Chapter 595: Chapter 595

It was right after the Song of Bones had fallen into the ritual space—an initiation ground of a scale unprecedented even in the history of the Demonic Cult.

A sharp metallic stench surged up.

Perhaps it was because the space was damp. The smell of blood burst forth explosively from every corner of the underground chamber, then hung thickly in the air.

The lanterns dimly illuminating the moist walls flickered like tiny candles. They looked ready to go out at any moment.

The powerful warriors who devoured one another.

The Demonic Cult followers watching from above.

All of them were dead.

Three hundred lives snuffed out in an instant. Some likely didn’t even realize by what method they’d been killed.

Many collapsed belatedly with thuds. The ground of the chamber, and even the spectator’s gallery, were the same.

The stench of the devourers of bloodlines, and the scent of dead Demonic Cultists who had supervised them—there was no difference between them and humans.

Such is the sword art of the Sword Clan.

The nobles of the Ming dynasty may have used the ring of blades for their amusement, but the melody that resounded from the hands of the Divine Sword Corps Master was a martial art of war.

A man of the Mongyo branch clan twitched slightly at his feet. Perhaps because he belonged to a clan with a highly developed upper elixir field, even after facing the Sword Clan's art at close range, he still let out a faint death rattle.

Soon, his breath faded and was absorbed into the ground—into the stone floor that couldn’t even serve as fertilizer.

The Great Flame-Emperor Rite.

They called it an initiation ceremony.

But in the end, even the Demonic Cult’s grand ritual was simply another event among the upper ranks of Jianghu.

By contrast, the Divine Sword Corps Master was someone who contended for the pinnacle of all martial arts in the world. Participating in such a ritual was fundamentally absurd.

It was only natural that the Demonic Cult’s event had collapsed.

Jeong Yeon-shin silently looked down at the rib he had crushed in his hand. It crumbled in vain with a faint cracking sound. That was why the Sword Clan’s art could not be used with Yeoroe.

‘I suppose I have to find Yeoroe here too.’

Meanwhile, the speed at which his Hundred Convergences Meridian activated was as usual. He hadn’t burned his life in the strike—this was a state where ordinary sword art had become enough.

Ever since he had achieved the Tri-Harmony Essence Refinement, that had become natural. A paradoxical martial state. At the time of his entry into the path, it had hungered for his lifespan. Now it simply fast-forwarded the lives of his enemies.

He began walking without a word.

The battles in Qingguangping seeped into his thoughts.

Whether he wanted to or not, they replayed in his mind like a grand game of Go. And from that, little by little—but unmistakably—he grew stronger.

Though the lanterns that had once lit the underground chamber had all been extinguished, thanks to activating his Sight Through Inferiors Technique, there was no darkness in his vision.

It was time to move forward.

The underground domain of the Demonic Cult was astoundingly vast.

The paths stretched endlessly, and the ceiling rose so high it felt like a serpent had passed through. Yet strangely, there wasn’t the slightest hint of other life. Only dim, oppressive silence.

This was the main stronghold of the Thirteen Heavens.

As he walked, Jeong Yeon-shin began to examine the state of his body. It was something he should’ve done as soon as he opened his eyes, but one of the Mongyo dustlings had struck his upper elixir field, throwing things off.

The two halos rooted in his heart were faint. One in particular had grown as dim as a candle flame.

He usually maintained two halos—one used for internal energy manipulation, the other for defensive body reinforcement. The former was now on the verge of disappearing.

Mun Gok, then the God of War, and again the God of War. Then the Southern Emperor.

Three supreme-level battles in one day. It was only natural he’d ended up , after squeezing out every last drop of true energy.

‘When will I finally escape from this constant struggle?’

It was a question that hadn’t left Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind since the moment he’d learned of the Myungryu Commander’s death.

Just one more step from his current level.

It felt like with just a single step forward, he could accomplish anything. Yet the world remained distant.

The Demon Realm was even more so.

This was Jianghu, which had endured even the might of the Ming Empire. The true culprit behind replacing the empire’s military with the Ipwang Fortress. If facing it were easy, that would be stranger still. Yet for Jeong Yeon-shin, it was nothing more than another leg of his mission.

A land he must overcome.

Even if the Southern Emperor ascended and established some “Qing Empire,” it would be the same. Banners bearing the words “Gold” or “Great Qing” had already pierced through the North. He no longer paid them any mind.

‘Recovery... the third halo... the fifth martial stem... Formless Poison Sword... the power of the Dharma State... Hwanik Ten Steps... the Qingguangping battle...’

These were the obsessions now spinning madly in Jeong Yeon-shin’s head.

