Chapter 513
Even so, sending Bu Eun-seol meant one thing.
Gongson Dan-gyeong must have had an absolute reason to verify the affairs of the Heavenly Human Cult.
'Simply because they might disrupt the Martial World?'
Bu Eun-seol internally shook his head.
Even if the Heavenly Human Cult was a heretical organization, even if they had created a fake Sword Tomb to lure martial artists—
Such reasons alone wouldn't warrant the Martial Alliance forcibly investigating or sanctioning them.
"It's over several hundred people."
As if reading his doubts, Gongson Dan-gyeong continued.
"We haven't found concrete evidence, but the number of martial artists who went there seeking swords and disappeared... it's at least several hundred, if not more."
"That many?"
It was incomprehensible.
How could hundreds of martial artists vanish without word spreading beyond?
"Most were second-rate martial artists."
At her words, Bu Eun-seol fell silent.
Though she diplomatically called them second-rate, they were likely bottom-tier martial artists barely above the dregs.
The Martial World teemed with countless martial artists, but people only remembered those who carved out illustrious reputations.
Those with mediocre skills lived wretched lives, struggling even to secure daily meals.
The more capable ones became wandering mercenaries, selling their martial prowess, but those who couldn't even do that—
They resorted to anything that might earn them coin, turning to banditry or becoming third-rate assassins.
The sorrow of third-rate martial artists.
Even if they died in droves...
No one in the world would spare them a glance or mourn their passing.
"I see."
Bu Eun-seol nodded solemnly.
From the Martial World's perspective, a master of the Martial Extreme Realm and a third-rate swordsman could never be treated as equals.
But from Bu Eun-seol's standpoint—someone who didn't consider himself part of the Martial World—
Whether a Martial Extreme Realm master or a third-rate swordsman, the weight of their lives was the same.
"In the end, they didn't forcibly recruit martial artists, they obtained memorandums, and the dead were all insignificant martial artists—so rumors never spread."
"Exactly."
"Given that the dispatched unit members were highly skilled yet still disappeared... the Sword Tomb created by the Heavenly Human Cult isn't just baseless hearsay."
"Precisely."
When he accurately grasped why the Heavenly Human Cult needed investigation, Gongson Dan-gyeong nodded and asked:
"Will you take on this task?"
"Do I have the option to refuse?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
"Because this mission will almost certainly end in death."
Martial Alliance members carry out even the most perilous missions without hesitation.
Moreover, one cannot refuse a task assigned by the Chief Strategist.
Yet, she was offering Bu Eun-seol a choice.
'She's testing me again.'
A faint light lingered in her eyes.
By offering him a choice—
She intended to discern why he had come from the commercial world to the Martial World, what motives drove him to remain in the Martial Alliance.
"I'll take it."
"Why?"
"Because it's the perfect mission to test my limits."
Bu Eun-seol took a deep breath before speaking.
"The reason I left the merchant group was that everything had been handed to me since birth."
"..."
"Whether my abilities fell short or excelled, it made no difference to the merchant group's operations."
Seon-u Jin was a figure like a dragon hidden among clouds.
Both his intellect and talent were genius-tier, and the commercial world was too confined for him to fully unleash his potential.
That was why he had come to the Martial Alliance.
Continuously challenging near-impossible missions was, perhaps, only natural for him.
'Is that why the Profound Heart's Eye didn't work on him?'
Seon-u Jin was someone who never diverted his focus, dedicating himself entirely to fully unleashing his abilities.
And such a mindset bore striking resemblance to the spiritual state of a high monk who sheds worldly attachments in pursuit of enlightenment.
"Good."
Gongson Dan-gyeong nodded.
"Then Commander Seon-u shall take charge of this matter."
Suddenly, the mystical shimmer in her eyes faded, replaced by calm clarity.
Only then could Bu Eun-seol sense it—
All the suspicion she had harbored toward him had vanished without a trace.
'Now she fully trusts me.'
For someone like her, placing complete trust in a person unaffected by the Profound Heart's Eye must have been extraordinarily difficult.
