CH 31
“Ugh, aaah!”
Mao panicked at the sight of the flying sword, flailing backward until he toppled over. Clang! Dishes scattered across the floor as the Changlong Sword narrowly missed his chest. It felt like his lifespan had shrunk by a decade. But the crisis was only beginning.
Through his inverted vision, he saw the Celestial Demon smiling brightly down at him—Jin Wuguang, his adoptive father, fingers extended as though ready to fire a lethal Wind Blade.
“Fuck….”
Ping!
A pale Wind Blade shot across the table like a venomous needle. If this continued, it would pierce Mao’s forehead as he lay sprawled. What could he do? There was only one option.
“Raaaah!”
Mao roared like a battle cry and seized the Changlong Sword’s hilt as it grazed his chest. At the same time, he instinctively channeled a surge of extreme yang energy into his grip.
Then, something unprecedented unfolded.
Whooom!
‘Huh?!’
A crimson light erupted from the sword’s blade alongside scorching heat. What the hell was happening? No time to gawk—the Wind Blade would soon pierce him.
Mao reflexively twisted forward, spinning as he raised the sword to shield himself.
Krang!
“Gah!”
A deafening crash echoed through the room. Mao was thrown backward, screaming as he hit the floor. The Changlong Sword, once blazing with yang energy, cooled instantly. Groaning, Mao patted himself down.
“Am I… dead?”
Impossible.
“You’re not dead yet. Get up.”
“Huh?!”
Mao sprang to his feet, sword pointed forward. Jin Wuguang sat calmly at the table, arm propped as though nothing had happened.
“Few live after pointing a blade at me.”
“Ah….”
Mao hastily tried to sheathe the sword under his armpit instead of its scabbard. “Hot, hot!” he yelped, dropping it with a clang. He scrambled to retrieve it and knelt.
Such a scatterbrained child.
Jin Wuguang chuckled. “It seems the Changlong Sword has acknowledged you at last.”
“Huh? Acknowledged? This thing acknowledged me?”
“Yes.”
Mao shook his head in disbelief. The sword still radiated heat, steam curling from its blade. What was this feeling? His clenched hand trembled as if the sword itself were urging him—to rampage, to swing wildly.
They called it a divine weapon, but now it felt more like a demonic artifact.
“You’ve grown skilled at wielding it. Did that ‘benefactor’ teach you?”
“Ah, no?”
“Lying to me is a plea for death.”
“Y-yes! It was all that bastard! He’s utterly shameless!”
“Oh?”
Jin Wuguang smirked at Mao’s sudden shift.
“Yes! A total son of a bitch! But… it’s not time to kill him yet.”
So eager to curse, yet so deflated now. Jin Wuguang softened his tone. “You’ve grown fond of this benefactor.”
“Well….”
“Enough. I understand.”
“Th-thank you!”
Mao exhaled in relief, grinning.
But then—
“Prove it.”
Jin Wuguang tilted his sculpted jaw, inspecting his immaculate nails.
“Prove this benefactor is worth sparing. Do it yourself.”
“Why should I—?”
Mao froze under Jin Wuguang’s icy glare.
“Ah, understood! But… how?”
“Next time, block my attack without that sword.”
“Block… what?”
Jin Wuguang silently aimed his index finger at Mao’s forehead.
No way…
“You’re joking, right?”
Jin Wuguang withdrew his hand, resuming his nail inspection.
“Getting injured is permissible.”
“That Wind Blade?! How am I supposed to—?”
“If he’s truly valuable, he’ll teach you how.”
Is this a joke or a fart?
“What if I fail?”
“Then I lose a child. Naturally, the ‘benefactor’ outlives his usefulness and dies too.”
What the fuck?! Why does it always end like this?
“You have until tomorrow’s breakfast. Start now if you wish.”
Swoosh—
A sinister energy erupted from Jin Wuguang’s fingertip.
“N-next time! I’ll dodge it then!”
“Good. Leave.”
“Yes!”
Dazed, Mao stumbled toward Jin Wuguang instead of the door.
“The exit is there,” Jin Wuguang said, chin nudging the correct direction.
“Yes!”
Mao turned but soon spun back, whispering urgently:
“Father.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been shortsighted. Let’s just kill him. He’ll cling to my ankles eventually. I’ll mince his hands first.”
“…Dodge next time. I wish to keep you alive.”
“Yes…! May your glory endure eternally!”
Mao saluted with a fist and left. Jin Wuguang stared at the empty doorway, murmuring:
“…It’s ‘may you live long and prosper.’”
‘This…!’
