Day 1: The Disciples' Desperate Stand (3)
Seorin could taste the sweet tang of blood lingering in her mouth. Every ragged gasp tore at her lungs like they were being ripped apart, and the dark red blood oozed from the scrapes on her hands where she'd gripped the jagged rocks. At the summit of Flying Dragon Riding Clouds, the most treacherous peak on Wudang Mountain, she lay sprawled on the cold ground, heaving for breath. Her eyes burned with hatred at the massive back of the man standing casually at the cliff's edge, gazing down at the mountain vista with utter nonchalance.
Monster bastard.
Her master. The genius who'd shaken the martial world by reaching Hwagyeong at the youngest age ever, now teetering on the edge of that realm's peak. And in her previous life, the Blood Cult's grand archbishop who'd plunged the world into hell.
Cheongun.
He'd scaled this insane cliff with nothing but his bare body and no internal energy, just like them. Yet while they lay exhausted and collapsed, he showed not a single sign of strain. His breathing was even serene.
For hours as they'd climbed, Seorin had tracked his every step, etching it into her eyes. Even his light footfalls embodied a profound martial realm that defied natural laws.
Can I... really kill him?
In her past life, she'd devoted herself to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, severing countless rivals' throats to rise to elder. Yet just staring at his standing silhouette choked her breath.
No matter how much she trained, could she ever match the realm embedded in those steps?
She had no idea when he'd joined the Blood Cult. No one could master such horrific demonic arts wielding blood qi in just a day or two, so he must have already concealed that demonic nature when he'd taken them in and secluded them in this mountain valley.
Did he... notice?
That they'd regressed? That they harbored killing intent toward him?
This sudden hiking trip out of nowhere. In her previous life, he'd never done anything like this. Was he testing them now that he knew everything?
No. Impossible.
If he knew, he'd have torn their limbs off that very morning. Then disguised it as the work of some demonic cult or unorthodox faction. That's the kind of man he was.
But... was he really clueless? Was bringing them here mere coincidence?
Her head throbbed with confusion, but Seorin's conclusion was singular.
I have to kill him. Before that monster twists my neck, I need to plunge a blade into his heart first.
Still prone on the ground, Seorin glanced sideways. Second disciple Chohee. Youngest Hwaran.
Last night, when she'd awakened in this childhood body from that hellish future, it hadn't been hard to realize her junior sisters had regressed too. Their expressions made it clear—they carried the full weight of those horrific memories.
In a normal master-disciple bond, they'd have embraced in joy over sharing such a miraculous opportunity.
But reality was different.
In their past lives, Seorin had been a Heavenly Demon Divine Cult elder, Chohee a brutal unorthodox faction leader who'd painted back alleys red with blood, and Hwaran had stayed orthodox to the end as the Murim Alliance's sword.
They'd each struggled against the Blood Cult's grand archbishop from their own factions, but the three had been mortal enemies, viciously devouring each other's forces for decades.
The unorthodox madwoman. And the orthodox hypocrite bitch.
Seorin ground her teeth involuntarily. Chohee, sprawled beside her, glared at Seorin's nape with bloodshot eyes. Hwaran's fingertips twitched faintly.
Enemies who'd torn into each other like beasts for decades.
But right now, they had to join swords. That man ahead was a monster even all three of them couldn't guarantee victory against.
The moment their gazes clashed in midair, they exchanged a silent vow, as if by prior agreement.
Just until we kill that monster.
A temporary alliance for survival—and to stab a blade into that monster's heart. No matter how vast their mutual grudges, before this overwhelming despair, they had no choice but to clasp hands.
"Phew, what a view!"
At that moment, the master at the cliff's edge turned back with a bright shout, wind whipping at him.
The three strands of killing intent dissipating like a lie, Seorin and her juniors reflexively dropped their eyes.
"Come on, everyone. Turn around and sit with your backs to me. Now that you've sweated it out, I need to loosen those knotted meridians."
Cheongun rolled up his sleeves and approached. Seorin's body trembled like an aspen leaf.
So this is it. This is why he exhausted us like this.
Loosen meridians? A lie. He was surely about to use that technique on them.
The one he'd used on the Murim Alliance leader. Pretending to press acupoints while slyly infusing internal energy to slowly ruin the dantian, driving them into qi deviation to vomit blood and die—the Blood Cult's vicious method later called Jeolmaksu, the pulse-severing hand.
