Chapter 49

Conclusion (4)

The frozen sky shattered.

A corrosive sky that melted ice blossomed.

It was hard to believe such a spectacle had been created by a single blade.

"That should be enough."

Yeomradojon.

He acknowledged his defeat.

And so, he intended to cleanly see things through to the very end.

"To think you'd try to dirty your own hands. Tsk."

Of course, there was another reason for that.

Crunch, crack!

The sound of ice breaking.

A woman known as Sosumajon walked forward.

Her two eyes still conveyed not a shred of emotion.

"You've come."

"...."

Though there was no reply, the gaze with which Yeomradojon looked at her was endlessly warm.

"Let's go. Everything here is finished."

"...."

"Now, it is their share."

Yeomradojon walked away unhurriedly.

A vaguely troubled expression passed by like a fleeting breeze.

Before one knew it, the Dojon who had put away his blade had returned to being a single old man.

"Let's go to the Tang Clan."

"...."

Sosumajon followed him.

And so, the two Majon left Zhejiang.

**8

Neung Ryeoun, Cha Myeonghak, and Wolyeong were together with the Cheongyeondan.

The sight of them eliminating the ominous figures of the Demonic Cult who had infiltrated the Cheonmok Mountain area without a single mistake was a fresh shock.

'Strong.'

'So strong.'

Neung Ryeoun and Cha Myeonghak focused on their strength.

However, Wolyeong saw something different.

"I can feel anger."

"...."

"Anger?"

"Yes."

Perhaps because she tried to hold even their swords.

She felt it clearly.

Their refined anger.

"It feels like anger that had lost its way has finally found a path."

Originally, their anger had been directed toward the Cheon Clan.

Among them, toward Cheon Wigang.

However, that was not the right path.

The one who showed them this was Cheon Muyang.

"Those who took up the sword again, having even overcome their anger."

That was their essence.

Their anguish before taking up the sword again had been deep.

Through the swords of some of them, Wolyeong could feel it.

That they wanted to pour out the anger they had piled up.

'Please, do not lose that resolve.'

Still, that was that.

And this was this.

Wolyeong spoke casually toward Neung Ryeoun and Cha Myeonghak, who were doing nothing but marvel.

"We should train harder."

"Mm…!"

"If we want to hold our ground."

Wolyeong made a firm vow.

That someday, she would be able to break even those swords.

Neung Ryeoun and Cha Myeonghak were no exception.

Clench!

The three of them clenched their fists tightly.

They had only just shed their status as trainees.

However, they knew that could not serve as an excuse.

After all, nothing could be judged by the amount of time spent honing martial arts.

Wasn't the very example of that Cheon Muyang, whom the two acknowledged as their lord?

Kwaaang!

Was he not standing shoulder to shoulder with Cheon Wigang and Cheon Seonhak, the two absolute figures of the Cheon Clan?

That did not mean he had clearly reached the same realm as them.

Yet Cheon Muyang was standing right beside the two of them.

Kwaaang!

A thunderous roar as if heaven and earth were being split apart.

The three stood blankly, wishing only that they could stand behind Cheon Muyang's back.

"I'm going to train."

It was Wolyeong who spoke first.

She knew that she had taken up the sword later than anyone else.

So even if others were weaker than her, she learned whenever there was something to learn.

Having taken up the sword with such a mindset until now, she did not care in the slightest about the gazes around her.

She wanted to swing her sword, so she simply swung it.

"I too will join you."

"Good."

Neung Ryeoun and Cha Myeonghak stood beside Wolyeong.

Watching them from nearby, Nangwang let out a soft chuckle.

"Looks like they've received some good stimulation."

Nangwang had encountered countless people.

Among them were disciples of the Nine Great Sects, as well as disciples of small and medium-sized factions.

There was no absolute difference in their physiques or innate talents.

'Right. Things like physique or talent don't really matter at all.'

If you're born with them, they help, sure.

But not to the extent of giving you two lives.

In fact, more often than expected, disciples of the Nine Great Sects had quite ordinary physiques and talents.

Even so, in the end, it was usually those ordinary disciples of the Nine Great Sects who stood above the rest.

"Seems a good tradition is being formed."

What, then, was the difference?

Not long ago, Nangwang had come to realize it.

It was the difference in tradition.

Martial arts were meant to evolve as they passed through eras.

And that evolution included countless failures.

Failures as failures, successes as successes.

All of it piling up layer by layer under the name of tradition.

'Whether that tradition exists or not—that's what creates the gap between the Nine Great Sects and the smaller factions.'

Their very perspective was different.

The countless methodologies accumulated through a long tradition created diverse paths.

By following those paths and watching teachers and senior brothers—pioneers who had walked ahead—it became possible to break through walls.

That had nothing at all to do with talent like physique or innate ability.

'The Cheon Clan will leap forward once more.'

It couldn't be exactly the same as the tradition possessed by the Nine Great Sects, of course.

Still, something of the same vein was being planted at that very moment.

Watching the three immersed in their training, Nangwang swung his blade this way and that.

'Of course, assuming they aren't wiped out by the Demonic Cult.'

The Cheon Clan had been deeply entangled with the Demonic Cult.

Granted, now it felt as though things had ended easily enough.

But if even one thing had gone wrong, it would have spiraled into the worst possible ending.

'Whether I should call this good fortune or not, I don't know.'

The Cheon Clan had escaped the Demonic Cult's scheme.

Which, in other words, meant the Demonic Cult had failed.

