The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld.

There are things in this world that cannot be changed from the moment you’re born, no matter how talented you are or how you live.

What good is the competence of a man born to poor parents in the slums? 

At most, he’ll live as a sword-wielder in the underworld and ultimately die a meaningless death. In another scenario, he’ll be used as a weapon by those born of noble blood who wield him once and discard him.

He could tolerate that since it’s simply the way this world is.

But if they were to spit on that sword and even try to break its edge…

“That won’t do.”

I am a discarded blade.

———

– The city air will set you free.

It was this saying that convinced a peasant couple to flee from their remote rural estate, where they lived embracing a tiny plot of land as their world.

But the city’s air gifted my parents with a deadly plague instead of freedom. The poor couple who had toiled endlessly collapsed, and beside them lay –

A young boy, exhausted from crying. He clung to the cold corpses of his parents.

“Child, are you an orphan?”

“……”

“Plague always claims the poor first. Will you follow this old man?”

That shabby old man became my light. Like a kitten clinging to a stranger’s pants, I desperately grabbed the old man’s hand.

“Ouch, you little rascal. You’ve got quite the grip.”

In a shabby hut at the corner of the slums that barely kept out the wind and rain, the old man took care of me with a warm kindness.

“Hey there, are you sneaking around, finding something good to eat without me?”

“No, sir.”

Even while sharing moldy bread and thin soup offered by the old man after skipping his own meals, I grew stronger and healthier than other kids my age.

“Karzan, come here and sit down.”

The old man was an ordinary person, but he would draw letters in the dirt with a twig and taught me how to write and the way of life.

I loved listening to his stories. And I fell asleep while imagining food I hadn’t tasted, places I hadn’t seen, people I hadn’t met. I would always dream of exciting adventures.

Looking back now, what kind of life had the old man lived? Even at a young age, I thought he must have endured a life full of hardship and struggle.

But the old man never shared the details of the things I was truly curious about.

“Karzan, sorry, but there’s little food today.”

“I’m used to being hungry. It’s no big deal.”

Children who grow up in poverty mature quickly. Even at a young age, I tried hard to be useful, understanding better than anyone the shame of showing weakness.

If it hadn’t been for the old man who took me in with no obligation or tie, my life would have ended as a nameless, cold orphan lying somewhere, forgotten.

“Karzan, did you fight again?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize; I know you don’t throw punches without reason.”

The old man would smile, exposing his gap-toothed grin.

“You rascal, who do you take after to be such a good fighter? How many were there this time?”

“That jerk Jack brought five of his brothers to gang up on me.”

“Ha! Seems like you’re the king of this alley, kid.”

I hardly remember a time when my grandfather scolded me. But he would often give me one piece of advice.

“Karzan, live without shame. Being uneducated and poor is not a sin, but living in a way that isn’t humane is something to be ashamed of.”

He was the only person who treated me like a human.

“You don’t have to live like a fool. But just as I took you in without any reason, don’t be stingy in offering a bit of kindness to someone with nowhere to turn. That could be a great light to them.”

Those words became a kind of spell on me. In the moments when I was most tempted to be cowardly in life, I remembered my grandfather.

Damn it. I couldn’t become a man that my grandfather would be ashamed of. I was a kid who would have starved to death on the street if not for the light he had shown me.

However, the winter of my eleventh year marked the abrupt end of my childhood, a time of poverty but a peace I’d never known since.

“Karzan, I’m sorry. I never got to feed you a proper meal or dress you in nice clothes…”

I buried my grandfather’s stiffened body on an unnamed hill, unable to survive that particularly harsh winter. As I came down, leaving the blood-stained shovel as a gravestone…

I cried my heart out like the most pathetic man in the world.

Orphaned again, I returned to the streets, doing any odd jobs I could to survive.

“Karzan, I got a loaf of bread today! Let’s share it!”

“Karzan, my brother got beaten up, but he won’t say anything.”

