— Chapter 1 —
A blizzard raged across the Heavensreach Peaks, the wind howling a mournful dirge. At the summit, a single pavilion, emitting a faint light, clung precariously to the mountainside.
Inside, dragon-carved pillars reached towards a ceiling adorned with elegant patterns, silken tapestries shimmering in the flickering lamplight. Yet, in stark contrast to the opulent decor, an old man with snow-white hair lay in the bedchamber, his breaths shallow and ragged, as if each one might be his last.
“Hah… Hahhh…”
Even the quilt, woven from celestial silkworm thread and said to be lighter than a feather, felt like a crushing weight upon him. He opened his eyes a sliver, his parched lips parting with difficulty.
“Is… Is anyone there…? If… If so… please… some water…”
His desperate plea echoed unanswered in the empty room. He stared at the closed door, hope flickering and dying. He’d expected as much. They were likely too preoccupied with choosing his successor, the next Heavenly Demon, to bother with a dying old man.
‘…Still.’
Despite knowing this, the solitude gnawed at him. To be on the precipice of death with no one at his side was a bitter pill to swallow. Where had it all gone wrong?
‘From the beginning, I suppose.’
He hadn’t become the Heavenly Demon through righteous means. It had been a choice born of desperation. His family faced ruin, and the only alternative was a political marriage and the mantle of Heavenly Demon. There had been no other options, no time for contemplation.
‘At first, I held a sliver of hope.’
What was the Heavenly Demon? The leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult, a figure who could command a million followers with a flick of the wrist. No man born in the Divine Province could claim he never dreamt of such power.
However…
‘There’s nothing.’
He was the Heavenly Demon in name only. He held no real power, commanded no true loyalty. Even during crucial meetings, his throne remained empty. His sole duty was to stamp his seal on documents prepared by others, a silent affirmation of decisions made without his input. He was, in essence…
‘…A powerless puppet.’
His situation was one of utter impotence. Yet, he hadn’t given up. He’d struggled to find a way out, a means to reclaim his agency. He’d finally settled on cultivating his martial arts.
There were two primary reasons for his lack of respect within the cult: the imminent collapse of his clan, one of the Seven Demonic Houses, and his failure to demonstrate the martial prowess expected of a Heavenly Demon. He couldn’t save his clan on his own, so he’d poured his efforts into mastering martial arts, seeking a path to power.
‘But by the time I found a glimmer of hope, it was too late.’
His joints creaked, his body refused to obey, and his hair had turned white with age. Now, even the simple act of breathing was a Herculean effort.
‘How futile.’
There had been a chance, right after he became the cult leader. A few had waited, watching for a sign of change. But he’d ignored them, charging ahead like a wild stallion, blind to all but his own path. He’d lost both his followers and the opportunity to prove himself.
“Is this how it ends?”
Regret laced his cracked voice. A chilling coldness crept through his limbs, stealing the last vestiges of his strength. Death was upon him. His next breath might well be his last. Accepting the inevitable, he closed his eyes, memories flashing before him like a flickering lantern. He reflected on his life, then whispered a final, desolate lament.
“A meaningless existence… grasping at nothing…”
With that hollow sigh, the last vestiges of life faded from his face, and he became still.
Hyuk Murin, the Twentieth Heavenly Demon, the Solitary Heavenly Demon. He met his end alone in a deserted chamber, forgotten and forsaken. That was all that would be written of him in the Secret Chronicles of the Heavenly Demon.
——
Translated by Sato
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