The Heavenly Evil Demonic Art was more than a vessel for wicked qi capable of weaponizing the body; it was a sorcery designed to bewitch the mind and dull the senses. Seok Woo-haeng had fused this corruption with the assassin’s path, forging a flawlessness born of absolute darkness.
Shing!
A razor-thin arc of sword qi streaked through the gloom, targeting Bu Eunseol’s blind spot.
Splat.
Though Bu Eunseol executed his footwork to evade, blood misted from his shoulder. He had failed to perceive the attack’s true trajectory.
He suppresses the instinct of the Beast with the Demonic Art, then layers the strikes to pour forth like a deluge.
Bu Eunseol gripped the hilt of his Dark Sword, eyes narrowing as they fixed on his opponent.
Whoosh!
In that fraction of a second, Seok Woo-haeng’s offensive surged again. He was a phantom of dualities—unleashing sword forms from a low stance while simultaneously firing hidden weapons from the air to target the head. One moment he appeared to stab a vital point with a blade, and the next, a keen dagger jutted treacherously toward Bu Eunseol’s back.
It is truly like facing two men at once.
Bu Eunseol finally understood why Seok Woo-haeng had sought the forbidden power of the Heavenly Evil Demonic Art. It was the only bridge across the immense chasm of martial power that separated them.
Rumble.
A low tremor began to vibrate through the underground waterway, deepening into a heavy boom.
Thud, thud, thud.
The ground itself seemed to shudder as shadows coalesced into a dense throng of figures, encircling the duelists. These were the reapers of the Extreme Assassination Pavilion.
The black sea of assassins parted, and a middle-aged man, unmasked and radiating authority, strode slowly forward: Gwak Seong, the Martial Commander Blood Master, leading the Pavilion’s elite combat squad.
“Seok Woo-haeng!”
His voice was a thunderclap of fury. Gwak Seong had mobilized the entirety of the Pavilion’s elite to annihilate the Twelve Domains, only to find them scattered. Worse, intelligence received en route revealed that the Grand Chieftain who killed Yong Jeok-bi was none other than Seok Woo-haeng, one of their own Ten Demonic Successors.
“How dare you…”
Gwak Seong’s rage faltered as his gaze landed on the second figure.
“Who is that?”
He frowned, observing the standoff. Though the two men had exchanged only a few blows, currents of potent qi flared violently around them, signaling a duel of lethal consequence.
Seok Woo-haeng offered a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Blood Master Gwak. You arrived sooner than expected. I wagered I had another day.”
“Seok Woo-haeng!” Gwak Seong’s voice choked with indignation. “Did you truly kill the Blood Master of Graveyard Pavilion?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“He couldn’t just die without a fight, could he?”
“What did you say?”
“If he intended to kill me,” Seok Woo-haeng stated, his voice devoid of warmth, “was I supposed to offer up my neck like a sacrificial lamb?”
“You violated the Pavilion’s order to return and hid within the Twelve Domains!” Gwak Seong roared. “That is a grievous offense, and now you dare murder the Pavilion’s successor?”
“Blood Master Gwak.” Seok Woo-haeng’s tone dropped to a glacial chill. “The Extreme Assassination Pavilion deliberately leaked my location twice to ensure my mutual destruction against a formidable master. When was I ever truly a disciple of your Pavilion?”
Gwak Seong fell silent.
The leadership knew the truth. They knew Seok Woo-haeng possessed prodigious talent and leadership surpassing Yong Jeok-bi. Yet, they could not accept a latecomer as the successor without fracturing their internal power base. The leak had been a calculated execution.
“So do not pretend I am one of you now.”
“Blood Master,” Hahu Kang, the Deputy Blood Master, stepped forward, cutting through the tension. “Is there a need to exchange words with a rogue? It would be better to sever his head swiftly and present it to the Pavilion Master.”
Gwak Seong nodded, eyes blazing. “Are you prepared to lay down your neck?”
“I won’t die by your hands.”
“What?”
“Just stand there and watch,” Seok Woo-haeng declared, his defiance absolute. “I will duel him.”
He was already a man resigned to death; no threat could move him now. Before Gwak Seong could retort, Seok Woo-haeng turned his back on the intruders, facing his true obsession.
“Bu Eunseol! I sacrificed my humanity to surpass you!” He reversed his grip on the assassin’s blade, channeling his qi. “Come!”
Had he wished to live, he would have vanished with the Twelve Domains. Yet he remained, solely to challenge the one wall he could not scale. Every passing moment only widened the gap between them; this was his final chance.
Clack.
Bu Eunseol brought the Dark Sword to a ready stance. For a man seeking a life-or-death battle with such desperation, this was the only mercy he could grant.
Flash!
Seok Woo-haeng attacked first.
He poured forth a barrage of Secret Assassination Arts layered with the Heavenly Evil Demonic Art, a display of lethal virtuosity intended as a final testament before the Pavilion’s assassins. Superior sword forms, flying daggers, poisons, and ingenious mechanisms flowed from him in an unceasing torrent.