I naturally took on a leader’s role, with others following me. There were orphans, wanderers, pickpockets, a drunkard’s son, a gambler’s daughter… All unfortunate souls with miserable lives.

Even when I tried to be cold, they would stupidly approach me, smiling.

Some were pathetic kids I had saved from getting beaten up by adults, only for them to get beaten again the next day despite my help; there were the brats who, despite their nasty tempers, followed my words without question. There were always a lot of these little ones trailing after me.

“For heaven’s sake, stop hanging around and leave me alone.”

“But when we’re with you, Karzan, we don’t get beaten up as much.”

“If Dad sneaks in again, he said he’d kill us.”

“Huh? My mom said she’d just pull all his hair out.”

“You’re lucky. She’s kinder than my dad.”

They were mostly pathetic, excessively cheerful kids who’d probably be plagued by bad dreams if left alone.

And so, when I was at the age when my voice started changing, I decided to gather these kids with nowhere else to go under my name and protect them.

It was the moment an orphan of the backstreets dived into the dark sea of the underworld. Or should I call it the start of a legend?

It sounds strange to say it myself, but back in the day, there wasn’t anyone around who didn’t know ‘Mad Dog Karzan.’

The tale of how one organization would identify spies by asking if they knew Karzan is still spoken of as a legendary story.

But now…

“Damn it.”

Now here I was, running to the ends of the earth, following the shadows of the moon, with three stab wounds to accompany me. Life truly is unpredictable.

‘They’re disgustingly persistent.’

As expected of the infamous hounds of the underworld, they pursued with relentless tenacity.

Every place I reached in the dead of night was filled with ambushes, and even as they fell helplessly to my blade, none of them hesitated.

Are they that terrified of their master? The tenacity of these pursuers, chasing me as if they’d die if they failed to catch me, was enough to drain even my spirit.

Screech!

Just as I finally reached the door of a safe house, three blades from an ambush shot out like lightning. In a single movement, I evaded their attack and cut down the figures in black.

Splat!

Even as they were dying, they reached out with their blood-stained hands, trying to mark me with tracking scent. 

Dodging that was easy enough, but then hidden weapons flew at me. 

I flipped through the air, deflecting five blades, and landed on the shoulder of one unlucky fool, crushing it.

“Hngh!”

The figure in black sank to his knees, clutching his broken bones and swallowing a scream. Using him as a step, I landed softly and gracefully on the ground.

Just then—

“Die!”

A sudden strike flew at me, waiting for just the right moment. It was the expert assassination blade of a lieutenant lurking behind the others. 

I twisted mid-air, twice, watching the blade as it aimed for my vital point, and cut off his wrist with a single slice.

“Aaargh!”

‘Pathetic. Can’t even hold in a scream from the pain.’

After cutting down this weakling, who had less endurance than his underlings, I slipped back into the darkness.

“He’s escaping! Chase him!”

So much for the expensive safehouse—what a sad reality to have nowhere in this world to rest my head. 

I thought of that old, shabby hut from my childhood and my grandfather as I glanced at the stars shining in the night sky.

‘They are annoyingly bright. Damn it.’

I’d lived aggressively, but what had improved in my life since those days? I couldn’t even find a peaceful place.

And it was all because of the ‘Shadow King’ and his cursed lackey, that bald-headed, dough-faced bastard.

‘Gloomy guy. Nasty personality. No blood, no tears, no loyalty, no hair.’

Anyway, I sprinted through the alleys, jumping over obstacles and shaking off the pursuers until sweat dripped from my feet. The ones hiding here didn’t seem skilled enough since I lost them easily.

“… Good.”

At least I could catch my breath for now.

“Phew.”

Now, where was I in my story?

——-

Of course, there was a reason why a rootless orphan from the streets could dive into the underworld and become a legend.

I didn’t have any remarkable stroke of luck, but I did have a great talent. An overwhelming ability that few could rival.

