Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Chapter Ten: Curing Poison (5)
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He opened his eyes.
'Where...'
He glanced around for a moment. Why was he here? Where was this place? What had happened... He blinked, his eyes darting about.
A nauseating stench hit him like a wave.
He saw walls plastered with excrement. No, piles of it stacked high.
He was sunk deep into it.
"Mm!"
A low groan escaped his lips.
Bit by bit, the memories came flooding back. Killing the merchant bandit, the chase that followed, the poisoning... He remembered crawling here with every ounce of strength he had left.
He raised his hand to check his arm.
His hand was caked in filth, so he had to wipe it off with the other to see his skin.
Scrape!
He cleared off the excrement and examined his forearm.
The outhouse was too dim for a close look, but no bumpy rash had formed.
He closed his eyes briefly and checked inside himself.
First, his true qi. He gathered it, then circulated it slowly through his meridians, probing for issues.
Thud!
A faint vibration stirred at his Baihui point.
He must have unknowingly brushed the net-like seal there.
The blood seal at Baihui was rough; even a light touch made it react sharply.
He always had to be careful.
If that net ever tore, he might lose consciousness—or his meridians could rupture throughout his body.
This time, he'd carelessly circulated his qi and nudged it.
Otherwise, everything was fine. His meridians were so pristine that even Four Thousand Four found it odd.
He'd been poisoned, yet it was completely neutralized.
What had happened? How had he been cured? Was the merchant bandit's shit some kind of antidote?
Poisoning required a specific counteragent to cure.
There was no such thing as poison vanishing without cause—except overwhelming it with sheer vitality. But even that had limits. The idea of surviving a plateful of pufferfish toxin through endurance was absurd.
The toxin from Tang Zhong's Poison Descent Powder was leagues beyond that.
It could only be cured with the proper antidote. Nothing else worked.
Yet he was cured.
He'd know for sure once he got out and moved around, but for now, it seemed thoroughly cleansed.
Hoo!
With some relief came the full assault of the outhouse stench.
Shit smell, crap stink, foul odor... Sometimes you don't even notice them.
That had been him. He'd seen the excrement with his own eyes. Remembered hiding his body in the outhouse. Yet he hadn't smelled it—or rather, he'd endured it. It hadn't seemed much different from any other outdoor scent.
Now it was unbearable, overwhelmingly putrid.
His body had just cleared one hurdle, and now it demanded another. Overcome one distasteful thing, and here's something weaker but still revolting—deal with it.
The body was so treacherous.
"Hup! Hooo..."
He inhaled deeply from the outhouse reek, then exhaled it all out.
There was food in the outhouse too.
Rats lived here. The vermin strolled casually over shit that would drown a man.
Swish! Thunk!
A small arrow shot from his wrist-mounted crossbow.
The wooden bow from Sancho's armory was being used to hunt rats in someone else's privy. Whoever crafted it would roll in their grave.
He retrieved the dead rat and skinned it.
A creature foraging in an outhouse, but strip the hide and red flesh emerged—clean flesh. Shrug off the prejudice of the location, and it was no different from field-caught game.
He tore into the meat bit by bit.
'One!'
Calmly... He sank into stillness.
Regaining his senses didn't mean charging out recklessly. He wanted to flee this outhouse immediately, but without knowing the outside situation, he couldn't move.
He endured as long as possible.
Instead, he focused every nerve on gauging the outside world. He listened intently for the faintest sounds, attuned to every intuition.
Outside was still as a tranquil lake.
No wind, no birdsong.
No living things flew in. The poison lingered.
Rushing out meant re-poisoning.
He did nothing, abiding solely in 'One'.
In One, the mind rested. No thoughts intruded. In One, the body rested. Deeply.
With time, maybe analyze his martial arts?
Four Thousand Four thought differently. True rest deepened martial insight. Like meat aging for richer flavor, arts deepened when held long without force.
Martial arts didn't deepen from constant pondering all twelve double-hours. Better to embody them, cling tightly—depth grew naturally over time.
So he entertained no thoughts of martial arts.
'One...'
One was peaceful. No sense of being in an outhouse. Like lying on a soft bed.
The smell vanished.
If he had to smell something... In One, it might as well be fragrant. No—even better, no scent at all.
He dwelt in the isolation chamber of the Nineteen Hells.
Swish! Rustle! Pop-pop-pop!
