Chapter 142

Demonic religion 

A few people glanced sidelong at Tang Mujin.
It wasn’t because they thought he had accomplished something.
They were merely intrigued by his appearance—standing there as if already dead.

Soon, Tang Mujin’s body swayed and toppled forward.
His chest no longer rose and fell, as though even his breathing had ceased.

Seeing this, Namgung Myeong’s sword dulled, and Hong Geolgae let out a sigh as he lowered his club.
They had lost their reason for coming to Mount Tianshan.

Yet a moment later, Tang Mujin staggered back to his feet.

The amusing part was that everyone who witnessed it felt secretly relieved.

The fugitives, led by Samanbul, rejoiced that the young junior had not yet died.
The pursuers, on the other hand, rejoiced because they thought they could drag Tang Mujin back alive to the Demon Sect’s main hall.

The Demon Sect had always been short on physicians.
Capturing and bringing back a talented healer was a rather meaningful achievement.

From another perspective, however, this also meant that no one believed Tang Mujin could overturn the tide of battle.

Wu Ho-bup frowned as he watched Tang Mujin approach.

Something’s changed. Did he break through the wall in that brief moment? No… it’s too rough to be called that. Perhaps he achieved something, but it’s still incomplete… I’ve never seen anything like this before.

A martial artist who transcends the wall of Master Level undergoes a distinct transformation—
breath that no longer falters, balanced footsteps, movements free of waste, the natural flow of inner energy, and, more vaguely, a deepened gaze.

All of these combined create a gap that lesser fighters can never hope to bridge.

But to Wu Ho-bup, Tang Mujin’s state was peculiar.

Too advanced to still be considered merely First-Class,
and yet far too unripe to be called a true Master.

He won’t be a threat, Wu Ho-bup concluded, turning his focus back toward Samanbul.

Samanbul also looked at Tang Mujin, but his impression was different.

Strange… unfamiliar.

There was something off about the way Tang Mujin walked.
And because of that strangeness, Samanbul saw potential.

Tang Mujin had certainly taken a step forward.
But unlike everyone else, he had not followed the same path.

He was carving out his own twisted route, venturing into an area no one had ever stepped foot in before.
That was what mattered.

Even if another well-polished Master appeared, it would not change the flow of this battle.

But if someone abnormal stepped in, he could become an unpredictable variable.

Of course, the odds were infinitesimal.
Yet when no other possibility remained, even the thinnest thread of hope was worth clinging to.

What confidence drives you to walk toward us like this? Samanbul thought, blocking Wu Ho-bup’s blade.

***

Tang Mujin observed his inner world with a clearer consciousness than ever before.

The poison-laden qi coursed through his Ren and Du meridians, spreading violently into the Eight Extraordinary Channels.

Most people said that when one transcends the wall into Mastery,
the refined inner qi gently clears the meridians of the entire body.

But Tang Mujin felt the opposite.

Instead of refined inner qi, it was the purest, most concentrated toxin that rampaged through his body, tearing him apart, scorching away the impurities clogging his meridians.

The sensation was strangely similar to the moment he broke through the wall.

The process was different, but the result was unmistakably there.

Something’s changed.

He couldn’t describe what exactly.
But he could vaguely sense his achievement.

The path of martial cultivation is obscure and difficult,
yet those who walk it can always sense their own progress.

Tang Mujin rose to his feet and walked forward.

Each step sent a dull throb through his broken ribs,
but he endured the pain and pressed on carefully.

With every step, poison qi leaked from his pores, forming a faint haze around him.

Not intentionally—his body simply carried too much poison.

The sheer amount of toxin contained in Jin Sae’s poison elixir was overwhelming,
so much that even after his breakthrough, Tang Mujin could not fully contain it.

Now, he was forcefully exhaling what he could not hold within.
And this was him suppressing it as best he could.

I just need to endure a little longer.

With the feeling that his entire body might burst apart, Tang Mujin came to stand beside Samanbul.

“You’ve achieved something,” Samanbul remarked.

Tang Mujin clenched his teeth, unsheathing his sword without replying.

