The Cavern Beneath the Altar
Is this that bastard Yoma's handiwork as well?
Given the sheer breadth of grotesque atrocities the demonic elder had indulged in throughout his life, having one more sinister trick up his sleeve was hardly a shock. Even so, manipulating living men like marionettes was a particularly foul and troublesome art.
Crack!
An Anhui Mo Clan warrior lunging from the flank was pulverized where he stood, his shattered body slamming into the dirt as Namgung Su touched down beside Yun.
"Did you not hear a single word I said?!" Namgung Su barked.
"You already know the answer," Yun replied without looking at him. "I'm deliberately ignoring you."
"What did you say?!"
Smash!
Another charging Mo Clan pugilist was batted out of the air, turned into a bloody ruin before he even hit the ground. Namgung Su was clearly venting the fury Yun inspired onto the nearest unfortunate targets.
"What, were you actually planning to walk away and leave this disaster behind?" Yun asked in his usual languid drawl.
"……."
Namgung Su clamped his mouth shut and swept his gaze across the street. Screaming civilians fled in sheer terror, pursued relentlessly by the men of the Anhui Mo Clan, who advanced with the eerie, mechanical precision of wooden puppets. Though he had long regarded chivalry and righteousness as the naive delusions of fools, the slaughter unfolding before him was far too grotesque to ignore. To turn his back and feel nothing would mean he was deficient not merely in chivalric virtue, but in basic humanity.
"…Warriors of the Namgung Clan, hear me!" Having reached his conclusion, Namgung Su's roar echoed over the din of screaming townsfolk. "Cut down these wretched Mo dogs!"
"Yes, Elder!"
The swordsmen of the Namgung Clan surged forward in unison, blades singing as they joined the fray. Naturally, Namgung Su had not experienced a sudden spiritual awakening to the path of chivalry; his sharp mind was already calculating the angles at frantic speed.
These bastards have lost their minds.
A seasoned master of Namgung Su's caliber could hardly miss the hollow, unfocused glaze coating the eyes of the Mo Clan fighters. Deranged by whatever madness held them, their martial arts were sloppy, their strikes lacked inner weight, and they exhibited not the slightest shred of tactical coordination.
This is an opportunity!
Whatever had caused this frenzy, the Mo Clan was currently in the midst of butchering innocent civilians. Who in the martial world could possibly reprimand or punish the Namgung Clan for putting a stop to such butchery? If anything, they would be showered with endless praise across the Central Plains.
Under the unimpeachable mantle of righteousness, we can exterminate these weakened dogs once and for all!
Even if the Mo Clan somehow survived this catastrophe, the crippling blow to their military might would be irreversible. While basic human conscience was a factor, the chance to secure a massive political and strategic boon for the Namgung Clan was an opportunity too sweet to pass up. His plan was simple: slaughter as many Mo Clan fighters as possible before any genuine danger materialized.
Seeing the Namgung Clan take the field, the Beggars' Sect and the Zhuge Clan leaped into the fray as well. Neither faction was shameless enough to avert their eyes and claim it was none of their concern amidst such brazen slaughter. Every reinforcement was an elite—at least a First-Rate master—and within moments, the blood splashing across the stones belonged almost exclusively to the Mo Clan.
Yet that initial advantage proved short-lived.
Clang!
"Kuh!"
A Zhuge Clan swordsman was violently repelled, stumbling backward several paces. Looming before him stood a towering Mo Clan martial artist radiating dense Saber Thread from his heavy blade. The high-level masters of the Anhui Mo Clan had finally entered the slaughter.
Like their subordinates, their martial execution was pitifully crude compared to their usual refined standards. Nevertheless, a deranged master was still infinitely more lethal than an ordinary pugilist, and they possessed overwhelming numbers.
Clang! Clash! Claaang!
The ferocious tempo of clashing steel multiplied across the streets. Aside from a select few—Namgung Yun, Namgung Su, Hong Jong, and Yang Woo—the sword forms of the allied fighters began to waver under the relentless tide. And before long, even that handful of elites found their breathing room stripped away.
Boom!
Parrying a vicious arc of Saber Ganggi leveled squarely at his neck, Namgung Su ground his teeth as he recognized the man before him.
"Mo Seok-heon."
The member of the Mo Clan whom the Namgung Clan detested above all others had taken the field.
Craaash!
Another concussive blast erupted nearby, this one directed at Hong Jong. Swirling his unadorned wooden staff in a sweeping circle to absorb the kinetic shock, the old beggar squinted at the imposing figure blocking his path.
"It has been quite some time, Clan Head Mo."
"……."
"Never did I imagine we would cross paths under such strange circumstances. Tell me, is there even a sliver of reason left inside that skull of yours? If there is, be a good fellow and give this old beggar a sign I can recognize."
KABOOM!
"…Well, that certainly wasn't a friendly gesture," Hong Jong muttered, ducking beneath a brutal cleave. "So you truly have lost your mind."
Mo Seok-won offered no answer, his lifeless eyes locked forward as he raised his blade once more. Hong Jong readjusted his grip on the staff, his expression turning solemn.
