Chapter 598: Chapter 598

Roughly two thousand li north of the Ming Empire’s Juyongguan Fortress, beyond sheer mountain ranges and fifteen massive peaks, across desolate plains.

It was just next to Qingguangping, the battlefield where Jeong Yeon-shin had once clashed with the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords. Even for a renowned master of qinggong from a great sect, if one departed from the Great Wall, they’d still need to ride a horse to reach it.

That was where Divine Sword Corps’ Yeoklu Fortress stood.

A yellow clay fortress, one hundred jang from north to south, and seventy jang from east to west. Around it, a wall six hundred sixty-six jang long enclosed the inner city in a square.

The first Northern King slain by Jeong Yeon-shin—Yeomyeolshin—had hardened this fortress with her Yeolyang Qi Technique, turning it solid as if she were the Fire King.

Naturally, its scale far exceeded that of a mere village.

Northern Yozoku, Southern Han, the Celestial-blooded Ming, and the Iron Clan, along with people of Mongol and Jurchen descent, all lived here together, forming a vast, multicultural metropolis.

Even scattered bloodlines from the fallen Dae-ri Kingdom could be found here.

The outer gate said as much.

In front of the gate—framed by iron spikes, carved whole from a single boulder—stood a group of several dozen people with features like a fusion of furnace-blasted metal: hulking bodies, pointed ears, squat stature, shaved foreheads with long braided queues.

“We need to leave this place,” one of them said.

“Word is the Southern Emperor has raised an army. Yeoklu Fortress won’t survive. Let us go.”

They had gathered before the gate.

Blocking their path stood a middle-aged man dressed in fine silk, patched together like a beggar’s robes—Yeoklu’s northern gatekeeper.

“No chance of victory? Isn’t that a bit premature?”

At his question, a Ming man with his hair braided down his back gave a dry chuckle.

A northern wanderer—one who drifted from city to city, trading swordwork for food. Common enough in the demonic frontier.

“You’re a Han man handpicked as a gatekeeper by the War God himself. You vouched for the Divine Sword Commander to become a Northern King, so you’d naturally want to defend your honor. You can’t go back on your word. But do the executives of the Divine Sword Corps holed up in that inner fortress feel the same?”

As he spoke, the braided nomad gestured with a thumb over his shoulder.

To the inner fortress, where rooftops stabbed the sky like blades. Where the leadership of the Divine Sword Corps was said to reside.

“How long’s it been since any of them showed their faces? The Divine Sword Commander hasn’t been seen at all, the black-clad warriors have turned cold like northern wind spirits, just sitting around practicing strange internal techniques, and I heard some even left the fortress with twisted, crazed expressions. You still think this is right?”

“Exactly. We’re on the verge of war and they act like a ragtag bunch.”

Another nomad—a Yozoku with a massive axe on his back—cut in.

He cast a fierce gaze up at the blue-uniformed warriors standing atop the fortress, but when none spared him a glance, he raised his voice.

“At this rate, we’ll be trampled by the armies of the Northern Kings from Whirling Wind Hollow! The Supreme Northern Master will return! Have you seen the martial corps he’s raised for founding his empire? They’re overwhelming! And how will you stop them, along with the Southern Emperor, Mun Gok, Yeom Jeong, and the rest of the Northern powerhouses? The inner fortress is filled with dead-eyed ghosts!”

Their eyes were dead.

A brutal truth. The black-clad warriors no longer gleamed with spirit. They hardly spoke.

An icy silence had settled over the central inner fortress long ago.

At this moment, those within Yeoklu Fortress’s inner sanctum had become mute—training in internal techniques without a word, wholly disinterested in the outside world.

As if preparing their transcendent bodies for some vital future act.

Meanwhile, alarming news had spread through the region.

Word was that the powers of Whirling Wind Hollow were gathering at Black Capital, the heart of the demonic realm. And that the Southern Emperor was leading a massive army toward Yeoklu Fortress.

“Move! Whirling Wind Hollow is coming!”

“Stay and you’ll die like dogs!”

But when the gatekeeper refused to step aside, citing the risk of losing military strength, the remaining crowd dispersed.

They trampled over stalls in the streets, leapt to the walls of the fortress. After all, there were few in this city who hadn’t trained in qinggong.

It was an unstoppable flow.

Even the martial artists of Ipwang Fortress made no move to halt them.

The blue-armored warriors lining the walls merely stood in silence, attuned to the ever-deepening stillness from the inner fortress.

The eyes of the great Ming Empire were starting to turn upward—onto the martial world.

Even so, the earth remained parched. No hint of new sprouts.

The late winter winds from the north only grew colder by the day.

In the underground cavern untouched by any storm.

Some of the former Heavenly Demon Cult Leaders had buried their final legacies in their tombs. That was true for the First Heavenly Demon and a few others.

Such tombs—Heavenly Demon Mounds—had once stirred storms of blood across the martial world.

