Snack Demands in Captivity
The prisoner transport carriage of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was a masterpiece crafted by the Armory Pavilion under the Internal Affairs Division. Reinforced with steel grates, it balanced durability and weight while its modular design made maintenance simple. The adjustable lighting could blur a prisoner's sense of time, and two furnaces below allowed various poisonous smokes to be pumped inside. It also offered a comfortable ride—not for the sake of protecting the prisoner's rights, but to keep drugged captives from waking.
So when the knocking sound echoed through the carriage, the assassin from the External Affairs Secret Pavilion, who had been fanning the furnace filled with scattering poison incense, could only be startled. How was she already awake? Had the knockout drug been insufficient? He'd used three times the usual dose.
Thanks to the carriage's excellent soundproofing, all he could hear was the steady thump-thump of fists against the wall. The assassin slid open one wall panel and spoke. "What's the matter?"
"Aah. Can you hear me? My mouth is bored. Give me a snack."
The tone was as if she'd left snacks in his care. The assassin was momentarily speechless.
"Hurry. I'm getting dizzy. Give me snacks. Snacks!"
"Hey, do you even understand your situation right now—"
"I don't care about that. Snacks are more important. If you're going to kidnap someone, you should take responsibility. Isn't providing lodging, meals, and snacks basic courtesy?"
"No, what kind of—"
The assassin gave up trying to reason with her. Instead, he untied the pouch at his waist and poured its contents into the incense burner. It was refined knockout powder. He quickened his fanning, sending thick clouds of smoke billowing into the carriage.
The effect was immediate. The girl's voice rose an octave.
"Who asked you to burn incense?! I said give me snacks! Hey!"
"J-just wait a moment."
"Hmph. You should have done that from the start."
The assassin hurried toward the lead carriage. Reaching it, he reported to the Pavilion Master. "Pavilion Master, Seomun Cheong is demanding snacks. What should we do?"
Ji Seungju regarded the assassin with an expressionless face. "Didn't we feed her plenty of knockout drugs?"
"It seems she has a constitution resistant to them."
Such people existed. They weren't particularly rare. The knockout incense itself wasn't highly toxic, so it couldn't be helped.
"Should we use a different drug?"
Other drugs were too potent. If her mind was damaged, she wouldn't be able to play the instrument. Ji Seungju pondered briefly before shaking his head.
"For now, we'll accommodate her mood. Give her what she wants. A conversation partner too—no. I'll go myself."
Ji Seungju recalled one human trait: when people felt anxious or disoriented, they unconsciously grew fond of those nearby. It was the same with hostages who came to admire their captors. Even if it didn't reach admiration, reducing the psychological distance might secure smoother cooperation later. That was Ji Seungju's calculation.
----
My legs are going numb.
The moment the paralysis wore off, her legs began acting up. Numbness was a vicious kind of pain—constantly irritating the nerves while awake, leaving a persistent, unpleasant tingling.
It would have been better if she could at least walk around. Even though the carriage was large and spacious, it wasn't enough to pace in.
"Hey. What did you do to my legs?"
"The Jijon personally saw to it. I know nothing else. He will release them once we arrive at the Cult."
She'd felt the flow of internal energy to her lower body being blocked, the acupoints stubbornly sealed. That bastard had pulled some trick.
Damn it. I won't let this slide.
"Can't you just release them now? I won't run away. My legs are really numb."
"The Jijon has already departed. He dislikes feeling confined."
Cheong's eyes gleamed. What? That bastard left already? Her master was also deeply versed in medicine. If she cut open her legs, she could figure something out afterward.
"Please do not entertain futile thoughts. There are two Transcendent masters present. Moreover, your legs are already impaired, are they not?"
Shit. Just when things were looking up.
Cheong pursed her lips. What kind of Transcendent masters had nothing better to do than tag along to kidnap a single Peak expert?
"If you truly have nothing to do, would you like to learn a martial art?"
"A martial art? What martial art?"
"What you orthodox factions call a demonic art—a divine technique."
Kidnapping someone and then offering demonic arts? Cheong found it absurd.
"You're telling me to learn a demonic art?"
Cheong was already the Sosu Witch who had mastered one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts, Sosu Magong.
"Sooner or later, you will learn one regardless."
"Me? Why?"
"I will be honest. We must secure at least one weakness of yours. Only then can we release you without worry once this matter concludes."
"So if I refuse, you'll spread rumors that I learned demonic arts?"
"Even so, would it not be better to learn from us than to receive direct instruction from the Jijon?"
It was a choice between learning through pain or without it. Hmm. Then there's no need to learn it painfully, right? Cheong accepted it readily. She had already mastered one anyway—what difference would two make? She had also learned how to handle demonic arts. First, bluff. If that failed, invoke her master's name. Since her master had permitted it, learning one or two was essentially the same thing. Besides, they were threatening her with a sword to learn demonic arts—what could she do? Thinking about it, her master had also said that life-saving techniques were better the more one had. It was just adding another hidden weapon.
Cheong reached her conclusion quickly. "Fine. I'll learn it."
It was a refreshingly straightforward answer.
"……Are you serious?"
The voice from outside sounded doubtful.
"You said I'd learn it anyway, right? Then why hesitate? I'm bored, so I might as well train."