To be honest, from the first time I held a blade, I knew I was born to wield it. Though I had never properly learned swordsmanship or mental discipline, even renowned swordsmen, retired knights, and hulking men with ogre blood couldn’t handle me.

“Pant… Pant… You… You were a born fighter, no, a swordsman. While we crossed blades, you absorbed everything from me and grew stronger, like a blood tree that thrives on flesh…”

“Did you just mimic my technique? How on earth…?”

“Why? Why can’t I, with all my power, kill someone as small and weak as you?”

Any technique I glimpsed with my eyes became mine, and any move I envisioned in my mind flawlessly manifested.

My vision was like a bird soaring through the sky, and my instincts were so sharply developed that I could even dodge blades aimed at my back. 

The enemy’s intentions were transparent to me, and my adaptability in situations was always precise.

‘In short, you could call me a thief who steals others’ sword techniques.’

Originally, Karzan as a warrior was like a blank canvas with no training or education. But I began drawing strokes on that blank space using stolen swordsmanship.

‘It was a possibility that didn’t exist in this world.’

Therefore, my sword could be described as a ‘martial art born from no formal martial training.’ Like a thorny vine growing without roots, wrapping around a rotting tree, and growing large like a towering tree.

A wandering swordsman once described my talent as follows:

“Such a waste. If you had been born into a noble family or an established clan, you would have advanced your family’s martial art several levels, or even become a grandmaster capable of creating an entirely new martial art.”

In other words, there was no one in the local underworld, or the underground world, who could stop me.

We quickly took control of territories and grew in power day by day.

But the underworld is a cold and ruthless world that doesn’t let young newbies run wild without consequences.

“Hey, are you one of Karzan’s lackeys?”

One day, a gang sent by a rival organization caused trouble in our territory. Unable to stand it any longer, one of my brothers stepped in, only to be severely beaten and dragged off.

It was an obvious trap. Even knowing it was a setup, I went in alone.

“It’s Karzan!”

“Boss, he came here alone! Hahaha!”

“Just as they said, he’s a madman. Did you come alone because you’re asking to be killed?”

“B-brother… I’m sorry.”

The moment I saw my brother, beaten to a pulp and gasping for air, I lost my sanity.

“Aaaah! It’s a monster! A monster!”

“Please, spare me. I’m sorry, please!”

After throwing all of them into a pool of blood, I carried my brother’s lifeless body back.

The bloodbath of that day made me a legend in the area. ‘Mad Dog’ became a nickname that people started using for me as if it were my title.

‘But the problem was that their backers were no small matter.’

The organization above them was too large, and we didn’t have a good excuse to withdraw. On top of that, they were skilled at maneuvering; they practically handed over all their profits as tribute, wagging their tails like starved dogs. Considering the money they’d given, their upper organization had no choice but to intervene.

‘If we stayed put, we’d all end up dead like dogs.’

I stormed into the place where their leader was and demanded a direct confrontation.

“What little pup dares seek out Daikin?”

‘Godfather Daikin,’ also known as ‘Dog Butcher Daikin.’

That man, known with a title either filled with fear and reverence or with hatred and resentment, was the absolute ruler of the underworld in the area.

“It’s me, Karzan.”

“So you’re the mad dog that’s been causing such a stir lately. Did you come all this way to confess your sins and offer up your neck?”

The towering figure, a head taller than most, exuded a bloody and murderous aura.

“Why would I do that? I came because I wanted to speak face-to-face.”

Instead of answering, Daikin turned around and asked, “Who’s in charge of security today?”

“I-I am, godfather.”

A man, who reeked of alcohol, stepped forward in fear. Daikin sliced his head off with a single stroke.

“……!”

“I turned a blind eye to you embezzling from the organization, but to come before me stinking of alcohol, neglecting your duties? A crime that must be paid for with death.”

Daikin looked down at the headless body and listed his crimes.

