Chapter 59
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: Sin - 1
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The Murim Alliance, a band of righteous warriors, marched toward Guangdong. Setting out from Anhui, they soon reached Jiangxi.
As they passed Hongzhou, a heavy tension began to hang in the air. The scouts at the vanguard felt it most keenly.
"This is the place."
Guipan Hill lay in southern Jiangxi—a landmark signaling their approach to Guangdong.
It was a modest spot, marked only as a tiny dot on the map. An utterly ordinary small town.
Or it had been, once.
"Hah..."
"Hmph."
The warriors let out low groans. Even the battle-hardened masters among them were no exception.
It hadn't been this bad when they passed Hongzhou. Rooting out Demonic Cultists had been straightforward enough, and there were still intact clans where they could briefly forge bonds of camaraderie.
But now, the acrid stench of ashes pressed in thickly.
From afar, it was clear no one remained alive. Only black scorch marks filled the landscape.
"This is why I volunteered for scout duty. Let's go."
Shattered Iron Blade Yang Hong, leader of the scouts, spoke up. The warriors nodded silently.
Their perilous mission: to reconnoiter a full day ahead of Sword King's main force. Though open only to volunteers, the competition had been fierce. No one was unaware of the mortal risk.
Even the young warriors who had witnessed the horrific slaying of Fist King firsthand had joined the scouts—Little Divine Dragon Zhuge Min, Blaze Cloud Wind Sword Jin Myeong, and Flying Phoenix Yang Choseol.
They could have joined the main force for a safer journey, yet all had chosen the most dangerous role. Shattered Iron Blade hadn't the heart to refuse their resolve.
Crunch, crunch. The footsteps of six figures echoed through the village consumed by flames. Houses devoid of human warmth. An ominous undercurrent mingled in the air.
Demonic Cultists could spring out from anywhere, at any moment.
Yet perhaps because of that, the warriors were overly tense. Shattered Iron Blade passed around a waterskin.
"Here, drink. A blade honed too sharply will shatter under pressure."
Shattered Iron Blade was renowned in Anhui for his swift lightness skills and sharp judgment. It was the way of seasoned ronin masters.
The young ones—especially Yang Choseol—were fraying at the edges, nerves worn raw.
"Thank you..."
Yang Choseol pressed the waterskin to her parched lips. Her gaze never wavered.
Her knuckles white on the hilt, the distinctive sword-guard patterns of Point Star School quivered faintly.
Whenever Yang Choseol closed her eyes, the visions came: the pale purple tiger shimmering against the skies of Fire Mountain, its ferocious aura and desperate defiance.
And the black wave of flames that had devoured it whole.
Revenge.
She hadn't slept a full hour since. Practicing her breathing technique had nearly led to qi deviation, her mind too unsettled.
Daoist profound arts required a clear mind to advance. Instead, Yang Choseol gripped her sword.
From waking to sleeping. She released it only when necessary.
When nightmares jolted her awake in cold sweat, she swung her blade even fiercer—as if sparring with the demons in her heart, someone chasing from behind.
Was Yang Choseol alone? No, Little Divine Dragon and Blaze Cloud Wind Sword fared no differently.
It had been a mere heartbeat since Peng Soyeong's death—a laughably short time to achieve mastery through Daoist sword arts.
Yet no one could dismiss the trio's growth. Debates even raged over a new collective moniker to reflect their widened gap.
The warriors pushed through the ruins. Beyond the collapsed houses loomed the walls of a manor.
"That's where the Zhang Clan manor... used to be. I'll check it out."
Wind Raising Straw Sandals—one of Shaanxi's top five in lightness skills—launched himself forward. Leaping the high wall with ease, he swiftly scouted the grounds before returning.
His face was grim.
"No enemies. But..."
"What is it?"
"No. Words can't capture the horror. The Demonic Cult scum didn't even show basic respect to the dead."
As Wind Raising Straw Sandals trailed off, Shattered Iron Blade nodded solemnly.
"Beasts without a shred of human decency."
Hearing this, the Named Fighting Mad Tiger of Hebei Peng Clan's Tiger Unit drew his blade. With a single stroke, thud—a section of wall crumbled.
There, a bizarre wooden pole came into view.
