Chapter 251
Chapter 251
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 251
Chapter Title: There's a Fist Demon in Mount Hua (1)
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Damho placed a Life-Reversing Poison Pill in Cho Yeon-un's mouth and rose to his feet.
The efficacy of the Life-Reversing Poison Pill, painstakingly crafted by the Divine Physician Jong Ri-yeon, was truly extraordinary, instantly restoring vitality to Cho Yeon-un's face.
“Hyung!”
Bang Jin-bo and Muk Il-gwang, who had quietly followed behind Damho, hurriedly stanched the bleeding from Cho Yeon-un's wounds and tended to him.
But no one in the area paid them any mind.
Everyone's gazes were fixed solely on Damho—one man. That man's sheer presence demanded it.
They wanted to tear their eyes away, but they couldn't. The instant they averted their gaze from Damho even briefly, a sinister premonition gripped their entire bodies, as if some horrific calamity would unfold.
Though the stares of countless warriors bore down on him, Damho ignored them entirely and surveyed Mount Hua.
The Mount Hua of spring in his memory had been utterly breathtaking. Lush greenery blanketed the slopes, plum blossoms bursting forth everywhere to draw gasps of awe. Over a decade had passed since he'd left, yet the scene remained vivid before his eyes.
But the vista now spread before him bore no resemblance to those memories.
The once-dense forests lay in ruins, flames and smoke billowing from spots all across the mountain. Blood spilled by countless souls had stained Mount Hua crimson, the metallic stench devouring the springtime scent of plum blossoms.
He held no fondness for Mount Hua. He'd left scarcely any good memories behind here.
His master, however, had been different. He had loved Mount Hua more than anyone.
The Mount Hua his master cherished was being brutally ravaged by the Demonic Cult, his sole friend sprawled in a sea of blood and moaning. That reality ignited fury within him.
Damho's eyes turned icy. In that moment, those nearby shivered with chills.
At that point, Sang Han-cheon—who had merely observed Damho up to now—stepped forward.
“Fist Demon, are you?”
“…….”
“Must be you. Word was you held no great love for Mount Hua, but I see that's not the case.”
Sang Han-cheon's eyes gleamed coldly.
Damho's body was drenched in blood, red as if he'd bathed in it. A sign he'd slain hordes.
‘Dengcheonso, Jin Hye-won, and even the Blood Name Squad sent—and all annihilated?’
Only then did Sang Han-cheon concede that he'd been far too casual about Damho.
‘Two of the Seven Great Demons and the Blood Name Squad wiped out... This one's power rivals the Four Great Army Commanders, or eclipses them...’
Storm clouds gathered in Sang Han-cheon's pupils.
The Four Great Army Commanders were hailed as the Demonic Cult's mightiest warriors. Factoring in how the Black and White Lions—the Cult Leader's wings—shunned outward ventures, this equated to martial might matching the Cult's true pinnacle forces.
“I can't fathom how a warrior like you emerged from Mount Hua. Far too savage for the Martial Alliance to shelter. Small wonder they find you a liability.”
Sang Han-cheon extended his hand.
Damho stared at it impassively.
A faint smile curled Sang Han-cheon's lips.
“Mount Hua's too confining for you. With him around, the Martial Alliance can never embrace you. Join our Cult instead. We'll waive all damages you've inflicted thus far. Spread your wings wide within our halls.”
His voice was hushed, yet it rang strangely clear in every ear.
Hearing Sang Han-cheon speak, many believed Damho would heed him. No rationale—just intuition.
Damho stared at the proffered hand.
Smooth and pale, unmarred by calluses. The hand alone could pass for a woman's delicate jade fingers.
Grasping it promised boundless riches and glory. Everyone present knew as much.
All swallowed dryly, eyes flicking between Damho and Sang Han-cheon.
Boom!
Thunder crashed from the clear sky.
“Urk!”
Sang Han-cheon reeled backward, staggering.
His once-tidy hair hung disheveled and wild, color fled from his face.
Corpses littered the ground before Sang Han-cheon. Warriors of the Strategist Division, ever his shadows.
They had vigilantly tracked Damho's every twitch from Sang Han-cheon's side. The moment Damho stirred, they hurled themselves to shield him.
Sang Han-cheon owed his survival to them—but the warriors who sacrificed themselves sprawled in mangled heaps.
“Insane!”
Sang Han-cheon shuddered in fury.
Tales called him a lunatic beyond reason, but even he hadn't anticipated a blindside assault.
Damho's onslaught didn't stop.
Flash!
Lightbody technique unfurled.
Sang Han-cheon stood at the terminus of the straightest line between points.
Damho targeted his head. Breaking Palm Strike hurtled toward it.
Terror flickered across Sang Han-cheon's face. Other Strategist Division warriors rushed to intervene, but none outpaced Damho.
Clang!
“Guh!”
A choked groan burst forth.
Sang Han-cheon lived. A figure clad in pristine white had interposed.
White hair, white brows. Even pupils and flesh alabaster. A man who seemed otherworldly.
Il-mong—the one who'd blocked Damho's fist in Sang Han-cheon's stead. He shunned public eyes as a rule, yet breached it for this peril.
Blood seeped from Il-mong's lips. Internal wounds from one exchange.
Whirr!
Then Damho's leg arced in an eerie parabola, crashing down atop Il-mong's skull.
Kablooey!
“Keok!”
Il-mong spewed blood, catapulted away. He'd evaded decapitation by a hair, but his shoulder caught it.