Holding out like this won't last long.
The Anhui Mo Clan possessed vastly superior numbers in both foot soldiers and Peak Realm masters. If this meat grinder dragged on, the allied force would eventually be swallowed whole and annihilated by the sheer violence of attrition.
And yet we cannot simply tuck our tails and leave the civilians to die.
Judging by the rabid fervor driving the Mo Clan, they appeared fully prepared to put every man, woman, and child in the city to the sword. Abandoning them went against what little conscience the old beggar still retained.
Still, if our strength proves insufficient, there is only so much one can do.
He would push himself to the absolute limit, but if annihilation became inevitable, retreat was the only rational choice.
Come to think of it, where did that brat wander off to?
Given Namgung Yun's loud declarations about walking the path of righteousness and chivalry, he was the kind of fool who might fight to his dying breath before taking a single step backward. Had he not plunged headlong into an unfamiliar formation just days ago to rescue the Zhuge Clan? Hong Jong could not allow a young man with such boundless promise to throw his life away here.
I can't let him die. Even if I have to drag him away by the collar, I'll pull him out of this mess.
Setting aside his personal fondness for the boy, Namgung Yun was an indispensable pillar for the future of the Orthodox faction. He resolved to enlist the Flash Thunder Sword to help extract him.
First, he had to locate him.
"Hm?"
Hong Jong blinked, his eyes darting across the street. Yun was gone. He had been lopping off heads and exchanging blows only moments ago, yet now the boy was nowhere to be seen.
Don't tell me he was taken down already…
A knot of anxiety tightened in the old beggar's chest. Yet the only corpses carpeting the cobbles belonged to the Mo Clan and the slaughtered townsfolk.
"Flash Thunder Sword!" Hong Jong yelled over the din.
"What is it?!" Namgung Su barked, locking blades with Mo Seok-heon.
"Where is the Little Chivalrous Hero?"
"Yun? He should be right over—!"
Namgung Su's voice choked in his throat. Only now did he realize that his kinsman had completely vanished from the battlefield.
What kind of sorcery is this? Where could that little monster have gone?!
To slip out of sight right under the noses of two Peak Realm masters while engaged in high-stakes combat was nothing short of miraculous. While Namgung Su frantically scanned the alleys in rising agitation, Hong Jong let out a sudden, dry chuckle and emptied his mind of worry.
Knowing that rascal, he must have cooked up some ridiculous scheme.
He decided to trust that the young rogue would casually stroll back later, dragging some fresh absurdity behind him.
…Wait, that fellow Yang Woo is missing as well.
The two youths had seemed remarkably in sync from the moment they met; had they planned this disappearance together?
Aigoo, the young ones leaving an old man in the dark! Fine, go ahead and do whatever your hearts desire.
Casting aside his concerns, Hong Jong brought his wooden staff around to intercept Mo Seok-won's descending saber, focusing entirely on the lethal fight before him.
Namgung Yun had slipped away into the shadows the exact moment Mo Seok-heon and Mo Seok-won entered the fray to tie down Namgung Su and Hong Jong. He was well aware that continuing the clash head-on would only result in their steady slaughter.
And yet, turning tail and running is out of the question.
Fleeing was not chivalry. At the same time, mindlessly swinging his blade until he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers held zero appeal.
I am not the Heavenly Demon right now.
Raw martial dominance was not an option with his current internal energy reserves; he had to play a smarter hand. It was then that the dying words of Mo Seokdo echoed through his mind.
The Fiend's Secret Cavern. He said it was hidden right inside the Anhui Mo Clan estate.
No matter how deeply he considered the situation, the collective madness consuming the Mo Clan had to be linked to Yoma. It was impossible that their entire lineage was born with an innate affliction that spontaneously triggered murderous mania. Given their foul temperaments, there was perhaps a microscopic chance of madness running in the blood, but even they were not lunatics enough to massacre their own city unprovoked.
The answer must be down in that cavern.
When dealing with something foul and cursed, the rational response was to raze it to the bedrock. Yet instead of burying the cavern and washing their hands of demonic corruption, the Mo Clan had erected grand pavilions directly over it to safeguard the underground chambers for over a century. It stood to reason that something invaluable was concealed within.
Their defenses were usually impregnable, but right now, slipping in should be child's play.
If the sentries left behind had also succumbed to the madness, the estate would be an empty shell. Even if a few retained their senses, the compound was bound to be paralyzed by chaos.
Just as I thought.
Approaching the outer perimeter of the Anhui Mo Clan estate, Yun did not sense a single human presence. Even the gatekeepers who typically guarded the entrance were nowhere to be found. Taking no chances, he cleared the outer wall in a single, soundless leap rather than passing through the front gates.
No one rose to challenge him.
Muffling his footfalls, Yun slipped deeper into the vast compound.
Tacky to the very core.
Built with zero regard for architectural harmony or natural elegance, the estate was the textbook manor of an arrogant upstart who had simply drowned the grounds in gold. Even the modest inn where he was currently staying possessed far more aesthetic refinement than this gaudy monstrosity.
