SSS-Class Sui**de Hunter - Chapter 78

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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 78. The Fragrance of Snow (1)
1
…Baraya, Baraya, Aga Baraya…….
…The mind is a candle; let it burn this place…….
A prayer handed down through long ages past.
As monks chanted Amitabha Buddha, so did the members of the Demonic Sect recite Baraya.
…Baraya, Baraya, Aga Baraya…….
…The mind is a candle; let it burn this place…….
No one knew what Baraya meant. Not So Baek-hyang. Not the old man who had brought So Baek-hyang to the Demonic Sect. They chanted without knowing.
To So Baek-hyang, Baraya was the song of the common people. It was a cry of agony. And cries of agony have no inherent meaning. So why should the song of the common people be any different?
One could chant without understanding.
When a person screams, there is no need to know much.
This is why humans must learn ritual to practice propriety, must learn righteousness to act with justice—yet screams alone are the exception, for even the common folk who have learned and mastered nothing can still cry out in agony.
…Baraya…….
…Baraya…….
…Aga Baraya…….
The scream was a universal language shared across all nations.
The world So Baek-hyang beheld was screaming.
-I have nothing left to teach you.
The old man spoke.
-Go forth into the Jianghu.
-Where shall I go?
So Baek-hyang asked, her voice soft. She had grown without notice into womanhood.
The child of eleven years was gone from here. Hair dark as ink, eyes dark as ink, martial robe dark as ink. The woman was black as a midnight well.
She had become a hell unto herself.
To be the hell of others, the woman had grown as deep as darkness required.
-Where do you wish to go?
-To where the hungry gather.
So Baek-hyang answered.
-To places where the thirsty suffer, where the suffocating gasp, where the freezing shiver, where the addicted writhe, where the ill lie dying, where the magistrate’s rod falls, where the burning perish.
So Baek-hyang gazed into empty space.
-That is where I wish to go.
-…….
Far, far away.
From beyond the Main Hall, the sound of prayer rose. The sect members prostrated themselves in prayer. Their voices. Their trembling. Baraya, Baraya, Aga Baraya……. The vibrations traveled across the wooden floor of the hall.
-Then, Baek-hyang.
The old man opened his mouth.
-All under Heaven is your destination.
So Baek-hyang. Twenty-one years old.
She made her debut in the Martial Forest.
That winter, thirty-one martial artists of the Jianghu, forty-seven officials of the court, and fifty-five local nobles lost their lives.
2
“Our sect’s etiquette is peculiar.”
Cheonjma quietly excused the others. She dismissed the Jianghu Alliance Leader and Viper as guests. She and I set off alone toward somewhere.
“Do you know the form of the Nine Prostrations Ritual?”
“No, I do not.”
“In our sect, when a disciple receives a master, nine prostrations are offered.”
Our destination was a cave. A cave wreathed in hot spring mist. Though it had become as familiar to me as home, the place Cheonjma led me to was unfamiliar.
A place never before granted to our party.
Cheonjma walked into the deepest recesses of the cave.
“Mm.”
Cheonjma waved her hand. The flowing sleeves rippled once, and candles ignited throughout the darkness. Countless candles illuminated the stalactites and stalagmites of the cave.
“Yet the prostrations alone do not conclude the matter. Whether the nine prostrations are accepted is decided entirely by the master. The master may demand the Nine Prostrations Ritual from a disciple as many times as her heart desires.”
Cheonjma smiled faintly.
“It all hinges on the seat-holder’s pleasure.”
“Ah… is there a separate criterion?”
“There is.”
At the end of the passage.
“For propriety is a matter where the heart weighs heavier than appearance. Child, the reason etiquette distinguishes between time and place is merely because the human heart is deceitful and frivolous.”
There stood a vast Library Repository.
With each step Cheonjma took, candles ignited along both sides of her path. As each flame caught, the Library Repository’s true form revealed itself — a soaring cavern ceiling, and all the way up to it, books and bamboo texts stacked in neat columns.
“Lightness of heart is not easy to grasp.”
Cheonjma walked on.
Candlelight traced across her ankles.
“So people choose sacred seasons and holy places. They rely on time and location. They lean on heaven and earth, seeking to make a light heart heavy through such aid.”
“Cheonjma, what is this place……?”
“The Martial Arts Secret Repository of our sect.”
Cheonjma spoke.
“And also the Martial Arts Secret Repository of the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Families. I call this place the Celestial Martial Repository.”
The Backhoe Spirit’s eyes widened.
—Incredible! This is a complete treasure trove! Zombie, I’m going to look at these martial texts for a bit! Don’t mind me — you go do what you need to do. Try to keep things going until I’ve read through most of this!
The Backhoe Spirit, mad for martial knowledge, bolted away in a blur.
—Yes! All the supreme techniques of this world’s Martial Forest are now mine! I’ll strip bare every insight worth gaining! Khahahaha!
Whether or not Cheonjma noticed a spirit rampaging through her own library, she remained unmoved.
