Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 91
>Chapter Title: Forgetfulness (4)
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>Even in the Heavenly Myriad Mountains, where the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was located, the most vicious forbidden area known as Forgetfulness Ridge.
But contrary to its name, the official designation set by the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was Peach Blossom Ridge, a utopian paradise overflowing with flowers and fruit trees, just as the name implied.
And fitting its beauty, this place served as a sort of resort for the elders who had long served the Cult.
The reason such a resort was called by the ominous name of Forgetfulness Ridge was simple.
The elders of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult were, by nature, old men who had cultivated demonic arts.
However, those in the Cult who had mastered advanced demonic arts up to the Transcending Demon stage all held important positions. Whether as Cult Protection Elders, Dharma Protection Elders, heads of the Five Great Families, or Left and Right Guardian Lions.
From the start, to manage the young and talented yet mentally unstable warriors of the Cult, they had to cling to their high positions.
In other words, the elders who came here were not those who had reached the Transcending Demon stage.
They were the unfortunate ones who, failing to reach Transcending Demon with advanced demonic arts, suffered from mental illness and, in their old age, forgot even themselves.
That was why it was called Forgetfulness Ridge.
It was a prison that confined old monsters who had forgotten who they were.
It might seem too harsh for those who had devoted themselves to the Cult and gone mad, but it was unavoidable.
Having deteriorated to the point of dementia from mental illness, they were all masters who had at least reached the Extreme Demon stage.
If such masters collectively lost their minds and rampaged, the very foundations of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult would be uprooted.
Yet killing those who had devoted themselves to the Cult was too cruel, and crippling their martial arts was risky—disrupting the dantians of those already maddened by their cultivation could lead to who-knows-what.
Thus, as a desperate measure, they sent the demented old monsters to this Peach Blossom Ridge and sealed them away with formations.
And at this very moment.
"You damned bastard! As the vice leader of the Black Dragon Group, I won't forgive you! What? Vice leader of the Black Dragon Group? You scum! How dare you impersonate the vice leader of the Black Dragon Group! As a deputy elder of the Dharma Protection Division, I cannot forgive this!"
One of those old monsters was glaring at Il-mok, radiating enormous killing intent and demonic qi.
Il-mok's vision went dark.
He had some experience dealing with elderly dementia patients.
In his previous life, his job had been a social welfare officer, so he had dealt with them directly or indirectly on many occasions.
But precisely because of that experience, he felt even more despair.
Handling dementia patients required truly extreme patience.
Especially when...
"Die!!"
...that patient was a superior master who had far surpassed him.
As the old man swung the staff that had been supporting his body, a massive inky black sword qi arced like a crescent moon toward Il-mok.
Il-mok deployed the Iron Plate Bridge technique, bending backward until it felt like his waist would snap.
The massive inky black sword qi grazed just above the bridge of his nose.
Slash!
Slash!
The trees behind Il-mok were sliced one after another, booming echoes resounding.
Having barely saved his life, Il-mok hurriedly straightened his waist to evade the follow-up attack, but the sight that followed made his legs freeze in place unwittingly.
The old monster, who had displayed an absurd feat with not a sword but a mere wooden staff, was now groaning and collapsing to the ground.
"Oof!"
It was the price of swinging the staff that had been propping him up.
With his memories all jumbled, he had unleashed a tremendous sword art but momentarily forgotten his footwork and lightness skill.
"Heh heh heh. To dare trip this body of mine—you've got some fine skill!"
The old monster even mistook his own fall for an attack from Il-mok.
But to Il-mok, the scene was less amusing and more terrifying.
'This place is crawling with lunatics like him?'
He had gotten lucky this time with the old man tripping, but there was no guarantee it would happen again.
Worse, tussling with this one might draw others with the noise.
Amid the maddening chaos, Il-mok racked his brains furiously.
How to escape this mad old men's resort. No—how to stop this mad old man's attack.
Attacking him now while he was down risked stimulating him and reigniting his martial prowess.
Worse, prolonged engagement might lead to an unwanted enlightenment.
'Wait.'
Il-mok realized something.
Why was he avoiding enlightenment? Because he didn't want to go mad.
But this place was, even within the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult—a den of cultish lunatics—the gathering spot for the craziest of them all.
And above all...
- We've been running for over half a shichen. Doesn't it feel grimy?
- The dust is sticking to the sweat. It's filthy!
Even now, another self in Il-mok's mind was clamoring incessantly.
In the midst of this disorienting mental turmoil...
'In a world of one-eyed men, two eyes are a mutation, but in a one-eyed world, two eyes are the mutation. Then!'
Il-mok grasped another secret technique.
The second form of the Il-mok-style secret techniques, following the first form 'The Youngest Young Master Hides His Talent.'
Known as Letting Go.
