Return of the God of War - Chapter 85

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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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Chapter 85. Is it you?
The bodies of Yeo Mujyeol, Baek Yupae, and the assassins had all been collected.
Yet the thick, cloying scent of blood that had saturated the entire Rear Garden could not be easily erased.
And even if the smell of blood had faded entirely,
a martial master of Na Pyeonggi’s caliber would have felt the deathly miasma that hung over this place like a shroud.
Na Pyeonggi, hands clasped behind his back, surveyed the surroundings with casual ease.
“Hmm…… it seems something has gone awry.”
In the meantime, Muk Yeojin removed the Yonghoi he wore beneath his inner robe and offered it to Cheon Hwarin.
“It won’t save your life entirely, but it will buy you a second chance when death comes for you once.”
Cheon Hwarin laughed softly and accepted the Hoshin Gap.
She was not so foolish as to let wounded pride stand in the way of her life.
‘Cheonmu Eleven Ranks…’
As his realm had risen, so too had Muk Yeojin’s spiritual perception grown by leaps and bounds.
Even at this considerable distance, he could dimly sense the caliber of master that Na Pyeonggi had become.
‘Merely looking at him makes my skin prickle.’
Na Pyeonggi had taken no action yet.
But his Geukwon Hoshin Gong, sharpened alongside his heightened state, was whispering to him nonetheless.
That he was not yet a match for this man, and should flee at once.
Though Muk Yeojin was hardly the type to follow such counsel without question.
Then Na Pyeonggi, still standing with unhurried composure, smiled and spoke.
“Little ones, might you tell me where this household’s master has gone?”
His tone was like that of someone coaxing a newborn babe.
Step, step…
Muk Yeojin and Cheon Hwarin advanced slowly toward Na Pyeonggi.
Should combat break out, they meant to keep the fighting away from the chamber where Yeo Cheong stayed.
Muk Yeojin’s gaze met Na Pyeonggi’s.
“Tell me—who are you to come looking for this house’s master?”
Whether by age or by the hierarchy of the martial world, Muk Yeojin was far his junior.
Yet Na Pyeonggi was ultimately a traitor who had accepted Won Ongyo’s terms and drawn his blade against the Central Plains.
For such a man, Muk Yeojin harbored no courtesy whatsoever.
“Heh, the child speaks rather freely for one so young.”
His tone remained gentle, but his aura visibly cooled.
In that instant, something flashed across Na Pyeonggi’s eyes.
“Ah? The Daeseobu of the Nangung Clan…… Could that young lady be the daughter of the Heavenly Demon?”
Muk Yeojin at once sent a transmission to Cheon Hwarin.
‘How fortunate for the Cult Leader—you need not trouble yourself with carrying an identity token.’
‘……’
Cheon Hwarin found no ready rebuttal.
“The Demonic Cult is involved? I confess I’m curious how matters have spiraled to this point…… yet that is not what concerns me most.”
Na Pyeonggi stroked his white beard and surveyed the courtyard.
“Ah…… such a thick stench of blood…… more than one or two have fallen here. So it seems that wretch has taken his leave of the world by your hands, does it not?”
When Muk Yeojin remained silent, Na Pyeonggi spoke again.
“Little ones, should you not at least know whether a childhood companion lives or dies, so that you might offer prayers for his rest?”
It appeared that Yeo Mujyeol and Na Pyeonggi had been closer than one might have supposed.
He posed the question, but his eyes already knew the answer.
There was no deceiving him in this moment—it would be pointless to try.
In the end, Muk Yeojin nodded quietly.
“Yeo Mujyeol is dead.”
“I see.”
Na Pyeonggi took the news with surprising calm.
“…… That man was a madman and a villain, by my reckoning. I told him time and again that he would answer for his wickedness one day. Ha! A wretch deserving of heaven’s judgment—he died well.”
And yet,
contrary to his words, the expression on Na Pyeonggi’s face as he laughed emptily soon froze over with terrible cold.
At the same moment,
a razor-sharp killing intent descended like a blade aimed at his heart.
“I wonder what expression now adorns my face? It is truly a pity that one cannot see one’s own visage.”
His lips twisted slowly into a terrible smile.
“I believe…… I shall bring his daughter’s severed head before the Heavenly Demon and watch how his expression changes.”
The moment Na Pyeonggi’s words ended, his form erupted forward.
The speed was terrifyingly fast.
Somewhere along the way, his right hand had turned a deep crimson.
His secret martial art could tear through solid iron plate as if it were paper.
The Scarlet Shadow Demon Claw technique.
Shee-shee-ik!
Splat! Crack-crack!
Blood droplets sprayed from the edge of Cheon Hwarin’s cheek.
But that was all.
Na Pyeonggi recoiled three paces, his brow furrowing.
“You?!”
Blood dripped from the torn sleeve of his forearm.
Na Pyeonggi had lunged to seize Cheon Hwarin’s throat, and Muk Yeojin, standing beside her, had seized the moment to slash his blade at him.
