Obtaining Heavenly Demon Martial Arts in the Magic Era - Chapter 47

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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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47
The Qi Men Formation Method dissolved, and as the path crested its final bend toward the summit, a shadow emerged through the dense canopy of Long Zhong Mountain—something that belonged to no part of this landscape.
Black granite cladding the outer walls. Vast sheets of glass that threw back the sunlight with brutal coldness. English lettering etched above them.
‘JG INVESTMENT’.
No trace remained of the mountain gate where a Daoist sage had once dwelt a thousand years ago, no sign of blue-tiled pavilions or halls where incense had lingered on stone altars.
Upon the mountain where Zhuge Liang had once sequestered himself before entering the world—the peak they called the mountain where the Reclining Dragon slumbered—new foundations of steel and glass had risen. Across the plaza stood a congregation of the world’s finest foreign automobiles, gleaming silently in the sun like monuments to wealth.
Cheon Do-hyeon stopped. The sight before him clashed violently with everything he had imagined.
“This is… JG Investment.”
Here stood only the crystallized form of modernized capitalism. He spoke the words half to himself.
From the moment he encountered the Qi Men Formation Method, the hypothesis that JG Investment was the Zhuge Clan had been practically confirmed. Yet seeing the descendants of Zhuge Liang—who had once shaken the world with strategies spanning the realm—prove their existence through foreign automobiles and glass towers, a knot of unease coiled in his chest.
“Should we go inside?”
“They already know we’re here.”
Right on cue, the main entrance slid open and men in dark suits poured out in a coordinated surge. One glance told him they were far more than ordinary security. The subtle weight in their footwork, the carriage of their shoulders—these bore the unmistakable marks of martial artists. They advanced on the group with mechanical precision.
The man leading them stepped forward and bowed with formal respect.
“Honored guests from Korea. Our family head requests that you come inside.”
Not a trace of tension colored his voice.
“We shall escort you in.”
“They already know who we are, it seems.”
Lee Ye-rim shrugged as she spoke. Cheon Do-hyeon glanced at his companions to gauge their disposition.
Lee Dae-gwang and Lee Ye-rim both gave small nods of assent.
And so the three of them, without resistance, followed the men into the JG Investment headquarters building.
#
The lobby revealed another transformation entirely.
A massive holographic panel stretched from floor to ceiling across one entire wall, streaming real-time global stock indices. But closer inspection revealed something else flowing beneath the numbers—subtle symbols interwoven through the data streams.
Cheon Do-hyeon’s eyes narrowed.
The Eight Trigrams and the Twenty-Eight Mansions. The foundational symbols that comprised the Qi Men Formation Method itself. Stock markets and constellations flowed across the same screen.
His acute senses detected a vast current of power flowing beneath the building.
“What is this?”
Wonder and inquiry spilled unbidden from his lips.
The suited man beside them smiled faintly.
“Our family’s pride—an automated formation system. We read the flows of Celestial Phenomena, Terrestrial Patterns, and Human Affairs in real time, then apply those readings to our asset management.”
“Using formation methods… for investment.”
“The union of ancient secret formations and twenty-first-century Demonic Path Science. In truth, it’s the most natural progression. Both, after all, are disciplines of reading and guiding currents.”
Do-hyeon fell silent.
If Zhuge Liang had once read the Heavenly Secrets, then his descendants now read the movements of global markets.
It was as dazzling as it was chilling.
#
The elevator stopped at the topmost floor.
As the doors opened, the space beyond pressed down upon them again. One entire wall was transparent glass, offering an unobstructed view of Long Zhong Mountain’s ridgeline, while the opposite wall displayed an immense landscape painting—the Reclining Dragon rendered in ink.
Before that painting, behind a desk of rosewood, an elderly man sat waiting.
White hair neatly combed back. A lean frame draped in a black suit and gray tie. Behind his spectacles his eyes seemed kind, yet they held a depth that refused to be fathomed.
This was Zhuge Jing, the family head of the Zhuge Clan.
“You have traveled far. Thank you for your trouble.”
He rose slowly from his seat, leaning upon an elegant cane fashioned from fine wood, as he spoke.
“I am Zhuge Jing. I serve as head of this family.”
His Korean was smooth, if not quite native.
Do-hyeon attempted to mask his surprise, offering a light fist salute.
“I am Cheon Do-hyeon.”
“Descendant of the Celestial Demon.”
The moment the family head spoke those words, the air in the room seemed to settle and grow heavy.
“You knew already, then.”
“Of course. The Zhuge Clan exists to read the currents of the world. We could not possibly not know.”
The family head settled back into his seat with natural grace and gestured for the group to sit.
“I can guess your purpose. The word ‘martial world’ has begun appearing in the mouths of the Demonic Sect families, and rumors speak of one bearing Celestial Demon blood. You’ve come to rebuild it, haven’t you? The Grand Martial Alliance.”