After forty chō, the elite assassins gasped in subconscious admiration. Seok Woo-haeng was unrestricted by form or convention, attacking and deflecting in a fluid continuum. This was the Raging River Technique—the legendary realm where assassination arts flow like an unstoppable river, the very pinnacle the Pavilion masters yearned for.
Swoosh!
Bu Eunseol’s eyes shifted as he countered the relentless offensive.
Seok Woo-haeng was generating immense power with minimal energy. A river, no matter how often it is cut, cannot be severed.
Whirrr.
A single stream of wind began to swirl around Bu Eunseol, a strand of blue light flashing past. His body transformed into that wind, beginning to consume the assault. He had deployed the Martial Emperor’s supreme technique, the Qi of Thirteen Provocations, unleashing martial arts simultaneously across his entire form.
I…
Seeing his full power effortlessly dissolved, despair clouded Seok Woo-haeng’s eyes.
Even if I die…
Time seemed to suspend as thousands of thoughts rushed through his mind.
Does this mean I can never surpass you?
He was a genius by any measure. But the Bu Eunseol he had seen at Long Sword Manor was an insurmountable peak—possessing immense internal energy, brilliant intellect, and a terrifying lack of fear.
If your martial art is insufficient, why not unleash double the power?
He had found his solution in the forbidden arts. Yet, the moment their blades clashed, he knew: even with double the power, he could not win. In the crucible of death, Bu Eunseol would simply evolve again.
I made the same mistake as Yong Jeok-bi. I calculated based on the Bu Eunseol of yesterday.
Snap!
Time rushed back to normal. Bu Eunseol’s counter-attack became visible.
But you cannot defeat me, either.
Seok Woo-haeng wore a knowing smile of resolve. Bu Eunseol could not win, because Seok Woo-haeng had never intended to survive.
Vwoom!
Hundreds of streams of sharp energy erupted from Seok Woo-haeng’s body—the Heavenly Evil Extreme Blazing Qi.
“Bu Eunseol—!”
He threw his full force forward. Immense heat, hot enough to melt metal, sheathed him completely. It was a technique of mutual destruction, melting flesh and blood. No sane warrior would face it head-on.
He must retreat, or die.
This frontal assault was a feint. The true killing blow, the Heavenly Evil Flowing Blood Secret Art, was already prepared behind Bu Eunseol.
You have no choice but to retreat!
Seok Woo-haeng knew the universal truth of the Murim: Those who possess much never gamble. Bu Eunseol was the successor of the Wolf Fang Pavilion, a candidate for the Demonic Palace, and a squad captain of vast forces.
A wise man never gambles at the crossroads of life and death!
Seok Woo-haeng poured the blazing qi onto the path of retreat, forcing the choice.
What?
His eyes snapped wide. He had been certain Bu Eunseol would pull back to regroup. Instead, without a flicker of hesitation, Bu Eunseol plunged straight into the torrent of melting qi.
Sizzle.
Robes disintegrated and skin blistered as if scorched by dragon fire, yet Bu Eunseol pushed through the inferno and extended his sword.
Flash!
A cold, chilling light exploded from the Dark Sword, penetrating the barrier of blazing qi and stabbing straight toward Seok Woo-haeng’s throat.
Clang!
The blade failed to pierce the neck, stopped by the Heavenly Evil Demonic Energy that Seok Woo-haeng had desperately hardened around his body in the moment of absolute peril.
Thud.
Seok Woo-haeng landed heavily. His face cracked open, the scaly epidermis shattering like brittle clay.
Crackle.
He had avoided decapitation, but the overwhelming internal energy of the Dark Sword had shattered his defense. The razor-sharp counter-force penetrated his meridians, melting them from within. Blood leaked from his lips.
“I only wanted to defeat you once.”
He stared into the void with bitter resentment.
“Heaven did not choose me.”
His life, dedicated to the dark arts, had been for this singular purpose. Not out of jealousy, but the raw longing of a martial spirit yearning to catch a star that moved too fast. But the desperate gamble of his own life had ended in total defeat.
Bu Eunseol harbored no fear of death, no attachment to possession. He was a force that simply shattered the trials before him. Seok Woo-haeng could not overcome that wall—neither in skill nor in spirit.
“It is finished.”
As the victor and vanquished separated, Gwak Seong walked forward, smiling like a wolf who had found an unexpected feast.
“Indeed, your martial art befits a Demonic Palace successor. You have given me a great revelation.” He did not pause, moving toward the fallen man.
Bu Eunseol frowned, stepping into his path. “What are you doing?”
“Seok Woo-haeng is a traitor who murdered our successor. Hand him over.” Gwak Seong’s smile was filled with the confidence of political leverage. “There is no need to make an enemy of our Pavilion. You will soon be the successor of the Demonic Palace, and for that, you need the support of the Ten Demonic Sects.”
He believed the offer was irrefutable.
“If you hand him over, our Pavilion will never forget this favor.”
But the answer he received was entirely unexpected.
“I refuse.”