The most terrifying part? Even that supreme world leader only realized it was Jeolmaksu right before dying in qi deviation.
In the end... he brought us all the way here for this...
Warning bells screamed in her head as her master's footsteps drew near.
"Why so stiff? Hurry and turn around."
He was right in front of her nose. Touch those hands, and it was over. She had to refuse somehow.
"M-Master. I-I'm fine..."
The moment Seorin stepped back and opened her mouth in panic—
Swoosh—
Her master's figure before her eyes scattered lightly. And suddenly, his voice came from behind her back.
"Fine? Your muscles are hard as rocks."
"...!"
Seorin's breath caught. No trace of his movement trajectory. No sound of cutting wind, no presence.
Though regression had stripped her past life's realm, her eye of a Heavenly Demon Divine Cult elder who'd crossed countless brushes with death remained sharp.
Yet even she couldn't track his ghostly body technique.
Is this... the true movement of the Blood Cult's grand archbishop?
Resistance? Escape? Such concepts didn't even apply to this being.
Seorin froze in place, helpless as her master took position behind her.
"Alright, it might hurt a bit. Breathe deep."
His two hands touched the Mingmen and Lingtai acupoints on her back.
...!
Contrary to his words, there was no pain. Instead, a warm, heavy energy flowed from his fingertips, tracing her spine to gently cradle her empty dantian.
Like a massive dam bursting, her blocked twelve meridians burst open in an instant, flooding with internal energy. The Great Heavenly Circulation forcibly cycled through her body, sweeping away accumulated impurities and replacing them with pure qi.
Then, his supremely refined internal energy began filling her dantian at terrifying speed. No—beyond filling, it forcibly expanded the dantian's vessel itself.
Finally, as her master lifted his hands from her back, Seorin snapped her eyes open.
The muscles that had screamed climbing the cliff relaxed as if by magic. A vast energy she'd never felt even after a decade delving into the cult's secret heart method coursed through her veins.
Not even famed Shaolin Great Return Pill could grant such internal energy.
"Heh, you kids. Your meridians were really knotted up. Alright, your turn next. Come sit."
As Seorin blankly stared at her hands, her master moved behind the still-shivering Chohee and Hwaran, pressing their acupoints and infusing energy just the same.
Soon, they too snapped their eyes open, groping their bodies in disbelief. They'd undoubtedly undergone the same: meridians instantly unblocked, dantians forcibly expanded.
A fated opportunity. One so unprecedented in martial history it belonged in legends—a once-in-millennia boon.
"How's that? Sweated it out and loosened the stagnant qi and blood—feels better inside, right?"
Cheongun nodded with a kindly smile, hands behind his back.
Forcibly expanding another's dantian and filling it with such pure internal energy? Even for the Blood Cult's grand archbishop who'd dyed the world in blood, it demanded massive sacrifice.
And not just one, but three in succession. Surely severe internal injuries and decades of cultivation scattered to the winds.
In a normal sect, disciples would prostrate in ninefold bows, weeping tears of gratitude for such selfless love—carving away his own essence to raise them.
But Seorin and her juniors reacted utterly differently.
Cold sweat trickled down Seorin's spine.
At first, she'd thought it was Jeolmaksu, the technique that doomed the previous Murim Alliance leader.
Why...?
If he meant to cripple or kill them, why suffer the bone-deep loss of decades of internal energy?
That selfish, cruel Blood Cult archbishop sacrificing his foundation for others? Absurd.
Then... could it be...?
A Blood Cult forbidden art from her past life flashed in her mind. One that consumed the user's essence to dye another's dantian in their color, harvesting it whole upon reaching the desired realm.
The Nojeong Technique—human cauldron sorcery!
Seorin turned to glance at Chohee and Hwaran. The same horror she'd felt crossed their frozen faces.
If this 'sacrifice' and 'boon' is just fattening us for the slaughter...
It fit. Not a fated opportunity—this was merely plumping livestock before the feast.
They were now that monster's fodder. Time-limited sacrifices, nothing more.
I need a way. Find the countermeasure, no matter what, and kill that monster...!
"Alright, energy restored—time to head down. I'll make plenty of meat for dinner tonight."
The monster smiled brightly and stepped off toward the mountain base first.
To Seorin's ears, that gentle voice sounded like words tossed to beasts in a slaughterhouse.