Slay the Demon with Goodness
To prop up the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult there stood seven pillars known as the Seven Demon Heavens. Among them, the Third Elder of the Sword Demon Heaven, Jo Jinguang, was a frequent visitor to the Cheonghae Iron Workshop.
It was never for business. The dealings between the Iron Workshop and the Sword Demon Heaven were matters for underlings to manage—not the kind of affairs a man of his station needed to concern himself with.
There was only one reason he came.
"Elder, when will you finally take me to the Cult?"
The young woman pouring his wine asked with a bashful smile, and Jo Jinguang nodded with a look of clear satisfaction.
"Very soon now. Truly."
"Tch, you said the same thing last time."
Jo Jinguang studied her for a long moment.
Naturally, he had no intention of bringing her to the Cult at all. Within the Sword Demon Heaven—within the Divine Cult itself—he had a reputation to maintain. Was he seriously going to dally with some lowborn blacksmith girl?
He simply stopped by because her face was pleasing to look at, and everything else about her besides.
He was in the middle of a thoroughly pleasant drink when it happened.
Kugugung—!
The ground began to shudder without warning.
Jo Jinguang frowned slightly and called out toward the door.
"What's going on out there?"
"Ah, the formation has been triggered, Elder."
One of his men outside answered.
Jo Jinguang gave an indifferent nod and returned to his wine.
This was the Cheonghae Iron Workshop, after all. The formation guarding this place could claim the life of even a master like himself if he wandered into it carelessly.
The workshop was so vast that petty thieves slipped in from time to time. Nothing worth worrying about.
But the unpleasant tremor refused to die down, even after a long while. If anything, it was only growing stronger.
Jo Jinguang, whose pleasant mood had curdled, soon found himself unable to bear it and rose from his seat.
"What in the world is it?"
Leaving the woman behind, he strode outside—where the blacksmiths of the Cheonghae Iron Workshop and the Cult's martial artists were in a state of utter panic.
When Jo Jinguang seized one of the underlings and demanded answers, the reply that came back was hard to believe.
"He's still holding out? From inside the formation?"
Jo Jinguang's expression stiffened.
How many masters in all the world could endure that long within the coils of such a formation?
It was not simply a matter of skill. The formation devoured the inner energy of anyone trapped inside, relentlessly—even a Transcendental master of considerable caliber would have struggled to last this long.
Jo Jinguang clicked his tongue softly.
"Has the Sect Leader of Kunlun come calling, then?"
So saying, he walked toward the source of the formation. The workshop's formation masters, stricken with alarm, hurriedly dismantled each array along his path as he passed.
Soon Jo Jinguang arrived at the place where the formation stood. And at that very moment—
Quaaaaaaang—!
The formation collapsed.
And there stood a young man he had never seen before.
Jo Jinguang had naturally assumed the intruder would be some renowned master of the Orthodox or Unorthodox worlds, and so the sight left him somewhat nonplussed.
As the fight wore on, Jo Jinguang's bewilderment only deepened. He had noticed by now that the man's inner energy was peculiar. Perhaps he had stumbled upon some rare fortuitous encounter, for he seemed to have mastered a rising-type energy art of considerable quality.
But no matter what rising art one practiced, anyone trapped within half a formation, facing him, was bound to exhaust himself and collapse in short order.
This monstrous bastard…
The man did not fall.
Exhaustion was written plainly across his body, yet the force behind his sword strikes never diminished.
After a lengthy exchange, Jo Jinguang arrived at a single conclusion.
This young whelp is stronger than the Cult's own Young Cult Leader.
Such a thing should have been impossible—yet it was unfolding right before his eyes.
And so, he gave the matter a moment's thought.
Should I take this one back to the Cult?
The deliberation did not last long. A man who had attained such martial prowess at this age would, with overwhelming likelihood, prove uncontrollable in the years to come.
Which left only one answer.
Killing him is the right course.
If this monstrous seedling were allowed to live, who knew how towering a tree it might grow into, someday threatening the Divine Cult itself?
The moment he resolved himself, the man's strength, as if by chance, gave out and the vines of the formation coiled around him.
Relieved inwardly, Jo Jinguang thrust his sword toward the man's heart.
Kang—!
Open bewilderment spread across Jo Jinguang's face.
What is this?
The thought flashed through him. No armor in existence—not the finest plate in all the realm—could have turned the sword of the Sword Demon Heaven's elder so completely.
Judging by the sensation at the blade's tip, that strike had done no more than barely nick the surface of whatever the man wore.
Then it happened.
The man tore the vines away with sheer strength and thrust out his palm—filled with a dark crimson energy.
