Chapter 164
The full moon shone brightly, illuminating the freshly fallen snow, making the night almost as bright as day.
Yeoil did not return to the Wi clan but moved across rooftops and over walls, exploring the Cheonma Sect. As always, he intended to carefully observe the exact layout of the place in case of emergencies.
The Cheonma Sect was a silent land.
At night, not even the wind seemed to cry. Perhaps due to the severe cold, no one was on the streets after sunset.
From the pinewood beams supporting the black bricks came a chilling aura.
Inside the walls, everything—the streets, the walls, the main gates, even the guesthouses—fit together seamlessly, as if it had been planned that way from the start. The artisans here were evidently skilled; the arched patterns placed throughout the buildings were exceptionally neat and harmonious.
If the main streets were like this, the alleys were no less orderly, clean, and meticulous, making it easy to get lost.
Yeoil recalled the view of the Cheonma Sect from the cliff. Its hexagonal structure was perfect, not a trace of error visible. Inside, it was just as meticulous.
That must have been why…
His steps halted before one building.
The signboard was gone, the main gate broken—but the red-painted letters remained clear:
Heretic
No Entry
“Could this be the residence of a heretic of the Cheonma Sect?”
From the length of the wall and the size of the gate, he could guess that the heretic’s status had not been ordinary.
Scanning the surroundings, Yeoil stepped inside the mansion.
It was a ruin. Snow-covered weeds choked the inner courtyard, and the main hall bore marks of being struck with an axe.
The drawers were empty, and no decorative items were intact.
Inside the inner hall lay a half-burned piece of paper. The words written on it read:
<A Shout to the Criminal Gwangbyeok>
A chilling screech sounded at that moment.
In the moonlight, a silver blade fell precisely between the characters “Gwang” and “Byeok”.
Yeoil twisted backward just in time to avoid the blade grazing his chest.
Thud-thud.
The figure that had approached silently was a man unfamiliar to him.
Without a mask, wearing a striking black robe, he held a sword and looked at Yeoil with cold eyes.
As if he had been waiting, Bangwoo appeared from the shadows to protect Yeoil.
Yeoil passed by him, seizing the sword from its scabbard.
“Don’t intervene.”
“….”
The man assumed a stance, gripping his sword.
Satisfied, the man silently removed his black robe, throwing it into the dust, and then advanced toward Yeoil.
His swordsmanship was rough—but not unpredictable or cheap—it was fierce yet refined, like a nobleman’s blade.
He did not reveal his identity nor scold Yeoil for entering a restricted area.
Yeoil guessed, “Perhaps he belongs to Jin Cheong-ak or the sect leader.”
Testing Yeoil’s skill with swift thrusts and feints, the man seemed displeased with Yeoil’s focus solely on defense and evasion.
Suddenly, he stopped moving, drew a deep breath, and slowly opened his eyes.
Within his black pupils, a swirling vortex could be felt.
Simultaneously, a faint but peculiar black aura began to rise from the sword—so faint it was barely perceptible, yet unmistakably dark.
“…Mana art.”
In an instant, the man’s figure disappeared.
The presence reappeared directly above Yeoil, crushing the air with the weight of his body, descending vertically.
Clang-ggik-
The sword cried under the pressure.
If I confront him head-on, this mansion will collapse.
The sword, barely held, snapped in two.
The man swung his blade as if to cleave Yeoil in half—but in the next instant, Yeoil vanished without leaving a single strand of hair.
The sword struck the floor.
Bang—!
The ground trembled slightly, the wooden floor shattered, scattering like broken porcelain.
It was sheer destructive force.
Yes, undoubtedly.
But that was as far as it went.
“Withdraw your mana.”
The man kept the sword embedded in the floor, lowering his gaze to look at Yeoil’s neck.
The broken sword, a mere span in length, pierced his neck, drawing a thin line of blood that stained his clothing.
“Three.”
“….”
