Chapter 7
I looked up at the owner of the voice in confusion.
The man released the hand that had been holding my waist and brushed past me.
He was wearing a demon-faced mask (鬼面). Beneath it, a sharp jawline came into view.
“For the commander of the Parryeong Unit, who’s supposed to guard Cheonsan, to be siphoning off a believer’s true energy… That would count as heresy, wouldn’t it?”
The killing intent radiating from him was anything but ordinary.
Strangely, the sight of him didn’t feel unfamiliar.
If I could have studied the contours of the face beneath the demon mask more closely, I might have figured something out—but there was no time.
Cornered, the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon drew up even his innate qi and unleashed a technique.
Life-Draining Sky-Cleaving Blade (吸靈斬空刀).
A decisive strike meant to cleave a man in two and absorb his vitality came flying toward the masked man.
The instant the blade tore through the air, the man lightly stepped onto the spine of the blade.
Not even a sliver of the killing intent touching the blade reached him.
Cold, precise internal power rippled like tiny waves from the sword at his waist.
Hair as black as the night sky settled down like silk a moment later.
It was a level of movement technique so profound that my current perception couldn’t hope to follow it.
“To try using a life-draining demonic art against me—now that’s refreshingly bold.”
The Soul-Devouring Blade Demon swung his blade, trying to shake the masked man off.
Clang!
A piercing metallic sound struck my ears.
In the blink of an eye, the masked man had flown in and crossed swords with the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon.
A red aura flowed along the flat of the sword.
The masked man shifted his grip and scraped along the flat of the enemy’s blade.
With a harsh grating sound, a crescent-moon-shaped white sword trail unfurled.
As the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon tried to pull his blade back to block, an opening appeared in front of his chest.
A killing aura surged as the sword’s flat shot toward his torso.
It felt as though a bolt of lightning had fallen from the sky.
Crack!
In a single exchange, the masked man shattered the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon’s shoulder bone with the flat of his sword, inflicting a fatal internal injury.
“Keugh!”
The Soul-Devouring Blade Demon vomited blood.
It was overwhelming force—utter domination.
Both the precision of the technique and its destructive power were extraordinary.
That martial art…
If the information I possessed was correct, it was a technique from the Heavenly Moon Art (天月功).
A supreme movement-based martial art created by the first Cult Leader of the Cheonmu Cult—known as the Heavenly Demon—who took inspiration from the moon reflected on a lake.
It was a secret art that only the Cult Leader’s disciples could learn.
Now I understood. That man was—
“Th-the Third Young Master… Wi Cheonso?!”
The Soul-Devouring Blade Demon looked up at him with a trembling expression.
Wi Cheonso’s face remained hidden behind the demon mask, yet his mere presence overwhelmed all others.
His physique was as flawless as if sculpted by a master artisan, and nothing about him—his clothes, shoes, or even the jade ornament at his waist—was anything less than top-grade.
Even the droplets of blood splashed across the ominous demon mask beneath his flowing black hair felt like part of what completed him.
“Commander of the Parryeong Unit. You committed corruption with such boldness, yet you still have the presence of mind to recognize me.”
Wi Cheonso crooked his lips and strode toward the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon.
The token at his waist swayed.
The moment he saw it, the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon’s face turned deathly pale.
“The Heavenly Venerable ordered that no mercy be shown to heretics.”
The killing intent carried in his voice was terrifying.
The Soul-Devouring Blade Demon braced himself, resisting Wi Cheonso’s pressure.
That sinister aura was strong enough to affect even me.
I need to leave this place.
But my body wouldn’t obey.
My insides churned, nausea rising.
Was it a side effect of stopping time? My heart was pounding rapidly.
My breathing grew shallow.
This is bad…
Before I realized it, my body slipped beyond my control and lost its balance.
The ground tilted at an angle, and it felt as though the masked man—Wi Cheonso—was looking directly at me.
I sensed his gaze through the demon mask.
“I have to go back…”
With those words, darkness swallowed my vision.
It was a rainy day.
As I was holed up in the study, examining books related to poisons, Baek-ah came to see me.
“Master, you’re here again?”
He approached and draped his outer robe over my shoulders.
