Defying the Heavens Scholar - Chapter 36

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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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Retrograde Progression 36

Episode 36. Private Audience.

Right before stepping into the Heavenly Demon Hall, I instinctively accepted the truth: this was no ordinary chamber. The aura of the Dark Shadow Court members, perceptible from outside, was razor-sharp.
Hidden in darkness, yet cutting across skin like a blade’s edge—such was the presence that lingered here.
But inside the Heavenly Demon Hall, everything changed.
There was no sharpness.

No coarse, suffocating killing intent, no oppression pouring from all sides. Rather, there was nothing at all.
Yet that nothingness tightened my breath in an unsettling way. My breathing became fractured, though nothing physically blocked it. A hairline gap appeared between each inhale and exhale, and with every repetition, the sensation grew heavier—a creeping certainty that where I stood now was not where I was meant to be.
The entire hall felt like one vast void.

At the heart of that void, someone existed. I couldn’t see them yet, but I knew.
I knew who owned this place.

“Only Hwang Myojin enters. The rest of you wait.”

Gwak Yeom’s voice rang out low.

Before he’d even finished, Tae Junmu stepped forward.

“That won’t do.”

His voice was quiet but unyielding. There was no question of him backing down.
Gwak Yeom regarded Tae Junmu. His expression remained unchanged—the face of a man to whom repeating settled matters would be beneath him.

“The Master called for one person only.”
“I heard that much.”

Tae Junmu’s brow furrowed.

“But I cannot let the boy face the Heavenly Demon alone.”

Yeon Hwarin’s face hardened at his words.
She understood how perilous this moment was, understood what it meant to defy the Master’s will within these walls, and surely grasped how dangerous a line Tae Junmu was treading. Yet he remained unmoved.

“Myojin is still young. No matter his talent, before the Heavenly Demon he’s nothing but a candle in the wind.”

His words were rough, but sincere worry lay beneath them.
I watched Tae Junmu. Ever since we’d left Cheongrim, he’d been like this—speaking harshly, pretending indifference, yet always the first to step forward when danger came.
The combat drills he’d given me, the warnings, his rough hands on my shoulders—it had all been for my survival.
Knowing that, I spoke quietly.

“It’s all right.”

Tae Junmu turned to look at me.

“All right how?”
“I’ll go in alone.”

Tae Junmu’s face contorted.

“You really……”

He exhaled a long breath—whether a sigh or a curse, I couldn’t tell.

“There are few who’d walk into a meeting with the Heavenly Demon looking so composed. I’d wager you’re the only one.”

I smiled faintly.

“I’m merely pretending to be composed.”
“At least pretend convincingly. You’re turning the watchers’ guts inside out…….”
“Then I won’t smile anymore.”
“If only you’d stay silent…… tsk.”

Tae Junmu grumbled low, but he didn’t try to hold me back.
Instead, he spoke briefly.

“Come back alive.”

Those words carried weight. I nodded slowly.
Yeon Hwarin said nothing. Her gaze was complex—a tangle of concern, anticipation, and fear. Perhaps she understood as well.
That if I failed beyond this door, it wouldn’t be just my death, but the collapse of every possibility she’d offered to the Heavenly Demon.
Gwak Yeom pushed open the inner door of the Heavenly Demon Hall slowly.

Thud.

The door swung open with a heavy sound.
The interior was dark. Not entirely void of light, but what little filtered through proved powerless against that darkness.
It was as if aged ink had seeped into the space between floor and pillar and ceiling.
I steadied my breath once, then stepped inside.

Thud.

The door sealed behind me. In that instant, every trace of the outside world vanished.
I could no longer sense Tae Junmu’s breath, nor Yeon Hwarin’s gaze, nor the presence of Gwak Yeom.
Only I remained, and this hall. And one person seated deep within it.

The Heavenly Demon. Dokgo Jin.

He did not move.
Eyes closed, he simply sat there. Yet instinct made it clear.
This space orbited around him.
The hall itself, the darkness, the stagnant air, the strange pressure that threw my breathing awry—all of it revolved around him alone.

A brief time passed, though its brevity stretched endlessly.
Like I’d sunk into deep water without moving an inch.
Then his eyes opened. The moment his gaze touched me, I couldn’t breathe.
We faced each other directly, yet his features refused to sharpen. He had eyes, a nose, a mouth—but every time I tried to perceive his form, something slipped away.
As if my senses couldn’t fully accept him.

“You are called Hwang Myojin.”

I straightened my spine and answered.

“I am.”

The Heavenly Demon’s gaze moved across me slowly. There was no anger in those eyes, no curiosity.
Only the flat, measuring look one turns on an object—as if assessing its use, or inspecting a blade’s edge, or gauging the breath of prey.