It was taking all his effort just to prevent the leaking poison qi from spreading toward his allies.

“But your body isn’t in good shape, is it?”

At a glance, Samanbul seemed far worse—drenched in blood, both arms torn open to the bone from parrying Wu Ho-bup’s strikes.
But in truth, Tang Mujin was the more precarious one.

At last, Tang Mujin spoke:

“It’s urgent.”

A short phrase.
But Samanbul could feel the poison in his voice.

Not metaphorical venom, but real toxin, carried on his breath, potent enough to kill.

Tang Mujin met Samanbul’s gaze, and without further words, Samanbul understood.

“Hold yourself together and follow my lead.”

Lowering his stance, Samanbul summoned the last of his strength and hurled himself at Wu Ho-bup.

A man does not always need sharp steel to kill.

Wu Ho-bup twisted instinctively, barely dodging the boulder-like charge.

A long gash opened along his side, but the wound was irrelevant.
What mattered was that Wu Ho-bup had dodged—and the path to the center of the battlefield lay open.

The fugitives who could still fight, along with Namgung Myeong, rushed in with Tang Mujin at the center.
Each poured all they had into their blades, blocking the pursuers’ attacks.

That was all the opening they needed.
Tang Mujin whispered softly:

“Hold your breath.”

They didn’t know why.
But the fugitives obeyed without question.

The very next moment, poison qi erupted from Tang Mujin’s body.
It wasn’t just poison qi—it was closer to a true qi wave,
powerful enough to stir hair and clothing.

The pursuers, including Wu Ho-bup, had no chance to react before inhaling the toxin.
And in an instant, they understood how the fugitives had been fighting all this time.

With the first breath, their inner qi grew sticky, clogging the meridians.
With the second breath, their unstable qi scattered chaotically.

Martial artists were accustomed to drawing in ambient energy through breathing to cultivate.

But this was the opposite—every breath caused their inner qi to disperse.

Like fish drowning in water.

The pursuers’ faces turned pale. This was dangerous.

“What have you done?!”

Until now, only the fugitives had been fighting under such unfavorable conditions.
Now, everyone was equally crippled.

And for the moment, the fugitives gained the advantage—
they had slightly greater numbers, and they were already somewhat accustomed to fighting under this suffocating qi.

“Kill them all!”

Flesh was torn, blood sprayed everywhere.

And the one who faced the most dire situation was Wu Ho-bup.
While the others fought opponents of similar level,
the one standing before him was Samanbul.

With qi circulation disrupted, physical strength became the deciding factor.

And across the vast land of the Central Plains,
there were few who could match the body of Samanbul.

“You called me arrogant, didn’t you?” Samanbul said lowly.

Without waiting for a response, his massive fist swung down like a warhammer.

Wo Hobup, relying on decades of training, angled his sword defensively to block.

It was the cleanest response—
and the worst mistake.

He had failed to account for the instability of his qi.

The moment his blade met Samanbul’s fist, it was knocked aside without resistance, and balance was lost.
The next instant, Samanbul’s fist crashed into his temple.

Crunch. Samanbul felt the bone shatter beneath his knuckles.
Instant death—beyond doubt.

One of the handful of supreme masters in all the Central Plains had just perished here.

The most satisfying punch of my life, Samanbul thought, grinning with satisfaction as he threw himself back into the fray.

In that moment, he no longer looked like a man, but a great gray bear tearing through pursuers.

The battle didn’t take much longer after that.

***

“Phew…”

When the pursuers were all slain, the fugitives finally sat down, taking a brief rest.

Another chase might come soon.
But for now, they needed rest to move faster later.

Tang Mujin, however, did not sit down.
He moved quickly among the wounded.

Until now, he had thought there was no way to remove Jin Sae’s poison from the qi.
But that had only been a matter of achievement.

It’s clear now. When it comes to poison, I’ve surpassed the old man.

The first he treated was Mok Wana, who still hadn’t regained consciousness.
As the excess poison left his body, Mok Wana’s complexion eased.