Strangely, most of his external wounds were already healed. Even his right shoulder, which had been half torn off by Mun Gok, was completely fine.

It must’ve been the martial healing art of So Cheonmujuk.

A restorative ability that the Dark Heaven Emperor once attempted to use on the Cheongeuk Sect Lord—only to be interrupted by Jeong Yeon-shin.

For such effectiveness, a heavy price must have been paid. Perhaps vital innate energy had been lost, or rare spiritual treasures consumed.

‘What kind of scheme is she weaving?’

Jeong Yeon-shin realized something from the vibration soaking up from the soles of his feet to his Yongcheon Point.

There were three other spaces identical to the chamber he had awoken in, and the terrain was arranged so that each extended from a cardinal direction toward the center.

An initiation ceremony.

A ritual in which the Demonic Cult watched external warriors fight. The survivors from each sector were meant to converge at the center.

He reached the end of the cave.

There stood an oddly antique iron door. Etched with patterns like burning heat-haze along its frame—a typical design from the Demonic Cult, worshipers of dark flame.

Without hesitation, he pushed it open. The hinges were so well-oiled, the sound of it opening was barely audible.

Jeong Yeon-shin had no intention of using his physical condition as an excuse. When had a fair fight ever been common for warriors of Ipwang Fortress?

―If your conviction does not break for all time, then you are the sword of this land.

The voice of Emperor Gunreung echoed deeply in his mind.

He had endured enough of the martial world of the Demon Realm.

From now on, he would need to be strong in any situation.

‘A battle method that lets me take control even when not in peak condition... perhaps it’s no longer out of reach.’

As he opened the door and stepped in, a thunderous shout rang in his ears. Incredibly, it was a voice that welcomed him.

“Is that you, Seomye?!”

“Seomye? The Divine Sword Corps Deputy...?”

In a space of extreme luxury, the voices of an old man and a child echoed. It was a bedroom, its ceiling filled with embedded luminous pearls like a starry night.

Inside were a legless beggar and a child in armor. It seemed they had finished the ritual and entered before him.

Recognizing the Drunken Beggar King instantly, Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze filled with emotion. He wordlessly brought his hands together in greeting.

But the moment he saw the aged swordsman lying beyond the two, he was already striding past them.

The Sword Saint, Hyun So-baek.

His body was pierced with dozens of large needles.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The Drunken Beggar King looked at the child in general’s garb and smiled faintly.

“See? I told you I wasn’t like your grandfather, but you wouldn’t believe it, Eo Ung-gong.”

“That doesn’t matter. What’s important is—why is the Divine Sword Corps Deputy here?”

Famed for the art of the Light Spear.

One of the Three Imperial High Protectors. A boy clad in worn armor like a defeated general. He looked to be no more than seven or eight.

The only member of the imperial family who had reversed aging.

A supreme master who had once been taught directly by Emperor Gunreung. Years ago, he’d made headlines for rescuing the Beggars’ Chief from the hands of the Southern Emperor.

But Jeong Yeon-shin let their conversation pass by as he lowered his head.

The Sword Saint lay wrapped in bandages, much like the fallen Myungryu Commander. More than a hundred large acupuncture needles were embedded throughout his body.

“Do not remove a single one. The Sword Saint is barely hanging on with those.”

Suddenly, the Drunken Beggar King, now carried on Eo Ung-gong’s back, spoke beside him.

“He was struck by a devastating severing move. It’s a miracle he’s still alive. Such peerless masters who roll through the gutter always end up being strange miracles themselves.”

Including me, of course. The Beggar King finished with a smile.

Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent at the sight of the legless beggar’s grin. He had no words. He doubted he could smile like that, should he end up in the same condition.

Perhaps guessing that feeling—

The Drunken Beggar King, with a kindly crease of his lips, asked,

“You came here to rescue us, didn’t you?”

“I was captured as well.”

“Ah, I see. It makes sense, considering the Demon Realm. This is practically the Jianghu of a new empire. You could say the Thirteen Heavens, Old Sects, and Eight Families are now one. Though, of course, there are still rifts between them...”

Looking exasperated by their conversation, Eo Ung-gong snapped,

“‘It makes sense’?! Think of the chaos this must be causing across the world! The absence of a Divine Sword Corps leader is—!”

“Don’t worry too much. True, the Cult Leader is as fickle as a natural disaster, but even she wouldn’t broadcast something as a point of pride. And it’s not as if the Divine Sword Corps lacks talent.”

With that, the Drunken Beggar King began explaining their situation to Jeong Yeon-shin.