“The Shadowless Phantom Sword.”

The instant that name fell, the air grew heavier still.

“How did you learn of it.”

The question was brief. Yet within it stood an inescapable blade.

“I have seen it.”
“Seen it?”
“Yes. I have seen with my own eyes the Secret Manual containing the Demonic Cult’s martial arts.”

The moment those words left my lips, Dokgo Jin’s fingertips moved with infinitesimal precision.
Just one finger tilted slightly—yet my body was dragged forward as if by invisible chains.

“……!”

I had no room to resist.

Crash!

My knees struck the stone floor.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. I tried to straighten my back, but my body wouldn’t obey. My limbs weren’t bound—it was something far worse. My very existence felt crushed beneath an invisible weight.
Dokgo Jin looked down at me and spoke.

“Where did you see the Demonic Cult’s martial arts?”

His voice was low. More terrifying than cold anger was the near-absence of emotion within it.
I clenched my teeth.

Musindong.

I could not speak that name.
Musindong was an imperial secret. And within it lay traces of Gang No. If Dokgo Jin learned of this, the consequences would not end with me alone. Gang No, Man Tong, even Cheongrim could be caught in the net.
Yet I could not lie either. A clumsy falsehood would never deceive the man before me.
I opened my mouth slowly.

“I saw it in Bidong, which has long since burned to ash.”
“Bidong?”
“Yes. It contained not only the Demonic Cult’s arts, but martial techniques from both orthodox and heterodox schools alike—even those said to have vanished from the world. The Shadowless Phantom Sword was among them.”

Dokgo Jin said nothing. His silence weighed more heavily than any words. I did not look away, keeping my gaze steady with clenched fists.
I knew that the moment I faltered, everything would end.

“Such a repository existed in all the world.”

His voice continued slowly.

“If the Shadowless Phantom Sword was indeed there… then it must have leaked from within our own ranks.”

My heart lurched violently. Yet I kept my expression unchanged.
Dokgo Jin seemed to be reading my reaction, but he did not press further.

“……Such things happen often enough. A purge will suffice.”

The words were matter-of-fact. Yet that very casualness sent ice through my veins.
The existence of a spy within the Demonic Cult itself was barely worthy of his surprise.
Dokgo Jin’s gaze returned to me.

“How far can you restore it?”

This was no longer an explanation—it was a test of my own worth.
I drew a deep breath and slowly opened my mouth.

* * *

I have two weapons. The memory of my years studying and researching countless martial arts in Musindong.
And the Retrograde Progression Method, which gave me the time to conduct that research.
Because of those two things, I saw what others could not see even if they spent a decade trying.
Moreover, while others spend their entire lives clinging to the techniques of a single school, I placed the martial arts of the righteous and the unorthodox—and the Demonic Cult—side by side and compared them.

Though martial arts differ from one another, within the flow of currents there are resemblances.
Is this not why the martial world speaks of the great framework of martial study as All Streams Return to One Source?
The place where power arises. The moment breath settles. The gaps that appear between one technique and the next.
The true intention hidden within an incantation. If it came to retracing those things, I had confidence beyond anyone.
But I could not say so openly. This was not boasting—it was negotiation.

I needed him to know that I possessed what the Heavenly Demon wanted.
Yet at the same time, I needed him to understand that it could not be seized by force.
If I failed to draw that line, I would find myself trapped in another place like Musindong.
In a word, only the name would change; where the imperial court once used me, this time the Demonic Cult would take that seat.

“If I have not seen the original form, then it is difficult.”

The Heavenly Demon regarded me in silence.

“But if I have seen even a portion of it, and I know the skeleton of the incantation and the forms, then I can retrace the severed flow.”
“Retrace?”
“Yes. A martial art is not completed by text alone. An incantation is the path, and a form is the step. But if the flow of the body walking that path is broken, the same text and the same form become an entirely different technique.”

The Heavenly Demon said nothing. I continued into that silence.

“The Shadowless Phantom Sword is not merely a blade that creates illusion. It first draws a line that appears empty, and the moment the opponent perceives that emptiness, it transforms into substance. That is why the gaze must move before the blade tip, and the shoulder must open before the foot.”

The stillness within the chamber deepened.

“Yet in the blade Seol Uhyeon unfolded, there was one breath missing at the beginning. The power remained, but the subtle malice of the original art had diminished. So once an opponent reads the flow even once, the line crumbles.”

The Heavenly Demon’s mouth moved with the faintest twitch. Whether laughter or rage, I could not tell.

