The Heavenly Demon of the Blue Sky - Chapter 67

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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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Azure Heaven’s Heavenly Demon — Episode 067
From within the barrier, Namgung Gyeong’s thunderous Lion’s Roar erupted, shaking the very foundations of Azure Heaven and reverberating across the entire perimeter of the battlefield.
The overwhelming aura struck even the elite fighters of the Hwangbo Clan and Sandong Ak Clan locked in combat at Namgung’s outer edges, their hearts hammering as though they might burst from their chests.
“All of you, hear me! The Iron Corps of Mount Tai shall not lose heart!”
Hwangbo Gang seized the vanguard, wielding his Crescent Moon Blade with forceful sweeps.
Yet despite the rousing cry, the battle on the perimeter was sinking deeper into a quagmire with each passing moment.
“Grrrrrowl!”
The enemies before them were no mere Corpse Demons.
The martial masters and cavalry of Wanshou Magong they had faced in Shanxi long ago, along with the corpses of enormous wolves.
The already-dead had been grotesquely stitched together into single, nightmarish forms.
The savagery of the beast and the martial prowess of the warrior merged into one, hurling themselves forward in a single tide.
Facing something so alien made the fight wickedly difficult.
In the opening assault, the Iron Corps had struck with ferocious momentum, driving the abominations back in a single, violent shove.
But the Corpse Demons, knowing no pain, surged back without hesitation.
“Brother! At this rate we’re in grave danger!”
Ak Jin, having pierced a wolf’s jaws with his spear, cried out in urgency.
“We’re running through the talismans we brought nearly twice as fast! If we can’t crush these things in one decisive blow, our defensive line will collapse and the threat will reach Namgung’s front lines!”
Ak Jin spoke truth. Their talismans were dwindling toward exhaustion, yet the enemy numbers seemed bottomless.
Hwangbo Gang gnawed at his lip, anxiety rising in his chest.
‘How can we stop this? There must be a way to annihilate this entire horde at once….’
In that moment of desperate crisis, a memory flashed through Hwangbo Gang’s mind—Namgung Gyeong’s figure from before they’d escaped the Shanxi reed marshes.
At that time, Namgung Gyeong had slipped him a torch burning with Phantom Soul Grass, the very substance Wanshou Magong’s riders had used to intoxicate the wolves, tossing it into his arms.
-Those vultures from Wanshou will stop at nothing to control any beast they can command. Today it was the wolves, but if one day they reach for the prized horses of Sandong Ak or the Hwangbo Clan, Mount Tai’s strength will be crippled beyond repair. Learn the nature of Phantom Soul Grass now, and prepare against that day.-
Hwangbo Gang had returned to Mount Tai marveling at that foresight, and immediately ordered the clan physicians to analyze the Phantom Soul Grass’s composition with meticulous care.
The result: they developed and mass-produced the Pure Clarity Soul-Barrier Pill, a remedy that perfectly blocked the grass’s vapor and kept the mind sharp and lucid.
“Ak, brother! Have the unit use the Pure Clarity Soul-Barrier Pills we distributed earlier!”
“Eh? Why suddenly—ah, I see!”
Ak Jin caught on immediately and barked orders to his subordinates.
Without hesitation, every soldier drew a pill from their pouch and placed it in his nostril.
As the pills entered the horses’ nostrils too, they became immune to the Phantom Soul Grass’s effects.
“It works!”
“Excellent!”
Next, Hwangbo Gang retrieved the Phantom Soul Grass he’d kept in reserve—just in case.
More precisely, it was condensed Phantom Soul Grass, hardened into dark crimson wax.
Whoooosh—!
He thrust the wax into the torch, and thick, acrid purple smoke began billowing up into the center of the battlefield.
“You beasts worse than animals! Though you’ve lost reason in death as Corpse Demons, can you truly forget the terrible anguish and primal instinct carved deep into your original souls?”
Hwangbo Gang raised the torch high, his voice booming across the field.
