Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: The Blood Demon Has Come? (1)
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Time marched on relentlessly.
Peng Yeon-hwa's morning sickness grew steadily worse, so Tang Hye-won took over scouting physicians in her stead.
Sometimes, he even sparred with Tang Hye-won to hone his martial arts.
"Hidden weapon techniques are fundamentally different from other martial arts—they pursue a one-strike kill. Lose the initiative to your opponent first, and you're overwhelmingly disadvantaged."
Having reached the peak realm herself, Tang Hye-won's insights had deepened as well. Without relying purely on inner power reserves, she cornered him to the point where victory would have been a struggle for him.
"This is just training, so no paralytics, but any Tang Family expert is always ready to deploy poison on an enemy. You have to watch for that too."
Unlike the Five Poison Sects—one of the world's great poison gates, where unorthodox sects absorb toxins into their bodies to cultivate poison arts and emit venomous miasma directly—the Tang Family had long abandoned such methods, it was said.
Storing poison in the body disrupted its balance, so discarding poison arts ultimately led to higher realms.
"The Demonic Cult will have plenty using hidden weapons too, and you never know when poison might strike. Even with the elder coming along, you can't let your guard down completely..."
"Got it. I'll be careful."
Attacks blending hidden weapons and hand techniques were undeniably potent.
Unless preemptively accounting for incoming projectiles, he'd be in real trouble.
His days were mostly filled with training sessions like this with Tang Hye-won, bouts of sex, or checking in on Peng Yeon-hwa.
Her belly hadn't truly swelled yet—it still had a ways to go—but it was slowly rounding out.
One visit brought up Mae So-hyang in conversation, which had him breaking into a cold sweat, but he managed to dodge it smoothly.
Truth be told, improving their relationship hinged entirely on Mae So-hyang's will. Her pent-up resentment was the main culprit behind the tension.
'Come to think of it, I promised to look into that demonic pill her son ate... and totally forgot.'
All he knew was that it was called the Sacred Blood Pill—increases inner power, but for anyone not cultivating pure demonic arts, growth in inner energy gradually stagnates.
He'd properly investigate once at the Demonic Cult.
'If I uncover a way to neutralize its effects, I can bait her into sex with that.'
Thus, winter faded, and the day to depart for the Demonic Cult dawned.
It was early spring, over a year since he'd fallen into the martial world.
The journey with his master proved far tougher than imagined.
"M-Master... aren't we taking horses?"
"You need frequent practice depleting your inner energy to the dregs. That's how you learn its consumption patterns."
Staggering on buckling legs, dashing via movement arts until inner energy bottomed out.
"Don't think of martial arts as separate. See them as naturally linked. They all revolve around the Ascending Immortal Art already—splitting footwork, movement, palm, and fist techniques disrupts the energy flow, halving your power."
"It's not clicking..."
"I'll make it click."
If he couldn't grasp the tossed principles of martial profundity, beatings continued until he did.
His body, tempered by the escort agency's grueling regimen, was once more defiled by his master's reckless methods.
"Damn, it's working again..."
"Disciple, no grumbling."
He'd barely hit his master's cutoff, only for the bar to creep higher.
"M-Master! Speaking of, isn't that place a den of demonic arts cultivators? What about the demonic qi clash?"
Orthodox daoist or buddhist inner arts repelled demonic qi fundamentally—they rejected all things corrupt.
Merely sensing each other's presence stirred innate revulsion.
"Ah, right. That."
His master nodded sagely before replying.
"Find the answer yourself."
"Pardon?"
"I've already given the hint. Open the path of Hyeoncheon, and it resolves naturally."
Promising a stopgap if unsolved by arrival, his master left him deep in thought.
'The path of Hyeoncheon...?'
<Yin and yang clash, wounding each other, yet must coexist—that understanding naturally opens the path of Hyeoncheon.>
Hyeoncheon, the 64 hexagrams of the I Ching. The technique's name derived thence, but unlikely related.
Ultimately, dissolve the makeshift Hyeoncheon qi binding Cheonyang and Hyeonum energies?
Fuse the two inner energies into perfect Hyeoncheon qi?
Yet his master gave no direct answer to the end.
The Blood Demon watched his disciple groan and struggle.
A year since taking him as disciple, his supreme physique let him absorb martial arts at breakneck speed, peak realm within sight.
'But it's not enough...'
His wits were solid. He absorbed lessons on the spot.
Peak expert was feasible. The issue lay beyond. No drive for self-improvement.
No burning will to grow stronger than all, to lord over the world with fierce ambition.
No passion to plumb martial profundities.
