Evil's End Martial God Chronicle

“Will they hold out long enough for us to run there?”

“We’ll have to tell them to fortify their defenses to the maximum. Make it so they can hold somehow.”

“They might move to another region. Or disappear entirely.”

“What makes you think that?”

“If they faced Wild-Soul Demon, they must know that the Eight Marshals of the Green Forest are on the move. Which means they’ll naturally assume the Green Forest Headquarters sent us. So they might evade or relocate until things quiet down.”

“My head hurts. Let’s stop guessing and just wait. We’ll understand when we see them ourselves.”

Everyone nodded.

****

An emergency order went out to the stockades across the southern coast, ordering them to build the strongest defensive formations they could.

Each stockade mobilized all available resources to erect defensive walls.

They set traps along the mountain paths, hired formation specialists to lay down formations, and planted watchers everywhere.

Fully prepared, they waited.

And waited.

But no one appeared.

While the bandits grew increasingly anxious for the attack to come, I—Jeok Wigang—was being scolded by my mother.

“What on earth were you doing outside for your clothes to end up like this!”

I had forgotten to throw away the clothes torn during my fight with Wild-Soul Demon, and my mother caught me.

“T-that... I was training...”

“What kind of child trains in clothes this expensive! And look at this! These tears are from something sharp!”

I—the terror that drove the southern-coast bandits into panic—was being thoroughly scolded by my mother.

“I’m sorry.”

As I apologized, she stepped closer and checked my body.

“You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“No.”

Smack!

She slapped my back hard.

It didn’t hurt—but I pretended it did.

“Ow!”

“Do you know how frightened I was, thinking you might be injured when I saw these clothes? Thank goodness nothing happened!”

Her nagging was full of nothing but concern for me, and I found myself smiling unintentionally.

“You’re smiling? You think this is funny?”

I quickly fixed my expression.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Promise me! No more dangerous training that ruins your clothes like this.”

“Yes. I promise.”

I bowed my head, and warm energy wrapped around me.

It was my mother’s embrace.

“You are more precious to me than anyone. So always, always be careful. Understand?”

“Yes, Mother... I won’t make you worry.”

“That’s my good boy.”

I thought that, since she would be watching me like a hawk, I’d better stay home for a while.

More than anything, I hated making her worry.

****

“Young Master, where have you been?”

My mother wasn’t the end of it.

“Mm?”

“I heard from Madam. Your clothes were ruined from harsh training—and she said they were torn by something sharp.”

Taecheon stared at me with frightening eyes, and I shook my head.

“Sorry. I guess I pushed myself without thinking.”

“I will never leave Young Master’s side again.”

He vowed with a determined expression.

From now on Taecheon would guard me with eyes blazing.

Looks like I won’t be going out anytime soon.

At least I had completed the final ring of the eight-ring meteor mantra—so that was satisfying.

And there would be no one left to nag me, right?

Wrong.

I still had my father.

Two people in this world could make me, Jeok Wigang, tense: my mother and my father.

I walked into the clan head’s office nervously.

“Father, it is your son, Jeok Wigang.”

My father, Jeok Rihyeon, looked up from his work. He stood, slowly walked toward me, and raised both hands high.

Was he going to hit me?

I squeezed my eyes shut—but once again, warmth settled over me.

“You fool. Why are you overworking yourself like this?”

“Father?”

“Do you want to master martial arts that badly?”

His eyes weren’t angry—they were pained.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize my son was struggling so much.”

“No, Father, that’s not—”

“It’s all my fault as a useless father.”

Honestly, I wished he would just scold me. This was worse.

“That’s not it. I only tore the clothes by accident while experimenting with something. I didn’t overwork myself like you think. Truly.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Only after he met my steady gaze did Father sigh in relief and nod.

“Very well. I’ll trust your words.”

I smiled brightly.

Father smiled as well.

“Sit. Today, let’s talk, just father and son. I’ve been so busy with clan affairs that I forgot to speak with you.”

“I understand completely, Father.”

Father looked at me with warm affection.

Since childhood I had been sharp and independent. Maybe that’s why he had stopped worrying so much.

He felt guilty.

“What kind of person does my Wigang want to become?”

I thought for a moment.

“I want to be someone who punishes the wicked.”

