Episode 141: The Demonic Sect

The number of pursuers was not large compared to those fleeing. It seemed they had hastily gathered a group to give chase.

But in the world of martial artists, the outcome of a battle isn’t determined by numbers alone. It’s the level of skill that truly matters.

And with their internal energy severely hindered, the fugitives were at a significant disadvantage.

Yet, there was no viable escape plan. They simply couldn’t move fast enough to outpace their pursuers.

Gradually, the group’s pace slowed until, as if by unspoken agreement, they all stopped and turned to face their pursuers.

“Is this the end of the line?” San Anbul remarked to Tang Mujin.

“I told you to run,” San Anbul said.

“Even if we’re caught a bit later, it won’t change much. It’s better to lend a hand,” Tang Mujin replied.

“Hmm.”

San Anbul looked at Tang Mujin with a hint of admiration. The ability to make rational decisions in such dire circumstances meant Tang Mujin had survived many trials.

San Anbul felt a pang of regret. “What a shame. If only he could survive another ten years, he’d be a force to be reckoned with anywhere.”

San Anbul loosened his muscles, thinking, “Even if things go awry, I must ensure this one survives. It would be a waste for him to die here.”

The group assessed their pursuers. There were just over twenty of them. Only six or seven had surpassed the pinnacle of martial arts, but leading them was a supreme master, Wu Ho-beop.

San Anbul thought, “If it weren’t for the poison, we could have easily evaded them. Should we have waited to purge the poison before escaping?”

No, if they had delayed, they would have faced even more enemies. In the worst case, they might not have escaped the valley where the prison was located.

San Anbul clicked his tongue and lowered his stance.

Meanwhile, Tang Mujin straightened up and looked to the sky. A large bird circled above, eyeing something below.

“Why is that bird following us? We left plenty of food behind.”

As Tang Mujin squinted at the bird, he noticed something—the color of its tail feathers. They were different from the bird that had been nesting. It dawned on him that this was not the nesting bird but another that had been circling nearby. Perhaps it was the male.

The bird’s gaze was fixed on Tang Mujin, or more precisely, on Mok Wana, who was strapped to his back.

“Ah!”

Tang Mujin wasn’t sure if the bird could eat humans, but from the perspective of a bird that feeds on poison, Mok Wana must seem like a tempting meal.

Mok Wana’s body was infused with poison, and on top of that, it was a poison even his body couldn’t withstand.

“If only it would drop its poison on the pursuers instead of circling above us.”

But things rarely go as one wishes.

The bird’s gaze remained locked on Mok Wana. Given that Tang Mujin, who was carrying Mok Wana, was well-versed in poisons, it was no surprise.

Wu Ho-beop, at the head of the pursuers, drew his sword and spoke.

“Before the bird spreads its poison, let’s finish this quickly and return. I’ll capture San Anbul alive, so focus on subduing as many as possible. Avoid unnecessary killing, but don’t hesitate to take lives if necessary.”

San Anbul chuckled dryly at this.

“You think you can capture me with your skills?”

Capturing someone requires a significant skill gap. Wu Ho-beop’s abilities were a notch below San Anbul’s.

“Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult. But now, it seems you can’t even use your internal energy properly. Why wouldn’t it be possible?”

“Arrogant.”

San Anbul flexed his right hand, glaring at Wu Ho-beop.

“Let’s see if you can still talk like that after I break your neck.”

“My neck will be just fine, and by tonight, you’ll be back resting in the prison.”

Wu Ho-beop walked steadily toward San Anbul. San Anbul, like an animal puffing up its fur, spread his shoulders wide and tensed his back muscles, appearing larger than life.

And as if on cue, the two clashed.

At first glance, it seemed San Anbul was pushing forward. Despite the difficulty in using his internal energy, he had the upper hand in strength.

But Wu Ho-beop was the one gaining ground. With three swift strikes of his sword, he left a deep wound on San Anbul’s right forearm—a symbolic scene.

“Not good.”

Tang Mujin set Mok Wana down and joined the fray, sword in hand. Hong Geolgae, standing nearby, spoke up.

“You look unsteady. Just stay back and don’t get in the way.”

“If you were a bit more reliable, I might have.”

“You’re not much help. Don’t be stubborn and fall back.”

Hong Geolgae’s words were not dismissive but considerate.

Tang Mujin was skilled in many areas, each extraordinary in its own right, enough to survive anywhere.

