The Fortunate Sword God of the Zhuge Clan - Chapter 20

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 20.
“…You’re really saying you’ll go alone? Just the two of us?”
The man asked, genuine bewilderment crossing his face.
Between them, it was Dok Go Hyeon who responded first.
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
Dok Go Hyeon spoke to Moo Hoon with an expression every bit as shocked as the man’s.
“Do you have any idea how frail you are?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve lived my entire life in this body—I know my own condition better than anyone else does.”
“So you’re going to do this anyway? No matter how clever you are… No, sir, don’t just stand there—say something. This isn’t right, is it?”
At Dok Go Hyeon’s words, the servant nodded.
“I concur, sir.”
In truth, he had wanted to object more than anyone.
Only that Dok Go Hyeon’s emotions had gotten there first.
“I do not question your wisdom, Young Master, but this man is a second-rate martial artist. To those who have not mastered martial arts as you have…”
“…he is like a force of nature. I have heard this refrain more times than I can count.”
Moo Hoon looked between the two of them and offered a gentle smile.
“I understand your concern, and I am truly grateful for it. However, do you remember what I told you this morning?”
At his words, a flicker of recognition passed through both their eyes.
He was referring to the conversation they had shared before arriving here—one Han Cho had not been meant to hear.
“…Wait, if that’s the case…”
Dok Go Hyeon began to say something, but Moo Hoon cut him off.
“If you remember, that’s enough. There’s no need to say more. Servant.”
The servant paused a moment in thought, then shook his head.
“If that is the case, we have no choice.”
“Thank you both for understanding.”
“It’s less understanding than…”
Would Moo Hoon listen even if he tried to stop him?
The servant swallowed that thought and spoke in a low voice, his eyes fixed on Moo Hoon.
“Please, be careful.”
Moo Hoon nodded, his smile unwavering.
Then he turned to face the man.
“The discussion is finished. Sir, shall we leave now?”
The man looked at Moo Hoon with an expression of disbelief.
“…What do you think I’ll do to you, that you’d follow me like this? Why are those guards just letting this happen?”
“Of course, since we belong to different worlds, your caution is entirely natural.”
Moo Hoon spoke lightly, yet with absolute conviction.
“But when one has the power to save a life and chooses not to, that becomes more than a failure of principle—it becomes wrong as a human being, does it not?”
The man regarded Moo Hoon for a moment, then let out a short laugh.
“Huh, smooth words indeed. Fine. Follow me.”
The man turned on his heel and walked forward.
Before following, Moo Hoon glanced back at Dok Go Hyeon and the servant, then extended his index finger and drew a small circle in the air.
The two of them slowly nodded in acknowledgment.
Moo Hoon nodded back in confirmation, then set off after the man.
Dok Go Hyeon watched Moo Hoon receding into the distance, then spoke quietly.
“Will he be all right? No matter how clever he is…”
Dok Go Hyeon turned his head to say something to the servant, then clicked his tongue.
The servant was no longer there.
He had already moved to carry out the final order Moo Hoon had left them.
“I’m telling you, I can’t work with that old man.”
Dok Go Hyeon grumbled for a moment, then began walking himself.
In the exact opposite direction from where Moo Hoon and the man had gone.
***
Before long, Moo Hoon and the man came to a halt.
“This is the Bandit Chief’s residence.”
The man spoke to Moo Hoon in an irritable tone.
Moo Hoon, unbothered, gazed at the house with obvious interest.
‘Interesting. So this Bandit Chief is…’
Though they had not yet met, Moo Hoon already found the man admirable based on his deeds alone.
It was common for a bandit chief to live in a house grander than those of other members of the underworld.
Yet the residence the man had led him to was a simple thatched cottage, no different from any other.
If anything, it was smaller than the other bandit dens.
If they protected villages being exploited by other mountain strongholds without even taking protection money, they might well deserve some modest compensation.
“We’re going in now, so be careful. The moment I see you trying anything strange, I’ll sever your wrist.”
At the cold warning, Moo Hoon regarded the man with an unruffled expression.
“I understand. But surely now would be an appropriate time to tell me—”
“What?”
The man looked at Moo Hoon as if confused.
“Your name, sir.”
“Ha. You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
The man let out a hollow laugh and studied Moo Hoon.
“Song Chil, deputy chief of the Soo Ryeop Bandit Gang. Satisfied?”
At Song Chil’s answer, Moo Hoon nodded with evident pleasure.
“Thank you for telling me, Song Chil.”
“I don’t need your pleasantries. Why are you so fixated on names? Planning to report us when you get down the mountain?”
