Flying Demon Tak Ilhon.
To think that such a man was now this seemingly gentle old man.
“There is no longer a person called the Flying Demon,” Tak Ilhon said, pointing to his leg. “Just a crippled old man.”
His leg was clearly ruined; the calf and thigh bones protruded unnaturally, swollen and deformed.
“Did you injure it when you fell?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Well, something like that. Losing consciousness and falling, yet only losing a leg? That’s a pretty good deal, don’t you think? Most would have their bodies shattered and die.”
Tak Ilhon had been stripped of his martial prowess by the Shaolin and had his leg crushed when he fell into this Repentance Cave.
For a master of movement techniques to have a shattered leg meant that, even if his inner strength were restored, the figure known as Flying Demon could no longer exist in the martial world.
“No need to look at me like that,” Tak Ilhon said calmly. “At first, I was mad with rage. But now? It doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“Is that so?” Bu Eunseol replied, glancing around.
The old men gathered in this place showed little interest in Bu Eunseol’s arrival. Only a handful, aside from Tak Ilhon, had even bothered to approach.
‘Aren’t they curious at all?’ Bu Eunseol thought.
Even the demons of the Peach Blossom Paradise were eager for news of the martial world. Yet these men, living for decades in this damp, lightless cave, didn’t ask about the outside world or even who he was?
“Who are you?” Tak Ilhon asked. “What did you do to end up imprisoned here?”
“I’m called Seolso,” Bu Eunseol replied. Revealing his true identity here would do him no good, so he fabricated a story. “I was just browsing the martial arts manuals in the Scripture Pavilion, but I got greedy and touched the Blood Shaolin’s collection too… and, well, here I am.”
“Hmm,” Tak Ilhon murmured, letting out a sigh of realization. “You read them, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s no wonder you’re locked up here.” He gave a bitter smile, pointing to his own face. “I did the same, you know.”
As it turned out, Flying Demon had been imprisoned here for reading Shaolin’s secret manuals.
“In fact, most of the people in this Repentance Cave are here because they read the manuals in the Scripture Pavilion,” Tak Ilhon explained.
The Buddhist masters couldn’t kill for such an offense, but they also couldn’t let Shaolin’s secrets leak to the outside world. So, their only option was to confine the offenders in the Repentance Cave for life.
“Another thief like Shintu, huh?” one of the old men muttered.
“I thought we had someone interesting for once,” another said, shaking his head in disappointment.
The few elders who had been watching Bu Eunseol with curiosity lost interest, assuming he was just another thief like Flying Demon, and drifted away.
“That’s strange,” Bu Eunseol said, his expression puzzled. “Unlike the entrance, why do the old men here seem so serene, almost like immortals?”
“Heh heh heh,” Tak Ilhon chuckled, a strange sound. “The Shaolin monks didn’t lock us up here for no reason.”
He pointed to the cave shrouded in darkness. “The walls of this cave are engraved with all sorts of Buddhist scriptures. And the only food here? Those things.”
He gestured toward patches of blue-green grass sprouting nearby—Hanryeong grass, known for calming the mind.
For these great demons, whose inner strength had been shattered, all they could see in this cave were Buddhist scriptures. Consuming Hanryeong grass over time had gradually purged their demonic energy, transforming them into gentle, even-tempered beings who rarely grew angry.
“I see,” Bu Eunseol said, finally understanding why the demons were divided between the entrance and this deeper part of the cave. The entrance had no Buddhist scriptures, so the ferocious demons resided there, unchanged.
“But surely the old men at the entrance didn’t just sit still,” Bu Eunseol remarked.
“Of course not,” Tak Ilhon replied, frowning.
“For a while, they fought fiercely with the ones here. They wanted meat, so they attacked the elders here at night.” He grimaced. “That led to casualties. Those bastards survived on that, and then new fools who tried to steal from the Scripture Pavilion kept falling in here… That’s how it went.”
The elders at the entrance would occasionally wage war, feeding on the fallen or devouring those who, like them, had snuck into the Scripture Pavilion to read its secrets and ended up in the Repentance Cave.
