Chronicles of the Martial God’s Return - Chapter 151

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Makyung, which encircled Tianshan, sprawled across an area dozens, if not hundreds of times larger than the imperial palace, and the population dwelling within it was said to number one hundred thousand.
Thus, the Makyung earned its alternative name: the Ten Thousand Demonic Sect.
The Makyung was composed of vast concentric circles and labyrinthine passages, with the outermost ring forming villages where those who generally lacked martial training had gathered.
Commoners and merchants ignorant of the martial arts mingled here alongside bandits and brigands, who contributed revenue to the Makyung in the form of taxes and maintained this symbiotic arrangement.
Deeper within dwelt members of the Makyung of lower rank, while as one approached the center of Tianshan, the hierarchy grew more elevated, and ancient sects and schools that had long guarded the Makyung established their strongholds.
These were the true pillars that sustained the current Makyung.
Upon arriving at the village on Tianshan’s outermost edge, Jang Sam-tae found himself at a loss for words, his frame drooping with exhaustion.
He swept his vacant gaze across his surroundings, offered a hollow laugh, and let his shoulders sag.
“So we’ve ended up here after all…….”
Jang Sam-tae’s laugh held the weight of defeat.
The information he sought was about the Makyung itself.
Had he merely wanted to gather such intelligence, there would have been no need to venture directly into Tianshan.
He had earned enough coin to purchase information from any number of sources.
Yet the Hao Mun and nearly every information broker had refused to divulge anything about the Makyung.
It was because almost no intelligence flowed out from that place.
Unable to return empty-handed, he had pressed forward bit by bit, until at last he found himself within the villages near Tianshan itself.
Jang Sam-tae collapsed onto the quiet stretch of road and glanced sideways at Ma Jang-gang.
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I am.”
“Care to sit? My neck’s getting sore from looking down at you.”
“Tsk.”
Ma Jang-gang settled onto the ground with obvious reluctance.
After months of traveling together, he had grown accustomed to this man called Jang Sam-tae. He had known all along that Sam-tae was audacious to the point of recklessness, yet now he complained without bothering to maintain respectful speech, his words crude and unvarnished.
“You truly have remarkable nerve. Had you been anyone else, ten lives wouldn’t have been enough to see you through.”
At that cutting remark, Jang Sam-tae waved his hand dismissively.
His manner conveyed that he lacked even the energy to muster a response.
“I’ve heard that line a hundred times already. More to the point—do you sense anything emerging from this place?”
“Hmm—.”
Ma Jang-gang stifled a groan, furrowed his brow, and surveyed the surroundings. He had gathered not a shred of intelligence during their entire journey here.
Yet nothing appeared to be amiss within the Makyung itself.
The village of Tianshan that lay before his eyes now was utterly ordinary.
People toiled diligently in their fields, merchants bustled about their trade.
Brigands and ruffians swaggered about with shoulders squared, as if nothing untoward had transpired.
But.
‘The ones who should be here are absent.’
Ma Jang-gang knew this well.
Known as the Wolf King, he had wandered through every corner of the Central Plains.
He had visited this Tianshan several times before, and on each occasion he should have encountered members of the Makyung overseeing and patrolling the village—yet he saw not a single one.
That absence was profoundly unsettling.
Though he made no outward sign, Jang Sam-tae too seemed to have noticed this peculiarity.
“We may need to venture deeper. What do you think?”
“Truly? But you know as well as I do that only members of the Makyung are permitted past this point. Are you saying that knowing this?”
Jang Sam-tae fixed Ma Jang-gang with a look of disbelief.
If their identities were discovered, there was no possibility of a gentle outcome.
Ma Jang-gang was skilled—a genuine master of martial arts—but within the Makyung dwelt masters whose prowess exceeded his own.
Why did people fear the Makyung so greatly?
Why did the masters of the Orthodox Faction not merely refrain from subjugating the Makyung, but even hesitate to engage them?
Because the power they wielded was utterly alien and overwhelming.
Yet Ma Jang-gang rose without hesitation and, turning to regard Jang Sam-tae, smiled thinly.
“When you consider it, you received instruction from Master Sa—so shouldn’t you be counted as a member of the Makyung?”
“Ha……! What sort of ridiculous—”
“Did I misspeak?”
Jang Sam-tae released a long, weary sigh.
It was not an incorrect statement.
While Dan Woo-hyun had provided the foundation of his martial arts, Sa Do-hak had assumed his training thereafter.
In truth, the Jang Sam-tae of today was shaped by Sa Do-hak’s hand. Even the faint trace of Demonic Qi that dwelt within his dantian existed for that very reason.
‘If we go in, the odds of discovery are high, aren’t they?’
He turned it over in his mind.
Even with Ma Jang-gang at his side, the enemy was the Ten Thousand Demonic Sect—one careless move and his head would roll.
Yet Ma Jang-gang’s words held weight.
‘But I have Sa to rely on, don’t I?’
If he could send a single letter from Jang Yuan, everything would resolve smoothly. More than that, if he returned empty-handed without so much as a lead, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Dan Woo-hyun would say to him.
‘Or worse—I might be cast out.’
There was a time when dismissal would have been a blessing. True freedom at last.
But now Jang Yuan held Dan So-mi, and though grating, Dan Woo-hyun as well.
The years they’d shared weren’t long by measure, yet the trials they’d weathered together had woven affection deep into his chest, and trust in both of them had taken root.
Jang Yuan was Jang Sam-tae’s place.
But what lay beyond?
Would he fall back to thievery?
Jang Sam-tae rose abruptly from his seat, his deliberation finished.
“Don’t ask me! If trouble comes, I’m running first!”
“Do as you see fit.”

