Chapter 87
The location where the second trial began resembled an underground prison.
Inside, the musty stench of mold mingled with damp air, and faint lanterns hung upon the stone walls.
"To master the sword techniques devised by our society, one must not only possess pure internal energy but also endurance as tenacious as a camel's—and terrifying levels of patience."
This time, it was not Seoksong but Uhak who presided over the trial.
He gazed at the twenty-some masked individuals and spoke in a low voice.
"When the bell rings, you must hold a horse stance with your arms spread for two hours. If your posture breaks or you fail to endure, you will be eliminated immediately."
Uhak, smiling faintly, added,
"And if you cannot endure, you may disrupt the stances of others. Of course, you yourself must still maintain the horse stance."
At those words, the stone chamber buzzed with murmurs.
Though their identities were concealed, all those invited here were Rising Talents of the Younger Generation who had already made names for themselves at a young age.
Yet they were being told to hold a horse stance—a basic posture for novices—for a full two hours?
"This is a matter of pride,"
sighed the man wearing a dog mask before shaking his head.
"Frankly, I don't even desperately need the Heavenly Sword Society's Sword Studies."
Most of the others nodded in agreement at his words.
Given their prestigious backgrounds, few here were truly desperate for martial knowledge.
They had only come because the long-renowned Heavenly Sword Society was offering to teach its techniques without restrictions.
"I won't do this."
Finally, the dog-masked man spoke to Uhak.
"I'd rather properly master my own family's Sword Studies than go through such absurdity just to learn sword techniques."
His use of the term "family" suggested he might be a master from one of the Eight Great Families.
Three others standing behind him nodded as well.
"I'll leave too. I have no desire to learn sword techniques under these conditions."
"I agree. I came out of curiosity, hearing they'd teach without restrictions—but there's no need to go this far."
Those of the martial world were prideful.
Especially descendants of major sects or renowned clans, who could learn Superior Martial Arts at any time—they had no reason to humble themselves just to acquire techniques.
Uhak nodded indifferently.
"That may be a wise choice. Those who wish to leave may exit immediately."
At that, the dog-masked man and three others promptly strode out of the stone chamber.
'A shame.'
Bu Eun-seol felt regret.
'I thought there'd at least be duels.'
Those who had just left were likely descendants of renowned clans or disciples of major sects.
He had expected bloody duels with them—but instead, the trial was just enduring a horse stance?
'A peaceful martial arts transmission.'
The Demon Hall would pit candidates against each other, forcing them to kill under the pretense of selecting the most talented.
But the Heavenly Sword Society's trials were incomparably peaceful. They merely tested desired qualities through fair examinations.
"Then let us begin."
At Uhak's words, the eleven remaining masked individuals, including Bu Eun-seol, immediately assumed the horse stance.
Everyone here possessed internal energy of at least one sixty-year cycle as a baseline.
Though they were told to endure for two hours, for those of their caliber, it should have been no more difficult than standing idly.
"What is this stench?"
Then, someone sniffed loudly.
The chamber had been merely damp and dark—yet now, an indescribable foulness seeped in relentlessly.
"Ugh—!"
In an instant, someone retched.
With every breath, tears and snot streamed down their faces.
Some tried Qi Poison Gathering, but it was useless—meaning this was not poison.
Yet with each inhale, it felt as though decades-old rotting meat and entrails were being forcibly stuffed into their noses and mouths.
"Guh—!"
Before long, agonized groans filled the stone chamber.
Tears and mucus poured out uncontrollably. No matter how much internal energy they circulated, it did nothing to block the torment of the stench.
'Why is this such a disaster?'
Bu Eun-seol, maintaining his horse stance, frowned as he watched the others suffer.
'These are martial artists—they can't possibly be smelling corpse stench for the first time.'
The foulness flooding the chamber was unmistakably the smell of death—the stench of decomposing flesh.
But this was no ordinary smell of death.
It was the Ten-Thousand-Year Unembalmed Corpse Fragrance, a stench so vile that even masters of the Corpse Handling Sect would cover their noses and flee.
And that was the problem.