Next were Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae.

Hong Geolgae was still reeling from the shock of Tang Mujin’s earlier display.

“That thing you did earlier—what the hell was that?”

“It’s complicated to explain.”

Tang Mujin gave a vague answer, and Namgung Myeong, looking very pleased, cut in.

“Of course it would be too complicated for a First-Class to understand. That’s what Master-level martial arts are.”

Namgung Myeong slyly included Tang Mujin in his remark, and Tang Mujin naturally played along.

“Indeed. To expect a mere tongue, just three inches long, to convey such a profound realization… how absurd would that be?”

To feel how far one has advanced, one must look at those left behind.

Tang Mujin gazed at Hong Geolgae, savoring a petty, almost sinister delight.
He had earned the right to do so.

Naturally, as Tang Mujin’s amusement grew, Hong Geolgae’s expression soured further.

“Life… seriously…”

“You mean the life of a First-Class?”

“My word. How wretched it must be—I can hardly imagine.”

As Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong ganged up with their mockery, Hong Geolgae muttered under his breath and sharply turned his head away, clearly sulking.

But men, by nature, do not console one another when sulking.

Unlike Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae was not truly petty, so he would surely forget the whole matter before long.

Afterward, Tang Mujin approached Sam Anbul.

Sam Anbul wore an expression of fascination, savoring the sensation of the poison circulating in his body being drawn out.

Rising from his seat, Sam Anbul spoke.

“Brother Tang, let me ask you something. Can you still release poison now as you did earlier?”

“I can mimic it, but the power would be far less than before. The amount of poison I can hold inside me is not that great.”

Sam Anbul immediately understood Tang Mujin’s explanation.

“So it’s only after swallowing the poison sac of the jimsæ that you can display such power?”

“I’m not certain. I can’t be sure I’d survive again if I swallowed the poison sac of a jimsæ.”

“I see.”

Sam Anbul felt both regret and relief.

The skill Tang Mujin had displayed was powerful enough to make even an ally like him feel tense.

To seize control of another’s inner force—such a talent could rewrite the very history of the martial world.

When Tang Mujin tried to absorb all of Sam Anbul’s poison and purge the others’ as well, Sam Anbul stopped him.

“Wait a moment.”

“Understood.”

Sam Anbul stood and called out in a booming voice.

“Gather here!”

Of the forty-odd men who had escaped from the dungeon, a dozen had perished, and about twenty survived.

The survivors gathered together, eager to be freed of poison so they could move more freely.

But instead, Sam Anbul inspected them carefully and picked out seven. Among them were second-rate, first-rate, and even one at the peak level.

Tang Mujin couldn’t tell what they had in common. Yet the seven seemed to sense something, their faces etched with fear.

Then, without further explanation, Sam Anbul extended his huge palm, seized one man’s head, and—crunch. The skull shattered, killing him instantly.

“Wait—what are you doing?!”

Ignoring him, Sam Anbul went on to kill the others one by one. With fists, with crushing palms, breaking bones and bodies—it was slaughter.

Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, and Hong Geolgae involuntarily shuddered, recalling the day they had first encountered Sam Anbul among the men of Jeomchang Sect.

The peak-level warrior drew his sword in resistance, but even he only managed to block two moves before falling. It took no more time than drinking a cup of water to kill all seven.

The suddenness of it left the surroundings in stunned silence. Wiping blood from his hand, Sam Anbul explained:

“They were the ones who had surrendered to the pursuers. Who knows when they might waver again?”

Tang Mujin pressed back.

“Even so, was it necessary to kill them?”

“Of course.”

Sam Anbul gave the short reply, then asked:

“Brother Tang, you said your home is in Sichuan?”

“That’s right. Chengdu, Sichuan Province.”

“That’s good enough. Not too far.”

Sam Anbul then shouted to the survivors:

“From now on, you will live in Sichuan. Do not leave Chengdu without Brother Tang’s permission. Understood?”

The survivors nodded—not merely from fear.

But Tang Mujin couldn’t understand.

