wasn't that the least I owed Boss Jang for giving me a job? We may not have signed a labor contract, but he'd never once missed my wages, so I owed him my loyalty too.

Just as I steeled my resolve, it finally happened.

"Pardon me. You there."

"Are you talking to us?"

A man in black approached the group with the Cursed Sword at the center table and picked a fight.

"That Blood Demon Sword is too much for the likes of you. Hand it over to me quietly–before you come to regret it."

"Who do you think you are, telling me to hand over my sword?"

"I am the Slaughter Wraith of Black Wind Stronghold."

The moment his name was spoken, a martial artist drinking on one side of the inn went pale and dropped his cup. What a waste! Judging by his face, he wasn't the type to pay for it either. When the hell was I going to clean all that up?

'Damn! Is that guy some kind of nationwide gangster? What's a grown man so startled about?'

"The Slaughter Wraith!"

"The Slaughter Wraith–the Green Forest King's right hand?"

Hearing their reactions, the Slaughter Wraith smiled with a bloody grin.

"Now that you know your place, hand over the Blood Demon Sword."

The Slaughter Wraith, apparently thinking the momentum had shifted in his favor, spoke with a vile smirk.

"You dare……"

But the warrior seated in the inn didn't fall for it.

'Ah, I'm screwed.'

If those damn bastards started fighting, every chair and table would be smashed to pieces.

On top of that, those thug bastards wouldn't pay a single coin in compensation and would vanish from the inn as if it were none of their business.

And the responsibility?

'It's not even my fault, but it comes out of my pay!'

Just as I was fretting over that–

"You think I'd hand the Blood Demon Sword to the likes of you?!"

CRASH BANG–!

The inn descended into chaos in an instant.

Wooden tables shattered and food bowls went flying through the air.

I quickly hid behind a pillar. The smashed furniture was a painful sight, but I didn't want to get caught up in it and die.

"Hand over the sword! You old fool!"

"The likes of you!"

"GRRAAAGH!"

"Heheh, the Blood Demon Sword is finally mine!"

"Slaughter Wraith! You've taken an Internal Injury!"

"Hand over the Blood Demon Sword!"

"You wretches!"

Since I was hiding behind the pillar, it was hard to see exactly what was happening, but the screams and the clash of blades never stopped.

How long had it been? The rough breathing grew louder, and the commotion gradually died down.

WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH.

A single sword traced an arc through the air.

But why, of all places–

Clunk.

–did the Blood Demon Sword roll right to my feet?

In that instant, every sound in the inn ceased.

The gazes of everyone who'd been fighting turned toward me in unison.

'Ah, I'm screwed.'

I'm just a humble waiter who doesn't want to get involved.

Just a simple man who wants to own an inn someday!

As I looked down at the sword in a half-crouch, a voice that made my skin crawl seeped into my mind.

[Pick me up.]

'Oh, you scared me.'

I flinched for a moment.

Who are you?

[I am the Blood Demon Sword. Pick me up, child.]

No, shit. I knew it was a Cursed Sword, but it was a blade with a ghost that could actually talk? Unbelievable.

[Pick me up. You have talent. The talent of the Heavenly Killing Star! Do you not wish to become the greatest under heaven?]

The Heavenly Killing Star?

[Yes! Pick me up! You shall become the supreme blade that stains the martial world red with blood. First, let us dispose of those fools. How dare they try to become my master without knowing their place? Kill them all! Let me drink their blood!]

I dug a finger in my ear.

This thing's trying to bewitch me.

[……What?]

Why should I?

I'd heard more than my fill of ghost voices in my past life.

It wasn't particularly surprising. The only startling part was that this previously silent blade had suddenly started talking–the ghost voice itself was nothing new.

[The greatest under heaven! The greatest under heaven! Is that not a position everyone covets?]

Oh, for fuck's sake. Greatest under heaven, what a load of crap. So what if I become the greatest? Do I get a glass of Coke?

[Co…… what?]

Forget it. I'm staying out of this. Greatest under heaven, my ass.

[…….]

Perhaps displeased with my answer, the Blood Demon Sword fell silent.

In the meantime, the martial artists who'd been watching for an opening crept toward me with sinister smiles.

"Boy. Lucky you. Now hand over that sword. If you're scared, just kick it over with your foot."

I nodded and was about to kick the blade away.