Suddenly, urgent footsteps—faint ones that only the sharpest ears would catch, even with full attention.
The sound arose swiftly and faded.
Pop!
His eyes snapped open.
The outside noise yanked him instantly from the Nineteen Hells.
A living creature had crossed the compound, traversing the poison-filled grounds.
Of course, it stopped midway.
It couldn't move. Shallow breaths. Gasping.
By the movement... some kind of cat... It had dashed across the compound before halting.
The poison hadn't fully dissipated. Traces remained.
'Perfect!'
He stretched his arms and legs.
Time to move. Some poison lingered, but he could handle this level. Residual toxin might kill a cat, but not a man. If it were lethal to humans, the cat would've dropped dead on entry.
He flexed his limbs' muscles and rose.
'One!'
Before exiting, one more plunge into stillness.
Reassess the outside.
Why had the cat entered and died? Two possibilities.
One: Tang Zhong the Poison Master had tossed it in.
The easiest way to test poison dissipation was releasing a live animal.
Cats and rats were common choices.
If it was him, caution was key.
Tang Zhong would know the compound's state well. He'd guess the poison was lifting soon, that someone could move. Perimeter guards would tighten.
No ant could slip out; it'd be an ironclad blockade.
Or two: pure chance.
Then it was heaven's aid, divine fortune.
Tang Zhong wouldn't know the exact state—just estimates. Perimeter firm, but not pre-battle tension.
Escape gaps might open.
He listened closely.
No sounds. No human footsteps inside or out. Dead silence.
'Time to go!'
He leaped from safe haven into hell.
The stinking outhouse felt like home; the convenient world, hell.
The compound was deathly quiet, like a graveyard.
No one entered. No one moved. Roofs and walls empty.
The compound was deserted.
The poison was tolerable, as expected.
Others might not manage, but he'd been poisoned by Tang Zhong's brew and overcome it. His body now held what could pass for antidote components—mysterious as that was.
He'd become the only man free to roam this poison-choked estate.
First, to the well for a bath.
He stripped off shit-stained clothes, baring fully, and doused himself with cold water. Washed away filth and odor.
Each splash stung his skin.
Proof the well was tainted. His flesh felt the irritation.
He ignored it.
If it were fatal, it'd have struck already. Mere stinging without worse symptoms meant... his body was resisting the poison.
He shampooed his hair, scraped under his nails meticulously.
Naked, he passed the inner gate into the outer grounds.
Needed clothes... The main hall had been the merchant bandit's quarters—only martial robes.
He disliked martial garb.
Couldn't say why. Aversion to uniforms from the start. Just hated them. Unless desperate, he avoided them.
The outer grounds housed non-martial folk, so civilian clothes were around.
In the chief steward's office, he found clean attire.
The clothes carried poison residue. But so what? Poisoned well water or tainted garb—same difference.
"Is this possible?!"
Tang Zhong the Poison Master couldn't believe his eyes.
The assassin lived. Washing at the well, brazenly, knowing he was watched. No attempt to hide.
He knew no one could enter the compound.
The cat? Tang Zhong had released it to gauge poison levels.
He hadn't tipped off the Euldumun or Sinwolmun disciples. No need to explain every action.
He'd climbed a tall tree to observe.
There—the assassin emerged. He'd seen the cat's reaction, guessed the poison's ebb. Figured it was survivable.
That bastard... was a poison man.
He strolled casually where even Tang Zhong couldn't tread. The well water he splashed from held lethal toxin—enough to kill normals.
Tang Zhong didn't know poison dispersal arts, but in neutralization? Unrivaled.
'How did he survive? From in there?'
Tang Zhong couldn't fathom it.
Beheaded, heart carved out, limbs shredded, remnants tossed in lava—yet here he was, unscathed.
To Tang Zhong, Four Thousand Four looked just like that.
He double-checked the poison he'd spread. Main hall, outer grounds... No need. Lethal to man and beast alike.
No survival possible!
A gleam flashed in Tang Zhong's eyes.
Je Gal So-so had ordered summary execution. No second chances. But Tang Zhong didn't want him dead. Capture him... Questions abounded, mysteries to unravel. Starting with that body.
He desperately wanted to know how he'd survived that hell.
Tang Zhong never took his eyes off Four Thousand Four.
The assassin, strutting naked through the merchant bandit's estate like it was his own bedroom.