Chronicles of the Martial God’s Return - Chapter 159

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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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“Hraagh, hraagh!”
Clang-clang-clang!
Hong Won-chang wielded his blade with savage, unbridled fury.
His sword moved like a beast—ferocious and menacing.
Though he’d studied Martial Arts for barely a year, anyone could see at a glance that he’d already reached a considerable level.
‘It was worth it.’
He felt the constables’ reverent stares upon him.
He’d spent every coin he had on Vitality Elixirs to raise his Internal Power reservoir—his foundational Martial Power had been far too weak when he first began his training. Thanks to that sacrifice, he’d gained nearly a full decade’s worth of accumulated force.
But the real work came after.
Hong Won-chang’s fatal flaw was his complete lack of real combat experience.
So he’d sparred with the constables every single day—starting one-on-one, then gradually adding opponents until he could face ten without flinching.
He’d bled for this.
He’d finally learned the Martial Arts he’d always craved.
What remained now was pure hunger—the drive to climb higher.
Clang-clang-clang!
“Damned maniac!”
Swoosh!
The man’s blade raked across his ribs.
Already cut in multiple places, his body was drenched in blood, and with no bandages applied, the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
If this dragged on much longer, he’d lose too much blood and die.
Yet Hong Won-chang gritted his teeth.
He was testing himself.
Staking his life to climb to a higher realm.
That was why he didn’t retreat even as gore sprayed across the battlefield.
“Hng!”
A moan escaped his opponent.
The gap in skill was undeniable.
There was a vast chasm between learning Martial Arts in haste and building experience over years.
But the man who’d already lost all his subordinates had shattered beyond composure.
Even if he managed to strike down Hong Won-chang, Namgung So-hye and Kwon Mu-jin still remained—and that realization crushed him.
Under such pressure, Hong Won-chang’s blade came faster and faster, and because his opponent refused to yield, it was maddening.
“Losing to someone like this?!”
The leader ground his teeth, voice raw with desperation.
In ordinary circumstances, a foe of this caliber would already be dead.
But why wouldn’t he fall?
Why was he still standing?
The blade’s edge had torn through flesh—he felt it unmistakably. And yet the bastard didn’t go down; he just kept pressing forward, kept swinging.
Bathed head to toe in crimson blood, eyes blazing with a fury that blurred the line between man and demon—such a creature stood before him.
Tremor-tremor.
His whole body shook.
He should move, should act—but the moment his eyes met that gaze, his limbs went rigid.
“By my lord’s command. All of you—die!”
Schwick!
The blade swept across and severed the man’s throat.

Hong Won-chang’s swordplay was brutal, yes—but what had grown more brutal still was his very temperament.
That meek, frail creature he’d known before seemed to have vanished completely, replaced now by a figure gasping over a blade stained scarlet—an almost alien transformation.
“In just one year, he’s come this far……”
Namgung So-hye was equally astonished.
She’d been surprised once before, under similar circumstances.
It was when Jang Sam-tae’s strength had grown at such a dizzying pace.
But now, watching Hong Won-chang, she realized he’d become a Martial Artist of nearly equal stature.
Anyone in the Central Plains who carried a blade would be shocked to witness it.
If people could grow so dramatically in such a short span, the very concept of “Third-rate Martial Artist” would cease to exist—and most would range between ordinary and First-rate.

Hong Won-chang’s growth was nothing short of remarkable.
“He may have picked up a thing or two from his lord, but that’s not all of it. This is…… yes…… it’s killing intent.”
“Killing intent…….”
Namgung So-hye nodded slowly.
The killing intent of a man who fights with the conviction that he will yield to no one.
Without such resolve, no one would push their body so mercilessly in combat.
She couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Dan Woo-hyun…… what on earth had he done, and how, to transform the frail Hong Won-chang into such a warrior?
“Incredible…… extraordinary, Master Hong!”
“Wow! Even better than during training!”
“You’ve become a true martial artist now, haven’t you?”
“Amazing! Teach us too, please!”
As the area settled, the constables who had been watching the spectacle burst into cheers. Hong Won-chang had displayed sword techniques far more impressive than they’d known him capable of, standing out even more than Kwon Mu-jin or Namgung So-hye present there. Their admiration knew no bounds.
The constables’ eyes gleamed with reverence.
Hong Won-chang, catching his breath, began to sheathe his blade.
Whoosh!
He flicked the blood from the edge and casually retrieved his sword. The grace of his movements was the very image of a warrior the constables dreamed of becoming.
“Ha ha ha! That’s right! I am Hong Won-chang! The great Hong!”
“Yes, sir! Ha ha! No one will dare look down on Master Hong anymore.”
“Shouldn’t you enter the Imperial Sparring Tournament? You’d certainly take first place!”
“Eh he he he! Think so?”
Hong Won-chang’s face brightened under the constables’ flattery, which made his shoulders bob with pleasure. The stern expression vanished without a trace, replaced by his habitual goofy grin as he scratched his head roughly.
It was like watching the old Hong Won-chang all over again.
At the sight, Namgung So-hye shook her head in exasperation.
“Of course. People don’t change their nature overnight, do they?”
Listening to his ridiculous laughter, Namgung So-hye let out a long sigh.
Kwon Mu-jin frowned beside her.
“What are you doing? The rest of you, clear away the bodies and prepare treatment for Master Hong. He’s bleeding badly—he’ll collapse soon.”
“Huh? You’re worried about me? Ha ha! Don’t be—this is nothing…….”
Hong Won-chang, laughing loudly, pounded his chest with a booming laugh. But each strike sent more blood streaming from his wounds, until his words became incoherent and he crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
“M…… Master!”
“What…… what are you doing?! Medicine! Get the medicine!”
The constables scrambled in panic, rushing about frantically.

