Chapter 473: I Don’t Believe in Legends (9)

Jeollak Fortress and the Tyrant Force Sect split apart.

If the heart of an Absolute martial artist had to be offered, then at the very least it could not be the heart of a Jeollak Fortress or Tyrant Force Sect martial artist!

The two sects had reached the same conclusion.

If it were merely a Top-tier martial artist, they might have been able to cajole one with words.

But Absolute?

That was the very core of a sect’s power.

If young, they were treasures to be nurtured further; if old, they were seasoned veterans who had survived countless campaigns.

The night was pitch-black.

Torches flickered, shadows swaying wildly, casting restless light.

In that moment, the two sects’ eyes flicked anxiously, gauging each other’s numbers.

The Ten Evil Celestial Sects were ranked Five Thousand, Five Stars.

By sheer size, the Tyrant Force Sect was among the three great powers of the Five Thousand, far more prosperous than Jeollak Fortress.

But in terms of the force present here and now, with Jeollak Fortress’s lord himself on the scene, Jeollak Fortress had the overwhelming advantage.

The Tyrant Force Sect martial artists began to edge sideways, securing the path of retreat.

If attacked head-on, they would certainly lose—regardless of their sect’s overall strength, the search party would be crushed.

So they were preparing to run.

Jung Gichung’s eyes shook violently.

Strike now? Or not?

But could one guarantee catching an Absolute master who bolted in the middle of the night?

And if they missed?

Could they withstand the Tyrant Force Sect’s vengeance?

Still, if they fought, they could win immediately.

Future troubles? If they obtained the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, why would they ever fear the Tyrant Force Sect again?

But Jung Gichung held himself back.

From the very gate, this strange mechanism demanded the heart of an Absolute martial artist.

Could there not be more traps within?

How vast was the interior?

If they charged in right away, would they not simply blunder into traps, paving the way for whoever came later?

Besides, the fireworks had flared so brilliantly that even those skulking outside the mountain would be climbing up now.

Meanwhile, the Tyrant Force Sect martial artists secured their flank with the retreat at their side.

It was an unspoken signal: if attacked, they would flee.

No one had commanded it; they had instinctively shifted positions.

That was the Evil Path for you—perfect harmony when it came to securing one’s own safety.

“Elder, this is no time for us to fight. You too came here because of the fireworks, did you not? Every riffraff and wanderer will be rushing here—we cannot let the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art fall into their hands.”

“Then what? Does Your Lordship plan to offer an Absolute’s heart yourself?”

So replied Sixth Elder of the Tyrant Force Sect, leading the search party in his young master’s stead.

Jung Gichung shook his head.

“Among the riffraff, there should be at least one Absolute. With the pillars of the Evil Path united, securing one heart will not be difficult.”

Not incorrect. But still—?

This was the same Sixth Elder who had disgraced himself at the meeting, railing against the Blood Sect only to lapse into raving praise of that calligraphy.

But that was only because the brushwork had truly been magnificent.

To recognize such quality meant one had seen much writing, and to have seen much writing meant one had read much.

The Sixth Elder’s mind raced.

If they clashed now, they would lose.

But Jeollak Fortress could not afford to fight either.

The losses would be too great, and then they would be helpless against the riffraff soon to arrive.

Yet—

Would those bastards ever share the manual with them?

Of course not.

Even if the Tyrant Force Sect obtained it, would they pass on such a peerless divine art?

They had not even been able to protect the Sect Leader’s son, the heir himself.

And no matter how “fair” the Sect Leader claimed to be, what father’s heart would not lean otherwise?

Besides, Tyrant Force Sect Lord Kang Chuon was hardly the image of fairness.

Even if they handed over the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, they would be discarded like worn-out hounds.

Far better, then...

The Sixth Elder swallowed down his sinister thoughts.

“Very well. We cannot let riffraff take the Saljungsal of the world. Then do you have a proper plan?”