"Very well. I will recite the mnemonic chant immediately. Dark Sun Over the Earth Like a Single Night, Heaven and Earth Become Black Killing Sand……"
The chant flowed from beyond the wall—raw phonetic transcription of the most primitive and inconvenient script from past to future. Ideographic characters were nothing more than crude scribbles from an era when people were still primitive. Using them was proof that one was an ape, not fully evolved between monkey and human. For that reason, Cheong listened halfheartedly. The martial arts window would register it automatically once she heard it all.
"……That is all. Did you hear everything?"
"What? That's it?"
"I will recite it once more. Dark Sun—"
Cheong cut in with a sharp yell. "Hey! Are you messing with me right now?"
The martial arts window remained silent. Cheong could register techniques in the window simply by touching a manual. It was a standby state separate from investing training points to learn them. However, there was a condition: the manual had to be complete. If the window didn't react, the chant was incomplete.
This bastard said he'd teach me demonic arts, but he's scamming me?
"Why are you doing this?"
"If you're going to recite it, do it properly! Messing around with martial arts? Are martial arts a joke to you? Wow, you talked about being honest and all that, but you're just a fraud."
The outside fell silent for a while. After a moment, the voice returned.
"……Damn it."
Cheong doubted her ears. What did he just say? That little brat?
"……That came out wrong. Please do not misunderstand. There seems to have been an error. I appear to have misremembered a section. I will look into it again."
----
The owner of the most vicious demonic art, Demonic Qi Absorption, was called the Slaughter Amidst Slaughter—a demonic practitioner whom both orthodox and unorthodox factions joined forces to defeat. Even without that, mastering one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts granted a title for free. However, titles were relative; what allies and enemies called you differed. To enemies, she was the Sosu Witch; to allies, the Sosu Divine Maiden. Or perhaps the Sosu Demonic Empress.
Since those who practiced demonic arts usually belonged to the unorthodox or demonic paths, having "demonic" in one's title was sometimes considered an honor. The Ten Great Demonic Arts only made the orthodox factions foam at the mouth. The unorthodox and demonic factions found them somewhat enviable and even coveted them.
The Black Killing Demonic Lord was also identifiable by his title alone. Black Killing Demonic Palm! A vicious demonic art that didn't merely bruise when struck properly but caused flesh to necrotize and rot. The characteristic of Black Killing Demonic practitioners was their pitch-black hands—infused with the killing qi that rotted living flesh.
The Black Killing Demonic Lord, Go Dang-sang, was tearing at dried meat with his pitch-black hands when he suddenly stopped. A little-known fact: the Demonic Lord's name was a single character, "Sang." Go Dang was a rare surname even in China.
"You realized it was wrong just from hearing the chant?"
"Yes, Demonic Lord."
"The Pavilion Master is making an amusing joke. Is that child some kind of once-in-a-generation genius? How could she tell it was wrong just from hearing the chant?"
Go Dang-sang's tone grew curt. Ji Seungju answered carefully. "It is possible. She is already a woman who has reached the late stage of Peak, after all."
This was how the martial world generally viewed Cheong. There was no need to separately name the greatest swindler under heaven.
"So, you want to teach her the complete chant?"
Go Dang-sang revealed his discomfort. Even if it was the Jijon's command, twisting the chant incompletely had already been an outrageous act that defied common sense. And now he wanted the complete version taught?
"Why not think of it differently? Once she possesses the Black Killing technique, she won't be able to return to the orthodox martial world anyway."
That was why Black Killing Demonic Palm had been chosen. Black Killing practitioners looked like demonic practitioners just by appearance. 'That guy's hands look weird.''What? He's a demonic practitioner? Then let's kill him.'
"So, you're saying I should take her as a disciple?"
"Yem. What do you think?"
Ji Seungju barely managed to rein in his inner thoughts. Fortunately, it came out at the level of a slightly cute response. Damn it. A demonic practitioner talking about disciples? In the Divine Cult, "disciple" was just another word for servant or attendant. They were also expendable goods to be discarded immediately if they became a threat. Otherwise, the disciple would eventually overthrow the master and take the position. This was the law of the strong—the strict code of the Divine Cult.
That was also why Go Dang-sang was reluctant. What if he taught a once-in-a-generation genius a demonic art, only for her to absorb everything and threaten his position as Demonic Lord?
"Hmm. I'll think about it."
"Yes. But I must ask you to make a great decision for the sake of the Divine Cult's greater cause."
That old man is being troublesome. Ji Seungju thought. It wasn't as if he could disobey the Jijon's orders anyway. That was how absolute the Jijon was within the Divine Cult. The Jijon's martial prowess was at the late stage of Harmonious Realm. But in truth, he had long since transcended that. After obtaining the complete divine art, he had sealed his own meridians to reach the Tal-ma realm beyond demonic practitioners. Even now, he could reach Profound Realm if he wished, and it was highly likely he could advance even further in one leap. What he had told Cheong had not been mere bluster.
Even so, Ji Seungju couldn't threaten Go Dang-sang by saying, "The Jijon ordered it." That would completely ruin his face. To a martial artist, face was precious—second only to life and martial arts. Therefore, Ji Seungju had no choice but to pretend ignorance and earnestly request it, thereby creating a pretext.