Night blanketed the summit of Mount Hwaejeong in absolute silence. The stars were dim. The moon dared not shine. Even the insects, so persistent in the warmer months, had gone mute. Something primal stirred—unseen but undeniable.
Jin Seong sat alone, eyes closed, breath steady. The black lotus at his core pulsed once every heartbeat, keeping rhythm with a scroll that refused to rest. Inside him, the Heaven-Slaying Scripture had begun to uncoil its second page.
And it was not silent.
He heard it—not with ears, but in his blood. A chant. A howl. A series of syllables older than language itself. Each beat felt like a hammer on his soul, forging something monstrous and magnificent.
But it came with a price.
His bones ached. His skin blistered. Veins darkened as if ink flowed through them instead of blood. The air turned thick, pressing down like invisible chains. And through it all, the lotus grew, feeding not just on Qi—but on him.
The old man sat across from him in meditation, unflinching.
"You feel it," the man said. "Good."
"It's… tearing me apart," Seong hissed.
"No. It's revealing the parts of you weak enough to break."
"What… is page two?"
The man opened one eye. "The beginning of the First Slaughter Technique."
Seong's breath caught.
"The Forbidden Scripture does not teach cultivation—it teaches vengeance. And vengeance does not build. It consumes. This page teaches you not to cultivate your energy, but to weaponize your pain."
Seong grimaced. "You're telling me to turn suffering into strength."
"I'm telling you it's your only path forward."
At that moment, the pain peaked. The second page revealed itself—not with symbols, but with sensation. He felt himself falling into a void of his own memories.
The betrayal.
The shattered dantian.
The voices laughing behind closed doors.
Every scream he never let out. Every moment he was told to endure, to be strong, to obey.
The technique did not require hand signs or breath control.
It required hatred.
He unleashed it.
The air exploded around him. Stones cracked. The old pine tree split down the middle, despite standing through a hundred storms. A shockwave of black aura rippled out in all directions, and the summit was no longer silent.
It roared.
And in the center, Jin Seong stood.
His eyes no longer held sorrow.
Only clarity.
A translucent sword of dark mist hovered above his palm—shaped by emotion, forged by memory, fed by pain. The first Slaughter Weapon.
The old man chuckled softly. "You survived. That makes two of us."
Seong looked at him. "Who are you really?"
The man finally stood. He pulled back his hood.
His face was scarred beyond recognition, eyes sharp as blades, and on his neck—the same brand that had burned itself into Seong's chest glowed faintly.
"I am the first traitor of the Celestial Tiger Sect," he said. "And the only one who walked the Heaven-Slaying Path before you."
Jin Seong's jaw tightened. "What happened to you?"
"I reached page five," the man whispered, voice hollow. "And I tore down a star."