Ji Dae-ho’s face hardened into a bitter expression.
He’d known about the holes in Jang I-seo’s body from personnel records. But...
"Your dantianian is completely shattered. Nine holes, no less. I could scarcely believe my eyes."
Was this truly the same body? Jang I-seo exhaled in quiet relief and turned his face away. It wasn’t a body he wanted seen under any circumstances—nor did he care to entertain futile discussions.
Yet Ji Dae-ho, oblivious to the tension, pressed on.
"Your inner energy leaks ceaselessly, never accumulating past a threshold. Unrefined, it leaves your meridians clogged with impurities."
I know. Who wouldn’t? This was his own flesh. He could recite every detail of the Nine Orifices Meridian System in his sleep.
"Your movements alone mark you as someone destined to stand above the martial world. But this body chains you to mediocrity. Comprehension alone can’t elevate you beyond first-rate."
Was this mockery? Anger flared, but one glance at Ji Dae-ho’s eyes snuffed it out.
Regret.
Profound, unflinching regret pooled in those eyes.
Jang I-seo smothered his temper and leveled a frosty stare. "Get to the point."
"Join Ho-Ryong Hall."
Jang I-seo’s eyes rounded. Join Ho-Ryong Hall? An advisor reduced to a subordinate? Absurd. Yet Ji Dae-ho’s unblinking gaze held no jest.
"That arrow strike? An ambush, no doubt. More will follow. The Butcher’s Chamber hunts unchecked under the Ma Clan’s banner."
"And this," Jang I-seo bit out, "from the man tasked with upholding order? What exactly have you been doing? I requested an apology from the Sa brothers, not a target painted on my back!"
"I’ll secure that apology myself—today, if you join us. Under my protection, none would dare touch you."
Jang I-seo’s eyes narrowed. So the Seventh Prince couldn’t—or wouldn’t—shield him. The implication curdled in his gut.
"Pity, then? For this wreck of a body?"
"Waste," Ji Dae-ho corrected. "Yang Yu of the Twin Demons called you worthless. Yang Yo named you peerless. I side with the latter. Your talent rots here. Remain at the Seventh Prince’s court, and the Ma Clan will devour you."
The man was serious. Laughter—dry, mirthless—escaped Jang I-seo. Obsessive, they’d said. To fixate on this ruined flesh...
"You overreach."
"Before leading this hall, I assessed warriors’ aptitudes. Took pride in it."
"A square peg in a round hole."
"Perhaps. Yet for you, it’s an opportunity. Work meaningful to the sect, not playing swordsman to a madman."
Meaningful. The word hung in the air. Jang I-seo’s reply came flat, devoid of hope:
"Fix this body. Then we’ll talk."
Ji Dae-ho leaned forward, fervent. "I’ll consult Elder Dok San-ma of the Six Elders."
"Misunderstanding me. Not even Hua Tuo risen from death could mend this. Give up."
"Even unfixable, you’d have purpose here. Train disciples. Research techniques. Anything—"
Jang I-seo’s head shook once, final.
“There’s only one thing I wish for: the Seventh Prince to become the sub-sect leader. I’ll decline any mediation with the Slaughterhouse. I’ll handle that matter myself from now on.”
“You…!”
Jang I-seo rose from the bed and put on his neatly folded outer robe, arm guards, and other belongings.
“Thank you for your concern. But further interference is unwelcome. I am unequivocally the Seventh Prince’s aide and his loyal subordinate. Let us pretend today’s conversation never happened. Do not follow me. I wish to be alone for a while.”
Jang I-seo took his weapon and strode out. Ji Dae-ho swallowed hard before speaking.
“If you ever reconsider, let me know. Your position will always remain open.”
Creak.
Jang I-seo answered with silence and left.
*
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing left for me in the Hoeryongdang.’
Jang I-seo glanced at the closed door and stepped outside.
Though Ji Dae-ho had called it a temporary outpost, the structure before him was far too grand to bear such a label.
High ceilings adorned with masterfully carved tiger motifs, and a scale surpassing even most manor houses.
Though age showed in the worn edges and cobwebbed corners—likely from decades of disuse—it retained an air of majesty.
“It seems many once lived here. The floor is unusually worn.”
He crouched and brushed his hand over the floor, finding cracks and patches smoothed by time. Such marks were typical of places trodden by countless feet over years.
“During the war’s peak, this must have been the busiest place alive.”
The conflict between the orthodox sects (Jeongpa), unorthodox sects (Sapa), and the Demon Cult (Magyo) had spanned centuries in martial history. This Hoeryongdang outpost was likely built over a hundred years ago.
