Chapter 3
Awakening
In a space without a single ray of light,
within a darkness that erased even the passage of eternal time,
I found repose.
And my soul rotted to its deepest depths.
A void with no front or back, no above or below.
Within that emptiness, I existed among the stories of countless people.
They were clearly beings who did not exist within this time and space.
Yet, for some reason, I could see and hear their stories.
They were like visions cast by a campfire.
Like mirages shimmering on a summer day.
Every one of them was different.
Their races, genders, and ages all varied.
Some had lived amidst wondrous cultures unlike anything I had ever known.
Others belonged to civilizations so strange that I had never even imagined such things could exist.
Even so...
They all shared one thing in common.
Their stories shared the same ending.
A horrific tragedy.
Without exception, every one of them had been the protagonist of such a dreadful tale.
If I had to guess, I thought they might have been those who came before me—the previous contractors.
Of course, I had no way of confirming it.
Time continued to pass.
At some point, there were no more stories.
Come to think of it, perhaps there had never been a voice to begin with.
Had those stories merely been fantasies I created out of unbearable boredom?
Or were they nothing more than hallucinations born from a mind shattered by endless torture?
So an immeasurable amount of time passed.
One could call it an eok.
Or perhaps a nayuta.
If time itself did not flow in this place, then perhaps it had all lasted no more than a single instant.
Then, at one particular moment...
A tiny light appeared in the distance.
From that light came the faint warmth of the living.
The vitality of the mortal world could be felt within it.
As though drawn toward it, I approached.
And when the light came close enough...
I understood.
This cold, desolate, lonely darkness...
It was the deepest part of my soul.
It was my very nature.
Though I was moving toward the light,
I no longer belonged there.
I had been dismantled and reconstructed by an ancient monstrosity whose origins not even the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens seemed to know.
And the moment I realized that...
I knew.
I was finally ready.
***
He opened his eyes feeling refreshed, as though awakening from a pleasant afternoon nap.
It was as if all that agony and suffering had been a lie.
As though it had been nothing more than a fleeting nightmare during sleep.
He rose without the slightest difficulty.
His body felt so comfortable that it was almost embarrassing to remember the torture and the loss of his limbs.
Like someone who had enjoyed a long, restful sleep...
He awoke.
"...Was it all a dream?"
Of course, he knew perfectly well that it had not been.
A heavy, sinister presence sat calmly within his dantian as though it had always belonged there.
Without a doubt...
It was the power of the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens.
The horrifying demonic aura that had radiated from that entity beneath the underground prison was now settled within his own dantian.
For the moment, only a tiny fraction of its full power had been granted to him.
Even so, the scripture's pure demonic qi clung to him as unmistakably as a spark burning a hole through cloth, making it painfully clear that everything had truly happened.
"Hmm..."
His body, which had once been so mangled that death had been a mercy, was now in perfect condition.
In fact, the natural ease with which it moved felt strangely unfamiliar to him.
He raised his fist before his eyes, opening and closing it.
There were no scars.
No blemishes.
Only a fair, flawless hand with all five fingers intact.
"...This is..."
He climbed out of bed.
A modest bedroom carrying the scent of ink.
Despite being a sleeping chamber, every wall was lined with bookshelves packed from top to bottom, revealing the temperament of its owner.
"...My room."
Without even looking, he felt he knew exactly where every book was placed.
It was the place where he had always felt most at peace.
This was the bedroom he had used since childhood at his family's estate.
"...You said you'd give me one more chance."
The Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens had indeed promised him another chance.
But to return him to the past...
Simply escaping that horrific prison would have satisfied him.
He had intended to begin again from the moment he escaped.
Everyone precious to him had already died.
Even so, that would have been enough.
Merely dying without being forced to watch helplessly as everything crumbled would have felt like receiving a second chance.
But to return to the past...!
"...Kh... hahaha..."
Before he realized it, laughter spilled from his lips.
The Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens—
the being that had called itself a scripture that defied the heavens—
was far more terrifying than he had ever imagined.
By means completely beyond his comprehension, it had demonstrated the authority to reverse time itself.
He suddenly found himself wondering what the true nature of that monstrous scripture really was.
But at this moment...
None of that mattered.
He had returned to the past.
He had been given the greatest opportunity imaginable.
"Kuhahahaha...!"
As though responding to his laughter, the demonic aura of the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens rumbled like a growling beast.
***
He remained seated on the edge of the bed.
Judging from the youthful hands that looked no older than those of a teenager, and the bedroom from his memories, he knew he had truly returned to the past.
But he needed to determine exactly when he had returned.
Fortunately, that was simple.
The clues were already overflowing all around him.
