Chapter 139: The Turbulent Return Journey (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 139: The Turbulent Return Journey (4)
"Your body is ruined, isn't it? Burned to a crisp."
In the hazy light of dawn, two shadows stretched across the wild mountain forest: one of a person, the other of a shapeless mass.
Clad in a crimson Pure Blood Robe, the Seventh Apostle stood tilted on a gentle slope. At her feet, the silk bundle containing what was once the Blood Flame Cult Leader lay still, having been dragged carelessly across the ground.
Though the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching, the summer air on this mountain was exceptionally cold. It was a place where Yin-Cold Energy flowed as if a massive block of ice were buried deep within the earth—a sacred mountain discovered by the Blood Flame Cult during their wanderings through the Central Plains.
The bright orange air of dawn slowly seeped through the trees. Daybreak.
Haa—
White mist escaped the Seventh Apostle's lips. She wore a rare, refreshed smile. It was an expression usually reserved for when she stole glances at the young Grand Master. But after carrying such a foul burden, the pleasant chill of the Yin energy felt just as good.
"How nice."
She wasn't talking to herself.
— It is a rare sacred mountain.
A reply came from the mangled corpse, not as a voice, but as Mind Speak.
— If it is here, I can recover over time. But having been exposed to such terrible Dharma Power, it will easily take several years. Seventh Apostle, you must offer sacrifices to shorten that time.
The Blood Flame Cult Leader was employing Wisdom Light Mind Speak, a technique typically used by high-ranking monks who had mastered Buddhist martial arts. It was different from supreme principles like 'All Flows Return to the Source.' To expand the cult's influence, he had delved into Buddhist teachings for over a century, grasping the subtle essence of Mind Speak. He hadn't achieved it through spiritual enlightenment but had reverse-engineered it as a martial system, cementing his status as a Grandmaster of Blood Arts.
His clan was different from both the Han people and the Brightfolk, claiming to be greater than either. Strange, violent, chaotic, and supernatural. Such were their ways. He could implant his very consciousness into a crystal of blood, allowing him to think. The body that housed this spiritual core was, in itself, a divine weapon—and that weapon was the Blood Flame Cult Leader.
"Sacrifices? How filthy."
— Cute thing.
A single, mucus-like drop of blood imbued with his spirit oozed from the corpse. In that moment, one of the great mysteries of the Jianghu was revealed in its most repulsive form. A slender, snake-like crystal of blood was the Cult Leader himself.
— Deciding our cult's course of action comes first. This incident has made one thing clear: there is someone else who will pose the greatest obstacle to our grand plan.
"I'm listening."
— We should not have focused on the Lord of the Desolate Fortress first. She rarely takes action. As I surmise, the Fortress Lord cannot remain far from the World Tree for long. If we handle matters secretly, even if we touch her reverse scale, we need only scatter and evade her for a long time.
"I'd like to trade blows with her once, though. She gets on my nerves. A lot."
— Don't even think about it. In any case, the Purple Ranks of the Desolate Fortress are as good as dead and no longer pose a threat. We need only track the movements of the Commander of the Divine Sword Corps. The Jegal Clan Leader is another to consider, but while he is cunning and powerful, he is not a direct concern for our cult.
The Blood Flame Cult Leader's Mind Speak carried a strange hint of laughter.
— The same goes for the Sword Saint, who is merely the Jegal Clan's puppet. And the leaders of the Nine Sects? They are nothing but idlers, drunk on their own martial prowess while hiding away in their mountains. We need only monitor their territories.
"..."
— If anything, we should be wary of the young Ming Cult Leader in Xinjiang. Her ambition is excessive. Moreover, I have never seen a genius of sorcery martial arts like that child. However, she is still a greenhorn just beginning to stretch her wings as a sect leader, so indeed...
Pausing for a moment, the Blood Flame Cult Leader declared.
— She cannot match the influence of the Grand Master, who has already taken center stage in the Jianghu.
"I knew you'd say that," the Seventh Apostle said, leaning her back lightly against an old tree.
She adjusted the sleeves of her Pure Blood Robe, feigning indifference. Unconcerned, the Cult Leader continued.
— The Dharma Power that Ma Yeon-jeok displayed, having reached a stage of great completion, was truly formidable. For a martial art to achieve such an ultimate form, its very principles must be flawless from the moment of their inception.
The Cult Leader, now nothing more than a handful of blood, paused.
— Now I can say with certainty that the Grand Master's talent for creation puts him on par with legends like Bodhidharma and Zhang Sanfeng. It's impossible to fathom the sheer immensity of the spiritual energy in his Upper Dantian.
"And?" the Seventh Apostle asked, her lips barely moving, her expression unchanged.
