The Great Heavenly Sword Emperor - Chapter 91

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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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#091. Another Seed (2)

“Sigh… there’s truly no trace of anything.”
Bukgung Danya exhaled slowly, speaking the words aloud.
The two of them wandered through the valley at a leisurely pace, scrutinizing every detail above and below, yet they could find no trace of anything at all.
The terrain was too uneven for any construction, and if a structure existed, there ought to be some mark upon the cliffs that stretched along either side—yet nothing could be found.
“Do you think it’s hidden by some kind of formation array?”
At Bukgung Danya’s question, Cheon Mujgyeol stood motionless, examining his surroundings with meticulous care.
Were it not for the illusion magic cast by the Hwanryeong, he could have sensed whether a formation array had been installed through pure perception alone.
But now, because the illusion magic kept forcing him to feel only the spirit’s aura, he could not trust his own senses.
‘Can I trust the Cheonlamhaejin-gyeol?’
Using the Cheonlamhaejin-gyeol, he could verify whether a formation array existed and even break through it if necessary.
Yet now, even what he saw through the Cheonlamhaejin-gyeol seemed unreliable.
What if the visions it showed him were false?
That alone was not the real problem.
The greater danger lay in acting on that belief and blundering into a perilous situation.
If something went wrong inside a formation array with irregular energy flows, he might find himself helpless to respond.
More than Bukgung Danya, it was Cheon Mujgyeol himself—trapped within the illusion magic—who stood in greater jeopardy.
And if he fell into danger, he could not protect Bukgung Danya either.
For this reason, Cheon Mujgyeol hesitated to deploy the Cheonlamhaejin-gyeol.
“Cheon Mujgyeol.”
While he remained lost in thought, Bukgung Danya called out to him.
“Yes?”
“What troubles you? Do you sense something strange?”
“No.”
Cheon Mujgyeol’s reply was terse.
Yet Bukgung Danya regarded him with a look shadowed by concern.
Unlike before, Cheon Mujgyeol’s emotions had begun, little by little, to show themselves upon his face.
“Is it the illusion magic?”
Bukgung Danya asked.
Cheon Mujgyeol’s sole weakness at present was the illusion magic cast by the Hwanryeong.
“Yes.”
“So it does become an obstacle.”
Bukgung Danya had already suspected as much.
“I don’t care if I’m in danger, but you could be endangered as well.”
“Don’t concern yourself with that.”
Bukgung Danya spoke with quiet resolve.
“The situation we face now is not one where we can afford to distinguish between danger and safety. No—danger is inevitable. We might even die. But navigating through that depends ultimately on one’s own capabilities.”
Cheon Mujgyeol looked at Bukgung Danya.
When they first met, he could never have imagined Bukgung Danya speaking with such certainty.
Yet now confidence and resolve were so thoroughly woven into his expression, tone, and bearing that they could not be missed.
Hearing such words from Bukgung Danya, Cheon Mujgyeol felt his own mind lighten considerably.
“I understand. Still, be careful. Right now I cannot fully trust even myself.”
At Cheon Mujgyeol’s words, Bukgung Danya nodded with steely determination etched across his features.
Having steadied himself, Cheon Mujgyeol at once unfurled the Cheonlamhaejin-gyeol.
Immediately his vision shifted, and countless threads began to spread outward in all directions.
Threads stretching straight ahead, threads curving and fading into distance, threads bending in strange configurations and tangling together.
Dizziness washed over Cheon Mujgyeol’s eyes.
Among the threads, he glimpsed several strands of a different hue.
Ordinarily he would have followed those strands without hesitation, but now doubt crept in.
Could he trust them?
Yet there was no other choice.
He could only move forward by trusting himself and by trusting Bukgung Danya, who had faith in him.
Cheon Mujgyeol steeled his resolve once more and took a step forward.
Bukgung Danya followed, trusting in Cheon Mujgyeol’s lead.
With every nerve taut and his focus drawn to its peak, he braced himself for what might come next.

* * *

Cheon Mujgyeol advanced with deliberate caution, one step at a time.
Whether fortunate or not, nothing occurred despite walking for what seemed an eternity.
The surrounding landscape did not shift, nor did any threat materialize.
Under normal circumstances, this silence would have been a relief—but Cheon Mujgyeol and Bukgung Danya found their nerves climbing higher with each passing moment.
Then, as the first tendrils of mental exhaustion began to settle in, it happened.
The world before Cheon Mujgyeol’s eyes transformed.
He stopped walking.
The landscape that had replaced his surroundings was the Cheongeomjang.
More precisely, it was the night the Cheongeomjang was attacked and fell—the night he had fled into the depths of the fortress underground.
“Don’t die! Everyone, flee!”
“Don’t fight! Don’t resist! Just stay alive! Run!”
Around Cheon Mujgyeol, who stood frozen in place, people rushed past in their desperate scramble to survive, their voices raw with panic.
Among them were faces he still remembered—familiar, haunting faces.
And chasing them came dark silhouettes of attackers.
Cheon Mujgyeol tried to move, instinctively reaching for action.
But he could not. His feet were rooted to the ground as if buried in stone.
Even his voice would not come.
“Aaaagh!”
“Hacking cough!”
Screams and dying breaths filled the air.
Eyes wide, Cheon Mujgyeol could only watch as the people of Cheongeomjang fell before him.
‘Stop! Stop it!’
He cried out from the depths of his being, but still—no sound emerged.
His body trembled violently.
Veins swelled across his eyes as if they might burst.
He wanted to close his eyes, wanted desperately to look away from what was unbearable and agonizing—but even that mercy was denied him.
Tears pooled at the corners of Cheon Mujgyeol’s eyes.
Whether from the strain of keeping them open so long, or from the fresh wound of reliving that horror, he could not say.

