Chapter 1187

A snake.

That was the first word that came to everyone’s mind when they saw the mist writhing toward them.

Gloomy and dark, it crept closer like a huge predator that had spotted its prey. Their legs had gone stiff as stone and would hardly lift from the ground.

Something beyond what they could see was stirring a primal fear in them.

And the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang, was one of the few people who could recognize the true nature of the power within that mist before anyone else—and understand it clearly.

This is…!

There was no doubt.

Demonic qi.

No—magical power, as it was now also called. That abyssal energy flowed through his five senses, binding his body and mind.

Terrifyingly fast. Insidiously.

Yet even as fear welled up inside him, Jeok Cheongang felt an intense pull he couldn’t explain.

It was a strange feeling. Like the warm embrace of a mother he could no longer remember. If he gave himself over to the mist, everything would be easier.

Surely a peaceful paradise awaited him in that hazy world, free of hardship and anguish—

Crunch!

Pain stung his tongue, and blood filled his mouth.

Jeok Cheongang had bitten down in the nick of time. His senses clear again, he spat out the blood and roared.

“Hah!”

His azure dragon’s roar, driven by mighty internal energy, shook the air in every direction.

He wasn’t the only one to let out a cry like a beast’s roar.

The Bow Saint and the Slaughter Saint had reacted at the same instant. The two superhumans groaned as they watched the mist falter, if only briefly.

Dark arts.

An immensely powerful, sinister force unlike anything they had ever seen was consuming the space around them.

No—perhaps all of Tianshan.

But they faced an even greater problem.

“Ah…”

“Ahhh…”

Their companions stared dreamily ahead, voices vacant. Their hands reached through empty air as their feet carried them slowly toward the mist.

Not one of them was spared. Gung Gibang and Hyuk Mujin were closest to it, but even Ju Hwaran and Song Ilseom, farther away, were moving toward it.

They looked like people who had lost their souls. Sensing the danger, the three veteran masters shot toward them without hesitation.

And just as they reached out, their hands moving like streaks of light—

Whoosh!

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Space warped.

The mist had curled into the razor-sharp claw of a giant beast. Jeok Cheongang saw the darkness steeped within it reflected in his reddish eyes.

“How dare you!”

Fwoosh—BOOM!

Flames burst from his Flame Divine Palm with his furious cry, shattering the claw of magical power and heating the air. The infernal blaze would not let it come an inch closer.¹

But he soon realized the brief attack had been deliberate.

Shhhhhhh.

Pale steam billowed up. Jeok Cheongang’s eyes widened.

He couldn’t see them.

Gung Gibang’s threadbare collar had been within reach. Hyuk Mujin’s head had been right there, making Jeok Cheongang want to smack it on sight.

No.

They’re gone.

That was the only way to put it. He had seen their bodies disappear into the mist, as though erased from the world.

What in the…

Jeok Cheongang swallowed the groan rising in his throat and looked around. Then he realized something else.

Gung Gibang and Hyuk Mujin weren’t the only ones who had vanished.

“…Hah.”

He let out the breath he had been holding.

When had it happened? Had it begun with that strange sense of déjà vu?

He didn’t know. The scenery before him looked unchanged, but everything else was different.

No one was there. No one.

Even the Bow Saint and the Slaughter Saint, who had stood scarcely thirty feet away, were nowhere to be seen. He could sense neither their presence nor a trace of their qi.

An illusion technique? Or a Mystic Gate Formation?

Dark arts he had heard of in rumors, and others he had faced himself on the battlefields of the Great Faction War, flashed through his mind. None gave him an answer.

Even Jeok Cheongang, who had lived for more than a century and dominated an era, had never encountered dark arts like these.

This is something else entirely.

Even the great fiends of the previous generation, notorious under names like the Illusion Fiend and Guiguzi, had never managed anything like it.

More precisely, Jeok Cheongang’s formidable martial prowess had never allowed them to.

Even the strongest dark arts had their limits.

The Illusion Fiend, the Demonic Cult’s greatest master of illusion, had had both eyes gouged out. Guiguzi, who had slaughtered hundreds of orthodox Murim warriors with his intricate Mystic Gate Formation, had melted into a pool of blood.

