Chapter 163
Chapter 163
-----------------------------------------------------------------
>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 163
>Chapter Title: Newcomer (5)
>-----------------------------------------------------------------
After the sparring exhibition ended, around afternoon.
“Yawn.”
Il-mok, who had already dozed off for a whole hour even during the sparring exhibition, let out a drawn-out yawn as he headed for the club room.
Since he’d been standing the whole time anyway, Il-mok didn’t count that hour as actual sleep.
‘If I can sleep soundly for an hour during club time, I’ll feel perfectly refreshed.’
Il-mok opened the door to the club room in high spirits, only for his face to crumple on its own.
‘…What’s with all these people?’
The club room was crawling with people like insects.
Over ten individuals had crammed into the space once used by just five: the four Meditation Club members plus Instructor Chui Il-hwan.
And the insect swarm packed into the club room suddenly flew into a frenzy at Il-mok’s entrance.
“Greetings to the Eighth Young Master!”
“Eighth Young Master! I watched your sparring exhibition earlier!”
They were all new cadets.
Having witnessed Il-mok’s absurd skills at the sparring exhibition, they had tracked down his club and joined to build a connection with him.
‘Fuck. Didn’t they even wash up after the sparring exhibition?’
The thick stench of sweat wafting from the new cadets who suddenly latched onto him made Il-mok’s vision go dark.
The one who rescued Il-mok was Chui Il-hwan.
“Any cadet not back in their seat before I count to three will be turned into roast meat on the spot.”
The words came with a playful smile that almost made them sound like a joke, but the black lightning roiling from his hand vouched for his sincerity.
Unable to withstand the threat, the new cadets slunk back to their seats. Chui Il-hwan flashed a grin and unleashed a string of curses.
“I was starting to suspect there might be some brainless idiots who wandered in without even knowing the club’s name.”
A fitting remark for the Meditation Club—they were supposed to quietly meditate, after all.
Whether they didn’t want to be treated like morons or didn’t fancy getting charred by black lightning, the new cadets averted their eyes from Chui Il-hwan.
‘Phew.’
Freed from the new cadets’ sweat stench, Il-mok let out a light sigh and swept his gaze across the club room.
The space felt far too cramped compared to when just five had used it, leaving no choice but to sit pressed right up against someone.
Il-mok picked the spot next to the cleanest-looking cadet.
“It’s an honor to meet you again, Eighth Young Master.”
The moment he sat, the neatly dressed new cadet occupying the adjacent seat offered a greeting.
It was Cheon Su-ryong.
The one who had vomited blood and fainted had left the infirmary, changed out of his bloodstained clothes, washed up, and hurried straight to the club room.
Only after receiving the greeting did Il-mok realize this was the new cadet he’d sparred with earlier that day. He asked after his condition.
“Ah…. Feeling any better?”
“Thanks to the physician at the infirmary, I seem to have recovered well.”
“I, I see.”
Il-mok gave a half-hearted reply.
He couldn’t help thinking that Seo Jae-pil might call him a quack, but the guy was still a decent physician.
With the greeting concluded, Cheon Su-ryong flushed red and spoke up.
“W-Would you possibly spar with me again sometime?”
It was mortifying for someone as much weaker as him to be the one requesting a match.
He was simply swallowing his pride and making the request out of a burning desire to grow stronger.
Goosebumps crawled up Il-mok’s forearms at Cheon Su-ryong’s plea.
‘People sure have their quirks. Another one who gets off on taking beatings?’
Il-mok simply couldn’t wrap his head around the mentality of this junior, blushing as he begged for another thrashing.
As Il-mok racked his brain over how to handle this lunatic, Chui Il-hwan’s stern command rang out once more.
“You two there. Looks like you’re itching to get burned alive.”
Under Chui Il-hwan’s intimidation, Cheon Su-ryong replied with a face dripping with regret.
“I’m sorry, Instructor.”
Even afterward, Cheon Su-ryong kept shooting glances at Il-mok beside him, looking like a dog desperate for a bathroom break.
‘He’s really begging to get wrecked.’
Part of Il-mok considered giving him the same physical reeducation he’d dished out to the Choi Woong trio.
‘…But if the guy likes getting hit, won’t that just backfire?’
Realizing it was a losing game, Il-mok let out a light sigh.
‘Fine. Since he enjoys beatings, starving him of them is the best revenge. Tsk.’
Had Cheon Su-ryong, who dreamed of another bout with Il-mok, overheard that conclusion, he would have wept tears of blood.
* * *
As life at the Demonic Path Academy surpassed the one-year mark and juniors began arriving, all sorts of changes swept into Il-mok and his cohort’s routines.
For Il-mok, tormented by his obsessions, it was anything but welcome.
To someone with OCD, change was a trigger for severe heart demons.
The field exercises were one thing, and the club time newbie swarms were another.
On top of that, even the training content during class sessions started shifting.
“In one year, you’ll become the talents who lead the Divine Cult by serving in its various institutions. With four more field exercises ahead, we’ll focus on skills more useful in actual combat.”
Right after Instructor Eun-ryeo wrapped up her usual lengthy explanation in her icy tone, an assistant arrived with some pills, breaking off small pieces to distribute to the cadets.
‘What’s this? Spirit pills? But does the potency hold up when you snap them like that?’
Il-mok’s question didn’t linger long.
“The pills I’ve distributed are poison pellets procured from the main peak’s infirmary. From now on, you’ll learn how to handle poisons.”
Learning they were poison rather than spirit pills, Il-mok set down the fragment in his hand.
A queasy sensation washed over him, like it might seep in through his skin.
