My name is Cheon Woon.
My father said that excessive worrying over legacy is for the weak, and that strength should be one's only legacy. But I believe that ideas can transcend time, allowing you to influence the world even after death. So here I am, journaling my life in the hopes that you someone in the future reading this might be influenced by my story and allow my existence to carry on just a bit longer in your mind.
The Divine Cult or as the people of the Central Plains like to call it, the Demonic Cult. A place where logic is secondary and strength is everything. This is where I grew up. Most people, upon hearing this, give me a sympathetic look, as if I've endured a harsh life surrounded by lunatics.
But I am one of those lunatics.
As I said, the main principle of the Demonic Cult... no, of the world is that might makes right. Those Orthodox martial artists might tell you that one must live for justice, but dangle a thousand-year-old ginseng in front of them, and they'll kill their own parents for it. We're just more honest about it. No need for excessive dialogue or flowery justifications. If you want something, take it. And if you have a problem with that? Get stronger.
As you can imagine, there is a wide range of people in the Cult. Some pursue righteousness. Some chase ideals. Others seek only personal gain. This creates an environment that's never dull. Now you're probably wondering how does the Cult function with all these conflicting ideologies?
The answer is simple: one man stands above all and controls these wild demons The Heavenly Demon, my father.
You might think that because of this, I've lived the life of a prince. That's a common misconception. My father is the embodiment of the Cult's ideology. If you're dissatisfied with your life, become stronger. And if you can't? Don't complain it's your fault for being weak. If it weren't for my older sister protecting me in my early years, one of my more ruthless siblings would've had me killed before I even learned to walk. And if I hadn't turned out to be a martial arts genius, my father would've killed me himself before I hit puberty.
Harsh? Maybe. But the blood of the Heavenly Demon can't be anything less than exceptional.
Now, you may be put off by my descriptions or even by my mindset and think, "Wow, another mid-level novel where the protagonist is some edgelord who's always right and never faces any real trouble." I don't know how things are in your time, but in mine, too many rich brats read a few martial arts manuals and think they have some god-given talent for storytelling. Then they waste their families' money getting it published.
So stick with me. I'll even make it more interesting by writing it like a novel, so you don't get bored.
You want stories, don't you?
Fine. Let's start off when I killed for the first time.