Blood Debt
Crack.
The grotesque sound of flesh and joints twisting filled the air.
"Gyaaah!"
The man impersonating Hye-seung let out a hideous scream. Ma Jungcheon swallowed hard as Moyong Cheonghye's usual gentle air vanished in an instant, replaced by something far colder. The moment a true villain stood before her, she poured out a murderous aura so thick it could choke a man.
The agonizing art of Tendon-Snapping Bone-Twisting slammed into the bald man without pause, wrenching his muscles and joints again and again.
"Truly the Evil-Slaying Divine Maiden," Ma Jungcheon thought. Just as the rumors said—she showed not a shred of mercy to the wicked. Especially that frost-sharp expression of hers. No wonder they had once called her the Cold Flower.
"Talk. What are the Blood Cult remnants plotting in Shaanxi?"
The impostor's face flushed an ugly red, swollen with pain that looked ready to burst. Yet even as his entire body twisted and contorted under the technique, he refused to open his mouth so easily.
"Remnants...? Heh. Do we look like mere remnants to you, girl?"
Even through the agony he wore a slick, taunting smile, goading Moyong Cheonghye with everything he had. The Vice Leader of the Demon Exterminating Squad twitched a slender brow.
Shing.
The moment her blue-tinged blade began to leave its sheath, Squad Leader Jeok Unyeop rushed to her side in alarm.
"Vice Leader, have you lost your mind? Calm yourself. We need to hear what he has to say, don't we?"
He truly thought she might take the man's head then and there; urgency edged his voice. Still, she must have respected his rank as Squad Leader—she shoved the blade back into its scabbard with trembling hands.
"Hah..."
Had she once lost someone precious to scum like this? For all her usual rationality, situations like these always turned her emotional.
"Is this revenge?"
At Moyong Cheonghye's quiet question, the impostor grinned.
"What else would it be?"
During the Righteous-Blood War, whole mountains had run red. The Nine Great Sects and Five Great Clans—especially the Heavenly Sword and Thunder Sword—had nearly uprooted the Blood Cult entirely. Yet the way he sneered at the word "remnants" suggested they had rebuilt their strength in the shadows once more.
"Thirty years ago your people, led by the Heavenly Sword and Thunder Sword, cut down our Cult Leader and Young Cult Leaders. Did you really think we would sit still without collecting that blood debt?"
He ground his teeth, spitting talk of bloody vengeance. To hear him speak, one might think the Blood Cult had been the victims of some unjust ambush. The truth was the opposite.
"You were the ones who struck first. You were the ones who used innocent commoners as ingredients for your blood arts. For the likes of you to even utter the words 'blood debt'—it is beyond absurd."
Moyong Cheonghye's eyes blazed with righteous light, insisting justice stood with them. The Blood Cultist only twisted his lips into a bitter smirk.
"That hypocrisy you call 'justice'? You orthodox types never cha—"
Deciding further talk was pointless, Moyong Cheonghye twisted his arm again.
"Ghhk!"
"Speak. What are you planning? When, and where, do you intend to strike?"
The sensation of limbs wrenching out of place wrung a silent scream from the Blood Cultist; his whole body convulsed.
"Even if I talk... what changes?"
"If you talk, at least I'll send you off comfortably."
The bald man, half his human-skin mask already ruined, snorted at the answer and continued.
"If that's what you mean... no. Cough..."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean..."
He lifted his head as if eager to speak, eyes fixed on Moyong Cheonghye's face.
"...Even if I told you, it would already be too late. So what changes? Heh."
A sneer of absolute confidence. Moyong Cheonghye's expression hardened at once.
"Don't tell me..."
She whipped her gaze toward the sparring grounds where the quarterfinals were still underway. Had the finals—or even the semi-finals, when the crowds would be thickest—not been their chosen day after all?
"What?"
"It's already happening?"
Squad Leader Jeok Unyeop and Ma Jungcheon cried out in turn. Moyong Cheonghye bit down hard on her red lips, realizing they were already one step behind. No matter what her father said, she should have forced the tournament to stop. All for the ambition of restoring the clan and surpassing the Namgung Clan—and now it had come to this.