***

“Hah… hah… hah…”
Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s entire body was bound in iron chains as he breathed in ragged gasps. His tangled hair hung over his face, unkempt and wild.
Yet the eyes glimpsed beneath burned with a sharpness keener than ever before.
“Kill… kill… kill!”
“Yes, you must kill. Your resentment, your jealousy, your rage—pour it all out and kill!”
The Red-haired Man gazed upon Mo Yong Hyuk-mun and laughed. As he felt the man’s negativity and killing intent, a shiver ran through his entire frame.
It had been a long time.
A figure burning with such lethal hunger.
That very fact made it all the more entertaining to toy with him.
“Are you certain about this?”
Someone approached from the shadows and spoke.
The darkness obscured their face beyond recognition, yet the Red-haired Man nodded and wore a deep smile.
“Of course. Where else would you find such material?”
“…He does not appear to be in good condition, sir.”
The man clicked his tongue in dismissal.
He hardly looked strong at all.
What remained was perhaps nothing more than killing intent and hatred?
To his eye, the man seemed pathetically weak, with no real utility to speak of.
Why had the master brought such a wretch along?
“I… I will grow stronger… I can grow stronger!”
“Yes! You can grow stronger.”
The Red-haired Man answered Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s muttering. At those words, the man’s eyes blazed an even deeper crimson.
His sense of self had already crumbled away; he possessed only a single purpose—to kill his opponent.
Zouhuo Rumo.
The shock of being toyed with by Dan Woo-hyun had shattered his mind, and the death of his son twisted his vital energy. His qi had become corrupted beyond measure.
Restoring him from the depths of Zouhuo Rumo would ordinarily be a grueling task, yet the Red-haired Man paid it no mind.
He dismissed even the killing intent he felt radiating before him as trivial.
“Yes, you will surely kill him.”
“I… I will kill him! Kill him! I will tear him to shreds!”
“Khahaha! That’s it! All you’ve lost, how weak you’ve become—the only thing left for you to do is kindle that murderous will toward him and rise again!”
Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s body lurched violently.
In that moment, the Red-haired Man raised a bowl filled with something the color of fresh blood, holding it in a large cup.
Mo Yong Hyuk-mun, oblivious to what it was or what was about to be done to him, continued to pour forth his killing intent toward Dan Woo-hyun, repeating his mantra of death over and over.
Splash—!
The Red-haired Man hurled the contents of the cup over Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s head.
As it ran down slowly and spread in all directions, the reek of iron proved it was blood.
Within moments, Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s entire body was drenched in crimson.
The sight was grotesque beyond measure, yet no one present spared it a glance.
“Do you know what is required to grow stronger?”
“Kill! Kill!”
“Death itself. You have already reached the limits of your talent; you have climbed to a ceiling beyond which you cannot advance.”
The Red-haired Man’s low voice carried laughter as he spoke.
The limits of talent.
An inborn ceiling that even human effort could not overcome.
A woodcutter who has been chopping trees since childhood grows stronger little by little, but at some point, the growth simply stops—his strength plateaus and refuses to climb further.
That was the very limit Mo Yong Hyuk-mun carried within him.
He was exceptional enough to have carved out a place for himself among warriors as countless as grains of sand.
Yet once his talent had struck that ceiling, he could rise no higher.
How, then, could such a man grow stronger?
Either through enlightenment and complete transformation—
“Or by actually dying.”
Crack—!
The moment the red-haired man’s mouth fell silent.
A crimson Blood Line shot forward.
In an instant, the Blood Line that descended upon Mo Yong Hyuk-mun cleaved through his chest and tore out all his organs within.
Squelch—!
“Kgh……!”
The light faded gradually from Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s eyes, which had held nothing but killing intent.
Yet even then, his murderous intent toward Dan Woo-hyun lingered and rippled.
“Enlightenment takes far too long to achieve, does it not? Then die and be reborn anew. A body that feels no pain shall shatter your limits—you will grow stronger still.”
“Kgh…….”
Mo Yong Hyuk-mun gasped in agony, struggling even to draw breath.
Yet the red-haired man showed not a flicker of emotion as he reached out and seized Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s face, dragging it toward him.
He stared into the slowly dimming eyes and spoke.
“And serve me. Build for me the greatest stage upon which to face that wretch in battle. Resurrect the Martial World of ages past! A stronger Martial World, more chaotic, more drenched in blood! Not this pathetic peace-rotted Martial World, but a true battlefield!”
The red-haired man gnashed his teeth and roared.
Martial arts so inferior compared to what had been.
The grotesque sight of beasts grown fat on peace.
The sight of such things kindled rage without end.
The Martial World was meant to be chaotic, meant to be fierce, meant for screams to flow without ceasing.
This squalid stage was unfit for settling things with that one.
‘Then I shall build it myself.’
The man turned his back on Mo Yong Hyuk-mun’s corpse, already growing cold.
Summoning that face glimpsed after a thousand years, he laughed with genuine warmth.
Yet his expression too had become far too serene, too unlike the past.
The red-haired man did not like it.
That was not the expression he had worn then. That wretch had never harbored such weak sentiments.
The image remained vivid—him tearing his opponent apart with cruelty, drenched in their blood, laughing.
How had he become so weak?
How could he torment his heart with such a face?
‘I shall restore you as well.’
The red-haired man made his resolve.
Our stage was never meant to be this.
I shall return all things to that time a thousand years past, dyed in blood’s own hue.
He too shall welcome it. For such is our fate.
‘Is it not so, Martial God?’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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