Chapter 294
Chapter 294
-----------------------------------------------------------------
>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 294
>Chapter Title: Divine Might (2)
>-----------------------------------------------------------------
It was an absurd fantasy from Jin Ha-yeon, but Il-mok didn't bother denying her words.
"Ahem. The big picture is just the big picture, so don't worry too much about it. When you aim too high, little mistakes pile up—that's how it goes."
Even so, the idea of the entire world turning to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult felt utterly impossible.
After giving a vague nod of encouragement to Jin Ha-yeon's wild delusion, Il-mok turned his head and scanned the surroundings.
At his command, Black Tiger Squad members were teaching letters to the former slaves.
"Heaven (天). Repeat after me. Heaven (天)."
Some were starting with the Thousand Character Classic, pointing upward to teach the pronunciation of "heaven," then pointing to the ground to say "earth (地)."
Others grabbed sand in their hands and taught "sand (沙)," or drew the character in the sand with their fingers.
"Ugh! Why the hell can't you remember this?!"
Dokgo Pae was venting his frustration all by himself while teaching.
But it wasn't just Dokgo Pae lacking patience. Overall, their learning speed was dismal.
The atmosphere was utterly devoid of enthusiasm.
They weren't outright rebelling, but it felt like they were only doing it because they were told to.
'Teaching them even one letter is this much of a mess. Spreading the doctrine? Forget it.'
It was a frustrating sight, but after hearing Jin Ha-yeon's delusion, it almost brought a sigh of relief.
* * *
They traveled for a long while, alternating between barren deserts and grasslands that somehow lacked vibrancy.
As the sky began to darken, they prepared to camp.
They made do with emergency rations and water from Merb, set the watch rotation, and settled in for the night.
Desert nights were cold.
You had to pile on thick layers of cloth and gather twisted branches scattered across the wasteland or hardened animal dung to build a bonfire just to barely endure it.
Clinging to the bonfire's warmth, Il-mok closed his eyes to sleep.
'If we keep camping in the desert like this, would carbon monoxide poisoning kill me faster, or freezing to death?'
Lost in such trivial thoughts, drifting in that hazy border between dream and reality, Il-mok snapped his eyes open at the Black Tiger Squad's shouts.
"Ambush!"
"Bandits approaching!"
Shaking off sleep, Il-mok rose and scanned around—black shadows were closing in from all sides.
"Hah. Just when I thought we'd have some peace."
The raids had been quiet since traveling with the Majid family, but here they were, just a few days later.
Was it the Black Tiger Squad's shouts alerting them?
The stealthy approach turned aggressive.
"Kill them!!"
"Allahu Akbar!!"
They charged with yells, while those in the rear called on their god, loosing arrows or casting spells.
At the familiar sight, Il-mok sighed.
"Hah. Do these guys think they're angels or something?"
Bandits, brigands, thieves—no matter what, why did they all invoke their god during raids?
It was as if praying to become righteous thieves absolved all sins.
"Jeong Sojeo! Intercept the spellcasters."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
"O Halak! Retreat with the Majid family that way. Thirty Black Tiger Squad members, form a defensive circle around them. The remaining ten, eliminate the enemy!"
To counter the fanatical bandits daring to attack them, Il-mok issued rapid orders.
In the sudden battle,
The former slaves looked around with eyes full of anxiety.
In normal fights like this, slaves were used as shields and died pointlessly.
But for some reason,
A few Huihui cultists approached them, huddling protectively, while warriors in distinctive attire formed a large defensive circle around them.
As the slaves wore bewildered expressions at the bizarre situation,
Screeeeech!
An arrow from Jeong Hyeon flew with a whistle, embedding in the forehead of a distant spellcaster preparing magic.
As if that arrow were the signal, battles erupted everywhere.
"Don't let a single one escape!"
"Kill the women too!"
Huihui cultists charged with shouts from all sides, while arrows and spells from those Jeong Hyeon hadn't hit yet rained on the Black Tiger Squad.
Boom!!
But the Black Tiger Squad effortlessly blocked them with qi-infused weapons and demonic arts.
Clang!
"Arghhh!!"
At the same time, Il-mok and Gu Yang-hyeok led ten squad members charging back, slaughtering the Huihui cultists.
Screeeeech!
Thud.
Another of Jeong Hyeon's arrows felled someone, and a man who seemed like the commander pointed at her, yelling.
"Kill that woman first!!"
Flames and arrows flew toward Jeong Hyeon.
Tap.
But a woman with an impassive face stepped in front of her, swinging her twin blades.
The flames touching Jin Ha-yeon's chill-infused twin blades extinguished pathetically.
"Haaaah!"
A woman wielding a spear with somewhat distracted technique joined, blocking the bandits rushing at Jeong Hyeon.
Meanwhile,
Il-mok, cutting down bandits as indifferently as ever, soon noticed something odd.
"These aren't bandits."
Clear chain of command. Over a hundred in number. And above all, freakishly skilled fighters.
Each one was at least a first-rate master by Central Plains standards—not the sort to scrape by as desert bandits.
Slash!
They were just far inferior to Il-mok or Squad Leader Gu Yang-hyeok.
'They know we've made a fortune, so they're from Merb.'
He couldn't pinpoint the family behind it, but he could guess the flow of events.
Right then.
Slash!
As Il-mok cut down a disguised enemy, a curved sword flew at him with fierce momentum.
The qi-charged blade openly targeted vitals. Il-mok, mid-swing, twisted his body and countered with his Soaring Heaven Sword.
Clang!!
"Hoh."
