Kang Jinhyuk moved silently among the twisted cedars and jagged rocks, his senses taut, every nerve on edge. He had been scouting alone for hours, searching for herbs, water, and potential paths the Black Fang could exploit. But tonight, something felt different—an unnatural stillness in the air, a tremor that ran deeper than the mountain wind.
He paused, instinct prickling. Something is… watching me.
Jinhyuk's gaze swept across the valley below. The mist hung unnaturally around a massive cedar tree, its trunk gnarled with age and energy that seemed almost alive. He stepped closer, boots crunching over rocks, and felt the hair on his arms rise.
The air shimmered. A faint glow pulsed from the base of the tree, casting the fog in ghostly patterns. Heat radiated from it, not scorching, but alive—threatening. Jinhyuk crouched low, hand on the hilt of his sword, pulse hammering.
What is this…? he whispered, breath fogging in the cold night.
The glow shifted, coiling around the tree like a serpent. From its center, a swirling vortex opened, a tunnel of light and shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. The wind tugged at his hair and clothing, whispering faintly, Come…
Instinct warred with reason. Every fiber screamed for caution, but curiosity—and the unrelenting hunger for power—drove him forward.
I cannot ignore this, he murmured. If this is a path… if it can make me stronger… I have no choice.
With a deep breath, Jinhyuk stepped into the light.
The world around him exploded into color and chaos. Gravity became meaningless; time fractured into shards of sensation. He tumbled through a void where echoes of past battles, screams, and laughter from centuries past flickered in the air. Every breath burned; every nerve screamed.
What… what is this place? he gasped, eyes darting across impossible landscapes of floating rock, rivers of light, and skies that shifted in hues he had never seen.
A voice, low and sharp as steel, slashed through the confusion.
Another fool drawn by grief and ambition, it sneered, layered with centuries of cynicism. I am Jeok-Ma, the Crimson Demon. You think yourself prepared? Pathetic.
Jinhyuk froze, his mind latching onto the sound. A consciousness…? A voice in the void?
You are nothing, the voice continued, cutting deep. A child with rage in his veins and sorrow in his heart. If you cannot control the fire inside you, it will consume you. Yet… perhaps you are desperate enough to survive.
Jinhyuk's fists clenched. Memories—of Min-Seo, of their child, of his burning village—flared through his mind. Rage and grief intertwined, coiling into a singular purpose that burned hotter than any fear.
I am desperate, he admitted, voice low but unwavering. Desperate to grow strong. Desperate to survive. Desperate for revenge.
Good, the voice hissed, amused and sharp. You will need every ounce of that fire. I am Jeok-Ma. For five centuries, my strength has roamed the void, seeking a vessel worthy… or foolish enough, like you, to bear it. Accept my legacy, and you will wield power beyond imagination. Fail… and you will die, broken and forgotten.
Jinhyuk swallowed, feeling the weight of the words press on him like stone. He had survived hunger, betrayal, and death. He had endured grief that could have shattered a lesser man. Could he survive this?
I accept, he said, the words firm, burning with determination.
A surge of energy erupted from the portal. Pain, fire, and electricity coursed through his veins. He screamed, muscles convulsing as if every fiber of his being was being remade. The air thickened, crackling with invisible power. His vision blurred, then sharpened beyond comprehension. The void seemed to warp around him, reality bending to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Feel it! Jeok-Ma's voice thundered inside his skull. Flow with it! Control it! Master it, or be devoured!
Jinhyuk's vision fractured into fragments of combat sequences, centuries of martial wisdom flashing before him. Blades danced through fire, bodies fell in perfect form, strategies unfolded in his mind like living entities. He absorbed every motion, every calculation, every nuance, committing them to memory faster than he could think.
This… this is impossible, he thought, gritting his teeth against the pain. Yet… I can feel it… every strike, every movement… mine to command.
The voice of Jeok-Ma remained relentless.
Weakness is death. Mercy is a chain. You will need both, and yet neither, if you are to survive the Murim world. Rage alone will destroy you. Strategy alone will betray you. Remember this, boy. I will temper your fury… and teach you to strike with precision.
Jinhyuk's knees hit the ground as the torrent of power washed over him. Sweat mixed with blood, his lungs burned, yet his mind cleared with the clarity of a sharpened blade. In the fire of pain, he felt the first sparks of something terrifying—and exhilarating—ignite within him.
This… is my path, he whispered, tears and sweat streaming down his face. Through pain, through fire… I will become stronger. I will master this power… and one day… I will strike down those who destroyed my life.
The hours—or perhaps days—passed indistinctly. Jinhyuk trained under Jeok-Ma's merciless guidance, absorbing the Crimson Demon's combat philosophies. Every lesson was a test of body, mind, and spirit. Failure brought excruciating pain; success brought fleeting glimpses of the power he craved.
He remembered Min-Seo's smile, his child's laughter. Each memory sharpened his focus, each pang of grief hardened his resolve.
I will not waste this gift, he swore. I will not let my anger consume me. I will master it… and I will rise beyond anyone who stands in my way.
Jeok-Ma's voice softened, almost imperceptibly, but still carrying its edge.
Good. You understand the first lesson. Power is worthless without control. Rage without precision is death. Remember, boy… this is only the beginning.
As the portal closed behind him, leaving Jinhyuk back on the rocky slopes of Mount Liang, he collapsed to one knee. The night air felt sharper, clearer, heavier with possibility. His body ached, his mind buzzed with newfound knowledge and energy, and his heart burned with a fire that could never be extinguished.
He was no longer a simple bandit. No longer a man defined solely by grief and revenge. He was a student of a 500-year-old legacy, a vessel of the Crimson Demon, and a warrior rising from the ashes of loss.
The path ahead was dark, treacherous, and filled with enemies both mortal and mystical—but Kang Jinhyuk had stepped onto it with eyes wide open.
And the world of Murim would never forget the name Kang Jinhyuk—the Crimson Bandit, rising from shadows into unstoppable power.