“Master, you should keep warm when it rains. You suffered a lot last time when you caught a chill.”
“I’m fine, so you wear it instead. The air’s damp—you’ll catch a chill if you’re not careful.”
“It’s fine. I’m at least ten times healthier than you, Master.”
Baek-ah’s clear eyes gazed at me with affection.
After becoming crippled in martial arts, my body had grown weaker by the day. On rainy days especially, my coughing worsened—and this time, I’d even caught a cold.
Baek-ah brewed medicinal herbs and brought them to me—herbs he had cultivated himself for my sake.
“If you drink this, your coughing should ease.”
“…All right. Now go back to your room and cover yourself with a blanket. You shouldn’t catch my cold.”
“Yes. I’ll leave in just a bit.”
Baek-ah sat down across from me.
Perhaps because of the steady sound of rain, drowsiness washed over me.
Or maybe it was because the warm tea had relaxed my body.
At some point, I rested my head on the desk and fell asleep—or so I thought.
Rustle.
I seemed to hear pages turning at a steady pace.
Had Baek-ah not returned to his room yet?
Until now, Baek-ah had never shown interest in books.
Rustle.
The pages turned softly again.
It was surprising enough to imagine Baek-ah reading, but could he really be reading through a book full of technical terminology so smoothly?
I wanted to open my eyes and check, but my body wouldn’t move.
The sound of turning pages stopped.
“I…”
Baek-ah’s faint muttering tickled my ear.
“I hope the day comes when I can be honest with you, Master.”
His voice sounded sorrowful.
I wanted to ask why he would say such a thing.
But when I suddenly opened my eyes—
Baek-ah was gone.
In his place was a bed draped with thin curtains.
It had been a dream.
Did Baek-ah really say something like that?
I was curious—but I could no longer ask.
Baek-ah had died ten years ago.
Emptiness surged within me.
The pain constricting my chest reminded me anew of the weight of grief.
I had maintained my composure all this time, but in truth, I had merely been enduring it.
Realizing that Baek-ah was no longer by my side, I cried for the first time.
It hurt to know that I would never again hear that child’s gentle voice.
Before the sorrow could fully fade, the unfamiliar feel of the bed brought me back to reality.
Where am I…?
This wasn’t my quarters.
After meeting Brother Eleven and leaving Sohongru, I got caught up with the Soul-Devouring Blade Demon…
Someone must have carried my unconscious body here.
A chill ran down my spine.
How much time has passed?
I carefully sat up.
The heart that had been racing wildly right after I stopped time now felt relatively calm. Still, perhaps due to the aftereffects, strength didn’t come easily to my body.
Then, without any sign of movement, I noticed a strange figure sitting to one side, watching me.
A man so handsome he looked as if he had stepped straight out of a painting was seated on a low platform, propping up his arm as he observed me.
Who…?
If a famous painter were to depict the perfect man, he would look exactly like that.
Through the loosely parted collar of his robe, tightly honed muscles were visible without a single flaw. The red, luxurious outer robe draped over his broad shoulders only accentuated his dazzling appearance.
Beneath his unbound hair, eyes as red as blood glimmered with a strange light.
Those red eyes…
They were the eyes I had seen when I sank into the depths of the lake.
Martial arts could sometimes alter the body, but such vivid crimson eyes were rare.
He was the Third Young Master—Wi Cheonso.
“Are you done crying?”
Wi Cheonso, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
His voice was polite yet chilling—hardly what one would expect from someone called a killing demon.
Flustered, I wiped away my tears with my sleeve.
“…I’m sorry.”
In the Demonic Cult, the Cult Leader is called the Heavenly Venerable (天尊), the sole being beneath the heavens.
His disciples, therefore, occupy positions beyond reproach—and Wi Cheonso was no exception.
If I so much as raised my head improperly, I could lose it.
I hurriedly lowered my gaze and tried to pull my wind-cloak back over myself, but my fingers found nothing. It seemed the cloak had been removed.
In that instant, I checked my left arm just in case. Thankfully, there were no changes to my body.
“Then… who might you be, sir?”
Pretending not to know who he was, I asked cautiously.
Wi Cheonso let out a soft chuckle and straightened his posture.
“Miss, this isn’t our first meeting, is it?”