It was a cycle of brutal acts.
“Aren’t you curious about the outside world?” Bu Eunseol asked, looking at the disinterested elders around him.
“If you’d come ten years earlier, they might have been curious,” Tak Ilhon said with a bitter expression. “But now? Even if you were an immortal, they wouldn’t care.”
Most of the demons here were over a hundred years old, their inner strength gone.
With their past glory faded, eating Hanryeong grass daily and sitting in a cave filled with Buddhist scriptures, they had let go of all attachments.
“That’s odd,” Tak Ilhon said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t sense much demonic energy from you. In fact, you feel more like someone who’s trained in orthodox martial arts.”
Bu Eunseol was startled.
With just a few words of conversation, Tak Ilhon had discerned that his spirit was balanced and that he had studied orthodox martial arts?
“No need to be so surprised,” Tak Ilhon said, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Who here doesn’t have a story they can’t share?”
Bu Eunseol felt a strange emotion stir within him.
The Flying Demon Tak Ilhon, a notorious thief who had slaughtered hundreds of orthodox martial artists in his prime, now laughed heartily, appearing almost saintly.
It stirred a peculiar sense of reflection in Bu Eunseol’s heart.
‘What exactly is orthodox or demonic?’ he thought. A human life is short yet long, changing through countless experiences.
One might love a certain food and then grow to hate it.
A person cherished today might be despised tomorrow.
A demonic master living by the law of strength might attain enlightenment and walk the orthodox path, preaching justice.
Conversely, an orthodox martial artist, bound by hierarchy and status, might grow disillusioned and turn to the demonic path.
In the end, the concepts of “orthodox” and “demonic” were merely constructs created for human convenience, subject to change at any moment—just as his grandfather, Bu Zhanyang, had taught him.
“What are those?” Bu Eunseol asked, noticing strange, grotesque characters scratched into the cave walls alongside the Buddhist scriptures.
Upon closer inspection, they were martial arts techniques.
“Oh, those are the martial arts the old men here carved,” Tak Ilhon said with a faint smile. “With their days numbered, they etched their ultimate techniques into the walls as a way to vent their frustrations.”
He looked at Bu Eunseol and chuckled. “Feel free to read them if you’re interested. Mastering even one could make you a peerless master in the martial world.”
His smile turned bitter. “If you could ever leave this place, that is.”
“I see,” Bu Eunseol replied, though he wasn’t particularly interested in demonic martial arts.
His martial prowess had already reached the peak of the Supreme Heavenly Realm, and he was forging a new path. Most martial arts, no matter how profound, no longer caught his eye.
“Now, tell me,” Tak Ilhon said, rubbing his nose slightly. “What’s the state of the martial world these days? What happened to the Flying Demon Palace?”
Compared to the others, Tak Ilhon had been here for only about fifteen years and was still in his eighties. He hadn’t yet transcended worldly attachments and remained curious about the martial world.
“Keep it short,” he added.
Feeling Tak Ilhon’s persistent gaze, Bu Eunseol sighed and began. “As you might have guessed, the moment you disappeared, the Flying Demon Palace was immediately disbanded…”
He calmly explained the current state of the martial world, avoiding personal details or complex matters like the Three Realms, summarizing everything concisely.
Even so, his explanation was thorough enough for Tak Ilhon to grasp the chaotic state of the martial world.
“I see. It’s a complete mess,” Tak Ilhon said with a faint sigh after hearing everything.
He had once believed his influence on the martial world was immense, that his disappearance would cause a great stir. But it hadn’t.
His loyal followers had dismantled the Flying Demon Palace as soon as he was gone, and the name Flying Demon Tak Ilhon had quickly faded from people’s minds.
“Thanks for the story,” Tak Ilhon said.
“Then, I’ll take my leave,” Bu Eunseol replied, standing up.
Having used the Wishful True Binding repeatedly without circulating his energy, he felt a faint taste of blood in his body. He needed to meditate and rest.