But within the cult’s true headquarters was the Heavenly Demon’s Secret Vault.

Literally, a secret vault.

Only the direct heir of the Heavenly Demon line was allowed entry. Most of the cult leaders had left their final teachings within.

The cave Jeong Yeon-shin stepped into now was one such place.

Though it was clearly a deep cavern, there wasn’t a trace of dampness. Instead, it was a spacious library nearly thirty jang across—filled entirely with scrolls and tomes.

A commotion echoed faintly from outside.

The tolling of alarm bells that could ensnare a person’s mind, roars like demon beasts, and the thunderous pounding of qinggong against the stone floor.

The rest of the Ming Cult's forces had likely arrived.

Yet none of the party turned to look back at the sealed door. They were too busy scanning their surroundings.

“Incredible. Live long enough, and you’ll see anything.”

The Beggars’ Sect Leader muttered from atop Eo Ung-gong’s back. His grip unconsciously tightened, making Eo Ung-gong groan with phlegmy breaths. But his deep internal breathing carried the muttered words too.

“To actually enter the Heavenly Demon’s Secret Vault...”

Since ancient times, the name of the omnipotent.

Even if despised by the world, few would reject the chance to broaden their horizons through the lineage of the Heavenly Demon. For anyone, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

It was awe-inspiring.

Towering shelves stretched like fortress walls, each nearly three jang high and extending to the cavern’s edge—at least ten jang in length.

Standing beside Jeong Yeon-shin, Ju Gwang-shin scanned the space and muttered, almost solemnly.

“Almost looks like the Hanlin Academy in Beijing. And yet these must be the most terrifying demonic arts in the world...”

“Madness. Hanlin isn’t this tidy. It’s chaos. Neat ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) scholars only exist in stories.”

Eo Ung-gong replied as he shifted the Sword Saint’s weight in his arms.

Every inch of the space was packed with martial texts. The obsessive fear of knowledge loss that permeated the Ming Cult's legacy.

The higher one stood, the more desperate the desire to leave behind a name.

And for those whose bones were filled with demonic qi, who desired anything that brought strength, that desire was amplified.

“The Great Demons of the cult all wanted their names to live on forever. Recording their comprehension here was the greatest honor. It seems that was all true...”

Ju Gwang-shin let his words trail off.

A term of reverence for eternity.

Used in place of “ten thousand years” by members of the Ming Cult.

They pursued martial perfection by any means—and thus, the cult’s martial arts evolved into demonic arts.

Madness. Even the faint scent of paper tickling Jeong Yeon-shin’s nose seemed to carry that mania.

But he paid it no mind.

He hadn’t come here to marvel.

Since So Cheonmujuk had extended the Sword Saint’s life with the Ming Cult’s “Seven Curse Golden Blood Technique,” then perhaps the Heavenly Demon’s Vault would hold a way to save him fully.

This was where the insights of the Heavenly Demons and countless Great Demons were stored.

“...Didn’t think I’d walk in here on my own two feet.”

Hwangbo Gon, who had somehow ended up joining Jeong Yeon-shin’s group, muttered quietly.

For anyone, stepping into another sect’s martial archive was a first.

Unless they were northern raiders or the madmen of the Mu Ryong Association, most martial artists spent their lives buried in their own school’s arts.

The same held true for Jeong Yeon-shin. Yet at this moment, two faint halos spun around him—so weak they looked as if they might flicker out at any moment.

In a single instant, he drove every last drop of refined inner power straight through both of his eyes.

Sight-Heaven Technique.

Expanding his vision with this sensory method, he began to sweep through the tightly packed spines of the books lined across the towering shelves—like beams of light scanning for truth.

[Soul-Splitting Demonic Technique], [Earthborn Demonic Arts], [Dark Heaven Hand and Wall Stance], [White-Hand Demon Style], [North Sea Grand Shift of Yaozu], [Divine Phoenix Form], [Divine Phoenix Form, Commentary by So Cheonmujuk]...

Legendary forbidden techniques of the Ming Cult—once whispered only in rumors—etched themselves into his sight.

Every scroll and tome that caught his eye, Jeong Yeon-shin summoned with Void-Grasp Technique, pulling them into the air around him. Half a dozen hovered before him, and he began reading on the spot.

The pages flipped themselves like wings.

The rustle of paper never ceased, and his eyes overflowed with nothing but text.

A ruthless speed-reading, forcefully flooding his brain with incantations and internal insights. It was as though he were compressing and consuming all the years So Cheonmujuk had once lived through.

Startled, Ju Gwang-shin-gae, still perched piggyback atop Eo Ung-gong like a palanquin, tried to stop him—urgently tapping Eo Ung-gong’s shoulder to move forward.

“Hey now! Just cramming a lot into your head won’t—”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Suddenly, a chilling blue burn ignited beneath Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet, drawing a circle around him. Eo Ung-gong’s short legs halted instinctively.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood perfectly still within a circle barely large enough for one person, his eyes moving like sword strikes—now glowing a sharp blue, tracing endless zigzags of energy.

