Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Elder, Let's Do One Thing Together (3)
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My proposal was the same.
But the situation had changed.
First off, the formation was collapsing much faster than I'd anticipated.
'When the original protagonist entered, the breakdown was more leisurely...'
Well, unlike Jeonghyeon, who had opened the formation's gate through orthodox methods, I'd essentially forced the door wide open.
Anyway.
The absolute time buffer had shrunk, and on top of that, the Sword Demon elder's attitude had shifted.
'It started as annoyance sprinkled with a dash of curiosity...'
Now, he was showing clear fondness toward me.
'In that case, I can push him a little for an answer, right?'
Having finished my thoughts, I opened my mouth right away.
"Is that really worth agonizing over? Just come with me. Honestly, from your position, worst case you break even, don't you? If there's no downside, you get to tour the world after ages, and on top of that, prove your lingering regret—the Heaven-Splitting Ten Swords—are unrivaled under heaven."
"...Lingering regret? Treating me like some grudge spirit, are you?"
"What's a grudge spirit if not one haunted by unfulfilled dreams and grudges? A solitary soul like you fits the bill. In sheer magnitude of regret, the countless ghosts scattered across the land couldn't hold a candle to you. Not even one that frosts the air in the fifth moon could craft a formation this grand."
"Hmph. Do as you please. I said I could teach you at least a single stance—if you're the greedy one wasting time and end up empty-handed, that's on you. Well, tasting bitter futility from overreaching is a youthful rite of passage anyway."
"Oh, so you're permitting it, Elder? No—Master?"
"...Master. Never imagined I'd take a disciple like this in my lifetime. Though that's only if your soul arts actually work."
Oh.
So I'm to be the Sword Demon's first disciple?
'Huh.'
Come to think of it, yeah!
The Heavenly Demon founder Hyeok Ryeon-geum called him Elder too, and wasn't counted as a disciple!
'Wait, then how does the lineage shake out?'
Do I become the first-generation disciple, turning the Demonic Cult folks into collaterals and mongrels?
Recalling the original story, they bickered endlessly inside the cult over Heavenly Demon this, Blood Demon that, Cult Protector King this—squabbling for who legitimately inherited the Sword Demon's line...
'Talk about a hilarious twist.'
It was then.
As I swallowed a chuckle to myself over the sudden thought.
The Sword Demon elder—who had no clue I'd been called the Necromancer King in my past life—bellowed on.
"Anyway, before yapping 'Master,' prove that soul art of yours first! If it flops like your pipe dream, master-disciple nonsense goes up in smoke, doesn't it?!"
His shout snapped me from my reverie. I reached out, focusing my mind.
"Yes, yes. On it."
Formations like this operated on principles akin to lucid dreaming, in simple terms.
Like how, in a dream, realizing it's a dream lets you extend your will and reshape anything.
Reach the core here, extend your will, and manifest what you desire. And what I desired was...
"...It's here."
"What is that—that giant scythe?"
This massive scythe was the soul weapon granted to contractors of the Nightmare Lord, my trusty blade from my Necromancer King days: the Hell's Toll.
"Ahh, this heavy, chilling sensation."
How long had it been?
Anyway, no time.
Brushing off the elder's curiosity, I channeled a handful of inner energy into the Hell's Toll and began tracing spells in the air.
Woooong—
The traced spells swiftly formed an array, becoming a single magic circle.
Wuuung—
More circles piled up, meshing together like interlocking gears.
"...Hmm. Not Taiji, huh?"
The Sword Demon elder's mutterings multiplied with them.
One.
"...No five elements aura either."
And two.
Three.
"...Nor is that runt some Dao sage at the pinnacle."
By the fourth circle's completion, his mutter turned to a question.
"...My formation I set up—it's really getting sucked into that bizarre array you conjured?! What sorcery is this?!"
Finally, the fifth circle locked into the prior four, completing the full array.
As my magic circles formed a funnel, slurping up Wi Cheol-jin's formation...
"...You brat. What's your real reason for wanting to be my disciple? Some soul art prowess?! This is beyond that!"
The question's tack had flipped entirely.
Good grief.
Just moments ago, he was all 'greed leads to futility' and such.
"It's not that impressive."
"Not impressive? Even those snout-nosed Mosan Sect curse-mongers who've grubbed at sorcery for over a millennium couldn't touch your heels, and it's not impressive? With soul arts alone you'd reign supreme under heaven—why seek a master at all?!"
In truth, I'd plumbed these depths to the end in my first life, and while limited, this formation let me unleash my specialty freely—so I genuinely didn't see it as that big a deal.
But rather than explain that...
"That's why. I'm the most sincere soul toward you under heaven, Master."
"How'd it swerve back there?!"
"As you see, I can fend for myself. Places like Mosan Sect would roll out the red carpet: 'We wholeheartedly welcome you aboard! Come on in!'"
"Fair point."
"Yet here I am, to serve you. Haha."
Half brazen flattery, figuring it'd ring sweet in Master's ears.
