Chapter 41

Ancient torture could be shocking in its cruelty to modern eyes; with little concept of human rights and a “confession” method that meant “hurt them until they say what you want,” it was inevitable.

Tang Yeom-cho clearly expressed that sentiment.

Emerging from the Pavilion of Snow Leaves two gak later, his arms brimmed with an assortment of dried poisonous herbs, obscure seeds, and what distinctly resembled animal entrails.

He had even secured certain ingredients inside wooden caskets or swathed them in multiple layers of cotton cloth, suggesting they were far too volatile for bare flesh.

There really are so many things here that don’t exist in the real world.

Relying on his heightened senses, Cho Yoon sifted through the pungent odors of the ingredients to identify them. The bizarre array served as a stark reminder that he was, indeed, living inside a martial arts novel.

He had already marveled at formations, those mystical arts that warped the forces of nature with a mere arrangement of trees and stones to induce madness or vivid hallucinations. Yet the concept of inner cores, the crystallized essence of natural internal energy found within ancient spiritual beasts, proved equally fascinating.

Such concepts never existed in the original Chinese novels that birthed the Korean martial arts genre. Even factions like the Five Great Clans and the Nine Great Sects and One Faction were tropes unique to Korean literature. Considering all that, modern Korean martial arts novels were practically pure fantasy merely borrowing Chinese geography and nomenclature.

Wait, do the monsters in the Point of No Return Mountain Range range have inner cores too? If they do, maybe I should pick a day to sweep the area and feed them to the kids.

Cho Yoon let his mind wander as he watched Tang Yeom-cho diligently concoct poison with an array of specialized tools. At some point, a steaming teacup of plum blossom tea had found its way into his hands.

He and his three disciples observed the clan head with mild boredom. The process dragged on for Cho Yoon, and it understandably failed to captivate the children. They had never studied poison, let alone its complex manufacturing techniques. Yet among the sprawling crowd of spectators, they were the only four who could afford such a relaxed demeanor.

“What in the world. Does the Clan Head intend to kill the King of Green Forests outright? The rules explicitly state that ruining a man until he cannot testify results in disqualification!”

“Calm yourself, hyungnim,” another elder murmured. “The Clan Head surely has a plan. Is he not the absolute pinnacle of poison arts within the Tang Clan?”

“That may be true, but using the inner core of a Sea-Gall Needle Spider and the poison gland of a Weathering Mantis. I know the gravity of this situation demands victory by any means, but this is dangerously excessive. Just look. The children in light green are half-dead already.”

Second Elder Tang Myeong-cho, who stood just below the Clan Head in authority, clicked his tongue and gestured with his chin. The other elders followed his gaze.

The second-generation disciples clad in light green martial robes looked undeniably ghastly.

A few with shallower cultivation were openly dry-heaving before sprinting frantically toward the latrines.

Tang Jeong-cho, the youngest elder who had just been comforting Myeong-cho, stared at the scene in vacant disbelief.

“To think they would react like that just from inhaling the faint residual miasma drifting off the raw materials. And from over five jang away in the open wind.”

“It’s not that I lack faith in the Clan Head or the Tang Clan,” Myeong-cho muttered, his brow furrowed. “But the atmosphere is dreadfully ominous. Jeong-cho, look over there.”

Jeong-cho followed the subtle flick of Myeong-cho’s eyes and nearly gasped in shock.

Sitting there, just as impeccably serene as when they first arrived, were the Immortal Healer and his three disciples casually tipping their teacups.

“Heavens, how can they be so composed? Judging by the youngest child’s age, he seems about the same as Geum-ah!”

“They are the disciples of the Immortal Healer,” Myeong-cho replied curtly, his tone heavy with complex implications.

He scowled, unable to hide his irritation.

Anticipating that the Single Drop Execution, Tang Yeom-cho, would deploy lethal toxins, they had firmly confined Woon-geum, the youngest of the Tang Clan, to her room.

Yet seeing the Immortal Healer’s disciples, who looked barely a few years older than her, sitting perfectly unscathed without a shred of distress profoundly soured his mood.

