Return of the Moyong Clan's Prodigal Master

Acknowledgment

"A thousand-fold," he vowed, his voice trembling with the sheer weight of his hatred. "If they cut my finger, I will sever their arm. If they mock my name, I will erase their lineage. I will not just kill them. I will break their spirits. I will make them watch as I burn everything they hold dear, their reputation, their power, their legacy, until they beg me for the mercy of death. And I will deny them even that."

[System Acknowledgment: Vengeance Directive Accepted.]

[The path of the Ashen Swordmaster is lonely and cruel. Prepare yourself.]

Ha-jun took a deep breath, pushing the rage down into his gut. Rage was fuel, but if left uncontrolled, it was a wildfire that would consume him.

He needed to understand his weapon. He needed to know what this "Reconstruction" had done to him.

He sat cross-legged on the stained mattress, assuming the lotus position. He closed his eyes, turning his vision inward, initiating the Art of Introspection.

In his previous life, looking inside his body was a depressing affair. His meridians had been like clogged, rusty pipes, narrow and brittle.

His dantian had been a shallow, cracked bowl that leaked Qi constantly. Every step of cultivation had been a battle against his own mediocrity.

But now...

"This..." Ha-jun gasped, his eyes snapping open in shock.

He closed them again, diving deeper into his internal universe.

What he saw defied the laws of martial arts as he knew them.

His meridians were not the pale, white rivers of a normal human. They were wide, cavernous channels that pulsed with a dark, obsidian light.

They were terrifyingly efficient, devoid of any impurities or blockages. It was like looking at a system of aqueducts built by giants.

The Void-Devouring Meridians, the System had named them; they didn't just transport Qi; they seemed to hunger for it, vibrating with a predatory need to consume energy from the atmosphere.

He traced the flow down to his Dantian, the energy center in his lower abdomen.

It was not a bowl. It was a furnace.

A swirling, black vortex spun slowly in his core. It was the Undying Furnace Dantian. It felt dense, heavy, and incredibly volatile.

Unlike the calm, ocean-like Dantians of the Orthodox masters, this core felt like a trapped storm. It didn't radiate peace; it radiated heat and aggression.

"This bone structure..." Ha-jun mentally examined his skeleton.

The Adamantine Skeleton shone with a dull, metallic luster in his mind's eye. The bones were thicker than normal, the marrow churning with a potent, almost radioactive vitality.

He realized why Jang Myung's bones had shattered against his wrist. He wasn't made of calcium anymore; he was biological steel.

But as he marveled at the perfection of this vessel, a cold realization began to creep up his spine.

The Moyong Clan was an Orthodox Sect. They practiced the Azure Tide Scripture, a cultivation method based on the fluidity of water, the purity of nature, and the righteousness of the flow. It required a body that was balanced, calm, and harmonious.

Ha-jun's new body was none of those things.

It was jagged. It was hungry. It was violent.

"This is not a body for the Azure Tide," Ha-jun whispered, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "This is... a vessel for Demonic Arts."

The realization was a thunderclap.

In the Murim world, the line between Orthodox and Demonic was absolute. Orthodox arts focused on harmony with the heavens.

Demonic arts focused on stealing from the heavens, on dominance, on consuming life to fuel power.

His meridians were too wide for the gentle flow of water; they would scatter the Azure Tide Qi before it could gather. His Dantian was too aggressive; it would boil the gentle Orthodox energy into nothingness.

If the Clan Elders inspected his roots now, they wouldn't see a prodigy. They would see a monster.

They would see a "Devil Child" born with a constitution naturally inclined toward slaughter and chaos. They would execute him on the spot to prevent a future disaster.

[System Analysis: The Host's assumption is Correct.]

[The host's body has been optimized for survival and combat, not for moral alignment. The 'Azure Tide Scripture' is incompatible with your current physiology. Efficiency rating: 12%.]

[However, this vessel is perfectly attuned to the 'Forbidden' and 'Lost' arts that require extreme physical resilience and aggressive energy control.]

Ha-jun stared at his hands again. The irony was cruel enough to make him want to laugh.

The System had given him a god-tier body, a weapon capable of reaching the heavens. But it had made him incompatible with the very clan he intended to conquer from within.

He was a wolf sewn into the skin of a sheep, but the zipper was broken.

"You gave me a cursed body," Ha-jun murmured, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration rising in his chest.

[I gave you a weapon. How you wield it is up to you, Host. But be warned: If you attempt to cultivate the standard Moyong techniques, you will stagnate. To rise, you must feed the furnace what it craves.]

"And what does it crave?"

[Dominance. Pain. And energy harvested from the fall of your enemies.]

Ha-jun clenched his fist. A dark, jagged aura flickered around his hand for a brief second; there was no doubt it was Demonic Qi. It was raw, potent, and utterly forbidden.

He understood now. He couldn't just be the "Prodigal Master" returning to claim his birthright. He had to be an actor.

He had to fake the Orthodox arts while secretly cultivating a path of carnage in the shadows. He had to smile at the Elders while his inner body screamed for blood.

"Fine," Ha-jun whispered, a cruel smile stretching his face, making him look truly unhinged in the pale moonlight.

He felt the Myriad Beast Sinews tighten across his shoulders. He felt the hunger of the Void-Devouring Meridians.

It was a terrifying sensation, feeling his own body urge him to violence. It was a corruption, a taint that would surely drive a lesser man insane.