"...Hmph! You haven't even done the discipleship rites, yet 'Master' rolls off your tongue easy."
Yet the Sword Demon's reaction struck deeper.
The discipleship rites—formal Murim ceremony sealing martial inheritance bonds.
'Nailed it.'
Mere moments ago, it'd felt like a half-reluctant sweep into master-disciple status.
Now, the rite slipped from his own lips.
'Of course, actual martial transmission's another matter.'
But I was confident there too.
Eon Yong-un's body brimmed with martial talent, plain as day.
The Sword Demon hadn't earned his moniker gambling; inside his controlled formation, he'd gauged the flesh's potential before speaking.
'So the divine vessel's unanimously affirmed.'
Left were comprehension and grit.
I trusted myself unmatched in both.
As they say, the one who's tasted fine meat knows best—even if the grain differed, I'd touched black magic's pinnacle.
Anyway.
Thoughts end here.
To perform the rites properly, I cupped my fists in salute and spoke.
"Yong-un of Hebei's Pearl Eon Family formally pays respects to become a disciple of the Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect."
Had it been some major sect like the Nine Great Powers, it'd be a raucous feast with generations of disciples crowding in for revelry.
But the Heaven-Splitting Sword Sect—my new school as of now—boasted a lone soul-master and today's single disciple, barely scraping a full roster. Neither Master nor I cared for empty pomp, and with the dire straits, our rites wrapped simply.
"So, what's next, disciple?"
After endless 'you brat' jabs, Master finally switched appellations post-rites. He spoke from the array's heart, backdrop visibly crumbling.
"Mm. Almost done. The spells I built form a sort of funnel."
"Funnel?"
"Yes. It channels your formation into my soul without a drop spilled."
"Ah, so that's why it looked like my array was getting absorbed into yours."
"Yep."
"Then I'll be able to leave this formation?"
"Yes. 'As in life' might irk, but for convenience, shall we say that?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Right. To continue: You won't regain full flesh-and-blood like life, but you'll see and feel through me."
"Hm. Like I'm possessing you, then?"
"Yes, similar. As I hinted earlier, my soul's unique—no risk of you seizing control. So no joy in puppeteering limbs."
"...Hmm."
"But sight, senses—those you get. Eat or drink through me. Crave sights? I'll trek. Cravings? I'll chow down. Everything's fair game except tables."
"Cheeky pup."
"Oh, sashimi excluded."
"?"
In Murim, 'sashimi' meant raw freshwater fish all the way.
No antiparasitics in this era—you'd drop dead. Dead-dead.
"So I just sit tight?"
"No. You're the formation's heaviest core, after all."
"True enough."
"Your array's frame seems fully absorbed. I'll step out first, then draw your soul. No time for full rundown. Just entrust your soul wholly to me—cool?"
"Fine. So be it."
"......?"
"What?"
"Aren't you entrusting your soul a bit too casually?"
...We literally just met today?
"Not sure if a disciple should say this, but don't trust folks so quick, Master..."
"...Weren't you the one saying 'worst case break even'? Quit the nonsense and work that funnel—funnel board, whatever—properly!"
Good grief.
Praised Mosan snouts as heel-biters earlier, now it's 'funnel board'?
Anyway, Master's soul was now mine.
"See you shortly, Master."
I bowed politely to my new Sword Demon master.
Then, waving him off casually, exited the formation.
"Disciple of the Sword Demon."
I'd come this far for exactly that.
Still, accomplishment swelled huge in my chest.
Craved a victory whoop on the spot.
But no time.
I intoned the activation phrase, drawing Master's soul—hovering near the spirit-human realm border—into mine, fully igniting the built spells.
"Nightmare Lord's agent seeks the contracted grudge spirit—heed my call and dwell within me!"
A vortex whipped up in the stone chamber. The lingering formation compressed, hurtling straight at me.
Spot-on as planned.
But then—a snag.
"!!!"
My bones ached with cold.
Joints screamed like they'd shatter from frost any second; limbs and meridians cramped inward.
"...Damn. Overlooked one thing."
I'd wielded black magic freely till now, and the body's owner had swung it capably enough to assume talent.
But truth: Compared to my original flesh, this body outshone in martial aptitude—yet its foundation for yin ghost qi was sorely lacking.
"...This much yin qi—this body's too frail?!"
What now?
Crisis imminent.
Then—a flash of insight hit.
"Regret!"
The sword Regret, from Chief Steward Gam, hailed from North Sea Ice Palace in the frozen north—cold-iron forged.
'Regret can handle this chill, vessel Master's soul.'
Instant decision: Drew Regret, rerouted the spell flow.
'Differs from what I told Master—worry later!'
The frost battering my body shuuuuk— sucked into Regret like arrows.
Scarce moments later, the deferred worry crashed in.
—What in blazes is this?!
"...Well, Master, y'see—don't dynasties flip every century or so?"
—What's that got to do with this?!
"...Flip 'Sword Demon' and you get 'Demon Sword,' right? Ahaha. Ahahahaha."