— However, unlike those two, the Grand Master is not a cultivator who refines his mind and body. He will show no restraint in creating martial arts to counter others. He is a dangerous new sprout, appearing just as the seeds of the Desolate Fortress's destruction are being sown across the Jianghu.
"Isn't it good if he creates a lot of martial arts? Every single one of the Grand Master's techniques is brilliant."
— Regrettably, as long as the Lord of the Desolate Fortress exists, we cannot take the Grand Master for ourselves. If we cannot have him, it is only right to kill him. Think of hiring every assassin in the world. Funnel the funds through three or four intermediaries to keep us hidden. Conveniently, the Grand Master has accumulated no small amount of grudges in the Jianghu, so there is no reason to hesitate.
"Kill him? The Grand Master?"
— The First Apostle is in the Martial World Alliance of Hanzhong. He has secured a fairly significant role there and must be looking for an opportunity to make the Martial World Alliance and the Desolate Fortress slaughter each other. Ask him for help. He holds your noble bloodline—the True Blood lineage—in high esteem.
Dignity filled the Blood Flame Cult Leader's Mind Speak. The spirit of a sect's grandmaster exerted its power even after his physical body had decayed. For a moment, the Yin energy filling the sacred mountain seemed to grow even denser.
But the Seventh Apostle did not answer.
She adored the young Grand Master. She regarded him as the one and only comet that would lead her to the absolute peak of martial arts. He was different from this annoying Cult Leader who did nothing but make demands.
The way the young Grand Master tried to push her away, only to waver after she gave him Bodhidharma's treasure token… it filled her with a sadistic thrill.
More.
She wanted to give him more. She wanted to see how he would treat her after being gifted with all the rare treasures scattered across the world, everything that could aid his path.
What kind of expression would the young Grand Master make? How would the martial arts unleashed from his fingertips change?
"Ah."
She wished to reach the end of the martial path alongside him. The Martial Apex.
At the end of his dazzling life, she wanted to caress his cheek as he closed his eyes and whisper, Your life was brilliant beyond measure. I adore you.
The Seventh Apostle slowly parted her lips.
"Cult Leader, I am indebted to you for your grace, but..."
— Hmm?
"I've endured a lot, too. And I've repaid you plenty. Besides, weren't you the one who told me to live as I pleased?"
— Apostle.
"You want to kill the Grand Master?"
— I thought what you said before was a joke.
And so, the conversation of madmen began.
"I was serious. I might as well become the True Blood Cult Leader. I've already heard where the seal is."
— Heh, hehe. Will you consume me? That, too, would be amusing. I am curious about the Jianghu as seen through your eyes.
"How filthy. My talent is far superior to yours."
There was a mnemonic the boy in the black robe had given her when he was still a Blue Rank. Originally, the Seventh Apostle was destined to become as strong as the Cult Leader just by training in the Mara Blood-Roaring Art. She was born that way.
She was even younger than Lazy Flame Dragon, who used to flatter the young Grand Master. She was barely past twenty. She had risen to the rank of Apostle as the most powerful rising star of the Blood Flame Cult. Her potential for growth was limitless.
"So, you see," the Seventh Apostle said, flashing a crimson smile.
"Die. Thank you for everything. You've been a nuisance."
— Bwahahaha!
The Cult Leader burst into a roaring, mad laugh.
— You are already the True Blood Cult Leader! Our clan will prosper even more! My only regret is that I cannot witness the further glory of our cult...
Step.
A smooth, red silk shoe stepped firmly onto the crystal of blood.
With a crunching sound, crimson flames erupted around her feet. There were only two types of True Qi capable of utterly destroying Blood Arts: the same Blood Art True Qi, and sacred Dharma Power. At this moment, the shockwave of the Mara True-Blood Art, newly reborn at the hands of the young Grand Master, gouged the ground in a spiral of fire.
The strike incinerated the blood demon who had roamed the Jianghu for centuries.
In an instant, a cool silence returned to the sacred mountain.
The Seventh Apostle slowly raised her head. She still wore that crimson, refreshed smile.
"Hanzhong, the Martial World Alliance?"
She foresaw her reunion with the young Grand Master. It would be a meeting of a different kind.
* * *
Flash Art Jeong Yeon-shin.
He exuded a strange aura, a harmony that seemed to transcend his years. This was true not only of his energy but also of his features. He wore the singular black robe of the Desolate Fortress and carried an extraordinary sword at his waist.
Despite his youthful appearance, his demand for surrender did not sound out of place. Cheong-myeong, who had poked his head out of the carriage window at some point, let out a whistle.
"Mi-ryeo, did you hear that? 'Will you resist?' He's become a true martial artist of the main fortress, arresting Jianghu ruffians. When did he grow up so much?"
"Don't talk nonsense. He's wearing a black robe."
"Ah, right. Wasn't it just last year in Shaanxi that I lent him my blue robe? Maybe it's because of his age, but he really feels like a younger brother."
