Chapter 43
Chapter 43
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Non-Demon Squad (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A mask is something those shady bastards wear to hide their identities.
It's mainly favored by guys with dirty secrets.
The prime examples are assassins.
For those whose trade is secret killing, concealing their identity is directly tied to survival, so it's only natural.
And among all those masks, there was one type most assassins favored.
None other than the black mask.
The reason they prefer black masks out of all the options is simple.
It's dark.
Hard to see at night.
Put on a black mask and black clothes all over.
Your whole body blends into the pitch-black night, becoming one with the darkness for utmost stealth.
Imagine just pale eyes and teeth floating in the distance on a moonless night.
It gives off an eerie sense of wrongness, making you feel like you'll get fucked if you mess around.
That's the black-clad man.
A guy wrapped head to toe in black clothes and a black mask.
Cheongun whispered to Jin Cheon-u, who was leading the way.
'That's you. Black Man Sword.'
'It's not Black Man Sword, it's Black Fiend Sword—how many times do I have to...'
'Got it. Masked Black Man Sword.'
'Fuck this shit.'
Jin Cheon-u ground his teeth and took the lead.
Cheongun admired him as he watched.
'Guys with fierce eyes look extra intimidating in black masks.'
'Why are you telling me that?'
'Look at your eyes. So fierce and bitchy, they make you seem several times stronger than your piddly martial arts level warrants. Like you were born to wear black garb. Black-Clad Black Man Sword. Your nickname fits perfectly.'
'......'
Fuck, that asshole sect leader.
I'm seriously gonna grind through peak realm just to spite this filthy dogshit.
Jin Cheon-u stormed ahead, snorting in rage.
But even in his fury, he minimized his presence as much as possible.
Suppressing your presence is simple.
First, breathe shallowly, then touch down from the edge of your sole to reduce noise.
Use blind spots behind walls and pillars, and slow all movements.
Breathing too.
Minimize respiration and pulse to eliminate fluctuations in your internal energy.
The core of the Shadow Flight Technique is emptying your very existence.
No ripples in the mind, empty the spirit, entrust consciousness to wind and shadow.
Suppress internal energy, leave no footsteps, make even breaths blend into the wind.
'This way.'
'Good.'
Cheongun and Jin Cheon-u strode to the wall, scaled it to the roof.
They leaped lightly from roof to roof.
Sticking to shadow zones untouched by light, their dark attire left not even a shadow behind.
Then, a patrolling guard appeared ahead in the corridor.
'Sect leader, hold.'
'What's up?'
'Patrol up ahead.'
'Yeah?'
Jin Cheon-u nodded.
No need to make a fuss in cases like this.
Just slip past in a blind spot out of his sight.
As he turned to relay this to the sect leader—
'Enemy.'
Scree—!
A blue flash streaked through the air.
It was a Shadow Needle Dart from Cheongun.
The guard sensed something off too late and tried to dodge, but couldn't.
Who'd expect a dart flying at them in the dead of night?
Thus, the dart pierced right between his eyes.
With a hole in his forehead, he let out a short death rattle, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed.
Jin Cheon-u whispered in shock.
'Fuck, what if you kill him!'
'Dead men tell no tales.'
'No, it's not over just because he's dead...'
Before Jin Cheon-u could finish—
Another man passing by spotted the fallen comrade, bent down, and shook his shoulder.
Shaking a corpse won't wake it.
He checked the pulse, realized he was dead, startled, and scanned around.
As Jin Cheon-u was about to blame Cheongun—
'Another one.'
With that, another dart flew.
Incredible accuracy— it pierced the man's forehead dead center again.
But his bulky build made a slightly louder thud as he crumpled.
Perhaps that's why— footsteps came rushing.
A close call, but eight martial artists were charging to investigate.
Jin Cheon-u swallowed and pleaded.
'Sect leader, we need to retreat now...'
But Cheongun wasn't one to listen.
He just gripped eight darts in both hands, raising his arms to shoulder height.
'A bit many this time.'
With that, he swung both arms down like slashing.
The darts flew, each carrying sword energy, slicing through the air.
Thin, silent, hard-to-spot—they gave no chance to dodge.
The eight sword-energy darts pierced the charging men's foreheads in sequence.
Just thin as needles, but what happens when the sharp sword energy shreds the brain upon penetration?
Answer: Brain vessels torn to shreds.
The result, naturally—
"Gurk..."
Death.
The forehead-pierced men dropped like puppets with cut strings, eyes glazing over.
Stragglers came to check afterward, but none escaped— all met darts to the forehead and perished.
