Chapter 291
Chapter 291
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 291
Chapter Title: Faith
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The tale of Hwahwa Nogae staking his life was no mere empty words. He intended to draw upon his innate true qi.
Even in the Central Plains martial world, where all manner of bizarre events had unfolded, one unbreakable truth remained. Warriors who used innate true qi died without exception.
Whether pinnacle experts who could delicately wield it or nefarious faction masters hailed as the world's greatest, all met the same fate upon unleashing it.
Hwahwa Nogae knew this fact well. Moreover, being a man far removed from heroic temperament by nature, he had never once considered employing it.
Some twenty years prior, during the last Righteous-Demonic Great War, even when his life hung by a thread three times over, Hwahwa Nogae refrained from touching his innate true qi. Facing certain death was an entirely different matter from mere peril.
There was no shame in it. He was hardly alone.
Even resolving to pay death's price, drawing upon innate true qi was no easy feat.
To wield it properly demanded utter resolve without a shred of hesitation. Otherwise, one failed to harness its power and simply lost one's life.
'But now... it feels possible.'
He could see the backs of the junior disciples. Junior disciples who had entrusted their backs to him on the strength of his word alone.
In such a situation, how could Hwahwa Nogae possibly value his life above theirs?
Hwahwa Nogae recalled a story his master had once told him.
'You need not live every moment like a hero to become one. In a long life, summoning courage just two or three times at the crucial junctures will earn you the title of hero from all under heaven.'
Master. This is that moment.
The instant Hwahwa Nogae began circulating his inner power more fiercely and rapidly than ever, straining to summon his innate true qi, a slender finger approached from behind and pressed his Yaoyangguan acupoint at the waist.
The explosively surging inner power melted away limply.
'Who the hell?'
Hwahwa Nogae turned. His eyes met those of Sinseung.
Sinseung coughed up blood-mixed phlegm, then smiled faintly.
"Hey, Hwahwa Nogae."
"Yes."
Even in the bewildering moment, Hwahwa Nogae responded courteously.
Both were old men, but Sinseung was over a decade his senior. The gap in their martial prowess was even greater.
"They say there's order in arrivals, but none in departures. Yet unless circumstances force it, it's better if there's order in departures too."
When Hwahwa Nogae failed to grasp the meaning immediately, Sinseung added,
"It's my turn today. Step back."
Sinseung drew a deep breath, enduring the agony in his abdomen.
Hwahwa Nogae felt as though Sinseung's diminutive frame was swelling explosively. In truth, it wasn't.
The atmosphere stirred. The energy around him, along with the air, began to churn alongside the inner power Sinseung had amassed—over a decade's worth.
Sinseung's blood-soaked robes fluttered. Hwahwa Nogae took two steps back and watched.
'Sinseung!'
Sinseung was summoning innate true qi in Hwahwa Nogae's stead.
Having suffered a sneak attack that pierced his abdomen and twisted his meridians, it was impossible to gauge how much power Sinseung could unleash.
Yet as a man once called the foremost of the righteous faction martial world, his might would likely surpass Hwahwa Nogae's.
Sinseung addressed Manryeokseung.
"Cheonguk."
"Yes, Master."
"For some years now, I've thought the time had come for the Yangtze's undercurrents to push aside the forefront waves. But then I realized the forefront waves aren't merely meant to yield."
"..."
"Until now, I've lived showing you the path I've walked. And now, I will show you the path I sought to tread. Watch closely and etch it in your eyes. One day, reach that place yourself."
An atmosphere pregnant with impending event.
Even Dang Mujin and Blood-Faced Mad Wolf, locked in fierce combat, paused for a moment to gaze at Sinseung.
Hyeon-gong and Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae—indeed, even Ghost King and Radiant Flame Demon—did the same. All halted as if by prior agreement. They knew life-or-death foes stood before them, yet they could not tear their eyes away.
Sinseung, still bleeding from mouth and belly, half-closed his eyes.
Then came a clear voice, hard to believe from an elder.
"I pay homage to merciful Avalokitesvara: with a thousand hands gather the sentient beings, with a thousand eyes shine light upon the world."
From his standing posture, Sinseung lifted his right leg, folding it so his shin lay horizontal. The stance was perilously unstable.
Sinseung chanted scripture again.
"In a single instant of a hundred thousand samadhi, this body bearing dharani is the Hall of Radiance, this mind bearing dharani the Repository of Supernatural Powers."
Without lowering his right leg, Sinseung raised his left.
