The Heavenly Demon Is Just Stuck In My Head

“Uuurp.”

[…Disgusting brat.]

After devouring ten ginseng roots, I was full despite not having eaten a single proper meal.

I wanted to hunt for more, but the Heavenly Demon warned me that taking in too much qi at once could cause Qi Deviation.

And what was Qi Deviation?

A shattered mind, twisted meridians, blood pouring from every orifice until death.

“Mm.”

Hearing that was enough to kill any appetite for more ginseng.

Clicking my tongue, I checked the state of my dantian.

“Heh, heh, heh…”

It was satisfying beyond measure.

Before, my dantian’s qi had been like a trickling stream. Now it was a raging river.

Enough to unleash more than thirty waves of sword energy.

And yet… compared to the sheer size of my dantian, it still felt lacking.

Like a lake compared to an ocean.

Just how much can this hold?

[At last, you’re somewhat human.]

The Heavenly Demon’s voice carried a rare note of approval.

By now, the sun had long since set, and a round full moon shone brightly overhead.

“Master. Does this mean I can finally learn martial arts?”

[Indeed.]

The Heavenly Demon’s tone grew solemn. [Now listen carefully to every word I say.]

“Good.”

The lesson began without delay.

Upper dantian, middle dantian, lower dantian. Meridians. Mental cultivation. Pathways. Techniques. Innate qi. Intent. Blood energy. Twelve principal meridians. Eight extraordinary vessels…

A flood of unfamiliar terms rained down on me.

My head swam. “Qi… what-now?”

The Heavenly Demon halted, clicked his tongue.

[Tch. Just do as I say. This is like reading scripture to a cow.]

I replied in a subdued voice, “Sorry, Master. I’ve never studied. I’ll learn the details slowly.”

His tone softened, if only slightly.

[Fine. For now, time is short. I’ll pass on the martial art itself.]

Then, with a grave weight in his voice, he declared,

[The martial art I shall teach you… is the Art of Night Sky, Stars, and Moon]

“…Art of Night Sky, Stars, and Moon?”

Deep in the night.

A group of figures sped through the forest, swift and silent, leaving barely a whisper of footsteps behind.

Their movements alone betrayed their skill.

But their faces were grim, carved with steel.

Each time they saw a drop of blood along the trail, their eyes grew colder still.

Just how far…

They were the Sherwood Mercenary Band, hot on Ashuban’s trail.

They had begun at dawn, and now the night sky stretched above, yet the pursuit had not ended.

The toppled trees went on and on without end.

It felt as though the trail might stretch all the way to the border.

And the further they went, the heavier the bloodstains became.

At the lead, Guston the Greatsword clenched his teeth.

How… How far did you run with that body?

Even they had run an entire day to get this far, yet Ashuban—who knew nothing of mana—had somehow pressed on without rest.

Bleeding all the while.

The sheer amount of blood screamed that he was gravely wounded.

This wasn’t about stamina or willpower.

It was beyond reason.

“…Crazy bastard,” Guston muttered, biting down the words.

But he only pushed harder.

Soon, they stood before an impossibly sheer cliff.

The Misty Cliff—the natural border between Maia and Blake.

“…”

They all fell silent.

The trail ended here, right at the cliff’s edge.

The answer was clear.

One of them finally spoke, voice heavy. “…Captain. It seems…”

Guston didn’t answer. His bloodshot eyes glared into the mist-shrouded abyss below.

Another man, crouching near the edge to examine the blood, muttered, “…At least they took him with them.”

“Damn stubborn brat. To think he ran for days, only to be dragged off at the end…”

A few gave weak, bitter laughs before falling silent again.

A heavy quiet descended.

At last, Guston spoke. “…Dead, you say?”

“…”

“No. Impossible. He wouldn’t die here. Not like this.”

From the first day he had found that boy in the filthy back alleys, he’d known.

Those were never a child’s eyes.

They were the eyes of a beast that had clawed its way through countless brushes with death.

Madmen lived long, didn’t they?

Always pushing through, no matter what.

Ashuban, that lunatic, was the type to survive anything, to crawl back again and again.

There was no way his story ended here.

“…No way.”

Guston stepped toward the edge.

“Captain!”

“Are you insane?!”

But he ignored them, muttering, half out of his mind, “He wouldn’t fall here. No, not him…”

“Hold him!”

The others seized him, clinging to his arms and shoulders.

“No way… No way…”

“Snap out of it!”

“Damn it, come to your senses!”

They struck him, shouted at him.

But Guston only bellowed into the abyss.

“Ashubaaaan!!!”

His cry thundered across the cliff, echoing into the mist.

“…Hm? Master, did you hear that?”

[Hear what? Focus.]

