Chapter 83 : Blood Cult
Chapter 83: Blood Cult
There was once a debate about what the most powerful demonic martial art in the demonic path was.
At first, supreme techniques such as the Heaven-and-Earth Great Shift Divine Art, the Asura Sword Form, the Slaughtering Demon Art, and the Half-Moon Asura Slash were brought up.
However, the problem was that all of these were exclusive martial arts belonging to the Bright Cult’s Cult Leader.
In practice, successive Cult Leaders focused on cultivating one or two of these four techniques that suited them best.
The current Cult Leader, the Martial Heaven Demon Emperor, was already cultivating the Heaven-and-Earth Great Shift Divine Art and the Slaughtering Demon Art.
The rest sounded familiar too?
That was right.
Unlike other past Cult Leaders, the Martial Heaven Demon Emperor taught the two techniques he chose not to cultivate himself—the Asura Sword Form and the Half-Moon Asura Slash—to his own disciple.
It was only natural that fierce opposition erupted, centered on the Bright Cult’s Council of Elders, over the fact that a Cult Leader’s exclusive martial arts were being taught to someone who was not the Cult Leader, even if they were martial brothers.
Of course, that opposition was resolved when the Martial Heaven Demon Emperor, who was then still the Young Cult Leader, stormed into the Council of Elders with chilling Fist Energy coiled tightly around both hands—enough to terrify them just by looking at it.
After all, one had to survive to oppose anything.
That did not mean he slaughtered all the elders. Rather, the elders were unable to refute the Martial Heaven Demon Emperor’s assertion that questioning the decision of the strong was tantamount to denying the law of Might Makes Right.
In any case, because of that, the Young Cult Leader’s disciple—who had been nothing special at the time—came to learn the Asura Sword Form and the Half-Moon Asura Slash, arts that only past Cult Leaders had ever mastered.
The Martial Heaven Demon Emperor poured even more effort into teaching his young disciple than he had into his own martial training.
Rumors even spread within the Bright Cult that even if he had taken in and taught a dullard, that person would have become a peak master—such was the depth of the Cult Leader’s devotion.
It could not be denied that such devotion played a major role in the Vice Cult Leader of the Demonic Cult gaining fame from a relatively young age.
Moreover, the Young Cult Leader’s disciple was exceptionally bright. His comprehension and learning ability were so outstanding that even experts within the Bright Cult, who were considered prodigies in martial arts themselves, clicked their tongues in amazement.
Because only a small number of specific individuals could learn them, those four martial arts were dropped from consideration in the debate.
After that, the names that came up were Iron Crushing Mad Blade, Black Demon Art, Black Cloud Phantasm, Close-Range Projection, and Yin Phantom Poison Palm.
All of them were exclusive martial arts of the Five Demons, who were elders of the Bright Cult.
Even these were eventually eliminated, since they too were passed down only to a special few.
And among the countless demonic martial arts that were mentioned, the one most often ranked first was Night Soul Ghost Slaughter.
True to its name, it was a martial art that summoned ghosts in the dead of night to kill souls.
It was sometimes criticized as being closer to sorcery than to martial arts, but it was regarded as nearly the pinnacle of killing techniques.
What made Night Soul Ghost Slaughter especially terrifying was that no one could tell how it killed.
A person who had been healthy until just before going to bed the previous night would die without a single wound.
Even if dozens of experts were stationed by the bedside, not one of them would be harmed, and only the target would die.
The result matched the name of the martial art perfectly.
That was why people also called Night Soul Ghost Slaughter a ghost-killing art.
Any assassin sect would have searched desperately for this martial art, but it had been lost three hundred years ago.
The reason was that its last practitioner had been captured and killed for murdering the Bright Cult Cult Leader’s lover.
As if there had been nothing else to target.
It had been arrogance.
The arrogance of believing he could even kill the Cult Leader.
As a result, the final practitioner was torn apart alive. It was said that the Bright Cult Cult Leader, blinded by vengeance, tore off one limb per day.
It was a miserable death.
After that, a taboo arose in the Central Plains’ assassin world: never accept assassination contracts targeting anyone around the Bright Cult Cult Leader.
And yet, the Night Soul Ghost Slaughter that had vanished from the world was now being unleashed by the Profound Demon.
