The Making of the Number One Under Heaven
Chapter 001
One day, I opened my heavy eyes.
The surroundings suggested something terrible had occurred.
The body of a child who looked about four or five years old was utterly exhausted, and his ears seemed deafened.
The child's first memories were of a three-character name, the reek of blood, and the smell of corpses slowly decaying.
In that memory, the child had unknowingly furrowed his brow.
Sitting amidst thousands of scattered corpses, the child discovered an old man rummaging between the bodies.
In this place where only the old man and the child remained alive, when the child looked at him, the old man looked back.
"So the Demonic Cult scum leave people alive sometimes……."
At the rough voice, the child looked at the old man.
When their eyes met, the old man asked.
"Child, do you want to live?"
It was a simple question, but the child hesitated to answer.
"I……."
Perhaps he hesitated at the question of whether he wanted to live because there was nothing left for the child.
Or was it lingering attachment to life despite wanting to die?
Even now, I do not know which was correct.
"Skin and bones from not eating, but your frame and bone structure aren't bad, and more than anything, your eyes alone are alive even in such a place. But you are slow to decide."
The old man, evaluating my frame and aptitude as he touched my body, looked at me and asked again.
"Do you want to live? And do you desire revenge?"
At the second question, the child unconsciously nodded.
"Yes……."
"Life from now on will not be pleasant; rather, you will barely sustain yourself through countless brushes with death. You might even think it would have been far better to die right here. Still, do you want to live?"
The question of whether he wanted to live, delivered alongside the warning that he might die, was double-edged.
But though the child did not know why he gave that answer, it felt as though he had wanted to live at that moment.
And so too for revenge against whoever had done this, for the family that might lie among the corpses scattered here.
"Yes. I want to live. And revenge… I want revenge too……."
At the child's answer, the old man smiled slightly and extended his hand.
"Then let us go."
The old man's hand was dry and rough, yet it held the warmth of a living person.
More than the warmth of parents I could not remember, or the thousands of corpses strewn across the ground, this old man's single word was warmer.
And so I followed the old man.
* * *
The journey with the old man was quite long.
Crossing mountains and winding through rivers, they walked for over a week.
The child's feet, wearing a pair of straw sandals that were nearly worn through, blistered and swelled, and eventually became covered in blood.
The old man limped, as if he had injured his leg before, yet even so, the child had to run with all his might just to keep up.
Such a child's few opportunities to rest were limited entirely to mealtimes and sleep.
But as they say, old men sleep little; the old man soon tapped the child awake and set off again.
"Huff… huff……."
Even though the straw sandals had worn through and he was left barefoot, the child did not give up.
He knew all too well that if he stopped here, he would die.
Of course, dying like this might be an easy way to join the side of parents whose faces and voices he could not remember, but the child did not stop.
And so, when one week, then two weeks had passed, they arrived before a certain cave.
"This is where you will stay."
Now focusing on the voice, it seemed not only his leg but also his throat was injured, producing a rough, metallic rasp.
The child had not noticed at first, but as he went deeper into the cave, he frowned at the increasingly terrible stench.
At the child's reaction, the old man struck a flint and lit a torch soaked in oil.
Tap! Tap!
Ch-ch-chik!
The place where the fire lit was a pit-like depression within the small cave.
"Ugh……."
Though it was a small cave, the pit showed no bottom, and a terrible smell rose from below.
"Do you know what this smell is?"
"……."
The child knew what that smell was.
The smell of rotting corpses.
Judging by how strong the stench was, the corpses below did not number merely one or two.
"Beneath here were children who came with the same circumstances as you, but they all failed and died. If you cannot adapt, you will become another child fallen into this pit."
"……."
"Now, since I seem to have fished out something quite usable this time, I should like to hear a name."
The child searched through his memories and answered the old man.
"Jin Hacheong… My name is Jin Hacheong."
"Ordinary."
"……."
"But this cave will change you. It will make you un-ordinary."
At the old man's simple words, Jin Hacheong asked, puzzled.
"What does… make me un-ordinary mean……?"
"Literally, I will make you something special, different from other people."
"What……?"
At those utterly incomprehensible words, the old man narrowed his brow as if annoyed.
"Dumber than I thought. I picked you up because you looked useful for revenge, but you may be a defective product."
The child could not understand this sight either—the old man speaking in a difficult manner and then growing irritated—but even so, Jin Hacheong asked no more.
"You must become my masterpiece. You must become so. If not, you will be one more piece of trash to fill that pit."
At those words pointing toward the corpse-stinking pit, Jin Hacheong's face hardened.
"We should begin with something simple."
"Ah!"
In that moment, the old man grabbed Jin Hacheong's leg and began dragging him somewhere.
Inside the cave was a jar large enough for a child to enter.
The jar was filled with a bizarre liquid, and the old man began stuffing Jin Hacheong into it without explanation.
"Many have died starting from here… I wonder if you can endure it."
"Uh… uh……?"
Gurgle—
Submerged not merely to his body but to his head inside the jar, Jin Hacheong tried to surface in the agony of being unable to breathe, but the old man pushed him in.
The agony of being unable to even breathe.