Like a warlock from stories, he suspended a dozen books midair, reading silently every word that came into view.

His ki sense now enveloped the entire vault, brushing across every stroke of every title.

No. No. Yes. That one too—bring it over...

[Seven Pillar Forbidden Acupuncture Technique], [Delirium Demonic Scripture], [Eight Laws of the Divine Demon], [Microcosmic Heaven-Denying Classic], [On the Absorption of Demon Essence], [Three Snares That Defy Heaven]...

More and more books hovered around him.

From one corner, Hwangbo Gon—sneaking off with the famous Ming Cult eye technique [Divine Phoenix Form] like a thief—abruptly froze at the sight.

Southern Vast Taiji was the martial logic Jeong Yeon-shin used to nullify the recoil of advanced martial arts.

If you could dissolve the backlash of complex techniques into nothingness, what martial artist of supreme realm couldn’t focus their sight in many directions?

Likewise, absorbing the Ming Cult’s insights would be no different.

At least for Jeong Yeon-shin.

Its principle mirrored that of the Wudang Sect’s Yang Intent Technique.

“The root of ‘demon’ lies in manifesting the most intimate desires of the mind.”

At this moment, he was suppressing internal chaos using Southern Vast Taiji—digesting the overwhelming tide of information with terrifying clarity.

He did not want to lose anyone.

That was the belief flooding Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind. Overhead, the gleaming luminescent pearls embedded in the ceiling shimmered violently, casting waves down through his hair.

A tremendous thud rang out. It came from the direction of the entrance he had earlier opened. Ming Cult martial artists were pounding on the sealed door.

“They’re already here...!”

Ju Gwang-shin-gae spat irritably. Eo Ung-gong spoke solemnly.

“They must’ve decided it’s better to bring the vault down than let outsiders access it.”

“A scheming move by the Cult’s Grand Vicar, no doubt. No one else would have that authority,” Hwangbo Gon chimed in, feigning calm. Ju Gwang-shin-gae nodded in agreement, and the old beggar murmured lowly:

“Well, it’s not like the Cult would risk only their leader...”

The ceiling shook hard.

Several luminous pearls fell with heavy thunks. They were no ordinary weight.

It felt as though a mountain were being dropped onto them. Most likely the famed Dark Heaven Hand and Wall Stance, one of the Five Greatest Palm Arts under Heaven.

Even Ju Gwang-shin-gae and Eo Ung-gong flinched, brows tightening.

“This is bad. They’re not giving us any time.”

Regardless of their shouts, the intervals between each earth-shattering blow were shrinking. It felt like an earthquake tearing through the stone.

The library shuddered.

The deep tremors finally reached Jeong Yeon-shin, now surrounded by twenty-seven floating books. The vibration seeped through his soles, climbed his meridians—and exploded in his skull.

That pulse now spiraled like a war drum in his head.

The endless clash and grind of knowledge, the flashes of insight sparking like lightning bolts, all echoed in harmony with that drumbeat.

Before him, one of the floating books turned pages on its own.

[Heavenly Demon Divine Scripture, Commentary by So Cheonmujuk]

“When ten people gather, one will always act as king.”

“The dust storms of the wilds echo the wails of distant mind-demons.”

The Heavenly Demon Divine Scripture seemed to be asking him a question.

That’s what it felt like.

As though something—something beyond comprehension—was peering into his upper dantian, just like the eerie feeling he’d once gotten from the Heavenly Demon Armor of the Moyong Clan.

His awareness surged higher, rising along with every glyph burned into his sight.

Disgusting phrases like “Seventy-two Ways to Drain the Essence of the Living” swirled upward like the body of a coiling dragon, soaring skyward.

In that dizzying moment...

Another faint wheel began to etch itself over his heart—a third, shadowy halo, unlike the two glowing ones already orbiting him.

He had only wanted to save the Sword Saint.

So he consumed every technique with his mind, regardless of origin.

“A fence built in ten days, awaiting a high tide on this land of sand.”

“The great tide of time—”

The drumbeat quickened. It now struck his heart, not just his head.

“Is this the mandate of Heaven to accept?”

“Or is it the trial of defiance, now permitted?”

And that was where it ended.

Because a sinister voice—overflowing with demonic qi—roared down from above and pierced the vault.

—Kill all those heretics! Bring this place down if you must!

WOOOOONG! BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!

As if hundreds of bombs had gone off at once, a deafening blast rang out, and boulders rained down like a flood.

Cracks tore wildly across the ceiling. Ashy dust exploded into the air.

The entire cavern began to collapse.

In the swirling dust and falling rubble, Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes now gleamed with shadowy, demonic light.

Because he couldn’t just think of a method to save the Sword Saint.

He had to wield demonic power himself.

And so, he gave the Heavenly Demon his answer.