Chapter 923
Whoosh.
The Flaming Emperor Qi that had erupted from their bodies recoiled and began harming them instead.
Startled, they swiftly withdrew their energy.
Kreeee!
In that moment, accompanied by a sky-rending howl,
an infinitely cold and dark sword qi—the pitch-black hue of the Bloody Tears Seven Forms—coiled around their bodies.
The only reason they had been able to stand against Bu Eun-seol, who had reached the Supreme Origin Realm, was thanks to the Flaming Emperor Qi—a power that traced back to the origin and annihilated all things.
But what if they could no longer use that Flaming Emperor Qi? Even if tens of thousands of troops were to swarm in, they would be no match for Bu Eun-seol.
Splat!Shwak!
With every saber technique Bu Eun-seol unleashed, a spray of blood erupted.
Though blood occasionally spurted from his own body, it was always the wielders of the Flaming Emperor Qi who fell without fail.
"This can't be..."
An old man watching from afar rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
The Flaming Emperor Squad—a force capable of toppling even the greatest sects in an instant—was being dismantled by a single man?
Thud. Thud-thud-thud.
Corpses piled up like mountains, and the spilled blood formed pools.
It was truly a Sea of Corpses and Blood—a hellish landscape unfolding before them.
Step. Step.
Bu Eun-seol, gripping the Mournful Soul Sword, slowly advanced toward the old man.
Shudder.
Without realizing it, the old man trembled and took a step back.
The sight of that figure approaching, drenched in blood, his eyes desolate as he held the black weapon—
Wasn't that the very image of the Invincible Saber Master, the one he had once feared so much... the one he never wished to face again?
The Seven Fingers Demonic Blade, Bu Jan-yang?
"Don't come any closer."
The old man had once been the Great Killing Star, a name that had once plunged the Murim into terror.
Yet there had been one time—just once—when he had nearly lost his life. It was when he had recklessly tried to attack Bu Jan-yang after a chance encounter.
Fortunately, the moment their eyes met,
he realized that even the slightest twitch of Bu Jan-yang's finger would send his head rolling, and he had fled immediately.
Now, as he watched Bu Eun-seol approach with slow, deliberate steps, his golden eyes flashing,
that memory resurfaced, and his Three Souls and Seven Spirits seemed to scatter into the heavens in terror.
"Don't come."
The old man screamed with all his might.
"Don't come any closer!"
Any proper martial artist would have drawn their weapon before shouting—or at least attempted to escape using Lightness Skill.
But this veteran, who had rampaged through the Murim for decades and taken countless masters' lives, was now just howling in fear.
And that was no different from pressing his own neck against the scythe of the Grim Reaper.
Swish.
The black saber qi mercilessly split the air.
Shwak!
Blood sprayed about a foot as his body began to cleave apart diagonally.
"This organization..."
The old man's eyes bulged as he roared.
"...will hunt you down to the end."
Thud.
Finally, his body split into two pieces, collapsing pitifully onto the ground.
But Bu Eun-seol didn't even glance at the sight, calmly stepping past the carnage as he left the plains behind.
Yeop Hyo-cheon did not enjoy tea.
No—in truth, he loathed it with every fiber of his being.
Because he had suffered through crushing poverty since childhood.
Luxury goods.
Children begging on the streets often starved to death, unable to even get a sip of thin gruel.
Yet the wealthy drank tea daily—tea more expensive than a single meal—as casually as if it were water.
Even as he writhed in hunger, his stomach burning with emptiness, they draped themselves in silk and elegantly sipped fragrant tea.
Every time, he watched them with eyes brimming with hatred.
Time passed. He gained wealth and prestige. He no longer had to worry about his next meal.
Yet Yeop Hyo-cheon still refused to drink tea—and he despised those who indulged in it.
But when he became the Night-Dancing Heavenly Lord, serving the Demonic Heavenly Emperor for over twenty years, and finally ascended to the position of Supreme Cult Commander—
he, too, began drinking tea.
Because by then, his goals had completely changed.
All his plans, his fate... had been overturned once again.
Gulp.
Shaking off the memories, Yeop Hyo-cheon took a sip of the Tieguanyin tea brought by his attendant.
The Demon Hall stocked a variety of teas, but he drank only Tieguanyin.
Because Tieguanyin was not only entirely different in its first and final taste—the longer it fermented, the deeper its flavor became.
"..."
Yeop Hyo-cheon silently gazed at the teacup.
He had spent years striving toward his ambitions, and in the process, the beginning and end of his life had become entirely different.
That was why he felt Tieguanyin resembled his own life.
Rustle.