He stared in surprise—then smiled.

“How?”

“I’ll rise in government service, protect the people, and punish evildoers.”

Father smiled at the idea of me becoming an official.

He had feared I’d want to punish evil through martial arts—but that fear was unnecessary.

“Yes. My Wigang can do it. Of course he can.”

“I will, Father.”

“And how will you punish evil?”

“With Absolute Judgment.”

My firm answer startled him.

Then he stroked my head gently and said,

“You must not kill simply because someone is wicked.”

“Why? Isn’t eliminating evil the path to peace?”

“Some are falsely accused. Others were forced on a path they didn’t want. So promise me one thing.”

“Please say it.”

“I won’t ask you to spare those beyond redemption. But if someone can reform, grant them a chance.”

“A chance?”

“Yes. A chance to become someone who contributes to the world.”

I hesitated.

Then my younger brothers came to mind.

To the world, they were evil—monstrous even.

But to me, they were the weakest, most precious beings alive.

They’d never committed evil in my presence. They still lived quietly.

I nodded.

“Yes, Father.”

“Truly? Will you promise?”

“Yes. I, Jeok Wigang, will grant one chance to any evildoer who seems capable of reform.”

“Good. Well decided. But don’t extend mercy to truly irredeemable monsters.”

“Yes.”

I had planned to erase all evil from the world—but I changed the plan.

If Father wished it, I would adjust.

So—should I practice reforming evildoers too?

How?

What criteria?

Should I start by tackling a vicious sect?

I’d think about it later.

With all these watchful eyes around, I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

****

Confined to the house, I studied the nine-ring mantras and pondered how to reform evildoers.

No matter how I thought about it, there was only one reliable method:

Overwhelming power.

Absolute pain.

The terror of nearly dying.

But I’d have to control my strength so I wouldn’t permanently break them.

Among the third-ring mantras was a healing mantra.

What if I infused that into my fists?

Strike and heal simultaneously.

Theoretically—infinite pain.

I’d also need a mantra that sharpened the target’s sense of pain.

So many experiments to run.

Where would I test them?

I needed to get out.

But Taecheon watched me relentlessly—sleeping outside my door, eating outside my door, even assigning someone to stand guard when he used the bathroom.

Wait—

What if I made another me?

Could I?

I returned to research.

Yes—this was the most necessary mantra of all. Situations like this would happen more and more.

I named the mantra:

Dual-Form Clone Art.

Failure after failure.

But with the seventh-ring power, I succeeded.

It was a seventh-ring mantra after all.

I created a clone identical to myself.

It was difficult because the clone needed many embedded functions:

speech, response to speech, reasoning.

I limited its range to my room and set its default behavior to studying.

No one interrupted when I was studying.

If I said I needed focus, they didn’t bring meals.

I had often buried myself in books for days, eating only fasting pills—so no one would suspect anything.

Now—I needed to embed both healing and pain-enhancement mantras into my fists.

I returned to research with a serious expression.

****

A month later—

I finally completed it.

A fist that wouldn’t kill or knock out the target—but would cause agony far worse than a normal beating.

Controlling the healing energy was difficult. Too much, and it healed instantly, making the target think it was a dream.

But fear required certainty of being struck.

I named it the Repentance Fist.

If there were many opponents, I could use the Dual-Form Clone Art.

It was extremely useful.

The problem was—I needed to test whether it worked.

I obtained information through the secret network.

I asked for a recommendation for an especially vile sect—preferably far from home.

The chosen target:

A demonic sect in Jiangxi Province, the Mad Sword Gate.

A gathering of sword-mad lunatics. They constantly tormented surrounding sects to prove their strength.

Perfect test subjects.

I’d choose the next targets after hearing local rumors from the Mad Sword Gate itself.

I felt a little guilty overworking the secret network, so I decided to rely on local intel afterward.

To hide my identity, I wore a demon-mask and night-clothes.

All preparations were complete.

Now I needed to test whether the clone could fool Taecheon.

“Mind-Image Open; Qi-Streams Scatter; Soul-Shadow Form; Self-Shape Return.”

As I recited the mantra, an identical image peeled off me like shedding a shell.

Standing face-to-face with myself felt strange.

“Do your task.”

The clone walked to the desk, sat down, and began reading a book.