Ch 1 #The Age of Spies: A Martial World Chronicle
Nineteen years ago, the martial world lay in ruins.
A conflict called the "War of Righteousness, Evil, and Demonic Forces" raged indiscriminately, annihilating entire clans.
Famine gripped the land, and bandit hordes plagued every corner.
Some declared it an Age of Darkness; others prophesied inevitable collapse.
Yet just as night yields to dawn and winter’s withered flowers bloom anew in spring,
a miracle emerged.
Three supreme rulers—Martial Alliance Leader Hyeoncheong, Righteous Path Sovereign Tak Iljo, and Heavenly Demon Jin Woogwang—
gathered at Mount Tian to proclaim an era of unity and cooperation.
Swords were sheathed, hands clasped. Borders dissolved as all focused on rebuilding.
Yesterday’s enemies became today’s allies, restoring peace at last.
Now, nineteen years later,
the martial world has risen from its ashes to reclaim glory.
The righteous, neutral, and demonic factions all flourish with unprecedented strength.
Yet one truth went unrecognized:
While blades no longer gleam in daylight, spies now swarm through every shadow.
Thus we name this modern age:
The Age of Spies.
—Mount Tian.
CRACK! The wooden door shattered under my boot, torn from its hinges.
The man inside jolted awake, blinking dumbly at the chaos. I pointed past him and barked:
"Rip it apart."
At my command, masked agents flooded through the doorway like living darkness.
"What madness is this?!"
"Awake at last?"
"How dare you! Do you know who I am? Storming in at dawn—"
Enough. Thud—I flung a crimson jade plaque to the floor. Its inscription blazed: 防諜.
Defend. Spy.
"Ghk!"
Exactly. The ghost who hunts spies.
I’m Jang Iseo—Third Squad Leader of the Counterintelligence Division. Twenty-eight, Dog zodiac. Unmarried.
An average face, a taste for power, working stiff collecting my stipend. The most ordinary martial artist alive.
Ah, though...
"All hail the Heavenly Demon! May demonkind thrive eternally!"
My organization’s... somewhat distinctive.
The man kowtowed, clutching the plaque while reciting doctrine. As one should when faced with our sect leader’s authority.
Your instincts serve you well.
The Heavenly Demon Cult.
"Relax."
"At ease!"
A secretive martial sect veiling Mount Tian’s slopes.
Yes. I serve the demonic faction.
My purpose here today? Simple.
"Yong Woo—Supply Division Deputy Leader, Fifth-Rank Noble. We’re investigating a tip. Cooperate."
I shouldered past his ashen face, voice ironclad.
By rank, he stood two tiers above me. But I’m power incarnate—spies’ reaper, Counterintelligence’s Third Leader under the sect master.
And let me reiterate: I adore power.
"A tip? You’re mistaken! I’m no spy!"
"Mistaken...?"
"Aren’t you Seventh-Rank? I’m Fifth! Even Counterintelligence respects hierarchy! I’ll petition the council—"
"Who let this dog bark in my ear?"
"What?"
I glared around impatiently. My team rummaged through drawers with archaeological precision. Digging for relics?
"Planning to camp here? Tear the place apart!"
Sir! CRASH! Furniture exploded under frenzied blows.
"My—my antique vase! Stop!"
SMASH! There—the sound of breaking sanity. I smirked as Yong Woo turned tearful eyes toward me.
"My lord... Why this persecution?"
Better. I tsked at his groveling form and snatched the plaque from his hands.
"Cooperate if you’re clean. This ends quickly."
"This is absurd! No one upholds doctrine like I do! How could I—"
"Confess and you’re a spy? Deny while choking on steel? True spies deny till death."
"I’ve done nothing! Unless... the supply diversion? That’s standard practice! Take it all—it’s buried below—mercy—"
Pathetic. Cornered rats always sing. Leaning close, I breathed into his ear:
"Know why you’re here?"
"Tell me! What’s my crime? I’ve served faithfully!"
Precisely. I scratched my temple irritably.
"Two weeks back—Yangyang. You raped a woman."
"That—!"
"Last week—Hubei caravan raid. Thirteen dead."
"No—I—!"
He gaped like a suffocating fish.
"Everyone does such things! Why single me out?"
Disgusting. True—for demonic scum, this is Tuesday. But:
"Our tip claims those victims were Martial Alliance agents. You approached them as a spy."
"Bullshit! What spy murders contacts?!"
"Clever ploy to avoid suspicion. Modern spies evolve."
"Lies! Who accused me?!"
Curious? I smiled.
"Found it! A Martial Alliance-sealed missive!"
"Impossible!"
Yong Woo wailed. But vermin don’t decide truth.
“Alright.”
I nodded and pulled out a document from my robe.
“Fifth-rank noble Yong-woo. Determined to be a Murim Alliance spy based on intercepted letters found at the scene.”
“It’s not me! I’m not, you bastards!”
