Chapter 507
The Martial Genius who Remembers Everything Chapter 507: Into the Darkness (2)
Moyong Gang, Moyong Seol’s grandfather and an esteemed elder of the murim, had once passed down this piece of wisdom:
“Even within the jaws of a tiger, survival is possible for those who keep their wits sharp.”
It was a maxim they had heard countless times, so when Moyong Seol and Moyong Jaehwa nodded without a second thought, a wooden cudgel suddenly came whistling through the air.
“Ow.”
“…”
“What precisely are you nodding about when you haven’t the faintest idea?”
Moyong Jaehwa grumbled in response to his grandfather, a man revered throughout the martial arts world for his terrifying cultivation and prowess.
“Doesn’t it simply mean that if we stay calm, the tiger won’t devour us?”
Thwack!
With another display of the uncanny speed that earned him such lofty praise, Moyong Gang planted a fresh bruise squarely on Jaehwa’s crown.
“Agh! Will you stop that!”
Moyong Gang merely flashed a grinning smile as his grandson snapped at him.
Observing the exchange, Moyong Seol reflected on how her grandfather was respected solely for his martial achievements rather than his erratic temperament.
“Seol, your turn.”
Before long, that sharp irritation pivoted toward her.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Even his cherished granddaughter received no special leniency.
“…”
Watching her younger brother look on with eager anticipation, hoping his sister would share his fate and suffer a strike of her own, she silently prayed to avoid the old man’s staff.
“…Doesn’t it mean that one’s inner state of mind holds far greater weight than the external danger?”
She could not be entirely certain, but her troublesome grandfather’s inquiries always seemed engineered to catch them off-guard.
Perhaps he meant they needed to look past the tiger itself—the most obvious hazard within its den.
Moyong Gang nodded thoughtfully, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“Hmm… That is not entirely incorrect.”
“Wait, what is that supposed to mean, Grandfather? I said maintaining one’s composure was vital as well!”
Moyong Gang’s cudgel moved with astonishing precision.
Moyong Jaehwa attempted to duck, yet the stick curved as though drawn magnetically to his skull.
“You little rascal, how can you possibly equate the two?”
“Unbelievable…”
Moyong Gang adopted a deliberately grave expression.
“When mortals encounter a crisis, an unstable mind exposes them to far greater peril than the threat itself.”
Even Jaehwa, who had been nursing his sore head with a pout, turned solemn.
This was a fragment of profound insight from an absolute pinnacle master of the murim.
Even Jaehwa recognized the immense value of such teachings.
“A frantic mind clouds one’s perception of the surroundings, ultimately guiding one toward disastrous choices.”
Without warning, Moyong Gang’s staff swung toward Moyong Seol’s head.
Caught completely unawares, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“When you are consumed by circumstances and swallowed by panic, rational decision-making vanishes, leaving only the cowardly comfort of easy choices.”
When the expected blow failed to land, she slowly opened her eyes.
“…!”
The tip of the staff had halted mere inches from the bridge of her nose.
“And those easy, comfortable choices invariably pave the road to a wretched future.”
Moyong Gang smoothly spun the stick behind his back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
“Never permit a turbulent mind to herd you into deeper catastrophe.”
Naturally, upon hearing that final remark, Jaehwa had grumbled, “So it all meant the exact same thing in the end…” and promptly earned another rap on the head.
‘…Grandfather.’
The memory remained crystal clear.
It was an unyielding, fundamental lesson, a cornerstone that could never be traded for anything else.
Moyong Seol repeated her grandfather’s admonition like a mantra, yet the suffocating dread in her chest refused to dissipate.
In fact, the more logically she attempted to evaluate their predicament, the more oppressive that anxiety became.
‘This is not an environment where such principles can easily save us.’
They had embarked on an expedition to uncover the legacy of the Sword Venerable, only to stumble upon the supreme inheritance of the Black King, the [Twelve Tyrant King Hands].
Initially, she had assumed the discovery would remain contained.
Aside from their own clan members, no living soul had witnessed them unearthing the manual.
Yet shortly after…
“Are you the investigation party of the Moyong Clan?”
“Word has reached us that you acquired the Black King’s manual. Hand it over at once.”
For reasons beyond comprehension, the very first Black Path cultivators they crossed paths with already possessed intimate knowledge of her acquisition.
“You aren’t foolish enough to deny it, are you?”
