Chapter 9: Jeok Ma-seong of the Ten Demon Guests (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 9: Jeok Ma-seong of the Ten Demon Guests (2)
By the time the advance party reached the Palace of Supreme Clarity, Seok Myeong was already busy moving his belongings into his new residence.
He descended the mountain path with a massive bundle slung over his shoulder, packed so tightly with books that it seemed impossible for a single person to read them all in a lifetime.
"It’s not as if they’ll vanish if you leave them behind. You could just bring a few at a time whenever you need them. Why be so stubborn and carry them all at once? From what I’ve seen, you’ve already memorized most of those; you probably don't even need them anymore."
Song Gwan, who was supporting the rear of the bundle, grumbled as he struggled with the weight. The sheer volume of books was staggering. The path was rugged and uneven, making his irritability only natural.
"They’re all important in their own way... I’m sorry, Elder."
Despite the apology, Seok Myeong didn’t look particularly repentant. Instead, a bright, satisfied smile lit up his face. Song Gwan shook his head in defeat and put a bit more strength into supporting the heavy load.
A short while later, after passing through a dense cluster of trees, they came upon a lone house standing tall in the clearing. It was so overgrown with weeds and creeping vines that Seok Myeong hadn't even realized it was a building until they were standing directly in front of it.
"Elder, is this the place?"
"Yes. There isn’t another house for miles."
Arriving at the front door, Seok Myeong untied the bundle. He straightened his back and examined the structure. The building itself tilted slightly backward, propped up by thick logs to prevent it from leaning any further. At a glance, it looked like it was on the verge of collapsing.
Through the half-open door, the interior looked desolate. It was a shack that looked more suited for a pack of beggars than a cultivator, lacking even a desk, let alone a bed.
"It looks like a good place for cultivation," Seok Myeong remarked, sounding genuinely pleased.
In truth, he didn't care about the condition of the house.
"It has its own charm. It’s also a place where no one will bother you. And if you walk just a bit further past here, you’ll find Wolseong Lake. It’s likely the most scenic spot in all of Qingcheng."
As the one in charge of Chaoyang Cave, Song Gwan knew the local geography like the back of his hand.
"Get settled in first. I’ll bring some food for dinner later."
"Thank you, Elder."
"Don't mention it. Now, get some rest."
Song Gwan left with a smile. Once he was out of sight, Seok Myeong finally began to organize his belongings.
"First, the room..."
He started by cleaning the interior. Since the house had been abandoned for years, it was draped in cobwebs and crawling with insects. However, he didn't mind the grime as he swept every corner and finally untied his bundle.
Since every single book was precious, he handled them with extreme care, stacking them one by one. While rummaging through the bundle to find a spot for the last few volumes, Seok Myeong’s hand paused.
He pulled out something thick and heavy.
"I wonder what this is for."
It was a wooden box he had found while cleaning his master's room before moving. It was about the length of a forearm and the thickness of a palm, but no matter how much he examined it, he couldn't figure out its purpose. It was narrow and shallow.
"Is it a memento from Master?"
Since his master had left no final words before passing, he couldn't be sure. The shape was plain, devoid of any decoration or markings. If he hadn't been deep-cleaning the room, he might never have found it; there was absolutely nothing special about its appearance.
Creak.
"Huh? It won't open."
Seok Myeong applied pressure to the lid, but it didn't budge. It was firmly sealed.
"Let’s see now..."
Creak, creak.
He tried using more force, but the lid remained motionless, emitting a strained sound as if the wood itself were about to splinter.
"What on earth is this?"
After several more attempts, Seok Myeong examined the box again. For some reason, the tightly closed box felt as if it had become even more firmly sealed the more force he applied.
"How strange. I wonder what’s inside that requires such a seal. I should finish organizing the rest of my things first."
Deciding to deal with the box later, Seok Myeong returned to his cleaning.
*
It was only after nightfall that the room was finally somewhat organized. The task had taken longer than expected, and even then, it was only "finished" because he had simply stacked the books in a corner since there were no bookshelves.
