Chapter 236
Chapter 236
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 236
>Chapter Title: Degeneration (3)
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Having dealt with the Red Flower Pavilion Master and Yang Jong, Il-mok stepped out of the room with light footsteps.
A narrow corridor appeared, and descending the stairs along it revealed a scene overflowing with blood, corpses, and chilling air.
It was the handiwork of Jin Ha-yeon and Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a. Dam Bin had moved alone to handle another brothel under the Hao Clan's management.
Passing that area and descending another floor, he found Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a and Jin Ha-yeon, masks on, locked in combat with the remnants of the Hao Clan.
There were several weaklings among them, but a couple or three seemed to be at least first-rate experts, bordering on peak level.
‘Those must be the ones who came with that Yang Jong guy.’
Gauging the enemies' levels, Il-mok watched the two women fight, ready to intervene at any moment.
Neither seemed in immediate danger.
‘Miss Jin’s ice arts have sharpened considerably… And Seon-a’s at about the level I was when I first entered the Demonic Path Academy.’
Something felt off.
It wasn’t just that Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a’s cultivation was advanced for her age.
What was it?
They almost seemed like real sisters?
The girl who usually followed him around calling him “big brother” was now swinging her nails with an expression as impassive as Jin Ha-yeon’s.
Slash!
A Hao Clan disciple’s head was severed by her swinging nails, blood splattering across her face, yet the girl’s eyes remained utterly indifferent.
“Tch.”
Feeling something was wrong, Il-mok clicked his tongue lightly and called out.
“Seon-a. Close your eyes.”
At the same time, he circulated his inner energy and unleashed a flurry of Soaring Heaven Sword strikes into the air.
Screeeeech!
Bundles of sword qi poured out in succession, sweeping away the Hao Clan disciples surrounding Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a and Jin Ha-yeon.
Only then did Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a notice Il-mok’s arrival and rush toward him, shouting.
“Big brother!”
It was her usual demeanor, a far cry from the emotionless gaze of moments before.
Jin Ha-yeon, meanwhile, bowed her head slightly, her expression still blank.
“I apologize for the delay in handling them.”
“It’s fine. There were just more pieces of trash to clean up than expected.”
As Il-mok responded casually to Jin Ha-yeon’s apology, one of the few survivors snarled in fury.
“You think you can touch the Hao Clan and get away with it?!”
Il-mok sighed lightly at the familiar-sounding outburst.
“Sigh. What an idiot.”
He trudged toward the man, replying as if it were a hassle.
“If we were scared of the Hao Clan, do you think we’d have started this?”
Unfortunately, no one was left to answer Il-mok’s question.
Slash!
In an instant, bloody trails marked the necks of the surviving Hao Clan disciples.
* * *
In a small room tucked away in a corner of the Red Flower Pavilion.
Originally a place where four courtesans huddled together to sleep, now a single woman was bound there.
Hanging in the air, tied to a rope connected to the ceiling beam, her face was so swollen it was hard to recognize her.
It wasn’t just her face. Her body was covered in wounds, and after over six hours suspended by the rope, the skin where it touched was already frayed and raw.
Drooling blood-mixed saliva, she stared blankly into space with half-lidded eyes.
The night before, caught trying to escape the Red Flower Pavilion, she had endured brutal torture as an example.
Even as screams, shouts, and the clash of metal echoed beyond the door, she couldn’t register them.
Then, at some point, silence fell.
No sounds reached her ears—only her own faint breaths whispering weakly.
She floated in a daze like that for just a brief moment.
Ssssh.
A familiar sound pierced her ears.
The door opening.
Her head jerked up in a spasm.
That sound always signaled the start of torture.
Even in her fractured state of mind, she reflexively looked ahead.
‘W…ho?’
There stood a masked man.
Right after.
Slash.
A faint sound like something being cut, and her bonds loosened.
That was her last memory.
* * *
“Ughhh.”
Groaning from the pain wracking her body, the woman opened her eyes.
“So-hyang!”
The first thing she saw was the tearful face of a woman.
A familiar face—the friend who had tried to escape the Red Flower Pavilion with her.
“Where… am I?”
So-hyang winced in pain, her parched throat cracking her voice as she asked.
The teary-eyed woman carefully trickled prepared water into So-hyang’s mouth as she replied.
“You’re in the infirmary at the Maitreya Cult’s estate. The Incarnation of Maitreya saved you.”
At her explanation, So-hyang dredged up her foggy memories.
The brutal tortures from the past day surfaced first, but soon her final memory returned.
The masked man who had appeared at the door.
‘He… was the Incarnation of Maitreya…’
As So-hyang pieced it together, the woman continued.
“The physician said your condition is poor, so you should rest here for a while.”
“What about money?”
At So-hyang’s worried question, the woman grinned broadly, her eyes still puffy.
“You heard the rumors, right? Maitreya Cult followers get treated for free. You’re not thinking of not believing in the Maitreya Cult, are you?”