To use it, the Profound Demon had shaken off the Iron Demon, put the squad-leader-level warriors under his command to sleep, closed the doors, and waited for nightfall and the rising of the moon.
It was the beginning of a revenge that had waited nearly a thousand years.
It was the day he took the first step in avenging himself on the Bright Cult, which had utterly destroyed the Blood Cult.
For this, he had not hesitated to kneel before his sworn enemy.
It was the day he would repay all those humiliations.
“Now, let us begin.”
The Profound Demon placed one hand on Yul Han’s brow and the other on his solar plexus as Yul Han lay there with his eyes closed as if dead, and he operated Night Soul Ghost Slaughter.
From a corner of the room came the sound of ghostly wailing, and something rose up.
It existed, yet had no form—a ghost.
Ghosts that died with deep resentment were called vengeful spirits, and such spirits usually lingered around those tied to their resentment.
In other words, near the person who had killed them.
The presence that was slowly rising from the corner of the room now was precisely such a vengeful spirit.
It was not just one. Dozens, hundreds, and eventually thousands of vengeful spirits revealed themselves.
They were the vengeful spirits of those who had died by Yul Han’s hand in the past.
Night Soul Ghost Slaughter made use of such vengeful spirits.
Because it used incorporeal souls, the target was not the body, but the soul of the person to be killed.
Vengeful spirits gathered, dragged out the soul of a living person, and strangled it to death.
That was Night Soul Ghost Slaughter.
Naturally, no marks were left on the corpse.
That said, the Profound Demon had not deployed Night Soul Ghost Slaughter in order to kill Yul Han.
People did not know this, but Night Soul Ghost Slaughter contained another function—the ability to command ghosts.
Even an ordinary person who learned Night Soul Ghost Slaughter could command dozens or hundreds of ghosts.
And this was the Profound Demon, who had cultivated the Black Demon Art, which opened a passage connected to the world of demons and drew in vast amounts of Demonic Energy.
“Merge!”
After the complex hand seals were completed, at the Profound Demon’s shout, those thousands of ghosts rushed at Yul Han’s body all at once.
He had cast a soul art that bound the mind with ghosts and forced them to obey his command.
As with the killing method of Night Soul Ghost Slaughter, this soul art left no external traces.
To such an extent that even the person afflicted would live on without realizing they had been caught by the soul art of Night Soul Ghost Slaughter.
Then, at some moment, they would move according to the caster’s will.
Without even knowing what they were doing, they would blindly obey the caster’s command.
And once the deed was done, the soul art would dissolve without leaving a trace.
The Profound Demon intended to use that soul art to have the Vice Cult Leader murder the Cult Leader with his own hands.
After killing the Cult Leader himself, the Vice Cult Leader would never survive.
The most likely outcome was that he would be unable to forgive himself, and even if he somehow endured that, the warriors within the cult would not tolerate it.
Might Makes Right?
Even that law, wielded as absolute authority within the Bright Cult, had its limits.
No matter that he was the Vice Cult Leader—if he killed the Cult Leader, that law would be broken. It meant that every warrior of the Bright Cult would rush to kill the Vice Cult Leader.
A few might still follow him, but that much did not matter.
In that way, the Bright Cult would bring about its own end with its own hands—just as miserably as when it had cruelly slaughtered and wiped out thousands of Blood Cult members.
Madness flashed in the Profound Demon’s eyes as he looked down at Yul Han, writhing and wailing with thousands of vengeful spirits clinging to him.
These were not the eyes of the Profound Demon who was always said to be calm to the point of being unreadable.
“Submit. You who can do nothing have no choice but to submit!”
As he muttered like chanting a spell, a flicker of puzzlement passed through the Profound Demon’s eyes.
That was because a face that could never possibly appear had just flashed across Yul Han’s face.
Rubbing his eyes and looking down again, the Profound Demon’s eyes widened.
Though it had lasted only for an instant, a face he clearly recognized had overlapped with Yul Han’s.
In a hurry, the Profound Demon rummaged through his robes and pulled out a single portrait.
From within the portrait, a man with blood-red eyes so vivid they were enough to haunt one’s dreams glared back at the Profound Demon.
“W-why is the Founding Ancestor’s face here?!”
