The Great Heavenly Demon Sovereign – Chapter 513

Nevertheless, she was sending Bu Eunseol.

That meant Gongsun Dankyung had an absolute reason to uncover whatever was happening at the Heaven-Human Cult.

‘Just because they might disturb the martial world?’

Bu Eunseol silently shook his head.

Even if the Heaven-Human Cult was a heretical sect, even if they had built a fake Sword Tomb to lure martial artists, that alone was not grounds for the Martial Alliance to forcibly investigate or sanction them.

“Over several hundred.” Reading his doubt, Gongsun Dankyung continued. “We found no proof, but the number of martial artists who went there seeking swords and vanished… is several hundred. Probably far more.”

“That many?”

It made no sense.

How could hundreds of martial artists disappear without the world knowing?

“Because most of them were second-rate at best.”

At her words, Bu Eunseol closed his mouth.

She had politely called them second-rate, but they were likely bottom-feeders even below that.

The martial world was filled with countless martial artists, yet the world only remembered the famed experts. Those with mediocre martial arts lived lives so wretched they worried about their next meal. The somewhat capable ones sold their skills as wandering swordsmen; those who could not even do that resorted to anything that paid—bandits, third-rate assassins, whatever it took.

The tragedy of third-rate warriors.

Even if they died in droves…

No one in the world cared or mourned.

“I see.” Bu Eunseol nodded gravely.

From the martial world’s perspective, a supreme master and a third-rate swordsman could never be treated the same. But to Bu Eunseol, who did not consider himself a martial artist of this world, the weight of a life was the same whether it belonged to a supreme master or a third-rate swordsman.

“So they weren’t forcibly recruited, they signed waivers, and the dead were nobodies—so no rumors spread.”

“Exactly.”

“Yet the operatives you dispatched were elite, and they vanished too… meaning the Sword Tomb the Heaven-Human Cult built is no mere empty rumor.”

“Precisely.”

Once he grasped exactly why the cult had to be investigated, Gongsun Dankyung nodded and asked, “Will you accept the mission?”

“Can I refuse?”

“Of course.”

“Why give me the choice?”

“Because nine chances out of ten, you will die.”

Warriors of the Martial Alliance carried out any dangerous mission without hesitation. Refusing an order from the Chief Strategist herself was unthinkable.

Yet she was giving Bu Eunseol a choice.

‘She wants one final look at who I really am.’

A faint light lingered in her eyes.

By offering him a choice, she intended to discern why he had descended from the merchant world to the martial world—and what thoughts drove him to join the Alliance.

“I’ll take it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the perfect mission to test my limits.” Bu Eunseol drew a deep breath. “The reason I left the merchant world is that everything was already given to me from birth.”

“…”

“Whether my abilities were lacking or extraordinary, it made no difference to running the merchant world.”

Seon Woojin was a dragon hidden in the clouds.

His intellect and talent were genius-level, but the merchant world was far too narrow a stage to fully display them.

That was why he had come to the Martial Alliance.

Challenging missions that bordered on impossible was, in a way, only natural.

‘So that’s why the Manifest Heart Eye didn’t work on him.’

Seon Woojin never looked elsewhere; he poured his entire being into unleashing his full potential. 

That mindset was remarkably similar to the enlightened state of a monk who had cast away all worldly attachments to attain nirvana.

“Good.” Gongsun Dankyung nodded. “Then I leave this matter to Captain Seon.”

The mysterious sparkle that always danced in her eyes suddenly dulled, growing calm.

Only then did Bu Eunseol sense it.

Every last shred of suspicion she had harbored toward him had vanished.

‘She trusts me completely now.’

For someone like her, trusting a man immune to the Manifest Heart Eye had been extraordinarily difficult. Until that suspicion was fully resolved, Bu Eunseol could never become her true confidant.

But with this, she had let it all go.

And if he succeeded in the Sword Tomb mission, the path upward would open much faster.

Yet there was one thing Bu Eunseol never expected…

That this incident at the Heaven-Human Cult’s branch would completely overturn everything he had aimed for in the Martial Alliance.