"Just as you tried to sever our bloodline, we will repay you in kind. The Heavenly Sword, the Thunder Sword, and even their children! We'll hunt them all down and—"
Slash!
A sword stroke cleanly severed the Blood Cultist's neck. A thin crimson line appeared across his throat; a heartbeat later his head tumbled free in a spray of blood.
"Evil-Slaying Divine Maiden! What do you think you're doing, taking his head without warning?!"
Jeok Unyeop's voice rang with pure exasperation—she was at it again. But Moyong Cheonghye's eyes never left the direction of the sparring grounds.
He had said they would sever the bloodline—return exactly what they had received. The Blood Cult's targets were almost certainly those who had contributed most to killing their Cult Leader during the Blood Calamity. That pointed overwhelmingly to the Heavenly Sword's lineage and the Thunder Sword's lineage, both of whom had been at the height of their power decades ago.
"...We have to go. Now. They're after my father and my brother. I'm certain of it!"
On the sparring stage, one man lay collapsed while another stood tall—the contrast could not have been more absolute.
"T-the victor is Young Hero Dan Mujin!"
The referee snapped the victory flag toward me with a flourish. Surrounded by physicians, Moyong Hwi—this year's heavy favorite to win the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering—was carried off with a face twisted in pure humiliation. Spectators who had bet on him howled and cursed from every corner of the stands, unable to believe their eyes.
"...This is impossible!"
"Fix! It's fixed!"
"A nobody vagabond beat one of the Five Great Clans' prodigies?"
"And he beat the crap out of him? Are you kidding me?!"
Yeah. Turns out it was possible.
The Heavenly Killing Star grew stronger the more it fought, and the thicker the bloodlust and killing intent became. In this match I had soaked up the true essence of the Moyong Clan's sword arts the way a sponge soaks up water.
"Was it something like this?"
A knot of qi gathered at the tip of the Hell Demon-Slaying Staff, ready to surge free at any moment. Without even meaning to, I had taken another step toward enlightenment. Before long I might finally unleash the sword qi, saber qi, or staff qi I had dreamed of—sweeping the battlefield however I pleased.
Peak Realm experts, who could wield the power of dozens of First-class martial artists through pure insight into qi, were the backbone of the Murim and the darlings of every clan and merchant house that tried to hire them as guests.
"Incredible! That was an amazing match! I knew it!"
While jeers rained down from every side—plenty of people had just lost a fortune—a few voices from the stands actually cheered for me. I recognized them by sound alone, smirked, and hopped lightly up toward them.
There was Ilhong, my subordinate, beaming as she greeted me.
"Hehe. I knew you'd win, Boss."
She stood with hands on her hips, looking thoroughly smug—clearly she had hit the long odds. Her neat brows kept twitching as she failed to hide her joy.
"I am truly grateful, Young Hero Dan...!"
Beside her stood Chief Jo, whom I hadn't seen in a while. The betting slip clutched in his hand and the pure delight on his face told me he had put money on me as well. One of the few who had backed the underdog, right alongside Ilhong. I hadn't given him enough credit—the man had a decent eye after all. Nearby, his son and daughter were looking at me with brand-new respect now that I had flattened the tournament favorite Moyong Hwi.
"Where are the others?"
I asked Ilhong when I saw neither Jo Harang nor Dang Yeohye. As for Ma Jungcheon, that old fox had probably gone trailing after Moyong Cheonghye to get in early with the unofficial next Alliance Leader.
"Those two are up next, so they left to prepare."
Now that she mentioned it, I had seen both their names on the bracket. Two heavy favorites colliding in the quarterfinals.
"Who are you betting on this time, Boss?"
"Good question."
They were evenly matched, but the girl with a star stuck in her head probably had the edge.
I shrugged and dropped into the seat beside Ilhong. After a match that thick with killing intent, my whole body felt like lead.
"Hah... finally, a chance to rest... Hm?"
