Chapter 156
Chapter 156
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 156
Chapter Title: S3. Martial World Journey -4
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Darkness.
In a space sealed so tightly that not even a sliver of moonlight could seep through, three figures had gathered. The air was thick with the cloying stench of blood that clung heavily to their nostrils, filling the room.
One was the master, and the other two were slaves. Their postures made it easy to discern as much.
The young nobleman sat with his chin propped on his hand, while the remaining pair prostrated themselves on the flat ground three steps below, bowing their heads deeply.
"...So you're saying you only just found them?"
"Yeees, forgive ussss. This wretched thing never imagined they'd circle around and hide in a nearby provincial castle..."
"Heh heh heh, finding them now is better than never. Once we know their location, killing them is as easy as flipping one's palm."
The two elderly men lying flat raised their heads. Their appearances were utterly grotesque—faces shriveled and wrinkled like crumpled parchment, making them look less like humans and more like some otherworldly creatures.
As if corpses had come to life and were shambling about.
Anyone with even a modicum of knowledge about the martial world would have been shocked. These two old monsters were once renowned fiends of the Blood Cult: the Blood Spider Hag and the Sleepkill Patriarch.
Despite their infamous reputations, these elders of far greater seniority were bending at the waist to show respect to a mere youth. Why?
The reason lay in a mysterious tome.
Thud.
The young nobleman's hand came to rest atop a sinister book inscribed with the four characters Demonic Subjugation Art. This was the compilation of the Blood Cult's secret techniques, serving as their sacred relic in its own right.
It was also the tome that held the lifelines of these two old freaks who should have died long ago. Only through the profound corpse manipulation ritual unfurled from its pages could they persist in their undead existence.
With their lives held hostage, they had no choice but to bow their heads even to a mere blood-clot of a boy.
This was the secret behind how the young nobleman—who had no foundation whatsoever in the Demonic Path—had built a solid underground network in just three years. By absorbing the forces of the Blood Spider Hag and Sleepkill Patriarch outright, he faced no obstacles.
The young nobleman scowled, lacing his reprimand with utmost irritation.
"There've been ugly rumors circulating in the provincial castle. I explicitly told you eating people is fine, but not in a way that draws attention!"
"Autumn approaches, and hunger gnaws... Forgive ussss."
"Scolding us over mere feasting—how utterly heartbreaking and pitiable. Will you strip us old fools of our last remaining pleasure?"
"Eat quietly, I said. If my tail gets stepped on, you're finished too. You know that, right? Without this book, you die!"
Bloodshot veins bulged in the young nobleman's eyes.
Seethe. A crimson blood qi, like heat haze, oozed from the malevolent tome and was sucked into his body. Witnessing this, the two old monsters promptly bowed their heads again.
They couldn't let him catch them smirking.
His temperament was growing increasingly savage by the day, his once keen intellect gradually clouding. Corrupted by the blood qi that had seeped into his very marrow, he was falling deeper into depravity.
Thus, the man who had once instructed them to sustain themselves on pig or chicken blood...
Now permitted them to devour humans as they pleased.
"...Go. Go and kill them this time without leaving any loose ends. Get out of my sight right now! I can't stand looking at those ugly mugs!"
"Heh heh heh, if mirrors prove too hard to face, we'll gladly step aside. As you command."
"Yeees, we'll return once the deed is donennn."
Whoosh.
Like candles snuffed out, the two elders' forms vanished.
The young nobleman pressed his forehead against his throbbing headache, suppressing a surge of inexplicable rage. Only after forcing a smile did he finally exit the secret chamber.
The completion of the Heavenly Demon Possession Great Law was near. All he needed was the blood of the Blood Clan. Once he obtained the power of the Heavenly Demon...
"......"
What was it he wanted to do after growing strong...?
"We have to smash the noses of those fools who looked down on the Nangong Clan!"
"...But the Nangong Clan did give them reason to take offense, didn't we?"
"True, I'll admit that. But we're not like the Demonic Cult, rampaging and smashing everything—we just sealed our gates, letting the storm pass! Yet they keep calling us Demonic Cult collaborators at every turn..."
Nangong Seung-ah vented passionately in the inn room, swinging her fists wildly. This was her response when Cheonghwi asked what she wanted to do after growing strong.
"And what's even more infuriating is how they're downplaying Nangong So's achievements. Catching the Blood Cult, the Demonic Cult—they claim it's all exaggerated or self-staged."
"That would boil anyone's blood... But you don't call him 'big brother'?"
"He never treated me like family anyway. Still, he's clan blood... What about you, Daoist Cheonghwi? Got something you want to do once you're strong?"
"Hm."
Having realized that power mattered little when pursuing one's own path, he planned to return to his clan and see his sworn brother regardless—strong or not.
That way, there'd be no regrets in life.
So, if pressed for a wish that truly required strength...
"Ah, yes. I want a kiss."
"...?!?"
"She said she'd do it if I won the spar..."
"W-what shameless...!!"
Nangong Seung-ah scurried far from Cheonghwi. With a tail sprouting from a girl no less, this lecherous fake Daoist was clearly feigning purity while chasing skirts.
His martial prowess balanced out the perversion, though. Otherwise, cultivating lustful arts might spell disaster.
Cheonghwi glanced at the fleeing Nangong Seung-ah, then at Nangong Myeong sleeping soundly on the bed, before rising.
"I'll go buy some food."
"Buy thin noodles and bamboo leaf liquor again, and you'll taste my Steel Tail Strike."
"Swing that tail, and I'll counter with Earth Dragon Thrust Sword."
