Ch 36
#We Need to Hold Another Banquet (1)
Chwi Hong-ran cautiously opened her mouth as she watched the silent Jang Yi-seo.
“……Please let me know when it’s convenient for you. I’ll wait at Chwiseonru.”
She was implying she would listen when he was ready to speak. Truly thoughtful. Jang Yi-seo nodded briefly in apology and replied.
“Thank you. Go ahead first. I’ll come find you later.”
“Yes. Then.”
As Chwi Hong-ran disappeared after waving goodbye, Mao and Jang Yi-seo immediately stiffened their expressions and began speaking bluntly.
“Hey, Jang Yi-seo. I’ve been curious for a while now. Why do you really look like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Got a boil on your ass?”
“What are you even saying?”
“You look exactly like a demon cultist.”
“Then aren’t we demon cultists, not orthodox sect members?”
“It’s different. I’m a righteous follower of our sect, but you look like a madman obsessed with demonic arts. Look at your eyes right now. You look like an assassin from a slaughterhouse.”
“Enough.”
“So what’s the deal? At first, I thought it was because of me, but you’ve been acting weird ever since you woke up. Should I say you look angry?”
It’s because of your father. Jang Yi-seo let out a deep sigh.
As they say, prolonged darkness stains the soul. He’d lived in the demon cult for over a decade, doing all sorts of things—some undeniably immoral. But deep down, he’d never forgotten the spirit of a righteous person. Yet here he was, driven mad by demonic energy…
He exhaled sharply.
“Enough nonsense. From now on, training is our only path to survival. Steel your resolve.”
“Hmph. Think I can’t do it? If I last a month here, I’ll avoid the Wind of Death, right?”
That alone won’t suffice, but it’s a start.
As Jang Yi-seo nodded, Mao smirked and tapped the back of his neck with the Changryongdo.
“Alright! Let’s try. I’m not stopping here anyway. We just need to get inside, right?”
Mao boldly stood before the entrance again. In the past, he’d have cursed and gone drinking. But now—
‘I opened the Heavenly Demon Hall myself. This is nothing.’
The reborn Chilso Palace. Its first trial: the Gate of Fortune and Misfortune. Mao took a deep breath.
“Raaaaaah—!”
He charged forward like a bull.
And then—
“Ugh! Ack!”
Iron clubs pummeled him from both sides. He collapsed after two steps, tears streaming.
“Jang Yi-seo… it hurts…”
Jang Yi-seo scratched his forehead. With deliberate steps, he approached and yanked the Changryongdo from Mao’s grip.
“I… think I’ll sleep elsewhere starting today.”
“What?”
“Are you insane? Let me in! How am I supposed to take all these hits?!”
“Why get hit? The path’s wide enough.”
“Then dodge? You try it!”
As Mao gestured angrily, Jang Yi-seo gave him a pitying look and stepped inside.
Swish! Iron rods shot out like arrows. Jang Yi-seo tilted his head back, dodging effortlessly.
“Huh?”
Another step. A rod thrust from the lower right. He jumped lightly, evading again.
“What? It’s this easy?”
He took natural steps forward—tap, tap.
Swishswishswish!
Five rods fired simultaneously. Jang Yi-seo crouched, rolled forward, and—in a final flourish—blocked one rod with his palm. The recoil launched him to the opposite wall. He stepped sideways three times before landing inside the gate.
“Wow…”
Mao forgot his mockery and clapped in awe. A perfect performance. Jang Yi-seo turned indifferently.
“Did you watch?”
“Huh? Yeah.”
“Good.”
Good? What’s good? As Mao gaped, Jang Yi-seo turned and entered the Chilso Palace.
“Hey! Wait!”
“What?”
“You’re leaving me?!”
“Figure it out yourself.”
“Just today! Help me! My stomach’s killing me—I’ve been too tense to shit for half a month! You know how pampered I am—I can’t go anywhere but home!”
Nonsense from a former floor-sweeper. Jang Yi-seo scoffed.
“Fine. Here’s the method: Stay calm. Accept everything. Eventually, those rods will feel slow.”
“Calmly… accept it?”
Jang Yi-seo nodded gravely. This was the first lesson of the Gate of Fortune and Misfortune:
Perception.
What separates martial artists from ordinary people? Reflexes? Trained movements?
Partially. But the core difference is perception—the awareness that anything could be a threat or opponent. This mental readiness is a martial artist’s true awakening. The easiest way to hone it? Befriend danger.
