Chapter 297
Chapter 297
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 297
>Chapter Title: The Cult of Evil (2)
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I had assumed they brought the goods for the deal, but Ahmed never imagined they’d dare carry a severed head to a meeting with him. He shot to his feet and bellowed.
“You bastards!!”
At his shout, the guards in the room drew their weapons, but Il-mok remained utterly calm.
“It’s Zafir’s head.”
The man from the Majid House translated Il-mok’s words, and Ahmed’s face twisted in shock as he examined the head again.
“…Impossible.”
The city’s greatest warrior lay there with nothing but a stump for a neck, leaving Ahmed stunned beyond words.
Il-mok spoke to him, his expression unchanging.
“Now do you believe me? We were attacked by the Omar House. Including this Zafir, over a hundred warriors.”
Only then did Ahmed shift his gaze from the head to Il-mok.
“And they’re all dead. Just like this Zafir.”
Il-mok’s indifferent words made Ahmed swallow hard without realizing it.
Finally, Il-mok got to the point.
“So, what do you say? The Omar House is weakened now. Shall we join forces and crush them for daring to attack us Eastern guests?”
What Il-mok trusted in was the nature of the Huihui cultists he’d encountered so far.
And Ahmed, head of the house, reacted exactly as expected.
Greed clouded the eyes of the man who had gasped at Zafir’s head.
“You and our Molk House alone against the Omar House?”
Il-mok shook his head at the question.
“Wouldn’t it be safer with the other houses in the council? Unless you want to end up like them.”
Ahmed understood perfectly.
Just as the Omar House had weakened by attacking these Eastern merchants, if they struck now, they’d weaken too—even in victory.
That would leave them vulnerable to being devoured by the others.
‘It’s a shame not to take it all, but I’ll settle for this.’
Ahmed decided to ally with the other houses.
“Very well.”
“Then we must contact the other houses quickly and prepare for battle. Word that we passed the gates will reach the Omar House soon.”
Realizing the urgency, Ahmed summoned his subordinates and issued orders.
Soon, several men left the Molk House for the other families, carrying letters penned by Ahmed himself.
Meanwhile, Il-mok left the head’s room and gave instructions to Goo Yang-hyeok.
“Stay here, Division Leader. Select about ten lightly wounded Black Tiger Division members to take, and leave the rest behind.”
“There are over twenty who can still fight. Why only ten?”
“Can we fully trust these people?”
Only then did Goo Yang-hyeok grasp Il-mok’s intent.
Leaving only the seriously wounded would make them hostages for the Molk House.
About an hour later, the prepared group departed the Molk House.
Il-mok joined them with the minimal escort.
As the armed throng marched through the streets, lively Merb froze solid.
Merchants scurried home and barred doors; mothers muffled their children’s cries.
They pressed through the eerie silence for a while.
Then, from the opposite direction, fully armed men approached.
As Il-mok predicted, Omar House soldiers had mobilized upon hearing of their return.
The two forces faced off at a distance, and an old man stepped forward after cutting down some Omar soldiers.
His hair was snow-white, his face etched with wrinkles, but his sturdy build and sharp eyes marked him as very much alive: Arslan, head of the Omar House.
“Ahmed. Why bring soldiers against our Omar House?”
Arslan’s question was met by Ahmed stepping forward.
“It is the council’s will to punish the Omar House for greedily attacking guests who came to Merb.”
“The council? Hah! I’m a member, yet I heard nothing of it.”
“Why inform a man about to be expelled from the council?”
“Well, well. The blind one isn’t me—it’s you. Fooled by heathen lies, you dare target our Omar House.”
Arslan feigned calm and bluster.
He wanted to hide that Zafir and his men hadn’t returned from Merb.
In a world of eat-or-be-eaten, weakness meant death—he knew it well.
One problem, though.
‘Zafir, where the hell are you?’
He ignored the possibility that Zafir had fallen, even with the Eastern merchants returned.
But his denial didn’t last.
“Wonder if you’ll still call this a heathen lie.”
No sooner had Ahmed spoken than a soldier beside him opened a box.
Inside lay the head of Zafir, whom Arslan awaited.
Arslan’s eyes finally trembled wildly, and Ahmed smirked in satisfaction.
