Chapter 514
Bu Eun-seol hesitated briefly.
'Should I kill him?'
In this cave already turned into a slaughterhouse, secretly killing one Cheon Hwa-in wouldn't change anything.
However, no traces of martial arts could be left behind, so he decided against using Finger Wind. Instead, he planned to stealthily strike a Death Point if Cheon Hwa-in approached.
"Gahhk!"
But just then, someone in the throes of madness ambushed Cheon Hwa-in from behind.
The attacker's movements were formidable, preventing Cheon Hwa-in from easily tearing into him.
Sssskk.
At that moment, all the Soul-Severing Demon Incense filling the cave dissipated, and a faint purple smoke began to seep in instead.
As soon as it did, the people stopped fighting and stood dazed.
The moment they inhaled the scent, their nostrils turned icy cold, as if pressed against ice. Simultaneously, the slaughter frenzy induced by the Soul-Severing Demon Incense was instantly neutralized.
Kuuung.
With a low vibration, light once again flowed from the cave ceiling.
Under the dim glow, the gruesome scenery was laid bare.
"Ughk."
Several martial artists who surveyed the cave's interior began vomiting.
Not a single corpse remained intact.
Without internal energy, the only ways to kill were by biting or clawing someone apart.
As a result, the cave was strewn with visceral remnants—entrails and bodily fluids exposed in all their rawness.
"Uuuugh..."
A few who witnessed the sight pounded on the entrance door, screaming as though they could endure no more.
"I surrender! Damn this trial—I'm giving up!"
But the door didn't open.
According to the Eight Rules of the Sword Tomb, once a trial began, withdrawal was impossible.
And the first gate wasn't over yet.
Sssskk!
After some time passed, the light vanished again, and smoke began to rise once more.
This time, it wasn't the Soul-Severing Demon Incense.
A single whiff of this scent felt like it would scorch the lungs.
"Uoooh..."
People writhed in agony.
Even a faint inhalation made breathing unbearable, their lungs contracting in torment.
"Gyaaah!"
Screaming in pain, they rushed toward the entrance.
"Open it! Open the door!"
But no matter how hard they pounded, the door remained shut.
'This poison isn't lethal.'
Bu Eun-seol's gaze grew colder as he inhaled the scent.
The fumes spreading through the cave weren't an extreme poison capable of killing instantly.
Yet the people, unable to endure the suffering, shrieked and descended into chaos.
'Is this a test of endurance, then?'
Bu Eun-seol shook his head.
This wasn't the Ten Demonic Heirs Tournament.
Most of these people were third-rate martial artists, already adults. Even if they had exceptional talent, their current state made mastering advanced martial arts impossible.
"Gyaaaah!"
White foam bubbled from the mouths of those convulsing in pain.
But those who grasped the poison's nature or possessed greater endurance shut their eyes and bore the suffering silently.
Kuuung. Kuuung.
Eventually, several martial artists collapsed like logs and stopped breathing.
Afterward, more poisonous scents rose intermittently—the Double-Illusion Needle Poison inducing hallucinations and terror, the Salt-Shell Gu Fistula Poison that burned only the skin.
Among them were skilled martial artists, but most had shallow internal energy.
Second-rate warriors who had barely cultivated their spirit and mind.
With each wave of fragrance poison, the martial artists lost control—some even smashed their heads against the walls in desperation, committing suicide.
By the time a full day had passed, fewer than a hundred remained out of the nearly two hundred.
"Huuuuh..."
Those who survived had killing intent swirling in their pupils, even after the poison had left their systems.
The prolonged agony of enduring the toxic fumes had left them steeped in malice.
Rumble.
Finally, the door opened, revealing the crimson-masked figure of the Ghost-Faced Envoy once more.
"What kind of madness is this?!"
Enraged, several martial artists rushed at the masked figure, protesting like madmen.
"Why?! Why commit such cruelty?!"
Others fell to their knees before him.
"Please, let me leave! I beg you—I want out!"
The Ghost-Faced Envoy regarded them coldly.
"I told you repeatedly—once the trial begins, there is no leaving."
His frigid gaze swept over them.
"Return to your positions immediately."
But whether they were protesting or pleading, their eyes soon darkened with fury.
"You think you'll get away with this?! Once we're out—"
Sshhk.
A sudden explosive sound—and the head of one protester dropped uselessly to the ground.
A lightning-fast sword strike had severed it in an instant.
Splaaat!
Flicking the blood from his blade, the Ghost-Faced Envoy spoke in a voice dripping with killing intent.
"If anyone else wishes to break the rules, speak up now."
Those who had been protesting could no longer utter a word, hesitantly stepping back.