“When I made my debut in the Martial Forest at twenty-one, can you guess what my first thought was?”
“Uh… that you’d smash in the skulls of all those righteous sect fools who annoyed you? Something like that?”
“That was my third thought.”
“That the Demonic Sect was supreme and needed proving……?”
“That was my second.”
Cheonjma’s left eye flickered with amusement.
“From childhood, I detested the very word ‘Martial Forest.'”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Martial Forest is meant to name a realm that reveres martial prowess. But why should the Martial World contain only warriors? There are ferrymen and farmers. Merchants live there, and courtesans too. Countless trees form one forest, each with its own name and grain, yet the Nine Great Sects and Five Great Families chose to call it a forest of martial virtue. It displeased me.”
Displeased me, she muttered softly to herself.
Cheonjma’s lips moved in quiet reflection.
“So I resolved to strip them of that martial virtue.”
“Strip them of martial virtue……?”
“I plundered every single martial text they cherished like a household god!”
Cheonjma laughed with gleeful satisfaction.
Her smile brimmed with mischief.
“Hehe. I still see their faces clearly — those Kunlun Daoists begging me, even as I twisted their necks to breaking point, pleading that I at least spare the texts containing the essence of the Cloud Dragon technique. What manner of magnanimous person am I? I buried those priests up to their necks in the earth and left only their heads showing. Then, while they watched, I tied up all their martial texts and made off with them!”
Wow.
Our master sure has a temper.
“Decades passed in such pursuits. Now this place is Kunlun, and Wudang. The Sichuan Sect. The Jegal Family. The Moshan School. All the martial disciplines of the realm have taken root here, forming a true forest — and rightly it may be called a Martial Forest. I…….”
Cheonjma settled slowly into a seated position.
“wish to receive your prostrations here.”
“…….”
“Will you offer them?”
“Yes.”
“I will not mind appearances. Child from beyond the veil. Bow as your body dictates.”
So I did.
I removed my shoes and placed them neatly. I knelt. Just as my forehead was about to touch the floor, Cheonjma’s voice flowed down.
“Offer nine prostrations in all, and pour a different heart into each one.”
A different heart into each.
“In the first, you shall place the heart of hunger.”
“…….”
“Do you understand?”
Is that so.
“Yes, I understand.”
The bond between master and disciple was truly solemn.
Within the Demonic Sect, this ceremony was no mere ritual of nine bows.
The Nine Prostrations Ritual.
It was one and the same as the Demonic Heaven Divine Art.
“Huuu…….”
Slowly. I drew breath deep into myself.
I painted an image in the very center of my heart.
A farmer swinging a pickaxe. A riverbank. Mud.
「Hunger is the children waiting for the sun.」
I offered the first prostration.
“Good.”
Cheonjma nodded. She had accepted my First Prostration. My hunger held no deception—it was worthy to serve as a gesture of respect.
“The path of the Demonic Sect divides into four great stages.”
To one who would soon become her disciple, Cheonjma imparted teachings of old.
“The first stage is Demonic Entry. Demonic Entry is one who knows how to speak of their own suffering. Those admitted to our Sect do not speak with words, but with the blade. Thus, Demonic Entry refers to one who can voice their suffering through the sword.”
I bowed again.
After hunger came thirst, so I painted the sea in my mind.
“The second stage is Demonic Extremity. Demonic Extremity is one who knows how to speak of another’s suffering. Thus, it refers to one who can lay bare the pain of others through their blade.”
Cheonjma silently accepted my Second Prostration.
In my heart, I drew the image of my drowned father and bowed once more.
“The third stage is Demonic Transcendence.”
This time too, Cheonjma nodded.
She received my Third Prostration willingly.
“Demonic Transcendence is one who knows how to speak of the suffering of all. Walking the path and meeting people, one must be able to sense what torments each soul. This is the requirement of Demonic Transcendence.”
I performed my Fourth Prostration.
“Those who reach this stage are exceedingly rare! In the history of our Sect, those who have attained Demonic Transcendence number fewer than the fingers of one hand. I myself dwell in this realm.”
Again, Cheonjma received my bow.
“Finally, there is the stage of Demonic Divinity. Demonic Divinity is one who knows how to speak not only of humanity’s suffering, but of all things’ suffering. In other words, one who can voice the pain of all existence. Yet this is an unproven stage! We merely suppose such a realm might exist. In truth, no one has ever attained Demonic Divinity.”
I was about to perform my Fifth Prostration.
“Stop.”
……
“Do it again.”
……
The fifth blade-form of the Demonic Heaven Divine Art is Death by Poison—the gesture of those dying from toxin corruption. I had not yet mastered the fifth blade-form.
Cheonjma spoke softly.
“Do it again, I said.”
I bowed.
“Do it again.”
I bowed.
“Do it again.”
Again. Again. Again. Again.
Sweat beaded on my forehead. Cold sweat drenched my back.
Cheonjma’s face remained serene and unmoved.
“Do it again.”
Three hundred thirty-six prostrations to crudely hold the mind of one dead by poison.
