Chapter 125
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: Mythical Demon Spirit Armor (3)
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Paang! Hwaaang!
The jiangshi had exuded a fierce aura without flinching, but a flash of light erupted, and it slammed into the wall once more.
"It's kicking up dust."
The jiangshi that had soared like a meteor, forming a pile of rubble, rose again as if nothing had happened. It burned with even greater ferocity and charged at Mujin. Mujin didn't retreat either, meeting it head-on. It became a clash to see who was stronger—a contest of raw power against power, speed against speed.
Shuuung!
The speed was too fast for the eyes to follow.
The footwork the jiangshi was employing was Cheonmuja's Heavenly Flash Step. It was a technique he had devised upon witnessing a flash of light, renowned as impossible to track.
Cheonmuja's divine art, rooted in the Heavenly Martial True Scripture, blazed forth. Fist strikes like beams of light filled Mujin's front completely.
Pupupuk! Tudududu!
When Mujin's fist shadows collided with Cheonmuja's fist flashes, thunderous roars erupted. Even though there were countless strikes, each one's power surged toward the heavens.
A clash of mountain-shattering blows.
Chwaaaang!
Fierce shockwaves swept violently across the wide clearing. The raging energy waves formed layers of razor-sharp blades, creating a battleground. No one below a certain realm could even dream of entering it.
'Heavenly dance, my ass. Feels pretty human to me.'
-It's similar to the War King Art.
'All martial arts are much of a muchness. If the user is strong, that's all that matters.'
-True enough, but I won't admit it. The Demon King Art is invincible under heaven.
Certain martial arts could change the game if mastered, but the higher the realm, the more it came down to personal stats rather than the techniques themselves. Compensating for a gap in prowess with martial arts alone was no easy feat.
Take the difference between master and novice as an example. No matter how terrifying the art the novice mastered, it wouldn't measure up to a true expert.
He had heard that Cheonmuja was proficient in the Eighteen Weapon Arts.
Apparently, he had incorporated weapon techniques into fist methods to perfect the Heavenly Martial Fist. Was that why? Cheonmuja's strikes were as sharp as a sword at times, as heavy as a blade at others, and as piercing as a spear. He had infused the strengths of weapon arts into his fists.
Pupupuk!
Whenever Mujin and Cheonmuja's fists blazed within striking distance of hands and feet, the terrain shifted. It cratered in places, rose up in others, and pulverized into dust. The fist winds that followed ignored range, showcasing raw destructive power.
Wuuuung! Hwaaaang!
Narung, Yukchil, and Cheolho, maintaining a distance of thirty zhang, couldn't tear their eyes away from the brutal duel between Mujin and Cheonmuja. It was a clash of absolutes, something one could scarcely witness in a lifetime.
If forced to compare, it was like two monsters rampaging.
"That's enough."
Regardless of Narung, Yukchil, and Cheolho's awe, Mujin grew bored. The jiangshi was undoubtedly strong, displaying power beyond its living capabilities.
But that was it—it couldn't surpass human ingenuity. Its offensive and defensive forms were consistent.
Creeeeng!
As it blazed forth again, Mujin dropped his guard and went on the offensive. That's when subtle differences began to emerge.
Mujin's attacks pierced through Cheonmuja's.
And finally, the gap revealed itself.
Pubok! Ppuk!
Cheonmuja's arm, clashing head-on, snapped back and broke. It felt no pain, being no longer human, but with its arm useless, the opening widened dramatically.
Pupupupuk!
Mujin's relentless barrage pummeled Cheonmuja. Moments ago, the blood steel jiangshi would have countered. But before it could recover, the Warrior Realm infused in Mujin's fists tore through its internals.
Wooduduk!
He seized its arm and crushed it, then kicked its knee. The joint bent backward, bones protruding. Blood should have sprayed, but the jiangshi was a jiangshi. Cheonmuja's resistance, without even a scream, was eerie.
Ha!
The fight ended in an instant.
They had expected an earth-shattering prolonged battle, but it tilted sharply into an irrecoverable state. Watching the sequence, they shuddered. The offense and defense were imperceptible, hinging on the slightest margins.
In truth, the gap might not have been large. Yet Mujin exploited it effortlessly.
Every punch he threw landed true, while Cheonmuja's cleaved empty air. From trajectories thinner than paper, his attacks struck with exquisite precision. He embodied the ideal fist path.
'Can you even do that?'
'Too proficient!'
'It's like he knows the next move!'
They acknowledged Mujin's strength, assuming he overwhelmed with sheer force. But his true terror lay in familiarity. Once he clashed with a technique, it never worked again. A rematch was certain defeat. No counter in sight—the epitome of perfection.
Burururu!
Yet Cheonmuja was a jiangshi. Broken, crushed, protruding bones regenerated. Unless utterly shredded, it would rise like an immortal. With human internal energy finite, subduing it was tricky.
Kwak!
Mujin welcomed the jiangshi's regenerative power. He shattered its limbs, infusing dominance to slow recovery. Before it could regain control, he gripped its throat and met its eyes.
'Do your thing, Demon King.'
-I'm not your subordinate.
'That's why you hate it?'
-Disgusting bastard.
The duel had been doomed from the start. Even if the blood steel jiangshi were far stronger, it couldn't beat Mujin.
Why? The Demonic Soldiers Corps were superior to blood steel jiangshi. The Demon King had commanded the Demonic Soldiers Corps. Cheonmuja's implanted great spell was meaningless against him.