Then, from the darkness, a shadow formed without a sound or trace of presence—
before taking shape as a masked figure clad in a gleaming assassin's outfit, his face veiled in cloth.
Thud. Thud.
The masked man pressed his forehead to the ground in a deep bow, then prostrated himself respectfully before speaking.
"As expected, the entire Flame Emperor Unit has been annihilated. The Martial Soul Lord has broken through the encirclement alone and is currently returning."
At the shadow's report, Yeop Hyo-cheon let out a low hum.
"As I thought. He possesses power that transcends martial principles."
Bu Eun-seol was growing stronger uncontrollably with each passing moment.
And now, he had completely eradicated even the Flame Emperor Unit—a force that wielded the primordial Flame Emperor Qi, capable of extinguishing conventional martial power.
"He must have used a supernatural ability rather than martial arts."
"No."
Then, his subordinate delivered an astonishing reply.
"It was the trace of the Bloody Tears Seven Forms."
"What?"
"He cut them all down with the Bloody Tears Seven Forms."
"Is that so?"
For an instant, Yeop Hyo-cheon's eyes brimmed with exhilaration.
In the current murim, countless forces existed that surpassed the boundaries of martial arts.
Yet, there had only ever been one peerless master capable of destroying them all with martial arts alone—
The Seven Fingers Demonic Blade, Bu Jan-yang.
But the Bloody Tears Seven Forms was not a technique just anyone could wield.
Only one whose spirit and physical constitution perfectly aligned could execute it.
'If he can annihilate primordial Flame Emperor Qi with the Bloody Tears Seven Forms...'
As the image of Bu Jan-yang surfaced in his mind, Yeop Hyo-cheon's lips curled upward.
'At last, that power has been passed down.'
The world believed him to be a grandmaster of the blade—one who severed all things with martial prowess alone.
But Yeop Hyo-cheon knew the truth.
That his body harbored a transcendent power capable of overturning the world.
And that before his death, he would inevitably bequeath that power to the grandson he cherished.
Now, that expectation had struck true.
'Bu Jan-yang.'
Yeop Hyo-cheon quietly clenched his fist.
'Soon, I will surpass even you.'
His eyes, suppressing surging emotions, flickered like stars in the night sky.
Suddenly, memories of the past resurfaced.
That hellish place.
Under the name of the Absolute Demon Saber Project.
The first time he had met him.
A razor-sharp ridge stretched toward the heavens.
The sheer cliff face, as if cleaved by a blade, offered no shelter, no foothold.
The blazing sun scorched the world, radiating relentless heat that threatened to evaporate all moisture.
The wind, skimming lightly over the precipice, sent shivers down their spines like the mocking laughter of the Grim Reaper.
Drip. Drip.
Children climbed the cliff barehanded, their fingers bleeding.
Their skin tore against the rock, their nails ripped out, staining their hands crimson.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Every time loose gravel tumbled down, it felt as though the Reaper's fingers grazed the napes of their necks.
"Ugh..."
One child, midway up the cliff, trembled and let out a pained groan.
His strength was spent—his body refused to move.
Shudder. Shudder.
Struggling desperately, his grip finally slipped.
"Aaaah!"
A horrific scream tore through the air as he plummeted downward.
The other children clenched their eyes shut at the sound.
But when they reopened them, there was no fear—only hardened resolve.
—I can't stop here!
—I will survive, no matter what.
Gritting their teeth, they resumed their climb.
Their hands and feet were caked in blood and stone dust, yet they pressed on, groping for jagged crevices with small, determined fingers.
At the forefront was a child with a piercing gaze—Chil-ho (Number Seven).
He was the one who always ranked first in every trial.
His sturdy physique, sharp intellect, and viper-like ruthlessness had caught the instructors' eyes early on.
Among the three factions formed by the children, he led the largest.
'I will survive.'
Chil-ho never even turned his head, relentlessly reaching for the next handhold.
'I must!'
With each movement, blood dripped from his palms, leaving faint handprints on the rock.
From a distance, the cliff face looked as though it had been carved with the claw marks of demons clawing their way out of hell.
'Just a little more.'
The sun dipped lower, and the rocks grew colder.
The icy chill numbed his fingertips, but his eyes burned with fire.
'Got it.'
Finally reaching the summit, Chil-ho spread his arms wide.
The breathtaking vista before him sent waves of triumphant resonance surging through his chest.
But he had no choice but to suppress the roar of victory threatening to burst forth.
Showing emotion was forbidden.
—Aaaah!
Meanwhile, screams continued to rise from below.
Even those who had nearly reached the top succumbed to exhaustion, their bodies plummeting one after another.
