Five years ago....
"The Red Shadow of Tianmen"
A fierce winter wind blew in northern Xiyang. Behind the gray mist stood a twenty-year-old youth with a red oni mask covering his face.
He was known only to a handful of people—the shadow hunter, the devil, the savior, etc.
No one knew his real name; he was only called the "Man in the Red Devil Mask."
Clutched in his hand was a black-and-red sword, Yanlong, an ancient dragon sword said to house a spirit of darkness. The red flash on its blade pulsed, as if alive, as if breathing with its master.
That night, Tianmen Fortress was on the brink of collapse. Flames licked the defensive walls, screams mixed with the thunderous pounding of thousands of Han troops' feet.
Fifty thousand soldiers surrounded them, while the remaining fortress guards were less than a tenth of that number.
The people wept, the soldiers despaired—until one figure stepped onto the battlefield.
A red mask.
A dragon sword.
The shadow of a horned devil born from smoke and blood.
"Let me hold them back..."
The man's voice echoed, deep, almost inhuman.
Then the disaster began.
Like a storm, every swing of his sword split the enemy lines. Dark smoke enveloped the fortress, thousands of lives were cut short in a single night.
A black fire dragon soared in the burning sky, roaring, striking the earth.
When dawn arrived, the grounds of Tianmen were filled with enemy corpses. The nearly ruined fortress still stood.
However... the savior was never found.
A legend was born, but only in the faint whispers of the Tianmen people.
No one knew who truly saved the fortress.
The whole nation instead believed the victory was the merit of General Hwang, who happened to arrive with his troops that day.
The public praised, the Emperor bestowed the title of hero upon General Hwang, and even intended to marry the general to the royal princess.
Meanwhile, the name of the Man in the Red Devil Mask vanished, swept away by history.
He remained a mystery remembered only by a small fraction of people as "The Devil Guard of the Fortress."
🌑 Five years have passed.
In the capital of Xiyang, the afternoon sun shone upon the golden roofs of the temples and academies.
In the courtyard of a famous sect, the disciples trained hard, cheers filling the air.
"Hey, did you hear? General Hwang was once again praised by the Emperor in the palace hall," a disciple whispered.
"Yes! He's the hero of Tianmen, right? Fifty thousand Han troops were defeated because of his bravery."
"Truly a living legend... I hope I can be as great as him one day."
Laughter and awe filled the air. General Hwang's name became a symbol of national pride.
But in the quietest corner, a black-haired youth sat leaning against a plum tree, his eyes half-closed.
A cheap sword lay beside him.
"Lin Xuan! Why are you always so lazy?!" a senior disciple snapped.
He merely yawned. "Ah, I just don't have talent. Better to sleep than to embarrass myself."
No one knew—that the 25-year-old youth had once held back a wave of fifty thousand troops single-handedly.
No one knew—that the "legend of Tianmen" was sitting among them, disguised as a weak disciple who wanted an ordinary life.
But destiny... never gives a choice.