“Had Seol Uhyeon heard this, he would have cut off your head.”
“Perhaps he would have.”
“Yet you still claim your words are correct?”

I swallowed the metallic taste filling my mouth and answered.

“Is it safe to speak anything but the truth here?”

Silence settled for a moment. The Heavenly Demon regarded me for a long time.
Then, suddenly, he spoke.

“What did Man Tong teach you?”

That name again—as I knew it would be.
I answered with care.

“How to see the flow of the world.”
“The flow, is it.”

The Heavenly Demon murmured softly.

“How like Man Tong to phrase it that way.”

His tone held neither mockery nor admiration.
Only the look of one remembering someone he had known long ago.

“Man Tong sent you?”
“No, sir. I chose to come.”
“Chose?”
“Yes.”

Even as my knees ground into the floor, I held Dokgo Jin’s gaze steady.

“I can restore the martial arts of the Demonic Cult. At least, for what I have seen, I can recover the lost flow.”

Dokgo Jin’s eyes deepened. I did not yield.

“But I have no intention of doing it for nothing.”

The air in the hall froze.

“Payment?”

His voice dropped lower. As that single word fell, the blood in my veins turned to ice.
But I could not stop. If I gave ground now, even an inch, it was over.

“You could kill me here and now. Or you could keep me alive and use me solely for the sake of martial arts restoration.”

The atmosphere in the hall grew chill and heavy.
An ordinary man would have closed his mouth under that pressure alone. But I did not yield.

“Yet if you do, all you will gain is a mere clerk copying a secret manual.”

Dokgo Jin’s gaze pinned me in place.

“What do you mean?”
“Martial arts do not come alive through characters alone. If one does not penetrate the very flow of martial arts themselves, their depth, and their true meaning with the heart, then all you have is a dead text with only the severed parts joined together.”

My breath came short. Yet my voice grew only clearer.

“What I can restore is not characters. It is the flow of the lost martial arts of the Demonic Cult.”

Dokgo Jin was silent. I stepped deeper into that silence.

“That flow cannot be torn from me by threats. It cannot be completed through imprisonment. I must see it myself, understand it, accept it, and resurrect it once more within my own being.”
“Do you truly believe I cannot make you speak?”

His voice was low. Yet with those words alone, the entire hall seemed to tremble.
The taste of blood grew sharper in my mouth.

“My lips could certainly be opened.”

For the first time, a subtle shift crossed Dokgo Jin’s eyes.

“You could torture me and wring words from my mouth. You could imprison me and obtain something that appears to be perfected martial arts. But from that moment forward, what I deliver will not be the original form of the Demonic Cult’s martial arts that you seek.”
“You mean to restore it falsely.”
“No.”

I spoke with finality.

“It will become an incomplete truth, not a falsehood.”

The air in the hall seemed to pause.

“The most dangerous thing in martial arts is not falsehood. It is truth that is only half-right. The incantation is correct, the forms are correct, but the flow is twisted. Such martial arts will ultimately destroy those who practice them.”

The Heavenly Demon’s killing intent bore down upon me.
My knees sank deeper into the stone floor, and fissures spider-webbed outward in all directions.
But this time, that murderous aura contained far more than rage alone.
A glimmer of intrigue, paper-thin and delicate. I felt it.

“So then, Master. If you mean to use me, you cannot treat me as a mere instrument.”
“You presume to add conditions before the Lord of this Cult?”
“It is not a condition—it is principle.”

I drew a slow breath. Silence settled like dust.
Moments before, the Heavenly Demon had looked down upon me with the gaze of one choosing between death and life, use and discard.
That gaze had belonged to a master deliberating over my fate.
But now it was different. For the first time, he saw me as a piece on the board—something with potential if wielded well, something that would shatter to nothing if gripped wrong.
A card worth playing, but fragile in careless hands.
The Heavenly Demon opened his mouth slowly.

“Principle, you say…… Good. What is it that you want?”

The moment those words left his lips, I knew. The first hurdle had been crossed.

“I have already made a pact with the Third Disciple, Yeon Hwarin.”

The Heavenly Demon’s eyes flickered, barely perceptible.

“I agreed that should I restore the Demonic Cult’s lost martial arts and prove them, then when the day comes that I need the Cult’s aid, I shall honor that pact in return.”
“Yeon Hwarin made such a pact with you?”
“She did.”
“And now you seek for the Lord of this Cult to acknowledge and ratify that pact himself?”
“Yes.”

The air in the hall grew heavy once more. The Heavenly Demon rose slowly to his feet.
The movement was deliberate, unhurried—yet in that instant, it seemed as though the entire hall rose together with him.
His gaze settled upon me, absolute and encompassing.

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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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