Chapter 50: Poison Demon, Jegal-hwi-5
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 50: Poison Demon, Jegal-hwi-5
Boom!
The firmly closed doors shuddered.
The sound came from only one direction: the main gate of the Black Sky Cult. It was the very same gate through which the Heavenly Demon and In-ho had walked just the other day.
"Summon every squad from the other posts. It seems they intend to break through the front."
Following the Chief Steward’s order, the head of security blew a whistle.
Boom!
Hearing the signal, defense squads from the other gates began to converge.
The Black Sky Cult’s forces surrounded the entrance in a U-shaped formation.
I shouldn't have let my guard down.
The Chief Steward felt a bitter pang in his chest.
The treacherous mountain terrain, the impregnable defensive formation, and confidence in his own martial arts—it was his own blunder, deciding to send out all the elite forces to attack the Murim Alliance.
What if he had made a slightly different choice?
The Chief Steward asked himself this, then shook his head.
He could indulge in regret after he was dead. Right now, he had to focus.
"Everyone, prepare for battle. Do not let the enemy lay eyes on so much as a single hair of the Young Sect Leader’s head. Even if it costs you your lives."
"As you command!"
Men and women alike shouted, brandishing their respective weapons.
Though the level of their martial prowess might be low, their spirit was equal to that of a master at the Supreme Peak.
Creeeak—Crash!
The elaborately crafted gate shattered, and people dressed in blue surged in, taking up positions.
The Chief Steward bit his lower lip at the sight of their well-organized formation.
How many of them can I take down here?
If only the eighteen members of the Blue Dragon Corps had entered the Black Sky Cult, the Chief Steward would have stopped them before they even set foot inside.
However, all his calculations had been thrown into disarray by a single, exceptionally powerful existence.
What if that being attacked the Young Sect Leader while he was occupied with the Blue Dragon Corps?
This unforeseen variable seemed to dismantle every strategy the Chief Steward had built over the years.
Someone stepped forward from the enemy ranks.
The aura he radiated was that of the Supreme Peak; he was likely the Captain of the Blue Dragon Corps.
"It has been a long time, Poison Demon."
"I don't recall sending out an invitation. Visiting at such a late hour seems quite ill-mannered," the Chief Steward replied, watching the enemy's movements.
The middle-aged man let out a hollow laugh.
"Ha! A piece of Demonic Sect vermin trying to act like a human, I see."
"I believe we are far more human than your lot, at the very least."
As the Chief Steward sneered with a bright smile, the man across from him began to circulate his internal energy.
"You dog!"
"It seems we have nothing more to say to each other, so why don't you come at me?"
The Chief Steward flicked a gust of finger force, striking the man's forehead. It wasn't lethal, but it snapped the man's head back.
It was a provocation intended to break the enemy's composure. Perhaps it would allow him to seize the momentum of the battle, if only by a fraction.
"Strike down these insidious Demonic Sect bastards!"
"Yes, sir!"
At the Blue Dragon Captain’s command, the corps members surged forward, their internal energy flaring.
"These fools dare to set foot on the lands of the Black Sky Cult! Do not let a single one leave alive!"
*
Group clashed against group. The Blue Dragon Corps used their refined coordination to strike at vulnerable points, while the cultists grit their teeth and held the line.
Countless collisions followed, and the first to fall were the ordinary cultists of lower cultivation.
"Agh!"
"Urgh..."
Over the corpses of those who perished with a single cry, other cultists rushed forward.
They fought to protect the Black Sky Cult—the place that had accepted them when the world had cast them out.
If they lost their weapons, they lunged with their fingernails.
If an arm was severed, they lunged to bite.
If a leg was cut off, they lunged on one foot.
They were people who only stopped once their heads were taken.
The members of the Blue Dragon Corps were horrified by the sight of these people who seemed to have lost the fear of death inherent to all mortals.
"What kind of demons are these?"
Lee Hang, the Captain leading the Blue Dragon Corps, muttered blankly, as if he were staring at the asuras of hell.
Whack!
The Chief Steward’s kick aimed for Lee Hang’s head, but Lee Hang raised his arm to block it.
