Return of the Moyong Clan's Prodigal Master

Void's Hunger

But Ha-jun was already insane. The fire in the Death Forest had burned away his sanity, leaving only purpose.

"If the Heavens won't accept me because I am a demon," Ha-jun said, closing his eyes and forcing the black vortex in his gut to spin faster, "then I will drag the Heavens down into the mud with me."

He could feel the power humming in his veins, dark, heavy, and magnificent. It was the power of a predator.

"The Moyong Clan wants a loyal dog?"

Ha-jun channeled the energy, feeling it tear through his meridians with a pleasurable agony, burning away the last remnants of his weakness.

"I will show them a rabid beast."

***

The morning sun bled over the horizon, casting long, pale shadows across the Moyong Clan estate. To any other disciple, it was the start of a beautiful day for cultivation, the air crisp and filled with the scent of pine and discipline.

To Moyong Ha-jun, it felt like starvation.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his chest heaving with a phantom exertion. His new body, the Vessel of the Ashen Swordmaster, was not just sitting idle; it was screaming.

The Undying Furnace Dantian in his gut was spinning, a black vortex demanding fuel. The Void-Devouring Meridians were scraping against the inside of his skin, aching for energy that the thin, ambient qi of the atmosphere couldn't provide.

"I am empty," Ha-jun rasped, clutching his stomach. It wasn't hunger for food. It was a metaphysical famine. "I cannot cultivate the Azure Tide. If I try to force that watery, passive energy into this furnace, it will evaporate instantly. I need meat. I need fire. I need... Demonic Arts."

He looked up, his eyes burning with desperation.

"System," he growled. "You built this tank of a body. You realized the engine runs on blood and hatred. Yet I am stuck in the heart of an Orthodox Clan where even whispering the word 'Demon' gets your tongue cut out. How am I supposed to lay the foundation? I need a manual. Now."

The blue screen materialized instantly, hovering in the dust motes of the room.

[System Acknowledgement: Host requires cultivation method compatible with 'Undying Furnace'.]

[Scanning Database...]

[Solution Found: 'Ashen Purgatory Sword Arts - First Form: Ember Step' & 'Bone-Grinding Breath Technique'.]

[Generating 'Starter Pack'...]

A glimmer of hope sparked in Ha-jun's chest. The names alone sounded violent, heavy—exactly what his body craved.

[Starter Pack Ready.]

[Do you wish to redeem?]

"Yes!" Ha-jun snapped, reaching out as if to grab the holographic box. "Give it to me!"

[Error: Insufficient 'Vengeance Points' (VP).]

[Pack Cost: 500 VP.]

[Current Balance: 30 VP (Earned from 'First Blood-Debt' - Jang Myung and Lackeys).]

Ha-jun's hand froze in mid-air. The hope curdled instantly into a familiar, boiling rage.

"Points?" he whispered, the word trembling with incredulity. "You want... points?"

He stood up slowly, the floorboards groaning under the sudden shift of his density.

"I died!" Ha-jun roared, slamming his fist into the wall. The wood splintered, and the entire hut shook. "I was burned alive! I sold my soul to you! I am trapped in a timeline where everyone wants me dead or useless, and you are telling me I need to buy the ability to breathe?"

[Affirmative. The System operates on the Law of Equivalent Exchange. Nothing is free. Power must be earned through the currency of causality, which, for you, is Vengeance.]

[You have not caused enough suffering to your enemies to afford the tools of a god.]

Ha-jun looked around the room, looking for something to destroy. He wanted to tear the System out of his head.

He tried to strangle the invisible architect of this hell. He was a starving man being shown a banquet behind unbreakable glass.

"You are just mocking me," Ha-jun hissed, his eyes flashing with the red light of the Sword Sovereign optic nerves. "Just like them. You dangle the carrot, but the stick is made of iron."

[Correction: I am not mocking you. I am optimizing you. Handouts breed weakness. Desperation breeds monsters.]

[Advisory: Since the Host is destitute of points, utilize local resources. The Host is recommended to proceed to the Clan Library.]

Ha-jun laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "The Library? Are you malfunctioning? The Moyong Library is filled with the Azure Tide Scripture and its derivatives. Soft styles. Flowing water. Defensive forms. It is a shrine to everything this body isn't."

[Analysis: The Moyong Library contains 14,000 volumes. 90% are Orthodox trash. However, history is written by the victors, but the losers' weapons are often kept as trophies.]

[There are forgotten manuals. Techniques discarded because they were deemed 'too dangerous', 'self-destructive', or 'inefficient' for a normal human body.]

[Your body is not normal. What breaks a mortal will merely temper you.]

[Go Host. Scavenge the trash and find the gold.]

Ha-jun stared at the text.

Discarded.

Dangerous.

Self-destructive.

A dark smile touched his lips.

He knew about what being discarded meant far too well.

"Fine," he spat, adjusting his ragged robes. "I'll play your game, ghost. But if I walk in there and find nothing but water-dancing scrolls, I will find a way to burn you out of my skull."

The walk to the Library of Ten Thousand Flows was a journey through a graveyard of memories.

The Moyong Clan estate was undeniably beautiful. White stone paths wound through manicured gardens where cherry blossoms fell like snow. Majestic pavilions with sweeping green tiled roofs sat atop misty hills. It was a paradise built on the backs of "dogs" like Ha-jun.

As he walked, Ha-jun felt the gaze of others.

News of the previous night's brutality had spread. The Outer Disciples, who were usually quick to shoulder-check the "runt" or trip him as he walked, parted like the Red Sea. They huddled in groups, whispering, their eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and primal fear.

"Is that him?"

"Look at his eyes... they look dead."

"I heard he crushed Jang Myung's face into the floorboards. Jang still hasn't woken up."