Except in one situation: getting caught in a fight and dying to a stray blade. Hong Geolgae wanted Tang Mujin to live.

But Tang Mujin had no intention of abandoning his friends who had come to help him.

“When guests come to help, how can the host just sit back?”

“Ugh.”

There was no time for further conversation as the pursuers charged.

Clang—

The two groups collided, and the unpleasant sound of clashing metal filled the air. What began as a somewhat orderly exchange of techniques quickly devolved into chaos. The clear clang of metal turned into the screeching wail of steel scraping against steel.

Tang Mujin swung his sword frantically. But the poison made his body heavy, and his mind felt foggy, as if shrouded in mist.

In the midst of this precarious battle, Tang Mujin felt a sharp pain in his ankle and lost his balance.

It wasn’t just the poison that caused him to fall. A man with thin lips and beady eyes had kicked Tang Mujin’s ankle.

“Is this the end?”

The shock cleared Tang Mujin’s mind. As he floated in the air, he saw the man’s empty hands. Fortunately, there was no weapon. It seemed the man practiced a form of martial arts.

The man then clasped his fists together and struck Tang Mujin’s chest with force.

Tang Mujin didn’t know what martial art it was, but it was effective. He felt a sharp pain as if his left rib was breaking.

Simultaneously, Tang Mujin was sent flying several yards, rolling unceremoniously.

Dust rose, obscuring his vision. The man with thin lips seemed to think Tang Mujin was dealt with, giving him a brief glance before engaging another opponent.

Tang Mujin tried to get up but collapsed again.

He hadn’t been much help so far, and with a broken rib, he was even less likely to be of any use.

“Damn it.”

He spat out the saliva gathered in his mouth. Thankfully, there was no blood. It seemed the rib hadn’t punctured any organs.

Tang Mujin clung to his fading consciousness, watching the battle unfold. The pursuers were the ones displaying their martial prowess.

In less than half an hour, the outcome was nearly decided.

Some had died, while others quickly surrendered to save their lives. Only a few, including San Anbul, continued to resist.

“Is it over?”

San Anbul’s body was covered in sword wounds, his pants stained red with blood. He looked like a boar being hunted.

San Anbul was only holding on because Wu Ho-beop wanted to capture him alive. If the goal had been to kill, he would have been dead by now.

San Anbul gritted his teeth and spoke.

“Wu Ho-beop, consider yourself lucky. If it weren’t for this situation, I’d have smashed your skull.”

Wu Ho-beop replied nonchalantly.

“Perhaps.”

The fight was nearing its end. Tang Mujin’s heart raced.

San Anbul, Tang Mujin, and the others who fled the Demonic Sect might survive if they surrendered.

But Namgung Myung and Hong Geolgae, who weren’t from the Demonic Sect, would likely be executed. There was a limit to how many defectors they could accept.

Tang Mujin staggered to his feet.

“Isn’t there any way?”

He saw nothing, but he felt something. The poison behind him had suddenly intensified.

“What is it?”

Tang Mujin turned around. The bird had landed and was inspecting Mok Wana, who lay sprawled on the ground. It seemed to be contemplating how to devour him.

Tang Mujin slowly crawled toward Mok Wana. The bird, sensing Tang Mujin’s weakened state, didn’t seem particularly wary.

Instead, it stared at Tang Mujin with the emotionless eyes typical of birds.

“I don’t like this.”

Tang Mujin approached Mok Wana and crouched, waiting.

When the bird extended its long neck to peck at Mok Wana, Tang Mujin sprang up like a released arrow, grabbing the bird’s neck.

“Squawk!”

The bird flapped its wings wildly, twisting its body. With its frantic movements, a thick cloud of poison was released.

Dang Mujin felt the excruciating pain of his broken ribs jostling inside him, yet his hands remained firmly clamped around the neck of the jimsae.

The bird’s cries sent people scattering in panic.

“What the hell, how did that damn bird get here?”

“Why is he fighting with a jimsae now?”

“Get back! It’s poisonous!”

In the next moment, Dang Mujin did something that left everyone bewildered.

He opened his mouth wide and bit into the jimsae’s neck.

A shrill cry erupted from the bird as warm blood splattered everywhere.

“Is he insane? What is he doing?”

The crowd erupted in shock and curses, but Dang Mujin had no time to care about their reactions.

His hands, gripping the jimsae, felt as if thousands of insects were crawling beneath his skin, gnawing at his flesh. The pain was secondary to the sheer disgust.