But Bu Eun-seol had always handled the corpses reported to the Magistrate's Office—those who had died away from home. He'd even eaten noodles while wiping down fully decomposed bodies and had once fallen asleep suturing ruptured internal organs.
'This reminds me of embalming days.'
To him, the stench of corpses was rather a nostalgic, bittersweet fragrance.
"Ugh... I can't take it anymore!"
Unlike Bu Eun-seol, however, several men who had been forcing themselves into the horse stance eventually kicked open the door and bolted outside.
Shudder, shudder.
Even those who remained staggered uncontrollably, barely managing to maintain their stances.
The only saving grace was that they all wore masks.
Had they been able to see each other's faces, their wretched states would have been laid bare for all to witness.
"Ughhh..."
The groans continued to echo through the stone chamber.
Those gathered inside now understood why the second gate tested not just internal energy and endurance—but sheer willpower.
Even if one held their breath, this vile stench seeped through the skin. Few could endure such torment for even two hours.
"I can't do this anymore!"
Finally, another man in the corner, who had been holding the horse stance, flung open the stone door and fled.
Immediately after, three or four more followed suit, kicking the door open in their haste to escape.
"Nggh..."
After about fifteen minutes, even groaning became impossible.
Only then did the remaining participants realize two undeniable truths:
—Not even a Great Immortal could last two full hours in here.
By now, those still inside were so overwhelmed by the Ten-Thousand-Year Unembalmed Corpse Fragrance that not just their noses—but their entire bodies—had gone numb.
No matter how long they held their breath, the stench permeated their skin, and an agonizing sensation, as if their organs were rotting from within, took hold.
This Stench Poison, though normally weak, became as potent as one of the Three Greatest Poisons Under Heaven in an enclosed space like this.
—If I can't endure, it doesn't matter if I break someone else's stance. Of course, I'd still have to maintain my own horse stance.
And now they understood why Uhak had said those words earlier.
Had it been telepathy?
Whoosh. Crack!
A man in a pumpkin mask, standing in the center of the chamber, suddenly lashed out at the knees of a tiger-masked participant while maintaining his own stance.
"Kgh!"
The abrupt strike forced the tiger-masked man's knees to buckle inward.
But the tiger-masked man was no ordinary fighter—he was a Master with formidable internal energy. Instantly, he shifted his knees and launched a counterattack.
Crack! Thud!
The two Masters, still locked in their horse stances, began exchanging rapid kicks.
As if by some unspoken agreement, the remaining participants also started eliminating their rivals.
Crack!
With the Sound of Breaking Air, a wolf-masked man struck at Bu Eun-seol's knee.
Swish! Thud!
The hem of his robe sliced sharply through the air as the wolf-masked man unleashed a flurry of kicks, conjuring dozens of foot shadows.
It resembled the Shadowless Leg Art of the Buddhist School, but saturated with killing intent.
'He's trying to shatter my ankles.'
Normally, Bu Eun-seol wouldn't have been able to properly use leg techniques since he hadn't trained in them.
But he effortlessly predicted the wolf-masked man's movements and dodged.
He was the sole inheritor of Langya Pavilion's legendary Ultimate Speed Shadowless—and had also learned the Absolute Divine Movement Art, which fused extreme footwork and body techniques, allowing him to shift directions hundreds of times in a single breath.
Dodging mere leg techniques was as trivial as yawning.
"ARGH!"
A wretched scream tore from the wolf-masked man's throat.
After twenty seconds of fighting, Bu Eun-seol's ghostly knee strike had perfectly speared the back of his opponent's knee.
"You bastard!"
Losing his stance, the wolf-masked man's eyes burned with malice as he suddenly thrust two fingers toward Bu Eun-seol's eyes.
Crack!
But Bu Eun-seol's kick was faster.
The sound of shattering bone was followed by a bloodcurdling scream—the wolf-masked man's ankle had been crushed.
"GGRAAH! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Limping, the wolf-masked man immediately drew his sword.
Then, a solemn voice echoed from the chamber's ceiling:
"This is not a place for killing. Leave the stone chamber at once."