'His lust is a boon... but it's not enough anymore, disciple.'
Reach peak, then amass energy and refine your path to its pinnacle—like flipping the palm.
But beyond? Could he shatter transcendent gates? The Blood Demon doubted.
Had he been an ordinary genius, detachment possible—knowing the Ascending Immortal Art's limits.
'But it has to be you... Only you can reach its end!'
Flawed Ascending Immortal Art. Disciple's theoretically impossible body could overcome it.
For that end, the Blood Demon was prepared for anything.
Training persisted the entire road, ceasing abruptly upon entering Xinjiang.
And rightly so—this desert sapped stamina, recovery no simple task.
Inner energy helped stave off harm, but trudging sun-baked sinking sands was grueling.
Thus, en route musing became his sole task: his master's homework.
'Path of Hyeoncheon, path of Hyeoncheon...'
The Ascending Immortal Art was bizarre. Fundamentally blending mind and body via sex to grow energy was odd enough, but even aside.
For instance, Tang Hye-won's Hyunmu Heart Art. Or anal sex with Mong-a—odd in retrospect.
Hyunmu Heart Art emphasized yin energy, befitting its name.
Flinging hidden weapons laced with overt yang qi was foolish; centering elusive yin was natural.
Yet when his energy converted to Hyunmu, he distinctly felt it.
Cheonyang and Hyeonum—both yin-yang energies—diminished similarly.
Hyeonum alone vanishing? Plausible. But both equally? What did it mean?
'And trapped in that blizzard...'
Cheonyang dominant, relatively depleted—he'd overcome cold via chill Hyeonum base.
Made any sense?
Elusive, so close yet unseen.
"Ah, looks like a welcoming party."
Having visited the Demonic Cult once before, his master strode ahead, pointing afar.
Channeling energy to his eyes, camel riders approached.
"How'd you know they're Demonic Cult?"
"Merchants load camels heavy. See? Empty."
Indeed, no cargo atop.
"So, got the answer?"
"...Not yet."
"Can't be helped. Here's a substitute."
His master taught Turtle Breath Great Law—assassins' method to mute breath and utterly erase inner energy presence.
Simple once grasped; soon, his inner power's aura vanished flawlessly.
Beyond mere concealment—presence nullified, no more demonic revulsion.
"If they're smart, they'll mandate it for all contacting you... but no harm knowing."
True to "turtle breath," it drastically slowed energy flow.
"Vulnerable to ambushes, so don't overuse," master cautioned.
"Light touch suffices—dim presence mildly. Overdo, and danger lurks."
"Yes, Master."
As he learned, the riders neared, bellowing.
"You there—the one approaching, Kang Yun, young hero?!"
"Yes. Might you be from the De... Demonic Cult...?"
Nearly slipped "Demonic."
"Indeed. Here by Young Cult Leader's order to greet you. But you brought company?"
"Ah, this is my master..."
"You fool, Nanga. Long time no see—forgot me already?"
The shouter spasmed, sword flashing at master's words. Nanga who?
"This old bastard! Do you know who this—!"
"Stand down."
An elder's low, clear voice halted the fray.
"But, Elder...!"
"Don't you know—even kneeling now won't preserve your life against him?"
"Y-Yes...?"
Ignoring the dumbfounded reply, the elder advanced, bowing with clasped fists respectfully.
"Long time, great hero. Forgive this fool's rudeness—his eyes are poor."
"Age dulls temperament. No need to fret."
"Grateful for your understanding."
"But why venture out yourself? My disciple's no big enough deal for that..."
"An old man with idle hands craves fresh air now and then. Lucky to greet you first, no?"
"Fresh air...?"
The elders bantered familiarly, old acquaintances clearly.
"Fine, call it that."
"Then, come along. The Cult Leader will rejoice."
Guided by the elder, they mounted camels. Beasts navigated sinking sands effortlessly—blissful ease.
Though nauseatingly swayful.
Stifling motion sickness, adapting to the rhythm, master's transmission pierced his ear.
[Alone, you might've died.]
[Pardon?]
[Remember: Demonic Cult Elder Jangpae Namgyeol. In youth, previous Leader's hound.]
Sun-scorched, yet chills raced his spine.
[I'm here now—no immediate strike. But don't relax till we know his game. Understood?]
[...Yes.]
Jangpae. Jangpae? As in "evil palm" Jangpae? Transcendent expert?
No mere outing, but a transcendent gunning for him? Neck hairs prickled.
Invited him in, then this?
He burned to confront Young Leader Young Ho-kyeong straight—what the hell?