At first, one death brought more like cockroaches, but as they kept dying, silence fell around them before long.
"......"
Jin Cheon-u was speechless.
The process was gruesome, but the result perfect.
It was a mess, but all witnesses were dead, right?
No one left to detect their infiltration.
Cheongun nodded in confirmation.
'This is assassination.'
'......'
Shadow Flying Yin Messenger Jang Muyoung.
As the head of the Non-Demon Squad's capital branch, he was deep in thought.
The Heavenly Demon God Cult.
Though called a cult, it teaches martial arts, shares power, runs an organization, and extends tentacles everywhere to expand influence— practically a massive sect.
Its vast scale allows independent factions within, with competing cliques vying for interests.
Among them are forces directly under the cult leader.
The reason the absolute being Heavenly Demon keeps direct subordinates is simple.
Not for cult stability.
To monitor anyone showing even a hint of disloyalty by keeping them close.
The Non-Demon Squad was the same.
Among the many lunatics, it's where those obsessed with killing and blood gathered.
Lately, they sought independence from the cult.
The first step: the Soul-Sealing Great Law, trapping living demonic souls in objects.
As branch head, Jang Muyoung was gathering sacrificial victims for the rite.
That's why his office had neatly arranged children's clothes and shoes everywhere, with bloodstains scrubbed from corners.
Knock knock.
A knock echoed.
Jang Muyoung said,
"Who is it?"
"Non-Demon Squad Leader."
"...What?"
Then.
Shing.
A sword blade pierced the iron door and poked out.
Followed by faint metal scrape, the blade traced a square around the handle.
Moments later, with a tearing crack, the handle thudded to the floor.
And—
—Boom!
Cheongun kicked the door flying; the massive iron slab bounced off the wall.
"......"
"......"
Cheongun and Jang Muyoung exchanged glances.
Jang Muyoung swallowed hard.
A master who sliced iron like tofu, yet his aura felt utterly ordinary.
Unmistakably peak realm.
Jang Muyoung asked,
"Who are you?"
Cheongun didn't answer the question.
He faced an unexpected situation.
"Not a demon?"
"Bursting in here spouting nonsense..."
Cheongun stared at Jang Muyoung.
Clearly emitting killing intent toward him, yet no trait alert popped up.
Meaning he wasn't a demon.
He hadn't anticipated this.
Well, in the original story, most Blood Cult guys were Demonic Cult alumni, but plenty weren't.
This one must be too.
—Shing!
Regardless.
Cheongun drew his sword.
Not the Crimson Night Sword.
His fresh new ultimate weapon.
As he drew, a blue window slid up: trait activated.
Just what he wanted.
As Cheongun nodded in satisfaction—
"That sword!"
Jang Muyoung's eyes widened in horror at the sight.
Like a man catching his lover arm-in-arm with a stranger.
"How do you have that?!"
"Stole it."
"Stole it?! With the Demon Lord there, how?!"
"Oh, that old monster?"
Cheongun grinned.
"Killed them all."
"You bastard!"
Jang Muyoung vanished, leaving a black afterimage.
Cheongun angled his sword diagonally left.
As if on cue, Jang Muyoung emerged from Cheongun's shadow, slashing down fiercely.
Clang—!
Swords clashed.
Cheongun channeled energy.
The more he poured, the more sinister red aura roiled around his blade.
That color.
And the savage aura.
Definite demonic qi.
Yet, oddly, no evil taint.
Black as pitch.
Black, but pure.
'...What the hell?'
Jang Muyoung stared at Cheongun in shock mid-clash.
Black eyes, black energy form—textbook demonic possession.
Only natural.
Wielding a demonic sword force-sealing thousands of demon souls without fear invites madness.
...But how was he fine?
Even his ego seemed intact?
And not just that.
Jang Muyoung had been freely channeling energy into sword qi.
But for some reason, his sword qi wouldn't grow.
No— it was shrinking.
His azure sword qi seeped away, flowing into Cheongun's blade, corrupting red, while Cheongun's swelled.
"!!!"
Jang Muyoung's eyes filled with horror.
Absorbing others' energy and converting to demonic qi?
In his knowledge, only one realm did that.
The dream of all demons: the supreme realm for demonic arts cultivators.
'Transcending Demon realm!'
Then—
—Slash!
Cheongun's towering crimson sword qi breezed past Jang Muyoung's shrunken one, slicing him from shoulder to waist diagonally.
Cheongun smiled.
"Your swordplay was pretty good."
"You son of a—"
—Spurt!