It was the posthumous portrait of the Blood Shadow Demon Venerable—the founder of the Blood Cult, the founding ancestor of the Blood Cult.
On the day he filled the Bright Cult with a sea of blood, hanging this very portrait above it and offering up cups of wine had been the goal of the Profound Demon’s life.
And yet that face of the Blood Cult’s founding ancestor—why?!
The Profound Demon, his face dyed with incomprehension, stared down at Yul Han.
***
Every archive within the Bright Cult was searched without exception.
When nothing turned up, the Cult Leader and the Strategist searched every single warehouse that stored weapons, even if it was not an archive.
In the end, they even searched warehouses for farming tools such as plows, axes, and shovels.
Despite moving nonstop from one night through the next, the Cult Leader and the Strategist were unable to find the weapon said to have been left behind by the second Cult Leader, the Blood Demon.
“Since they said it was a blade… it must be either a sword or a saber….”
At the Strategist’s mutter, the Cult Leader spoke.
“Who knows. The records are from a thousand years ago. They might have used that term for any bladed weapon.”
If that were the case, the scope widened to include daggers, short blades, and throwing knives.
When even weapons of considerable size like swords and sabers could not be found, expanding the search to such small weapons only made the task harder.
In the end, the Strategist asked,
“Should we go through the Blood Demon Ancestor’s diary again? Maybe there’s another clue?”
“What clue would there be? You saw it too—that was the last entry.”
“Still, let’s try once more. There might be something we overlooked.”
At the Strategist’s words, the Cult Leader finally took him back to the archive.
They read and reread the final entry of the diary written by the Blood Demon Ancestor, but no other clues emerged.
Filled with regret, frustration over all the effort they had poured in, and irritation at the Blood Cult’s founding ancestor for not leaving a clear clue for his descendants, the Strategist shook the diary roughly.
“As if that’ll make something come out.”
The Cult Leader, who had been scoffing, suddenly widened his eyes.
Thud.
“Huh?!”
The Strategist was startled as well.
Something had fallen out of the diary.
Hastily picking it up, they saw that it was neatly folded leather.
The eyes of the Cult Leader and the Strategist met, sparkling with hope.
“Unfold it!”
Before the Cult Leader even finished speaking, the Strategist’s hands were already hurriedly unfolding the neatly folded leather.
Perhaps because it had been folded for far too long, a tearing sound came each time a fold was opened.
Whatever had been written or drawn on the leather had been pressed into the creases.
For that reason, when they finally managed to unfold it completely, a single person’s face was drawn on the leather.
“Who is it?”
At the Strategist’s question, the Cult Leader replied in a disappointed voice.
“Damn it. I thought it was something else. Why the hell did he put in a self-portrait?”
“A self-portrait?”
“Yes. Look—there too. That’s the posthumous portrait of the Blood Demon Ancestor, the second Cult Leader.”
Following the Cult Leader’s gesture, the Strategist’s gaze moved to the second page. A hanging scroll was mounted on that page.
Relying on the moonlight filtering in through the vent, they saw that the face painted on the scroll was exactly the same as the one drawn on the leather the Strategist was holding.
Even the ferocious glare of the blood-red pupils was identical.
“What kind of posthumous portrait is this… it’s vicious.”
“His title was Blood Demon. Do you think someone in their right mind would choose that? He must have been one of the more eccentric Cult Leaders.”
“Still, he was someone who left arrangements behind for his descendants…”
“Probably thought, right before dying, ‘Ah, I’ve lived too recklessly,’ and decided to do one good deed.”
The Cult Leader’s assessment was particularly harsh because the man had been his own master.
The previous Cult Leader was such a peculiar individual that countless odd habits and bizarre actions remained even now.
Just looking at how he had taken revenge on a grown disciple by handing over a swaddled infant and calling him a disciple was enough to understand—no further explanation was needed.
Because of that, the Strategist gave a bitter smile.
And that same face drawn on the neatly refolded leather was being reflected in the bewildered eyes of the Profound Demon, in a pavilion within the grounds of the Qingcheng Sect, thousands of li away.
Not in the posthumous portrait he was holding—
But overlapped upon the face of Yul Han, writhing and wailing as thousands of ghosts clung to him.