Of course…
Jang Yi-seo chuckled, stepping mercilessly into the palace.
“Hurry. No dinner if you’re late.”
“You heartless bastard! Just watch—I’m Mao!”
Swish—CRACK!
“one hundred million”
A long period of suffering seemed inevitable.
*
“Oh…”
Jang Yi-seo stepped inside and let out a faint gasp at the sight of the newly transformed Chilso Palace. He had expected Zhuge Guilong to handle the internal mechanisms flawlessly, but he hadn’t anticipated such meticulous attention to the exterior. The main hall, where Mao had once resided, had shed its shabby appearance. Red-painted wood, black walls, and deep gray roof tiles now blended together harmoniously. Beside it, a small garden featured a stone pond and a modest table with chairs for tea. While he knew Zhuge Guilong was capable, this level of refinement was unexpected. Most striking was the newly constructed two-story annex that would now serve as Jang Yi-seo’s residence.
He did all this in just half a month? A monster.
Shoddy work might have been forgivable given the timeline, but such negligence was unthinkable for someone as fastidious as Zhuge Guilong. Countless resources and laborers must have been mobilized, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was the cost, not the payer—after all, it was Mao’s burden to bear.
Creak.
Jang Yi-seo pushed open the annex door without hesitation, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Useful.”
His approval was evident. The first floor boasted a red-lacquered wooden floor, rugged pillars, and a lone staircase—an ideal space for training. Upstairs, two empty rooms flanked either side of a corridor leading to a large chamber with a window overlooking the main hall. This would be his new dwelling.
“Hah.”
After touring the annex, Jang Yi-seo returned to the first floor and sat cross-legged in the center. Though Chilso Palace had been remodeled to awaken Mao’s senses, Jang Yi-seo now faced his own trial.
Whoosh!
Placing a hand on his dantian, he lightly circulated his energy. His veins darkened to pitch black as a vile aura erupted from his body—the inner energy of the Heavenly Demon. This energy seeped into him, triggering a transformation. Yet anyone versed in martial arts would recognize the absurdity of this scene. It was the pinnacle technique known as Body Separation Transmission, typically used by masters to pass their energy to disciples on the brink of death. Success required days of fasting to purify the body, followed by Hair Removal and Marrow Cleansing to unblock meridians. Only after mastering the corresponding mental technique could a disciple risk a thirty-percent chance of survival—with the master’s hands pressed firmly against their back.
“But the Heavenly Demon tossed it to me like scraps to a stray dog. Didn’t even lay a finger on me.”
Even after experiencing it, disbelief lingered. Yet the greater absurdity was this:
“To think I’d inherit the Heavenly Demon’s energy for free.”
A spy now wielded the sect leader’s power.
“Hah.”
Absurd or not, he had to confirm the truth. Jang Yi-seo exhaled, converting the demonic energy within him into lightning.
『Lightning Transformation Art』
Crack!
His energy crackled into lightning, completing the Great Circulation in an instant. He jolted in shock. Though always swift, this speed was incomparable. Had the Great Circulation ever felt so effortless?
“This… this is the Heavenly Demon’s power…”
He felt invincible—a euphoric thrill. Without pause, he pushed the technique to its limits.
Crackle!
Lightning surged around him, his hair spreading outward like a demon’s tendrils. Raising a hand, he stared at the energy leaking from his fingertips and gasped.
“The lightning… it’s turned black?!”
The technique drew from inner energy, and the Heavenly Demon’s tainted aura had altered its hue.
“To be influenced this deeply…”
It was mystifying. The energy felt sharper, more destructive.
Whoosh.
Releasing the technique, his hair settled as pure demonic energy reclaimed his body.
“Hmm…”
He was undeniably stronger. Not through increased volume, but a transformed source. The Lightning Transformation Art’s efficacy had soared—a once-in-a-lifetime boon.
The problem?
Whoosh! Black veins bulged across his skin as his eyes flooded with malice.
“Ugh…”
A primal urge to slaughter everything clawed at his mind. Overexertion accelerated the demonic energy’s corrosion—his body couldn’t endure the leakage from his damaged dantian. This was the Heavenly Demon’s “gift”: the absence of the Heavenly Demon Divine Technique needed to control the energy.
It meant only one end.
Madness or death.
A fucking miserable conclusion.
