Chapter 202
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 202
Chapter Title: To the Desert (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I felt sorry for Soryeo.
Vulgar.
Life wouldn't be smooth sailing. Muho let out a sigh and steeled his heart. If it had to be done anyway, there was no choice but to give it his all from the position he'd been given.
Or defeat his brother.
'Can I win?'
He longed for the day he'd defeat his brother and do as he pleased, but realistically, it was impossible.
"If you don't want to spend your days getting thrashed by your wife, you'll have to get stronger. You can imagine how much she's changed after absorbing the Ice Crystal, can't you, Sword Empress?"
"It won't be easy for me either."
"Of course. That's what makes you my little brother. If the day comes when she beats you, I'll personally give you a thrashing myself."
"Brother, you with sister-in-law... Never mind, I get it!"
Mujin turned to the elders.
It was a real shame the training time was so short. They'd only just solidified their foundation. They needed to push harder to fill in the gaps. If it weren't for the Sword Empress, he could've given these elders—who'd toiled for the family—a real stroke of fortune.
"Don't worry about the sect. Go and come back safe."
"Fate is something to cherish. Indeed."
"As members of the righteous faction sworn to protect the jianghu, turning a blind eye to a woman in need wouldn't make you true heroes."
It was the elders' words of encouragement. Mujin was deeply moved to receive such unheard-of advice in this form.
I hope that sentiment is genuine.
'Hurry up and get out! Shoo, shoo!'
'My bones ache every night, you bastard!'
'If it weren't for you, I'd be living easy.'
Beaten daily by Mujin—like a grandson—they felt so aggrieved tears welled up. What a disgrace in their old age. When their wives asked why, they couldn't say a word. How could they admit crying from a nephew's beatings?
'Serves you right for messing with a quiet kid.'
'It's all that Elder Kang's fault!'
'Did I know it'd come to this?'
The elders harbored deep resentment toward the Chief Elder for provoking a guy who'd been peacefully loafing around without causing trouble, dragging them into this mess. Their plans to spend their twilight years watching grandkids frolic had gone up in smoke.
When Mujin—who could've loafed his whole life—finally showed his true colors, hell awaited. It's an eternal truth: when people change, everyone around them suffers.
'All those changes lately were because of this punk.'
'We were blind as bats.'
'Mujin as our sect's backbone? Damn it all!'
When they didn't know, they'd been quietly satisfied with the sect's bright future. But uncovering the hidden truth brought only despair. The sect's wastrel had turned out to be its top contributor in turning things around.
Ignoring that and bullying Mujin all this time? They had nothing to say, even with ten mouths.
Still, they wanted the beatings to stop.
It was a stroke of fortune, sure—but getting pummeled by a nephew in old age made the humiliation a hundred times worse.
"I'm not the irresponsible sort who quits halfway through a job. That's why I got Elder Gwan's permission. He said to train you as harshly as needed, so please add your seals here."
-I will raise no objections if accidents occur during training, even unto death.
It read.
"It says there's even a chance of death at the end—isn't that a mistake?"
"Such cases are rare, so don't worry and just stamp it. You're not going to die, are you?"
"What if we do?"
"I hear elders' average lifespan is around seventy or eighty. You all look spry enough."
Mujin shot them a look that said: Stamp it quick—no regrets even if you drop dead now. Martial arts were like that. No intensity, no growth. Especially starting so late in life. To keep up with the youngsters, they had to train like their lives depended on it.
"Or should I stick around and train you myself? Though Elder Guo might be a better age match."
"Who said we won't stamp it? Let's do this!"
"Hmm, guess my training didn't sit well."
"As if. We deeply cherish your concern for us."
At Kang Cheon-myeong's words, the elders swallowed hard. Who could've guessed the man who'd stay up all night cursing Mujin behind his back would come out with that? People change when cornered—age be damned.
"If I don't see results when I get back, I'll be real disappointed. Who knows where my fist might wander then."
"We'll reach the level you want, no doubt."
With his true colors showing, Mujin held nothing back.
He drove people who knew him insane. Strangers just found him frustrating. The type to exhaust everyone in every way—but a fist was closer than the law.
Mujin headed to his father's room with his brother.
"It might not satisfy you, but they're sect elders. Isn't that too harsh?"
"Father doesn't satisfy me either. Fancy some exercise after all this time?"
"They say muscle loss hits hard in old age. Steady training's a must."
"Knew you'd say that."
This damn brat!
My own son, yet impossible to get used to. Unbelievable he'd stayed quiet for years. No telling where this guy might bolt next.
"If trouble crops up, consult the deputy chief steward. She'll sort it out."
"I will. But is she really a scholar by trade?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"She's genuinely brilliant. But she comes off like a battlefield veteran strategist. No clue why she devises tactics like that."
"It's a hobby."
Mujin played dumb, feeling a pang of guilt.
He'd provided the decisive trigger for her shift in values. After that day, Yongmu-gil had started crafting strategies optimized for slaughtering enemies. She'd brought new ones multiple times, asking what he thought.
-Every strategy aims for total extermination. Born tactician.
'Born in the right era.'
The strategies were wildly inventive. Tracing their origins left Mujin bitter—he'd been the core of them all, prancing around as the wastrel.