Everyone in the Tang Clan has forgotten day and night, grinding their bones and polishing their skills for this very day.

As if sensing the piercing stares directed at him, the Immortal Healer’s youngest disciple turned his gaze toward the elders. His eyes, an abyss of inky and lightless black, evoked an inexplicable sense of dread.

Myeong-cho twisted his lips into a grimace and wrenched his attention back to the competition grounds. He could only pray that the Tang Clan’s grueling efforts would not amount to nothing.

Meanwhile, Cho Yoon had been eavesdropping on the elders’ chaotic commotion while pretending sheer indifference. Hearing their whispers, he felt a petty surge of annoyance.

What, am I supposed to just not do what I can? In all my life, I’ve never seen someone get offended because I raised my kids too well. Do you old coots have any idea the hell I went through preparing their medicinal baths for the past four years?

It was not that Cho Yoon had recklessly neglected to teach the children about poisons. Rather, he had meticulously engineered their upbringing so they would never need to know about them.

Every evening for the past four years, he had brewed customized medicinal baths, painstakingly selecting herbs tailored to each child’s specific constitution and developmental stage.

These baths worked wonders, nourishing the children’s internal energy, soothing their deeply strained muscles, promoting physical growth, and crucially cultivating a monstrous resistance against all toxins.

His earlier boasts to Cheon-oh about achieving invulnerability to a myriad of poisons were not empty words. They were backed by deliberate planning and execution.

Of course, he couldn’t exactly march over and rattle off his educational philosophy and objectives to a bunch of strangers. It was better to just look on the bright side. His children were so exceptionally raised that it actually provoked jealousy from those stubborn, rigid elders.

Twisting his perspective like that brought a genuine swell of pride to his chest.

Just then, Cheon-oh’s telepathic message unexpectedly echoed in his mind.

[Master, what are the Sea-Gall Needle Spider and the Weathering Mantis?]

Huh?

Cho Yoon blinked rapidly, entirely bewildered.

[How did you even hear that?]

[They seemed to be talking about you, Master, so I observed their lips carefully. I figured that to perfectly mimic someone else’s voice and pronunciation through telepathy, it would be best to learn how to read lips as well. I’ve been practicing ever since we crossed the Qinling Mountains.]

No wonder he’s been so quiet the past few days. Cho Yoon had only taught the boy basic telepathy, yet Cheon-oh had autonomously mastered lip-reading on the side.

Given that advancing to higher martial realms naturally heightened the five senses anyway, it was not a strictly necessary skill. But it was still terrifying. That sheer level of talent was downright horrifying.

Cho Yoon swallowed the urge to weep and opted to gently reprimand the boy first.

[Staring so intently at someone’s face without permission can be considered deeply offensive. Especially when it is someone older or of higher social standing. It is commendable that you are dedicated to your practice, but remember that we are no longer in the secluded Estate of Deep Mists.]

[Yes, Master.]

The boy’s face immediately fell, looking slightly deflated. Acutely aware of how Cheon-oh’s mood swung wildly at his every word, Cho Yoon hastily added a compliment.

[However, grasping and developing a technique I never even taught you is an excellent achievement. You have done well.]

[Yes. Thank you, Master.]

Sharply detecting the renewed brightness in Cheon-oh’s voice, Cho Yoon finally addressed the boy’s actual question.

[Despite its name, the Sea-Gall Needle Spider is an arachnid that resides in the Poison Valleys of the Southern Barbarian lands. It is born no larger than the knuckle of a finger, gradually expanding its size over time. It boasts a glossy, pitch-black exoskeleton. Though its main body is tiny, its legs are exceptionally long and spindly. It earned its fearsome name because its bite inflicts a torment akin to a sea urchin violently growing inside your body and tearing out through your skin.]

[A pain like a sea urchin growing inside your body?]

[Exactly. Since it’s an inner core cultivated by such a beast over at least several centuries, it’s bound to be overflowing with horrific venom.]

And that old geezer is currently boiling it down, squeezing every last drop of it without an ounce of hesitation into a single bowl.