He spoke of rebuilding the Grand Martial Alliance as though it were a trivial matter. Do-hyeon regarded him steadily. The old man’s expression was perfectly composed, revealing nothing.
“Then we can speak plainly.”
Do-hyeon cut directly to the point.
“The Demonic Sect families move to oppress the martial world again. After my father’s death, I’ve come to invoke the oath made that day.”
Silence fell when he finished—a silence that stretched until the sunlight through the transparent wall felt warm. Then Zhuge Jing slowly opened his mouth.
“We abandoned martial arts in order to survive.”
“…”
“Our family has sacrificed everything to survive since the Great Cleansing. We’ve traded sword hilts for bundles of money, formations for algorithms of analysis, the teachings of masters for lessons in business. That is the price we’ve paid.”
The patriarch’s voice was composed, yet Do-hyeon sensed something unyielding beneath it—a weight he couldn’t quite measure.
Stubbornness, rigidity, regret. A tangle of emotions, each competing for dominance.
The old man’s eyes flickered with a dimming light.
“With respect, even if you are the Celestial Demon’s heir, we have no reason to raise the banners of the martial world again—banners stained with blood.”
At this firm reply, Do-hyeon’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t force the oaths that the martial world had sworn to him—the ones Seon Young-hun had described. Yet he couldn’t hide the disappointment that came from witnessing how readily these so-called martial artists discarded the very vows they’d made with their own lips.
The patriarch adjusted his glasses slightly and continued.
“We have our family, our household, and the stability we’ve built over generations. As patriarch, the safety of my clan must come before the justice of the martial world. I ask for your understanding. We are… content with where we stand now.”
A measured but glacial refusal, calculated purely around family security and survival. The firm denial of a rationalist who saw the world only in probabilities and numbers.
Listening to his words, two emotions collided within Do-hyeon.
Rage surged up as he thought of those from Korea who had been sacrificed by the Iron Blood faction.
Yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but understand the position of someone who had something precious to protect.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, the faces of Seon Young-hun, Kim Seung-yeon, and Kim Jun-pyo drifted into his mind.
Do-hyeon opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
#
The meeting with the patriarch didn’t end there, but no further progress was made in the conversation.
The patriarch suggested they speak at leisure over the next few days, and Do-hyeon accepted the proposal.
Afterward, the group was led to a separate residence that the patriarch had prepared.
After unpacking in his room, Do-hyeon stepped outside alone.
As he turned over his conversation with Zhuge Jing, a tightness bloomed in his chest.
One phrase in particular needled at him like a splinter: that they had abandoned martial arts to survive.
Someone had passed down their martial arts even at the cost of their own life.
His grandfather Cheon Woo-hyeok and Gwak Chul had been such men.
They’d told him that the transmission of martial arts was the passage of a generation’s will from one bearer to the next. If that was true, what did Zhuge Jing’s words about abandoning martial arts truly mean?
Was it merely a choice for survival? Especially now, with the Demonic Sect Family beginning to move—surely the Zhuge Clan, knowing the situation in Korea, couldn’t claim to care only for their own safety.
Perhaps it was betrayal—
Do-hyeon caught himself and quickly shook his head, banishing the thought.
That was a leap born of emotion, not reason.
He mustn’t forget why he’d come to China. He needed the Zhuge Clan’s cooperation.
His colleagues in Korea were being hunted by the Iron Blood faction.
Time was not on their side.
So this wasn’t a reason to refuse the Zhuge Clan’s hand—it was a moment to think about how to persuade them.
Cheon Do-hyeon gathered the reins of his thoughts.
An old oath worn by time wouldn’t turn his heart.
A different kind of persuasion was needed.
But what kind of persuasion could it be?
As he pondered this, lost in thought, his feet carried him toward the garden behind the separate residence.
In the thoroughly controlled silence, an alien sound—a rushing displacement of air—grazed his ear.
Tap—crack!
The crisp sound of bamboo striking bamboo echoed from beyond the garden.
Do-hyeon stopped and began walking toward the sound.
What lay before him was a small training ground nestled within the garden.
There stood a bare-chested young man wielding a wooden sword.
The young man’s sword form held clear, defined structure. It was orthodox Swordcraft worthy of comparison to the Celestial Demon Sword Technique itself.
Do-hyeon’s keen eye analyzed the swordplay in real time. The footwork flowed according to the Eight Trigrams, and from the hand gripping the blade emanated the weight of deep internal energy.
The spirit and shape of that swordplay felt familiar. When he searched his memory, it matched what he’d sensed in the Zhuge Clan’s formation during the morning in the JG Investment lobby.
Then the young man before him was wielding the sword of the Zhuge Clan.
“…Abandoned martial arts, have they?”
A bitter smile played at Do-hyeon’s lips.
This was no casual hobby-born swordplay. It was the blade of one who ground his teeth in resentment, who rose before dawn each day to hone his art.

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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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