Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Darkwood Sect (1)
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Meat is righteous.
A perfect harmony of protein and essential amino acids, a balanced blend of iron and zinc.
There's a myth floating around that the worse something tastes, the better it is for you, but meat is the ultimate ingredient that delivers both flavor and nutrition in equal measure.
Especially if it's a monk who's lived on vegetables his entire life, starved for days on end, and is finally tasting meat for the first time?
How could I possibly understand those feelings?
I'm no monk.
But I can imagine.
Delicious!
After days of chewing bland, tasteless veggie side dishes, the explosion of meat juices filling your mouth would be nothing short of shocking.
Ah, to have lived without knowing this.
What a wasted life!
"Ooh."
Bang Jong-dae's hands moved so fast they blurred before the eyes.
One bite of dongpo pork, and all restraints snapped.
He even channeled his internal energy, stuffing meat into his mouth with every visible motion—a sight worthy of the world's greatest monk.
"Eat slowly."
"Ahem..."
Cheongun hurriedly poured wall liquor into an empty cup.
"Wall liquor?"
"Patron, drinking violates the fifth precept..."
What fifth precept nonsense.
Cheongun shoved the cup forward before Bang Jong-dae could ramble on.
"What's the problem with clear-filtered rice wine? At its core, it's just fragrant grain water."
"……"
Bang Jong-dae hesitated for a moment.
But the first step is always the hardest; the second is easy.
He'd already eaten meat and sobbed over it—what's one more precept broken?
"Here, have some."
"Patron."
"The Buddha said it's fine for those who don't get drunk to drink anytime. What's the issue?"
"Hm."
It's true.
It's directly mentioned in the Four-Part Vinaya, the precept text.
"You can shake off the buzz with one cycle of qi circulation anyway. Just drink."
Gulp. Bang Jong-dae swallowed hard.
Halfway there.
He was already wavering.
As Cheongun had said, as long as he didn't get drunk, right?
Every time Cheongun took a bite of meat, downed some wall liquor, and went "Kya!" he'd wondered.
What could it possibly be like?
What harmony unfolds in the mouth?
Meat was already peak flavor—could it get even better?
Bang Jong-dae's curiosity writhed.
And finally.
—Taat!
Bang Jong-dae snatched the gourd bottle from the table.
He tilted it skyward and poured the remaining wall liquor straight down his throat.
A crisp, sweet taste.
It washed away the oil coating his mouth.
As it slid down his throat with a glug-glug, the liquor’s aroma rose to his nose.
Then he popped in a perfectly roasted duck piece.
Crunch crunch.
Oil coated his mouth again.
But mixed with the liquor’s scent, the gaminess vanished, leaving only the savory meat aroma.
Bang Jong-dae's eyes widened.
The clean aftertaste made it endless.
Infinite fuel!
Cheongun smiled contentedly at the sight.
And called the waiter.
"Five more bottles of wall liquor here!"
"Yes sir! Right away!"
A few days later, in the sacred city.
Cheongun roamed every corner of the city.
And trailing behind him was another man.
A fairly tall build.
Muscles toned enough to scream "I'm a martial artist" to anyone who saw.
And a gleaming bald head.
A string of 108 prayer beads hung around his neck.
He strode along, chugging wall liquor from his gourd bottle.
His identity? None other than Bang Jong-dae.
Everywhere he passed, people shot surprised glances.
A shiny-headed monk boozing in broad daylight—who wouldn't stare?
Of course, this was all thanks to Cheongun's tireless efforts.
During their time together, Cheongun had imparted countless "teachings."
No killing meant just not fully killing—so half-kill trash like that.
No lying meant no false words—so communicate with fists instead of talking.
Content that would make Shaolin monks faint on the spot, but Bang Jong-dae, naturally curious and still young, found it all refreshingly shocking.
Meanwhile, Cheongun was satisfied.
During his 20,000 hours of playtime, he'd never skipped normalizing Shaolin.
And it was the same after possession.
So corrupting Bang Jong-dae—direct disciple of the Shaolin Abbot and the temple's future—was a groundbreaking achievement.
More than enough reason for failing his original goal of finding a master chef.
At the Bloodline Pavilion entrance.
"Pavilion Lord, you're back?"
He ran into Jin Cheon-u on the way.
Jin Cheon-u spotted Bang Jong-dae chugging from the gourd behind Cheongun and let out a hollow laugh.
"Who's that?"
"Who."
"That monk bastard."
Without even turning, Cheongun held out one hand.
Bang Jong-dae grinned and pulled something from his robes.
A round, smooth wooden item with grain texture.
A must-have for any monk: a wooden clacker.
And.
Thwack—!
"Gyaak!!"
Jin Cheon-u clutched his head and screamed.
The sound was so clear it soothed Cheongun's soul.
Especially that satisfying stickiness.
Made in Shaolin indeed.
Worthy of the Central Plains' top sect.
"Pavilion Lord?"
Drawn by the crisp sound, Jeok Hwa-ryeon approached and asked.
"Did you find a master chef?"
"Nope."
"Then what have you been doing out there?"
"Eating and playing."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon glared sullenly at his words.
"If that's the case, give me the Pavilion Lord seat."
"No."
"Then don't leave it empty!"
"What, did you miss me?"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon's brow furrowed sharply.
"Whatever! What about this?"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon handed over a letter.
The red envelope bore the clear ink characters "Justice Alliance."
The edges were neatly tied with gold thread.
"Read it?"
"No?"
Cheongun slowly read the contents.
The gist was simple.
The spy here is one of ours.
