Chapter 33: Eyes Burning Bright Red
The ground wasn’t collapsing, and there was no wind. Yet they struggled to open their eyes as if burdened by an invisible weight, gasping for breath amid the chaos.
It was a mad spectacle that would make anyone question what they were witnessing.
The box containing the Heavenly Thunder sat undisturbed in its place.
To add to the absurdity, the Seomun clan leader drew his sword and mimicked thrusting it into empty air. He then abruptly killed a nearby swordsman with a single strike before collapsing to the ground in a mockery of a crash.
As he fell, he shouted:
Do not be fooled! This illusion merely deceives our senses! The wind... the cold air...
Even witnessing this firsthand, I struggled to believe my eyes.
“Great Lord, does this mean the Seomun clan is currently falling?”
Chwi Ungae asked.
Hugong nodded.
“They’re nearing the ground.”
This was the expanded formation Hugong had ordered Yun to deploy. Normally, the inner cliff marked the boundary of the external formation, but during emergencies, it could envelop the entire mountain while retaining strategic flexibility.
The Seomun clan, oblivious to this, had confidently boasted about deploying the Heavenly Thunder outside the formation’s reach.
“Kuehl-kuehl-kuehl! So this is why Cheonhwa Seogo is called a celestial fortress. Kuehl-kuehl...”
“No words can do justice to this spectacle.”
“Look! They’re about to hit the ground!”
As they murmured in awe, the collision loomed. The Seomun clan members, who had been spreading their limbs to slow their fall, now clutched their heads and screamed. Within the illusion, their descent had accelerated horrifically, and the ground rushed toward them as if to shatter their bodies.
Panic erupted among the onlookers.
Hugong watched their frenzy with a furrowed brow.
‘Why the hysterics? Have they never encountered an illusionary formation before?’
While Cheonhwa Seogo’s formations were renowned for their precision, such hyper-realistic illusions weren’t unique to them.
Objectively, Cheonhwa Seogo’s formations leaned toward elegance and restraint. Even without mentioning the Demon Sect, Sahwangcheon’s Ghost Formation—where slaughtered ghosts endlessly resurrected to attack, and a mere brush against them incinerated clothing—far surpassed this in lethality.
Once, while infiltrating Sahwangcheon’s forbidden zone, Hugong had grown bored of killing regenerating ghosts and vaporized everything within a hundred zhang. Demonic and unorthodox sects specialized in formations that traded refinement for raw brutality.
Yet these men reacted as though witnessing the unimaginable. Hugong found their naivety almost pitiable.
“Kyaaaaah!”
“Nooooo!”
“It’s just an illusion! Why—?!”
The impact came.
Desperate screams mingled with the sickening cracks of bursting flesh and splintering bones.
The aftermath was grotesque.
Ten of thirty-three members died instantly. Five had smashed their skulls against the ground, brains spilling out. Three snapped their necks. One bent his spine backward until it broke, choking on his final breath—likely幻想着陆在岩石上，背部承受了冲击. The last had been killed earlier by Seomun Chu himself.
Eleven others suffered mortal injuries, wheezing their last. The survivors writhed like crippled insects, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Even Seomun Chu’s left arm hung limp, blood gushing from his mouth with each cough.
“How can illusions break necks and kill?!”
“I—I crushed my own face! What devilry is this?!”
“Are we trapped in the illusion?!”
Chaos reigned. Illusions shouldn’t cause physical harm—yet here they were. Baek Hwajangju came closest to the truth:
“Are the mind and body truly separate?
Can imagination alone fever the flesh? Can grief rupture organs?
Why does blood boil?
Why do tears flow unbidden?
Why does the heart race from a longing gaze?
There’s a reason we speak of ‘dying from sorrow.’
A decade prior, Mok Hyeol Gongja perished this way. Hyeon Eum Sinnyeo had merely claimed ice needles already lurked in his veins—without even deploying them. He spent the night trembling in terror and froze to death by morning.
Had he never known of the needles’ effects, he’d have lived. The Seomun clan now faced the same fate: by accepting the illusion as reality, they suffered real wounds.”
Hugong signaled the guards.
They swiftly restrained Seomun Chu and the Black Flame Demon Extermination Squad, separating the dead from the dying. Those with lighter injuries, including Seomun Chu, had their acupoints sealed.
The guards’ efficiency drew silent awe from the observing noble leaders.
‘They anticipated this outcome.’
They’d assumed Hugong summoned them for protection—a delusion. Cheonhwa Seogo had openly challenged the Seomun clan alone. The invitation was simply to witness the truth.
“Great Lord...”
A guard whispered, inquiring about the mortally wounded.
Hugong assessed them. Death was the cleanest option—recovery was impossible. But this decision belonged to the Seomun clan. He turned to their elder, Seomun Bong.
“Elder, your thoughts?”
“Hmm...”
Seomun Bong sighed. “Keeping them alive would only prolong suffering. End it.”
Hugong nodded. The guards moved, severing the critically injured from life. Only thirteen survived, including Seomun Chu.
They reconvened in the inner hall—Cheonhwa Seogo’s Great Lord and seven faction leaders. Hugong allowed Yun to observe, a rare learning opportunity. When Chwi Ungae and his disciples had visited earlier, he’d done the same.
Seomun Bong opened the meeting.
“I am ashamed. As a Seomun elder, I failed to prevent this catastrophe. Seomun Chu always schemed to consolidate power by purging outsiders, but I never imagined such depravity.”
Baek Hwajangju shook her head.
“None here hold the right to shame. Had Cheonhwa Seogo not acted, we’d still be mourning imaginary bandits.”
Yeom Hwagakju sighed. “This incident reveals how much we’ve overlooked. We call ourselves orthodox sects yet stood idle—disgraceful.”
The Cheongwol Mun leader and Iron Gold Association head echoed the sentiment. The self-flagellation threatened to stretch for hours until Chwi Ungae intervened:
“Enough! We’re not done yet. Finish the job before dawn, then mourn or celebrate.”
Plans solidified within an hour: strike the Seomun clan tonight with each faction’s elites. Debates centered only on timing and priority targets.
Hugong observed, reminded of tedious Martial Alliance meetings. A few familiar faces flashed in his memory, but he dismissed thoughts of visiting. He’d barely reached the Sage Realm, mastering only one of three great defenses. At best, he’d match Chwi Ungae in a sword fight—no certainty of victory.
“Great Lord, your thoughts?” Chwi Ungae asked, drawing all eyes.
They sought his final approval—not mere courtesy, but assurance nothing was overlooked.
“Proceed as planned. With your capabilities, success is certain.”
Chwi Ungae scowled. “Odd how calm you are. Like a war-hardened veteran. Annoying, these geniuses.”
‘Why tense over the Seomun clan? Save that for the Four Great Families—Namgung, Zhuge, Moyong, Peng.’
“Let’s depart.”
As Chwi Ungae rose, ear-splitting screams erupted. The door burst open. Socheongaek rushed in, shouting:
“Senior Brother! Elders! The Seomun members are rampaging! Their eyes are burning red—dormant energy activation!”
The hall emptied, leaving only Hugong and Yun.
“Brother, what’s happening?”
“Who knows?”
But Hugong already understood.
‘Dormant energy activation... Typical Seomun Chu.’