To Song Chil’s mocking words, Moo Hoon shook his head.
“There will be no such thing. I give you my word of honor.”
“Hmph.”
Song Chil snorted in disbelief and led the way toward the thatched cottage.
Moo Hoon, smiling faintly, followed at an unhurried pace.
As they walked closer, a pungent medicinal scent reached them despite the door being closed.
The fragrance of common herbs seemed to hang in extraordinary abundance.
‘Licorice root, houttuynia, honeysuckle, mugwort…’
Drawing nearer, Moo Hoon detected the scent of rarer medicinal herbs as well.
‘Even oldenlandia has been used—which would have been difficult for a bandit gang of this size to obtain.’
Though not the rarest of remedies, such herbs represented a sum most villages could ill afford.
One could see how deeply the members of the Soo Ryeop Bandit Gang trusted their chief.
Yet there was another scent that burned itself far more vividly into Moo Hoon’s mind.
‘I never wanted to smell it again.’
That fragrance, which he had grown sick of in his past life.
Cheon Hyang Go Rak. The cursed poison that released a person’s vital energy and created this very scent.
The fragrance of that flower, perhaps never truly meant to exist, was unbearably sweet.
As Moo Hoon swallowed down the revulsion he had carried since his previous life, Song Chil carefully opened the cottage door.
Creak—
The moment the door—which seemed ready to fall from its hinges—swung open, the floral scent of Cheon Hyang Go Rak and medicinal herbs struck Moo Hoon with force.
And there, lying within, was a large man.
Though poison had wasted the muscle from his frame, and a pallor so deathly it seemed he might not survive the night had settled over his features, his stature still bore witness to the name “large” without shame.
Wild, tangled hair, a thick beard, and eyebrows dark as charred wood—even with his eyes closed, his countenance conveyed an unmistakable strength.
‘This must be the chief of the Soo Ryeop Bandit Gang…’
Indeed, it was a face Moo Hoon had never seen before.
Even without his Perfect Memory Ability, this man’s appearance was the sort one would never forget once seen.
“This is our chief. His name is Jang Seung Hoo. Don’t ask again.”
“Jang Seung Hoo, chief of the Soo Ryeop Bandit Gang. Thank you.”
Moo Hoon answered quickly and examined the chief’s condition.
Knowing what poison this was, he had to work fast.
“Chief Jang, can you hear my voice?”
But from the man lying before him came no answer.
Moo Hoon turned to Song Chil with a question.
“May I perform pulse diagnosis and apply acupuncture?”
Song Chil hesitated briefly before slowly nodding.
“If you try anything strange, you know what happens, right?”
“I haven’t forgotten—you’ll sever my wrist.”
Moo Hoon smiled slightly and placed his fingers on Jang Seung Hoo’s wrist to take his pulse.
‘This is… essentially the state of a corpse.’
Below the ice-cold wrist, only the faintest tremor could be felt, and even that came at painfully long intervals.
His face was so pale that even the thin moonlight bleeding through the doorway made its color visible.
‘It’s been at least a fortnight. Had we delayed much longer, it would have been far too late.’
In truth, death could come at any moment now.
Moo Hoon reached into his robe and withdrew several needles.
Unlike the last time he had treated Dok Go Hyeon, he had come prepared for any contingency on this errand. With practiced ease, Moo Hoon inserted a needle into Jang Seung Hoo’s arm.
The Yang Xi Acupoint at the wrist.
The Qu Chi Acupoint, located on the elbow.
Then, with absolute precision, he placed a needle at the Wai Guan Acupoint nestled between them, and the faintest glimmer of life returned to Jang Seung Hoo’s features.
“Ah, ah….”
Song Chil’s eyes widened at the sight.
For the first time since the poisoning, Jang Seung Hoo’s complexion had improved, however slightly.
Yet to Moo Hoon, it was insufficient.
‘This will buy us some time, at least.’
All he’d done was slow the poison’s spread—the fundamental problem remained unsolved.
Moo Hoon glanced up at Song Chil once more.
“Song.”
“What now?”
“From this moment forward, I will detoxify Jang Seung Hoo’s poison.”
“…!”
Intense emotion flashed across Song Chil’s face.
“Is that even possible? You can truly cure it?”
“Yes. Did I not tell you so from the beginning?”
“Well, you did say that, but….”
How was one to believe such a thing?
Yet having watched Jang Seung Hoo’s face brighten the moment the needles were placed, a seed of faith began to take root in Song Chil’s heart.
“To detoxify, I will need preparation. The most crucial element is a vessel to contain the poison.”
“A vessel?”
“Yes. I can provide that myself.”
