Chapter 67
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: Change - 3
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"What are you doing here?"
"Gauging things."
It was a long night.
It had already been ten days since the Murim Alliance had made no moves. No one had yet recovered from the shock.
The Blade King, who appeared in white mourning garb. The Sword King, who was sharpening his Soaring Heaven Divine Sword to a razor edge.
When the Mount Hua Sect's Plum Blossom Sword Expert failed to send word, no one had believed it. The Peng Clan's Fierce Tiger Division Leader who pursued him met the same fate.
To top it off, even the Zhongnan elder who went after them fell. Only then did they realize the fiend was the Sword Demon. By the time the sun rose in the distance, it was far too late.
What remained were not corpses, but clumps of flesh. Shreds of meat.
Traces that told of many deaths, but the fiend himself had not even been captured.
One more layer of rage piled on. Unity would grow, but there was no stopping the temporary drop in morale.
But what the Sword King was gauging was none of that. Strategy was left to the New Mountain Scholar.
"We must pay the debt of blood."
There was no disagreement on driving back the enemy. Flowers don't bloom for ten days straight—the Demonic Cult would fade away.
The important part was what came after.
The balance of the martial world after the Demonic Cult vanished. In the recent battles, many of the weights that had held each faction's power in check had died.
The order of the world would be remade after the Demonic Cult.
The Blade King's eyebrows narrowed slightly. His temperament differed a bit from the Sword King's.
But he did not show it. He knew better.
The code of honor for Murim clans was narrow and heavy.
One who led a clan had to always consider such things. They had to weigh what no one dared voice aloud.
"Jeon Jeon says it looks like there'll be drought again this year. The poor harvests seem set to continue for a third year."
"Shall I provide aid?"
"No need. Just adjusting the tax rate a bit will do."
Like pondering autumn matters in early summer.
The son of Nangong Jincheon, left behind in Anhui, had delivered a letter. With another poor harvest this year, he needed his father's counsel.
Cut the collection rate by one tenth, and food stores would deplete faster. Raise it by one tenth, and discontent would grow.
Give what must be given, take what must be taken. That was their way of life.
"We can't live without some losses."
Only the weak rejected pain and wailed against it.
The Sword King closely examined the keenly honed blade.
The Soaring Heaven Divine Sword gleamed ethereally under the moonlight, its chill intent spreading through the night.
From the edge of his blade, he gauged the world.
The Sword King glared into the edge of the darkness. At the innumerable swarms of vermin that lay beyond.
Foolish, hideous foes charged as if they had no future.
Unable to tolerate even the slightest loss, they chose mutual destruction, the madmen's only path.
And yet, they were strong.
"Even without the Saintess showing herself, so many died. The Sword Demon must have reached the Flower Realm by now."
The Sword Demon, said to be evenly matched with Peng Soyoung, had risen to the level of single-handedly butchering multiple Plum Blossom Sword Experts. His suspicious growth made one suspect sorcery.
That was likely why the Blade King had appeared today.
Sure enough, the Blade King spoke with difficulty.
"They say a demon is rampaging, but it hasn't reached the Nine Sects One Gang. Leave it to me. That way..."
—A sword will reach the Saintess's heart.
Even so, the Blade King could not finish his words. Only lingering resentment and rage silently transmitted across.
The immortals of the Nine Great Sects said that one could slay with the mind alone. The realm of Heart Sword.
Nangong Jincheon did not believe in such things.
If it were possible, the Saintess would already be bones by now.
He trusted only cold facts.
"The Sovereign Sword Hero has never known defeat."
"Yes. You will surely reach her."
The Blade King forced out the words. The air vibrated faintly around him.
The Peng Clan head was a massive man. Perhaps second only to the fallen Fist King in grandeur.
Such a man was silently killing his own grief. Nangong Jincheon could not know the feeling of entrusting his son's vengeance to another.
Yet the Blade King had come of his own accord. Because he calculated no chance of victory with his own martial arts, he had resolved himself.
"I'll leave it to you."
Without the Saintess and Protectors, the enemy would scatter like reeds. Remove those two, and they could be ignored.
At worst, they'd linger as local powers in Guangdong without a master.
When it was over, they wouldn't all beautifully disperse into the mountains. Someone had to clean up the mess.
Who but them would rebuild Guangdong's broken structure, reestablish clans across the regions, and set up a sound system?
"Once it's done, we sweep Guangdong clean. Isn't that what we've gathered the Murim Alliance for?"