So-hyang smiled at the woman’s teasing joke at the end.
‘True… salvation really comes.’
Pain throbbed from her battered, swollen face, but the smile wouldn’t fade.
* * *
Long before the woman named So-hyang regained consciousness.
Il-mok and the women had spent the night swiftly cleaning up the Hao Clan forces in Nanju.
Excluding the Red Flower Pavilion, there were no real experts left, so it didn’t take long.
Once the purge of the Hao Clan was complete.
Dam Bin, masked, visited the Crimson Pavilion.
The Crimson Pavilion Master hurriedly paid respects at the sight of her blood-scented form.
“I see the Incarnation of Maitreya.”
Rumors of the previous night’s events had already spread through the red-light district, separate from Dam Bin’s bloody appearance.
Ever since submitting to the Maitreya Cult, the Crimson Pavilion Master—who had effectively split control of the district—had already received the information.
“Thanks to your cooperation, we’ve cleanly eradicated the Hao Clan. You’ll be rewarded.”
This wasn’t just about the woman named So-hyang. The Crimson Pavilion Master had steadily reported various rumors from the red-light district and movements from the Hao Clan side.
“From now on, I entrust Nanju’s red-light district to you. Manage the places the Hao Clan controlled as well.”
At Dam Bin’s command, the Crimson Pavilion Master bowed without hesitation.
“Maitreya has come! Salvation for all!! I shall follow the Incarnation’s will.”
When the Crimson Pavilion Master raised his head after the bow, no figure remained before him.
“Phew. Lots of work ahead.”
The old man muttered to himself with a light sigh.
With all the brothels once managed by the Hao Clan now under him, he could be called the master of Nanju’s red-light district.
Of course, the true owner was the Maitreya Cult, and he was little more than their proxy.
But it wasn’t all bad.
The Maitreya Cult interfered little in red-light district affairs—as long as no “sins” were committed.
They didn’t even gouge with excessive cuts, so a portion of the district’s massive profits flowed into his pockets.
Still, he sighed because of the sheer volume of work.
Quick-witted and experienced as he was, the Crimson Pavilion Master knew well.
Becoming the manager meant bearing responsibility when problems arose in the district.
It was only natural, though far too many in the world shirked such duty.
People who thought only of the rights and gains they’d get, ignoring the burdens.
And because the Crimson Pavilion Master was an old man who did consider responsibilities, the Maitreya Cult had willingly entrusted him with the role.
Yet, even as he sighed, a faint smile played on his lips.
It wasn’t just about the money he’d earn managing the district.
“At least it’s fulfilling.”
Genuine smiles had begun gracing the lips of those who once sold fake ones just to pay off debts.
“What a joke.”
Shaking his head at the thought—coming from someone like him who managed such women—the Crimson Pavilion Master left the room.
He had a mountain of urgent tasks ahead.
* * *
Around noon.
The atmosphere was so peaceful it was hard to believe they’d warred with the Hao Clan the night before. Il-mok awoke.
“Did you cough, sir?”
“You’re up? Big brother.”
After casually responding to the greetings from the two women on guard duty, Il-mok ate the meal they’d prepared and headed to the training grounds.
“Seon-a. Let’s spar today like we couldn’t yesterday.”
Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a’s face lit up at Il-mok’s words.
They faced off about ten paces apart, Il-mok holding his sword loosely as he said.
“Come at me freely.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a charged with a smiling face.
Her fingers wreathed in blood-red energy.
She unleashed a rapid barrage of strikes, which Il-mok evaded or deflected with light movements.
It was like a cat chasing a fleeing butterfly.
The only issue was that the cat’s claws could slice rock.
After sparring effortlessly with Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a for a short while.
‘This is enough.’
Il-mok deflected her nails using soft techniques, placed his left hand atop her head, and said.
“This spar ends here.”
“I can do more, big brother.”
As Seon-a whined, out of breath with sweat beading on her forehead, Il-mok shook his head.
“I’ve seen plenty of how hard you’ve worked.”
Smiling gently, he gazed deeply into her eyes and added.
“You’re growing fast enough. It might be good to pause training for a bit and focus on meditation.”
“Reduce training?”
Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a blinked in confusion.
“Ever heard of ‘too much of a good thing’?”
Il-mok was worried.
Even he had suffered cursed side effects upon entering the Demonic Path Academy, nearly going mad as his cultivation rose further there.
Yet Seon-a, not even having entered the academy yet, had reached a remarkably high realm.
He’d achieved his in just a year, while she’d taken four or five—still, the point stood.
Regardless, he didn’t want this child succumbing to the demonic arts’ backlash.
‘Honestly, what I saw yesterday bothers me too.’
Between the demonic arts and the Hyeok-ryeon clan’s insane training methods, her state seemed precarious.
But why?
“Are you… abandoning me?”
Tears welled up in Hyeok-ryeon Seon-a’s eyes at Il-mok’s words.