Then something extraordinary happened. The wolf Corpse Demons caught the scent of the purple smoke, hesitated, then began to move with wild, bloodshot eyes blazing, driven by instinct straight toward Hwangbo Gang in a frenzied rush.
“Yes! It works!”
The gambit had succeeded, and Hwangbo Gang exulted—but only for a moment.
He was not of Wanshou Magong’s lineage; he had no idea how to control wolves maddened by intoxication on the Phantom Soul Grass.
Worse still, these creatures were Corpse Demons—already dead, obeying only the Blood Cult’s command.
“Roooooaaaaargh!”
Dozens of massive wolves, drawn by the vapor and with fangs gleaming wickedly, charged straight at Hwangbo Gang as though ready to devour him whole.
“Stay calm. This is precisely the advantage—every last one is fixated on me alone.”
He wheeled his horse sharply and bolted forward, already formulating his next move even as he fled.
“Ak, brother! I’ll draw every last one of these things away! Search quickly—is there a high cliff nearby?”
“Understood, brother! Spread out, all of you! Find the path!”
Ak Jin scattered the Iron Corps in desperate reconnaissance of the surrounding terrain.
It wasn’t long before a perilous, winding trail leading up a steep slope and toward a towering cliff came into Ak Jin’s view.
“Brother! This way!”
Ak Jin hacked violently through the dense forest, carving a passage open.
Hwangbo Gang, trailing the thick purple smoke like a banner, charged up the slope with the wolf pack snapping at his heels in frenzied pursuit.
“Scatter left and right—all of you, clear the sides!”
At Hwangbo Gang’s shout, Ak Jin and the Iron Corps peeled away to either flank.
At the crest of the steep incline lay a sheer, dizzying cliff—a precipice so vast it seemed to swallow the world.
Yet Hwangbo Gang did not slow; instead, he drove his heel hard into his horse’s ribs and charged forward without hesitation.
“W-wait, brother! Stop! It’s a cliff!”
Watching from behind, Ak Jin and the Iron Corps turned ashen, choking out cries of horror.
Yet in Hwangbo Gang’s eyes burned a fierce competitive fire.
“Today, I too shall ride the wind freely beneath Namgung’s endless sky!”
When everyone else was risking their lives in desperate struggle, how could he shrink back in fear before a mere cliff and surrender?
“Forward!”
With Hwangbo Gang’s rough cry, the crimson stallion kicked off the earth and hurled itself toward the void.
Perhaps the fallen warriors of Namgung were cheering him on from beyond.
Whoosh—! In that instant, a powerful wind surged from the cliff’s edge and thrust Hwangbo Gang forward.
Below the precipice, even massive boulders had shattered into fragments, and the bones of fallen beasts lay scattered like sharpened blades, piercing the ground.
“Krraaaagh!”
Wolf Corpse Demons, mad from the Phantom Soul Grass smoke and launched into the air, gaped their jaws toward Hwangbo Gang’s throat.
In a heartbeat, Hwangbo Gang sensed the moment had come and hurled the torch of Phantom Soul Grass with all his strength downward toward the bottomless gorge below.
“Let these wretched beasts find freedom at last!”
Remarkably, dozens of wolves suspended in the air plummeted in unison down the cliff, following the torch’s smoke.
Over the sheer precipice’s edge, wolves and riders cascaded like a waterfall onto the jagged rocks and bone fragments below, their bodies shattering hideously with wet, crunching sounds.
The impact tore open the Red Cinnabar Talismans buried deep within their flesh, scattering them as ash upon the wind.
Crack, snap!
Meanwhile, Hwangbo Gang’s stallion successfully touched down with precarious grace upon the narrow stone bridge jutting precariously from the far cliff face.
“Hah—hah, hah…”
Hwangbo Gang, drenched in cold sweat, turned to look back.
His long beard swept majestically in the cliff’s keen wind.
“Am I—am I truly still whole? Alive?”
Ak Jin, who had by then reached the far edge of the gorge, saw him and bellowed, his face flushed with rage.
