They were four friends, the only ones of their kind in the world.
"Nice to meet you. Let's get along."
"I heard we'll be learning martial arts from the same instructor. Did you hear anything?"
"Are we all learning the same martial arts? I want to learn swordsmanship."
"...It's nice to meet you all."
They met as children still wet behind the ears and spent decades together. Together, they experienced life, death, and everything in between, becoming soulmates who understood each other better than anyone else.
All four had only hazy memories of their lives before joining the Blood Cult, likely the result of a ritual brainwashing administered by the Demonic Strategist. Consequently, the four orphans embraced each other as family.
One day, the Demonic Strategist gathered them, smiling strangely. A man with sharp features stood beside him.
"From now on, you will learn martial arts from the instructor here. Do you understand?"
""Yes!""
"The day you complete your martial arts training is the day our Cult's great work will begin."
That day, the boy was secretly happy, feeling as if he had found family. Unlike his friends, who were driven by ambition to instructor the ultimate martial arts and become powerful warriors, he was not very greedy. Still, he silently vowed to work hard so as not to be a burden to anyone.
SHWIIING!
"I don't care how you've been treated in our Cult until now. From today on, I hold power over your life and death. You will obey my every word."
From the very first day, their instructor mercilessly flogged them. He trampled them, training them to become emotionless killing machines.
As a result, whenever their instructor was away, they would gather in one room to spit curses and words of resentment.
"I'll kill him. When I get stronger, I swear that bastard will be the first one I kill."
"Uwaaa... it hurts..."
"Quit your damn whining, for fuck's sake! I already applied ointment to your wounds."
"......"
Every day was a living hell. The stench of blood lingered in their quarters. Their skin was always covered in bruises, and the number ofcuts steadily increased. Although the wounds healed, scars remained on their bodies and in their hearts.
"Do you find life unfair? Then grow stronger. If you don't want to be beaten helplessly, if you want to survive, you must become strong. That's the only path you can walk."
Their instructor pushed them to the brink of death, repeatedly telling them that they had to become stronger if they wanted to survive.
"Let's go home together!""...Instructor, what happens if we give up?"
When Number One, the strongest among them, asked this question in exhaustion, it surprised not only the other children, but also Number Four.
Number Four remembered the instructor's eyes widening in shock at that moment. He also remembered how they had trembled with unprecedented anxiety, wondering how badly he would beat them for this transgression.
However, the instructor had only hardened his expression and scolded them harshly.
"The Cult has plenty of replacements for you. You'll be abandoned and left to die... discarded like worthless trash."
"...Is that so?"
"I'll be out for a bit. Continue your training."
"...Understood."
When the instructor left the training ground, claiming to have urgent business, the juniors had immediately thought about resting. However, only Number One disagreed.
"Hey, the instructor's gone. Should we take a short break?"
"No, we'll continue training. Because I will survive. No matter what it takes, I will survive and prove myself."
Muttering these words to himself over and over, Number One resumed swinging his sword. The other children, who had been watching him with complicated expressions, also resumed training.
Time passed, and Number One eventually grew to resemble the instructor he had hated most.
That was not an easy task.
Around that time, the instructor unexpectedly showed up reeking of alcohol and asked them a strange question.
"Do you resent me?"
Back then, none of them dared to say 'yes' to the instructor's question. Despite their deep-seated hatred, they all bowed their heads and said no.
"Is that so? Good..."
The instructor had chuckled incomprehensibly at their response.
A few days later, he was caught attempting to escape the Blood Cult with several imprisoned martial masters. He even stared at them, who were tasked to block his path, with a painful grimace.
"Move! I don't want to kill you with my own hands."
That day, the instructor died.
Number Four vividly remembered his friends' faces as they stood over the corpse. Seeing their own faces reflected in the instructor's vacant eyes forced them to confront the horrifying reality they had tried to deny.
Not a single one of them laughed at their instructor's death, spat on his body, or called him a traitor. At the time, they couldn't tell whether this was because their emotions had been completely eradicated, or because they were trying to mask other, deeper sentiments.
"Let's go back."
When Number One finally spoke, they simply nodded blankly and returned to their duties.
In the decades that followed, none of them ever mentioned their instructor... at least not until the day the First Apostle mentioned having dreamed about him.
"I had a strange dream, a dream about our old Master. Everything was blurry, but strangely, his last words remain in my memory. He said that he would come to see us..."
Number Four's thoughts came to a halt. He had just noticed something.
The opposing energies of the Savage Tiger's Domination and the Unlimited World collided, ravaging their surroundings. The ultimate techniques of two peerless masters locked in a tense standoff, generating a vortex of energy so destructive that stepping into it would vaporize a person.
Huh? Does Number One realize? That he keeps calling our old instructor 'Master' instead of 'Instructor'?
KABOOOM!
A tremendous shockwave erupted the moment the sword and fist collided. A fierce wind swept in all directions, uprooting trees and scattering dirt and dust into the air.
At the center of the explosion, Sa Gon stood his ground, blocking his friend's sword without yielding a single step.
"Move, Number Four."
Moments later, the typhoon that had engulfed the three of them dissipated, revealing the surrounding wreckage.
The First Apostle wielded the Blood Demon's sacred weapon, the Blood Demon Sword. A faint red light pulsed along the blade. Armed with a legendary sword and mastery of the Unlimited Sword, there was nothing he couldn't cut.
This was true even if the opponent was his old friend. Faint lines of blood appeared on Sa Gon's thick muscles as he blocked the blade with his body.
I told you! You cannot pass until after you hear me out.
Sa Gon wrote words in the air with dust, even as he knocked the Blood Demon Sword upward.
CLANG! CLANG! BAM!
The two peerless masters exchanged blows without budging. They moved so quickly that they were a blur even to the Blood Dragons, the Blood Cult's most elite warriors.
WHOOSH!
A typhoon coiled around their bodies, the swirling currents completely obscuring their figures. Only the incessant roars and stray bursts of enhanced qi hinted at the viciousness of the apostles' fight.
RUMBLE...!
Fortunately, Sa Gon had noticed this from the very beginning, as Number One was the one who resembled their old instructor the most. Despite his scarred and rough appearance, Number One was always quick-thinking and calm.
The ground beneath them began to sink. Trees were uprooted and toppled, and boulders lurched and rolled down the mountain. The Blood Dragons' hastily retreated.
"...This should be enough," the First Apostle muttered in a low, sunken voice, lowering his sword.
"Alternatively, if you obediently return to our Cult with us, I will promise you that no one else will be killed."
Sa Gon nodded, but did not dismiss the qi typhoon enveloping them.
"I'll give you a chance to explain yourself."
In truth, the First Apostle had brandished his sword to force the Blood Dragons to retreat, creating a space for them to talk in private.