His left shoulder dangled, dislocated.
“Mad bastard!”
“Stand down!”
Demonic Cult warriors finally roused, lunging at Damho.
Boom!
Deafening blasts erupted in succession. Demonic Cult warriors soared as bloody pulps.
Il-mong thus gained precious breathing room.
Il-mong clutched his dislocated shoulder and withdrew to Sang Han-cheon's flank.
“Are you unharmed?”
“Thanks to you.”
Sang Han-cheon gnashed his teeth.
Renowned for impassivity, yet dismay and faint dread now bared raw on his face—a testament to his shock.
His heart thundered still. Damho's strike had vaulted far beyond imagination.
“Dam... ho. He must die. Whatever the cost.”
Fleeting as it was, he'd glimpsed his doom in Damho's fist.
Life and death intertwined daily in the Demonic Cult, Sang Han-cheon's world—yet never such raw menace. The mental blow hit harder for it.
Sang Han-cheon's gaze shifted to Hwang Ryeol and Dan Ho-sang.
Barring Il-mong, they ranked strongest among Mount Hua's climbers. One the Mad Demon Hall Lord, the other a Seven Great Demon.
Fearless titans of the world, now taut with tension. Damho's display had stunned them.
Sang Han-cheon commanded them.
“End him today. At any sacrifice.”
His "sacrifice" encompassed even Hwang Ryeol and Dan Ho-sang. Their faces stiffened, aware.
“Urgh! No wonder it seemed too smooth.”
“Mount Hua—a den of idiots. Discarding a monster like that.”
Muttering, the pair advanced into the fray.
A vast clearing ringed Damho. Corpses blanketed its floor. Over fifty by rough count—Demonic Cult warriors felled by Damho in mere moments.
Terror etched the Demonic Cult warriors' faces. Death for the Cult held no fear, but this carnage did.
No whole corpse among Damho's victims. Exploded chests, sundered skulls leaking gray matter—spectacles to curdle blood.
Death spares none, yet none craved such ends. Fear seeded every heart.
Conversely, to Mount Hua Sect survivors amid total ruin, Damho shone as hope incarnate. None felt it keener than Mu-kyeong, senior disciple.
“Cheon... kyeong.”
The one he'd abandoned to the Thousand Gold Demon Prison.
He'd soothed his guilt: one life traded for many. Yet a boulder ever crushed his chest.
His exceptional care for Damho at Mount Hua stemmed not from mere kindness. Pity for the lame youth chasing martial arts—and bolstering his stature as top disciple.
“Haha! The sect's head disciple, so impotent—while my castoff became Mount Hua's beacon.”
Mu-kyeong lurched, then spewed blood in a gush.
“Sahyung!”
“Eldest Sahyung!”
Un-kyeong dashed from nearby.
Un-kyeong braced Mu-kyeong and probed.
“Sahyung, are you all righ...”
His face locked rigid upon the wound. A child-fist hole pierced Mu-kyeong's gut, entrails spilling.
Untreatable, even by the Great Immortal Physician. A miracle he'd endured upright so long.
Mu-kyeong peered laboriously up at Un-kyeong.
“Sah... je.”
“Don't talk. It'll split wider. Hold on. Treatment's coming.”
“Heh heh! Who lives through wounds like this?”
“Sahyung?”
“Don't waste effort saving me. I know it best.”
“Urgh!”
Tears brimmed Un-kyeong's eyes.
Ever the stoic, yet Mount Hua's devastation and Mu-kyeong's state broke him.
Cradled in Un-kyeong's arms, Mu-kyeong rasped on.
“Master's gone. Most elders too.”
Mount Hua's First Sword, Hyungeom the Immortal—irreplaceable loss.
“Mount Hua's lost its core, its might. Even repelling the Demonic Cult today leaves naught but decay ahead. Un-kyeong.”
“Sahyung?”
Mu-kyeong clamped Un-kyeong's hand.
“Unite around Cheon-kyeong. He's Mount Hua's lone remaining light.”
“Eugh!”
Un-kyeong wept.
“Forgive me. Dumping this burden on you. On Cheon-kyeong especially—such a plea now...”
Mu-kyeong stretched a hand.
Damho dangled at its tip. Fingers strained repeatedly, unavailing.
“Cheon-kyeong... Fist Demon... save Mount Hua...”
“Sahyung?”
Mu-kyeong's hand thudded down. Breath ceased.
Un-kyeong couldn't fully mourn. Battle raged on.
Gently laying the body, Un-kyeong rose and bellowed.
“Disciples of Mount Hua!”
A lion's roar, mustering depleted qi.
Mount Hua Sect disciples' eyes converged.
“Our senior brother has fallen. Sect Leader fallen. Hyungeom Sahyung fallen. Hosts of brethren slain. Nothing remains to us. Nothing...”
“Urgh!”
Survivors' eyes blazed red.
“Fear death?”
“No, sir!”
“Ashamed of our fallen Mount Hua?”
“No, sir!”
Mid-battle, Mount Hua warriors roared replies. Echoes thundered across the peak.
“I'll fight to the last. This life fully spent slaughtering the fiends who profane Mount Hua.”
Un-kyeong advanced.
Toward Damho. Magnet-like, Mount Hua disciples trailed him.
Un-kyeong took post behind Damho. Disciples arrayed behind.
Battered head to toe, venom blazing in eyes—their rally kindled fire in the heroes' despairing breasts.
Damho stood at the core.