“Still, for a mere thug playing territory games with one of my subordinate organizations, and now coming here to see me without permission? Because of a young fool like you who doesn’t know his place, I just had to execute a lieutenant.”

Daikin threw the severed head, now a blood-soaked hunk of meat, at me.

“How will you repay this?”

“Quite brutal, aren’t you? But wasn’t he just drinking peacefully, assured there wasn’t a madman in the area foolish enough to storm the godfather Daikin’s stronghold? Quite unfortunate.”

“What did you say?”

“And if, thanks to me, you’ve removed a rotten branch, wouldn’t that be a gain? Seems like I should actually be receiving your thanks.”

“Madman. You’re shameless.”

“No need for long talk. I’ve come with a proposal you can’t refuse.”

“Hahaha!”

Daikin burst into laughter at my boldness.

“Interesting. Where did a guy like you come from? Fine, speak.”

My gamble had paid off. Instead of killing me, Daikin appreciated my talent and courage and allowed me into his ranks. Looking back, it was a lucky outcome. I was ready to lose a hand or even my life.

… And now.

“The perimeter’s been breached!”

“Squad three has been taken out!”

As I snapped out of my thoughts, I heard the shouts of the pursuers behind me.

“Damn it! How can we fail to capture a single man? This is pathetic!”

It was only natural.

Even in my inexperienced youth, I’d stormed hideouts with dozens lying in wait, and in my twenties, with skill and experience, I did the same. Thinking they could take me down with numbers alone was nothing but a fleeting summer night’s dream.

I might be slashed up and battered, but as long as I hadn’t fallen, I hadn’t lost yet.

———

The moon had sunk a bit lower.

How long had I been running?

‘Ah… I’m exhausted.’

I felt increasingly light-headed. I thought I’d done a decent job of stopping the bleeding, but I’d lost quite a bit of blood.

Without food, without rest, my body was reaching its limit.

“Stop right there!”

“Karzan, I’ll kill you!”

My pursuers were now in a frenzy. They threw aside any pretense of silence and shouted furiously.

“If you don’t want to die, stop!”

“Get caught, and I’ll make you suffer!”

‘Make up your mind—do you want me to stop or keep running?’

“You idiots, at least get your story straight before shouting.”

I looked back and raised my middle finger. In the underworld, even the most hardened criminals wouldn’t throw such an insult, so the reaction was intense.

“Bastard! If we catch you, we’ll make sure you die in agony!”

“You can forget about an easy death!”

Their killing intent was so palpable it sent a chill down my spine.

What had I done to deserve this? I suddenly felt a surge of anger and shouted back.

“You bastards, stop chasing me already!”

“Then hand it over, you insane bastard!”

One of the men in the lead, with a face twisted like a demon, shouted at me.

I knew his name.

‘Ivan.’

This guy…

He was the right-hand man, trusted confidant, hunting dog, loyalist, and slave of that dough-faced bastard who turned me into this mess. In other words, he was like the right-hand’s right-hand of the Shadow King.

‘What a creepy thought. Ugh, disgusting.’

I asked this scum, this extra arm attached to the right hand, “Ivan, is killing me really that important to you?”

Ivan brushed it off like I was talking nonsense.

“Cut the crap. If I get that item back, you mean nothing.”

“Oh, so you’re going to spare me?”

“No. Not that.”

“Worthless bastard.”

Where in the world is there a more unfair deal? I wasn’t about to surrender out of sheer frustration.

‘Anyway.’

I felt the small jewel box I had tucked away in my coat and launched myself forward with all my strength.

‘So, this is that important, huh?’

Alright then. Deciding I’d rather die running than get captured and still die, I charged into the endless darkness of the night.

“Hahahaha!”

It reminded me of my childhood. Laughing like a madman, I prayed to the night sky.

‘Dear Lord, dear Lord.’

Please let me be a righteous thief once again today.