“Should I have asked for directions out?”
Wait—did they actually stay behind just because I told them not to follow?
Jang I-seo smirked and stood, wandering aimlessly down the corridor. The building’s vastness surprised him, and soon he found himself far from where he’d begun.
He pushed open a cobwebbed door to reveal a kitchen. Judging by the dust-caked utensils, it hadn’t been used in decades.
Spotting a back door, he walked over and pushed it open. A staggering vista greeted him.
“That place…!”
A colossal cliff loomed over a low hill, its face pierced by a massive iron gate towering roughly 15 meters. On the cliff’s surface, enormous carved characters glared down:
Heavenly Demon Hall (天魔殿), Hidden Within the Cliffs.
This was the heart of Mount Cheon—the lair of the Heavenly Demon, the martial world’s most feared entity.
Thud, thud.
His heart pounded as if loneliness itself raged within him.
Of course it would.
Though this was now an era of peace, just nineteen years ago, the figure residing there had been the central enemy of the realm, a name that once made all tremble.
“I should’ve gone with Mao.”
Regret prickled his tongue. Merely glimpsing the Heavenly Demon Hall’s interior would have been a spy’s crowning achievement. Yet the Slaughterhouse had stolen that chance.
‘You gave me a gift. Now I’ll return the favor. You squandered your chance to end this with an apology. Wait—I’ll repay you tenfold.’
His expression cooled, then softened. Opportunities would come again. No need to rush.
As he turned to leave, buoyed by resolve—
“Hm?”
Jang I-seo halted mid-step and glanced back.
Then, he plopped down suddenly, lowering his body. In the distance, among the knee-high overgrown weeds, something inexplicably caught his attention.
‘A well?’
Yes. It was a well, its lid covered and surrounded by thickets. A strangely eerie well, entirely enclosed by bushes.
As if drawn by an unseen force, Jang Iseo approached and yanked the creaking lid open.
Dust erupted like foam. It was impossible to guess how long it had been since anyone last used it.
Peering inside, he saw a parched bottom. Not very deep. Clearly just a well past its prime.
There was nothing noteworthy to be found.
Except one thing.
Thud. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jang Iseo leapt in after scanning his surroundings.
Memories surged as he traced the walls with his hands. One by one. And then…….
‘This is……!’
He froze in shock.
Meanwhile, Mao, who had arrived earlier at the Heavenly Demon Hall’s main gate gate, hunched nervously, swallowing dry saliva repeatedly.
He had every reason to.
First, the towering bluish iron gate—a perpetual source of frustration. No matter how desperately he’d tried, it never budged, and even gazing at it now made his head spin.
Second.
“Did you come alone?”
A man robed entirely in white like a sorcerer, his face ghostly pale and clean-shaven.
A first-rank noble who assisted the sect leader, resided in the Heavenly Demon Hall, and reigned supreme alongside the Right Envoy.
The Left Envoy of Light, Baekya.
That was why.
“N-no. I’m alone. Ah—I mean, yes. Correct, alone.”
Mao stammered, scrambling to hide his unease. He stole a sidelong glance at the Left Envoy.
How does he remain middle-aged after all these years? Given that Baekya was the demon head from two generations prior, Mao couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly human.
“You have only one chance.”
The Left Envoy replied indifferently, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.
With a loose sleeve that revealed only elongated white nails, he gestured toward the gate.
“Proceed.”
The message was clear: Do what you came for and leave.
Mao nodded curtly and squared himself before the gate. Tilting his head back fully, he scowled. For someone whose stature was unmatched anywhere, this gate was absurdly oversized.
“Haa……”
After a deep breath, Mao focused.
The gate of the Heavenly Demon Demon Hall—the first trial for successors.
Every heir before him had long since opened it. Upon doing so, they’d received a gift and a task from the Heavenly Demon himself, their father.
Solving the task by the next dawn earned them another reward, fueling their meteoric rise in strength.
“Everyone except me—the genius Mao.”
But that was now a stale tale.
Because.
“I’ve unlocked the secret technique.”
At this audacious—and slightly deranged—claim, the Left Envoy’s eyebrow twitched. A secret technique?
“Now.” Mao spread his feet shoulder-width apart, face solemn.
“Now.” His left hand advanced; his right fist clenched and pulled back.
“Hrk—” His torso twisted sharply.
“Gwaaaaah—!” Whoomph! Intense heat erupted from Mao’s body, and the Left Envoy’s eyebrow arched higher.
The instant Mao thrust his fist forward—
Kwaaaaang—!
The Heavenly Demon Hall’s gate burst open.
#The Heavenly Demon Jin Woogwang (1)