A crude structure pieced from charred roof beams, with three corpses dangling and rotting from it. Flies swarmed the clinging flesh.
A foul stench emanated from luxurious silk robes. The well-traveled Shattered Iron Blade spoke.
"Twisted middle finger, large mole under the eye. No doubt Fire Morning Fist Zhang Chu."
Zhang Chu's gaping mouth revealed the agony he'd endured until the end.
"There's a letter here."
The paper Little Divine Dragon pulled out bore just two characters.
Retribution.
That was all. No poison traps or gimmicks.
No explanation of what crime warranted it, or whose retribution this was. In the desolate ruins, only corpses remained. Little Divine Dragon hesitated, then gently closed the staring eyes of the Zhang Clan folk.
He didn't mind the filth on his hands. His heart was heavy.
The tiger of Hebei Peng Clan—who had lost its young master—was no different.
"Infuriating!"
The Named Fighting Mad Tiger's gravelly roar. Fire Morning Fist Zhang Chu had been no villain; rumors painted him benign. Retribution for what?
For the young master's death, too?
His great blade flashed, shredding the letter into eight pieces in an instant.
That was when it happened.
Pat!
"!"
"...!"
A faint sign of life. Light footsteps.
No one missed it. All were peak masters. Wind Raising Straw Sandals moved first.
"Halt!"
His lightness skill yielded to none in Shaanxi. In a blink, he vaulted the wall, pursuing the sound.
Before a breath passed, he seized the nape of the figure rounding the corner.
"P-please let me go. I-I'm not a cultist."
It was a young boy.
"Hey. Seen any suspicious folk around?"
"I don't know anything. I just came looking for food."
"Are you the enemy?"
Blaze Cloud Wind Sword appeared next. The boy gasped at the drawn plum blossom sword.
"False alarm. Just a kid."
"Hm."
"What're you waiting for? Let him go."
By then, the others had caught up. The boy shrank under their intimidating presence. His gaunt frame and dull eyes darted side to side.
Half pity, half relief in the group's gazes. Named Fighting Mad Tiger grumbled that it was a waste of time. As Wind Raising Straw Sandals moved to release the child, Shattered Iron Blade stopped him.
The veteran's shrewd eyes fixed on the boy. The battle-scarred ronin peered into his eyes and spoke slowly.
"Don't you believe in the Divine Maiden?"
Gulp.
"W-what's that? Never heard of it."
"See? He doesn't even know what it is."
"That's suspicious."
Little Divine Dragon stroked his beard. The Demonic Cult ravaged Guangdong, even spilling into Anhui.
Hadn't everyone witnessed that carnage before mobilization? This was southern Jiangxi, inching toward Guangdong.
Even a poor hillbilly boy—could he truly not know of the Divine Maiden?
Hearsay held the cult spread among the impoverished. The boy looked unremarkable. But.
Spotting cultists was always simple.
Little Divine Dragon's eyes turned icy. Since Peng Soyeong's death, he'd changed.
"Insult the Divine Maiden."
"Huh?"
"Curse her. Any foul word will do. You claim ignorance, so it shouldn't matter."
"D-don't look at me like that... it's scary..."
"Choseol."
Shing. Point Star blade leveled at the child. The boy thrashed wildly. Tears streamed as he clawed at the gripping hand.
Yet Little Divine Dragon's gaze held firm. So did Yang Choseol's sword.
"If you don't speak by the count of five, we'll find out ourselves."
Five, four, three... Zhuge Min counted softly. The boy teetered on hysteria. As the count hit one.
Sword light flared.
Clang!
Peng Clan's blade arts blocked Point Star's strike. In the brief clash, the boy wriggled free like an eel.
Zhuge Min watched the boy bolt away, then spoke.
"What was that?"
"Can't kill a kid without proof."
"I wasn't going to kill him. Just a nick. But now we know. He slipped away somewhere."
Named Fighting Mad Tiger stepped back, unconvinced.
"Made me uneasy for nothing. This village feels off."
He masked his unease with grumbling. The place had creeped him out from the start.
Fresh in enemy territory, needless strife could invite disaster.
The warriors found a suitable camp spot and dispatched a messenger pigeon with a coded summary of events.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
As night fell and sentries tended the campfire, faint footsteps began echoing from the hills encircling the village.