Jianghu was always described the same way…
A land without a fixed law, where justice was measured by the length of a sword,
and truth was written in the blood of those without a voice.
A dirt road stretched between low hills, scattered trees on both sides, and the scent of old iron lingering in the air.
Jin stood there, wearing dark traveler's clothes, a straw hat hiding half his face, his sword hanging quietly behind his back.
He wasn't looking for a fight.
But the fight… found him.
Bandits
A muffled scream came from the trees.
Then silence.
Jin moved forward with slow steps until he saw the scene.
An overturned carriage.
A dead horse.
A situation he had encountered so many times he was sick of it.
Two bodies—a man and a woman—lying motionless.
And in front of them, three men in torn clothes, swords stained with blood, laughing.
One of them spat on the ground and said:
"Damn it, they cried too much… really annoying."
Jin adjusted the brim of his hat slightly.
He stepped closer.
He spoke calmly—too calmly:
"Are you done?"
They turned toward him.
Their eyes scanned him from head to toe, then they burst into laughter.
"And who are you? A preacher?"
"Or are you looking for your turn?"
Jin sighed.
He raised his head slightly, revealing a small, mocking smile.
"No. I just… hate sloppy chaos."
They moved first.
The first sword slashed toward him—fast, diagonal.
A sidestep.
The second sword thrust straight at him.
A light turn, shoulders lowered, the blade passed beside him.
The third attacked from behind.
At that moment—
Jin moved.
A strike with the back of his sword to the wrist.
A crack.
The weapon fell.
A kick to the chest—
the body flew back two meters.
His strikes weren't lethal.
But they were… humiliating.
As he dodged another blow, he said:
"You're just polluting the road."
They fell within seconds.
Groans… but no deaths.
The Arrival of the Murim Alliance
Slow clapping.
Five men stepped out from the trees.
Uniform clothing, their chests bearing a circular emblem engraved with a scale and a sword.
The Eastern Road Guardians—
one of the Murim Alliance's squads.
Their leader, a middle-aged man with cold eyes, spoke:
"We saw everything."
Jin raised an eyebrow.
"Good. Then you'll take care of them."
The leader looked at the bandits… then at Jin.
He said flatly:
"They will be judged."
Then he drew his sword.
"But you… your identity is suspicious.
There's no proof you're not involved."
Jin was silent for a second.
Then he laughed.
"Wait… are you serious?"
Two alliance members rushed at him without warning.
Jin raised his sword.
"So that's how it starts."
The attack was organized.
Straight techniques, clean movements, clear killing intent.
Straight Sword Technique – Third Wave.
Jin watched the movement…
and learned it.
A step forward, same angle, same timing—
With a modification.
Blades collided.
The attacker staggered back in shock.
"What…?"
Jin smiled.
"Too slow."
Another attacked from the side—
a spear this time.
A body twist.
Aura pulled inward.
Center of gravity shifted.
A movement from the Western Spear School.
Two seconds later, Jin repeated it—against its owner.
One of them shouted angrily:
"He's copying us!"
Jin replied coldly:
"No. I understand you."
The pressure increased—five against one.
But every move… was stolen.
Every technique… returned stronger.
He didn't kill anyone.
He broke bones, threw bodies, crippled movements.
The leader shouted:
"Kill him!"
And at that moment—
Silence fell.
A suffocating pressure descended on the area.
Two alliance members collapsed to their knees without understanding why.
A man stepped out of the shadows—tall, wearing a dark cloak.
His eyes were calm… and empty.
A Superior Demon.
He looked at Jin, then at the bodies, then at the alliance.
A faint smile formed.
"Interesting."
He moved.
No one saw his sword.
But the heads of the Murim Alliance… fell.
Five lifeless bodies hit the ground.
Jin stared at him coldly.
"I didn't ask for your help."
The superior demon replied:
"I know."
He stepped closer.
"But they chose to kill… and you didn't."
Silence.
Then he said:
"Your learning speed… isn't normal."
"Your strength grows even while fighting."
"That… is the Demon Sect's style."
Jin chuckled lightly.
"That's my goal."
The demon looked at him with interest.
"You want the fast road?"
"You want power without pretending it's justice?"
Jin smiled sarcastically.
"If there's a shortcut… why walk around the mountain?"
The demon laughed.
"Good."
He extended his hand.
"Come."
And so, luck stood with Jin once again.
But… would it continue?
Entering the Sect
Black gates.
Dark banners.
Overwhelming pressure.
Jin stood before them.
He didn't hesitate.
He stepped inside.
From that moment… he was no longer free.
But the path… became clear.
Demon Gate
Jin was not asked for his real name.
And he didn't ask either.
All that happened was that he followed the man silently,
as if it were completely normal—
to watch Murim Alliance members be killed before your eyes,
then be offered the Demon Sect's hand like a dinner invitation.
And so…
Jin entered the Demon Sect
as an ordinary trainee.
The Small Tavern
That evening, he left the grounds quietly.
He entered a small tavern on the edge of town—low ceiling, air thick with cheap alcohol and damp wood.
He sat in a corner and ordered a light drink.
He wasn't looking for pleasure.
He was looking for noise.
"Did you hear?"
"About what?"
Jin listened without lifting his head.
"The Demon Sect is opening an academy."
"An academy? Now?"
A rough voice laughed.
"Seems the Superior Demons want a new generation.
They say it'll be like the old academy—
same system… same madness."
Jin stopped drinking.
"A Demon Academy…"
A faint light flickered in his eyes.
"Really…?"
And here—
as if the author himself couldn't resist—
there was only one thing to admit:
Yes.
This boy's luck had been burning since the beginning.
Not because he was simply lucky…
but because he always walked toward the fire instead of running from it.
The Demon Academy
By sheer fortune, Jin's arrival coincided with the academy's opening—
an event held once every seven years.
Until nightfall,
he gathered information about it.
About the sect.
He wandered the streets and taverns, picking up every word he could.
That night—
He went alone into the forest.
The moon hung high, silver light flowing between the trees.
Jin stood in a small clearing and slowly drew his sword.
Then he began.
A step from the first faction's movement style.
A rotation from the second.
A lowered center of gravity from the third.
He wasn't just copying them.
He was dismantling them.
Movement… then adjustment.
Angle… then break.
He continued for hours—
sweat flowing, breath heavy—until he stopped.
He looked at his hand… then at his sword.
This boy had re-forged the sword style he witnessed—
improving it, making it deadlier.
He murmured to himself:
"…This isn't their style."
He said it softly.
"This is…"
He raised the sword slightly.
"My path."
The moon bore witness.
The forest remained silent.
And somewhere—
perhaps from a distant shadow—
Someone watched in silence.
End of Chapter