And that his relationship with Gongsun Dankyung would change beyond recognition.

***

Mount Taiping.

The headquarters of the Heaven-Human Cult’s Taiping Branch, rooted in the Yellow River region.

Several years ago, something massive began being built halfway up the mountain where the branch stood. What was finally completed looked like an entire mountainside had been carved out to form a colossal structure.

The cult claimed that inside this building lay the legendary Sword Tomb.

The world laughed through their noses.

They assumed the cult had set up elaborate mechanisms to deceive martial artists. Yet when a third-rate swordsman named Jo Chung entered and emerged with a divine sword and secret manual, becoming an astonishing master, rumors exploded.

Mediocre martial artists flocked to the man-made Sword Tomb.

—There are rules to enter the Sword Tomb.

But the cult did not let just anyone in; they enforced strict rules.

The Eight Regulations of the Sword Tomb were as follows:

First: Only martial artists thirty years old or younger may enter.

Second: All weapons and personal belongings must be left behind.

Third: The gate opens only when one hundred applicants gather; three trials must be passed.

Fourth: The dantian will be sealed to prevent the use of internal energy.

Fifth: Once inside a trial, surrender is impossible.

Sixth: From the moment you enter a trial, your life is not guaranteed.

Seventh: Violating any rule results in immediate death.

Eighth: You must sign a waiver agreeing to all the above.

Martial artists panicked.

They had to sign a waiver absolving the cult of responsibility even if they died for breaking rules or failing the trials?

When the Eight Regulations spread, ordinary civilians scoffed.

—Who would go with rules like that?

But they were wrong.

Martial artists wagered their lives for swords and manuals. 

If they passed all trials and received a sword’s acknowledgment, they would gain a divine blade and a manual capable of dominating the world. For unknown warriors yet to make their name, or those whose wings had been clipped for some reason—this was a dreamlike opportunity.

Buzz buzz.

Proving it, today again a long line of martial artists stretched before Mount Taiping.

Most were third-rate warriors in their thirties.

They had entered the martial world chasing dreams of greatness, but found neither fateful encounters nor great masters. This was their last chance.

“More than a hundred have gathered!”

Someone shouted.

According to the Eight Regulations, the gate opened only when at least a hundred applicants assembled.

Countless had entered before, yet none had returned.

Still, martial artists kept coming.

Wasn’t the martial world a place where men lived with their lives on the edge of a blade?

By chance, nearly two hundred had gathered at once.

“Over a hundred—open the gate!” The assembled warriors roared.

Hope filled every face.

If they entered the Sword Tomb, they believed they would surely receive a sword’s acknowledgment and become masters who could command the world.

Most wore tattered clothes, desperate men who saw this as their final gamble. Yet among them were a few in splendid robes, faces hidden behind masks or veils to conceal their identities.

Bu Eunseol wore Seon Woojin’s face, but had smeared medicinal paste and charcoal soot across it. At a glance, he looked like any other third-rate warrior.

‘Quite a crowd.’ Narrowing his eyes at the sea of people before the Sword Tomb entrance, Bu Eunseol surveyed the scene.

Sent by Gongsun Dankyung to investigate, he had come here.

The cult guards paid no attention to whether entrants were righteous, demonic, male, or female—only checking if they were over thirty.

Rumble—

Finally the gate opened, and out stepped a figure wearing an exquisitely crafted crimson demon mask that sent chills down the spine.

A Ghost-Masked Envoy of the Heaven-Human Cult.

—Strong.

Every martial artist’s eyes widened.

An intangible sword aura—the mark of a master swordsman—emanated faintly from the masked figure.

The cult could never have hired someone this strong. He must be a warrior who had obtained a sword from the Sword Tomb.

“Before entering, confirm the rules once more.”

The masked man spoke in a low voice.

“Once inside, you cannot leave. If you die in the trials, you alone are responsible—you must sign the waiver.”

His voice boomed like thunder inside an overturned jar, deep and resonant.

“I repeat: anyone over thirty who enters will die. Anyone who breaks the inner rules will die.”

He swept his gaze across the crowd.