Creeeeng!
As Soul-Piercing Demonic Eye activated, Cheonmuja froze like brakes had engaged. The eye technique piercing its mind instantly shattered the implanted spell.
Bururururu!
Resistance was futile. The regressed Demon King's Soul-Piercing Demonic Eye surpassed its prime. Even alive, Cheonmuja couldn't have withstood it.
Swik!
Mujin released the throat, but Cheonmuja didn't resist. It stood motionless like a puppet without power, awaiting orders. Even then, regeneration continued, restoring its body.
'The Demonic Soldiers Corps had that satisfying shred.'
-You know you're not right in the head, right?
The Demonic Cult's combat weapons, the Demonic Soldiers Corps, boasted immense combat prowess and peerless recovery. As long as the head remained, they reverted to normal anytime. To boost demoralized warriors terrified by them, Mujin had torn them apart.
The fear of the Demonic Soldiers Corps vanished, but Mujin inspired greater terror. He had earned the moniker of battle-mad Demon King, inhuman in combat.
'Shouldn't you be grateful I saved you?'
-After turning people into rags right in front of me? You call that gratitude-worthy?
'Demonic soldiers aren't people.'
-You'll regret it someday.
'Whatever. Find anything salvageable?'
-No memories left. Just an injunction to eliminate intruders.
'Weird guy.'
-Saner than you, probably.
Even after centuries, the one who turned himself into a jiangshi should have lingering obsessions. Completely erasing them was suspicious. Or was it a final test and consideration for his successor? But blood steel jiangshi felt too extreme for that.
"What on earth happened?"
"I broke the suggestion. It won't attack now, so relax."
Cheolho, Yukchil, and Narung tensed more than before. That man specialized in backstabbing when least expected. Harmless to Mujin, but to them, he was death incarnate.
"Open this door, and treasures pile up like mountains, right?"
Gulp!
Narung swallowed unwittingly. He prayed fervently to his ancestors and master. At this point, the Mythical Demon Spirit Armor mattered little. To his treasure-mad lord, loot came first. The armor was a bonus if found.
'Zero greed for martial arts!'
'Makes sense; his master needs none.'
'Please be there!'
He toyed with Cheonmuja, even as a jiangshi. Mujin hardly needed other arts. Figuring its lineage was tough too. It used energy-based techniques, but merely foundational fists. With basics alone, he felled all foes.
'How strong would he be with true divine arts?'
But it was Cheolho, Narung, and Yukchil's misconception. Mujin's arsenal was War King Battle Fists at its core. He had special techniques, but rarely used them in battle. Faithful to fundamentals, he honed all weapons to extremes.
"Wait, let me open the door."
"Ah, sure."
Narung stopped Mujin from ripping the iron door off whole. Common sense said use a key, but not for Mujin. He blasted barriers or tore them out. Such brute methods shouldn't work, yet they did too well.
Truk, truk!
Thirty-six square iron pieces topped the door handle, a pressure mechanism. Wrong sequence triggered traps.
Mujin preferred ripping it off, but triggering a collapse meant losing treasure before his eyes.
'He'd say fuck it and dig.'
Treasure-blind Mujin wouldn't quit if trapped—he'd sell mountains to drain the pit. To avoid lifelong digging, caution was key.
Druruk, click!
Even with picks, clumsiness could spark rage. As an expert, Narung opened any door effortlessly. A highly practical skill in daily life.
"Narung."
"Yes, my lord."
"Work with me sometime later."
"Pardon?"
Wasting such talent was a shame. Time to temper it. It'd prove useful someday. Unintended warehouse raids would pain him. Righteous night visitors were always welcome.
Whoa!
Yukchil saw through Mujin's intent and was floored. Impossible to peg him as a vigilante. His dark motives shone bare. Hide them at least. With a Beggar Clan hero watching, tone it down.
'Can't say a word.'
Accomplice or not, how to stop him? Interfering meant beggars beaten like rats—not ideal. For the clan's sake, feign ignorance.
I saw nothing.
Nothing at all.
He gripped the handle and opened the door.
The four-hundred-geun iron door creaked open, revealing itself after centuries. Dust from sealed cracks billowed roughly.
The revealed sight was a wave of light.
Shwaaa!
Unlike expectations of darkness, the flood of brilliance curled Mujin's lips upward...
Mentch!
Mujin tilted his head.
The room's structure was ambiguous—decent size, not vast. Ten Night-Luminescent Pearls studded the walls. Each could buy a fortress, but fell short of his hopes.
Directly ahead loomed a unique emblem, centered by plain-looking armor. It resembled thin undergarments worn beneath uniforms.
If armor, it was odd; if not, durable underwear. After centuries, the fabric hadn't rotted, retaining its form.
Two iron boxes sat right—handy size: three chi wide and deep, two high.
While Cheolho, Narung, and Yukchil fixated on the presumed Mythical Demon Spirit Armor fabric, Mujin eyed the treasure chests.
Hmm.
He let out a low hum.
Not a golden mountain, but he hoped for a golden mound at least. Beyond the seven-colored allure, he noted the eccentric who turned himself into blood steel. Righteous folk obsessed over arts and weapons.
Setting aside disappointment, he checked the contents.
Druk!
He opened the lid. Long-unopened dust flew. At the revealed items, Mujin furrowed his brow.