And unless that suspicion was entirely dispelled, Bu Eun-seol could never truly become her confidant.
But through this mission, she had let go of all her doubts.
Moreover, succeeding in the Sword Tomb operation would grant him an opportunity to rise through the ranks faster.
However, there was one thing Bu Eun-seol never anticipated—
That this incident involving the Heavenly Human Cult's branch would completely alter the Martial Alliance's objectives.
And that his relationship with Gongson Dan-gyeong would undergo a drastic transformation.
Taiping Mountain.
This was where the Taiping Branch of the Heavenly Human Cult—whose main temple lay in the Yellow River Region—had established itself.
Several years ago, construction had begun midway up Taiping Mountain where this branch was located.
What finally emerged was an enormous structure that looked as if an entire mountainside had been carved out.
The Heavenly Human Cult claimed that within this building lay the legendary Sword Tomb.
When people heard this, they scoffed.
They assumed the cult had built some elaborate mechanism to deceive martial artists.
But then rumors spread that Jo Chung, who had been a third-rate swordsman, had joined the Heavenly Human Cult and obtained a divine sword and secret manual, becoming an extraordinary master.
Upon hearing this, martial artists of mediocre skill flocked en masse to the Sword Tomb created by the Heavenly Human Cult.
―To enter the Sword Tomb, there were rules.
However, the Heavenly Human Cult did not allow just anyone into the Sword Tomb—they enforced the rules they had established.
The regulations, dubbed the Eight Rules of the Sword Tomb, were as follows:
First.
Only martial artists under the age of thirty may enter the Sword Tomb.
Second.
To enter the Sword Tomb, one must leave behind all weapons and personal belongings.
Third.
The gates of the Sword Tomb will only open once a hundred applicants have gathered, and one must pass through a total of three gates.
Fourth.
While passing through the gates, internal energy must be sealed by acupoint suppression to prevent its use.
Fifth.
Once inside the mechanism, there is no turning back.
Sixth.
From the moment one enters the gates, their life is no longer guaranteed.
Seventh.
Breaking any of these rules will result in death.
Eighth.
One cannot enter the Sword Tomb without signing a memorandum agreeing to these terms.
The martial artists were taken aback.
You could die if you break the rules or enter the gates? And we have to sign a memorandum absolving them of responsibility?
When the contents of the Eight Rules of the Sword Tomb spread, ordinary civilians scoffed.
―Who in their right mind would go under such conditions?
But that was a mistaken assumption.
Martial artists were those who staked their lives on swords and secret manuals.
If one could pass through all the gates and receive the sword's selection... They would obtain a divine sword and a secret manual capable of dominating the Martial World.
For martial artists who had yet to make a name for themselves—or those whose wings had been clipped by some misfortune—this was nothing short of a dreamlike opportunity.
Bustle, clamor.
As if to prove this, countless martial artists had gathered in droves before Taiping Mountain today as well.
Most were third-rate martial artists pushing thirty.
They had come to the Martial World with lofty dreams, yet failed to encounter fortuitous opportunities or find a remarkable master. Thus, they saw this as their final chance.
"We've gathered over a hundred!"
Someone shouted.
According to the Eight Rules of the Sword Tomb, the gates leading into the Sword Tomb would only open once a minimum of a hundred applicants had assembled.
The problem was that while many had applied before, none who entered the Sword Tomb ever returned.
Yet the martial artists paid no heed and continued to gather.
Wasn't the Martial World a place where people lived with their lives on the edge of a blade anyway?
And before they knew it—
A hundred people? No, by sheer coincidence, nearly two hundred martial artists had surged in at once.
"We've gathered more than a hundred! Open the gates!"
The assembled martial artists roared in unison.
Their faces were filled with hope.
If they could enter the Sword Tomb...
They firmly believed they would be chosen by a sword and become masters capable of dominating the Martial World.
As if reflecting their desperate circumstances, most of the martial artists gathered at the entrance of the Sword Tomb on Taiping Mountain were shabbily dressed.
They had come staking their lives, convinced this was their last chance.
However, a few stood out in splendid attire and proper robes—
They wore masks or veils over their faces, as though concealing their identities.
