Chapter Text
Kim Gongja had starved himself for a week.
He picked up a sword and swung. In his mind, he imagined a farmer—starving in a land swallowed by famine. He swung again.
Fight in hunger. Every movement must be born of it. Think of the starving. Channel them. Let hunger become your will. Let it shape the blade. Let it carve the path.
Gongja swung his sword. He embraced hunger.
Infernal Heavens Demonic Art. First Form. Asa—the Sword of Starvation.
Pain coiled through his ribs, gnawed at his stomach, clutched at his heart. This is hunger. It ached. It devoured. This is hunger.
And through the haze of suffering, one thought rose to the surface:
I want to eat a Choco Pie.
A Choco Pie that tasted like chocolate when bitten into. With a chewy white marshmallow inside. Just one bite, with warm milk.
What is hunger? Gongja says: hunger is a Choco Pie.
He kept swinging, even as the sword path barely began to form. It wasn’t enough. His own hunger was insufficient. He needed more. The hunger of others. The agony of famine across a hundred lifetimes.
He summoned Preta.
“Bring me the corpses of those who have starved.”
She blinked.
“How many…?”
“112.”
Men. Women. Children. Some old, some young. Death does not discriminate. Hunger does not chooe.
[You have died.]
The sky was white. A land where snow never stopped falling.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
A fisherman, starving alone on a frozen boat.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
A young lord, fasting so his people might eat.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
Beggar children forced to eat mud to survive.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
Some cried.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
Some laughed, hollow and numb. [Reenacted.]
Some had forgotten how to feel. [Reenacted.]
Children slain by Jiangshi. [Reenacted.]
A soldier who collapsed just short of the town gates. [Reenacted.]
They lived. [The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
They died.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
They starved.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
Everything had come from hunger.
[The trauma of the enemy who killed you is being reenacted.]
Kim Gongja awoke.
He had felt hunger.
Slowly, he rose and stepped into the cold. He dug into the snow with his bare hands until his fingers found the frozen mud.
He mimicked what he’d seen. The mud cookies were baked in the sun—bread made of dust and desperation.
He held it in his hands, then to his lips.
“…Thank you for the food.”
He licked the edge first, softening the surface with his tongue. The taste was dirt—grainy, bitter, sour. The granules clung to the roof of his mouth.
He chewed carefully, using his front teeth.
The warmth of the sun. The smell of soil. That was all this “meal” held.
“…It tastes awful.” He took another bite.
“A really bad taste.”
Another bite.
A strange emotion swelled in his chest. Was it anger? Or sorrow? Hatred, perhaps?
Humans came from the earth—then why couldn’t they eat it? Why did the scent and texture of the soil feel so revolting?
Gongja pulled out his sword. No… not his sword.
It was the blade of the nameless old man. The soldier. The viceroy. The starving children.
He knew nothing of martial arts. There was no textbook. There was only suffering.
If his blade followed any law, it was the law of the abandoned. If his sword spoke of anything, it was their screams. Because it was born of resentment, it was infernal. Because it stared at the heavens with scorn, it belonged to the Infernal Heavens.
He stabbed the center of his throat with the Holy Sword.
With the deaths of 112 souls in his heart—
He regressed.
What he had done before, he did again.
Once more, he lived. Once more, he received the request.
“Fight with hunger,” she had said.
He swung his sword.
The Heavenly Demon’s mouth fell open. Her eyes widened. Like the first time she saw their party—no, perhaps even more. Her eyes trembled.
And in that moment, Gongja knew—her heart had swayed.
She had seen it: The meaning of life, rising again from the ashes. A new beginning, becoming visible before her eyes.
“Heavenly Demon-nim,” Gongja said softly.
“What kind of death shall we master next?”
The Heavenly Demon finally spoke, voice low.
“There are nine swords in the Infernal Heavens Demonic Art,” she said. “What you showed—The Sword of Starvation—was just the first.”
“Yes.”
“The path of starvation leads into the path of dehydration.”
“The Sword of Thirst,” Gongja echoed.
“Yes. Child of the outside world… You demonstrated the Sword of Starvation well. If you devote yourself to the path, you will—”
“Wait,” he interrupted. “It was ‘well’?”
They bickered briefly, a familiar rhythm slipping in. But even amidst the banter, Gongja could see it.
He had been accepted.
He was now the Heavenly Demon’s disciple.
Though composed on the outside, the Heavenly Demon was clearly shaken.
That was right. Kim Gongja smiled inwardly.
‘Please consider it more.’
Her hesitation was a green light to him.
‘Be more shaken.’
He had given her a choice—continue a doomed war with the Murim Lord, or take on a disciple and pass down her legacy.
‘Don’t throw your life away.’
His words were light. Too light. They couldn’t carry what he truly meant:
‘Please live. Even if the world ends, I want you to survive. Let me be your reason to keep going.’
But he didn’t say it aloud. Just like she hadn’t accepted him as her disciple yet. Words alone weren’t enough.
Not without action.
It’s not time to decide yet, she thought.
‘I haven’t made my choice either,’ he echoed.
“Child of the outside world. Are you listening?”
“Yes. I’m focused.”
“I’m serious.”
“I swear to the Jade Emperor or King Yeomra.”
Their eyes met—hers conflicted. She hesitated, then said:
“You may take the next test.”
She stood and walked away.
“Don’t follow. My steps are busy.”
She left no prints on the snow. Only a drifting shadow—Traceless Snow Road.
Then—
「I want to fight her,」 Bae Hu-ryeong said suddenly.
Kim Gongja blinked. ‘What?’
「I want a duel. Just once.」
He was different now.
「Back in my world, the Demonic Sect was a joke. I beat the so-called Heavenly Demon and renamed him Earthly Demon. But this one... Damn it!」
His face twisted, not with rage, but longing.
「I’m jealous of the Murim Lord. If it were me, I’d fight her with my life. Win or die. Then drink wine and eat tangerines on a snowy peak. That’s the life of a warrior!」
His passion was raw, alive.
「Ah, if only I wasn’t a ghost!」
Kim Gongja stayed quiet. Then, chin in hand, he began to think.
「What’s wrong, zombie? You’re sulking? Want me to call you a zom-tit?」
“That’s it,” Kim Gongja said.
「Huh?」
“I mean it. That’s the final piece.”
He smiled.
“Let’s say I cure the infection. I become her disciple. That’s great. But that alone isn’t the finale. You gave me the cherry on top.”
The Sword Emperor flinched.
「Why are you smiling like that? It’s bad luck for me…」
“But I respect you so much, Sword Emperor-nim. From the bottom of my heart.”
「Thanks. Want me to puke on your face?」
Kim Gongja looked up at the sky.
“There’s an unpaid debt between us.”
「A debt? I don’t do debt—」
“[Let’s bet how many times I’ll die on the 19th floor], remember?”
“You bet less than 100 times. I said less than 99…”
“I died 97 times. I won.”
He went silent.
“Sword Emperor-nim.”
「…Why are you like this?」
“Please grant me one request.”
He looked ready to cry.
「Fine, you devil. Beat me, kill me, just say it…」
Complete surrender.