In that pain, Jin Hacheong scratched at the jar until his nails nearly tore off, but the old man showed no expression and continued pushing him into the jar.
"Puhah!"
After some time had passed, the old man lifted Jin Hacheong's head, and Jin Hacheong gasped deeply at that moment.
"Still insufficient. I must do it once more."
Gurgle.
With his head stuffed into the jar again, Jin Hacheong could only futilely exhale the breath he had barely managed to draw, his whole body feeling as though it were tearing and burning.
He had surely thought that dying would be fine at first, but when the pain of imminent death rushed upon him, he felt the desire to live.
And so, repeating the process of breathing briefly and having his head submerged again for two hours, enduring the extreme pain, the old man finally pulled Jin Hacheong up.
"You endure quite well."
Looking now, the liquid in the jar was of a bizarre color and possessed viscosity.
"Try walking."
Splorch!
Along with the old man's words, Jin Hacheong staggered and collapsed onto the floor.
"Krrrr……."
Forcing himself up, Jin Hacheong felt something strange about his body.
A bizarre sensation on his skin, as if the liquid from the jar had seeped into his flesh.
Of course, he had swallowed a considerable amount in the agony of being unable to breathe, but this was different—his skin felt alien in a way that mere ingestion could not explain.
"If you continue soaking your body in this liquid, your body will grow hard and capable of recovering from wounds quickly. And countless procedures will grant you the finest physique possible."
At the words that this was not the end, Jin Hacheong's face turned pale.
* * *
Life in the cave with the old man was not easy.
There was food and a place to sleep, but the procedures received in exchange were truly horrific.
There were continuous processes of eating strange poisonous insects or bizarre liquids raw, and of constantly piercing something beneath the skin with needles.
Furthermore, eating medicinal herbs with bizarre smells for internal energy enhancement, and squishy pills that clearly reeked of blood—by consuming everything, Jin Hacheong endured.
"Am I not… learning martial arts?"
"Do you want to learn martial arts?"
"If I learn them, they would be of greater help."
"True… but I have no martial arts to teach you. Because I am not a martial artist."
"So is that why you do these things?"
"Yes… since I know no martial arts, I sought to forge the strongest body."
"Then, am I unable to learn martial arts?"
As one who knows no martial arts cannot teach them, when Jin Hacheong asked this, the old man replied with a chilling expression.
"Take what belongs to others. Just as everything was taken from me, plunder and seize from others, and be endlessly tainted by greed. I have no martial arts, but I have given you something greater, so it should not be too difficult."
At the old man's words, red mist emanated from Jin Hacheong's body.
"Is it this?"
"Yes. That will make you strong, and it will help you achieve your revenge and my dream."
Though he did not know the true nature of the red mist, as the old man said, it was extremely useful.
It increased strength similarly to internal energy, and could be wrapped around the body like protective astral energy, but something beyond even that could be felt.
"But I do not know exactly what this is."
"I do not know exactly either. But since it was something the Blood Cult bastards cherished so dearly, I passed it on to you. Is it not quite useful when mixed with internal energy?"
The old man's words were not wrong.
The bizarre red mist combined with internal energy without any sense of alienation, and as if resonating, amplified the effects even further.
Thinking that this might be the result of the corpses in that pit was horrifying, but he did not refuse.
* * *
Five years passed.
The old man gradually withered, but Jin Hacheong grew and became sturdy.
He could now crush a rock the size of an adult's head without gripping it tightly, and even if he cut his arm with the old man's worn dagger, he would not be wounded in the slightest.
Having grown stronger, Jin Hacheong could have killed the old man who had tormented him all this time and left the cave, but whether it was because he had developed some attachment during that time or because he aimed for the "best body" the old man spoke of, Jin Hacheong unceasingly continued the old man's procedures.
* * *
And another three years passed.
"Kuhuk! Kuhuk!"
The old man lay upon a small stone bed.
Now beyond the threshold of death, with little time remaining, Jin Hacheong—whose appearance had crossed from child to youth—looked down at him.
"All procedures are finished. Now you are free… no, one thing remains……."
At the words that one thing remained, Jin Hacheong looked at him and asked.
"What……?"
"Kuhuk! Kill… me, and leave."
At the command to kill him, Jin Hacheong momentarily froze.
"Why… surely you cannot kill me? Have you developed attachment to a villain who tormented you so and killed hundreds of children?"
"……."
"It is a life that will end anyway. And the martial world is not merciful. The Demonic Cult scum are even less so, so you must become accustomed to killing. Even if it is someone you see for the first time, even if it is someone you know……."
The old man continued.
"To take what you desire, you must regard the lives of others as trivial, do you understand? Kuhuk! Kuhck!"
"……."
Even at the old man's words, Jin Hacheong remained silent.
Whether it was the frustration of receiving no answer, or because he knew his own life was nearing its end.
The old man shouted and cried out nonetheless.
"Is this the extent of your choice! Ending it with nothing but watching, without finishing the job! Did you endure such cruel suffering just for this!"
Killing intent swirled in Jin Hacheong's eyes at the old man's words.
"Yes! Make your choice!"
With the old man's final words, Jin Hacheong's hand rose.