Chapter 40
Peng Jiryang suddenly sprang to his feet and shouted,
“Who the hell are you!”
The heavyset man, whose build matched his nickname Doje (“the Disciple”), moved so abruptly that the chair behind him toppled over helplessly.
At that moment, a faint presence was felt in the audience chamber where none had been before.
From the pitch-black corner where no lamplight reached, a man emerged—his head covered by a black bamboo hat.
Sensing danger instinctively, Peng Jiryang pulled out the Black Moon Blade (黑月刀) strapped to his back.
Even though he was still suffering from internal injuries, he could easily read the aura of any skilled martial artist.
But this man—he couldn’t even tell when he had entered the room.
The hair on Peng Jiryang’s arms bristled. The sheer presence of the man was extraordinary.
Could he be connected to the Demonic Cult?
With fury in his voice, Peng Jiryang roared,
“Are you of the Demonic Cult? Where is Peng Seojin?”
“Defeat me,” the man said calmly, “and I’ll tell you.”
Yet, the man in the black hat didn’t even draw his sword.
An external arts master…?
Peng Jiryang’s massive body sprang forward lightly, landing right before the man in one bound.
At the same time, his large blade came crashing down toward the man’s face.
Swaeeek—!
A sharp sound cut through the air.
But the man slipped aside in the blink of an eye, dodging the strike.
Peng Jiryang narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t gauge the man’s skill at all.
“For someone supposedly injured, you seem quite lively.”
“It’s only beginning.”
Paaaak!
An overwhelming aura burst out from Peng Jiryang’s body.
Even though he was under the influence of inner demonic energy, he was still one of the Seven Masters of the World.
There was no way he’d kneel before a mere demonic cultist.
Unless the man was the Heavenly Demon himself.
Peng Jiryang’s blade began to hum as solid qi gathered around it.
Then, his body leapt again into the air.
Pwak!
With a single swing of his blade, everything in the audience chamber shattered and broke apart.
It was the Soul-Fused Thunderblade Technique (混元霹靂刀)—a technique possible only when one’s blade, heart, and soul were perfectly united.
But forcing his internal energy caused a metallic taste of blood to fill his mouth.
His face contorted slightly.
He was certain the man couldn’t have dodged that strike—
but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Where is he?
Then—he felt it. A formless aura from behind.
Peng Jiryang turned—
and a powerful palm struck him square in the chest.
“Guhh!”
The single blow shook his entire body, rattling his internal organs and nearly destroying his energy center.
He stumbled backward, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
Though Peng Jiryang himself was a master of external arts, he had never heard of anyone possessing such monstrous strength.
“Who… are you?”
The man didn’t answer.
He vanished—then reappeared right in front of Peng Jiryang in the blink of an eye.
“This is the second strike.”
Another devastating palm followed.
It landed precisely where Peng Jiryang’s internal wound was, and blood poured uncontrollably from his lips.
His vision wavered, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to stay conscious.
It no longer mattered who this man was—
all that filled him now was the will to kill him.
Peng Jiryang’s blade began to move like a dance—swift, ferocious, tearing through the air with violent gusts.
Each swing, infused with immense qi, caused the chamber to crumble around them.
Yet the man effortlessly dodged every attack.
Not once did Peng Jiryang’s blade so much as graze his robe.
“Graaaaah!”
Overcome by rage, Peng Jiryang roared.
The man, who had disappeared again, suddenly appeared—
standing calmly on the very tip of Peng Jiryang’s blade, looking down on him.
“Let’s end this.”
For the first time, the man drew his sword.
What emerged was a blade darker than the night sky.
I’ve never seen such a sword before.
He had seen countless divine weapons, but this black blade was utterly foreign—its aura deeply unsettling.
And yet, one thing was certain:
it exuded an ominous, evil energy.
Moments later, a wave of explosive demonic qi burst out from it—
so oppressive it felt as though it could crush one’s body and even thoughts.
“Th-the Demonic Cult…!”
There was no mistaking it now. Peng Jiryang had fought and slain many cultists before, but this aura—this presence—was unmistakably theirs.
His teeth ground together.
“You bastard! Where is Seojin?!”
Gathering the last of his strength, he swung his blade with all his might.
Kwagwagwang!
The ground split apart with a thunderous roar.
But the man evaded it like a ghost.
“Where is he!”
The man floated through the air, landing right before Peng Jiryang.
As he raised his sword vertically, an overwhelming killing intent radiated from him—so heavy it pressed down like a physical weight.
“Ugh…”
Unable to withstand it, Peng Jiryang’s knees began to buckle.
And then—he saw it.
“……!”
Six arms sprouted from the man’s back.
The limbs were grotesquely long, their nails black as pitch, like the hands of a demon.
Five of the six hands each gripped a sword—only one hand was empty.
The man’s eyes glowed blood-red as he stared at Peng Jiryang.
At that instant, Peng Jiryang felt it—death.
His body dropped to its knees of its own accord, as if in worship,
staring at that terrifying, divine spectacle.
Then it dawned on him—
the martial art he had heard about endlessly fifty years ago.
The Asura Blood Heaven Sword (阿修羅血天劍).
A technique that allowed its wielder to manifest the six arms of the demon god Asura.
Once perfected, all six arms would wield swords simultaneously.
The man before him had formed five.
He hadn’t yet perfected it—but he was on the verge of doing so.
Then that could only mean one thing—
“You… you’re the Heavenly Demon!”
Even as he stood on the brink of death, Peng Jiryang shouted with the strength of a lion’s roar.
At the same time, his blade released one final surge of qi—its last desperate act.
For the first time, a small wound appeared on the man’s body.
The black bamboo hat slipped off his head, and a thin cut marked his cheek.
When the man’s face was finally revealed, Peng Jiryang found it strangely familiar.
The aura was completely different, making it hard to recognize at first—
“Y-you…!”