“Among the wanderers and minor sect trash, surely one Absolute exists. We seize one to open the gate. The rest we drive in first—they’ll break the traps with their bodies.”

“Ohh. Truly a divine stratagem, Your Lordship.”

Thus the two sects eased slightly, though their hands still rested on sword-hilts as they faced one another.

Of course.

They had agreed to cooperate.

But how would they divide the manual?

It was no common scripture to be split—“one volume for you, one for me.”

In the end, they would fight for it.

It was at that moment.

-## ### ##### #......

A strange string of syllables, muttered flatly, as if in a whisper.

Not quite the Six Harmonies Transmission that carried whispers from all directions.

Still, it was no ordinary inner force: a voice from one direction rang clear to all.

All eyes turned toward a rocky outcrop below.

There, emerging in the glow of the torches, appeared a monk—gaunt to the point of grotesque.

His body was nothing but skin over bone, like a mummy.

But in the hollow sockets, his eyes glared with a savage gleam, enough to make them all flinch.

Since cooperation had already been declared, the one of highest rank—Jeollak Fortress Lord Jung Gichung—stepped forward and saluted with fists clasped.

—stepped forward and saluted with fists clasped.

“May I ask who the elder before us is?”

The monk glowered, then rasped in a gravelly voice:

“Slow... ly...”

“Eh? What do you mean, slowly?”

“Central Plains tongue... difficult. This one, Amukhalab.”

“Amukhalab!” “The Freak Monk!” “Amukhalab!”

The Freak Monk Amukhalab.

“Freak” was a title given not to those of harsh temperament, but to those inconsistent, unpredictable—sometimes acting as a demonic butcher, sometimes as a righteous knight. Neither here nor there. Strange. Unfathomable.

“And what business brings the Freak Monk into Central Plains aff—”

Amukhalab lifted a hand, cutting Jung Gi-chung off.

Then spoke again:

“Slowly. Central Plains people think everyone speaks Central Plains tongue. ###, no mother exist.”

The middle word was unintelligible.

But all understood: some curse.

It was insulting, but delivered so awkwardly that it lacked any sting.

“This one come seeking Absorbing Star Great Law. Step aside. This one’s martial arts—very fierce.”

Jung Gi-chung thought quickly.

Should he strike down this old monster of the Western Regions now?

He glanced at the Sixth Elder. The man gave a slight nod, signaling.

Jung Gi-chung raised three fingers.

Then two. Then one.

Just as the last finger was about to fold—

Thump. A light sound of something landing.

But what landed was no light thing: a mass of flesh weighing easily two hundred and fifty catties.

A short man, but so buried in fat that his face features were squashed to the middle, his body swollen round like a pig’s bladder.

A sight impossible to forget after one glance.

Known throughout the Central Plains as Pobidon, the “Flying Pig.”

“Quite a crowd of guests already.”

“Pobidon!” “Pobidon!” “One of the Five Vagabonds!”

“Indeed, I am Pobidon, who bears the pig among the Five Vagabonds. Heh heh. Tyrant Force Sect, Jeollak Fortress? And a lama monk too? Why should such esteemed masters, who already hold great martial arts, take everything? Why not leave such a manual for us rootless wanderers?”

“You dare disrupt the affair of the Ten Evil Celestial Sects?”

But Pobidon calmly dug at his ear.

Even that small motion looked powerful, his fat arms swelling like hams.

“Honestly, with just the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, one could seize a great seat in the Demonic Union. What’s so great about a little disruption?”

“What? Can you answer for such words?”

“Are you not being too stingy to us rootless strays? Don’t you agree?”

“Mm, mm. Well said.”

From the mountain path came another figure.

On both hands she wore long steel claws, a strange weapon known as the iron talon.

A woman wielding iron talons—everyone knew the name: Joo Ayo Lee Hyhye.

And she was famous for her three loyal followers.