A person needs ground beneath their feet to stand. Sinseung should have toppled unceremoniously.
Yet Sinseung neither fell nor touched ground; he floated mid-air, assuming full lotus position.
The faint glow enveloping Sinseung condensed gradually, then burrowed into his nostrils with his breath.
Soon, three dim flower buds bloomed above his head.
Not grand or magnificent, but wondrous and uncanny—a sight best described so.
In this moment, one man acted first. Ghost King.
Ghost King shuffled backward hesitantly, then fled outright.
Sinseung did not pursue.
"I shall save the endless sentient beings. Sever boundless afflictions. Learn measureless dharma. Attain the boundless Buddha path."
Radiant Flame Demon, having swiftly judged likewise, began to flee. He and Ghost King ran neck-and-neck, shoulders nearly brushing.
Sinseung thrust his chin forward slightly. He raised both hands to chest level, palms facing skyward.
"Now I take refuge in the Buddha."
Sinseung released the lotus and planted his feet on the ground.
He stood straight, supported by both legs. He still looked precarious, blood streaming from belly and mouth. But Ghost King and Radiant Flame Demon did not halt.
Sinseung's ensuing voice pierced Ghost King's ears.
"Vast and perfect (廣大圓滿), unobstructed great compassion (無碍大悲心)."
Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva possessed vast compassion without hindrance or attachment.
This verse from scripture, praising Avalokitesvara, was well-known even to Ghost King, a fellow monk-turned-warrior. Mere laudation.
Yet at "unobstructed (無碍)"—without hindrance or attachment—Ghost King sensed something chilling.
The distance between Sinseung and Ghost King was roughly a hundred paces.
Sinseung's right leg advanced half a step. His left knee bent lightly in place, supporting his upper body.
Then his tightly clenched right fist. The most basic straight punch stance.
Sinseung thrust his right fist forward.
A nameless technique, unnamed even after Sinseung.
With a thunderclap roar, the air before the fist exploded.
A ki wave, akin yet distinctly different from Ghost King's Esoteric Great Hand Seal, surged across a hundred paces toward the two demonic warriors.
In that instant, Radiant Flame Demon, running beside Ghost King, shoved him aside. Ghost King's eyes widened.
"You bastard...!"
Utterly unjust, but no time for outcry. Ghost King still had a faint countermeasure.
His ultimate technique: Esoteric Great Hand Seal.
Ghost King bent both knees, planted his feet firmly, and thrust both palms toward Sinseung. A decently timed response.
'A gut-pierced old monk. Even innate true qi won't yield full power in that state. My Esoteric Great Hand Seal can overpower it...!'
But the moment Sinseung's fist image etched onto Ghost King's massive palms, his thoughts shifted.
'...If I'm lucky, I might survive without dying.'
The next instant, Ghost King heard his wrists, elbows, and shoulders snap.
Crack-crunch.
The gruesome bone sounds echoed from within his flesh.
Yet lowering his arms meant a snapped neck and caved chest; Ghost King forcibly held them up.
'Just a bit more!'
The intense pressure rapidly ebbed. At this rate, he'd lose only his arms and keep his life.
As the pressure finally dissipated, Ghost King looked up.
Sinseung stood frozen mid-motion. Excellent news for Ghost King.
Then he saw Manryeokseung charging at him. Far less welcome.
'I need to flee...!'
His legs refused to move.
Manryeokseung's massive fist slammed into Ghost King's abdomen.
Ghost King's consciousness snapped there.
*
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf began fleeing a beat later than Ghost King and Radiant Flame Demon.
Yet he was also in the best shape among them.
Posing as asleep to create an opening for Radiant Flame Demon's ambush, he had started combat from the opposite side of Ghost King and Radiant Flame Demon.
Initially irked by the positioning, Sinseung's bizarre fist art changed everything.
It targeted Ghost King and Radiant Flame Demon instead, allowing Blood-Faced Mad Wolf to slip away slyly. Life's fortunes turn like that.
'...Thanks to it, I survived.'
As Blood-Faced Mad Wolf quietly exited the woods, the face of that Dang Mujin fellow surfaced in his mind.
At first, he'd dismissed the brat for overreaching; after exchanging a few moves, his view changed. Dang Mujin was far more dangerous than imagined.
Poison insects, poison-coated sword, and insidious poison qi mingling in his breath. Never seen such diverse poison arts.
'How do you dodge poison qi riding the wind?'
Exceptional poison skill didn't mean inferior swordplay.