Just as I tried to let myself relax, I sensed a killing intent that was anything but ordinary, not far away. The place was packed wall to wall, so I couldn't pin the exact spot—yet when I focused, that crimson murderous will burned bright and clear.
"What the hell is this?"
I ignored the exhaustion and activated the Heavenly Killing Eyes, sweeping the sparring grounds. Scarlet clumps of killing intent lurked everywhere like cancerous cells. Especially around the seats packed with orthodox martial artists and the VIP boxes—figures dressed as ordinary civilians, waiting.
"Boss? What's wrong?"
Ilhong asked, noticing my expression. Then, as if on cue, those suspicious figures all rose at once. Every single one of them held a small iron sphere with a smoldering fuse stuck in it. One look was enough. Anything shaped like that was dangerous.
I scanned the crowd in a panic—and locked eyes with the source of the first killing intent I had felt. He was just about to hurl a fist-sized object straight at us.
"Shit! Get down!"
I shouted and flung myself at Ilhong.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—!
Thunderous explosions tore through the arena. In the blink of an eye the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering sparring grounds became a dust-choked hellscape. Screams and shouts tangled together as people staggered in every direction—some desperately trying to flee, others frantically searching for family. Total chaos.
In the middle of the madness I checked the condition of the person I had just shielded.
"Boss, your hands are getting awfully bold."
She was fine. Anyone who could still crack a joke like that while pretending to be calm was definitely unhurt.
"Any injuries?"
"N-no, of course not. You covered me."
She put on a brave face, but she had clearly been shaken—stammering while nestled right against my chest.
"Thunderclap Bombs?"
As a modern man I recognized the weapons immediately, but I still asked Ilhong for confirmation.
"More precisely, Small Thunderclap Bombs. The blast radius isn't huge, but they're perfect for turning the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering into pure pandemonium."
She was exactly right. After the bombs went off, Blood Cultists drew their blades and charged the orthodox martial artists still reeling in confusion. The clash of weapons and enraged battle cries erupted on every side.
"Chivalrous Righteous Squad! Butcher every last Blood Cult remnant!"
"Uoooooh!"
Having been tipped off in advance by the Demon Exterminating Squad, the Murim Alliance fighters launched their counterattack. Sword qi and saber winds flashed; the entire grounds became a battlefield.
I pulled Ilhong to her feet. Chief Jo had already vanished—probably bolted the moment I knocked the bomb aside with a thrown pebble.
"There he is! The orthodox bastard who beat the Minor Thunderbolt Sword!"
"Kill him and sever the bloodline!"
Four crimson figures spotted me the second I stood and came charging. Part of the red was pure killing intent, but they were also soaked in blood from some foul technique of their own.
Bang! Bang!
Ilhong drew hidden weapons from her robes—one in each hand—and opened fire. A storm of needle-like darts swept over the oncoming Blood Cultists. They collapsed shrieking, bristling like porcupines.
"When did those turn into a matching pair?"
I eyed the twin-pistol stance she had just pulled off.
"Like you always say, Boss—better safe than sorry."
Quick learner, this one. Dang Yeohye was going to throw another fit when she saw them.
Clink.
I watched Ilhong reload needles and powder into the chambers, then settled the Hell Demon-Slaying Staff across my shoulder. The scene before me was pure carnage.
"What do we do, Boss?"
"Hell if I know."
Logic screamed to stay out of other people's feuds and just run for the hills. But the energy of the Seongun Simbeop inside me whispered that I should help anyone who could still be saved.
Kill!
Ah, right—there was also one voice I definitely didn't need to listen to.
"We've got... good deeds to rack up, I guess."
And more importantly, I had put a massive wager on winning this entire Dragon-Phoenix Gathering. If the tournament went up in smoke, my fat payout vanished with it.
"Can't have that, Boss."
"Right?"
Ilhong, who had also bet heavily on my victory, nodded hard. That left us with only one decision.
Might as well get some real combat experience to go with the new insight.
"Let's go wreck these red bastards."
I poured internal energy into the staff and kicked off the ground.