Swordless Demonic Path

Chapter 1 : Number Ninety-nine, Jin Sawoon (1)

My sword is the Swordless Sword. People called it that because it was a sword of extreme speed.

I possessed a sword faster than anyone else's. A sword that surpassed the limits of speed an opponent could possibly anticipate. That was the Swordless Sword.

When one reaches the pinnacle of the Swordless Sword, the moment you decide to kill an enemy, you can kill them.

That is the apex of the Sword of Slaughter.

The Sword of the Mind's Will.

"The Sword of the Mind's Will..."

The man holding the book muttered in an indifferent tone.

An absolute realm that no one had ever reached.

A martial art said to be performed only by those who had reached the state of Life and Death.

The man turned the page with an impassive face.

However, even I, who was called the God of Death, could not reach that pinnacle.

A fiery desire flickered in the man's indifferent eyes before vanishing. He believed that a realm even the God of Death could not reach was worth challenging.

Rustle!

A faint sound came from behind the man, and like a lie, black smoke rose and took the form of a person.

"Family Head. All five hundred have been admitted into the Hellish Coffin."

"Five hundred..."

The man muttered and closed the book. The title of the book was "Annals of the God of Death." It was the diary of a figure who had thrown the martial world into terror hundreds of years ago, and who was also his ancestor.

As the man placed the book on the shelf, he spoke.

"How many do you think will survive from this batch? A tenth?"

"Our goal is always more than five-tenths."

"But we've never managed to exceed two-tenths. For this batch, reduce the number of survival duels, which cause the most casualties, by half. We are severely short on personnel."

"If we do that, the skill of the Ghosts may not meet our standards."

"The number of people who emerge from the Coffin must be five-tenths. The consensus within the Cult is that killing Slaughter Ghosts who have trained for over seven years in survival duels is a loss."

At the man's mention of the Cult, the black smoke wavered greatly. The man's dry voice echoed again.

"I share the same thought as the Cult. We must now face the entire world. The Slaughter Ghosts' bloody work will naturally increase tenfold compared to before."

"Is this the will of the Cult Leader? Or the will of the Family Head?"

"Is that important?"

"It is important to me. I pledge my loyalty to the Family Head, not the Cult Leader."

At the black smoke's reply, the man showed a faint, satisfied smile. It meant these were Slaughter Ghosts meant for him alone.

"It is my will. And my will is the Cult Leader's will."

"Understood."

"Also, my third son will be joining this time. Pay special attention to him."

"Yes."

Rustle!

As the black smoke vanished with a faint whisper of wind, the man sat at his desk, picked up a brush, and began to write his daily journal.

It was the time when the head of the Na family, one of the Seven Great Martial Families of the Heavenly Divine Cult, concluded his day.

* * *

A single carriage was slowly entering the fog of Ghost Spirit Valley.

About a dozen children were riding in the carriage. They were all boys, appearing to be between seven and eight years old.

Among them, some were in the state of beggars with streaks of grime running down them, while others had handsome features and wore clean, albeit dirt-stained, silk clothes.

As the children entered Ghost Spirit Valley, warriors waiting at the entrance led them into a spacious room.

An old steward waiting inside the room examined the children one by one and assigned them numbers.

"Your name is now Number Ninety-nine."

The child who received the name Number Ninety-nine had fair skin, but his face was covered in grime, and his clothes were old and worn.

His hands, too, were caked with black dirt.

After receiving clothes with the number "Ninety-nine" written in white on a black background, the child was led away by adults, bathed, changed, and then guided into a small room.

From that moment, Number Ninety-nine's life in Ghost Spirit Valley began.

* * *

A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair sat before the old steward and the middle-aged Valley Lord of Ghost Spirit Valley.

He was an elder of the Cult who had stopped by Ghost Spirit Valley on his way back to the Cult's headquarters.

His name was Dokgo Shinwi. He was the Cult Leader's younger brother and the uncle of the Dokgo Family Head.

The Dokgo family was the most powerful family in the Heavenly Divine Cult and the head of the Seven Great Martial Families.

They stood shoulder to shoulder with the Namgung family, known as the greatest family in the Central Plains among the Five Great Families, and their fame was widespread throughout the world.

The reason he, one of the top masters in the Heavenly Divine Cult, had visited Ghost Spirit Valley was because of the news that new children had arrived.

"Aside from the children of the Na clan, are there any promising ones?"

Dokgo Shinwi asked, stroking his beard.

His eyes, full of curiosity, seemed to want an answer from the steward and the Valley Lord that would satisfy his intrigue.

Since the Na family governed Ghost Spirit Valley, it was natural that one of the Na family's children had to enter.

However, because so many died while growing up, no one ever came willingly. Yet, it was known that for this batch, the Family Head's son had entered intentionally.

It was said to be for the sake of becoming the next Valley Lord, but that matter could only be discussed after he survived.

Among the children who had currently entered Ghost Spirit Valley, the only one considered a useful talent as a martial artist was the Na Family Head's son.

If there were other talents, they were the children of various warriors loyal to the Na family.

These were children who had trained in martial arts from a young age, their starting point different from the other ordinary children who entered Ghost Spirit Valley.

The old steward and the Valley Lord exchanged glances, looking troubled.

Giving Dokgo Shinwi a satisfactory answer was no easy task.

Children were children. It was rash to judge who was more outstanding based solely on their current appearance.

