Chapter 204

Chapter 204: Makeup and Plastic Surgery (3)

The Jin Family.

In the territory of the Central Capital, it was an illustrious household with a legacy spanning more than three centuries, holding a grand reputation even among the subordinate branches of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

From one generation to the next, it had unceasingly supplied direct line disciples to the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect, and at present, twenty-seven martial artists bearing the Jin name were actively serving within the sect.

This number included two prominent elders and three individuals holding the rank of corps leader.

Jin Muhyeok drew his first breath as the eldest grandson of this very lineage.

The foremost grandson of a highly respected family.

From the dawn of his existence, his path had already been carved out.

He gripped a blade at the age of five.

By seven, he had commenced the cultivation of his baseline Internal Energy.

At ten, he gained entry into the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect and was assigned to the Patrol Sword Corps.

On the day he was formally initiated.

His father and the patriarch of the house, Jin Hoyeon, had imparted these words to him.

—You carry the mantle of the eldest grandson of the Jin Family. For three hundred years, our house has stood as a cornerstone of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect. Never lose sight of the immense responsibility of that heritage.

On that very day, he took personal possession of the ancestral treasure, the Evil-Slaying Sword.

True to its designation as a weapon meant to eradicate Evil Qi, Jin Muhyeok pledged to become a blade more honorable than any other.

—With this weapon, sever wickedness. Support the Righteous Path. That is the calling of our house.

The Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

Within an institution dedicated to upholding justice and honor, he had cut down countless wrongdoers and shielded the innocent.

With absolute purity.

With burning passion.

Naturally, minor complications arose along the way while defending the grand purpose.

A handful of peasants losing their lives during a campaign against bandits.

A small conflagration spreading while putting a notorious villain of the Jianghu to death.

Slaying a target based on intelligence reports, even when concrete proof was lacking.

Or offering a brief indulgence to exhausted soldiers, much like what was happening today.

Yet, when all was said and done, those were minor details.

They presented no real issue in the broader scope of safeguarding the grand purpose.

Because I, because we, the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect, were extraordinary.

We were set apart.

Extraordinary entities possessed the entitlement to exact minor sacrifices from ordinary people for the sake of an extraordinary mission.

It was a privilege, a sort of compensation, earned by continuously striking down wickedness for hundreds of years.

Any martial artist belonging to the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect was naturally permitted to indulge in that advantage to the fullest.

Then why was I in this state?

Why was this Jin Muhyeok reduced to this?

Why was the Patrol Sword Corps of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect in this predicament?

For what reason were we shivering in the center of an obscure, isolated woodland?

What on earth is this…….

He cast his eyes about.

Hopelessness was deeply engraved upon the features of every single comrade.

Ashen and broken, by any definition.

These were looks he had never witnessed a single time since arriving at the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

‘Why must we endure such wretchedness?’

We belong to the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

The grandest organization within the Orthodox Murim.

The undisputed leader of the Ten Great Sects.

Is it not the natural order of things that wickedness cowers and every demonic creature holds its breath wherever we tread?

What manner of monster is tracking us down in such a treacherous, underhanded fashion?

That was the reality.

This was no engagement.

It was not even a minor clash.

It was nothing short of a slaughter.

And we had become the quarry.

It had manifested this way from the very beginning, but the realization hit Jin Muhyeok with full force now.

The perception that an unseen presence was closing in on them from every direction.

To be precise, it felt as though they were snared in a web woven from pure Qi.

The feeling persisted even now.

If anything, it had grown more suffocating.

According to the leader of the Patrol Sword Corps, Sang Gwanhwi, the phenomenon was due to them being caught within a ‘formation.’ He had assured them everything would return to normal once they cleared the settlement.

Consequently, everyone had dispersed and subsequently reunited in the woods to the south of the community.

Yet that hope proved false.

The woodland they had reached was merely dense and pitch-black.

Even the lunar glow was blocked by the overhead canopy, filtering downwards only in sparse, dim rays.

Nothing but shadows seemed to inhabit this environment.

Overgrown stones protruded randomly across the terrain, and soggy, decaying leaves crunched beneath their boots.

A dim vapor, somewhere between fog and condensation, swirled around their ankles.

A short distance away, Corps Leader Sang stood with his blade bared, scanning the darkness.