Even at full strength, none of them would have been able to block the Ghost-Faced Envoy's lightning-fast sword—swift and merciless.
And wasn't their dantian already suppressed now?
If they recklessly resisted, they'd be slaughtered without so much as a whimper.
"Proceed to the next gate."
At the Ghost-Faced Envoy's command, the martial artists lowered their heads and moved toward the opened gate.
What awaited them was an empty clearing.
And there, standing side by side, were two towers, each 50 feet high, connected by a single log bridge.
On the side of each tower, a ladder was erected, allowing one to climb up.
"Two will ascend the towers and push each other off the log bridge. The victor moves on to the next gate."
The martial artists were speechless at the Ghost-Faced Envoy's words.
If their internal energy had been intact, falling from a height of 50 feet might have been survivable.
But with their dantian suppressed, what would happen if they fell from such a height?
Nine times out of ten, they would die—or, if they were lucky enough to survive, they'd likely be crippled.
"Why must we turn on each other like this?"
At that moment, the one-eyed man spoke up, his tone laced with disbelief.
"Is this just to thin our numbers? If so, why not just select fewer from the start? Or could the first gate have filtered us down enough?"
"Did you think entering the Sword Tomb would be easy?"
The one-eyed man pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Even if we enter the Sword Tomb, won't we still have to be chosen by the swords? Why not just throw us in there directly? Why force strangers to kill each other?"
The other martial artists murmured in agreement.
"You'll understand why that's impossible once you see the Sword Tomb."
"Why is it impossible?"
"From the Main Cult's perspective, we're already allowing nameless outsiders into the Sword Tomb without conditions."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy rested his hand on his sword hilt, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
"If you refuse to follow the Main Cult's methods, I will act immediately."
It was no different from the King of Hell's ultimatum.
If the Ghost-Faced Envoy truly intended to slaughter them all, no one could stop him.
In the end, the one-eyed man lowered his head in defeat.
"Begin."
At the Ghost-Faced Envoy's command, the martial artists began ascending the towers in turn.
Bu Eun-seol, who had been silently observing, felt something was off.
This second gate—just like the first—was nothing more than an extension of the bloodshed.
As the one-eyed man had said, if the goal was to select the most exceptional, the first gate alone would have sufficed.
If they wanted to reduce numbers, they could have done so easily in the first gate.
So why go through such a convoluted, brutal process?
"Aaaagh!"
In that moment, a man from the left tower shoved the one emerging from the right.
A horrific scream tore through the air as the man plummeted from the log—
Crunch.
The sound of a melon splitting open—his skull shattered on impact.
Deathly silence instantly filled the clearing.
Fear seeped into the martial artists' faces. If they failed to push their opponent off, they would be the ones meeting death.
—I absolutely cannot die like a dog here!
The warriors staring up at the towers now burned with obsession and madness.
"Aaaah!"
"Gyaaah!"
The battles continued, each ending with a bloodcurdling scream.
Some, realizing they couldn't win, chose mutual destruction—leaping off together.
Crunch!
"Ugh—!"
Others, though they fell, were lucky enough to survive with only broken legs.
And finally, it was Bu Eun-seol's turn.
As he climbed the left tower, a massive man loomed on the opposite side.
"An easy win."
The giant grinned viciously at Bu Eun-seol's slender frame.
Without internal energy, this would be a contest of pure physical strength.
The brute was confident—there was no way this scrawny kid could overpower him.
Thud. Thud.
The man stepped onto the log bridge with a sinister chuckle.
"Let's begin."
Then he stamped his foot confidently.
"Just so you know, even taking me down with you will be difficult."
Crack.
As the man flexed his arms, his muscles swelled, veins bulging like serpents.
It was clear now—he had trained in a formidable external art that amplified raw strength.
Since external arts didn't rely on internal energy, they remained unaffected by a sealed dantian.
"Come at me!"
With a battle cry, the man lunged forward in a burst of speed.
The bridge was barely wide enough for one person—with this kind of force, dodging was impossible.
Whoosh.
At that moment, Bu Eun-seol silently extended both hands.
It was a provocative gesture—an invitation to test their strength against each other.
"You want to arm-wrestle?"
The man let out a gruff laugh and reached to grab Bu Eun-seol's hands—but in that instant,
Sshhk—
Bu Eun-seol swiftly yanked the man's arm toward himself. The man's body lurched unsteadily.
"Not a chance!"
The man immediately pulled Bu Eun-seol's arm back toward himself.
But that was exactly what Bu Eun-seol had been waiting for.
Fwip!
Using the moment the man pulled, Bu Eun-seol instead pushed him lightly.
"Huh?"