That was when one hot-headed bastard came charging in, swinging his blade.

"Fools! Whoever grabs it first claims it!"

The charging martial artist's momentum was terrifyingly fierce.

It was obvious at a glance–he planned to kill me since I was in the way and then grab the sword.

"Ah, I'm screwed."

I didn't want to die yet.

I didn't live long in my previous life either, but right now I had a whole future ahead of me. I couldn't die in my mid-teens.

And because of ghosts again, no less?

Absolutely not.

Before I knew it, I reflexively picked up the sword and raised it in front of me.

Or rather, with the thought of blocking, I just wildly swung the blade through the air.

SLASH–

"Gurgh……"

An impossibly smooth sensation.

The neck of the martial artist charging at me separated cleanly and flew through the air.

Silence fell over the inn.

'……What?'

I did that? I just picked up the sword.

[As I thought–you truly are the Heavenly Killing Star!]

The Blood Demon Sword muttered something, but I ignored it.

"Uh, so……"

The moment I opened my mouth, stammering, the martial artists suddenly cried out in voices brimming with ecstasy.

"That's the Blood Demon Sword, all right!"

"It's the real thing!"

"Hand over the Blood Demon Sword!"

Every remaining martial artist charged at me all at once.

I panicked and swung the sword wildly again. No–"flailed" would be the right word.

"Stay back! Leave me alone!"

With every swing, crimson Sword Qi shot out on its own. I'd never learned any swordplay. In my past life, three months of Haidong Gumdo classes was the extent of it.

But the Cursed Sword in my hand moved as though it were alive.

CRACK–! SQUELCH–! SLICE–!

The screams were brief. Moments later, there wasn't a single intact body left around me.

The inn had become a sea of blood, and I stood alone at its center, dumbfounded.

[Kahahahahah! Yes! That is it! You truly are the Heavenly Killing Star! With me at your side, dyeing the martial world red with blood and becoming the greatest under heaven–no, the greatest of all time–is not beyond reach.]

In my hand was the Blood Demon Sword, reeking of blood.

[Kekekek! To smell this thick Blood Scent and remain unaffected–your talent is truly extraordinary. Among all who have held me, none have been this unfazed by the scent of blood from the very start. A talent for the ages!]

It kept shouting annoyingly, but I ignored it.

'People died……'

Quite a lot of them, too.

'What am I supposed to do about this?'

Guilt? They were trying to kill me, so of course I didn't feel any.

'Actually, the fact that I can stay this calm after killing people…… well, whatever.'

More importantly, the blood pooling on the floor and these corpses were the problem. How was I supposed to clean all this up?

That was when–

"Halt! Fiend!"

Through the inn's shattered door, men in white Daoist robes burst in.

They stared in horror at the blood-soaked inn, the corpses of the martial artists, and me standing at the center.

Their faces turned sheet-white when they saw the Blood Demon Sword in my hand.

"The Blood Demon Sword has finally chosen a master!"

"You wretch! You must have been bewitched by the Cursed Sword to cause this massacre!"

The middle-aged Daoist at the front drew his blade and shouted at me.

"Drop that accursed thing at once!"

Drop it?

I mulled over his words for a moment.

Come to think of it, there's no reason for me to keep holding it, is there?

That Daoist is only yelling at me because of this sword, right?

'Judging by their appearance, they don't look like street thugs…… Are those the people they call the Orthodox Faction?'

Their attire was certainly different from the local gangsters.

How do I put it–they were still thugs, but rather than vulgar street hoodlums, they gave off the feeling of corporate gangsters in suits handing out business cards.

[Heheheh! Perfect! Kill them too. Offer them all as blood sacrifices! Awaken your talent as the Heavenly Killing Star!]

The Blood Demon Sword cackled eerily and spouted its nonsense, but I didn't even pretend to listen.

Why would I kill innocent people? It's not like I'm some psychopathic killer…

"If you do not drop it this instant, I will–"

Clatter.

"Huh?"

I let go of the sword without hesitation.

The clang of the Blood Demon Sword hitting the floor rang out unusually loud.

"……"

Bewilderment flickered across the Daoists' faces at my action.

Their expressions said they couldn't fathom someone willingly giving up such a cursed treasure.

The glares that had been boring into me as if ready to kill shifted into looks of sheer confusion.

"I dropped it. We're good, right?"

When am I ever going to clean all this up…