Cheong-myeong's lips curved into a fresh smile.
"Commander, what's going to happen to us?" he asked, glancing inside the carriage.
A heavy voice replied, "Keep training in the Demonlight Formula without rest. That is enough. Even if I must leave the main unit, the Demonlight Wing will endure. I intend to take matters into my own hands to ensure there is no disruption to the lineage of the Demonlight Wing."
"Commander, you don't have hands, though?"
Standing at the front, Jeong Yeon-shin ignored Ma Jin's silence. He recognized Cheong-myeong's carefree jab for what it was—the typical humor of a Brightfolk.
He simply stared intently at the Small Sword Empress Chwi So-ok, speaking to the eldest disciple of the Diancang Sect with his eyes.
It is only right that we detain you and your martial brothers until our journey is over. With his silence, the boy demanded an answer.
What had happened when they trusted the good faith of the Orthodox Factions at the Namgung Clan? Jeong Yeon-shin would not repeat the same mistake.
His firm resolve blazed in his eyes, where the white lightning of the Law-Transcending Halo Qi raged.
The corners of her mouth, which had held a soft smile, stiffened slightly. She possessed the status of a successor to one of the Nine Sects, lofty sword arts, and a high reputation for righteousness. In many ways, she was compared to the Sword Dragon of the Zhongnan Sect, Wiji Myo-hwa. This meant she was a rising star held in high esteem within the Jianghu.
The Small Sword Empress silently gazed at Jeong Yeon-shin for a moment.
The boy met her gaze, perceiving her entire being, seeing through her martial arts. He had to completely and overwhelmingly dismantle the martial artist known as the Small Sword Empress. He had to prevent the fluctuations of True Qi from reaching the carriages of his maternal grandfather and the Elder Council Head.
'They say she is a master of dual swords. The hilts and blades are long. Should I assume she mastered the sword as if it were a saber? She probably hasn't deeply trained in the thrusts unique to the Diancang sword techniques.'
He examined her eyes. They were difficult to read, holding no discernible emotion. Though her features were as flawlessly beautiful as the sword qi she was famous for, something else left a deeper impression on him.
The thick calluses covering both her palms. They were the hands of a swordsman who had dedicated her life to training. Although she had never vied for supremacy with the Sword Dragon due to the vast distance between Yunnan and Shaanxi, her effort seemed no less than Wiji Myo-hwa's.
'She must have mastered water arts as well. I should keep fist and palm techniques in mind, too.'
The boy did not wait any longer. Clad in the black robe of the Desolate Fortress, he stood on the wide road, representing his entire group. It would be an embarrassment if he couldn't subdue a mere rising star.
At the very front of the procession, which had been halted by Lazy Flame Dragon and Namgung Hwa-shin, he slowly took a step forward.
Step.
With that single step, the look in the Small Sword Empress's eyes changed. The somewhat blank, innocent look in her pupils vanished. In its place was the gaze of a master who could perfectly measure the distance to her enemy, flashing like a bolt of lightning.
He could feel her erect a sword in her mind. The very atmosphere shifted. The heavy air promised a clash that would be decided in a single exchange.
A hazy space formed between them—the Sword Sphere, the domain of the sword. It was the space where the reach of a sword path and the impact zone of its shockwave were measured. A battle of wills began, each unleashing waves of energy to neutralize the other's domain and fill the space with their own. Jeong Yeon-shin guided the flow, ensuring the shockwave of their clash would not reach his maternal grandfather and the Elder Council Head behind him.
Step.
Only the boy moved. With each step he took, the colorless energy waves surrounding them surged. A tangible, gray wind churned between the two swordsmen.
Step.
The sound of his footsteps rang out exceptionally loud. He was deliberately closing the distance—something one would never attempt without absolute confidence in their swordplay.
With his hand resting on the hilt of the Divine Sword: Northern Light, his black robe fluttering at the hem, the boy was the very picture of a Commander of the Divine Sword Corps.
The Small Sword Empress lowered her body, taking a stance to draw her swords. A small bead of cold sweat rolled down her cheek. Facing Jeong Yeon-shin's unrestrained energy, she finally understood the true weight of a black robe from the Desolate Fortress.
Before they knew it, only five paces separated them.
The tension between them was pulled taut. The low, resonant hum of their clashing energies grew intense. The violent trembling of the air foretold the imminent collision of swords.
Just then.
Suddenly, the Small Sword Empress took her hands off her sword hilts and bowed. Her pitch-black hair fluttered wildly in the strong wind of their combined energy.
At the same time, the sound of the Sword Sphere dispersing swept through the surroundings with a sharp whoosh.
As Jeong Yeon-shin watched, stunned, the Small Sword Empress slowly straightened up and opened her lips.
"Uh... I shall follow you."
Her expression was somewhat dazed.