Obtaining Heavenly Demon Martial Arts in the Magic Era - Chapter 22

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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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22
“I can’t reach him.”
“….”
Darkness had settled over the Penthouse. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Han River, Seoul’s night lights gleamed silently. Jang Ki-han stood with his back turned to the view, listening to his secretary’s report to the end before nodding slowly and quietly.
Silence stretched between them.
“What should we do?”
“Leave me alone to think.”
“…Yes, sir.”
The door opened and closed. The moment the sound faded, Jang Ki-han suddenly burst into laughter.
“Hahahaha.”
It wasn’t the laughter of joy. Nor of amusement. It simply erupted—as if his body were moving against his own will.
“I’ve been properly outmaneuvered.”
His murmur was low and hollow.
“I should have cut his throat in one stroke. As it stands, for some time now…”
The Kim who had just left was a useful tool the patriarch of the Jang Family had placed directly at his side—one who handled dirty work while serving as the father’s eyes watching his son. Using Kim to hire the cleaner to dispose of Cheon Do-hyeon had been a mistake from the start.
This failure meant the word would reach his father’s ears: how he’d discovered the contract killing, who the target was, and the fact that the Golden Wheel was entangled in it all. Jang Ki-han knew better than anyone the patriarch’s nature—one who would not forgive failure.
He could not afford reckless action. Not now.
“First, before word reaches Father, I’ll clean up the Golden Wheel.”
Jang Ki-han gazed out the window and reached his conclusion quietly. He had decided to dismantle without hesitation the shadowy organization he had carefully built. The image of taking a blow from some nameless insect called Cheon Do-hyeon and scrambling to recover left a bitter taste, but for now, survival within the family came first.
Jang Ki-han settled onto the sofa and crossed his legs. The smile drained from his face entirely.
#
“When he goes away—when will he return~.”
“Oh my, Gwak Cheol.”
Someone’s sorrowful chant echoed through the corridor. Gwak Cheol’s funeral was chaotic from the start.
Every homeless person in Seoul seemed to have gathered. Colorful jackets and worn parkas filled the entrance to the funeral hall, and inside, wails, shouts, and the smell of soju tangled into pandemonium. The funeral home staff sweated under an unprecedented flood of visitors. The line stretching before the memorial altar seemed endless.
Some stood silently before Gwak Cheol’s portrait, pouring a glass of soju in offering and staring blankly. Some wept there and left. Most of them never even knew his name. Still, they came.
Days passed like this.
“Breakfast, everyone~!”
“Try the Seongsu area today, alright?”
The Gaebang members at Seoul Station returned, one by one, to their ordinary lives. On the brink of despair, yet greeting each dawn as it arrived without fail, eating, and moving on. Such was the inertia of living. And so, gradually, one person withdrew from their hearts.
#
Tink-tink-tink.
The Titanium Tri-section Staff folded with a smooth sound. When fully retracted, its length shrank to roughly Do-hyeon’s forearm. He felt the solid weight in his palm.
Cheon Do-hyeon gazed at the tri-section staff quietly.
So many things had happened because of this one thing.
Packing took no time at all. There had never been much to begin with. One bag, a few changes of clothes. His time at Seoul Station had been brief, yet what remained could not fit entirely in the bag.
Then a sound came from behind him.
Hesitant footsteps. He turned to see Park Cheol-ho. The boy stood with sorrow not yet faded from his eyes. He had been particularly close to Gwak Cheol.
“I’m leaving this with you for now.”
Cheon Do-hyeon spoke first, holding out the tri-section staff.
“Wait for me. I’ll come back for it.”
Park Cheol-ho took it in both hands without a word.
“That’s right—keep it safe as your own. I’ll be waiting.”
Cheon Do-hyeon ruffled the boy’s hair once.
“Ugh!”
Park Cheol-ho scowled and jerked his head away. Watching him, Do-hyeon smiled slightly. He thought he was beginning to understand why his grandfather—why Gwak Cheol—had been there beside these children.
Before Seoul Station, Gaebang members had gathered.
“We exist nowhere, yet we exist everywhere—that is our Gaebang. So there is no such thing as farewell.”
“The one who carries the tri-section staff—we will watch over him.”
“Until we meet again.”
“Live well!”
Cheon Do-hyeon bowed once in greeting and boarded the bus. The moment he took his seat by the window, days of accumulated fatigue crashed down upon him at once.
So much had happened.
Combat. A funeral. Parting.
His eyelids grew heavy and fell. Before the bus even departed, Do-hyeon had already succumbed to sleep.
The bus sped past the bustling district toward its terminus.
Half-asleep, Cheon Do-hyeon pondered.
Why did Murim Warriors, possessing such formidable Martial Arts, have to hide in sealed underground clearings and abandoned industrial zones?