The oil lamp Song Gwan had provided lit the small space, and the bed made of rough wooden planks was serviceable enough. Having managed to find a sturdy desk, Seok Myeong sat down and began his martial studies.
He had told Song Hak that he would become a Qingcheng Swordsman, but at the time, he had spoken more out of anger than confidence. He had wanted to humiliate Song Hak for insulting his master. But now that he could think calmly, a sense of worry began to creep in.
The "Qingcheng Swordsmen" were the elite warriors who represented the sect. They were a small, prestigious group, numbering fewer than thirty in the entire Qingcheng Sect. The process of being selected was a gauntlet of hurdles so difficult that luck played no part in it.
The most grueling of these was the final trial: a duel against a current Qingcheng Swordsman. To pass, one had to win. This meant a candidate had to be equal to an elite warrior in every aspect—internal energy, swordsmanship, and combat experience.
What I need right now is internal energy.
In truth, experience was more urgent, but there was no immediate way to gain it. He had no sparring partners, and it was difficult to find an opponent suited to his level. Therefore, focusing on cultivating internal energy was the only logical path.
"They say that to become a Qingcheng Swordsman, one typically needs half a Cycle of internal strength."
He had two years. Within that time, he had to cultivate internal energy equivalent to half a Cycle—thirty years of cultivation. Currently, Seok Myeong’s internal energy wasn't even thirty percent of that.
"Is there a way to quickly increase my internal energy? It would be great if I could take some spirit medicine, but that’s not an option..."
Suddenly, Seok Myeong felt a pang of envy toward Yeon-hui and Seok Jun. He didn't envy their natural talent; he envied their environment—specifically, their parents' wealth. From a young age, they had bolstered their internal energy by consuming spirit medicines that others could only dream of. Because they were the daughter of the Sect Leader and the son of a respected elder, their starting line was miles ahead of other disciples.
"Is there... no other way?"
Seok Myeong closed his eyes and thought deeply. Besides internal energy and experience, what were his strengths? Did he really have nothing that made him better than them?
No, that wasn't true.
Analyzing an opponent's martial arts.
In that regard, he had never once considered himself inferior to anyone. What was needed to refine basic martial arts into high-level techniques? One had to realize the profound principles and insights of the sword.
Although Seok Myeong had never encountered the high-level martial arts or secret techniques of Qingcheng, he was confident in his ability to analyze an opponent's swordsmanship and find their weaknesses—even if that opponent was Song Hak.
"But if my internal energy is lacking, it’s all for naught."
Even with perfect technique, if he couldn't withstand an opponent's raw power or if he ran out of breath, his movements would become sluggish, leading directly to defeat. Ultimately, the power of internal energy was the fundamental foundation.
"Maybe I can make it if I do nothing but circulate my qi all day starting from today."
Resting his chin on his hand, Seok Myeong muttered to himself and let out a hollow laugh. It was then that his gaze shifted toward the back of the room.
His expression froze.
What he felt from behind him... was killing intent.
*
This was the Qingcheng Sect. Moreover, Chaoyang Cave, which honored the prestige of their ancestors, was nearby. To think there was someone emitting killing intent in such a place was unthinkable.
"Who is it?"
Seok Myeong kicked the door open and scanned the surroundings.
A figure stood under the moonlight. The intruder watched him silently, their hand resting on the hilt of a sheathed sword. The figure wasn't particularly large—in fact, they were on the smaller side. Since the person was wearing a mask, their face was hidden, but their eyes were sharp and focused. Their purpose was clear: they were here to fight.
A formidable master.
Despite the distance, Seok Myeong was so tense that a cold sweat broke out. He instinctively felt that this was not someone he could easily handle.
Focus!
Seok Myeong consciously pushed aside his questions. Facing such a master, any distraction could be fatal. He had to eliminate even the smallest stray thought. Everything had to flow from his mind instinctively. The enemy was strong enough to take his life if he showed even a speck of an opening.
Seok Myeong focused his mind and reached for his waist, only to feel an emptiness. In his shock at the sudden killing intent, he had made the amateur mistake of rushing out without his sword.
How could a disciple of Qingcheng make such a mistake!