We'll come get him, so keep him alive.
See you later.
Very straightforward.
"What’s it say?"
"They're coming to pick up their spy."
"When?"
"Tomorrow during si hour (11 AM to 1 PM)."
Perfect timing.
If he'd killed him, it might've been awkward, but Cheongun had kept the spy alive expecting this.
Now, all that remained was to extract compensation for sparing the spy's life with magnanimity.
Then Bang Jong-dae asked Cheongun.
"Patron. This humble monk's eyes must be failing. Is the sender truly the Justice Alliance?"
"Yes."
"……"
Bang Jong-dae broke out in cold sweat at the words.
Cheongun could easily guess why.
"Ah, because of your master?"
"……"
Who was the Justice Alliance Leader?
The Shaolin Abbot, Bang Jong-dae's master—the Vajra Subduer of Demons.
If they met like this, he'd get beaten half to death as a disgrace to Shaolin.
No killing, so just short of death.
Knowing this, Bang Jong-dae quietly pressed his palms together.
"Patron. It seems our bond must part for now. It's time for this monk to go, but I won't forget your teachings and will return here when the moment comes."
With that, Bang Jong-dae left.
He handed over the wooden clacker as a farewell gift—a satisfying one, so Cheongun carefully tucked it away.
It was a short meeting, but memorable.
Cheongun turned to see Jeok Hwa-ryeon with a funeral face.
"Why the long face?"
"No idea."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon turned away, not hiding her sulkiness.
Her cheeks puffed out like balloons—clearly in a bad mood.
Cheongun poked her cheek with a fingertip.
"What's wrong?"
"You don't need to know."
"Tell me."
"No."
Cheongun raised a finger toward her demon seal acupoint.
Jeok Hwa-ryeon glanced at it and quickly answered.
"……It's nothing. Just feel stuffy inside."
"Why?"
"No clue."
"I think I know."
"What is it?"
"You said you learned demonic arts for revenge, right?"
"Yes."
"It's because you haven't gotten revenge yet."
"……"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon couldn't easily respond.
She did want revenge, but even if she got it, would it really feel good?
Time had passed, and her dead parents wouldn't come back.
"That's because you don't know."
"I don't?"
"Right. Crush them until they beg like flies flapping their hands, and it'll clear right up."
"You sure?"
"Of course."
Cheongun was certain.
Revenge leaves only emptiness? Bullshit.
Nothing clears the chest like revenge.
Failing to get it just stuffs you up, leaving regret forever.
"You lost your parents, right."
"Yes."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon had lost hers young.
Black faction thugs and righteous sect folks picked a fight on the street; her innocent parents got caught in it.
A classic whale fight bursting the shrimp's back.
"Revenge targets?"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon hesitated, then answered.
"...For now, Darkwood Sect."
Cheongun nodded at that.
Darkwood Sect—he knew them.
Among black factions, top contenders for world's scummiest human trash heap.
In an instant, Cheongun's form vanished.
Jeok Hwa-ryeon whipped her head around looking for him.
Then.
"Eek!"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon flailed as her body floated up.
Cheongun had grabbed her by the scruff.
"Stay still."
With her in tow, he unleashed lightness skill.
Her presence activated his trait, boosting speed explosively.
He crossed peaks and valleys in seconds.
Jeok Hwa-ryeon's eyes spun.
Everything blurred into streaks, the world smearing like spilled paint.
Is this how the Pavilion Lord sees the world?
After flying like that for a while, Cheongun set her down in a safe spot.
Jeok Hwa-ryeon dazedly looked around.
Killing intent pressed from all sides.
Dozens of warriors surrounded them, swords drawn.
All with vicious faces in black uniforms.
The main gate plaque read "Darkwood Sect."
Cheongun eyed them and said.
"We're here."
"F-Fuck! Pavilion Lord, are you insane?!"
"I'm always insane."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon was aghast.
This mad bastard had leaped straight into Darkwood Sect's headquarters.
"You brag about that... No, what now?! Think Darkwood Sect is just some black faction group?! This is a Demonic Cult branch!"
"Is it? Even better then."
"Better my ass! It's way bigger than Bloodline Pavilion! We couldn't handle them even with everyone— what are we gonna do, just the two of us?!"
"What else? Get revenge. I told you—empty loyalty is useless."
"No, we need a plan, preparations...!"
"Enough."
Cheongun cut her off.
Drew his sword.
Raised it high, tip to the sky.
Pure natural qi surged into his dantian like a tidal wave.
For Cheongun, ascended to Primordial Unity realm, it became internal energy.
All ambient qi from heaven and earth rampaged as his internal energy.
The vast true qi blazed through his conception and governor vessels.
"Hoo."
With his breath, internal energy flowed naturally, his eyes blazing blue.
Crackle—
Air tore with electricity sparking everywhere.
The air stung to even breathe, thick with current.
Air ripped, warping everything around the sword.
All held their breath.
At the ominous qi eruption, they drew weapons.
Then.
—Whoosh!
Cheongun swung his sword.
A single horizontal slash.
And—
"!!!"
Kaboom—!!
Qi torrent laced with lightning devoured everything.
Main hall pillars sheared off; roofs exploded away.
Earth split like plowed fields, dust soaring skyward.
Sword-drawers didn't even scream.
Simply swept into the torrent, swords and all, disintegrating.
On scorched black earth, blue currents lingered, sizzling.
Charred giant trees still smoked.
Jeok Hwa-ryeon sat stunned, mouth agape.
Cheongun said.
"From now on, I'm the Darkwood Sect Lord."
"......"