"Uwaaah! So grimy!! It itches!!"
Il-mok suddenly bellowed, stripping off his sweat-soaked uniform at tremendous speed.
Splash.
He hurled himself into a nearby stream.
"Eek hee hee! Eh heh heh!"
He let out bizarre laughter, frantically scratching his entire body in the stream.
It wasn't fake laughter.
Moving as the other self—repressed until now to avoid madness—demanded brought an indescribable, strange pleasure.
The old man, barely rising with his staff, stared blankly at the rampaging Il-mok.
"Eek heek! Gotta scratch more. Skin, get clean! Eh heh het!"
Seeing Il-mok scraping his skin with a round, smooth stone from the streambed, the old man clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Poor kid's already been devoured by his demonic art. What a shame."
Shaking his head, the old man tilted it in confusion.
"Hm? Why am I here, anyway?"
Lost in confusion, the old man muttered to himself incoherently and turned, vanishing into the brush.
Even after the old man left, Il-mok couldn't stop immediately.
"I need a stone shave. Stone shave!!"
Muttering weirdly, he messed up his hair wildly, then hurriedly smoothed it as the other self rampaged in protest.
Finally calming his frenzy, Il-mok stopped his movements and exhaled raggedly.
"Hoo. I'm going insane."
Reining in the mind he had let loose was twice as hard as usual.
Having subdued the urge to rampage, Il-mok lightness-skilled out of the stream in one bound and approached the uniform he had roughly discarded earlier.
'Fucking hell. I have to wear this again?'
It had been tolerable while on, but washing and re-wearing the sweat-and-dirt-caked thing made him want to curse.
After agonizing, Il-mok gripped his scabbard in one hand, pinched the filthy uniform with fingertips of the other, and moved without putting it on.
'First, change spots. The stream's dangerous.'
Demented old men would likely frequent it for water.
Though he doubted they'd remember the stream's location.
'Damn. Somehow I gotta get out of here.'
As he walked, Il-mok recalled what Jin Ha-yeon had told him about Forgetfulness Ridge.
It was blocked by a massive formation. Specifically, structured to prevent only escape.
An adaptation of the Illusory Dream Formation: the more you tried to leave, the more you'd circle back to the start.
But that didn't mean there was no exit.
A Life Gate opened at specific intervals, allowing certain warriors to enter the ridge.
Though a place of exile, these were still elders, so it was to check their conditions.
Those skilled in stealth infiltrated, confirmed the elders' survival or anomalies, left provisions, and exited via the Life Gate.
Some warriors stood guard near the Life Gate, watching for escape attempts.
Thus, knowing the Life Gate's location and timing meant escape was possible.
'Like I'd know that.'
Suppressing a sigh, Il-mok forced positive thoughts.
'Still, if I just hold out, won't the warriors entering Forgetfulness Ridge find me?'
As he thought survival would lead to rescue...
"Who are you?"
From the brush came a cold voice of an old man who had approached without a sound.
'...Hold out my ass.'
Faced with sudden danger, Il-mok fought to keep his squeezing-shut eyes wide open. Closing them might mean his head rolls.
Glancing where the voice came from, he saw a bizarre old man.
Unlike a dementia sufferer, he had neatly trimmed beard and hair, and impeccably clean uniform.
Upper garment only.
No idea why his pants were off. At least he wore undergarments—small mercies.
"To wander the Cult's territory in such irreverent disarray. You must want to die."
Spouting nonsense as if preaching to others, the old man drew his sword and lunged at Il-mok.
"!?"
In his panic, Il-mok scanned around but despaired quickly.
'Should've stayed in the stream!'
No chance to deploy his newly realized secret technique, Letting Go.
Screw it, Il-mok thought, hurling the filthy uniform pinched in left thumb and index at the charging old man.
Slash!
As the old man's sword neatly bisected the uniform.
Clang!
Il-mok swiftly drew and blocked with his own sword.
Unlike a dementia patient, the old man's sword traced concise, efficient paths.
And Il-mok barely parried the flurry.
Not because the old man was weak. The sword paths were too familiar to Il-mok.
Absurdly, the old man's sword art was the same Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword as his.
"You thief! How dare you steal this body's martial art!"
The old man realized it too, swinging furiously.
His rage was so intense that brilliant sword-gang soon coated his blade.
"Crazy!?"
Il-mok, forgetting his nakedness, rolled desperately across the ground to evade.
'At this rate, I'm dead!!'
Luck and familiarity had kept him alive so far, but death loomed any second.
Staring at the old man's sword flying toward his rolling self, lightning struck Il-mok's mind.
'No point fighting—I'll die anyway! Then!'
Not enlightenment in Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword.
"Master! Have you already forgotten this disciple?!"
Il-mok shouted, kowtowing fully to the old man while rolling.