To make matters worse, his mouth went numb where the bird’s blood had touched, leaving only a faint metallic taste.

But he couldn’t stop now. Dang Mujin bit into the jimsae’s neck a few more times.

The bird thrashed wildly for a while before its movements began to slow.

It was a bizarre and reckless act, but the aura of danger surrounding him was so intense that no one dared to intervene.

Staggering to his feet, Dang Mujin swung his sword at the struggling jimsae.

Thwack.

The sharp blade of his sword sliced through the bird from neck to belly in one swift motion.

The amount of blood that sprayed out was staggering. The poison in the blood was so potent that people scrambled away, even crawling if they had to.

Yet Dang Mujin pressed forward. He plunged his right hand into the bird’s belly, rummaging through its insides.

‘If the jimsae is a mystical creature, it might have an inner core.’

Blood splattered into his eyes, blurring his vision. With his hand buried in the bird’s warm, slimy innards, he felt around, the sensation of torn flesh unpleasant and unsettling.

Someone shouted upon seeing him.

“Does he think there’s an inner core in that bird?”

“Looks like it!”

Laughter erupted from a few onlookers. It seemed the jimsae had no inner core. Dang Mujin’s heart sank.

‘Damn it.’

Just then, his hand brushed against something with a powerful aura.

It wasn’t an inner core. It wasn’t something imbued with a benevolent energy.

It was something like a chicken’s gizzard, about half the size of a fist, filled with a dark, ominous substance.

Dang Mujin realized what it was. A poison sac.

It was far more potent than the poison sac of the Seven-Colored Snake he had once swallowed.

Just touching it made him fear his skin might rot away from the sheer toxicity.

But he had no choice. If he hesitated now, he’d be captured by the cult indefinitely, and Namgung Myung and Hong Geolgae would lose their heads.

In a trance, Dang Mujin swallowed the poison sac. Someone screamed.

“Spit it out! That’s not an inner core!”

Dang Mujin knew. It was madness.

But he believed there was a chance. He had seen the path of Mok Wana.

Those who encounter poison usually succumb to it and die.

But Mok Wana had survived by balancing precariously between poisoning and death, emerging with a strange result: an inner power infused with poison.

Dang Mujin believed he could also walk that tightrope.

‘If Mok Wana, who hadn’t mastered poison arts, could do it, there’s no reason I can’t.’

His only concern was that the poison he faced was far stronger than what Mok Wana had encountered.

As the poison sac dissolved in his stomach, a torrent of poison surged through him.

At the same time, Dang Mujin’s eyes rolled back. His eyes showed only the whites, as if blood vessels had burst. It was clear to anyone that he was not in a normal state.

‘Endure.’

Dang Mujin’s body stood rigid like a stake driven into the ground.

But it wasn’t a normal stance. Though his feet were planted, his upper body hung forward, maintaining a precarious balance as if he might topple at any moment.

Meanwhile, black blood trickled from his mouth. It wasn’t from a cut but from internal bleeding rising from his organs. Observers thought he was dead.

Dang Mujin’s consciousness was not on the plains near Mount Tian, but in a stark white space.

A place with towering walls. It wasn’t unfamiliar.

He looked up at the high wall and touched the hilt of his sword.

But he knew. The sword was sharper than any in the world, yet his understanding hadn’t reached the sharpness of the blade.

Still, Dang Mujin didn’t retreat. He stood still, gazing at the wall.

There was no need to cut through the wall. Perhaps he could find a way over it.

Behind him, a wave surged.

There was no blue sea or white foam. Only a black, sticky wave with ominous purple froth.

It wasn’t water but poison. A wave of poison so thick it would stain forever if touched.

The wave of poison engulfed Dang Mujin, but it wasn’t enough. It kept pouring endlessly.

The white space turned black, and soon the wave began to climb the wall, like floodwaters breaching a dam.

Dang Mujin swam through the poisonous current. He didn’t know where he was going. He only swam upward, toward the surface. Sink and die, or break the surface and survive.

Finally, Dang Mujin broke through the surface of the poison, gasping for air.

He turned to look back.

Behind him was the wall, and beyond it, the poison churned.

Whether this could be called crossing the wall, he didn’t know.

It was a method no one had tried before, a way no one had succeeded with.

Even the monstrous couldn’t cross the wall this way. They had only added the art of poison to their already supreme skills.

But the method of crossing didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Dang Mujin had reached the other side.

Slowly, Dang Mujin opened his eyes.