Jang Mok, they called him the Gentleman Demon. Silk robes, a fan like a blade, and always a book tucked beneath his arm as if cruelty needed theory. He never raised his voice. That's what made him dangerous.
Forget, even once, what he truly was and he'd remind you why demons smile.
"I was curious why your edge had dulled, Woon. But now I see you've simply fallen under the spell of... sentimentality."
"She's my friend. One more word, and even you won't be spared, hyungnim."
"My, since when did our little Woon bare fangs?"
I must've looked like a mangy mutt protecting its master. Seo-noonim laughed outright. Jang Mok opened his fan and chuckled behind it. I went red, swearing under my breath I'd pay them both back a thousandfold.
"Enough! So why have you come here, hyungnim?"
"As I suspected. Soft words where steel should be. Verse instead of form. Romantic, yes. Efficient? Hardly."
For a moment, Seo-noonim said nothing. Just stared. And in that silence, I sensed something snap, something she'd kept hidden beneath silk and smiles, just for my sake.
"Tell me, was it nobility that drove you to break him or convenience? You needed a strong back to carry your burdens."
It was the first time I'd seen Seo-noonim genuinely angry. My face stayed blank, but inside I was a wildfire reckless, untamed.
"This is the Divine Cult, strength first, everything else an afterthought. Woon can grow up to be the Cult's sharpest blade. I won't let him rust."
"Even though some people call us demons we are still humans."
With age, you learn: mercy is often just self-interest with a halo. People act kind because they fear the cost of cruelty. Justice is a leash. Morality is a shield. We are hated not because we are evil but because we refuse to pretend otherwise.
"The world is not moral. It's simply obedient to force. It doesn't matter what my intent is because I have the strength to decide the outcome. However, a fine blade like him shouldn't be dulled by comfort. Wouldn't you agree?"
"He'd have soared without you, not because of you. What you call mentorship is coercion dressed in manners."
Some call me 'Heaven's Mistake' in the Central Plains an ironic title, but a story for another time.
"Cruelty's a chisel, yes but the line between sculpture and ruin is paper-thin. He's still standing, isn't he? You want to cradle him like glass, but glass shatters. Steel bends. Choose what you want him to be."
"I won't forge his blade. But I will stand beside him when it cuts deep, no matter how many stand against us."
"Affection is easy. Shaping a weapon isn't. Be sure which you're offering him, before he cuts himself on it."
"You think I'm shielding him. I'm not. I'm witnessing him. There's a difference, Jang Mok. One you'll never understand."
Looking back, I stood between two fates one forged me into a weapon, the other fought to let me stay a boy.
"Why do you all get to decide what I become? Can't I be both a hand that kills, and a hand that comforts? Even a demon might have a heart... right?"
A heart is no sword. Try to wield it as such, and you'll only bleed out before your enemy even draws theirs. Jang Mok understood this fact better than anyone and he would try to teach me this in his own way he did care for me greatly. Of course, I wouldn't listen to him.
"A dull blade doesn't spare. It delays. That softness in you one day, it'll slit your throat from the inside."
"You hammer him like iron, but he's still made of skin and bone."
A flash of disappointment appeared in his eyes one that made me want to prove myself immidetialy.
"Those who fail just aren't strong enough, hyungnim."
"And are you strong enough?
I wanted to laugh in his face. Instead, I said nothing. Because some part of me a part I hated knew he was right.
"Your body's ahead of your mind. You're not as in control as you think, Woon."
"Come on, Woon let's go. You're not a blade, Woon. Don't let them grind the boy out of you. Twist his steel if you want, Jang Mok but you won't bend his heart. Not while I'm breathing."
Seo-noonim dragged me away, leaving Jang Mok calm, poised, standing alone in the flower field. I ignored her words of comfort, lost in thought.
I asked Jang Mok once if he ever regretted the way he trained me. If he ever thought, even for a second, that I might've been happier as a boy instead of a blade.
He didn't answer for a long time. Then, without looking up from his book, he said:
"Would you have survived as a boy?"
I didn't have an answer. But his words stayed with me, like splinters under the skin.
To understand Jang Mok, you have to go back to the first day he noticed me in the Crimson Ascent Pavilion.
When I entered the Pavilion, most ignored or feared me. I trained all day, completed tasks above my level. The senior cadets noticed and pushed their work onto me. I accepted it, thinking hardship would make me stronger.
That's when Jang Mok noticed me.
"Why are you carrying their scraps?"
"If it makes me stronger, I'll carry worse."
"So strength is worth anything?"
"Because the strong rule, this is the teachings of the cult"
He smiled not kindly. Not cruelly. Just enough to make you question everything you'd just said.
"No. I asked what you believe, not what they fed you."
I remember how those words sank in. How silence suddenly felt heavier than the baskets I was carrying.
"I don't know, everybody says strength is a good thing, so it must be."
"Strength for its own sake? That's just weight. The kind that drowns people. Find a reason, Woon. Even a bad one is better than none. If you have the will, every defeat short of death is just a setback."
"Thank you for your teachings..."
"Jang Mok. But you can call me hyungnim if you survive long enough to make it mean something."