“Inside, you will find paper, brush, and ink along with instructions. Copy the waiver exactly.”

He added, “No need to write your sect or real name. But it must be in your own handwriting.”

—Sign a waiver saying death is your own fault?

When told to actually sign, several warriors protested.

The Ghost-Masked Envoy boomed with inner energy: “Leave now if you don’t like it. No one is forcing you.”

Bu Eunseol, listening silently from the back, nodded.

Whether the Sword Tomb was fake or not, the Eight Regulations clearly shifted all responsibility. Even if martial artists died here, even if evidence surfaced, the Martial Alliance could not rashly intervene.

Buzz buzz.

Following the line, Bu Eunseol wrote his waiver with brush and ink.

They collected the waivers without close inspection; they clearly didn’t care much about identities.

‘That man…’ Among those writing on the opposite side, Bu Eunseol spotted a familiar figure.

Though veiled, those sharp, neurotic eyes gave him away instantly.

‘Cheon Hwain.’

The great master of the Mount Hua Sect who had competed with Bu Eunseol for the position of Captain of the Supreme Branch.

‘A cripple… why is he here?’

To seize the Great Captain seat, Cheon Hwain had schemed with the Martial Alliance’s Ninth Elder. When everything collapsed, his inner energy plummeted, reducing him to a cripple.

Yet here he was, seeking rebirth through the Sword Tomb rumors.

‘He left Mount Hua.’

A Mount Hua disciple could never visit a cult like this.

He had already abandoned the sect.

‘Makes sense.’

Once a promising master who had stepped into the Transcendent Realm, Cheon Hwain’s vile character had been exposed, narrowing his future.

His attempt to pivot to the Alliance backfired, leaving him crippled.

Staying at Mount Hua would only earn scorn.

He had left to rise again.

If he obtained a divine sword and manual, he could fill the void left by his lost energy.

‘He’s that desperate.’

Cheon Hwain had abandoned everything to stand tall once more.

His masked eyes blazed with madness.

“We now move to the First Trial. Dantians will be sealed first.”

Once all waivers were signed, the Ghost-Masked Envoy stood at the passage to the trial. Each time someone passed, he struck their dantian with ruthless precision.

‘Sealing inner energy…’

Anyone here for reasons other than the Sword Tomb would panic. But Bu Eunseol had formed an inner core and mastered the secret of concealing energy. He had already reduced his visible energy to two hundred years’ worth, dispersing the rest into the core.

Even if they sealed his dantian or fed him energy-scattering poison, his true power would remain untouched. Since he had no intention of hiding Seon Woojin’s identity further, he left it at that.

“Hmm.” When the masked man sealed Bu Eunseol’s dantian, his eyes flashed.

He must have sensed two hundred years of energy through the rebound and been quite surprised.

Once every dantian was sealed, the opposite gate opened.

“Final warning.” The Ghost-Masked Envoy spoke solemnly. “Once you enter the trial, you cannot leave. Break the rules, and you die instantly.”

Even at that chilling proclamation, no one flinched.

The Heaven-Human Cult was already rumored to be heretical.

From the moment they decided to enter, they had wagered their lives.

“…” Seeing no one leave, the masked man drew an iron key from his robes and turned it in the wall.

Clank.

The gate opened, and the martial artists filed in.

The First Trial was a vast cavern riddled with countless branching paths.

“Survive here for one full day, and you pass the First Trial.”

The warriors exchanged puzzled looks.

Even without inner energy, enduring one day in a cave?

Wasn’t that absurdly easy for a trial?

“The gate will open again in one day.”

Creak.

The Ghost-Masked Envoy exited and sealed the gate behind him.

Once he was gone, the warriors laughed and chattered, relieved.

“They made it sound like some grand trial, but it’s just surviving a day?”

“The cavern is huge and comfortable. Three hundred could fit easily.”

People gathered in small groups, talking loudly.

Boom.

Then a strange vibration rumbled through the cavern.

In an instant, every light vanished, plunging the interior into pitch blackness.

“What the—?” With their inner energy sealed, no one could pierce the darkness.