The original intent, via the Huangfu Clan, had been to eradicate the Demonic Cult as a show of force. A warning to the chaotic imperial rabble not to meddle in Murim.
They'd hold a grand event at Mount Fu. A thousand spilled blood should quiet things down.
The time had come to restore all to order.
Late at night, the New Mountain Scholar studied the map. The enemy wasn't moving from the Go board.
The foe's forces: two masters said to have reached the Flower Realm, and overwhelming numbers. Their straightforward movements held no strategy worth the name.
His position could no longer be hidden by deploying the Sword Demon.
Thud. A black piece placed on the map. A wooden piece marked with red ink reading "Demon" took its place on the Go board.
As if lying in wait, the Demon Brain gathered forces the moment the Sword Demon was deployed. Circling around was no longer an option.
In a battle declared for vengeance, avoiding the enemy would forfeit both justification and morale. The foe was demanding a head-on clash right now.
Hadn't the Demonic Cult sacrificed 120 lives to corner five peak masters? The New Mountain Scholar counted the cultists on the board.
From the Demon Brain's view, victory seemed assured. But the same held true here.
"Sever the head, and the body crumbles."
If only the Saintess vanished, all would be well. By any means, even a joint assault, eliminate the focal point.
They had gathered quickly, so they'd scatter just as fast. The New Mountain Scholar carefully designed the battle.
How to deploy the Murim Alliance's full strength, where and how. How to poison the Saintess with the Tang Clan's toxins.
Why weren't the enemy moving...
"Patriarch, urgent report."
"What is it?"
"The Advancing Vajra is heading south."
And then, a miracle occurred.
The old monk rolled his prayer beads.
The years had weathered him through harsh storms, yet he could not contain his shock. When he'd first heard the tales from the mountains, the truth had been hard to grasp.
What had the Wudang Sword Venerable once told him?
—It will be horrific.
—Simply horrific...
He had not been wrong. As he approached Guangdong, death littered the roads without end.
He had never witnessed such carnage in his life.
Fanatics who believed in the Evil Cult, and those who sought to kill them. The hardships of famine had stripped mercy from men's hearts.
Just like the ones now before the Advancing Vajra.
"Kee-hee, heh. Shaved head. A monk?"
"This is the Divine Cult's domain, you mongrel!"
The eyes of those wielding bloodied sabers held no reason. Only madness and grudge filled their bulging veins.
Exactly as analyzed at the Scripture Hall. A horrific method inflicted by human resentment.
A demonic art that would ultimately strip away human consciousness.
"Amitabha, forgive me."
The Advancing Vajra first felt pity and sorrow. How had they come to grasp such a thing?
No time for calm reflection. One cultist swung his blade with all his might. The cultist was strong.
Having mastered proper demonic arts, he could withstand a first-rate warrior's strikes without dying. His overflowing strength was more than enough to kill a frail old monk.
—Clack.
But if his opponent was Shaolin's Arhat?
The sword that had pierced rock was blocked by red robes. Not a flicker crossed the Advancing Vajra's face. Pain, endurance—all were emptiness.
Shaolin martial arts embodied the Buddha's way. If the mind did not waver, the body did not either—indestructible as diamond.
He seized the startled cultist's arm. The Golden Lock Hand was not gentle. It was unyielding and firm.
Wudang's softness differed from Shaolin's dharma. The Buddha's law was staunch. His body, tempered by Muscle Altering Scripture, pulled the murderous cultist in.
Tap, tap. Two finger strikes, and the cultist fainted. In an instant, the sealed acupoints subdued the demon.
"Sleep one breath, and your mind will clear."
"W-What did you do?"
"It pains me that my enlightenment is insufficient to guide you."
If Shakyamuni were here, he would lead them to the pure land's light. But all he had were means to protect his body.
Another cultist charged, and the Advancing Vajra subdued him just as easily.
This was the fourth such encounter since leaving Jiangxi.
The world he had seen on the way was mad with blood. Even those who had resolved to seclude themselves from the secular world and cultivate the Way were the same.
Jiangling and Mount Hua had witnessed far too much blood. Even the eyes of children met in Anhui held killing intent.
The tower of grudges reached the heavens.
Where was the Buddha's will? How far could his meager enlightenment help?
"The Saintess bears deep karma..."
His utterly tragic heart sought only to halt the slaughter.
The remaining road was short. He could arrive before it was too late.
As long as no sudden fights broke out.