One hundred eighty-nine to paint the image of one dead by illness in my heart.
Five hundred ten prostrations to draw and embody one dead by beating.
Sweat poured.
I knelt in silence, bending low again and again.
“…What upright character you possess, child.”
Cheonjma smiled.
“Some are born with beauty and naturally become upright. Others are born wretched yet choose righteousness through will alone. Stranger child, you are surely of the latter kind. What life have you lived to become so beautiful?”
It was a smile touched with sorrow.
“How does one live to become so beautiful…….”
The candle flame wavered.
As the light trembled, shadows trembled with it.
In that trembling, Cheonjma’s shadow and mine overlapped.
“If life is the sun, then pain is the shadow.”
The gaunt shadow parted its lips.
“Each human form casts its own unique shadow in life, yet suffering overlaps upon suffering, layer upon layer. Thus humanity is not made one by the fact of living, but only by the sharing of pain.”
This was the Doctrine of shadows.
“If you say you would exchange wounds with another, you are vowing to walk beside them all your days. So know this, child—one who bears wounds from all must simply wish to walk with all.”
A teaching passed down through a single mouth remaining in this world.
“Kim Gongja.”
That mouth was speaking to me.
“A person does not only choose whom to wound—they also choose whom to be wounded by. The common folk you seek will never be virtuous. The masses you save will never be noble. Those you love will never be perfect.”
The shadow whispered.
The shadow’s whisper carried the warmth of candlelight.
“Yet if you choose to be wounded by all. If you bare your skin to them willingly. When they scratch you with their nails, know that it is only because they held you so desperately close.”
……
“Life is suffering. Yet it is the suffering of humans alone. Baraya, baraya. Little one, baraya. Your heart is a candle flame. Burn it, and see the shadows of others through your own light.”
Candle wax slid down.
“The eighth Demonic Heaven is Death by Fire.”
It dripped down.
“Gongja, offer your prostrations with the mind of one burning in flame.”
I.
「But you know I’m Yeonjae.」
「Then you’ll have to die.」
「Go well.」
I offered my prostration.
“…….”
A soft click.
The shadow’s mouth closed.
Death by Poison: 336 times. Death by Illness: 189 times. Death by Beating: 510 times.
Throughout those 1035 times, the words “do it again” had echoed through the cave. This time, they did not come. My single Death by Fire seemed to suffice.
“…So it was.”
The trail of candle wax.
A voice seeped into the mark left behind.
“The final blade of Demonic Heaven is not fixed. It is the Empty Form. Throughout generations, the sect leader inscribes only their own death into the final blade. Thus, the ninth path of the Demonic Heaven Divine Art unfolds differently with each person who manifests it.”
The place where your own death would enter.
“Offer your Nine Prostrations with your death.”
“…….”
I.
During those 4090 times I took my own life, I.
My throat ached.
The throat that the short dagger pierced ached. My hands trembled. My arms shook. I feared the blade would glance off crooked from the trembling and shaking, and I dreaded the pain prolonging from a mistaken thrust. So I wrapped blue tape around the handle of the short dagger.
I wrapped the blue tape from the handle around my right hand and left hand as well. I fixed myself in place. Only then did it seem I would not shake. The day I needed to return had reached the 4050th day. Yet I died 4090 times. I had to die. Because I had nearly given up midway. I had fled for several days.
But there was a person I could not forgive.
I had no confidence I could live having forgiven that.
I wrapped blue tape again. The slower death came, the more my resolve clouded, the slower my determination became. The longer determination dragged on, the more days I would need to die. I cut through extraneous thoughts. I ignored my hesitation.
Desperate to live, I died desperately.
Suicide.
I painted it as my final image and offered my prostration to Cheonjma.
“…….”
The shadow wavered. Only moments later did I realize—Cheonjma had risen from her seat. By the time I understood this, she was already holding my shoulders.
“Gongja.”
Two shadows overlapped in the cave.
“My disciple.”
“…Yes.”
“You are my disciple.”
“Yes.”
“I do not care where you have come from. No matter where you go, no matter where you are, you are the disciple of Cheonjma So Baek-hyang. Our doctrine dwells in your heart. Even if the Martial Forest crumbles and the world grows dark, so long as your heart does not cease, the Demonic Heaven will endure.”
I opened my mouth.
“…Yes, Master.”
My throat ached.
They were painful days.
Now I understood it.
S-Rank Hunter Who Must Die to Live (Serial Publication)
Author | Shin Noa
Publisher | Kim Ju-hyeong
Publishing House | J Plus Media Co., Ltd.
Marketing | Han Jae-hyeok
Address | 204, 288 Digital-ro, Guro-gu, Seoul (Daelyung Post Tower 1, Guro-dong)
Email | [email protected]
Website | www.jayplemedia.com
ⓒ Shin Noa 2019
※ This work is published by J Plus Media Co., Ltd. under contract with the copyright holder and may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the company and author.
Violation of this may result in criminal and civil liability.

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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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