Jjeooooooong—!
Jo Jinguang, struck full in the face by the palm force, was hurled back a dozen-odd steps with both hands clutching his face.
He had thrown up his Body-Protecting Astral Qi in desperate haste, yet it felt as though his eye had burst all the same.
Jo Jinguang spiraled into confusion, gripping his left eye as blood streamed between his fingers.
What in the…
An elder of the Seven Demon Heavens though he was, he had never seen—never even heard of—demonic energy so dense and so abyssally dark.
The only thing it called to mind was—
The Heavenly Demon Divine Art.
The single supreme martial art enthroned at the peak of ten thousand demons. That was the energy he sensed.
It was clearly a different kind of demonic force, and yet its distinctive ominousness, its oppressive darkness, matched the Heavenly Demon Divine Art—or perhaps…
Impossible as it seemed, it felt even superior to it.
He told himself it was only the terror of his own peril coloring his perception.
After all, no demonic power standing above the Heavenly Demon Divine Art had ever existed.
Jin Seongun strode toward him step by heavy step.
Every meridian in his body felt twisted out of true, his muscles screaming as if they would tear apart.
And yet his heart was at ease, for he had made it out of the formation.
"K-kill him!"
At Jo Jinguang's cry, dozens of martial artists threw themselves at Jin Seongun all at once.
Jin Seongun exhaled a ragged breath and reached out his hand.
Kwajik—!
He crushed everyone who stood in his way.
Snapping necks, shattering ribs, bursting dantians entire—he pressed onward without pause.
In his wake, the corpses of the demonic cultivators piled higher with every step.
After some twenty paces, no one lunged at him any longer. The demonic cultivators had long since been torn to pieces, and all that remained were the second-rate fighters of the Cheonghae Iron Workshop.
Having witnessed Jin Seongun's martial might, there was no way they could bring themselves to charge.
Jin Seongun came to a stop before Jo Jinguang.
The elder hastily thrust out his sword.
But with one eye gone, the arc of the blade wavered.
Shwik—!
Jin Seongun tilted his head just enough to evade it, then struck the man's wrist—the sword went spinning from his grip.
"Hah…"
Jin Seongun felt as though his body might collapse then and there. His inner energy was truly down to a mere handful now.
The Yeowol Mind Art was steadily rebuilding his reserves within his dantian, but it was vanishing faster than it could replenish.
Forcing a body at its absolute limit to hold together was draining him terribly.
"N-now, just wait a moment…"
Jo Jinguang said in a low voice.
There was something terrifying about the way this young warrior stared at him—that dry, expressionless gaze.
Jin Seongun, of course, had no interest in conversation. His body might give out at any second.
He reached out into the empty air. The Nokhwa Sword, lying fallen near the ruined formation, was drawn to his hand.
"I-I am Jo Jinguang of the Sword Demon Heaven! Kill me, and the entire Heavenly Demon Divine Cult will become your—!"
The Nokhwa Sword, wreathed in scarlet flame, fell toward his head.
Jo Jinguang poured out his palm force in a last desperate struggle, but the sword cleaved through even that without ceremony.
Seogeok—!
Jo Jinguang's body was severed clean in two.
Blood spattered across Jin Seongun's face.
Jin Seongun stood motionless, the Nokhwa Sword hanging from his hand. His vision was blurring at the edges.
From nowhere, the words of the Sword Immortal came back to him—perhaps because he had cut down a master of the Demonic Cult with the Fire Dragon Escaping Sword.
A suffocating silence settled over the grounds.
Jin Seongun, who had been standing blankly, crumpled where he stood.
The remaining martial artists exchanged glances.
And in the midst of it, one middle-aged man screamed:
"K-kill him!"
It was the Cheonghae Iron Workshop Lord.
At his command, the second-rate fighters approached Jin Seongun with faltering steps.
The might he had displayed just now had planted fear deep into their very marrow.
One of them brought his blade down upon Jin Seongun's back.
Kang—!
The ring of metal rang out.
They all stared at one another in consternation.
Someone peeled back a corner of Jin Seongun's shirt—and between the folds, an iron-gray scale armor revealed itself.
At the sight, the Cheonghae Iron Workshop Lord jolted upright and shouted.
"Th-the Fire God Dragon Armor!"
It was a treasure that would rank within the top three in all of history, ancient or modern.
The martial artists tried to strip it from him, but it clung tightly to his skin and would not come away easily.