The world was divided into Mages and Normas.
The Murim Warriors did not officially exist. Though they might possess strength greater than the Mages, they seemed utterly overlooked and excluded.
Why.
The cryptic words Gwak Cheol had spoken before his death came back to him. The stories wound around his own family lineage. The thread that connected them all lay in the same place, he was certain of it.
The bus carrying Cheon Do-hyeon slipped out toward the outskirts of Seoul. The landscape beyond the window flowed past in silence.
#
Creak—
The moment the door swung open, stale air rushed forward.
Cheon Do-hyeon stood in the entrance for a moment, taking in the house. He’d been gone only a few days, yet the place already laid bare the fact of its abandonment. On the window frames, across the shelves, scattered along the Dojang floor—thin white dust had settled everywhere his eyes fell.
Cheon Do-hyeon exhaled sharply as he removed his shoes.
He retrieved a cloth and started with the Dojang floor, working methodically through each room. The cleaning didn’t take long. He couldn’t bear to see the place where his grandfather’s memories lived fall into disrepair.
Once the house had reclaimed itself, he stepped into the bathroom. The hot water cascaded down his back as the shower ran, and Cheon Do-hyeon closed his eyes.
It felt as though the sweat and grime weren’t all that washed away—the memories stacked up at Seoul Station seemed to dissolve into the water as well.
The sensations of combat. The feeling of breaking bone, blood staining asphalt, the expressions on faces that had crumpled. All of it sank beneath the stream and, finally, fell silent.
After the shower, he collapsed onto the bed. He set no alarm.
When he woke, he ate. He’d warm up whatever was in the refrigerator or open a delivery app and order something. Then he’d lie back down. Then he’d sleep again. Two days passed like that. Cheon Do-hyeon allowed himself to move at the pace his body demanded.
On the evening of the second day, he opened his eyes, gazed at the ceiling, then slowly rose.
The exhaustion had fully released.
It was different from simply recovering from sleep debt. Deep within his body, something turbid had settled and cleared. Cheon Do-hyeon walked to the Dojang and sat cross-legged on the floor.
Tae-heo Hun-won Sim-gong.
He refined his breath and circulated his Internal Energy. Along the Ren-du Dual Meridians, the Energy flowed without obstruction. The instinctive understanding he’d cultivated through repeated practice before Gwak Cheol now came naturally. A single cycle of Yun-gi Josik aligned his entire body’s state.
He knew he was ready.
Cheon Do-hyeon opened the Safe. The surface of the Ancient Tome felt familiar against his palm.
His Martial Art status flashed through his mind. Supsong Dae-beop—Rank 8. Cheonma Hwan-yeong Bo—Rank 6. Cheonma Gunnim Bo—Rank 5. Through practice under Gwak Cheol’s guidance, he’d raised his comprehension of each Divine Technique, and by activating the Ren-du Dual Meridians, he’d satisfied all conditions.
The Ancient Tome was ready to yield what came next. All Cheon Do-hyeon had to do was turn the page.
What would emerge, he wondered.
He caught the edge of the paper between his fingertips.
Whisp—
The rough texture of paper sliding past his touch.
And then,
Whoooosh—
Something foreign poured in.
“Ughh—”
The clarity that had filled his mind moments before vanished without trace.
His head felt as though it would split.
This wasn’t knowledge flowing in. It was knowledge forcing its way through. With no room to refuse, it tore into his mind and shoved itself inside.
In the midst of the agony, he grasped at the language flooding his consciousness.
“This is…!”
It diverged entirely from the Divine Techniques he’d learned until now.
It wasn’t the flow of Energy, nor the trajectory of a movement technique. What was being imprinted was…
The Way of the Sword.
The sword’s trajectory. The angle of the blade. The point where Energy gathered and detonated. The angles that cut through space. Thousands upon thousands of pieces of information slammed into him at once.
Cheon Do-hyeon’s eyes shut of their own accord. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hands trembled.
Then it stopped.
This Divine Technique’s name was,
Cheonma Geom-gong.
Cheon Do-hyeon’s eyes opened. The essence of Sword Art, inscribed like instinct into his mind, felt vivid and clear.

“The sword…?”
Confusion left him unable to form words.
And little wonder. Everything he’d built so far—all of his unarmed combat techniques
The absorption of Supsong Dae-beop, the afterimages of Cheonma Hwan-yeong Bo, the oppressive pressure of Cheonma Gunnim Bo—had each been tailored to make his own body the weapon.
He’d naturally come to envision the path of the martial artist, and now, suddenly, came the sword.
Cheon Do-hyeon looked down at his palms.
He’d never held a sword in his life.

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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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