Song Chil asked, bewilderment plain in his voice.
“What’s all this talk of vessels? Are you saying we’ll just use some dish?”
“Not a dish. I will use a Spiritual Formation.”
“A Spiritual Formation?”
At the mention of Spiritual Formations, Song Chil’s eyes narrowed.
It was only natural.
To hear of Spiritual Formations in theory was one thing; to witness someone who could actually wield them was another matter entirely.
Especially someone not yet twenty years old, like Moo Hoon.
And so Song Chil arrived at the only logical conclusion.
“Don’t tell me… you’re a Strategist?”
Rather than deny it, Moo Hoon simply nodded.
“I am.”
At his answer, Song Chil’s expression grew grave.
“I see… So that’s why you had two guards trailing you. A Strategist, then.”
“Do you doubt me?”
Song Chil shook his head.
“No. The guards alone are one thing, but judging by your bearing and your mastery of acupuncture, doubt would be premature. Though I wonder why you haven’t cultivated Martial Arts… but now it makes sense.”
Song Chil nodded, his mind visibly racing.
“A Strategist… It’s fortunate I didn’t cross you.”
Even a child passing in the street knew of the power wielded by the Nine Sects and One Alliance and the Five Great Houses, which had split the orthodox and heterodox worlds between them.
For someone like Song Chil—a second-in-command of the Green Forest, part of the heterodox faction—such knowledge was impossible to avoid.
Song Chil congratulated himself on having avoided an unnecessary confrontation and pressed on.
“All right, the Spiritual Formation I understand. Is there anything else you need?”
“Alcohol and Licorice Root. The specific type is irrelevant.”
“What?”
Moo Hoon answered without hesitation.
“Alcohol and Licorice Root—I will mix the two and pour the mixture into your master’s mouth, then activate the Spiritual Formation. The poison will then be drawn from his body and contained within the formation I create.”
“Alcohol and Licorice Root? You’re telling me this common stuff can cure a poison like this?”
Licorice Root was the sort of herb one could gather from any hillside, and great quantities of it were already stockpiled in this very room.
And alcohol on top of that?
The type didn’t matter?
Song Chil spoke with disbelief, yet Moo Hoon’s voice carried unshakeable certainty.
“Yes. They are the most common of things, but combined with the Spiritual Formation I will deploy, they can draw out any poison.”
“How….”
“I understand your skepticism. However, Jang Seung Hoo does not have much time remaining.”
At Moo Hoon’s words, Song Chil flinched.
Even if his complexion had improved somewhat, it was clear that without the Cheon Hyang Go Rak being detoxified, Jang Seung Hoo would not rise again.
“Then is it not worth attempting, whatever the means?”
Song Chil paused at Moo Hoon’s words, then nodded slowly.
“…You’re right.”
“Thank you. If I may ask, could you tell me where I might find some liquor nearby?”
Rather than answer, Song Chil retrieved a bottle and a cup from the cabinet in Jang Seung Hoo’s house.
“This is just common rice wine, but will it do?”
“That will suffice.”
Moo Hoon accepted the bottle and poured it into the cup.
Glug-glug-glug.
Then he carefully pinched off a piece of Licorice Root and laid it atop the liquid.
A pitiful preparation indeed for counteracting Cheon Hyang Go Rak, a poison of world-class potency.
Yet it was precisely because of such humble beginnings that finding this method had taken so long in his past life.
‘How foolish I was then. I should have started from the fundamentals…’
He knew that dwelling on the past was futile, and yet the damage wrought by Cheon Hyang Go Rak had been so immense that it remained a debt upon his heart.
‘This time, it will not be so.’
With that resolve, Moo Hoon withdrew the Judgment Brush from his robes.
“Now I shall draw the Spiritual Formation.”
“Ah, y-yes. Go ahead.”
Moo Hoon left the slightly flustered Song Chil behind and began inscribing the Spiritual Formation upon the wooden floor of the thatched cottage.
His movements were fluid and unhesitating, and Song Chil found himself unable to look away.
‘First… the Earth Drawing.’
The first mark to appear was a vast circle encompassing Jang Seung Hoo’s enormous frame.
‘The Eight Leaf Pattern.’
Next, Moo Hoon carefully inscribed eight leaf-like shapes evenly spaced along the circle’s perimeter.
‘The Tree Heart Ink.’
Finally, he began to draw the roots of a great tree at Jang Seung Hoo’s feet.
‘With maximum precision.’
The roots were the most vital element of this Spiritual Formation.
As with all endeavors, the foundation—the roots—are paramount; without them, nothing else matters.