The man had always lorded over the council as top dog.
At that moment.
Soldiers bearing banners of other houses advanced from all sides.
With more council houses arriving, Ahmed sensed the time and shouted.
“Deliver heaven’s judgment in God’s name upon the Omar House that stained Merb with greed!!”
Molk House soldiers charged the Omars.
“Allahu Akbar!!”
Similar cries erupted from every direction.
Surrounded, the Omar soldiers panicked and were swept away.
“Clear a path!!”
Arslan, who had boldly advanced like a mirage, now fled under guard, retreating.
Watching the zealots slaughter each other while casually swinging his Soaring Heaven Sword, Il-mok spotted the fleeing Arslan.
‘Time for me to step in.’
With the battle’s tide turned, Il-mok unleashed his lightness skill and soared into the air.
Midday. Backlit by the sun overhead, his shadow loomed huge over the battlefield.
Feeling the blazing solar heat on his back, Il-mok drew inner energy from his dantian in midair—violently.
Demonic energy rampaged like a wild horse through his meridians, gathering at the Soaring Heaven Sword to form sword lightning.
Crackle.
It felt strange. Even forced into frenzy, no internal injuries arose.
Raging like a mad stallion outwardly, it obeyed his will perfectly.
‘Where intent moves, energy follows.’
Now master of his qi, Il-mok swung at the fleeing Arslan while berating his men.
Crackle-crackle!
Like hundreds of birds taking flight, the sword energy plunged like a thunderbolt.
Before it hit the ground.
Boom!
The bolt shattered, sending hundreds of qi shards exploding outward.
The struck area was obliterated; nearby, a storm of blood-mingled sand whirled from mangled flesh.
When the red sand storm cleared, nothing lived.
“…….”
The chaotic battlefield fell silent.
Thud.
Il-mok landed lightly—the only sound.
‘Needs practice.’
He swallowed his regret.
The bolt’s explosion wasn’t intended. The wild energy had run rampant at distance.
Composing himself, Il-mok addressed the stunned, halted fighters.
“Surrender, and you live.”
Killing Arslan with that display was a show of force.
A decisive overwhelming strike saved more lives than a grinding battle.
Plus.
‘No more greed from the rest.’
A warning to their temporary allies.
It worked perfectly.
Omar survivors dropped weapons and knelt one by one.
‘…To think that heathen leader was Muharib Azim.’
Ahmed, who led the ambush, felt cold sweat trickle down his back.
* * *
After subduing the Omar House, the house heads and Il-mok gathered for talks.
They’d seized all Omar assets—time to divide the spoils.
Normally a shouting match over merits and losses, today’s mood was oddly subdued.
Every head watched Il-mok nervously.
That bizarre sword art lingered in their minds.
Plus, Il-mok held the moral high ground as top contributor.
Not just for killing Arslan.
They’d slain Zafir and over a hundred first, enabling the weakened Omar strike.
And Il-mok knew it well.
“As you know, we dealt the Omar House its greatest blow, including killing Zafir and Arslan. But our caravan will return to trade, so no greed. Three-tenths of their wealth. That suffices.”
Five houses plus Il-mok’s group: six-way split.
Three-tenths was nearly double a equal share, but none objected.
As Il-mok said, it was generous given their feats.
“Oh, and for the surviving Omar kin to be sold as slaves, we’ll take equivalent gold and silver. No interest in owning them. Finally, the goods we sold them were ours originally—we take them back.”
“!!!”
Now the heads saw why the generosity.
The Omars had spent a fortune on those goods, yet Il-mok reclaimed them wholesale.
Three-tenths? Closer to five.
Exchanging uneasy glances, they accepted reality.
Il-mok crossed arms and stepped back, as if done. Then the heads erupted, vying for more.
How long into the petty bickering?
As the exhausting haggling neared end, Il-mok—meditating quietly—clapped, drawing eyes.
Clap.
“Now, you five are Merb’s richest.”
O-hallak and the Majid man translated, and the heads eyed him puzzled.
“No need for market—shall we sell our goods to you? Prime chance for mysterious Eastern porcelain and silk.”
Their eyes widened at his words.
‘A devil.’
‘Worse than Arslan!’
Il-mok fleeced Huihui cultists in their own lands.