Meanwhile, Instructor Eun-ryeo’s explanation pressed on.
“With all the poisons in the world, we can’t experience and drill countermeasures for every single one. Instead, you’ll sample the energies and symptoms of key examples, then master general responses. Once you’ve heard my full instructions, ingest your assigned poison fragment, sense how the poison spreads and its effects, then detoxify. Clear?”
“Yes, Instructor!”
As everyone responded with vigor, Il-mok alone clamped his mouth shut, glaring fixedly at his poison pellet.
‘Now we’re supposed to willingly shove poison down our own throats?’
For Il-mok, plagued by hygiene obsessions, it was an enormous shift.
Maybe it was all the recent upheavals piling up. Il-mok tilted his head back to stare into empty space.
‘I’m seriously tempted to convert sects.’
No matter how many years he spent here, this Heavenly Demon Divine Cult never felt adaptable.
While Il-mok indulged in his sage mode, Instructor Eun-ryeo’s voice filled the room.
“The poison pellets distributed this time are Paralysis Pills. Swallowing one whole paralyzes the entire body, potentially leading to death by respiratory failure.”
Hearing that their very first exercise involved a lethal poison, Il-mok squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Teacher, you’re moving way too fast.’
As if she’d caught his inner complaint, Instructor Eun-ryeo added to her explanation.
“But no need for concern. The dose you’ve received will at worst cause a tingling in your limbs. Even if you’re sensitive to poison, it won’t kill you, so rest easy.”
The news was so reassuring that Il-mok nearly sighed in relief without thinking.
“You’ll ingest the poison pellet now. First, observe how its energy travels down your esophagus, spreads, and assaults your body. Once I give the signal, circulate your internal energy to force it out.”
With that, Eun-ryeo abruptly crammed a whole poison pellet into her mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed.
Moments later.
Black droplets began plopping one by one down her right index finger.
“I condensed the poison energy into one spot and expelled it. But that’s only feasible because I pinpointed the poison energy and enveloped it with internal energy before it spread. Your priority is observing the spread, so don’t try regrouping what’s dispersed—instead, vent it out through multiple points like this.”
As she spoke, black droplets were now plopping from her left ring finger as well.
Evidently deeming the explanation sufficient, Instructor Eun-ryeo barked coldly.
“Now, everyone—ingest!”
At her order, the nine cadets unhesitatingly dumped their poison fragments into their mouths.
Witnessing the brazen display, Il-mok muttered under his breath like a chant.
“Fuck.”
He grumbled in Korean to ensure no one else understood, then drew a deep breath and swallowed his poison pellet.
Confirming all had ingested, Eun-ryeo shouted.
“Focus on the poison’s spread! You need to distinguish it precisely to expel it later!”
Even as the cadets gradually succumbed to the Paralysis Pill, she kept dispensing advice.
“When forcing out the poison energy, always wrap it in internal energy first. Expel without enveloping, and the meridians or organs it touches could suffer damage—heed that.”
She rattled off more vital pointers, then glanced at the hourglass and cried out.
“Detoxification—begin!”
Instantly, every cadet started channeling internal energy—Il-mok included.
Despite the prickling in his limbs, Il-mok acted decisively.
‘I’ve already mapped every bit of the poison’s location.’
It was thanks to his exceptional qi sense, once hailed as genius even by An Jeok-un—the direct scion of the An family and leader of the Bagua Array’s Needle Hand Division.
Internal energy flooded from his dantian in a rush, racing through his broad meridians, scoured immaculately clean by his full-body depilation.
Once the vast internal energy completed a full circuit per the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword’s profound principles, every scattered wisp of poison stood fully enveloped.
And the massive internal energy’s final destination was Il-mok’s right index finger.
Drip.
Drip.
The faint sound of black droplets trailing down Il-mok’s right index finger shattered the hush.
Opening his eyes after purging the poison in one go, Il-mok saw the other cadets still eyes-shut, locked in battle with their own poison energy.
Confirming Il-mok had expelled his first, Instructor Eun-ryeo spoke.
“Excellent work.”
She disapproved of how he treated women, but she kept work and personal matters strictly separate.
“Still, in combat, take care. Bundling paralysis poison toward your sword hand risks dulling your right arm’s sensation with even a minor slip—leaving you vulnerable.”
“Then, expelling through the left hand is safer?”
“It is, if we’re just talking arms.”
“???”
“Miss the clump you’ve gathered near your heart while routing it leftward, and you could trigger heart paralysis. Mind that detail, and you’re fine.”
“…….”
Il-mok stared awkwardly at his right hand—or more precisely, the poison trailed below his index finger.
Having executed the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword right-handed, he’d instinctively routed the poison there per its core principles.
What if he’d aimed it leftward? What if he’d slipped in the process?
‘…I nearly croaked?’
The Demonic Cult’s training methods were utterly deranged, as always.
Il-mok felt disillusioned with them, fueling his sect-conversion urges—but a slight misunderstanding colored his view.
Instructor Eun-ryeo had raised heart paralysis only to prepare them for future real combat.
The Paralysis Pill was weak to begin with—one whole barely killed a single person.
A tiny fragment like theirs posed almost no heart paralysis risk, barring freakish misfortune.
Of course, decades prior, the Demonic Path Academy had simply used whole pills for training.
This toned-down approach stemmed from the current Heavenly Demon’s boundless mercy, an effort to salvage as many promising cadets as possible from pointlessly dropping dead.
Had Academy Lord Yeom Ga-hwi overheard Il-mok’s griping, he’d have waxed nostalgic about the good old days, reeking of boomer energy.