***

“Ah, damn…….”
“Ugh…… ughhhh…….”
Jang Sam-tae and Ma Jang-gang groaned in the darkness of their confined space.
The damp cell was unbearably oppressive, yet they lay still, breathing shallowly.
They were covered in blood.
Both Jang Sam-tae and Ma Jang-gang bore the same appearance.
Marks of torture were evident all over their bodies.
“Damn these bastards…… even in hiding, is this how we should be treated?”
“Ugh…… I told you not to go…….”
Jang Sam-tae rubbed the welts from the whip with a grimace. Their cover as Demonic Cult members, meant to gather intelligence, had been blown at once, and after days of torture they’d been thrown into this cell.
Having had barely any sleep during their ordeal, their bodies and minds were utterly spent—the fact that they could even converse now felt almost miraculous.
“Ugh…… what do we do now?”
“What else? We escape.”
Jang Sam-tae surveyed the surroundings with a hazy gaze.
He already knew this was a prison, but they’d been dragged far from where the torture chamber was, and for a jail, the sound of other prisoners’ breathing seemed remarkably faint.
Moreover, he could detect no presence of guards watching them. Unless their captors were masters of extraordinary skill, and given that even Ma Jang-gang said nothing, it seemed no one was actively guarding them.
“Damn it…… why is the guard so tight here?”
Ma Jang-gang grumbled and pushed himself to his feet. He had resisted fiercely, but it had been futile.
The fact that he—though only marginally ranked among the Top Hundred Masters—had been captured revealed that this Demonic Cult was far stronger than he’d imagined.
“Hell! This is all your fault, isn’t it? You were so confident, talking about how I should just leave it to you as one of the Top Hundred Masters, and look—we’re in this mess…….!”
“You crazy bastard! How was I supposed to know they’d throw Anesthetic Powder at us?!”
“Isn’t a Top Hundred Master supposed to detoxify that sort of thing on the spot?”
“Ughhhh!”
At Jang Sam-tae’s rebuke, Ma Jang-gang ground his teeth.
Yes, I made a mistake—I’ll admit that. But the moment they scattered the Anesthetic Powder and the way they moved was nothing like the martial artists Ma Jang-gang had ever faced before.
They moved like true Demonic Cult assassins.
Still, Ma Jang-gang had his own side of the story.
“Your name started all this chaos in the first place!”
“Then what was I supposed to do? I had to trade on that name if we were going to slip away alive!”
“Trade on it? The moment your name came out of someone’s mouth, those bastards went wild with bloodlust and came straight at us!”
“…… Damn it all!”
The Demonic Cult devotees harbored an almost fanatical loyalty to their leader.
In truth, the entire vast organization was held together by nothing more than that devotion alone.
So it would have been natural for anyone hearing Sa Do-hak’s name to verify the claim, suspicion or not.
But these men had done nothing of the sort.
Instead, they’d drawn their swords and thrown themselves at them with even greater ferocity.
From the way they’d tortured them without asking Sa Do-hak’s whereabouts—something strange was clearly happening within the Cult.
“If we’d talked, we’d be dead now, wouldn’t we?”
Ma Jang-gang laughed dryly as he spoke.
Through brutal torture, they hadn’t uttered a single word. Had they broken—had they opened their mouths—their heads wouldn’t have stayed fastened to their shoulders.
Jang Sam-tae nodded in agreement.
There had been many moments when he’d wanted to speak, when the agony had nearly torn a confession from him. But he’d held firm.
Coming to the Demonic Cult meant accepting a certain fate.
Clang—!
A sound echoed through the prison.
Both Jang Sam-tae and Ma Jang-gang’s heads snapped toward it.
From somewhere in the middle of the vast Thunder Prison came a low hum, followed by a voice that seemed to emerge from nowhere.
“…… Do you know of ——?”
“Who is it?”
“…… Do you know ——……?”
“Know what?”
The voice that came back was thin, drained of all strength.
Yet even in that frail whisper—the kind that might stop at any moment—there flickered something unmistakably like hope.
“The…… the leader…… are you asking if I know the leader……?”
“The leader? You mean Sa Do-hak? Well, I know of him, that much is certain…….”
Jang Sam-tae pressed himself against the iron bars, straining toward the sound. In the middle of the Thunder Prison, a faint silhouette became barely visible.
He couldn’t make out who it was, but one thing was certain: someone else besides themselves was still alive down here.
“Sa…… are you…… are you still alive……?”
“Very much alive! Fit as a fiddle.”
A dry chuckle echoed through the prison. “Yes…… thank the heavens. Truly, thank the heavens.”
Jang Sam-tae’s eyes turned toward Ma Jang-gang.
He too seemed to sense something amiss and pressed himself against the bars.
“Who are you?”
Ma Jang-gang opened his eyes slightly as he asked.
There was no killing intent in the stranger’s voice.
That alone was proof he meant no harm to Sa Do-hak.
But then, how had such a person ended up locked in this prison?
“I am Dong Bang-gu…… once, I was the Vice Commander of this Demonic Cult.”
“!?”
“What……!”
At that name, both men’s bodies went rigid.

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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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