Truth was, types like her had little to do in peacetime. Unless they were murder-crazed lunatics, no one deployed such tactics in calm times. At least she had deep cultivation as a Confucian scholar.
Having weathered life's bitter joys and sorrows, it was fortunate she wasn't superficial. Deviate from the middle path, and ruin follows.
-The Asura Annihilation Great Formation was a shocker.
'That needs mutual destruction as its base.'
-But it wipes the enemy clean.
'I might live, but everyone around me dies.'
-Isn't it about crushing the Demonic Cult to save the world?
'Crazy. Better if the Demonic Cult takes over.'
-Or handle it solo.
Yongmu-gil's new hobby had gone overboard. One brutal pastime. She looked the noble scholar, but she'd harbored a monster inside all along. Mujin, who'd set it loose, bore the responsibility.
One misstep, and she'd be Mad Investigator or Extermination Investigator instead of Divine.
Around there.
"Some heavy hitters from Black Dragon Fortress are coming."
"Muho said the same."
"They'll probably try killing him under the guise of a duel. You know why. Everyone else looks like a pushover to them. Then they plant their own forces."
"You know that and still going?"
"If Black Dragon Fortress gives us trouble, it just means my teaching fell short."
The Fortress Lord wouldn't come personally—probably rank twenty or so at best. No guarantee they'd even show.
The Demonic Cult was the real issue, but the recent incident had them leashed for now. Unrelated parties would come.
'Did they boil and eat a tiger's liver or what?'
Black Heaven Martial Emperor Dan Cheon-gyeong's face if he heard that?
Strangely reassuring. Rebellious son or not, everything he'd set in motion had panned out. A son like that had nothing to fear from Black Dragon Fortress.
"Oh! And Je Gal Clan and Shandong Evil Family might team up to pressure us via the Murim Alliance."
"Stir that much trouble, and enemies pile up."
"Want me to go wipe 'em all out?"
"...No."
Kang U-gyeong shivered at his son's expression just now. If he'd said yes, the kid would've gone and slaughtered them all. Maybe that was his true nature—his heart ached at the thought.
'What the hell happened?'
His son's transformation was bizarrely extreme. That casual indifference to killing came from countless bloodbaths.
Yet he hadn't been away from home long. A short span couldn't forge that aura.
"I trust Father."
"Good. Come back safe."
Mujin left the manor with Yukchil and Cheolho. No time wasted. Straight dash for Okmungwan.
Haa.
Yukchil sighed.
'How long do I have to keep this up?'
Splat!
The merciless swing tore his lip, blood spraying the wall. Blood streamed down, but the man kept his head bowed, awaiting orders.
"I told you to watch him closely."
"My failure for missing the secret passage."
The striker had sharp, icy features overall. His pale complexion and upturned eyes screamed arrogance. It radiated from him.
'A secret passage here, of all places.'
He'd scoured the room meticulously as a precaution. If he'd still missed it, only direct blood kin knew.
Damn pure-blood dogma.
It soured his mood.
'Such a hassle.'
It wouldn't sway the big picture. Their move sealed the outcome. Even so, what-ifs always lingered. He hated surprises.
'What're they after?'
Too late for counters. They'd have acted if they could. He'd severed all internal ties—returning meant solitary confinement.
But he didn't underestimate the kid. Immature, yet pure-blood talent shone. He'd never dropped his guard, yet this backstab.
'Won't yield quietly, huh.'
Best to let it unfold smoothly, but nipping buds secured the future.
'Actually, perfect.'
Outside, chaos was fair game. Inside, he could only watch—acting drew suspicion. He controlled most key figures, but the elders' eyes mattered.
"Send a pursuit squad. You know what next, right?"
"Handled quietly."
This place is mine. No one touches what's mine. Not even the master here.
Straight lines beat curves—common sense. Even realm-transcending mortals couldn't make curves faster.
But human paths are set.
Paths demand flat ground. Uneven terrain fails as a road. Do people detour because they're idiots? No—they can't go straight, so they loop around, time be damned.
Such universal truths meant nothing to us. We'd never expected common sense to apply.
Still, this was extreme.
Penetration.
Straight across the continent to the desert. Ignored every road, just dotted map points and went.
Haaaaaaa!
The long exhale spat black dust.
Face swaddled in cloth, yet dust clogged lungs thickly. After hacking for ages, breath eased.
Hoo, hoo!
Face caked in sweat and grime, unrecognizable. No simple wash would restore it—this was heavy armor. Facial muscles stiffened under dust. Every breath cracked like parched earth.
Crack, crack!
Lost human form, but the result stunned.
"Crossing the continent in half a month!"
"We've tasted a miracle!"
Miracle? Torture.
Cheolho and Yukchil could only marvel at the insane feat they'd endured. Possible? Utter nonsense from the start. Now they knew it was.
Just do it.
What words more terrifying? Grateful for human limits? Body and mind hit absolute exhaustion. Once was enough—twice, hell no.
This traversal shattered patience limits.
Fought endless-run terror every instant. Give up for ease? Easy talk from those unaware of pursuers. Even King Yama would snatch slowpokes' necks and smash 'em.