They had infiltrated the area thinking So Cheonmujuk might try to manifest the Northern God of War. But it turned out that the grand ritual was being performed elsewhere.

Not here, where the new headquarters of the Demonic Cult now lay—but in the territory of the Southern Emperor.

Drawing from the warehouse of the North’s top master for supplies and spiritual treasures.

“So Cheon... Laughing at Heaven, indeed. That nickname fits the bastard perfectly. If there’s something in the world that could collapse everything, he has to get involved.”

The Drunken Beggar King muttered to himself.

[Was that really the extent of the Beggars’ Chief’s intelligence? There’s one more thing I can’t stand.]

Suddenly, an overwhelming presence swept through the space.

Even before the echo of a young woman’s voice could resonate, Jeong Yeon-shin, the Drunken Beggar King, and Eo Ung-gong had already turned their heads in that direction. A pale figure shimmered into view.

A fleeting, ghostlike form—one who had constructed her Nascent Soul in translucent clarity.

It was So Cheonmujuk.

The once-hollow chamber was now utterly filled. A suffocating pressure hung in the air.

And it was just a single projection.

Not even the Drunken Beggar King in his prime, nor Eo Ung-gong, could radiate such presence. It was the divine power of one who could be counted on one hand in all the world.

Perhaps for that reason, the inside of her silver mask looked gaunt—but her presence stood out all the more for it.

Suddenly, the Drunken Beggar King’s inner voice gently brushed Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind.

—Eo Ung-gong came to rescue me from the Southern Emperor’s domain. Even as the North’s strongest, it’s hard to stop a supreme master fleeing at full speed. But to retreat leisurely with a limp old man in tow? That was something only I could do. Eo Ung-gong’s body isn’t in perfect shape either.

[Of course it’s not.]

So Cheonmujuk replied casually—eavesdropping on their transmission just as Jeong Yeon-shin had.

The Drunken Beggar King didn’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Instead, he simply asked her,

“Where is your true body?”

[Did you not realize your mistake the moment you crawled into this Cult? Naturally, I’m in Black City, the capital of the Demon Realm. That’s about... fifteen hundred li to the south from here.]

“Aren’t you overusing void-shifting techniques? You, the Southern Emperor, and the Cheongeuk Sect Lord—you three are the only ones I know who skip across space so unnaturally. Coincidentally, you’re all the foremost of the heretical outlaws. You know why that is, don’t you?”

So Cheonmujuk casually brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

[I’ll probably die one day when my body shatters across all of creation. But it’s fine. I’ll die of natural causes long before that.]

“You think you’ll be the only one to die? If you drag the God of War through that door, all of Jianghu will crumble beneath his crippled foot.”

He deliberately kept her talking.

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t need to look at the Beggar King to understand. The man trusted him—as someone worthy of the Divine Sword Corps. He was giving Jeong Yeon-shin time to recover his strength.

But So Cheonmujuk was no fool either. Her jet-black eyes turned toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

[You know, I used the Seven Pillar Forbidden Acupoint Method on the Sword Saint. It restricts true energy and revitalizes key pressure points. That’s why the old man hasn’t died yet.]

Jeong Yeon-shin asked, face unreadable.

It was a simple question, but carried weight. He was worn out by her unpredictable behavior—tired of trying to understand someone so impossible to grasp.

Was there any being in all of Jianghu more inscrutable than her?

So Cheonmujuk fell silent for a moment.

In her black pupils, the image of Jeong Yeon-shin no longer held any bloodlust. Assassinating the Cult Leader had already become something fundamental inside him.

She slowly removed her silver mask.

It vanished into nothing, just like the one Jeong Yeon-shin had once shattered. Only her bare Nascent Soul remained.

A beauty to the utmost extreme. The glow of the luminous pearls cascaded down her obsidian hair and split along her dreamlike nose.

The Drunken Beggar King let out a low grunt, and Eo Ung-gong stared at her as if engraving her features in his memory to later destroy her portrait.

[You are my mirror. You must feel it with your upper elixir field—the lightning-strike of kinship piercing your Hundred Convergences Meridian.]

Her voice was slow and deliberate.

[Time has passed, hasn’t it? And the more I came to know, the more I saw the similarities. Fleeting life, repeated loss—even our beauty.]

It sounded like a joke, but no one laughed. Jeong Yeon-shin least of all.

He gathered halo energy into his palm as he spoke.

But So Cheonmujuk remained indifferent. Her eyes on him, as if she might slip through space to her real body at any moment.

[Remember? When you came to Sichuan to avenge the death of the Prefect of Suncheon, I helped you release that tangled knot in your heart.]