“Resting? Well, you wouldn’t be in good shape,” Tak Ilhon said, gesturing vaguely around the cave. “There are empty spots where the old men aren’t. Just pick one and rest. They won’t care.”
Then, as if remembering something, he pointed to a deep passage in the cave. “One thing, though—don’t go near the end of that cave,” he said, his expression darkening. “The moment you step in there, you’ll die a gruesome death.”
“What do you mean?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Just know that stepping in there means death,” Tak Ilhon replied.
“Death just from stepping in? Is the Blood Shadow Demon Lord in there or something?”
“Hmph. Even the Blood Shadow Demon Lord wouldn’t stand a chance against the demons in this Repentance Cave,” Tak Ilhon said, swallowing hard. “What’s in there is death itself. Untouchable by anyone.”
“Death?”
“Yes. Just getting close will kill you, so don’t even think about it out of curiosity.” He lifted his left leg, revealing a sharp, purple scar. Had it been any deeper, it would have severed the bone.
‘Death,’ Bu Eunseol thought, his eyes glinting.
Death—the word that symbolized the Seven-Finger Demon Blade.
If his guess was correct, the person in that cave was either the Seven-Finger Demon Blade himself or his perfect shadow.
“Even you couldn’t avoid it, old man?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Even if my inner strength were intact, I couldn’t guarantee I’d escape,” Tak Ilhon replied.
“Who is he?”
Tak Ilhon shook his head. “I came here late, so I don’t know who he is or why he’s locked up. He doesn’t answer questions either.”
“…”
“But seeing how even the old men who’ve been here the longest fear him, he’s no ordinary figure,” Tak Ilhon said, cold sweat dripping as he recalled the “death” he’d encountered in that cave.
“You’re saying he’s frightening?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Heh heh heh. Strange, isn’t it?” Tak Ilhon said with a regretful expression. “There was a time when I feared neither heaven nor earth. But after being here so long, I’ve learned something.”
He looked straight at Bu Eunseol.
“Death is the end of all things, and humans can’t help but fear it.”
Bu Eunseol nodded. It was a natural response.
For humans living finite lives, death was an ever-present terror. Few could truly ponder its meaning or face it with detachment.
“On the contrary, it piques my interest,” Bu Eunseol said.
“Well, I won’t stop you if you want to die,” Tak Ilhon replied with a lonely expression. “Who knows? You’re still young. Maybe you’ll find a way out of this Repentance Cave.”
Bu Eunseol let out a soft hum and looked around. At the far end of the cave, he could hear running water, but a foul, musty smell wafted from somewhere. Another reason the ferocious demons avoided settling here was likely the strange, damp odor permeating the area.
“Thank you, old man. I’ve learned a lot,” Bu Eunseol said, giving a slight bow before turning away. He walked toward the dirtiest cave, where the interior was clearly visible, and lay down.
“You’re staying there?” Tak Ilhon asked.
“Does it matter where?” Bu Eunseol replied, a faint smile on his lips as he surveyed the area. “Plenty of bugs here. Perfect for when I’m hungry.”
“Heh heh heh,” Tak Ilhon chuckled, nodding. “You’re a beggar by origin, aren’t you? Well, most thieves come from beggar roots.”
“Something like that,” Bu Eunseol said, lying down sprawled out.
Tak Ilhon clicked his tongue, looking bored. “I thought a young guy coming in would be interesting…”
In truth, Tak Ilhon had been excited to see a new face in the Repentance Cave. He wanted to watch someone despair and suffer as he had. But this sharp young man seemed to adapt to the cave better than he, who had been here for fifteen years.
“What a seasoned old soul,” Tak Ilhon muttered, losing interest and walking away.
Wooong.
Meanwhile, Bu Eunseol began circulating his energy while lying down.
Thanks to mastering the nurturing techniques of the Muscle-Changing Sutra, he could meditate in any position.
Slowly restoring his depleted inner strength, he closed his eyes for a brief rest. A wave of fatigue washed over him, as if he were sinking into deep water.
Part of it was due to deliberately taking hits from Master Gonggong and the Blood Shaolin monks, but his mind was more exhausted than his body.