“Silence! Why on earth should we surrender it to scum like you?”
They could never allow the Black King’s supreme technique to fall into the clutches of the Demonic factions, leaving the Moyong Clan with no alternative but to fight.
That initial skirmish concluded with an overwhelming victory for the clan.
“Hold, why are you attempting to execute the survivors?”
Moyong Seol had stepped in just as the clan warriors moved to finish off the incapacitated enemy combatants.
“Young Miss, they are witnesses. If they draw breath, an endless stream of pursuers will hound our steps.”
“Even so…!”
“Leave this to me.”
Powerless to check the Group Leader, who had turned far more ruthless than usual, she could only stand by as the defeated foes were slaughtered.
“Over there! It’s the Moyong Clan!”
“They hold the Black King’s manual!”
They had meticulously eliminated every witness from the first battle, even verifying the pulse of the fallen.
And yet, every single group they encountered within the depths of the Sword Tomb seemed acutely aware that the Moyong Clan carried the prize.
Three clan elites perished during the second clash.
Another eight fell in the third.
“This is untenable. We must evacuate the Sword Tomb immediately. It would be wiser to retreat to the surface and re-enter later.”
They scoured the labyrinth for an exit, but the passage by which they had entered seemed to have vanished entirely.
Though they clutched a map, meandering through unmarked, narrow grottoes had thoroughly shattered their sense of direction.
Then, at that exact juncture…
“Young Miss… Direct your eyes here.”
“…!”
One of the clan warriors approached, holding out an old wooden box.
Moyong Seol’s hands trembled violently as she lifted the lid.
Tyrant King Divine Fist
Another legendary manual belonging to the Black King had fallen directly into the Moyong Clan’s possession.
From that moment onward, the bloodshed became ceaseless.
Like moths drawn to a flame, cultivators swarmed toward the Moyong Clan from all directions, an unending tide.
“Strike them down! We must tear the inheritance from their cold hands!”
“Charge!”
With every successive battle, the ranks of the Moyong Clan—warriors who had long prided themselves on being the absolute apex of elite martial artists—thinned alarmingly.
‘Grandfather, what path should I take now…?’
No matter how calmly she analyzed the situation, this relentless onslaught defied all natural logic.
Such boundless terror could not be overcome by sheer willpower alone.
They remained trapped within the labyrinthine tomb, the fighting showed no signs of abating, and every single member was pushed to the brink of exhaustion.
A definitive choice had to be made.
“…”
Following deep, agonizing deliberation, Moyong Seol reached a resolution.
“We are abandoning the martial manuals.”
“Young Miss!”
“That is absolute madness…!”
“There is no other option. I stated this from the outset—the lives of our people outweigh any manual.”
Besides, even if she relinquished the physical tomes, she had already dedicated considerable time to memorizing their contents. It would cause no lasting hindrance to the clan’s objectives.
Just as she finalized that monumental decision, a faint disturbance echoed from a distant corridor.
The clan warriors, who had only just managed to catch their breath, bolted to their feet in unison.
“…Are you folks members of the Moyong Clan?”
The figures emerging from the shadows displayed extreme caution.
“Identify yourselves.”
“I am Jang Unhyeon, leader of the Yuhyang Sect exploration vanguard.”
“!”
At long last, they had made contact with allies from a White Path righteous sect.
The Yuhyang Sect held the fiftieth peak among the One Hundred Eight Peaks.
Furthermore, they shared historical ties of goodwill with the Moyong Clan.
“If it isn’t Group Leader Jang. I am Moyong Seol.”
“Pardon? Could you truly be Lady Moyong?”
The Yuhyang Sect members rushed forward in disbelief.
“B-by the heavens, what on earth transpired here?”
Utter shock gripped their features as they took in the battered state of the Moyong Clan.
Moyong Seol and her surviving retainers could only manage weary, bitter smiles.
“We have endured a harrowing ordeal.”
“Even so… F-first, let us attend to your wounds.”
Unlike the Moyong Clan, which had been battered by consecutive life-or-death struggles over the past several days, the Yuhyang Sect appeared to have spent their time merely mapping the terrain. They arrived well-stocked with high-grade provisions and restorative medicines.
Thanks to their timely aid, the Moyong Clan finally found an opportunity to treat long-neglected injuries and consume a warm meal.
“You ought to rest deeply tonight, Lady Moyong. Our unit shall take the first watch.”