The sword-wielding man hesitated.
But the memory of Seoksong's Fast Sword flashed through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he staggered out.
"You bastard! I will kill you!"
Whoosh—THUD.
Whether the wolf-masked man left or not, the stone chamber had already become an arena where fighters maintained horse stances while clashing.
CRACK!
At that moment, the pig-masked man's knee buckled under a strike from Tang Gon, the fox-masked fighter, sending him crashing to the floor.
"You damned son of a—!"
The pig-masked man lost his reason and drew a dagger from his robes.
But it was like writing characters before a scholar—utterly futile.
Thwip-thwip-THWIP!
Before he knew it, three Poison Caltrops were embedded in the dagger-wielder's chest.
"Ugh...!"
As the poisoned man staggered, Tang Gon spoke in a low voice.
"Go out and take the antidote now. Unless you want to suffer from Fire Poison for the rest of your life."
"Y-you...!"
Fire Poison and Poison Caltrops—weren't those the signature poisons and hidden weapons of the Tang Clan?
Realizing Tang Gon's identity, the pig-masked man trembled before hastily fleeing the chamber.
By then, only five remained in the stone room, all still holding their horse stances.
"The Second Hall is complete."
As Uhak's voice echoed, the mist shrouding the chamber dissipated, and fresh air gradually flowed in.
Haaah...
As if by unspoken agreement, the remaining five released their stances and drew deep breaths.
They had been holding their breath nearly to the point of suffocation until now.
—So they weren't just handing out martial arts for free.
Unlike the First Gate, the Second Hall had subjected them to unprecedented agony.
The five masters who remained exchanged glances. Judging by the energy they exuded, not a single one was weak.
—No matter how I think about it, the final trial will be a duel.
Just as the five masters tensely sized each other up, Seoksong and Uhak entered the chamber side by side.
"Return to the clearing where we first conducted the First Gate."
When none of the five moved, Seoksong gave a wry smile.
"Relax. We won't make you slaughter each other."
Once the five gathered back at the clearing, Seoksong spoke.
"You are prodigies—born with innate senses and killing intent. Passing down sword techniques to talents like you brings me immense joy."
After a measured breath, he continued.
"But this sword art is a Killing Sword—forged solely to take lives. It is no ordinary technique."
Bu Eun-seol and the others had already guessed as much.
Those born with "killing intent" as an inherent trait—such a condition could only be meant for a sword style designed for slaughter.
Seoksong paused before speaking again.
"Now, we begin the Third Trial."
Every figure in the clearing tensed, lowering their stances.
If the Second Hall had been this grueling, the Third Trial's difficulty would defy imagination.
"The Third Trial is simple."
Yet Seoksong's next words took them by surprise.
"Swear one oath, and you pass."
The gathered fighters exchanged bewildered looks.
Merely swearing an oath to pass the Third Trial?
"What kind of oath?"
When Tang Gon, still masked as a fox, asked, Seoksong answered gravely.
"Swear that, in exchange for learning this sword art, you will kill one person."
"You'd teach us the technique just for swearing an oath?"
"Prodigies like you don't fall from the sky."
Seoksong smiled faintly.
"You are disciples of major sects or descendants of renowned clans. Your word alone carries weight."
An oath from a disciple of a major sect or scion of a prestigious clan was heavier than gold.
Breaking such a vow would not only disgrace the individual but also tarnish their sect or clan's honor.
"Everything else aside, swearing to kill someone is no small matter."
The yellow dragon-masked man spoke up.
"What if you demand we kill someone impossible—or someone close to us? If it's a core figure of the Martial Alliance or the Demon Hall, that'd be unthinkable."
"A fair point."
"Then can we at least know why we must kill this person?"
Seoksong exhaled slowly before shaking his head.
"The circumstances are... complicated. I cannot explain in detail. But I can say this."
He took another deep breath.
"That person is this society's enemy—our nemesis."
His eyes shut in anguish, teeth clenched, Seoksong uttered through gritted teeth:
"They slaughtered every last swordsman of our society—including our Society Leader!"