His journey through the martial world had never been easy. He always had to consider countless possibilities and predict what lay ahead. And now, an opportunity had come to resolve a lingering question:
If the figure in that cave was the Seven-Finger Demon Blade or his shadow, he would finally know whether his grandfather, Bu Zhanyang, was the Seven-Finger Demon Blade.
Grrrr.
How much time had passed?
Bu Eunseol, who had fallen asleep in the darkness, stirred faintly at a sound.
It was like the wail of a ghost, a groan filled with deep resentment, echoing softly through the cave. The demons of the Repentance Cave pretended not to hear it—because it was the sound of “death” weeping.
‘The demonic energy has truly faded,’ Bu Eunseol thought.
In their prime, these great demons wouldn’t have feared death or any being. But now, like Tak Ilhon, they feared the demon called “death.”
Because death was the end of all things.
Yet Bu Eunseol did not fear death.
“Life and death are like the two sides of a coin,” his grandfather had taught him.
A coin has a front and back, divided for human convenience. But whether you see the front or the back, it’s still a coin.
Raised with this teaching, Bu Eunseol believed death was not the end.
Step, step.
He walked slowly toward the source of the sound.
His inner strength was fully restored, and his beastly senses were sharp. Yet he couldn’t sense any presence from the cave where the sound came.
It was as if a formless ghost were sobbing.
Step, step.
As his footsteps grew louder, the wailing softened.
A deathly silence fell, and the air grew heavy, as if a single step more would summon a demon from the darkness to devour him whole. But Bu Eunseol moved forward without hesitation.
Step, step.
A blatant, dense, and sinister killing intent began to emanate from the cave’s entrance.
At the end of the passage, he saw an astonishing sight: a tightly shut iron door.
Unlike the other demons, the great demon within was confined in a prison deep within the Repentance Cave. The iron door was unimaginably thick, though its lock was already undone.
Dried blood stained the floor and door, likely from curious demons who had entered and met their doom.
“Hm,” Bu Eunseol grunted, pushing the heavy door. It creaked open slowly.
Inside, a sharp, sour stench filled the air—not the cave’s damp odor but a foul smell rising from a human body. The prison was vast, a stone chamber over ten yards wide and long.
In the center, a strange figure crouched low, legs bound by chains. The chains were long enough to allow movement of at least two or three yards and seemed self-imposed, not forced by others. Their eerie sheen suggested they were made not of ordinary iron but of a blend of copper or dark steel.
‘They didn’t intend to starve him,’ Bu Eunseol thought.
The cave had Hanryeong grass and underground water, allowing the prisoner to survive without starving.
Flash.
The chained figure’s sharp eyes pierced the darkness, meeting Bu Eunseol’s gaze.
In that moment, Bu Eunseol understood why the demons called him “death.”
Even without inner strength, the figure exuded an overwhelming presence. If Bu Eunseol’s own inner strength had been depleted, he would have been crushed by the pressure and suffered in agony.
Fortunately, his inner strength was intact, and he could withstand it calmly.
“Bu Eunseol of the martial world pays his respects to the elder,” he said.
The figure’s glowing eyes scanned Bu Eunseol sharply. Then, meeting Bu Eunseol’s clear gaze, he suddenly clutched his head.
Swish!
In an instant, a sharp glint flashed from the figure’s hand, aiming for Bu Eunseol’s throat. It was a finger strike formed by extending the middle and index fingers.
“Ugh!” Bu Eunseol exclaimed, twisting his body quickly.
Though the figure’s dantian was sealed, rendering him unable to use inner strength, the finger strike grazed past Bu Eunseol’s forehead, brushing the stone wall.
‘How is this possible?’ Bu Eunseol thought.
If his inner strength hadn’t been intact or his beastly senses hadn’t reacted instantly, that single strike would have pierced his throat.
He had achieved the state of Spirit Regulation Harmony, with five hundred years’ worth of inner strength, and was approaching a new realm beyond the Heavenly Realm.
Yet he had nearly been killed by a finger strike from an old man with no inner strength?
Comments