This Formation was no exception, and Moo Hoon found himself concentrating so intently that he held his breath without realizing it.
His focus proved contagious; Song Chil, though not the one drawing, found himself riveted to the sight before him.
Nearly half a watch of time had passed when Moo Hoon finally rose, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
“Hah… *cough*.”
“What, what is it? Why are you coughing?”
“Ah. It’s nothing of concern. Merely an old ailment I carry.”
“An ailment? Tsk, these righteous sect types are always so frail. A scion of the Five Great Houses, burdened with chronic illness?”
Despite Song Chil’s mockery, Moo Hoon smiled faintly and examined the Spiritual Formation he had drawn once more.
Confirming it was flawless, he nodded and turned back to Song Chil.
“The Spiritual Formation is complete. Now I shall activate it. Do you have any objections?”
Song Chil regarded him with lingering doubt in his eyes.
“…All right. I’ll trust you on this.”
Doubt remained, but the fact was equally clear: Moo Hoon represented the only hope—perhaps the last hope—given to Jang Seung Hoo.
With that, Moo Hoon nodded and raised the cup containing Licorice Root and liquor, feeding it to Jang Seung Hoo.
Since the insensible Jang Seung Hoo could not swallow of his own accord, the process was slow, but Moo Hoon did not rush—he poured every drop into Jang Seung Hoo’s mouth without waste.
Then, drawing a line across the leftmost of the eight leaves, Moo Hoon chanted an incantation.
“The ink settles; the scattered vital force returns.”
At once, the roots of the Formation began to glow a soft green.
The trunk seemed to ripple, and before long, one of the leaves turned a deep crimson.
Moo Hoon’s eyes widened.
‘The detoxification is proceeding this quickly?’
Despite the severe intoxication, the poison was being expelled at an unexpectedly rapid pace.
And Moo Hoon grasped at once what this signified.
‘So it is not yet a completed Cheon Hyang Go Rak.’
There had been something suspicious about it all.
No matter how strong Jang Seung Hoo’s constitution, Cheon Hyang Go Rak transforms the body’s vital force into fragrant vapor—a poison of devastating power.
That he could endure such a poison to this degree could not be explained by constitution alone.
Yet if this were an incomplete version of Cheon Hyang Go Rak, many pieces fell into place.
‘Then Jang Seung Hoo was used as a test subject for Cheon Hyang Go Rak.’
Reasoning through the progression, Moo Hoon drew a line across the next leaf just before the first one filled completely.
This time, two leaves required marking.
“The forest falls silent; the poison sleeps.”
As the second leaf swiftly filled with color, Moo Hoon traced lines across all five remaining leaves without hesitation.
“Eight leaves encircle and guard the grove; the tree’s heart suppresses the energy center.”
Before long, the remaining five leaves had turned the same deep crimson.
Song Chil watched the sight with wonder, then glanced at Jang Seung Hoo’s face.
“What?!”
He started, taken aback.
Jang Seung Hoo’s pallid complexion, which had faded to an ashen hue, had returned to its natural bronze tone.
More than that, Song Chil—a second-rate martial artist—could hear Jang Seung Hoo’s heartbeat growing strong and steady.
And there was one thing more certain than anything else.
“The scent… it’s gone.”
The fragrance of Cheon Hyang Go Rak that had filled the entire house had vanished without trace.
The transformation had been so gradual that Song Chil only noticed it now, belatedly.
He turned to Moo Hoon, unable to hide his shock.
“How… how is this possible?”
Moo Hoon drew a deep breath and met Song Chil’s gaze.
“It is the Spiritual Formation known as the Ink Forest Pregnancy—the thirty-eighth jewel in our clan’s renowned repertoire. It can counteract any poison, provided the right conditions are present.”
“That such a thing could…”
He began to protest, then realized how foolish that would sound.
How could he deny what he had witnessed with his own eyes?
All he could do was accept that the Strategist Family’s legendary reputation as the Divine Strategists was no mere fancy.
Moo Hoon checked Jang Seung Hoo’s pulse and answered Song Chil.
“The poison has been completely absorbed by the formation’s tree. Your master should wake soon—perhaps a little over an hour, given his level of martial prowess.”
“Is that so? Well… that’s a relief, at least.”
Song Chil replied, his voice uncertain.
“Indeed it is. But Song, if I may ask…”
“Yes?”
Moo Hoon wrote something on the edge of a crimson leaf as he spoke.
“Will you be all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely you don’t mean to feign ignorance now.”
Moo Hoon’s expression turned thin and sharp.
“When your master learns that you administered the poison, won’t you find yourself in considerable difficulty?”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————