"Chil-ho, as expected, you're first again."
The masked man standing at the summit gave a nod.
He was the Third Instructor overseeing the cliff-climbing trial, known among the instructors as a warm and compassionate figure.
"Third Instructor."
As Chil-ho bowed in greeting, the instructor nodded in acknowledgment.
"Ugh..."
Then, after about the time it took to burn a single incense stick, the other children began to arrive one by one, groaning as they climbed.
They bowed to the Third Instructor before collapsing onto the ground, utterly exhausted.
"Seems like most are finished now."
The Third Instructor counted the children and nodded.
But then, as if hearing something, he glanced down the cliff face.
"No way..."
Muttering under his breath, the Third Instructor leaped off the cliff without hesitation.
A moment later, he returned using his Wind-Riding Flight technique, soaring back up the precipice in an instant.
"Everyone, wait here!"
"What's happening?"
When Chil-ho asked, the Third Instructor replied in a calm voice.
"Sambaek-ho is climbing up."
The children's eyes widened in unison.
The sun had already set, and a cold evening wind was blowing.
By now, anyone who was going to fall from the cliff should have fallen long ago—yet someone was still climbing?
"Ugh..."
Most of the children who had reached the summit were exhausted, shivering violently from the biting wind.
But during training,
they were bound by the rule that they must move as a group and wait until every last member had passed through the trial.
So they had no choice but to stand motionless on the cliff's edge, enduring the wait.
After two hours,
Thud.
A trembling figure finally dragged itself onto the summit.
Long hair obscured his face, but his gaze and demeanor were as unyielding as carved stone.
His clothes were torn to rags, blood dripping endlessly from his hands and feet, yet he calmly clasped his hands together and bowed to the instructor.
"Sambaek-ho (Number Three Hundred), reporting my arrival."
—That damned bookworm bastard!
The children on the summit glared at Sambaek-ho with murderous intent.
While the others had no time to even glance at the martial arts manuals, this freak spent all his days reading obscure scriptures.
And despite having no martial prowess or any extraordinary ability,
he acted as if he understood everything in the world—detached, indifferent, and expressionless.
Yet no matter how close to death he seemed, he always, always managed to pass the trials at the very last moment.
—We keep suffering because of him!
Just as the children were grinding their teeth,
"Hmm. It's already gotten this late."
The Third Instructor gazed at the darkening sky and shook his head.
Descending hundreds of meters down the treacherous mountain at this hour would be impossible.
"If we try to go down now, we'll only waste more stamina. Prepare to camp here for the night."
Then he turned away.
"This instructor will retrieve the necessary supplies."
With a gust-like burst of Movement Technique, the Third Instructor vanished, leaving the children to glare at Sambaek-ho.
"Sambaek-ho! You bastard!"
A burly boy stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves aggressively.
It was Number Thirteen, Chil-ho's subordinate and a wielder of the Innate Divine Strength.
"Because of you, we're suffering again!"
In his hand, he already gripped a massive rock.
"You'd be doing us all a favor if you just died here."
Though Thirteen advanced with murderous intent, none of the other children spoke up.
There were three factions here,
and the one led by Chil-ho—the strongest among them—held the most power.
And since this bookworm freak didn't belong to any faction, no one would stop Thirteen even if he killed him.
"Hold it."
A voice cut through the tension.
It came from a boy with a scar over one eye, exuding the aura of a battle-hardened veteran.
He was Sa-ho (Number Four), a former member of the Black Syndicate from the back alleys, now leading one of the three factions.
"Let him be."
At Sa-ho's curt words, Thirteen scowled.
"You're saying we should just keep taking losses because of him?"
"We didn't take any losses."
Sa-ho spoke in a low voice.
"He was late because he was helping the stragglers. That guy."
"What the hell?" Number Thirteen snorted derisively.
"That bastard who can barely hold himself up? Who the hell could he possibly help?"
"When the person ahead climbs too fast, despair creeps in. The farther the gap grows, the more you believe you'll never make it."
Sa-ho, leaning against a tree stump, pointed at Sambaek-ho with his thumb.
"But if there's someone silently climbing behind you, you feel at ease. Because you start thinking, 'I can do it too.'"
The children let out murmurs of understanding.
Many of those who had been leading the pack ended up falling—precisely because Chil-ho had raced ahead too recklessly.
He had climbed so frantically fast that the children following him had despaired at the sight.
But the ones at the back, moving slowly, mostly succeeded in scaling the cliff.
Because at the very end, Sambaek-ho was following. Slowly. Steadily. Silently.