“You’ve gone mad! How could you be so reckless, as if you had ten lives to spare!”
Ak Jin’s anger burst forth, but almost at once his face filled with admiration, and he clenched his fist and raised it toward the sky.
“Yet you’ve done it flawlessly, without a scratch! Your form now rivals that Great Emperor Guan whom we’ve revered all our lives!”
At Ak Jin’s highest praise, Hwangbo Gang’s lips twitched upward. But the joy was short-lived.
“There is no time to savor victory. We have broken only one enemy column.”
Hwangbo Gang’s gaze turned toward Namgung, where smoke was rising.
Ak Jin gripped his iron staff once more and roared mightily toward the earth.
“Let the Iron Corps of Taishan regroup! We shall put down the demons that invade Namgung!”
Soon they reformed their ranks and charged forward toward Namgung with renewed force.
* * *
At that very moment.
Before Jang Ho of the Beggar Clan and Hye Gwang of Shaolin, who stood defending against those seeking to breach their lines guarding the Jegal Clan’s scholars, an enemy neither wished to face drew near with heavy, deliberate steps.
Thud—! Thud—!
It was Eon Gi-moo, once the Grand Elder of the Jinjueon Clan and a master of Fist Technique.
Meeting his ominous gaze, the eyes of Hye Gwang and Jang Ho trembled with uncertainty.
Through both their minds swept the memory of a brilliant, distant summer’s day more than a decade past, like scenes in a lantern show.
As a child, Jang Ho had been unbridled wildness itself.
He would steal purses from merchants passing through the market or tear through back alleys with gangs, brawling like a pack.
Then he was caught by the scruff of his neck by an elder of the Beggar Clan and beaten until blood beaded on his calves.
“Better to starve than steal from others and brawl like a street thug—even beggars won’t stoop so low!”
Where he was dragged was a small, dilapidated temple.
There, day after day, Jang Ho was made to sweep the courtyard and draw water as punishment.
It was there he met Hye Gwang, a young novice monk in training at the temple.
Then, neither of them dreamed they would become lifelong companions.
Hye Gwang frowned at Jang Ho’s noisy antics within the temple and constantly nagged him, while Jang Ho found Hye Gwang’s premature solemnity—so unbecoming of a boy his age—irksome.
Yet as the seasons turned, affection grew layer upon layer.
The wild, untamed Jang Ho learned composure at Hye Gwang’s side, while Hye Gwang, bound by rigid orthodoxy, discovered through Jang Ho the flexibility that life demands.
Bun Ta Joo of the Beggar Clan and Dae Sa of Shaolin, watching from the veranda as the two boys rolled in the dirt of the courtyard sparring with each other, wore gentle smiles.
“How touching to see a monk and a beggar stick together so closely—it stirs old memories.”
“Indeed, it is like beholding our own youth again.”
Then one day, a third kindred spirit whom they had cherished arrived at the once-peaceful temple after a long absence. It was none other than Eon Gi-moo, Grand Elder of the Jinjueon Clan.
The three old men, reunited after years, drank tea and reminisced together.
Presently, Eon Gi-moo recognized the talents of Hye Gwang and Jang Ho.
He set down his teacup and spoke seriously to his two old friends.
“It is true that as a member of a great clan, teaching those of different birth violates family codes, yet to nurture promising young saplings flourishing for the sake of the Martial World’s peace—surely such duty falls upon seniors of higher standing. If you consent, I should like to instruct these two lads myself over the coming summer.”
It was an offer to refine their fundamentals and build their foundation as warriors, though the family’s secret techniques could not be transmitted.
Eon Gi-moo had mastered Fist Technique and earned renown in his youth as one of the foremost masters in the Central Plains.
For such talent to offer instruction was a matter of great honor and gratitude for both the Beggar Clan and Shaolin, so the two masters gave their ready consent.
The next day. Eon Gi-moo introduced himself to the two boys in the courtyard.
But Hye Gwang and Jang Ho, their blood still burning with youth, exchanged jeers at the sight of the bearded old martial artist.