Meanwhile, in the Celestial Demon Hall, Jang Yi-seo stood frozen in shock, oblivious to the life-and-death drama unfolding elsewhere.
One reason:
‘What did that person do…?’
He’d found traces of him in a well near the Ho-ryong Hall outpost—evidence of the Thunderbolt Technique, White Thunder, and the Thunder Army Three left by the predecessor.
His legacy.
‘Even this well has cryptic braille….’
Just like when he’d first discovered the Celestial Demon’s archives. Deformed braille inscriptions. The very scenario he’d dreaded had come to pass.
“Could he have been a warrior from the Horong Hall?”
It’s possible. After all, this was the Horong Hall outpost in the front courtyard of the Cheonma Shrine—a place not open to just anyone.
But this incident was too ancient to trace now.
There was only one surefire method.
As the saying goes: Seeing is believing.
“……Let’s go.”
Jang Iseo pressed the protruding bricks one by one, following the exact sequence inscribed in the secret code.
Grrrrr!
A faint tremor shook the air as the walls split apart, unveiling a hidden passage.
Drip, drip.
The sound of water droplets hitting the floor thundered through the silence.
It had been roughly a quarter-hour since he entered the secret path within the well.
The interior was pitch-black, devoid of torches. As the ceiling gradually lowered, he crouched, then crawled.
Yet Jang Iseo remained certain: a relic like the Cheonma Go lay hidden at the path’s end.
He pressed onward. Only after another half-hour did a smile finally touch his lips.
“Just as I thought…”
At the path’s end stood a torch holder, exactly as he’d anticipated.
The Cheonma Go. It was here too.
Steadying his trembling hands, Jang Iseo turned the holder twice—click, click.
Grrrrrrrl!
The wall shuddered and parted, unleashing a burst of blinding light.
Jang Iseo shielded his eyes, waiting for them to adjust. Cautiously, he bent forward to peer inside.
Something obscured the entrance, but a wall loomed twenty paces ahead. Whether anyone waited beyond remained unclear.
But.
‘You don’t need eyes to know.’
Jang Iseo pressed his ear to the floor. Sound never lied.
Even the most concealed presence betrayed itself through heartbeat vibrations. Detecting them demanded rare skill—luckily, Jang Iseo possessed both training and talent.
‘No one.’
His eyes sharpened. No one within fifty paces. Safe enough.
Hoo.
He steadied his breath and crawled out—
GRRRRRL!
A deafening roar erupted behind him.
Whirling around, he found the entrance vanished.
‘Damn!’
His hands scrabbled over seamless stone. No trace remained. No retreat.
‘Forward, then.’
What’s spilled cannot be gathered. Swallowing dryly, he crawled until he emerged fully.
An open space unfolded before him.
A vast chamber. A door etched with strange patterns dominated the northwest. Five-tiered shelves crammed with herbs lined the walls—the very shelves that had concealed the entrance.
‘What…?!’
Awe—no, rapture—seized him. He drifted closer, inhaling deeply.
Sssss, haa.
Priceless. The fragrance alone sang of fortunes. These were spirit herbs, radiant with energy, each worth a king’s ransom.
Why were so many gathered here?
More pressingly:
‘Their preservation… they’re not ancient. Does someone still tend this place?’
His mind churned.
Who?
Could Baekroe’s predecessors live on? An unimaginable thought. The murals had suggested figures from a distant past…
‘Investigate first.’
Jang Iseo strode past the herbs without hesitation. Only fools acted on greed unprepared. Preparation bred wealth—his lifelong creed.
Hugging the wall, he crab-walked to a sealed door. Pushing did nothing.
‘The Demon Wall’s principle?’
The blue-tinged carvings felt familiar. After listening intently, he channeled inner energy into the door.
Wooong!
The patterns glowed. Drrrrl! The door slid left.
‘Yes!’
Like the Demon Wall, it responded to energy. Nodding, Jang Iseo stepped into an empty corridor.
Shhh. Concealing his presence, he exited.
Grrrl! The door shut automatically.
‘Remarkable engineering. Who crafted this?’
Unanswerable. In over a decade with the Demon Sect, he’d never heard of this place.
Five identical doors lined the corridor. His suspicion crystallized—
‘All hiding treasures?’
He swallowed thickly, repeating the process at the next door.
Drrrrl!
Light exploded outward—gleaming weapons reflecting torchlight.
‘Madness…’
A curse escaped him. His grin stretched ear to ear; greed blurred his vision.
A windfall! Even from afar, these were masterpieces—weapons meant to dazzle eyes, not just spill blood.
Drrrrl!
The door closed, jolting him from his trance.
Decision made:
‘From today, the Cheonma Go is mine.’
