The day Cho Il finally clawed his way past the Blood Cult's fierce internal competition and won the mission to infiltrate the Heavenly Martial Academy, he was summoned to the Blood Demon Palace.
"Are you the Blood Dragon?"
"I greet the Supreme Lord's First Apostle!"
Standing one step below the throne of the Blood Demon Palace, the First Apostle loomed over Cho Il. A dozen sword scars crisscrossed his face, and every word he spoke set those scars twitching ominously. He was the Blood Cult's absolute ruler, the man who had governed in the Blood Demon's stead for decades and rebuilt the fractured cult until they once more threatened the murim.
Several years had passed since that day, yet the memory remained etched in Cho Il's mind as vividly as if it were yesterday.
"A-Apostle..."
THUD!
Cho Il dropped to his knees at once and slammed his face against the floor. Blood trickled from his forehead where it struck stone, but terror left him far too numb to feel any pain.
The First Apostle said indifferently, "Raise your head, Blood Dragon."
Cho Il shuddered involuntarily. The name belonged to his true identity, the one the orthodox murim knew nothing of. Hearing it spoken aloud swept away even the faintest speck of his inner demons.
He slowly lifted his head and looked at the First Apostle. Moonlight lit that indifferent face and set the scars twitching, exactly as they had years ago.
"I watched your duel."
As he touched his flushed face, his old scars burned as if freshly seared by fire.
Cho Il's face instantly flushed red with shame, and excuses tumbled out of his mouth. "I-It's because I had to fight an external arts duel first. If I could have used my ultimate techniques properly from the outset, or if it had been a life-or-death battle, I would never have..."
He scrambled to rationalize his defeat, but the First Apostle showed no interest in his efforts.
He simply took a step closer. "Your defeat is inconsequential. I never expected anything from you in the first place."
Cho Il felt a sword against the nape of his neck even though his eyes told him there was nothing there. Every hair on his body stood on end.
"You were immature and foolish. You couldn't control your anger, and you made a mistake in front of many orthodox masters."
The First Apostle's eyes, clear as glass beads, seemed to bore straight through Cho Il's heart. He emitted no aura, yet Cho Il could not stop his body from trembling.
"F-Forgive me..."
"Did you know the Murim Alliance had someone tailing you?"
"I shook them all off!"
"Hmph." The First Apostle looked down at Cho Il with contempt. The incompetent spy hadn't even noticed the double tail or the tracking incense on his clothes.
This fool does not deserve the alias of Blood Dragon.
He had thought so years ago as well, though he had never once said it aloud.
There's a good chance that either the Murim Alliance or the Heavenly Martial Academy discovered his identity a long time ago. They simply allowed him to roam free on purpose so that we wouldn't send any more spies.
His hand drifted to the sword at his waist.
Cho Il's eyes widened. At the spur of the moment, his will to live overpowered his fear.
"Apostle! Please, please give me one more chance!" he shouted, crawling forward and grasping the hem of the First Apostle's pants. "I'm still very useful! I have connections with the orthodox sects' prodigies, and I know a secret I haven't reported to the cult yet!"
"...You disappoint me to the very end."
The First Apostle's sword left its sheath and traced a crimson arc through the air.
Cho Il never realized he had been struck. His body crumbled to dust and scattered in the wind, bringing an anticlimactic end to the life of a martial artist who was widely considered one of the finest prodigies of his generation.
The First Apostle turned away without a shred of sentimentality. Cho Il would be reported missing, and the Murim Alliance would desperately search for him. Since all traces of his existence had been erased, however, they would never find him.
By the time the First Apostle returned to the noisy heart of the city, the Second and Third Apostles were already seated at a tavern table, waiting for him.
The First Apostle, his human skin mask back in place, took the empty chair. "The tail?" he asked.
"Gone."
"......"
"Don't stare at me like that. I didn't kill them, I just knocked them out. I know how annoying things can get when they escalate."
"Well, you kill so often. Of course we're going to suspect you."
"Who are you calling a mindless murderer?" the Third Apostle grumbled at the rebuke.
The exchange left the First Apostle with a strange feeling. Although their speech remained flat and monotonous, he felt as though they had time slipped back into the past.
Back when they were younger and still had a bit of childishness about them, his friends would bicker exactly like this.
"...How long has it been since the three of us gathered in one place like this?"
The two thought it over for a moment before answering.
"It's been at least ten years."
If it weren't for Number Four, they probably wouldn't be sitting there at all.
Rebuilding the Blood Cult had kept them perpetually on the move. Too many places needed their strength, and the cult was in near-total ruin. Until now, gatherings like this were all but impossible unless the matter was of great importance.
"I see."
The First Apostle nodded and reached to fill his own cup, but the Third Apostle snatched the bottle away and poured a drink for him instead.
"You didn't have to do that."
"You received my courtesy, so it's your turn to fill mine."
The three of them traded cups of liquor several times. None of them particularly enjoyed drinking, but the tavern demanded that they behave like everyone else to avoid suspicion.
That was the only reason, and yet tonight, for whatever reason, all three of them were drinking more than necessary.
The Third Apostle drained his cup in one go and began slowly, "Number Four's tale about the Azure Dragon Hero being the reincarnation of our old instructor... Do you think it's true?"