“Sir, it’s sweltering heat—won’t you strain yourself and collapse?”
Their cocky arrogance shattered in an instant.
Eon Gi-moo had driven both boys into the ground using nothing but the subtle elegance of his pure fist technique.
“So tell me, who’s collapsed now?”
“Us, sir! We have!”
From that moment on, Hye Gwang and Jang Ho served Eon Gi-moo as their teacher without reservation.
The intensity of their training was as oppressive as the sweltering heat of summer itself.
Carrying water buckets up to a distant mountain peak became routine.
With trembling limbs, they struck sand-filled bags through exhausting days.
Days they wished to die—yet through them, they built a solid foundation in the martial arts.
Soon the shrieking of cicadas faded, and the cool breezes of late summer arrived, blowing morning and evening.
“One last time. Both of you together—come at me with all you have.”
Their final bout. Jang Ho and Hye Gwang poured everything they had honed into that moment, attacking with every ounce of strength.
Yet across dozens of exchanges, neither managed to touch even the hem of Eon Gi-moo’s robe, crashing to the ground instead.
Watching the frustrated boys pound the earth, Eon Gi-moo laughed heartily.
“Frustrated? Listen well. The path of the Martial World is like crossing a vast and desolate mountain. Remember this.”
Eon Gi-moo continued, his voice both kind and firm.
“No matter how insurmountable the trial, how impossible to overcome alone—together with comrades whose hearts are joined, you can prevail.”
At those words, young Jang Ho pouted his lips in protest. Hye Gwang, though silent, felt much the same.
“Master, even keeping oneself alive is hard enough in the Martial World……”
“Amitabha Buddha—who could cherish others as truly as they cherish themselves?”
At that, Eon Gi-moo’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly.
“Yet you two already have such precious bonds right beside you.”
In that moment, young Hye Gwang and Jang Ho looked directly at each other.
As if by agreement, their faces flushed crimson, and they both whirled their heads sharply to opposite sides.
“Who, who’d want to be with such a namby-pamby monk!”
“Amitabha Buddha! I have no intention whatsoever of trusting my back to such a street rat!”
They vehemently denied each other, yet even their denial suited them perfectly.
When their eyes met again as they stole sideways glances, the gaze of both boys burned with fierce resolve and fire.
“Master! Let us try once more!”
Jang Ho and Hye Gwang clenched their fists and hurled themselves toward Eon Gi-moo in perfect unison.
The result was no different than before.
Caught by his light kick, the two tumbled across the ground wearing matching bruises around their eyes.
And yet.
“Hehe hehe……”
“Amitabha Buddha……”
Gasping as though about to faint, yet grinning ear to ear, both boys clutched torn scraps of Eon Gi-moo’s martial robes in their tightly clenched hands.
Through a perfectly synchronized and sudden coordinated strike, they had finally managed to brush their teacher’s robe.
“Kahahaha! Splendid! Truly splendid!”
Eon Gi-moo threw back his head and laughed with genuine delight.
He helped the children to their feet and brushed the dust from their knees.
“I look forward to the day when you two stand shoulder to shoulder. My teaching ends here.”
That warm, kind gaze burning in his eyes.
Though it lasted only a short time, Jang Ho and Hye Gwang never forgot that moment.
“Thank you for everything.”
As juniors, they joined their hands in deep respect.
That distant memory of that summer day was now buried beneath the reek of the battlefield.
Jang Ho and Hye Gwang, now steadfast pillars of their respective sects.
“Grrrrrrgh……”
Before the eyes of the two grown men stood their teacher—once cherished with genuine affection—now a soulless monster.
Tears streamed down both their faces.
Like that late summer day, they exchanged glances and stepped forward together.
Toward the Corpse Demon Eon Gi-moo, they clasped their hands and bowed their heads in reverence.
“Foolish disciples though we are……”
A voice thick with tears cut through the chaos of battle, resonating with weight.
“We greet our respected master.”

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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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