“Two.”
“….”
“One.”
The black mana that had shrouded the man’s sword gradually dissipated.
“Put it down.”
He dropped the sword. Yeoil kicked it toward Bangwoo.
“Your blade is ruined. Use this one from now on,” she said.
The man glared in disbelief.
“By whose orders?”
“Why? Is the price of life too cheap?”
As Yeoil and the man glared at each other, a gruff voice came from Bangwoo, holding the sword:
“…There’s a name inscribed on it.”
The man’s eyebrows furrowed. Yeoil asked,
“What does it say?”
“Gwangje. Seems to be a name.”
“….”
So, the man appearing in the ruins with the paper marked Gwangbyeok was named Gwangje.
“Your fighting style is… unusual, to put it politely. If I’m honest, it’s unprincipled. Are you truly a disciple of Gwangbyeok?”
Yeoil’s eyes narrowed sharply at the accusation.
She had never been a disciple of Gwangbyeok—only indebted to him slightly.
Yet, she recalled a statement from the Jin family head:
[I heard you are a disciple of Sword Demon Gwangbyeok. If you fulfill this request… I will tell you the location of Gwangbyeok’s birthplace.]
Ah, right.
So this must be the mansion of the heretic Gwangbyeok.
Realizing this, a strange feeling overtook her.
For a poor old man to have such a mansion…
Then Gwangje—
Looking down at the man who seemed over thirty but under forty—Yeoil clenched her fist and struck her head.
The man, feeling a throb in his skull, steadied his breath and glared at her with murderous intent.
Unfazed, Yeoil spoke:
“Don’t get excited. It was Gwangbyeok’s last wish.”
<27. If you meet the Gwang clan in Shingang, give them a good scolding.>
At this, Gwangje’s expression slowly hardened. Something seemed to cross his mind.
At first, I thought that Gwang fellow was just a creditor.
Only now did he realize it was a blood relation.
But where was he, and what was he doing, to strike without warning…
At that moment:
“Are you really certain? I think I heard strange noises nearby.”
“Probably from the Cho clan behind here. Cho Ihyeon swings his wooden sword every night. Sometimes the trees break, I hear.”
It was indeed the same faint voice as before.
The three of them, including Yeoil, turned toward the entrance of the inner courtyard. Feeling two presences approaching, they held their breath.
Gwangje looked at them sharply and said:
“I have no companions.”
Clearly, these people were unrelated.
Still, stepping fully into a restricted area was risky.
Then:
“…Stop! That’s enough. Haven’t I already told you? My name is already on the death list. I cannot oppose the Cho clan!”
Death list?
Holding Gwangje’s neck under threat, Yeoil pressed him tightly as a middle-aged voice became clearer:
“You know it too, don’t you? Cheonmuryong never spares those on the death list! There’s no choice but to survive!”
A nervous, almost irritable voice. A young man accompanying the middle-aged figure calmly tried to soothe him:
“Please calm down. The leader will assist you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. In this sect, the strongest always rises to the leader. The leader will not interfere in this matter.”
Even the young man seemed unable to contradict him, remaining silent.
“…But sir. Cho Iryang cannot handle even basic weapons. To make such a one the sect leader is a disgrace! And yet, you propose him as a sub-leader… Do you have no pride?”
“Shut up! It’s not a matter of pride. We’re just waiting for the right time.”
“The right time?”
“…Ha! Listen. We are not ignorant. Yes, Cho Iryang is not fit to be near the leader. At most, he could command troops… But as you said, one who cannot wield martial arts properly—how could he awaken as the master of ten thousand demons?”
“….”
“They have their own plan. Even I cannot reveal it, so just know that much.”
No.
Even if he does not know, I must understand that plan.
Yeoil broke through the fragile wooden doors and leaped into the inner courtyard, lunging at the middle-aged man with a face as if he had seen a ghost, grabbing and shaking his collar…
…Hmm?