Like children playing a game, the man had never dreamed such a simple trick—just pushing and pulling—could be used to shove him off balance.
"Aaah—!"
With a bewildered shout, the man plummeted downward.
Thud!
A dull impact echoed as he crashed onto the ground below.
Bu Eun-seol descended with an indifferent expression, but suddenly, the Ghost-Faced Envoy spoke.
"Hold."
Then, with a gesture, he sent another man up onto the right tower.
"Try again."
Bu Eun-seol frowned slightly, looking somewhat exasperated.
"Why must I?"
"You'll keep doing this until you survive," the Ghost-Faced Envoy replied coldly.
"However, if you survive this time too, I'll let you pass the gate immediately."
"Fine."
Reluctantly, Bu Eun-seol climbed back onto the tower.
The man standing on the opposite tower this time was the complete opposite of the previous one—smaller in stature and far leaner than Bu Eun-seol.
Tap-tap-tap!
The wiry man immediately dashed across the narrow bridge and began pushing Bu Eun-seol back.
Screech—
Surprisingly, the wiry man was far stronger than the burly one from before.
And he wasn't using any technique—just pure, brute force to shove Bu Eun-seol backward.
Before long, Bu Eun-seol was forced to the very edge of the tower, barely managing to keep his footing.
One more push, and he'd plummet straight down.
'A disciple of the Primordial Unity Sect, perhaps.'
The Primordial Unity Sect was renowned not only for its distinguished Primordial Unity One-Qi Art but also for its Jade-Steel Secret Art—an external martial technique that, much like Beast Force, allowed its practitioners to push their natural physical strength to its peak without relying on internal energy.
The raw power surging from this wiry man's body was unmistakably the force of the Jade-Steel Secret Art.
'How shallow.'
Having taken up martial arts late, Bu Eun-seol had prioritized foundational physical training above all else.
From the moment he began learning martial arts at Langya Pavilion, he had never once slept—except when meditating—and poured every waking moment into honing his body.
Crack.
As a result, his physique had reached the utmost limit of what could be achieved through training—akin to the pinnacle of Beast Force.
Screeeech—
Now, Bu Eun-seol exerted his full strength and shoved the wiry man back in a single motion.
The man's eyes widened in shock.
Click. Creak.
Then, something strange happened.
A fierce light flickered in the wiry man's eyes, and gradually, he began resisting Bu Eun-seol's push.
"I refuse to die in a place like this!"
With a roar, the wiry man started forcing Bu Eun-seol back again.
The strength behind it was overwhelming—even Bu Eun-seol, who had pushed his body to its absolute limit, couldn't hold his ground.
Just as Bu Eun-seol was about to be forced off the tower—
Whoosh!
The Sound of Breaking Air echoed as the Ghost-Faced Envoy, who had been silently observing, suddenly leaped onto the narrow bridge.
"You. You're using internal energy."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy's gaze locked onto the wiry man's feet.
Unconsciously, the man had left deep footprints in the wooden bridge—proof that he had drawn upon his internal energy.
"Did you use the Blood-Shift Great Method?"
The Blood-Shift Great Method was a secret technique that allowed one to briefly shift their pressure points in an instant.
However, this Great Art was notoriously difficult to employ—one had to anticipate exactly which pressure points their opponent would target.
But the Heavenly Human Cult had lined up the participants in order and openly declared they would seal their dantians—so preserving one's internal energy with this method was child's play.
"Did our sect's rules seem laughable to you?"
At the Ghost-Faced Envoy's words, the wiry man snorted.
"You think we'd just waltz in here and let a heretical sect suppress our internal energy without a plan?"
It seemed this wiry man, like Bu Eun-seol, had infiltrated the Heavenly Human Cult for his own investigation.
"Well, now that I'm exposed, I'll just have to crush you by force."
Snap.
The wiry man landed on the ground and slowly opened his mouth.
Then, he began pulling out a thin thread tied to one of his teeth.
Zzzip—
As he tugged, a sharp dagger, still sheathed in its scabbard, shot out from his throat.
Unbelievably, he had been having swallowed this thread-connected dagger and endured until now.
"If you're so confident, don't call your lackeys. Fight me one-on-one."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy landed lightly and let out a soft chuckle.
"You seem quite confident."
"If I weren't confident, I wouldn't have stepped in here to begin with."
The gaunt man lowered his stance, gripping the dagger tightly.
The Ghost-Faced Envoy, who had been studying him with motionless eyes, gave a slight nod.
"So... a disciple of the Primordial Unity Sect who also mastered the Jade-Gauze Sword."
With a single glance, the Ghost-Faced Envoy recognized the man's stance as belonging to the Jade-Gauze Sword Art.
