They say fate is like the wind — unseen, yet it carries us wherever it pleases.But if the wind had a face, surely it would have laughed at me on the day of my birth.
I am Je Hwan.The third son of the Zheng Clan's leader, born not from his wife but from a concubine whose name was erased from the clan's memory long before I could even speak.They did not reject me openly — the clan was too proud to shame itself with strife.But I was a stain upon their name.A stain they tolerated... for a time.
As a child, I believed that if I became strong enough, I would be accepted.That if I fought for the clan, risked my life, bore their blame, endured their pain — they would love me, or at least acknowledge me.
I trained like a man possessed.I rose earlier than anyone, and lay down later than all.I caught the breath of the wind while others only heard its noise.Technique after technique, I mastered them in silence — without mentors, without praise.My body broke, but I did not stop.
I first sensed Qi at the age of eleven.My dantian ignited with fire, as if a star had fallen into my chest.I remember the air seizing in my lungs, the burning rushing through my veins — and in that moment, I understood:I was not nothing.I had a gift.
Yet even then, my father only nodded.No smile, no words.And my brothers?One clenched his fist, his gaze burning with envy.The other smirked, as if it were all some grand joke.
By fifteen, I had reached the Third Branch of the Copper Stage.By eighteen, I was already walking the path of the Iron Branches.For the first time, my name was spoken at external gatherings.The elders spoke of me not as a burden, but as a tool.
When the demonic cultivators began to surge from the Thunder Mountains, the clan needed warriors.Who volunteered first?Of course, it was I.No one forced me.I stepped forward on my own.
I fought on the front lines.Day after day.My sword knew no rest.Comrades fell beside me, but I stood.I held the flanks, I drew the enemy, I anchored the defense.They say that year, I killed more demon cultivators than any other in the Cholmo Province.They named me the "Demon Slayer."
It was then that I first saw people bow to me.Not out of fear — but out of gratitude.Simple warriors, wandering masters, even sect elders — they knew my name.For the first time, I felt that I was more than a shadow within my own clan.That I had become something greater.
But that was when I first sensed something foul in the air.Glances.Whispers.My elder brothers withdrew from me, silent at the table.The elders ceased calling me to counsel.And my father... he began to avoid my eyes altogether.
At first, I did not understand why.But slowly, the truth unraveled before me.
Too strong.Too popular.Too dangerous.I — the bastard — could one day become a threat to their power.
And then came that battle.
Three sects joined forces to repel the cult's advance at the Chongsu Pass.They sent me there with a dozen of the clan's finest swordsmen.They told me, "You shall guide them. None knows the land better than you."
I went.I always went.Forward.Without doubt.
But on the third night of battle... everything changed.
I was surrounded.Demons on all sides — their eyes ablaze with bloodlight, their swords singing songs of death.I fought.Fought like a beast.Until suddenly — I felt a blow to my back.
Not a demon's claw.
Metal.Cold, treacherous metal, sliding between my shoulder blades.I turned — but saw no faces.Only a silhouette.Only the cold sinking into my heart.
I fell.Into mud.Into blood.And my comrades... they vanished.They left me behind.
Later... I awoke in chains.The demons had not killed me.They knew who I was.They knew I was a hero among men.And to their eyes, a hero must not simply die — he must be broken.Not slain — but obliterated.
Thus began my descent into darkness.
But that... is another part of the story.