Bu Eun-seol wore the face of Seon-u Jin, but he had applied a foul-smelling ointment and smeared charcoal ash over it. At a glance, he looked like just another third-rate martial artist.
'There are so many.'
Bu Eun-seol narrowed his eyes as he observed the crowd packed at the Sword Tomb's entrance.
Sent by Gongson Dan-gyeong's orders to investigate the Sword Tomb, he had come here.
Yet the Heavenly Human Cult disciples guarding the Sword Tomb paid no attention whatsoever.
They didn't care whether the applicants belonged to the Righteous Faction or the Demonic Path, whether they were men or women.
Their only concern was determining whether they were over thirty or not.
Krrrk—THUD.
Finally, the gates of the Sword Tomb creaked open, and out stepped a figure wearing an eerily intricate crimson ghost mask.
It was none other than the Ghost-Faced Envoy of the Heavenly Human Cult.
―He's strong.
The martial artists' eyes widened at the sight of the Ghost-Faced Envoy.
From his body emanated the Formless Qi—an intangible pressure only the most exceptional swordsmen could unleash.
The Heavenly Human Cult couldn't have recruited such a formidable martial artist. He must have obtained his sword from the Sword Tomb.
"Before entering, confirm the rules once more."
The masked man spoke in a low voice.
"Once inside, there is no coming back. Even if you die while passing through the gates, you must sign a pledge acknowledging full responsibility for your fate."
His voice sounded as though he were speaking from inside a massive overturned jar—deep, muffled, and reverberating.
"Let me reiterate—if you are over thirty and enter the Sword Tomb, you will die. If you disobey the internal rules, you will die."
He scanned the crowd of martial artists.
"Inside, there is a place to sign the memorandum. Writing tools and instructions will be provided—follow them precisely."
Then he added one last remark.
"You need not declare your affiliation or name. However, you must personally copy the contents in your own handwriting."
―Sign a memorandum accepting responsibility even if you die?
When they were actually ordered to sign the memorandum, several martial artists protested.
In response, the Ghost-Faced Envoy raised his voice, infused with Internal Power.
"Leave now if you refuse. No one is forcing you."
Bu Eun-seol, who had been silently listening from the back, gave a slight nod.
Whether the Heavenly Human Cult had created a fake Sword Tomb or not, the Eight Rules they had established clearly delineated responsibility.
Even if martial artists died here en masse—and even if evidence was uncovered—the Martial Alliance would be unable to impose hasty sanctions.
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Bu Eun-seol followed the line and wrote out the memorandum with brush and ink.
Judging by how carelessly the documents were collected without thorough verification,
it seemed the identities of those entering weren't considered particularly important.
'The author...'
Among the martial artists signing the memorandum on the opposite side, Bu Eun-seol spotted a familiar figure.
Though the man wore a mask obscuring his face, the sharp, irritable glint in his eyes alone was enough to reveal his identity.
'Cheon Hwa-in.'
It was none other than Cheon Hwa-in, a Master of Great Righteousness from the Mount Hua Sect, who had once competed with Bu Eun-seol for the position of Great Assembly Leader.
'Why would a cripple...?'
To secure the Great Assembly Leader position, Cheon Hwa-in had colluded with an elder of the Martial Alliance, employing all sorts of underhanded tricks.
But when all his schemes collapsed, the backlash caused a severe decline in his Internal Power, reducing him to a cripple.
Yet here he was, seemingly attempting a comeback—drawn by the rumors of the Sword Tomb.
'He must have left the Mount Hua Sect.'
No disciple of the Mount Hua Sect would ever associate with a cult like the Heavenly Human Cult.
Meaning he had already severed ties with his sect.
'That makes sense.'
As a former Master of Great Righteousness who had once stepped into the Transcendent Realm, Cheon Hwa-in had been a promising figure.
But his unsavory character had been exposed, narrowing his prospects.
Instead of finding redemption as a Great Assembly Leader, his Internal Power had drastically diminished, crippling him.
Staying in the Mount Hua Sect would only earn him scorn and contempt—far from restoring his former glory.