Hiss…

Acrid smoke and the metallic scent of blood began spreading everywhere. Warriors stumbling in the dark froze, sniffing the bloody fragrance.

“Soul-Severing Demon Incense!”

Someone shouted.

Soul-Severing Demon Incense.

A poison fragrance from the long-destroyed Soul-Severing Sect, infamous for igniting murderous frenzy.

Even demonic sects had similar drugs like the Demon Spirit Pill, yet the Soul-Severing Sect had been branded public enemy and exterminated precisely because this incense triggered bloodlust so extreme it caused slaughter madness.

“Urghhh!”

Those affected groaned or cackled in agony.

In less than a minute, hundreds of martial artists fell into hallucinations and began attacking anything that moved.

“Argh!”

“Gaaah!”

Screams filled the pitch-black cavern.

Even without inner energy, martial artists possessed sharpened senses and trained bodies. When such men turned into mad beasts, the dark cavern became hell on earth.

Swish swish.

But not everyone fought like lunatics.

Tap tap tap.

From the moment smoke rose, some had sensed danger and fled into the maze-like branches.

They now dashed through the labyrinth, evading combat.

‘Not a good strategy.’

Running drained stamina and drew attention with noise. Bu Eunseol paused, then silently moved toward the fighting instead.

After the first bloodbath, corpses lay everywhere.

He slipped among the bodies, lay down, and erased his presence.

Even bold warriors would hesitate to lie among mangled corpses. But Bu Eunseol, who had handled corpses since childhood as a mortician, felt no aversion.

‘Simple, but effective.’

Playing dead on the battlefield was an ancient survival secret.

In dark, confined chaos, most lost their reason and never thought of such basic tactics.

‘If they keep pumping this incense for a full day, people will suffocate. Once they’ve thinned the herd enough, they’ll stop.’

As Bu Eunseol predicted, the Soul-Severing Demon Incense gradually thinned.

Yet the warriors, oblivious, continued tearing at each other.

‘They offer swords from the Sword Tomb, yet use Soul-Severing Demon Incense to cull the weak. Why?’

To select those with iron wills who could resist the incense?

Or those with monstrous combat sense and bloodlust who could slaughter countless foes even while frenzied?

If the latter—what for?

‘Doesn’t matter. Survive first.’

If they wanted bloodthirsty killers, he could bathe in blood and rage.

If they wanted unbreakable minds, he could keep clear eyes even soaked in gore.

‘Hmm.’

Something felt off.

Lying on the floor, he sensed a strange groove beneath his back.

Feeling with his fingers, he found a depression deep enough for one finger, filled with blood from the many dead.

“HA HA HA!”

Then a figure caught his eye.

A lone wolf howling with laughter, tearing into people like a mad beast.

Cheon Hwain.

‘The incense actually restored his ferocity.’

Drunk on the incense, vitality surged through him as he ripped and clawed at everyone nearby.

The crippled, broken man was gone—replaced by a blood-craving monster.

‘He was never fit to lead Mount Hua anyway.’

Cheon Hwain’s nature was narrow and murderous.

Had he become sect leader, Mount Hua would have fallen to ruin.

‘That’s why righteous sects scrutinize successors from every angle.’

Demonic sects cared only for power and ability—character be damned.

But in the righteous faction that prized justice and honor, choosing the wrong leader brought irreversible disaster. Thus they invested far more time and effort than demonic sects in selecting leaders.

Even the Nine Great Sects and One Union, and the Martial Alliance itself—despite already choosing seven verified Commanders—subjected them to endless competition and verification.

‘The real mystery is the Heaven-Human Cult.’

The sheer scale of these trials could not have been built by a mere branch.

Then… the Three Realms?

Unlikely.

The Three Realms always manipulated puppets to achieve their goals.

Luring third-rate warriors with divine swords and manuals only to make them kill each other—what could they possibly gain?

Step. Step.

Then Cheon Hwain, having felled dozens, walked straight toward where Bu Eunseol lay.

“A rat hiding among corpses.”

Incredibly, he had precisely sensed Bu Eunseol’s steady breathing amid the pile of bodies.