The middle-aged man who swung the curved sword let out a curious grunt as Il-mok blocked his ambush.
Zafir Omar. The man called Merb's greatest warrior.
"Impressive skill. Today, I'll offer you to the god and become Muharib Azim."
Muharib Azim.
The title granted only to great warriors blessed by the divine—it was Zafir's long-cherished goal.
Yet despite being on the cusp, he hadn't broken through for years.
Thus, resentment brewed in Zafir's heart.
Resentment toward the family head, Arslan.
'To receive divine blessing, we must wage holy war! How can he expect it cowering at home?!'
From Zafir's view, this battle was a chance to wash away all that pent-up frustration.
Especially since,
"Hahaha. The god surely favors me."
The young man who seemed leader of the heretics matched him in skill.
Thus, Zafir thought: This was a trial from the god.
Pass it, and he'd receive divine grace, reborn as a great warrior.
The devout Huihui believer Zafir couldn't even imagine defeat in a battle where the god watched him.
Blocking Zafir's onslaughts repeatedly, Il-mok grimaced and muttered.
Clang!
"What the hell's this fanatic been babbling about?"
He couldn't understand the words, but one thing was clear.
The opponent was a true-blue zealot.
Those eyes held not a shred of doubt in his actions—that was proof.
The problem: the zealot's skill was genuine.
"Become a sacrifice to the holy war!!"
Yelling incomprehensibly, he swung his curved sword relentlessly. Blade qi twisted at odd angles toward Il-mok.
At the same time, the man leaped across the sand as if it were flat ground, dancing through the winding blade qi to attack.
'Damn it.'
Il-mok's lightness skill felt awkward sinking into the sand. He barely blocked or deflected, swallowing curses.
Unlike fighting weaklings, terrain was a severe handicap against experts.
At least he'd adapted somewhat to curved swords from past Demonic Path Academy fights.
But the biggest reason Il-mok swallowed curses wasn't just the fight's inconvenience.
'At this rate, it's dangerous.'
Even while blocking and dodging the zealot's curved sword, Il-mok subtly read the battlefield.
While he was tied down, the tide had subtly turned.
Gu Yang-hyeok was stalled, facing a pincer from three apparent experts, his charge broken. With the top fighters bound, the one-sided massacre stalled.
A delicate balance.
Not a definite loss, certainly winnable even pinned here.
But.
'What good is a victory where half lie dead?'
Some of his travel companions might not return to headquarters.
Like the graves' owners he'd seen that day leaving the guest inn, abandoned in the desert.
Then, the zealot's laughing face twisted as he swung.
"You bastard! Where are you looking?!"
Spotting Il-mok's divided attention, Zafir pressed harder.
Not from insulted pride, but fear that killing a distracted foe wouldn't make him a great warrior.
And it worked.
Boom!!!
Blocking Zafir's qi-surging curved sword, Il-mok's gaze locked fully on his foe.
'Finish him quick, help the others.'
Either way, killing this one first saved more allies—that was the call.
Each time Il-mok stepped, sand cratered.
Boom!!
Their Soaring Heaven Sword and curved sword clashed, shockwaves hurling sand.
Missed sword qi or blade qi gouged massive furrows in the sand.
The aftermath of their tiered clash.
Slash!
Any who wandered near were bisected effortlessly, naturally clearing their battlefield.
But even with no one nearby, eyes on Zafir, his hearing wasn't numb.
Slash.
"Arghhh!"
Slicing sounds or screams from afar inevitably drew Il-mok's nerves.
"God..."
When someone wailed in unintelligible Huihui tongue, Il-mok unwittingly sighed inwardly in relief.
Grateful it was enemy, not ally.
With focus wavering, a thought struck Il-mok.
'Since when did I become someone who rejoices at deaths?'
As a civil servant, he'd cursed abusive complainers inwardly.
But even then, he'd never wished death on them.
Even after awakening as Il-mok, he'd never delighted in killing—barely mustered the will.
Not even when first swept into conspiracy, nearly dying.
Or in the spar with Baek Cheon, when his eyes went mad with dangerous moves.
He'd subdued, never thought to kill.
So when?
'Similar to now.'
At the Demonic Path Academy, ambushed by Ala zealots.
Driven by survival, he'd cut them down thoughtlessly.
Strangely, his first kills brought no revulsion.
Perhaps this similar plight dredged up those memories.
'Miscellaneous thoughts.'
As if shaking them off forcibly, Il-mok swung his Soaring Heaven Sword fiercely, clashing with the zealot's curved sword.
Boom!!!
The explosion rang out, but beyond it came a ragged scream.
"Aaaahhh!!"
Forcing his gaze back, Il-mok repeated to himself.
'Miscellaneous thoughts! Kill this one first!'
Why? Urging himself only stirred countless worries in his mind.
And at some point.
- The Cognizance Realm literally means the state of recognizing (認) and realizing (解) something. And that something isn't just martial arts.
Before departing for the Western Regions, the Heavenly Demon's advice resurfaced.
- You must know yourself.
Back then, he'd brushed it off: 'Who else? Me.' Like some Zen koan.
But now, Il-mok couldn't give that answer.
'Who am I?'
The moment the Heavenly Demon's query resurfaced,
Memories since arriving in the West flooded his mind.
Recalling modern knowledge of Muslims for trade with the Huihui Cult.
Wandering the Silk Road, moved by ruins that should have been destroyed by the Yuan Dynasty still standing.
The Goguryeo mural in Samarkand's palace.
'...Am I Il-mok? Or Seo Ji-hoon?'