“I swear I heard something…”

[I won’t explain twice. Listen the first time.]

“Yes, sir.”

Art of Night Sky, Stars, and Moon.

Night. Sky. Stars. Moon.

A martial art named after the heavens above.

[It’s relatively simple, suitable as a beginner’s art. I devised it on a sleepless night, gazing at the stars out of boredom. And yet, it’s proven quite useful.]

“…You can just casually make martial arts like that?”

[Hardly. Only I can.]

“Ah. Of course.”

[No one else has ever been taught this. Consider it an honor.]

“Such an honor indeed.”

[…Tch.]

Then the Heavenly Demon continued.

[Martial arts are not mere flailing of a sword filled with qi. They are a higher method—ways to use that power with precision. It pierces like starlight cutting through the night sky. At first, your strike will be but a single star. In time, you may raise a shining moon.]

“…Really?”

[Of course. There are arts that scatter petals in the air. Why not starlight?]

“…Fair point.”

[If you master this, I’ll give you more.]

“Understood. How do I begin?”

[By completing a small heavenly circulation.]

“…Heavenly circulation?”

[Qi flows along two great channels. From the anus up the spine to the crown of the head, ending at the lips—that is the Governing Vessel. From the lips, down through the chest and abdomen, back to the base—that is the Conception Vessel.]

I nodded seriously.

[…But no matter. You won’t understand.]

Then, after a pause: [Close your eyes. I’ll move your qi myself. Do you see it?]

I looked inward.

A tiny star of light rose from my dantian, weaving through my body.

“…I see it.”

[Good. Just follow. Like a snake winding through your body. Keep up.]

I moved my qi after it, focused harder than ever before.

It traveled up from below, along my spine, over my crown, down my face, through chest and belly, circling back.

“Haa!”

A jolt like lightning shot through me. A mysterious rush split me from crown to groin.

[Open your eyes.]

“Hoo…”

When I opened them, the moon had already drifted low.

I flexed my shoulders. “…Did it work?”

[It did. Remember the path you’ve opened. When you use this art, qi flows along that circuit. Now try it.]

I stood, stretched, gripped my sword.

“Hoo…”

Drawing in qi, I sent it through the cleared path.

The qi flowed smoothly, like water down a channel.

I guided it to my arms, into the blade.

Woom.

The sword trembled.

The steel darkened.

“Let’s see.”

I swung toward the Misty Cliff.

Shraaak—!

The blade unfurled a curtain of black sky, stars twinkling at its tip.

“…!”

Instinct flared. I knew how to use it.

I slashed upward, then tore the darkness with the blade’s edge.

The star fell.

BOOOOM!

The cliff exploded.

“…!”

The power stunned me.

A mere “faint starlight,” he had said.

This? Faint?

[This is the Art of Night Sky, Stars, and Moon.]

Dust rolled away, revealing a cliffside ripped in half, the slanted moonlight glinting off the scar.

Through the night I practiced again and again, and one flaw became clear.

It devoured qi.

Ten to twenty times the cost of a normal sword aura strike.

Still, with practice, I learned to moderate its force.

And with a dantian like a sea, someday the burden would vanish.

To grow stronger every day—how sweet that was.

Morning came with birdsong. Humming a tune, I strolled back to Gustav’s hideout.

Empty. They had all fled.

Hungry, I wandered into the shattered kitchen, picked through scraps, and chewed on some dried meat.

Then—

“Come forth, Red-Eyed Swordsman, and heed the words of Baron Lucas Barankia!”

“…What the hell?”

Still chewing, I stepped outside.

Silver-armored knights and soldiers stood waiting, menace rolling from them.

The leading knight glared, “Were you the one who slew Gustav, Keeper of the Forest?”

“…What? Keeper?”

A laugh slipped from my lips.

A bandit chief, a forest keeper?

“That bastard was a keeper?”

The knight nodded.

“I see.”

He accepted a scroll from a soldier, unrolled it, and read aloud with pompous gravity:

“I, Baron Lucas Barankia, hereby decree: To the nameless swordsman who slew Gustav, appointed by my hand as guardian of these woods—you are hereby charged with murder. Come quietly, or blood shall be shed. Choose wisely.”

I chewed jerky as he spoke, then snorted.

“Bullshit.”

“How dare you! Mind your tongue before a baron’s name!”

I sneered, drew the dagger. “This is what you’re really here for, isn’t it?”

Their eyes went wide.

“The Dagger of Ophosis…!”

They couldn’t tear their gazes away.

I toyed with it, flicking it back and forth. Their eyes followed helplessly.

Then—suddenly—I hurled it skyward.

“No!”

As their heads snapped up, my boot smashed into the knight’s face.

(End of Chapter)