The soldiers of the Patrol Sword Corps, including himself, pressed closely together, organizing into a defensive ring.

The Vast Heaven Thirty-Man Secret Sword Formation.

The ultimate coordinated tactical array belonging to the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

An arrangement where thirty individuals operated as a singular entity, forming an impenetrable barrier of synchronized offense and defense.

A single warrior safeguards three, three safeguard nine, and nine safeguard the entirety.

A mechanism that interlocked and rotated like precision machinery.

Should one launch a strike, two would offer protection; should one parry, three would execute a thrust.

A relentless loop where activity and stillness, assault and resistance, shifted in perpetual harmony.

The directing officer occupied the core, surrounded by eight primary combatants positioned according to the Eight Trigrams, while the remaining forces formed a triple-layered perimeter encircling them.

The innermost ring was designated for protection, the middle ring for restriction, and the outermost ring for striking.

A configuration ensuring that no fewer than nine blades could react in unison, regardless of the angle of the assailant’s approach.

Yet at this moment, they were incapable of establishing that complete thirty-man array.

Twelve.

Counting the Corps Leader, they numbered scarcely thirteen.

They had already suffered further casualties during the chaotic retreat.

“…The adversary is a lone individual.”

The Corps Leader spoke with forced composure.

However, a glance revealed the cords of tension throbbing on the back of his hand.

“Maintain your resolve. We are the Patrol Sword Corps of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.”

Indeed.

We comprise the vanguard of the most formidable sect within the Orthodox Murim.

It is impossible for us to be brought down by an unidentified rustic peasant.

…

He desperately clung to that conviction, though that certainty had already been shattered to pieces.

By this point, it felt as though the entire woodland had transformed into the domain of the assailant.

No matter where they redirected their steps.

No matter where they sought concealment.

A suffocating, viscous, heavy aura trailed them, bearing down upon the psyche of every single Patrol Sword Corps operative.

If a solitary leaf brushed against another, the stalker detected it.

If a single breath slipped past their lips, the stalker perceived it.

It felt as though the very beating of their hearts was being communicated directly to him.

Is this the terror a hare experiences when pursued by a predator?

The hunter was systematically, unhurriedly, driving them into a corner.

Perspiration drenched his entire frame, chills broke out across his skin, and his teeth clicked together uncontrollably.

Pok-.

He spun his head toward the noise.

With a puncture wound piercing his brow, Jo Baek was collapsing to the earth.

Jo Baek.

A peer who had joined the ranks of the sect in the identical year as Jin Muhyeok.

A quiet and reserved but fiercely devoted companion.

The person who had chosen silence the previous winter when Jin Muhyeok had inadvertently taken the life of a peasant during an operation.

The understanding comrade who had remarked, ‘Because you carried it out, Big Brother, it must have been justified.’

The vitality was draining from the gaze of his companion, who lay leaking fluid from the puncture in his brow.

It was no concealed projectile, nothing of that nature.

It was manifested from pure Qi.

It bore no resemblance to the spinning Sword Qi he had witnessed back in the settlement.

While that technique was intended for close-quarters engagement, this was designed for extreme range.

A shaft constructed of pure light.

What manner of combat style could this be?

He had never caught wind of it, nor had he ever laid eyes upon it.

A discipline that projected energy like a marksman’s arrow.

And executed with such velocity, such unerring precision.

“Curse… it.”

An individual’s hopeless whisper cut through the dark.

Instantly.

“All forces, break into a full sprint southward!”

Corps Leader Sang roared.

At his directive, the remaining Patrol Sword Corps operatives immediately activated their Lightness Skills.

Jin Muhyeok likewise surged southward as if taking flight, sprinting like a man possessed.

His chest felt as though it might rupture.

His energy center felt on the verge of tearing apart.

Even so, slowing down was not an option.

Instead, he drained his very True Origin Qi to force his pace even higher.

Pok— Pok— Pok—.

Even as they fled, the imperceptible, silent bombardment persisted.

Every single time a brilliant golden spark ignited, an individual would drop with a final cry.

A single discharge.

Two discharges.

Three discharges.

It was flawless.

Impossibly flawless.

Even while in mid-stride.

Even while darting between limbs of trees.