Sure enough, three strapping men flanked her left, right, and rear like escorts.

“Well, if it isn’t Joo Ayo. Has this lady come seeking the demonic manual as well?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? My lifelong wish is to master a true divine art.”

“Isn’t your Eight Iron Claws already a divine art?”

“Oh, come now. Brother Pobidon, aren’t you satisfied with your Six-Step Vajra Art?”

Those who wielded strange weapons and bizarre martial arts craved peerless manuals more than anyone.

“Strange weapon” sounded glamorous, but aside from their novelty—making them difficult to counter—they were flawed.

If they were truly superior, everyone would use them, like sword or saber.

And strange martial arts were the same.

The Six-Step Vajra Art grew fat upon the body, granting thick defense.

But if it were truly efficient, would all martial artists not be waddling about too fat to wipe their own asses? Why then did the great ones remain lean and lithe?

If such flawed arts could still make one’s name, imagine if they had learned true divine arts—jokingly, the very map of the world’s top masters might have changed.

No wonder they thirsted so.

Jung Gi-chung gnashed his teeth inwardly.

Of all people, why did this pig have to come here!

The Five Vagabonds were the five greatest of the wanderer masters.

Yes, there might be others in hiding even stronger.

But these five were active, admired by all wanderers, each worthy to represent them.

If Pobidon rallied the vagabonds, the plan to capture an Absolute and shove others into the tomb to break traps would collapse.

And that was exactly his aim.

Thus, as more arrived, the scene settled into a three-way standoff: the Evil Path factions, the vagabonds, and the ambiguous ones—neither Righteous nor fully Demonic—like Amukhalab.

As the crowd grew, the atmosphere thickened with killing intent.

One Absolute must die.

Only then would the gate open.

It was into this tense standoff that Qing’s group finally arrived at the West Gate.

Though they had departed late due to preparing disguises, their climb had been swift—Cheon Yuhak’s map in his head, combined with Qing’s supernatural night-vision, had guided them well.

The stone gate was already the center of a three-way deadlock.

One side: the Demonic Union.

And the others?

Then Cheon Yuhak stepped forward and placed their group squarely with the third side—those vagabonds and nameless martial artists.

‘Master? Is this right? This place is crawling with scum. Do you at least know anyone here?’

‘The formation is like a tripod cauldron. In such times, you take the weakest leg.’

By “tripod cauldron formation,” he meant the famed Three-Part Division of the World, attributed to Zhuge Liang—though truthfully, it was the older strategist Guichul who first proposed it. Well, too bad for him that he wasn’t more famous.

A great cauldron had three legs. With three, it stood steady even on uneven ground.

Four legs would wobble, two could not stand.

Thus, in a three-way standoff, one attached oneself to the weakest and watched.

So they joined the most outnumbered side—the miscellaneous remainder.

Five more joining brought both suspicion and relief: the group was wary, but oddly reassured.

Qing listened as the details emerged.

To open the stone gate, an Absolute’s heart?

Otherwise the passage would collapse?

“Heh. A tomb of the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art’s master indeed—vicious from the very threshold. Hm.”

—A little unsightly, but time to change sides.

Cheon Yuhak sent a soundless transmission.

Qing shot back aloud:

—Why!!!

Cheon Yuhak’s face twisted.

Not only him, but all the martial artists within earshot scowled at Qing.

This was why Qing almost never used sound transmission. She could never regulate the volume.

—Idiot, just come whisper in my ear! The point is, unless the gate is opened, we can’t even get in to destroy the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art. And by the look of it, the vagabond side is the weakest. Let’s go to them.

But Qing did not budge.

She only toyed with the false flesh pasted to her chin.

—Why?

She leaned to whisper into her master’s ear:

“If the gate collapses, then no one can enter, right?”

—We can’t enter either.

“And why do we need to enter?”

—To destroy that damned manual, of course—ah.

Qing grinned, mischievous and sly.