"Hmm..."
He quickly swept his gaze across the books filling his bedroom.
To an outsider, it looked as though he were merely skimming over them.
In reality, that was far from the truth.
Every single book that had ever been in his room was engraved perfectly in his memory.
He remembered when each volume had been brought into his room.
He remembered exactly where each one had been placed at every point in time.
Comparing those memories with the room before him was a simple task.
Within the span of a few breaths, he had his answer.
"...Seventeen years old. February."
The sound of his own youthful voice felt unfamiliar.
His eyes darkened.
He looked back over his eventful life.
Then reconstructed it again.
And again.
It was the gaze of an immortal who could glance at the opening moves of a game of Go and instantly perceive the countless moves that would follow.
He remained lost in thought for a long time.
What finally brought him back to reality was a faint conversation drifting in from outside.
"...Has the Young Master awakened yet?"
"Who cares? He'll probably wake up and bury his nose in a book like always."
"...Honestly. The eldest young master of the Luoyang Sword Clan—the family called the greatest in the Central Plains—and he's like that..."
"No wonder everyone calls him the Swordless One. It's downright pathetic."
"Though people used to say he was a once-in-a-generation genius..."
"That was probably nothing more than a rumor."
"When you're born the eldest son of the great Luoyang Sword Clan—the family people call the Heavenly House—you can live however you please."
It was nothing less than the servants gossiping behind his back.
Ordinarily, hearing such words would have made anyone angry.
Yet his eyes remained utterly indifferent.
Even before, he had never cared about the opinions of the world, nor had he rejoiced or despaired because of them.
But now...
His very soul had been stained to its deepest depths by the madness and demonic aura born from the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens.
The surface of his mind was like the calm waters of a bottomless lake.
Yet beneath that tranquil surface slumbered a volcano that could erupt at any moment.
"...You there. Is anyone outside?"
He deliberately called out loudly to the servants.
Yet no one answered.
Naturally.
His residence was one of the secret quarters of the Luoyang Sword Clan, and the soundproofing techniques employed here were unquestionably the finest in the Central Plains.
Even so, he had heard the servants whispering outside with perfect clarity.
"...Is this power from the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens as well...?"
His hearing could not have been the only thing affected.
He took his time.
He experimented.
He observed.
It did not take him long to reach a conclusion.
His physical abilities had increased dramatically across the board.
His stamina.
His strength.
His five senses.
Every aspect of his body had improved.
"...Remarkable."
He looked into the mirror.
The body reflected there was no longer the weak shell he remembered.
Instead, it was a body like forged steel, one possessed only by those who had tempered themselves to the absolute limit.
Every muscle fiber stood out with uncanny definition.
It was almost unnatural.
While quietly examining his body, he suddenly noticed something else.
"Hm...?"
The face staring back at him wore a smile so twisted it was terrifying.
Was this what a demon looked like after being steeped in killing intent until demonic qi had seeped into its very marrow?
"...No. This won't do."
He studied the mirror, slowly adjusting his expression.
"...Like this..."
He lowered the corners of his mouth.
Smoothed the wrinkles on his forehead.
Relaxed his widened eyes.
"...That somehow looks even creepier."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"I'll have to fix my laugh too."
"There is plenty of time..."
He rubbed his face with both hands as though kneading dough.
First, he needed to loosen the muscles.
As he vigorously massaged his face, he felt warmth spread through it while the stiff muscles gradually relaxed.
Then he looked into the mirror once more and resumed practicing expressions.
"Hmm... I need to look... more human."
After staring into the mirror for so long, his own appearance became so ridiculous that laughter escaped him naturally.
"Kuk... kuk..."
It was a crisp laugh strangely mixed with the metallic ring of clashing steel.
Still staring into the mirror, wrestling with his own face, he suddenly spoke.
"...Come to think of it."
In the reflection stood a man whose expression was so horrifying that a child would faint at the sight of it.
He murmured thoughtfully.
Almost as though asking the man in the mirror for an answer.
"...What does it mean to look human?"
The mirror reflected the face of a peerlessly handsome young man whom anyone would acknowledge as breathtakingly beautiful, no matter how grotesque the expression he wore.
But that was not what he saw.
Where his eyes should have been were empty sockets, weeping tears of blood in silent agony.
Where his nose should have been remained only two gaping holes leaking blood and pus.
Not a single patch of skin on his face remained whole.
Inside his throat, only the root of his severed tongue still dangled.
That was not the mirror's reflection.
It was the image engraved upon his own heart.
Wounded.
Twisted.
Distorted.
Defiled.
It was the madness of the Scripture of Darkness that Commands the Heavens dwelling within him.