Relative to his age, his sword attainment was impressive. The poison merely outshone it.
'It wasn't enough to block my sword.'
Regret gnawed at Blood-Faced Mad Wolf.
'Had we clashed cleanly one-on-one, I'd have beheaded him easily. Poison aside, the situation was poor.'
Clutching a tree, Blood-Faced Mad Wolf hacked up blood.
Blackened dead blood flowed briefly, then turned normal dark red.
He wiped his mouth. Ordinary poison would end there.
But Dang Mujin's was tenacious.
Purged, only for poison qi to surge anew—how many times?
Unclear how many varieties afflicted him.
'Why's that guy mingling with righteous warriors?'
Relying on poison and hidden weapons over sword or fist, his occasional swordplay brimmed with grudge and killing intent. Poison application and properties were cunning.
Unlike novices' poisons that struck the throat outright, Dang Mujin's spread slowly like morning dew soaking trouser hems, inching its domain while cornering foes naturally.
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf had faced many nefarious warriors, but few as insidious as Dang Mujin.
Suddenly, he sensed an imminent clash with Dang Mujin again.
Less prediction, more certainty.
'Turn back now and settle it? No, too hasty. Stabilize first, circle around for an opening...'
Then, a chilling instinct halted him.
'He's here!'
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf leaped back; sure enough, a metal disc fell from the sky, embedding in the ground.
'...Distracted, it would've skull-cracked me.'
Two more discs flew through tree gaps.
Erratic trajectories: one plummeting top-down, another springing from ankle to heart height. Blood-Faced Mad Wolf evaded while thinking.
'That guy handles up to three flying wheels... Is he alone?'
He deflected all three but hid in the woods instead of fleeing. Dang Mujin seemed solo; better eliminate him before escape. Potential threats demanded early removal. And he owed for that ear.
Surveying, Blood-Faced Mad Wolf spotted Dang Mujin.
Dang Mujin, seemingly having lost his trail, scanned about.
'No rash approach. Close stealthily, snap his neck in one go.'
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf heightened his senses.
Constantly mindful of flying wheels, focusing eyes and ears, he could dodge them.
Holding breath, he advanced on Dang Mujin. Surroundings eerily quiet.
Yet an odd sensation at his feet—not a blade cut or lethal strike. Toe-brush against ground, faint rustle.
'...Huh?'
Seemingly minor, but amid hyper-focused stealth approach, it mattered.
Basic of basics: step without rustling leaves.
Concentrating, cautious—yet foot dragging? Wrong.
'No way.'
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf reached down hastily, brushing his calf. Something snagged: a thin, sharp needle embedded.
He yanked it, rubbed his calf. Sensation dulled.
'Poison needle?'
Another insidious ploy hidden.
Stealth foiled, time for blitz.
Gritting teeth, Blood-Faced Mad Wolf charged Dang Mujin. Dang Mujin's hand moved; a flying wheel hurtled.
But Blood-Faced Mad Wolf didn't slow.
Not widespread poison like before, no backup behind Dang Mujin. Short slash to neck, then out. Skill gap obvious.
Twist head to dodge first wheel, swing arm to smack second aside with backhand. Third aimed ankles, barely evaded.
Beyond the third wheel, two faint poison needles glinted, needle-thin and near-invisible.
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf slashed them mid-air.
'Even the feint countered!'
Gazing at Dang Mujin, he noticed suspicious cylinders gripped in each hand.
Not oversized or menacing—precisely why suspicious. Blood-Faced Mad Wolf's brow twitched.
'...What's that?'
Hesitate, and he might call reinforcements. As Blood-Faced Mad Wolf charged undeterred, Dang Mujin's thumbs moved.
Tick-tick—
Dull clicks, dozens of needles spraying.
He swung his sword desperately, but couldn't fully evade the sudden barrage.
Too abrupt, too close, too many. Blood-Faced Mad Wolf blocked what he could with sword extended, baring forearms for the rest.
Needles pricked skin, faint poison seeping.
'Good. Not instantly lethal.'
Retreat now played into Dang Mujin's scheme.
'Close the gap.'
Undaunted, he rushed Dang Mujin. The two cylinders still targeted him.
Tick, tick.
More needles.
Now knowing the weapon, manageable.
Blood-Faced Mad Wolf kicked off ground, twisting mid-air to evade again. Pinnacle expert finesse.
He saw Dang Mujin discard the cylinders.
'Whatever they were, expended.'