Both at the hands of one man: the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang.

But…

I’ve never seen or heard of a formation like this.

Jeok Cheongang stretched his senses farther than ever before. The longer he searched, the more certain he became.

No matter how bizarre the dark arts, there should be a flow of energy and a core at its center. In this strange space, he could find neither.

Only the dark mist approaching with the uniquely sticky, unpleasant energy of demonic qi—and someone’s steady breathing against his back.

“Sleeping through all this. You’ve got it easy, you know.”

A faint smile touched his lips despite his grumbling. He glanced at the Disciple who would have protested bitterly if he were awake, then muttered as though making a promise to himself.

“Don’t worry. Whatever happens, I won’t let a single hair on you come to harm…”

His voice trailed off.

After a moment’s silence, he added with a sigh, “Just bear with it. Losing one hair won’t kill you.”

His Disciple offered no answer. Jeok Cheongang fixed his fiercely shining eyes on the dense mist.

“What are you waiting for? Crawl the hell out here!”

The beings beyond the pale veil answered his call.

Grrrr.

The mist rolled in waves. At last, countless eyes gleamed within it.

Jeok Cheongang drew a slow breath.

“Come in a whole pack, have you?”

Heat shimmered around him as Extreme Yang energy spread through his limbs and every part of his body. He raised both fists, wrapped in fierce flames, toward the monsters that did not belong in this world.

“Come.”

The long night had begun.

The mist was too thick to see an inch ahead.¹ Countless shadows surged through it.

At the center of it all, flames burned ever more fiercely.

Boom!

One palm strike.

No more, no less. The motion was devastating in its efficiency. In its wake lay only heat enough to melt rock—and death.

Thud!

A huge body that could not be called human sank to its knees.

The three red eyes in its single head were still fixed on their prey, but the chest melted away without a trace proved which of them had been the hunter.

Grrk.

Light drained swiftly from its eyes. Before the monster had breathed its last, the hunter had already turned to set other living things ablaze.

Crunch!

He smashed, burst, and crushed without pause.

Hands, feet, legs, knees, elbows—sometimes even his forehead. Every part of him was a weapon, and every blow meant something’s death.

Neither the five-foot-tall monsters² nor the three-headed, six-armed ones could break through the blazing wall of fire.

Claws sharper than scythes and rusty blades in place of arms struck relentlessly at his limbs. Jeok Cheongang’s body and mind never faltered.

It was like the day Mount Jiuhua had been engulfed in flames, decades ago.

No. He was stronger and colder now than he had been then—beyond comparison.

The thousand members of the Demonic Cult who had drawn the old monster known as the Fire King out of Mount Jiuhua had at least looked human. These were cursed beings that should never have appeared in the human world.

Kyarruk!

Kraaaaah!

They carried a madness and killing intent unlike anything he had felt before. They had clearly lost their reason long ago and moved only at their master’s command. Still, they charged without cease—

RrrrCRUNCH!

—and died without respite.

Splaaat!

Blood sprayed high into the air. With a single sweep of his hand, as if brushing away insects, Jeok Cheongang sent hundreds of shreds of flesh flying in every direction.

“Is that all?”

In the sudden gap left by death, he swept his gaze around him and muttered, “Did you think that would be enough to bring this old man down?”

The words of his Master came to mind. Time had blurred even the man’s face.

Cheongang, the world is vast, and there are many strong people.

The world beyond Mount Jiuhua had been as vast as his Master had said.

The Heavenly Demon, who had swallowed half the world, and the great fiends who followed him were strong. So were the Daoists³ and the damned monks who held the Central Plains.

But that wasn’t all his Master had said.

But you could become one of the strongest among them.

As always, his Master had been right.

And the young life he carried on his back made him stronger still.

“If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you.”

Hiss.

Heat rose where he planted his foot.

Had even these mindless monsters retained their instincts? Faced with the overwhelming difference in strength, they had halted their attack.

Jeok Cheongang started toward them.

Or rather, he meant to.

Until a voice he could never forget pierced his ear.

“You haven’t changed.”

Jeok Cheongang froze.

The fierce light in his eyes faded like a lamp caught by the wind. Reflected in them was the face of someone who could not be here—and should not be.