Crimson did not name them.
That was the first mistake.
They named themselves.
The survivors of the destroyed Heaven-aligned sect scattered across Murim carrying the same story—but each told it sharper, bloodier, more distorted.
They spoke of Crimson not as a man, but as an event.
A shadow that freed the chained.
A blade that punished Heaven's faithful.
A monster who chose who deserved to live.
Within weeks, symbols appeared carved into walls and shrine stones: a crude imitation of the Sin Mark. Crimson's mark—copied by trembling hands.
Seo Rin noticed it first.
"They're calling themselves The Ashen Oath," she said, voice tight. "They say they act in your name."
Crimson stared at the symbol etched into a dead tree.
"I never gave permission."
Seo Rin swallowed. "That won't matter."
The first massacre reached them at dusk.
A caravan butchered on the western road. Merchants, guards, travelers—slaughtered indiscriminately. Survivors described attackers wearing red-threaded cloth and chanting Crimson's name as they killed.
Crimson arrived too late.
Again.
Bodies lay scattered like discarded offerings. One corpse had Heaven's eye carved into its face. Another bore the Sin Mark, cut deep and clumsy.
Crimson knelt, fingers brushing the blood-soaked earth.
"This wasn't rebellion," he said quietly.
Seo Rin nodded. "This was worship."
Crimson stood.
His jaw clenched—not with rage, but something colder.
Loss of control.
They tracked the Ashen Oath to an abandoned monastery clinging to the side of a ravine.
Dozens of figures moved inside—armed, organized, desperate.
Not soldiers.
Believers.
Crimson walked openly toward the gates.
No stealth.
No warning.
The guards froze when they saw him.
Some dropped their weapons.
Others fell to their knees.
"Crimson," one whispered, tears streaking his face. "You came."
Crimson stepped inside.
The courtyard reeked of blood and incense.
At the center stood a man draped in red cloth, scars covering his body in deliberate patterns. His eyes shone with fevered devotion.
He bowed deeply. "We are your oathbound. Your will given flesh."
Crimson's voice was low. "You murdered innocents."
The man smiled. "In your name. Heaven's servants hide everywhere."
Crimson felt something twist inside his chest.
"That was never my will."
The man's smile faltered—only slightly. "You taught us that mercy is a lie."
Crimson moved closer.
"I taught you to choose."
The man spread his arms. "And we chose you."
Seo Rin watched from the edge, hand shaking.
She could feel it—the danger.
This was worse than Heaven.
This was belief without limits.
Crimson reached the altar.
On it lay a bound prisoner.
A girl.
Barely conscious.
Her forehead bore Heaven's mark.
Crimson's vision darkened.
"What is this?" he asked.
"A test," the man said reverently. "If you kill her, we know we walk the true path."
Silence fell.
Every eye fixed on Crimson.
This was the moment Murim would remember.
Crimson drew his blade.
The Ashen Oath inhaled as one.
Crimson cut the ropes.
The girl collapsed into his arms.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
Crimson turned to the man in red.
"You misunderstand," he said softly. "I do not need followers."
The man stepped back, confused. "But—"
Crimson killed him.
One strike.
Clean.
Final.
Blood sprayed across the altar.
Panic erupted.
Some screamed betrayal. Others begged forgiveness. A few rushed Crimson with wild eyes.
He cut them down.
Not in rage.
In correction.
The Sin Mark burned openly now, casting crimson light across the monastery walls.
"Leave," Crimson commanded, voice echoing unnaturally. "Anyone who kills in my name without my will—dies by my hand."
Some fled.
Some knelt.
Crimson slaughtered the kneeling ones.
Seo Rin froze.
"You're killing them for obeying you," she whispered.
Crimson didn't look at her.
"I'm killing them for refusing to think."
By dawn, the monastery burned.
Crimson stood at the edge of the ravine, watching smoke coil into the sky.
The girl slept behind him, safe for now.
Seo Rin approached slowly.
"You just destroyed the first group that truly believed in you," she said.
"Yes."
"They would have followed you anywhere."
Crimson's voice was empty. "That's why they had to die."
Seo Rin clenched her fists. "Heaven creates obedience through fear. You're creating it through legend."
Crimson finally turned to her.
"That's why I will never allow worship."
She met his gaze. "And if Murim decides to worship you anyway?"
Crimson looked toward the horizon.
"Then I'll make belief hurt."
The aftermath rippled outward.
Some sects recoiled, terrified.
Others whispered that Crimson had judged his own followers.
Heaven watched closely.
This was unexpected.
A monster who killed his believers.
A symbol that rejected becoming a god.
Heaven's strategists revised their projections.
Crimson was unstable—but self-limiting.
That made him more dangerous.
That night, Crimson sat alone.
The Cultivation of Sin stirred restlessly.
For the first time, it whispered something new.
Not hunger.
Not rage.
Responsibility.
Crimson clenched his jaw.
"So this is the price," he muttered.
Seo Rin stood nearby, arms crossed.
"You're not just fighting Heaven anymore," she said. "You're fighting what people turn you into."
Crimson closed his eyes.
"I never wanted followers."
Seo Rin's voice softened. "That stopped being your choice a long time ago."
Crimson opened his eyes, gaze colder than ever.
"Then I'll become something they can't misunderstand."
Far above, Heaven observed the destruction of the Ashen Oath.
A silence fell over the celestial halls.
Crimson was no longer a rebel.
He was no longer a symbol.
He was a correction mechanism—one that erased extremes on both sides.
Heaven authorized a new response.
Not annihilation.
Assimilation.
And someone ancient stirred, preparing to meet Crimson face to face.