Accumulated poison qi began fuzzing his mind.
Steadying blurring consciousness, Blood-Faced Mad Wolf anticipated.
'He'll draw sword. Familiarized with his sword paths. Feign weakness, then sever neck...'
As predicted, Dang Mujin's right hand drew sword. Faint smile crossed Blood-Faced Mad Wolf's lips.
But that was the misstep.
Fixated on the sword hand, he missed left index and middle fingers pointing groundward.
Descend (降).
The fourth flying wheel parted branches, plunging toward Blood-Faced Mad Wolf's crown.
*
Ghost King awoke to abdominal agony. Memories clear up to blackout.
Survived Sinseung's final strike, then Manryeokseung's fist to gut.
Belly thoroughly churned, yet somehow alive—heaven's grace.
"Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva."
Calling on her after ages, Ghost King opened eyes.
His heart plummeted. Hyeon-gong sat before him.
Natural, after fainting mid-fight.
Better than waking to Manryeokseung or Hwahwa Nogae.
'This guy's level...!'
Ghost King tried moving arms—pain only. Late recall: both shattered. Face darkened.
'Must preserve life.'
As he staggered up to flee, Hyeon-gong spoke.
"Brother Gui. Wait. People nearby; you can't escape."
Any words, he'd ignore and run—but his feet halted involuntarily. Voice and address oddly affable, content secondary.
Hyeon-gong continued.
"People say merit can't offset sin. I see it differently. Sins don't vanish through merit, but merit can cover them."
"..."
"All wanted you dead. But I saw potential in your eyes. Eyes of one who might repent past wrongs, amass merit to veil sins—filled with regret and lingering attachment. And in your monk past, potential too. You're no root evil; just erred."
Hyeon-gong's words pierced Ghost King's depths instantly.
Sinners rationalize a hundredfold.
Unavoidable. His fault. Unjust. Mere mistake—excuses.
Even grave criminals like Ghost King.
He recalled forsaking Buddha for lust.
Accepted now, but then endless regret.
Not trash by nature. Unavoidable. Overcome by vigor, mere error. Old mutterings resurfaced.
Ghost King wasn't fool enough to miss Hyeon-gong's silver tongue.
"What... do you want? Gonna kill me anyway!"
"No. I hope you repent, find new life. Reveal this war's undercurrents. Foretell coming events. You know much. Save many lives. Then people forgive."
Sweet temptation. But Ghost King sobered. Too sweet.
Sins wouldn't veil so easily; else no flight to demonic cult.
"Nonsense! I won't bite! I killed Qingcheng and Zhongnan leaders. Confess all, left with righteous grudge and vengeance!"
Hyeon-gong sat calmly, eyes meeting.
Eyes read hearts—or rather, reveal them.
Ghost King probed Hyeon-gong's gaze.
Bottomless pity only. Hyeon-gong said, voice misty,
"...I know. It will be so."
"Yes. So spare the futility...!"
"Yet sacrificing life to guide others to light is supreme good deed, swiftest path to ascension. As one Daoist speaking to another."
Hyeon-gong pressed, fervent.
"Like me a Daoist, Qingcheng and Zhongnan folk are Daoists before warriors. They'll know merit veils sin somewhat. Better than one without intent to merit."
Subtle premise slipped in: 'You've resolved to merit.' Ghost King missed it.
He mumbled,
"Merit... You're young, don't grasp. Grudges run deep. They'll hack me on sight."
"I'll stop them. Stake life. Can't fully assure forgiveness. But I'll force a rechance, somehow. That insufficient?"
Hyeon-gong gently grasped Ghost King's fingertips.
Bones pulverized—agony expected—yet none felt.
When last another held his hand? Faint memory.
Hyeon-gong whispered,
"Repent, return to Buddha path. Back to great compassion of Avalokitesvara."
Ghost King's breath quickened. Seductive whisper.
He bellowed,
"Don't tempt me! Why believe? Why aid foe? I won't fall for it!"
Hyeon-gong countered,
"Brother Gui. Know my moniker?"
Righteous juniors' nicknames? Unlikely memorized. Shouldn't be.
Yet it surfaced vaguely—Kongdong? Giyeon Mountain? Mid-fight?
Ghost King stammered,
"Truth... Speaker?"
"Yes. I never lie."
Hyeon-gong rose, beaming steadfast smile down at Ghost King.
Sun blazed gloriously beyond his shoulder.
"Trust me."
The final words mere flourish.
Ghost King already believed Hyeon-gong.