“What is the meaning of this? These people didn’t leave the Demonic Cult just to settle in Chengdu.”

Sam Anbul looked down at him.

“If you were just an ordinary fellow, I wouldn’t have issued such orders.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll understand as we move. Everyone, follow me!”

Sam Anbul led the way with Tang Mujin beside him. The fugitives, after steadying themselves, followed at a distance.

Sam Anbul gazed at the horizon. The sun had long since risen above it and was already moving toward the southern sky.

Breaking the silence, Sam Anbul said:

“Your talent is too alien, beyond the bounds of common sense. You realize this yourself, don’t you?”

Tang Mujin nodded, and Sam Anbul continued.

“Do you know how the powerful treat those with such extraordinary abilities?”

“They’ll try to befriend me, bestow favors, and keep me by their side.”

“At first, yes. But in the end, they’ll reject you—and try to kill you.”

Tang Mujin looked at him.

“If you were an ordinary martial artist, there’d be no such worries. When someone breaks past the peak wall, people can roughly gauge their abilities and limits. They know how to respond.

“But you are not like that. You’ve stepped onto an unprecedented path. No one knows what your ability is or how far it can reach. And what the powerful hate most is an unpredictable variable. They’ll move to eliminate such a threat.”

“…I appreciate the high regard, but isn’t that thinking too far ahead?”

Sam Anbul studied him, then gave a crooked smile.

“It seems the only one who doesn’t know your worth is you.”

Tang Mujin thought of those who had readily obeyed Sam Anbul’s command. Did they think the same way?

“As I said, I can’t always display that power. It was a miracle born of swallowing the jimsæ’s poison sac and risking death. Even the poison I absorbed then—I can’t tell how long it will remain within me. Poison fades and dissipates with time.”

Sam Anbul cut him off.

“No. What matters is that you managed it once—that means it’s possible. Years, decades from now, who can say how far your accomplishments will reach?”

“Well, perhaps I’ll improve somewhat. I know that. But—”

“But? It’s too soon for such talk. Don’t judge your potential so lightly. You are walking a path no one knows. No one alive—not even you—can predict how far you’ll go. That makes you dangerous.”

He glanced back at the group.

“The stronger you become, the more dangerous you are. If you want to live, hide your abilities. Remember: even Goiyi Lee Chung-do, who was merely a swordsman dabbling in poison, faced countless threats. Don’t forget that.”

It was ironic. Wasn’t Sam Anbul the very one commissioned to kill Goiyi?

Tang Mujin had no idea why he was receiving such advice from him now. The world is complicated, and the future stretches far beyond ordinary foresight.

“There’s no other choice. Those who witness your true value—kill them, or keep them by your side. But never keep close those who would bend their necks just to survive. That’s why I killed the defectors.”

Sam Anbul’s voice was solemn, and Tang Mujin could only nod.

“Still, binding people to Chengdu—don’t you think that’s too much?”

“You’ve earned the right. Without you, they’d all be trapped or dead in Tianshan.”

Seeing Tang Mujin’s sour look, Sam Anbul jerked his chin toward the rear.

“If it bothers you, check if anyone looks dissatisfied.”

Glancing back, Tang Mujin saw no trace of discontent on any face.

He had no idea how it had come to this. What would his father and neighbors think if he returned to Chengdu with these people in tow?

Scratching his head nervously, Tang Mujin muttered:

“For now, we’d better move quickly. We don’t know when pursuit will catch up again.”

***

And two days later, Tang Mujin learned a truth about the laws of the world: bad premonitions never prove wrong.

The pursuit party, led by Zuo Hobup, was waiting for them.

Zuo Hobup drew his sword with his left hand and raised his right lightly to greet Sam Anbul.

“We’ve been waiting a long time. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“You say that, yet you didn’t dare come alone. To think you even brought Guiwang with you.”

“Haha. Just for the company.”

Sam Anbul frowned as he looked at the man standing beside Zuo Hobup.

Tang Mujin knew at once: the man beside Zuo Hobup, too, had crossed beyond the wall of transcendent mastery.