“However…”
“Naturally, you have little reason to place blind trust in us.”
“That is not my intent, it’s simply…”
“Should any threat approach, I give you my word we will rouse you immediately.”
Owing to the Yuhyang Sect’s considerate hospitality, Moyong Seol managed to sink into a peaceful slumber for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Twitch.
How much time had elapsed? Though her eyelids still felt leaden with accumulated fatigue, an inexplicable, chilling sensation violently wrenched her eyes open.
And then, she witnessed it.
“!!!”
“Ah, how unfortunate. It truly would have been far better had you remained asleep.”
The blade gripped within Jang Unhyeon’s hand—
Slash!
Gleaming with a ferocious blue sword qi, it was plunging directly toward her chest.
The interior of the Sword Tomb bore little resemblance to a conventional cavern.
“By all accounts, this is simply too vast.”
To be precise, it mirrored an expansive underground metropolis.
“A subterranean cavity of this magnitude… The sheer architectural harmony of creation is staggering.”
Sculpted and eroded over countless millennia, the terrain possessed enough volume to comfortably house an entire settlement.
It instantly resolved the lingering mystery of why so many martial artists had perished within those cramped tunnels when the location had earned the moniker of the Heavenly Demon Tomb in my past life.
“Benefactor Jin, would you not agree?”
Simultaneously, a profound certainty solidified in my mind.
‘This place was decidedly never constructed to serve as a mere sepulcher.’
Its scale vastly transcended anything human engineering could have achieved.
Situated far from the Central Plains and concealed deep within the unforgiving expanse of the Great Snow Mountain, it remained a geographic anomaly.
The Demonic Cult had simply utilized this titanic natural theater as their staging ground.
Upon discovering the remnants of the Moyong Clan, we had temporarily suspended our tracking efforts.
We possessed no concrete trails that could lead us directly to their current whereabouts.
While we attempted to question occasional travelers drifting through the grottoes, we had failed to encounter a single soul since that juncture.
“Do you truly believe we can unearth the Sword Venerable’s legacy in a cavern of this incomprehensible size?”
Prompted by Nam Hwaseong’s inquiry, Yayul Geuk, Geumpyo, and Ilgak simultaneously turned their gazes toward me.
“We shall search for it as we proceed along our path.”
“Oh? So finder’s keepers, then?”
For some inexplicable reason, the eyes of Nam Hwaseong, Yayul Geuk, and Geumpyo began to gleam with avarice.
Personally, I doubted it would prove so simple to locate.
The wretched disciples of the Demonic Cult had undoubtedly concealed the inheritance themselves, and they would have long since designated who among them held the right of succession.
“Our immediate destination is the deepest tier.”
One of our foundational objectives involved rescuing any trapped survivors and escorting them to safety. We could hardly accomplish that if we wasted time wandering aimlessly through the middle chambers.
We immediately resumed a brisk jog toward the deepest recesses cataloged upon our recovered chart.
“Wait!”
Before we could cover significant distance, a sharp warning forced us to halt.
Dang Seohui and Ilgak immediately turned their attention to me, nodding in silent comprehension.
“W-what is it? Why are the two of you nodding so suddenly?”
Nam Hwaseong, remaining completely oblivious, could only voice his confusion.
“Draw your weapons.”
“Pardon?”
“Draw your weapons, now.”
The moment the words left my lips, Geumpyo and I surged to the vanguard, instantly snapping into position for the White Tiger Sword Formation.
“Over yonder…”
I extended a finger toward the distant terminus of the tunnel.
As Dang Seohui, Ilgak, and I shifted our stances, the remaining companions swiftly fell into formation behind us.
“W-what on earth is out there? Care to enlighten me?”
“A battlefield.”
“Huh?”
“Keep your wits about you. Under no circumstances are you to break the formation.”
A heartbeat later, a low, ominous vibration began to reverberate through the subterranean strata.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
Stone dust cascaded from the vaulted ceiling as chaotic shrieks and war cries, carried along a gale-force draft, echoed through the stone halls.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Graaah!”
Within moments, a tide of humanity came spilling into view.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In the blink of an eye, dozens of combatants collapsed into the dust, fountains of crimson erupting from severe wounds.
“Urgh!”
“Aaagh!”
Frenzy gripped the crowd as men trampled over their fallen comrades without a shred of hesitation.
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