* * *

While Cheon Mujgyeol confronted the tragedy of his past, Bukgung Danya was experiencing something alike.
He too stood in a place he knew.
It was near his private quarters within the Bukgung Family Estate.
As confusion rooted him to the spot, a figure appeared.
It was a maidservant who had always tended to him.
She turned a corner leading toward his chambers, then stopped, her eyes darting about the corridor.
From the folds of her robe, she withdrew a small vial.
Bukgung Danya’s eyes widened at the sight.
He understood at once what she held.
After another careful glance around, the maidservant used her teeth to pull open the stopper, then carefully poured a few drops of its contents into the medicinal decoction she carried.
The amount was negligible.
Merely a few drops.
Jeokeumssan—a poison—fell into the decoction, one droplet at a time.
The maidservant sealed the vial again and slipped it back into her garments, then walked calmly toward Bukgung Danya’s quarters.
“No!”
Bukgung Danya cried out.
Unlike Cheon Mujgyeol, he could produce sound, and more than that—he could move.
Yet the maidservant did not seem to hear his voice.
Bukgung Danya rushed toward her, reaching out his hand.
But when his fingers passed through her form, they found nothing—no substance to grasp, no resistance.
The maidservant, sensing nothing amiss, entered his quarters.
Panic seized Bukgung Danya.
She could not let him drink it.
Whether this was the first time or not, it did not matter—he could not drink it.
Bukgung Danya hurried after her into the chambers.
The door was closed, but his body passed through it as though it were not there.
“Young Master, it’s time for your medicine.”
The maidservant spoke with a smiling face to Bukgung Danya.
The young Bukgung Danya, lying in bed, caught sight of the medicinal decoction in the maidservant’s hand and frowned.
“Do I have to drink it? Every time I do, the smell when I go to the privy is unbearable. Makes me feel sick.”
“You must drink it all the same. And isn’t a strong smell a good sign? It means your body is purging all the impurities within.”
Bukgung Danya regarded the maidservant, who spoke as if she knew nothing, with eyes full of revulsion.
The betrayal cut too deep—the woman who had cared for him like a true sister was the very one who had poisoned him with Jeokeumssan.
Then the young Bukgung Danya, as if he had no choice, accepted the decoction from her hands.
“Don’t drink it! Don’t you dare drink it! Throw it away!”
Bukgung Danya cried out, but his voice, as before, could not reach the young version of himself.
The young Bukgung Danya, holding the bowl, gazed at the decoction for a moment and let out a heavy sigh.
Watching this, Bukgung Danya could bear it no longer and drew his blade.
“Aaaaagh!”
He roared and swung his sword toward the maidservant.
Slash!
The maidservant, whom he could not touch even when he reached out, was cut down by Bukgung Danya’s blade and fell.
Yet the young Bukgung Danya paid her no mind and brought the decoction to his lips.
“No!”
Bukgung Danya cried out again and reached toward him, but his hand passed through the bowl as before.
In the end, the young Bukgung Danya drained the entire decoction and made a face.
“Ugh… it’s so bitter.”
“Here you are, sir.”
Astonishingly, the maidservant whom Bukgung Danya had struck down was now perfectly whole, as if nothing had happened, and accepted the bowl he offered.
“Aaaaagh!”
Bukgung Danya roared again and cut down the maidservant.
Slash!
Again, the maidservant was struck down and fell.
“Hah! Hah! Hah!”
Bukgung Danya breathed heavily, staring at the fallen maidservant.

* * *

Cheon Mujgyeol watched helplessly as the people of Cheongeomjang fell one by one.
He was furious with himself—unable to move, unable to speak, utterly powerless.
But if only.
If only he had the strength now to save them all.
At that thought, Cheon Mujgyeol could no longer contain himself.
It was then.
Crack!
A searing pain shot through his back.
And in that same instant, his legs and body, which had been frozen in place, moved.
Cheon Mujgyeol spun around.
There stood a dark shadow, holding a bloodied blade.
“Aaaaagh!”
Cheon Mujgyeol’s rage exploded.
A tremendous surge of energy erupted, and killing intent thickened beyond measure.
Cheon Mujgyeol fixed his gaze upon the dark shadow before him.
Then he rushed forward at once, swinging his sword.

* * *

“So Bukgung Danya had it all along, not Cheon Mujgyeol. Well, I suppose that works out nicely?”
On a cliff overlooking the valley where Cheon Mujgyeol and Bukgung Danya had ventured.
Hwanryeong stood there, gazing down.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he looked down.
His expression was one of delight so intense it was almost manic.
What Hwanryeong found so entertaining was the sight of Cheon Mujgyeol and Bukgung Danya swinging their blades at each other.
Bukgung Danya had cut the maidservant, but in truth he had struck Cheon Mujgyeol; and because of that blow, the Cheon Mujgyeol who regained the ability to move saw the dark shadow as Bukgung Danya.
This was the true nature of the gift Hwanryeong had prepared for the two of them.
“If Cheon Mujgyeol had possessed that orb, Bukgung Danya would have been dead long ago.”
He seemed disappointed, but it was hardly a grave reaction.
“Still, Cheon Mujgyeol won’t die. In the end, it’ll be Bukgung Danya who falls. So tell me—when he realizes it was all illusion, that he killed not his enemy but Bukgung Danya himself—what becomes of Cheon Mujgyeol? Does he shatter? Or does he grit his teeth and endure?”
The smile at the corner of Hwanryeong’s mouth deepened.
Beneath his gaze, Cheon Mujgyeol and Bukgung Danya still crossed blades.
And with each exchange, their bodies bore fresh wounds.

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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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