Had Na Pyeonggi not twisted his body mid-strike to deflect it, one of his arms would certainly have been severed, no matter how formidable he was.
Muk Yeojin shook his head as if in regret.
“That would have been the perfect chance to slice off those chicken-claw hands of yours… A shame to have missed it.”
His fingers had become grotesquely twisted and swollen from training his finger technique to its absolute limit, making them look uncannily like a rooster’s talons.
But in this moment.
Na Pyeonggi was less angered by the mocking words than he was shocked by the level of skill Muk Yeojin had just displayed.
“Who are you?”
The ease vanished from Na Pyeonggi’s face, replaced by sharp tension.
The mere shift from addressing him as “boy” to “you” was enough to show how dramatically his mind had shifted.
When Na Pyeonggi asked who he was, Muk Yeojin repeated the words he had spoken to Baek Yupae.
“I am the ferryman of the dead, come to cast vermin like you who gnaw at this world into the River of Three Paths.”
Whoom!
His Baekui Jangpo billowed as he took swift steps, his eyes gleaming with an eerie killing intent.
Hiss-hiss-hiss.
From both his hands erupted a brilliant crimson energy—what should be called not merely claw energy, but claw force.
But.
A few days ago might have been different.
Now, Muk Yeojin had no reason to resort to cunning in the face of such tremendous power.
Whe-e-e-e-ing.
The Mukcheon Ganggi, nestled in his Danjeon, lifted its head.
At the same time, from the Heukyageom poured threads of energy—sword threads.
Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of strands converged together.
At last they took on a single form.
Finally, the power of the star was complete.
Cha-a-a-a-a-a!
Three fingers’ worth of black energy rose from the Heukyageom’s blade.
Mukcheon Ganggi.
The dark force shimmering as though ignited collided with Na Pyeonggi’s crimson power.
Kwaa-a-a-a-ang.
A devastating wave of force rippled outward in all directions.
“Gahhk!”
Muk Yeojin’s brow creased.
It felt as though his insides were churning.
He had reached the realm of manifesting force, but only at its beginning.
Compared to Na Pyeonggi, who had reached a mature stage, he still had much to learn.
Yet the fact that he could exchange blows with a warrior whose name was inscribed among the Cheonmu Eleven Ranks made Muk Yeojin smile.
Meanwhile, Na Pyeonggi’s face twisted as if contorted by a demon.
The fact that one he had dismissed as a mere infant now matched his power gnawed relentlessly at his pride.
“Wretch!”
Just as he moved to unleash his claw technique once more.
Uoo-o-o-ong.
A massive shadow fell upon him from behind.
The Daeseobu of Cheon Hwarin, charged to its apex with the Hyeolcheon Dae.
Containing all its destructive power in a single strike.
The first technique of the One Axe Cleaves Heaven form.
“You insolent wretches!”
Na Pyeonggi’s figure blurred in an instant, then he reappeared at Cheon Hwarin’s right side.
It was the miraculous movement art of warriors who had perfected the Hwanbo to its limit—the Form-Shifting Position-Changing technique.
“Where do you think you’re going!”
Whoosh.
Muk Yeojin unfurled the Yeolpyo Bo and pursued him with relentless intensity.
His footwork was swift enough to keep pace with Na Pyeonggi’s Ihyeong Hwanwi.
In moments, Muk Yeojin unleashed every form of the Geuktu Shingeom like a man possessed.
He meant to give Na Pyeonggi no opening to turn his attention toward Cheon Hwarin.
Bang! Bang!
Muk Yeojin held the front while Cheon Hwarin slipped through the gaps between offense and defense, her strikes probing relentlessly at Na Pyeonggi’s vital points.
In this life, today was the first time Muk Yeojin and Cheon Hwarin had fought together.
Yet the two of them moved as if they were comrades-in-arms who had spent decades coordinating their attacks across countless battlefields.
Boom!
Finding this untenable, he unleashed a burst of strength and staggered back ten paces.
In Na Pyeonggi’s eyes as he regarded Muk Yeojin, a thick murderous intent had taken root.
“Your swordcraft… what connection do you have with that dog of an old man Pi Yangcheon?”
“To speak so carelessly of another’s master—you’ll need to relearn manners in the very heart of hellfire.”
Muk Yeojin rushed at Na Pyeonggi once more.
Bang bang!
Dozens of exchanges erupted between them again.
One thing was clear.
The rank of Cheonmu was not taken by mere chance.
As time wore on, it was Muk Yeojin and Cheon Hwarin who began to falter.
In truth, judged by raw martial strength alone, the two of them should not have been able to sustain such a prolonged battle against Na Pyeonggi.
This was purely the fruit of Muk Yeojin’s combat experience.
His instinct—honed through countless blood-soaked encounters, always surviving fights against warriors stronger than himself—now shone like a beacon.
For Na Pyeonggi, it was maddening.
The Heaven Demon’s daughter was one thing, but this man was also far beneath his own level.
