The world of Murim had changed.
Five years had passed since the fateful day Nam Gong-Wook, once an unknown warrior, had risen to claim his place among the strongest martial artists of Wolseong.
Five years since he had shattered the pride of the orthodox sects.
Five years since the unorthodox sects had begun their quiet preparations for the inevitable war.
And now, in the shadows of a storm brewing over the land, a name whispered in fear across the martial world: The Abyssal Tyrant.
The Abyssal Demon Throne
A lone figure sat upon an obsidian throne, carved with intricate patterns of dragons and demons entwined in eternal struggle. His silhouette was bathed in the eerie glow of torches, his presence a suffocating force that bent the very air around him.
Nam Gong-Wook—The Abyssal Tyrant—had become a nightmare incarnate.
The Heavenly Demon Cult had changed in his wake. No longer was it a hidden force lurking in the shadows; it had become a kingdom of warriors forged in blood and conquest. Under his rule, the unorthodox sects had united under a single banner, awaiting the inevitable clash with the orthodox factions.
Before him, figures knelt in silence. They were the leaders of the unorthodox sects—the Blood Phantom Sect, the Black Veil Society, the Crimson Moon Cult, the Soul Reaper Hall, and the Obsidian Fang Clan. Each of them was a master in their own right, but before Nam Gong-Wook, they were merely subjects awaiting their sovereign's decree.
A single presence broke the tense silence.
Cho Ha-Jin—the Crimson Lotus Empress—stepped forward, her crimson robes flowing like liquid fire. Her eyes burned with admiration and something more—something unspoken between them. She knelt only for a moment before standing tall.
"The King of Wolseong has sent envoys," she said, her voice laced with scorn. "They demand we dissolve the unorthodox alliance and submit to his rule. They claim we are heretics and must atone for our sins."
Laughter echoed through the hall—dark, mocking laughter that sent shivers down the spines of those present.
Nam Gong-Wook tilted his head, his piercing gaze reflecting the flickering torchlight.
"And what did you tell them?"
Cho Ha-Jin smirked. "That we would sooner drown Wolseong in blood than bow to a coward who hides behind decrees and empty threats."
The Abyssal Tyrant chuckled, his amusement a deep rumble that resonated through the chamber. "Good."
His voice carried the weight of an emperor, and the gathered warriors felt their blood stir in anticipation.
"But that is not enough," he continued, his gaze sweeping over them. "For years, we have sharpened our blades in the shadows. For years, we have watched as the orthodox sects schemed, plotting to erase us. And now they come, demanding our submission?"
He leaned forward, his presence suffocating.
"We will answer their arrogance with war."
A chorus of agreement erupted from the gathered masters.
The Abyssal Tyrant rose from his throne, the air itself trembling at his presence. "Send word to all unorthodox sects. The peace is over. From this moment forth, we are no longer a hidden force. We are the storm that will consume Wolseong."
A Gathering Storm
In the heart of the Ironclad Dominion, within the towering fortress of Cheolju, the King of Wolseong sat upon his throne, his fingers digging into the armrests as reports flooded in.
"They grow bolder," he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "This Nam Gong-Wook… this Abyssal Tyrant has united the unorthodox filth under his rule."
Before him stood the Grandmasters of the orthodox sects—the Radiant Sword Immortal of Mount Hua, the Daoist Sage of Wudang, and the Silent Guardian of the Monastery.
Jin Tae-Ryong—the Iron Dragon General of the Ironclad Dominion—stood beside them, his expression grim.
"The peace treaty has been broken," Jin Tae-Ryong said. "They have chosen war."
The King exhaled sharply. "Then we shall erase them from existence. We will crush their so-called Abyssal Tyrant and restore order to Wolseong."
The orthodox grandmasters exchanged glances. They knew this war would not be simple. Nam Gong-Wook was no ordinary enemy. He had already bested one of them before. And in the years since, he had only grown stronger.
"We must strike first," the Daoist Sage of Wudang suggested. "Before he gathers too much power."
The King nodded. "Prepare the army. Call upon every orthodox sect. We march within the month."
The Abyssal Tyrant and the Crimson Lotus
As preparations for war unfolded across Wolseong, a quiet moment was stolen amidst the chaos.
Cho Ha-Jin stood on a balcony overlooking the abyssal fortress of the Heavenly Demon Cult, the moonlight painting her features in silver and crimson. Behind her, she felt the presence of the man who had become both her leader and something far more dangerous to her heart.
"You're thinking too much," Nam Gong-Wook said, his voice softer than usual.
She sighed. "Can you blame me? We are at the brink of war. The world will never be the same after this."
He stepped closer, his imposing presence a comforting weight against her back. "It was always going to come to this."
She turned to face him, searching his expression. "And when it does… will you survive it?"
He smirked. "Are you worried about me?"
She hesitated. "I would be a fool not to be."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, she took a step closer. "I know what you are, Nam Gong-Wook. I know the kind of burden you carry."
His smirk faded slightly, and for once, she saw something raw in his gaze.
"Then why do you stay?" he asked.
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Because you are the storm that will reshape this world. And I have always loved the storm."
Their lips almost met.
But at the last moment, Nam Gong-Wook pulled away, his expression unreadable.
Cho Ha-Jin frowned. "Why?"
His eyes darkened. "Because I do not know if I will survive this war. And I will not chain you to a ghost."
She clenched her fists but said nothing as he turned away, stepping into the shadows.
But even as he disappeared into the night, she whispered to herself.
"Then I will become a ghost as well."
The Beginning of the End
Across Wolseong, the drums of war began to beat.
The orthodox sects gathered their forces, preparing for the final battle that would determine the fate of the martial world.
The unorthodox sects sharpened their blades, standing behind the Abyssal Tyrant who had united them under one banner.
The world stood on the edge of destruction.
And at the center of it all, Nam Gong-Wook—the Abyssal Tyrant—stood, waiting for the day he would claim his throne.
The war for Wolseong had begun.