Draining Baek Ho-cheol’s strength was all well and good, but Cho Yoon genuinely doubted the man would survive long enough for his turn.

Flashing a detached, almost enlightened smile inwardly, Cho Yoon continued.

[The Weathering Mantis is a venomous mantis native to Guizhou Province, located just beneath Sichuan. It is about the size of my palm, with the females being notably larger. Uniquely, they possess poison glands. They are called Weathering Mantises because their bite makes you feel as though your very flesh is being shredded and blown away by a hurricane of razor-sharp blades.]

[That sounds excruciatingly painful.]

[It is.]

Furthermore, all the accompanying poisonous herbs were uniquely specialized in maximizing agony. If administered excessively, they would guarantee death. If perfectly calibrated, they would spare the victim’s life while subjecting them to pain so unfathomable they would beg for the sweet release of death.

Tang Yeom-cho was ruthlessly cramming every single one of those ingredients into a single bowl to forge an exceptionally diabolical poison.

After roughly half a sijin and two gak had elapsed, only a quarter of the sand remained in the hourglass.

Tang Yeom-cho’s poison was finally complete.

The members of the Tang Clan audibly swallowed dry saliva.

Baek Ho-cheol, forced to witness the horrifying concoction process from the closest proximity, was now violently trembling like an aspen leaf caught in a gale.

Clutching the bowl brimming with the pitch-black liquid, Tang Yeom-cho approached Baek Ho-cheol. He stared down at the bandit king with a solemn, imposing expression.

“Would it not be the wiser choice to confess from your own lips, rather than forcing me to make you drink this extreme poison?”

“…”

“Struggling through and enduring my poison will not be the end of this ordeal,” Yeom-cho warned. “After me, it is the Immortal Healer’s turn. Do you truly believe you can sustain this stubbornness until then?”

“…”

His pride as the ruler who once commanded the entire Green Forests, the desperate obstinacy born of his trampled spirit, and above all else, a profound, consuming terror of someone else anchored Baek Ho-cheol’s resolve. He might feel overwhelming physiological dread regarding the imminent agony, but his eyes refused to yield.

Staring into those unbreaking eyes, Tang Yeom-cho awkwardly stroked his beard. “Good heavens, I never dreamed I’d be resorting to such things at my age. But I am left with no choice,” Yeom-cho sighed heavily. “Consider this the bitter end of your life’s luck.”

“…”

“If you ever reconsider and wish to confess, give the signal. I will immediately halt your pain.”

Without another word, Tang Yeom-cho pried open Baek Ho-cheol’s paralyzed jaw. He poured the vile liquid directly down the gaping maw, simultaneously jamming a wooden stick inside to violently depress the back of the bandit king’s tongue.

Baek Ho-cheol’s larynx reflexively convulsed, forcing him to swallow the vast majority of the poisonous deluge.

The excess overflowed past his chin, drenching his ragged clothes and matted beard before dripping onto the straw mat. A guttural, retching sound tore from his throat. Even in a desperate final bid to vomit the liquid back up, he found himself utterly incapable. Having personally witnessed the horrifying poison being poured into his own mouth, his eyes darted wildly in sheer panic.

The moment the bowl was emptied, Tang Yeom-cho straightened his index and middle fingers, striking precisely to release the acupoints binding Baek Ho-cheol.

Hacking violently, Baek Ho-cheol collapsed onto the floor, his arms still tightly bound behind his back.

He writhed and thrashed against the coarse straw mat, frantically trying to regurgitate the toxin.

His stomach yielded nothing.

The poisonous qi that had invaded his stomach squirmed like a nest of maggots, sinking its virulent roots deep into his gastric walls.

A gag was swiftly forced into his mouth to prevent him from biting off his own tongue. A sharp, stinging pain began to bloom from his solar plexus, and his skin flared with scorching heat. Blinded by terror, Baek Ho-cheol dragged in ragged, desperate breaths. Obstructed by the gag, the air trapped inside repeatedly bulged out his cheeks.

The sand remaining in the hourglass indicated only one and a half gak left.

It was more than enough time for the poison to reveal its true, horrifying worth.