Clatter, clatter! The man bolted for the entrance. Snap. I closed the document.
“The fool didn’t even let me finish reading…”
But I knew. That he wasn’t the spy. If a wretch like him isn’t part of the Demon Cult, who would be?
Right.
You’re not the spy.
The spy is me.
“Third Squad Leader Jang Yi-seo of the Counter-Espionage Unit. By doctrine, I execute fleeing spies on sight.”
As the words left my lips, I pivoted and hurled the white throwing dagger concealed in my wrist guard, its blade gleaming.
Whiiish!
A bolt of white light streaked like lightning—thunk!—piercing clean through his skull.
“Ghk!”
Yong-woo crumpled mid-stride, his dying scream echoing as he fell short of the doorway.
Gulp. My subordinates swallowed dryly, unnerved by the brutality.
I yanked the steel wire tethered to the dagger, reeling it back to my wrist. “We return.”
“By your command!”
I am Jang Yi-seo.
Third Squad Leader of the Demon Cult’s Counter-Espionage Unit, purger of traitors…and a spy from the Murim Alliance.
Yong-woo. Your embezzled funds will serve me well.
Somewhere in the Heavenly Mountains.
As dusk painted the sky after my mission, I halted before a dilapidated house clinging to a mountainside cliff.
Caw, caw.
Crows welcomed me to this place no sane soul would inhabit—except me, Jang Yi-seo.
“Good work.”
At my calm words, clank-clank echoed behind me. A hulking shadow pulling a cart lumbered to my side.
His name was Heukgeo.
A foreigner once enslaved as a “black servant” in the Demon Cult, now my subordinate after I recognized his usefulness.
Offer him fair payment, and he’d handle any task with ruthless efficiency.
Clink. I tossed him a heavy coin pouch.
“Thanks, Squad Leader.”
Still rough with honorifics. I tapped his chin in acknowledgment, and he departed with the cart.
Half a day’s descent led to a village where most cult members lived communally. Few dwelled in isolation like me—either madmen practicing forbidden arts or those, like myself, with secrets to bury.
Creak.
I eased open the flimsy wooden door.
Deceptively vulnerable to thieves, the house hid meticulous traps: a hair strand across the doorframe, furniture positions memorized, every rug crease cataloged. All remained undisturbed.
Only then did I wheel in the cart and tear off its covering.
Gleam.
Gold ingots glinted, stolen from Yong-woo’s coffers.
“Greedy fool.” My lips twitched. Another well-chosen target.
Fourteen years had blurred since I infiltrated these mountains. My Murim Alliance identity now felt like another man’s life—cut off the moment I joined the cult.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Only the loneliness festering in my chest reminded me. Without it, I might have forgotten entirely.
“They can’t all be dead.”
My head dipped. Impossible. The ones who sent me were the Alliance’s highest echelon—leaders of the Dark Pavilion, a shadow cabal forged after the peace treaty nineteen years past.
I’d endured hellish training to become their agent, conditioned for a single mission…
Yet no orders ever came.
“Are they mocking me?” I spat. Once, I’d burned with purpose. Now? This half-life sufficed. Hunting villains here paid well, required no drills, and spared me judgmental eyes.
My brother thrived in a prestigious sect thanks to my sacrifice. For me, this place was…
Snap.
I lunged upright, dagger in hand. Feather-light footsteps outside—a skilled intruder, though none escape my senses.
Where? Above!
I vaulted off the wardrobe, rebounded to the ceiling beam, and smashed through the roof.
Crash!
My strike met resistance. A masked figure blocked with a scabbard, then kicked debris at me like shuriken.
“You pest!”
I twisted aside, reaching for my sleeve dagger—
Gone.
The memory of belatedly preparing the drum flashed through my mind. I landed swiftly behind, crouched low, and scanned ahead—but the masked figure had already vanished.
“……Who was that? No ordinary fighter. At this level, they’re at least a clan leader.”
Glancing down, I spotted a shallow gash on my forearm. The wooden shards I’d kicked were mere decoys. In that split second, a blade had shot through the debris. Had I not blocked it with the back of my hand mid-spin, my throat would’ve been pierced.
“If they retreated, killing me wasn’t their goal. Did they come to test my skills?”
As I tilted my head in bewilderment, an unfamiliar object on the roof snagged my gaze—a letter lodged in the eaves.
【Dark Pavilion】
“Th-this is is…!”
Fourteen years had passed since I joined the Demon Sect.
At last, my first mission as a spy had arrived.
【Make the Seventh Prince the Young Sect Leader.】
“The Seventh Prince…?!”
A mission so impossible it’s practically cursed.
“That bastard…! Even the Sect Leader abandoned that lunatic brat!”
This is insane!
“Uwaaaah!”
Jang Yi-seo, agent of the Martial Alliance’s Dark Pavilion.
Tasked with turning the mad Seventh Prince into the Young Sect Leader.
It begins here.
Last page.