[When you were struck down by the joint assault of the Dark Heaven Emperor and the Cheongeuk Sect Lord, I led you to the traces of Jang Sam-bong to restore your mind.]

[I always took care to make sure you weren’t hurt. Your wife... no, you said she wasn’t your wife, right? That blood fiend—she didn’t suffer so much as a scratch either. You reminded me of myself as a child. And that blood fiend? She’s the kind of possession we monsters inevitably acquire.]

They say demons are those unbound by anything.

She had done everything by her whims. Despite being shackled by fate, she was freer than anyone.

So Cheonmujuk parted her lips.

[Until the end of the world, you must survive. Two mayflies standing side by side at the edge of the world—I want to see the beauty of that paradox. The night I turned twenty, I truly felt my consciousness go dark. Ever since then, I’ve completely lost my mind.]

Her calm voice burned with madness. It was a heavy, swamp-like sensation—dense and inescapable.

[Do you know what the Heavenly Demon truly is? Someone who refuses to live by Heaven’s will. In other words—]

Suddenly, a monstrous pressure ripped through the air. The underground chamber quaked as if struck by thunder.

[I will save you, and destroy the world.]

Heavenly Demon Lord’s Ascension Step.

The moment So Cheonmujuk’s true heart emerged, the technique activated naturally.

The very space seemed to freeze. The light of the luminous pearls flickered. Her presence thickened to an intolerable degree.

A pale figure began to take shape before Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes. Meanwhile, the Nascent Soul projection that had spoken until now vanished without a trace.

It was the prelude to void-shifting. She was attempting to transport her true body from Black City in the Southern Emperor’s domain to this place.

Jeong Yeon-shin. The Drunken Beggar King. Eo Ung-gong.

None of them were at full strength, but even so, she must have realized the Nascent Soul alone wouldn’t be enough to deal with them.

So Cheonmujuk’s true body opened her mouth. Even as she did, gray smoke rapidly took the shape of her form.

[Dear, restrain yourself.]

Just a few spoken words made the entire space shake. She had already released some of the restraints on her power.

“You really are quite busy, running here and there.”

The Drunken Beggar King muttered dryly, tension lacing his voice. Beside him, Eo Ung-gong was generating light with his tiny, leaf-like hand.

So Cheonmujuk didn’t even glance at them. She only held Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze from mere steps away.

The demonic energy flowing from her in shades of gray wrapped gently around him—using the technique Smoky Phantom Embrace to completely ignore divine force.

To Jeong Yeon-shin, it felt like her bare body was binding his.

A martial art that reversed natural compatibility. He couldn’t shake it off.

[Nothing I’ve done has ever brought you harm. It never will.]

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly.

“It’s always been . People who don’t know me trying to shape my future like nannies, passing judgment.”

[I ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ am not like them.]

Under rapidly increasing pressure, Jeong Yeon-shin raised his right hand. Faint thunder seeped from his grip.

“No, you’re not different. In fact...”

Everything he had gone through in the North surged through his mind.

The bizarre iron-armored warriors of the Demon Realm, one by one. The fleeting void-walking arts of the Cheongeuk Sect Lord and So Cheonmujuk, long burned into his memory.

To ensure that once he grasped something, he would never let go.

Jeong Yeon-shin had secluded himself from the world to train.

“You said I’m your mirror. A shattered mirror.”

He placed his hand atop So Cheonmujuk’s not-yet-materialized head.

Like a flood dragon’s claw—ring and pinky pressed together, index and middle joined as well, with the thumb completing three branches.

The moment he clenched his hand, her hair—just barely solid—was mussed.

He caught her. He had her. She was caught.

A searing blue light burst from Jeong Yeon-shin’s pupils. A young man weathered by the world finally unleashed the madness he had held back.

For the first time, So Cheonmujuk’s eyes widened.

Martial Ultimate Style: Fifth Stem.

Her translucent body shattered to pieces. The halo energy that unraveled the true structure of her void-shifting technique crackled in thunderous echoes.

Strands of broken hair fluttered, and thick drops of blood spilled like flower petals into the air. Even her real body—unable to fully cross over—had taken damage.

“Bringing me here was your mistake. Now the Demonic Cult is within my grasp. So you...”

Jeong Yeon-shin muttered,

“You lose something too.”

The blurry face of So Cheonmujuk, made of smoke, crumbled in shock. The overwhelming pressure of the Heavenly Demon Lord’s Ascension Step vanished in a blink.

Only Jeong Yeon-shin, the Drunken Beggar King, Eo Ung-gong, and the Sword Saint on the bed remained.