Yet each time he thought he’d pierced his skull, the blade found itself blocked, and whenever he reached to crush his heart, the man had already vanished.
“You dare!”
Na Pyeonggi’s eyes blazed with crimson light.
The foul sensation of being toyed with by this insignificant wretch drove his rage beyond the bounds of reason.
In both his palms, crimson flames—the Gwisalyeom—ignited.
He thrust both hands forward.
“Kaaaaagh!”
The tremendous wave of energy that erupted from his fingertips tore through space itself, raking it with terrible force.
Crack-crack-crack-crack.
A howling tempest of overwhelming power rose up, fierce enough to plough the very earth, and descended upon Muk Yeojin and Cheon Hwarin.
The corner of Na Pyeonggi’s mouth twisted into a smile.
There was a definite resistance against his strike—he had felt it land.
In his heart, he harbored a wish.
That these wretches would not die from this single strike.
They had offended his pride enough.
He would torture them until they begged, screaming, to be torn apart and rent asunder, only then to roast them in oil and end their lives.
But then it happened.
Whoooosh!
Something rose from within the tempest of power.
A deep gray, ink-dark Ganggi, standing absolute and solitary.
At once, a heavy pressure of energy pressed down upon all eight directions.
Na Pyeonggi, gazing upon that colossal blade-force, gasped in shock.
‘That is…!?’
Whooooom.
Its majesty far exceeded the fragile thing I Muha had once displayed.
The Jewang Geomhyeong.
The very essence of the Nangung Clan of Changcheon, who reign over all beneath heaven.
The arrogant blade of a king unfolded from the tip of Muk Yeojin’s sword.
Shhhhwaaack!
It severed all.
The tempest of power that Na Pyeonggi had unleashed with all his might was split cleanly in two by the royal blade.
Na Pyeonggi’s eyes trembled.
‘The Jewang Geomhyeong!’
How was this man wielding the Nangung Clan’s blade?
But whether he unfurled the Jewang Geomhyeong or the Isipsasa Sumaehwa Geombeop, it no longer mattered.
What mattered
‘Was I losing ground?’
A young martial artist who hadn’t even reached full bloom was breaking through his technique—his technique, earned at the pinnacle of the Cheonmu Eleven Ranks?
It was impossible.
Yet that impossibility was unfolding before his eyes.
Na Pyeonggi’s face twisted savagely.
This was something he could never accept.
Had his opponent been another master with a name among the Cheonmu Eleven Ranks,
or even some renowned expert he’d heard whispers of, Na Pyeonggi would have chosen to step back.
But his gaze saw Muk Yeojin not as a martial artist, but as a mere whelp.
His arrogance, calcified into brittle certainty, rejected any rational retreat in this moment.
“I’ll tear this worm to pieces!”
Na Pyeonggi met the incoming royal force head-on.
As he poured more strength into the Demon Slaughter Flame and thrust both arms forward,
Crack—a deafening explosion split the earth.
Dust clouds billowed in all directions with the shockwave.
A moment passed.
Whishhhhh.
The settling breeze slowly revealed the scene.
Two figures emerged from the haze.
Muk Yeojin and Cheon Hwarin.
Both were covered in grime and filth, yet neither bore any serious injury—they seemed whole.
Na Pyeonggi, however,
Thud. Thud.
his little finger and ring finger severed and dropped from his left hand.
A critical wound for any martial artist who wielded Jobeop.
But was this the decisive turning point that would overturn the situation? It was not.
Quite the opposite.
“You miserable insects…….”
Even with one hand crippled, he remained Baek Yupae, a member of the Cheonmu Eleven Ranks.
“I’ll tear every last one of you to shreds…….”
His killing intent burned even fiercer than before.
Muk Yeojin regarded him quietly, then spoke in a low voice.
“……How is your condition?”
He was asking about Cheon Hwarin’s current state.
Beside him, Cheon Hwarin gasped heavily, then answered tersely.
“……At my limit.”
Muk Yeojin’s face hardened.
His own condition was no better.
That last exchange had drained them both to the dregs—he had poured everything, every last breath of power into that strike.
Muk Yeojin’s mind raced.
One misstep, and they would both die here.
‘At the very least, I need to get sister Hwarin out of this alive.’
In that fraction of a moment, his thoughts accelerated to their limits, desperately grasping for an alternative.
But before he could reach a decision, Na Pyeonggi surged forward again, unleashing the Hongryeong Gwisaljo from his uninjured right hand.
Then it came.
Wheeee—
“……!”
A torrent of sunset-colored force suddenly cascaded down upon Na Pyeonggi like artillery fire.
Boom—boom.
Na Pyeonggi scrambled back, widening the distance with urgent footwork.
And from where that barrage had erupted,
a woman stepped slowly from the shadows.
“Is that you? The presumptuous fool who dares threaten my impudent little brother?”
The red wolf of Sadocheon.
The former Red Maiden House Leader.
Muk Iyeon—the Heartless Demon Blade.

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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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