He had no sword, but he wouldn't let himself be defeated. Azure Cloud Taoist had also researched fist and foot techniques, and their level was in no way inferior to his swordsmanship. Although Seok Myeong’s own mastery was still developing, he had to trust his eyes and the martial arts refined by his master.
"Who are you?" Seok Myeong took a stance.
He calculated how to face the enemy, which direction to move his hands the moment the enemy attacked, what footwork to use, and how to lure the enemy into a lapse of guard. All these thoughts flooded his mind at once.
But soon, those thoughts vanished. The enemy began to charge without a word.
Here they come.
Seok Myeong’s nerves were on edge with every step the opponent took. He watched their feet intently, struggling not to lose sight of their movement.
Whoosh.
The opponent vanished with the sound of the wind. In that instant, Seok Myeong moved laterally and struck downward with the edge of his hand.
Pang!
The wind seemed to wrap around his body, and a sharp, powerful surge of internal energy bit into his fingertips.
"Ugh!"
Seok Myeong was sent skidding backward.
Their internal energy is far superior to mine.
He grimaced at the recoil and the shock vibrating through his hand. He felt a profound internal energy, likely exceeding half a Cycle.
Swish.
The opponent swung their sword toward the retreating Seok Myeong. Dodging with precise left and right steps, Seok Myeong began to use his body to counter-attack. The easiest way to face an armed opponent while unarmed is through superior movement. No matter how sharp a sword is, it cannot kill what it cannot hit.
Seok Myeong tried to lure the opponent into an opening by moving laterally. However, the masked person stuck to him like a shadow, matching his movements, and their sword momentum grew even sharper.
Suddenly, the masked person sheathed their sword and lowered their stance. Seok Myeong’s eyes widened. He knew what that movement meant. They were about to use a quick-draw technique. If he didn't prepare in advance, he would be struck down in an instant!
Slide.
Instead of moving away, Seok Myeong closed the distance. He intended to leave no space for the enemy to execute the draw properly. As the gap narrowed, the masked person’s eyes wavered. But only for a moment; they regained their composure and resumed the attack.
They thrust their sword with blinding speed, shifting between high and low stances, occasionally retreating to reset their momentum. Seeing this, Seok Myeong’s expression hardened.
Just a moment ago, the opponent had transitioned from a low-level stance to a mid-level stance, then attempted a "scratch sword" strike. Furthermore, their free hand had formed a specific "hand-sword" gesture.
It was a familiar style. And for good reason—this was the swordsmanship of Qingcheng.
Swish, swish!
Seok Myeong’s hands grew faster. He extended his left foot forward, exposing his chest to the enemy as bait. Then, switching back to a leaping step, he closed in and took a posture as if drawing them in. He attempted a Striking Fist following a Pushing Palm.
The opponent, misjudging Seok Myeong’s palm strike as a defensive push, was pulled into his orbit and then sent flying back by the follow-up. The masked person’s eyes revealed their utter bewilderment.
"Let’s stop here, Junior Sister."
"..."
"I might not know other things, but the Eight Heavens Sword is the Sect Leader’s exclusive martial art. As someone who researches the martial arts of Qingcheng, there’s no way I wouldn't recognize it."
His observation was correct. The masked person let their sword hang and made no further move to attack.
"I thought I prepared well... but as expected of the Eldest Disciple."
The figure removed the mask. In an instant, a woman so beautiful she seemed to drive away the deep darkness of the night stood before him.
"Y-You?"
"Yes. It’s me, Sahyeong. Have you been well?"
Yeon-hui looked at Seok Myeong with a bright smile. Her clear eyes were incredibly gentle and kind.
Seok Myeong was at a loss for words. Even though he had suspected the masked person’s identity was his junior sister, he couldn't help but be flustered the moment she revealed her face.
The last time he had seen Yeon-hui was two years ago, before he had entered the secret pavilion with his master. He had deliberately cut off contact with the outside world to focus on his research. By the time he had emerged, she had already left for her Jianghu travels.
"I’m sorry for attacking you so suddenly," Yeon-hui said, bowing her head. Then, she looked up with a radiant smile. "I really missed you, Sahyeong."