So he had left, betting everything on a second chance.
If he could obtain a divine sword and its secret manual from the Sword Tomb, he might fill the void left by his depleted Internal Power.
'Which means he's desperate.'
Cheon Hwa-in had abandoned everything to stand tall in the Murim once more.
As if to prove it, madness flickered in the masked man's eyes.
"We will now proceed to the First Gate. Before that, your dantians will be sealed."
Once all the martial artists had signed, the Ghost-Faced Envoy stood firmly in the passage leading to the gate.
And as each person entered, he ruthlessly sealed their dantians.
'They're disabling Internal Energy usage...'
Anyone who had come here with ulterior motives—rather than to enter the Sword Tomb—would have been caught off guard.
But Bu Eun-seol had a trick: he had formed an Internal Core to conceal his true strength.
Even before entering, he had suppressed his Internal Energy to the level of a two-hundred-year practitioner, dispersing the rest into his Internal Core.
Even if they sealed his dantian or forced him to ingest Qi-Scattering Powder, his Internal Power would never be fully suppressed.
However, since he had no intention of hiding his identity as Seon-u Jin, he didn't lower his energy further.
"Hmm."
The masked martial artist's eyes gleamed as he pressed the acupoints in Bu Eun-seol's dantian.
He seemed surprised—likely having sensed, through Counterforce, that Bu Eun-seol possessed Internal Energy equivalent to two centuries of cultivation.
Once all the martial artists' dantians had been pressure-pointed, the gate on the opposite side opened.
"One final warning."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy spoke again in a solemn voice.
"Once you pass through this gate, there is no turning back. Those who break the rules will die instantly."
Despite his chilling words, none of the martial artists so much as flinched.
This was the Heavenly Human Cult—already whispered to be a heretical sect.
From the moment they had decided to come here, they had staked their lives on it.
"..."
When no one stepped back, the masked man retrieved an iron key from his robes and turned it in the wall mechanism.
With a heavy clank, the gate opened, and the martial artists filed inside.
The First Gate was a vast cavern riddled with countless branching paths.
"Endure here for one day, and you will pass the First Gate."
The martial artists exchanged puzzled glances.
Even if they couldn't use Internal Energy, was surviving a single day in a cave really a trial?
It seemed too easy to even be called a gate.
"The gate will reopen in one day."
Creak—
The Ghost-Faced Envoy stepped out immediately after opening the door.
As soon as he left, the martial artists relaxed, laughing and chatting among themselves.
"All that fuss over a gate, and it's just about lasting a day?"
"This cavern is spacious and comfortable. Even three hundred people could stay here without issue."
Groups formed as people chattered excitedly.
Thud.
Then, a strange vibration echoed through the cavern.
At the same time, the light illuminating the cave vanished in an instant, plunging everything into thick darkness.
"What's this?"
With their Internal Energy suppressed, none of the martial artists could pierce the darkness.
Hiss—
A pungent, metallic Blood Scent spread through the air, accompanied by an acrid stench from somewhere unseen.
In the darkness, the martial artists who had been floundering about abruptly stopped and began sniffing the air, inhaling the metallic blood scent.
"It's the Soul-Severing Demon Incense!"
Someone shouted then.
Soul-Severing Demon Incense.
It was a fragrance poison once used by the Soul-Severing Sect, an organization already branded as an Enemy of the Murim and wiped out. Its effect was to explosively amplify murderous intent.
Even though the Demonic Path had the similar Demon Spirit Pill, the reason the Soul-Severing Sect was condemned as an Enemy of the Murim and annihilated was precisely because this incense could induce such extreme bloodlust that it drove people into a slaughter frenzy.
"Ugh...!"
Those poisoned by the incense let out agonized groans or bursts of deranged laughter.
And in less than a quarter of an hour, countless martial artists, lost in hallucinations, began attacking anyone within reach.
"Gah!"
"Khh—!"
The pitch-black cave was soon filled with screams.
Even if they couldn't use their Internal Power, martial artists inherently possessed sharp senses and honed physical bodies.