The potential that children possessed grew as they aged.

Of course, many died while training in martial arts, but those who survived all became outstanding first-rate warriors and Slaughter Ghosts.

The Valley Lord suddenly seemed to remember something and rose from his seat.

"Oh, look at the time... I must now inspect the training ghosts, so I will take my leave first."

As the Valley Lord stood up, Dokgo Shinwi waved his hand, gesturing for him to go ahead.

The Valley Lord quickly exited the room, not forgetting to cast a glance at the steward that said, "I'm leaving everything to you."

The steward shook his head in dismay and drank his tea.

"What do you think? Are there any children that would satisfy me?"

"Are you looking for a disciple?"

"A disciple? No, it's just curiosity."

Dokgo Shinwi waved his hand and smiled. Unable to discern his true intentions, the steward let out a soft breath and then spoke as if he had just remembered something.

"There is one child."

Seeing the steward open his mouth, Dokgo Shinwi showed great interest. He nodded his head as if urging him to continue.

"That child is a bit peculiar, different from the others. He feels pain but doesn't say it hurts, and he knows joy but doesn't laugh. He must have sad feelings, yet he doesn't show sadness, and he should have been angry, but he didn't get angry."

Hearing the steward's words, Dokgo Shinwi stroked his beard as if he found it unique.

"He's not a bit slow, is he?"

"Hahaha!"

The steward laughed lightly.

As Dokgo Shinwi said, looking at it differently, the child could seem lacking compared to others.

"That's not it. It's just that, very rarely, there are children like that. Children who have already become adults at a young age."

At his words, Dokgo Shinwi smiled as if his curiosity had been satisfied.

"A fine child. What's his name?"

"Number Ninety-nine."

At the fact that it was a number and not a name, Dokgo Shinwi frowned slightly. But this was a matter of Ghost Spirit Valley, so he couldn't interfere.

"I can't take him now, can I?"

"No."

The steward smiled at Dokgo Shinwi's absurd remark. Dokgo Shinwi stroked his beard and said.

"Well, becoming an adult isn't easy either. The traits seen in childhood might disappear. Keep an eye on him with interest."

"I will do so."

"If he dies, don't inform me."

"I will follow your command."

At the steward's reply, Dokgo Shinwi stood up from his seat and then spoke again as if he just remembered.

"Keep my visit here a secret. It's a hassle to be the subject of gossip."

"Yes."

The steward replied as if to hurry him along, and Dokgo Shinwi raised a hand before leaving the room.

After he left, the steward shook his head, cleared the table, and slowly went outside.

* * *

Ten years later.

Year 671 of the Martial Calendar. Autumn.

Dezhou City, southern Hunan Province.

A young man in plain, common clothes was walking slowly along the southern road where many people came and went.

The young man, with an average appearance, an average build, and a height slightly taller than others, had an indifferent expression.

Crash! Thud!

"Aargh!"

At the loud noise that erupted from not too far away, the young man briefly stopped walking.

The people coming and going on the road also stopped at the loud noise.

Before long, a large crowd had formed.

Peeking through the crowd, the young man looked at the large, well-built men walking out of a small tavern.

The ones in the lead were bare-chested, wearing short pants, and holding broadswords in their hands.

Others wore sleeveless shirts with short pants and held willow-leaf sabers. There were more than ten of them.

A black snake was tattooed on the backs of those who were bare-chested.

'The Black Snake Gang.'

They were the largest underworld group in Dezhou City.

They were causing a ruckus, but no one tried to stop them.

It was a given, as the Black Snake Gang had deep ties with the authorities. The people of the city would look away and avoid them.

"Tsk! Tsk! I was hoping today would pass quietly... Those wretched fools."

An old man nearby clicked his tongue.

Since it had nothing to do with him, the young man soon turned and slipped out of the crowd.

A short while later, the place the young man entered was the Medicinal Cuisine Hall, the Hall of Medicinal Herbs. It was a place that sold various medicinal herbs and had a physician, so many people frequented it.

As he entered, a middle-aged man with a bushy beard greeted the young man.

"You're here?"

He asked, but the young man only bowed his head slightly without a reply.

The young man went out the back door, crossed the courtyard, entered the main building on the second floor, and headed for a room in the corner.

He passed by people working, but again, there were no greetings.

The young man entered the room, sat on the bed, and closed his eyes.

A short while later, the middle-aged man who had first greeted him came into the room with a kettle and placed it on the table.

The young man glanced at the middle-aged man before closing his eyes again.

Though the young man was unresponsive, the middle-aged man seemed used to it.

"The friend who came three months ago went out and never returned. He was about your age... A pity."

The middle-aged man's voice echoed emptily in the room. Not returning meant death.

The young man remained silent, and the middle-aged man spoke again.

"Is the investigation over?"

The middle-aged man asked, but the young man didn't stir, as if he were asleep. The middle-aged man glanced at him once more, then shook his head and stood up.

Since he couldn't have a conversation, there was no reason to stay seated.

Click.

As the middle-aged man closed the door and left the room, the young man briefly opened his eyes. His gaze turned toward the door where the man had disappeared.

'Why?'

The young man wondered why the middle-aged man kept asking him questions and trying to talk to him. They were just passing acquaintances, and the chance of meeting again was slim.

The young man closed his eyes. He didn't move for a long time, as if he had fallen asleep.

(End of Chapter)