"Don't make me laugh. You're saying that bastard deliberately climbed slow?"
"Don't believe me if you don't want to. I don't have the energy to argue with you."
Sa-ho clasped his hands behind his back and flopped onto his back.
"But don't lay a finger on him. If you do, you'll have to fight all of us."
"Sa-ho!"
Number Thirteen's voice trembled with rage as he clenched a rock in his fist.
In the world of factions, losing face meant losing power.
If things escalated like this, war would be inevitable.
"Enough."
Chil-ho's calm voice cut through the tension.
"No need to waste your energy. That bastard will be dead soon anyway."
"But Chil-ho, that guy—"
"I said enough."
At Chil-ho's command, Number Thirteen reluctantly dropped the rock and turned away.
"..."
Chil-ho's icy gaze lingered on Sambaek-ho, who was silently resting.
It was strange.
Despite having no extraordinary abilities, as time passed, everyone's attention kept drifting toward that bookworm.
There was something lonely yet oddly compelling about him—a presence that seemed familiar with everything.
When he touched wood, he looked like a lifelong carpenter. When he carried water, he moved like a seasoned water bearer. When he cooked, he resembled a master chef who had spent decades in the kitchen.
At times, he even seemed like an old man who had weathered every hardship imaginable.
Yet, despite being skilled at everything, there was one thing he couldn't do.
Martial arts.
"Sa-ho."
Chil-ho turned to the sprawled-out Sa-ho.
"Aren't you supposed to be the most pragmatic, level-headed one among us?"
His voice was dangerously low.
"Then why do you keep defending that loser? Have you gotten sentimental too?"
"Loser? Who?"
"Sambaek-ho."
Chil-ho's tone was frigid.
"That bastard. Good at every menial task, but talentless in martial arts."
"Hahaha."
"What, am I wrong?"
"No, you're not wrong."
Still lying on his back, Sa-ho gazed at the glittering stars and murmured,
"But what if that guy does get used to martial arts?"
"What?"
"Who among us could stop him then?"
For a moment, Chil-ho felt a chill crawl down his spine.
—Good at everything except martial arts.
That had always been the bookworm's epithet.
But what if he did master martial arts?
"Tch."
Hiding his unease behind a cold sneer, Chil-ho scoffed.
"He'll be dead before that happens."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Sa-ho rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
"I'm sleeping. Don't talk to me anymore."
Chil-ho snorted and turned away.
But deep inside, an unsettling fire had begun to burn.
'That damn bookworm!'
He gritted his teeth.
If things continued like this, the title of Absolute Demon Saber would fall into his hands.
That was something Chil-ho could never allow.
Squeeze.
Chil-ho—no, Yeop Hyo-cheon—snapped out of his memories, his fist still clenched.
'A pointless recollection.'
But he shook his head.
Sambaek-ho, Bu Jan-yang—they were dead.
And he, Chil-ho, had survived.
That was all that mattered.
'Now, I will take that power for myself. And finish what was left undone.'
His fingers traced the half-orb in his chest—the Sacred Heaven Jade.
Yeop Hyo-cheon bit his lip.
'The time has come.'
Bu Jan-yang, the Seven Fingers Demonic Blade.
That peerless swordsman could shatter any supernatural ability.
Not even the Baekri Clan or the True Demon's power could affect him—he could cut them down without hesitation.
He was a monster capable of felling any powerhouse, surpassing any force—a "Destiny-Shattering Calamity."
The Heavenly Might Star.
A legendary existence that had never before appeared in Murim.
'He must have passed that power to Bu Eun-seol.'
Without a doubt, with the help of that Lama Monk from Tibet, he had hidden it away.
Because the moment Bu Eun-seol appeared in Murim, the Heaven's Will had stirred once more.
—Bu Jan-yang's destiny had been inherited by Bu Eun-seol.
The Heavenly Might Star, the destroyer of fate, only reveals its true power after completely overcoming its ordained trials.
And though Yeop Hyo-cheon only possessed half of it...
The Sacred Heaven Jade could absorb any trait from any individual in an instant.
'The Demonic Heavenly Emperor is wasting his time.'
He knew—knew—that the Demonic Heavenly Emperor was convinced Bu Eun-seol was the Heavenly Darkness Star, waiting for its manifestation.
But Bu Eun-seol was no such thing.
He had inherited Bu Jan-yang's Heavenly Might Star.
"It's time to set the plan in motion."
Yeop Hyo-cheon's low voice resonated through the office.
The Shadow kneeling before him bowed and vanished in an instant.
At last, he was ready to unsheathe the claws he had kept hidden all this time.