Penetrating deep into the inner sanctum, Yun spotted an anomalous compound nestled in the most secluded corner of the inner courtyard. The surrounding walls here were built substantially higher than anywhere else on the grounds, and the narrow wooden gate leading inside looked barely wide enough for a single man to pass through sideways.
The neighboring pavilions are built absurdly close together, too.
Anyone with basic tactical sense could see the layout had been designed specifically to prevent stealthy infiltrations from the rooftops. While it was common for prominent clans to fortify their strongholds against emergencies, concentrating such paranoid defenses into a single, isolated courtyard was glaringly obvious.
You might as well hang a banner announcing that you're hiding your greatest treasure inside.
Yun lightly vaulted that wall as well.
Standing in the center of the secluded courtyard was a solitary, imposing hall.
An ancestral shrine.
So they had prepared a convenient excuse in the event an outsider stumbled upon the compound. After all, who would dare question a martial family for heavily fortifying the sacred shrine where they honored their forebears? Naturally, Yun did not believe for a fraction of a second that this building was intended for filial piety.
Tinkle!
Hm?
The crisp, unnatural chime of a bell drifted into his ears, immediately followed by a muffled, agonized scream. The sound was coming from inside the hall.
Don't tell me the ghosts of the Mo Clan are throwing a party?
Yun slipped across the threshold and stepped into the shrine. True to its guise, ancestral tablets and bronze incense burners rested upon the grand altar, the sweet, cloying aroma of burnt sandalwood lingering in the air. However, a wide, gaping trapdoor set squarely into the stone floor proved beyond any doubt that this hall was anything but a peaceful sanctuary of prayer.
Yun slipped into the dark opening, descending a flight of worn stone stairs.
The first thing to greet his eyes along the damp subterranean corridor was a familiar insignia carved into the stone wall: the sacred emblem of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
Those Mo bastards. They copied it from here.
It was the exact source from which they had butchered the mimicry he had discovered earlier within the Demon Spirit Dark Robe Formation.
He advanced silently down the corridor.
The noises grew steadily louder—the rhythmic chime of the bell, pitiful weeping, and, woven beneath it all, the venomous rasp of mocking laughter.
Step.
When Yun reached the cavernous chamber at the end of the passage, the tableau awaiting him was remarkably close to what he had anticipated.
Huddled in a distant corner were the trembling non-combatant women and elders of the Anhui Mo Clan. Beside them lay dozens of Mo warriors, battered, bloodied, and pinned flat against the stone floor by their own kin. And holding them down with deadened, hollow stares were fellow Mo Clan swordsmen, completely devoid of self-awareness.
A short distance away from the captives sat a solitary figure, perched casually atop a jagged stone outcrop, looking directly at Namgung Yun.
He was cloaked in flowing black robes, his face thoroughly concealed behind an ominous mask—a man who practically radiated the aura of an assassin lurking in the shadows.
"Well, well. An unexpected guest," the man in black drawled, his voice muffled by the cloth.
"You're Namgung Yun, aren't you?"
"You know who I am," Yun replied casually.
"You've made quite a name for yourself lately, haven't you? The Little Chivalrous Hero."
The venomous ridicule laced within the title was unmistakable.
"So, what brings you down here? Did you come to exterminate your mortal enemies, the Anhui Mo Clan, once and for all? If that is your intention, there is no need to trouble yourself."
Tinkle!
"Aaargh!"
One of the pinned Mo Clan swordsmen shrieked in agony. The entranced warrior straddling his chest had tightened his hands around the man's throat at the bell's chime, threatening to crush his windpipe. The weeping and wailing of the terrified family members grew louder.
"As you can see, they have already been reduced to this pathetic state," the masked man sneered, letting loose a low, rasping chuckle.
Yun stared at the choking captive for a beat, his expression entirely unbothered, before speaking in a calm, even tone.
"Let him go."
The masked man's laughter snapped off instantly.
"Hmm? Let him go? Let who go?"
"Him, obviously."
Yun pointed a lazy finger toward the Mo Clan warrior who was turning purple beneath his brother's choking grip. The man was not on the verge of death quite yet, but that was solely because his entranced captor had not exerted his full internal force. It was still a lethally precarious situation.
The man in black tilted his head, regarding Yun as if examining a peculiar specimen of insect.
Tinkle.
"Cough! Gasp! *Wheeze!*"
The suffocating warrior clutched his bruised neck, heaving violently for air as his captor's hands fell away. The man in black slowly rose to his feet from the stone outcrop.
"I was under the impression the Namgung Clan hated the Mo Clan so deeply they would gladly butcher every last dog carrying their name. Was I mistaken?"
"Whatever the rest of the Namgung Clan thinks is none of my business," Yun replied, completely unfazed. "I walk my own path."
"A path of chivalry, you mean?"
"Exactly."
"Heheheh..."
A soft, chilling laugh filtered through the fabric of the mask, saturated with undisguised murderous intent. It seemed Namgung Yun's response had failed to please him in the slightest.
Tinkle!
The bell rang once more.
Fwip!
A sword flashed through the gloom like a bolt of white lightning, hurtling straight for Yun's throat.