The Workshop Lord ordered his blacksmith underlings to retrieve it, then added bitterly:
"An elder of the Sword Demon Heaven has died on our workshop's grounds. How are we to bear the Divine Cult's wrath? If we offer up this treasure, perhaps…"
Then it happened.
"You have confessed your collusion with the Demonic Cult with your own mouth!"
An old man's voice rang out, crisp as cracking ice.
In that instant, the Cheonghae Iron Workshop Lord felt his heart drop through the floor.
Dozens of martial artists came flooding into the grounds like a rising tide.
The old man at their head—
His was a face the Workshop Lord knew well. Behind that mild countenance burned eyes sharper and deeper than any warrior's, and they were fixed squarely on him.
The Sage of Hubei, Sama Baek.
The second-in-command of the Martial Alliance, its Chief Strategist, had come in person, leading troops. This was not suspicion of collusion—it was certainty.
How in the world…?
At that moment, his eye caught the woman standing beside Sama Baek. Her crimson hair held its own against the midnight hour, impossible to ignore.
"The Manor Lord of Nakhwajeong!"
Chae Gahwi, Lord of Falling Fire Manor. And beside her stood Chae Seoryeong, with hair of the same striking red—so like her mother's.
While Sama Baek's smoldering gaze swept the grounds, Do Won-hyeok, the White Sword Hall Master who had personally commanded the troops all this way, spotted the figure lying sprawled on the ground.
Do Won-hyeok had visited Seongun Inn as the Martial Alliance's representative during the Sikmugaek affair, and so he knew Jin Seongun's face.
"Attend to the Guest Dragon. See him carried to safety."
At once the warriors of the White Sword Hall lifted Jin Seongun onto their shoulders and bore him away to a secure place.
The entire sequence moved as swift and smooth as a single gust of wind.
Then Sama Baek, his voice gone cold, spoke loudly enough for every soul to hear.
"All members of the Alliance—punish those who colluded with the Demonic Cult and mocked the Orthodox murim!"
Simultaneously, the White Sword Hall moved.
Every last one of them would be bound and escorted to the Martial Alliance. Their limbs' sinews would be severed, naturally, and those deepest implicated would not escape death.
Then it happened.
The Cheonghae Iron Workshop Lord, glaring at Chae Gahwi, screamed in a strangled voice.
"You lowborn spawn of a union between the Cult and a barbarian wretch! So it was you, shameless girl, who sent word to the Martial Alliance!"
The Workshop Lord knew.
Every circumstance and every piece of evidence was already laid bare. And he himself had just admitted his collusion aloud.
Death was certain. In that case, he might as well drag Nakhwajeong's secret down into the open with him. Better than dying alone—so he reasoned.
Indeed, the Alliance warriors turned to look at Chae Gahwi and Chae Seoryeong. It was the very gaze the two women—the women of Nakhwajeong—feared above all else.
It was the reason they had never once sought aid from the murim powers, even after their legacy was stolen.
Then Sama Baek spoke.
"The Manor Lord of Nakhwajeong sent word to me of her own accord."
It was the truth.
After sending her daughter off with Jin Seongun, Chae Gahwi had spent a sleepless night wrestling with the question.
Was this truly the right thing? Had I not made a selfish choice under the banner of honoring our ancestor's wager and my daughter's resolve?
After a long and bitter deliberation, Chae Gahwi had sent word directly to Sama Baek herself.
"The Demonic Cult was, from its very beginning, founded by fugitives of the Central Plains! The same blood flows in all of us—so what in the world is the problem? Do the people of the Central Plains reject the Cult for nothing more than bloodline?"
"…"
"No. The reason we despise the Demonic Cult, the reason we guard against it and hold it up as an object of extermination, is not the blood—but those vile atrocities and that base malice, which owe nothing to any lineage."
Then Sama Baek finished, in a voice so clear it reached every ear in the grounds:
"Kill them!"
At his word, the White Sword Hall—the finest elite of the Martial Alliance—surged forward a step, releasing a tremendous burst of killing intent.
And then they stopped dead.
Watching them falter, Sama Baek slowly looked around the grounds.
"…There is nothing left to kill."
Because Jin Seongun had already swept the place clean.
All that remained were a handful of the workshop's insignificant fighters.
He shattered the Cheonghae Iron Workshop's formation single-handedly. He killed an elder of the Sword Demon Heaven—one of the Seven Demon Heavens—and cut down dozens of warriors besides.
Only now did Sama Baek truly understand. Why the White Sword Hall Master, why the Wudang Sect and the Sichuan Tang Clan—even the Namgung Clan of late—why all of them had coveted that humble waiter, Jeomsoi, so desperately.
Why they had all coveted Jin Seongun.