That also meant that from now on, the Cheon Clan had fully entered the Demonic Cult's surveillance.

For the Cheon Clan to leap forward, they would have to overcome even this crisis.

'It really is interesting.'

Nangwang wanted to see the Cheon Clan's leap.

More precisely, he wanted to witness Cheon Muyang's wingbeats.

"Hurry and finish it."

All that remained was to strike down that leech that had been gnawing at the Cheon Clan until now.

Whether it would be a leap…

Or a fall.

Nangwang intended to watch from the Cheon Clan's side.

"I'll be watching how far you fly."

Kwaaaang!

As if they had heard Nangwang's muttering,

Three swords converged on a single point.

That point was the heart of the twisted being who had lived as Cheon Jungho until now.

Puuk!

Yet even with his heart pierced, he seemed unfazed.

Not a single drop of blood flowed.

"What a pity. I was just about to become the head of the Cheon Clan."

"Head, my ass. You're just about to die."

"Is that really so?"

The heart was the source of life.

Wasn't death nothing more than the cessation of that source's beating?

And so, death meant nothing to him.

Thump.

A heart beat.

But it wasn't his.

Clearly, more than one heartbeat could be felt.

"...."

"How many lives do you think I've absorbed over the past twenty years?"

Through death,

One gains infinite vitality.

What a paradox it was.

Yet paradoxes were precisely the essence of demonic arts.

"I'll pour everything I've accumulated over my entire life into killing you bastards!"

Countless lives could be felt.

And in proportion to the nobility of those lives, his demonic energy began to surge explosively.

Gooooooo!

The air around Mount Cheonmok was crushed under the pressure.

It was almost comparable to the oppressive presence of Yeomradojon.

At least, judging by outward momentum alone.

"Kheuheuheuh! What are the Seven Great Demon Lords anyway? Once I return to the main sect, the title of Demon Lord will exist solely for me!"

Drunk on the surging power, he stared at Cheon Muyang with arrogant eyes, as though he had become an absolute being.

Kugugugugung!

A bone-chilling pressure wrapped around Cheon Muyang.

Like a frog standing before a snake, the original Cheon Muyang should not have been able to move at all.

Yet Cheon Muyang was completely unfazed.

"Disgusting bastard. The stench of rotten flesh is overwhelming."

"...!"

"What? With all that power overflowing, do you feel like you've reached the Hwagyeong realm or something?"

"Y-you bastard…!"

"If you're getting drunk on such false power, then that was your limit from the very beginning."

Likewise with the Third Elder, a portion of the human trafficking carried out through the Black Statue had likely been used as sacrifices for them.

To Cheon Muyang's eyes, he could see resentful spirits wandering, unable to leave the Nine Heavens.

Their number was not just one.

Countless, innumerable resentments.

They were ceaselessly cursing him even now—the man who had abandoned his humanity.

"No… perhaps this is fortunate in its own way."

"What did you say?"

"At least you won't be lonely even in death."

Cheon Muyang mourned them sincerely.

No one had acknowledged them.

They must have resented the world in that loneliness, only to end such a grief-filled life.

They were lives without names, and deaths without names.

"How could this possibly be enough to honor your souls…."

Huuung!

Heavenly light burst forth.

As much as he could, he sought to ease their lingering resentments.

A light wholly different from before.

Compassion could be felt within it.

"Ah…!"

Was this the mercy of the Buddha?

Was this the mercy of the Primordial Heavenly Venerable?

He honored the souls of those resentments who had lost their innocent lives to him.

Paat!

One by one, the resentments melted away like snow.

Each time, the demonic energy that had been increasing madly within him visibly faltered.

This was only the beginning.

"No!"

He shouted in desperation, but—

The heavenly light had already honored the souls of the resentments he had lived off of.

"Sorry, but yes."

A massive hole opened in the dike.

And just like that, as if it had never existed to begin with, his swollen demonic energy shriveled into something pitiful in an instant.

"Aaah…!"

His complexion, now stripped of all pretense, turned ghastly.

Though he still bore the appearance of Cheon Wigang, it was now painfully clear who Cheon Wigang truly was.

The rapidly draining power had stolen even the youth from his appearance.

"Let's end this tiresome ill fate here."

He was the one who had gnawed away at the Cheon Clan.

What more accursed connection could there be?

The very reason Cheon Muyang of his previous life had lived as a ruffian.

The root cause of the fate that had driven him to such an end—this man was that cause.

"Die. And suffer even in death."

"N-no…!"

It was clearly visible.

A simple sword strike that could have been avoided in any direction.

But with his demonic energy completely emptied, he could not move at all and met his end.

The heavenly light split him in two, from the crown of his head to his anus.

"Is it really over now?"

"Yes. It's over."

Cheon Wigang.

And Cheon Seonhak approached.

In the eyes of those two was a pride beyond words.

"You have raised the clan back up."

"You flatter me. This is only the beginning."

"...."

"The Demonic Cult's schemes are not over yet."

"That's true."

Compared to the chaos that was soon to arrive, this was nothing more than a mild prelude.

From here on out—it truly began.

"And the rise of the newly changed Cheon Clan also begins now."

"What are you scheming?"

"I think I'll have to head out into the Jianghu soon."

"What?"

"You know. That gathering where dragons and phoenixes come together."

"You mean the Yongbong Gathering?"

"Yes. That one."

No matter how much a person changed—

That roguish smile, at least, had not changed.

"I'm thinking of going there."