Even while executing erratic maneuvers.

It never failed to strike.

A single strike, a single life.

Without variance.

Puk-!

Jin Muhyeok cast a glance to his side.

A companion who was keeping pace alongside him.

Ma Hwiyeon.

A senior martial brother who had provided significant guidance to Jin Muhyeok during his initial days in the unit.

He was the instructor who had refined his foundational blade forms and initiated him into the unwritten ‘customs’ governing the Patrol Sword Corps.

The individual who had advised him, ‘This is simply the reality of the Orthodox Murim. You will be ground to dust if you attempt to live with absolute purity.’

His throat had just been rent open.

Searing, iron-scented crimson erupted like a geyser, painting Jin Muhyeok’s left cheek.

Ma Hwiyeon’s gaze dilated.

An expression of utter astonishment.

A look that appeared to demand, ‘Why must it be me?’

There was no window for replies.

Jin Muhyeok’s lips trembled.

Stifling the sob that threatened to break free, he accelerated his stride.

He ceased to glance backward or scan his flanks.

‘I must survive. I must survive. I, above all else, must live.’

Puk-!

Another warrior hit the ground.

Gwak Chung.

He was an imposing and powerful individual.

Gwak Chung was always the one to take charge during interrogations.

A man who excelled in brute force and physical strikes.

He possessed a remarkable capability for subduing uncooperative suspects.

A cavity the dimensions of a human skull had been blasted straight through his back.

His heart, his vital organs, everything within must have been completely demolished.

Gwak Chung fell face-first, unable to manage even a gasp.

Nothing but crimson spilled from his lips.

His eyelids remained stretched wide.

“Damn it all!”

Jin Muhyeok kept running.

He focused solely on forward motion.

Survival was paramount.

As the primary heir, he was obligated to sustain the line of the Jin Family.

That stood as his solitary conviction.

The divine forces never turn their backs on the righteous.

I am a man of honor.

I have carried out my deeds in the service of justice.

Therefore, it is impossible for the divine forces to discard me.

Anchoring himself to that assurance—.

Pok-.

The back of his neck was pierced.

He failed to comprehend the sensation initially.

It was simply scalding, as though liquefied iron had been upended onto the base of his skull.

Noticing that half of his left field of vision had abruptly vanished, he deduced that his left eye had been obliterated.

It was not that the view had gone dark; it simply no longer existed.

A bizarre perception, as if the capacity for sight itself had been erased from that side.

He observed the surroundings with his surviving right eye.

Owing to the sprayed fluids, a mixture he could not identify as either his own crimson or cerebral matter rolled down his brow, blurring his sight.

His lower limbs gave way.

His joints buckled.

He plummeted forward.

His features sank into the decaying foliage.

A wet, freezing sensation.

My life is ending.

The realization drifted weakly through his consciousness.

Even as he collapsed, his capacity to hear remained functional, allowing him to distinctly catch the utterance of the monster who had brought about his end.

“Twenty-five.”

A glowing interface materialized.

A display visible solely to the gaze of Dong Bongsu.

[Sudden] The Innocent Village

․ Neutralize the brutal and pitiless Sang Gwanhwi and his faction from the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

├─ Status: 24/31

“So leaving them like this doesn’t qualify as ‘neutralized.’”

Dong Bongsu directed his gaze downward at the prostrate combatant.

The man was still drawing breath.

He hoisted his blade and brought it downward.

Shk-.

The landscape as perceived through Jin Muhyeok’s remaining eye spun in dizzying circles.

He caught sight of the firmament.

He caught sight of the timber limbs overhead.

And he caught sight of his own torso.

Ah, my head has been severed.

The thought drifted faintly across his fading awareness.

The image of the crimson, vital organs, and cerebral matter draining from his own remains, staining the soil.

The esteemed eldest grandson of the Jin Family.

The honorable blade of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

Jin Muhyeok.

Those magnificent titles rolled unceremoniously through the mud.

In his concluding breath.

A solitary, fleeting query surfaced.

‘…Was I truly a man of honor?’

Before an answer could form, the vitality completely vanished from his gaze.

Ting.

Status: 25/31

It was an entirely ‘honorable’ conclusion.

For he had transitioned into useful nourishment for the growth of a new ‘hero’.