"A member of the Hainan Sect, then."
The Hainan Sect—renowned for their Southern Sea Thirty-Six Swords—had absorbed both the Primordial Unity and Jade-Gauze Sects.
Thus, the only martial artists in the Murim who could simultaneously wield the Jade-Gauze Sword and the Primordial Unity One-Qi Art were high-ranking masters of the Hainan Sect.
"If you knew that, you should have knelt."
"Pointless. Whether you're from the Hainan Sect or not, killing you solves everything."
"..."
"Once the memorandum is signed, not even the Martial Alliance Leader will be able to dispute it."
"Your arrogance is excessive. Just by orchestrating this massacre, your Heavenly Human Cult has already—"
Thwip.
Before the man could finish his shout, a flash of light streaked through the air.
Thud.
At the same time, the head of the dagger-wielding man tumbled to the ground.
Ultra Fast Killing Sword.
The Ghost-Faced Envoy had unleashed a strike as swift as lightning itself.
Shink.
Sheathing his gleaming divine sword, the Ghost-Faced Envoy looked down at the now-headless corpse and spoke.
"Pathetic. And this is supposed to be a master of the Hainan Sect."
Murmurs erupted below as the gathered martial artists failed to hide their shock.
The short-statured man had indeed carried himself like a Hainan Sect master—his presence extraordinary, his skills formidable.
Yet the Ghost-Faced Envoy had taken his head in a single stroke.
"Do you all wish to possess such power as well?"
Casually sliding his sword back into its scabbard, the Ghost-Faced Envoy addressed the remaining participants.
"If you pass through this place, you too can attain strength like mine. The swords of the Sword Tomb grant such power."
The breaths of the watching martial artists grew ragged.
His words had reignited the fire in their hearts.
"You—come down."
At the Ghost-Faced Envoy's command, Bu Eun-seol descended once more.
And again, the bloody battles on the single-plank bridge resumed.
'Just what is the purpose of this trial?'
This was no mere test to weed out those hiding their true strength.
Anyone capable of infiltrating this place could easily overpower third-rate martial artists without even using their Internal Power.
Bu Eun-seol pondered deeply, but no matter how much he thought, he couldn't discern the reason.
"Gahk!"
"Ugh—!"
The battles on the bridge didn't last long.
In less than an hour, every participant had finished their duels.
The losers inevitably fell to the ground below, either grievously wounded or dead, while the victors clenched their fists in triumph.
Before anyone realized it, only fifty remained.
"Proceed to the Third Gate."
Now, the third trial had arrived.
In a wide clearing stood twenty-five Heavenly Human Cult disciples, flanked by rows of bizarre metal cylinders densely packed together.
Opposite them lay an equal number of long, flexible swords—exactly fifty in total, matching the cylinders.
'They deliberately narrowed it down to fifty.'
Not just Bu Eun-seol, but all the participants sensed it.
This third gate was the final trial.
Meaning, surviving here would finally grant them entry to the Sword Tomb.
"All of you—wear those cylinders."
At the envoy's words, the participants turned their eyes toward the large cylinders.
The pitch-black tubes could accommodate any physique, and—
Clank.
The moment they stepped inside, the cylinders molded tightly to their bodies.
Most of the cylinders covered them from the neck down to just below the knees.
"Each cylinder has fourteen holes. Only four are real—the rest are fake, sealed shut."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy studied the assembled fighters and spoke in a low voice.
"Furthermore, those holes are connected by curved passages, so their apparent positions don't match their actual locations. And after each duel, the hole placements will shift again."
He gestured toward the row of skewer-like flexible swords on one side.
"Of the four real holes, three will pierce your thighs, arms, or shoulders. The last one... goes straight through the heart."
The Ghost-Faced Envoy narrowed his eyes behind his mask.
"Even if you've trained in external arts like the Iron Shirt Skill or the Thirteen Grand Guardian Horizontal Training, it won't matter. These flexible swords are no ordinary blades."
His voice dropped lower as he addressed the martial artists.
"Wear these, choose offense or defense, and fight."
By now, the participants no longer reacted with shock or fear.
The eyes of those who had reached the Third Gate were already steeped in killing intent and madness.
They had killed and killed again to get here. There was nothing left to surprise or excite them.
'This is strange in its own way.'
The holes in these cylinders shifted randomly, he'd said.
And since the passages curved, no amount of scrutiny could reveal their true positions.
Meaning, this wasn't a battle of martial skill or perception—only sheer luck determined victory.
'Not only that...'
Bu Eun-seol's eyes narrowed as his Beast Path senses probed the cylinder's interior.
Wasn't there an empty tube attached there—one whose purpose he couldn't discern?