"Lower your stance with Earth Dragon Thrust, and I'll spin in midair and stab downward..."
A natural shift to sword discussion. At this rate, it'd be thirty minutes before he could leave, so Cheonghwi unleashed his finisher.
"My Earth Dragon Thrust is lightning-fast—I'd pin you before you could spin in the air, so I win."
"Hey!!"
Cheonghwi shut the door and fled.
Three days had passed since slaying the serpent beast in Tianjing Lake's depths. Nangong Myeong, fed spirit pills, remained in restorative slumber. Better the inn room than leaving him in that frigid cave, so they'd dragged him up.
Pondering how to swim with an unconscious sleeper had taken much thought.
Kissing Nangong Myeong for artificial respiration while swimming had crossed his mind, but either way it'd get weird, so he sought alternatives.
By butchering the serpent corpse, he'd salvaged usable air bladder organs.
He'd forgotten the inner core amid the chaos.
Carting Nangong Myeong back to Nangong Clan had been considered, but midway ambushes posed real risks, so it was scrapped.
Thus, they were stuck in the provincial castle until he awoke.
For protection, they'd booked one room. The innkeeper eyed their trio oddly but whatever—now wasn't the time for prying gazes.
"Three days straight in one room? Quite the stud, eh? Wife's back holding up?"
"...Mind your own business!"
Even cheeky jabs from the affable innkeeper, but no time for that!
Splitting forces risked assassins slipping in.
Cheonghwi tucked his money pouch inside his robe and scanned the streets. He'd pick a nice eatery, pack some dishes.
Thin noodles and bamboo leaf liquor were the default, but after three days, Nangong Seung-ah had warned him off—so variety today.
"...Dumplings?"
Dumplings it was.
Peeking into a fragrant eatery, steam billowed from bamboo steamers. Mouthwatering. She'd approve.
Cheonghwi beckoned the waiter, who flinched—bracing for barbaric tongue from the lusty foreigner. Instead, fluent Central Plains speech emerged.
"Ten dumplings to go. No sides needed."
"We're short on containers..."
"Brought my own bundle for them—no worries."
"I-it'll take a bit. Someone ordered ahead..."
The waiter glanced aside.
A deep-hatted man sat cross-legged, sipping green tea. His lower face seemed familiar—Cheonghwi's brow twitched.
That goatee... seen it before.
"......"
"......"
Step. Step.
As Cheonghwi approached, the middle-aged hatted man shuddered. A bead of sweat trailed from his temple.
"Hey, you. Don't we know each other?"
"W-what nonsense is that? N-no, I mean... F-first time seeing you..."
"Lift the hat."
"I-I've got scars on my face... Ack!"
Splash!
The man hurled a sand pouch at Cheonghwi's face, toppled his chair, and bolted.
Alert Cheonghwi crouched instantly; the pouch arced into the dumpling steamer.
"Arrrgh!!"
Dumplings turned desert fare as the screaming cook wailed. Cheonghwi quadruped-sprinted after the man.
None beat this footwork for instant acceleration.
That bastard—the fake Daoist hired by Nangong Clan!
Crash!
Prey and pursuer vanished like a gale. The waiter stood dazed amid the wreckage.
Soon the owner would return—how to explain this mess?
'Hatted middle-aged guy sanded the dumplings; well-dressed pervert chased on all fours like a dog, smashing chairs.'
Would he believe it?
He'd better...
After a three-minute chase, Cheonghwi tackled the fake Daoist and mounted him. The man squeezed his eyes shut and surrendered instantly.
"I-I surrender! Mercy! I-it was all on orders! I'm innocent!"
"Haven't even hit you yet... Can't you take three punches first?"
"Waaah! Nooo!"
"Not hitting you, and you're already whining..."
Old grudge: insulting him as a fraud, petty taunts at the banquet. Set to settle it now, but the shivering chicken-like wretch evoked pity.
Cheonghwi eased his fist and asked.
"Who are you?"
"...I-I'm Kim Seo-pyeong, a wandering actor scraping by on theater..."
"...Theater?"
"Yes! Not a Daoist— just a poor performer earning meals through acting... Spare this non-martial man!"
Daoist turned actor. Hadn't Nangong So hired him?
Cheonghwi probed calmly.
"How'd you end up at Nangong Clan?"
"What use a fake Daoist at a banquet? spout heavenly omens, good fortunes, blessings incoming—that's why they called me!"
"Why slander me?"
"Orders from the employer. 'Two Daoists? Chase that guy out or no pay—pick a fight somehow!'"
"Sloppy job. Short on time, eh."
Who hired you, then?
Cheonghwi mulled voicing it, then held back. Suspicion alone sufficed.
One last check.
"...Did they tell you to read omens saying Nangong Myeong mustn't become clan head?"
"......"
"Enough. No need to say more... Call it even."
Painting him Demonic Cult pawn was grave—could've meant torture or death if things went south.
Not keen on killing, Cheonghwi opted for hair instead.
"Selvia said Crimson Magic Tower has oddly many baldies. Heat-related, scalp inflammation causes hair loss."
"Wh-what...?"
"This scroll's Hair Loss Acceleration spell warms the scalp. Great for feeding rivals."
"N-no! Nooo!!"
Rip!
The torn scroll unleashed mystic force on the fake's scalp. Cheonghwi rose satisfied and departed.
"Cursed sorcery, vile curse...!!"
Only the spared fraud's wails lingered in the alley.
"Dinner?"
"Ah."
"...Steel Tail Strike!"
"Ow!"
Cheonghwi got tail-whacked.