Feeling the immediate throb in his arm, Lee Hang glared at the Chief Steward.
"To describe the noble hearts of those protecting their sanctuary as 'demons'..."
As the Chief Steward rebuked him while resetting his stance, Lee Hang gnashed his teeth.
"I heard your body was failing you, yet you're still quite lively."
He had heard that the Poison Demon had retired from the front lines due to failing health caused by his constitution.
Lee Hang had expected to find a dying man, but he broke into a cold sweat at the sharp, spine-chilling attacks.
"It is true my health is poor, but I am not so weak as to be bested by the likes of you," the Chief Steward muttered under his breath, raining down a flurry of punches.
"Tsk!"
Clicking his tongue, Lee Hang blew a whistle and retreated.
The Chief Steward tried to pursue him, but four members of the Blue Dragon Corps blocked his path.
"Hold him! We cannot afford to waste time here."
As Lee Hang withdrew from the battlefield with five other members in tow, the Chief Steward attempted to leap after them.
"Where do you think you're going!"
But the members blocked him once more.
Damn... I'm pinned down.
Fortunately, they weren't heading for the Palace of Sacrifice. They were heading toward the Heavenly Demon Palace.
Was it because the Young Sect Leader had no internal energy that they couldn't sense him?
Even so, if he left them be, they might soon discover the Young Sect Leader in his secret hiding spot.
The Chief Steward agonized over whether or not to use his poison arts.
There were still many cultists alive. Was he really going to use a poison technique that would kill them all?
His hands trembled with hesitation.
"Chief Steward."
A soft voice called to him. Turning around, he saw Maebwa standing behind him.
Their eyes met.
Maebwa spoke to him with her usual expressionless face.
"We are alright."
"Maebwa, you..."
"I know well why you hesitate, Chief Steward, but many have already died. If this drags on, everyone will perish anyway."
The casualties were mounting bit by bit. This was a fact the Chief Steward knew all too well.
"Chief Steward! Do it!"
A man from the security squad lay on the ground, his abdomen pierced by a sword.
"It's okay!"
A servant struggled to fend off an onslaught with a small dagger.
"Our lives belong to the Sect Leader and the Young Sect Leader anyway!"
A cultist screamed, coughing up blood.
"We are all people who owe our lives to the Sect Leader. The marginalized, the abandoned, the lonely."
Maebwa took another step forward and spoke.
"When we joined the Black Sky Cult, the Sect Leader said: 'Since you say you will follow me, I shall take you in. However, from this moment on, your life is mine.'"
"I have not forgotten the oath I made. So... Chief Steward."
"How could I..."
The Chief Steward looked at Maebwa with trembling eyes.
Maebwa gave a faint smile.
"You must do it. You have to protect the Young Sect Leader, don't you?"
With those final words, Maebwa dashed forward.
Wielding a thin saber, she wove between the Blue Dragon Corps members with mysterious movements, disrupting their formation.
But it was short-lived. Once the Blue Dragon Corps recovered from the surprise of her sudden ambush and reformed their ranks, it was Maebwa who fell.
"Maebwa!!!"
—We... are alright.
Lying on the stone floor, Maebwa’s lips moved soundlessly.
Blood flowed, soaking the ground.
Too much blood had already been spilled.
The number of cultists, which had once been double that of the enemy, was now nearly equal to the Blue Dragon Corps.
The Chief Steward had attacked them, but they focused solely on pinning him down, avoiding direct confrontation while keeping him engaged.
Weeping, Chief Steward Jegal-hwi grit his teeth.
Grit—
Along with the sound of grinding teeth, a single tear fell from his eye.
"I am sorry... everyone."
To whom was he apologizing?
The words that left Jegal-hwi’s mouth vanished like smoke.
"Secret Art."
He drew up the internal energy he had been suppressing and circulated it violently.
Internal energy flooded his meridians, and the poison qi he had stored in his dantian spread throughout his entire body.
"Poison Wave."
A gray mist, the likes of which had never been seen before, blanketed the Black Sky Cult.