When such individuals turned into madmen, fighting and pouncing like wild beasts, the cave became nothing short of a living hell.
Rustle.
But not everyone in the cave was fighting like a rabid animal.
Tap-tap-tap.
Some, sensing something amiss the moment the smoke began rising, had already dashed toward the branching paths of the cave.
Once the fighting broke out, they weaved through the labyrinthine passages, avoiding the bloodshed.
'Not the best method.'
But that approach drained stamina rapidly, and the noise they made only drew more attention.
Bu Eun-seol hesitated briefly before stealthily moving toward the heart of the battle instead.
The aftermath of the initial bloodshed had left corpses strewn everywhere.
Bu Eun-seol slipped among the bodies, quietly lying down and suppressing his presence.
For most martial artists, no matter how bold, lying among gruesomely slaughtered corpses would be unbearable.
But Bu Eun-seol, having worked as an undertaker since childhood, felt no particular sense of rejection.
'A simple method, but highly effective.'
Playing dead to survive was an age-old tactic on the battlefield.
However, in a dark, confined space where brutal combat raged, most people lost their rationality.
So much so that even thinking of such a straightforward solution became difficult.
'If they keep burning this incense all day, people will suffocate. They must have thinned the herd enough by now—they'll stop soon.'
Just as Bu Eun-seol predicted, the smoke of the Soul-Severing Demon Incense gradually began to dissipate.
Yet the people, oblivious, continued tearing into each other in a frenzied struggle.
'They promised swords from the Sword Tomb—so why use the Soul-Severing Demon Incense to cull the martial artists?'
Were they trying to select those with mental fortitude strong enough to resist the incense?
Or were they seeking individuals who, even in a state of madness, could slaughter countless enemies and survive—those with exceptional combat instincts and overwhelming killing intent?
If so... why?
'Whatever the reason, survival comes first.'
If they wanted someone drenched in bloodlust, he could show them a blood-soaked frenzy.
If they sought someone with unshakable willpower, he could simply reveal clear eyes amidst the gore.
'Hm.'
But something felt off.
Lying on the ground, he sensed a strange incongruity beneath him.
Running his fingers lightly over it, he felt a depression deep enough to fit a finger, filled with blood from the sheer number of deaths.
"Hahaha!"
Then, a figure caught Bu Eun-seol's eye.
A man laughing like a mad wolf, attacking people with frenzied abandon.
It was Cheon Hwa-in.
'If anything, the incense has restored his vigor.'
Poisoned by the incense, he radiated manic energy, biting and clawing at those around him.
The weakened, crippled state he had been in was gone—replaced by a beast craving blood and slaughter.
'He was never fit to be the Mount Hua Sect's leader to begin with.'
Cheon Hwa-in had always been narrow-minded and steeped in killing intent.
Had he become sect leader, the Mount Hua Sect would have spiraled into decline.
'That's why the Righteous Faction scrutinizes successors from every angle.'
The Demonic Path cared only for strength and ability—personality and character were irrelevant.
But for the Righteous Faction, which prized justice and justification, choosing the wrong leader invited irreversible consequences.
That was why, unlike the Demonic Path, they invested immense time and effort in selecting their leaders.
The Nine Great Sects and One Gang were no exception—even the Martial Alliance, despite having the Seven Great Leaders whose abilities were thoroughly vetted, subjected them to endless competition and repeated evaluations.
'The real oddity here is the Heavenly Human Cult.'
Judging by the sheer scale of the gate constructed for the Sword Tomb trials, it was impossible to believe a mere branch could have built it.
Could it be the Three Realms, then?
Unlikely.
The Three Realms always manipulated people and factions like puppets to achieve their goals.
But luring third-rate martial artists with divine swords and martial arts manuals only to make them destroy themselves?
From their perspective, there was nothing to gain from such a scheme.
Thud. Thud.
Then, Cheon Hwa-in, having felled countless people, strode directly toward where Bu Eun-seol lay.
"Well, well. A little rat hiding here."
Shockingly, he had precisely detected Bu Eun-seol's presence—his steady breathing amidst the pile of corpses.