Demonic religion
Compared to the fleeing group, the number of pursuers was not that many. They must have been hastily gathered to give chase.
But in martial battles, numbers alone didn't decide victory or defeat. What mattered most was the level of cultivation.
And now, with their inner energy so badly impaired, the fugitives were at an absolute disadvantage.
Still, there was no other option. They had no way to move fast enough to shake off the pursuit.
Their pace slowed… and then, as if agreed upon, everyone stopped at once and turned to face their hunters.
Is this the end?
Samanbul spoke quietly to Tang Mujin.
"I told you to run."
"Getting caught a little later won't change anything. I'd rather lend a hand while I still can."
"…Hmph."
Samanbul gave him a look of approval.
To remain rational even here meant Tang Mujin had survived countless ordeals already.
Still, Samanbul felt a pang of regret.
What a waste. If he could live another ten years, he'd become someone truly formidable.
He began loosening his muscles slowly, thinking:
No matter how this turns, I must make sure he survives. It'd be too great a loss for him to die here.
The group surveyed their pursuers. Just over twenty in all.
Only seven or eight had surpassed the threshold of mastery. But at their head stood one supreme expert—Woo Hobup.
Samanbul thought bitterly:
If not for this poison, we could have escaped them easily. Should we have waited until it cleared?
No. If they had left later, there would have been far more enemies. They might never have gotten out of the valley.
Tch. He clicked his tongue and lowered his stance.
Meanwhile, Tang Mujin straightened and looked skyward. A bird the size of a man circled overhead, eyeing them.
Why's it following us? There was plenty of food left behind.
Narrowing his eyes, he noticed something—the color of its tail feathers. Different from the brooding bird's. This wasn't the mother; it was one of the others circling nearby. Perhaps the male.
And its gaze wasn't fixed on him, but on Mok Wana slung across his back.
Ah!
He didn't know if the creature ate people—but to a bird that lived on poison, Mok Wana, saturated with toxins, must have looked like an irresistible meal.
Her body brimmed with venom, more than even she could withstand.
If only it would stop circling us and drop its poison on the pursuers instead…
But the world rarely bent to one's wishes.
Its eyes remained glued to Mok Wana. And since Tang Mujin, a man steeped in poison, was carrying her, it was all the more fixated.
At the front of the pursuers, Woo Hobup unsheathed his sword.
"Before the bird spreads its venom, we finish this quickly. I'll capture Samanbul. The rest of you subdue as many as you can. Avoid needless killing, but if you're in danger, don't hesitate to take lives."
Hearing that, Samanbul let out a dry laugh.
"You? Capture me?"
To capture an enemy, the skill gap had to be immense. And Woo Hobup was still a step below Samanbul.
"In normal times, no. But with your energy sealed, why not now?"
"How arrogant."
Samanbul flexed his right hand and glared at him.
"Let's see if you still talk big after I snap your neck."
"I think not. By tonight you'll be back resting in a dungeon cell."
Woo Hobup strode forward, and Samanbul swelled like a beast bristling its fur. His shoulders spread, his back muscles tightened until his frame seemed to grow larger.
And then, as if planned, the two struck at once.
At first glance, Samanbul seemed to be forcing Woo Hobup back. Despite his restricted energy, his raw strength was greater.
But Woo Hobup had the advantage in precision. After three swift sword arcs, a deep wound opened in Samanbul's forearm—a telling sign.
This isn't good.
Tang Mujin gently laid Mok Wana down and gripped his sword.
Beside him, Hong Geolgae muttered:
"You're swaying like you're about to collapse. Don't get in the way—just stay back."
"If you were a bit more reliable, I might."
"I'm serious. You'll only get hurt. Step out."
His tone wasn't scorn—it was concern.
Tang Mujin had many talents, each extraordinary enough to let him survive anywhere.
But there was one exception: getting caught in a melee and cut down by a stray blade. Hong Geolgae wanted him alive.
Still, Tang Mujin couldn't abandon his friends.
"When guests come to help, how can the host sit idle?"
"…Tch."
No more words were exchanged, for the pursuers charged.
Cheng!
Steel clashed. At first, the moves were measured, techniques colliding cleanly. But in moments it devolved into chaos—bright rings of steel turned into shrieks of metal scraping against metal.
Tang Mujin swung wildly. His body felt heavy with poison, his head clouded with haze.
In the thick of it, a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He lost balance.
It wasn't just poison—someone had kicked him. A thin-lipped man with beady eyes.
Am I going to die?
Shock cleared his head in an instant. He looked up at the man's empty hands. No blade—he practiced fist arts.
The man clasped both fists together and hammered them down onto Tang Mujin's chest.
He didn't know what technique it was, but it worked. Pain exploded in his ribs as if one had snapped.
He flew back several yards, tumbling in the dirt.
Dust clouded his vision. The man gave him a glance, then moved on to fight others, convinced Tang Mujin was done.
Tang Mujin tried to rise but collapsed again.
He had been of little help already. Now, with a broken rib, he was useless.
…Damn it.
He spat, relieved to see no blood. At least the rib hadn't pierced an organ.
Clinging to consciousness, he watched the battle. Only the pursuers showed true martial prowess.
Less than half an hour passed, and the outcome was clear.
Some fugitives lay dead. Others dropped their weapons and surrendered. Only a handful still resisted—Samanbul among them.
So it's over…
Samanbul's body was carved with sword wounds, his trousers soaked red. He looked like a boar run to exhaustion by hunters.
The only reason he was still alive was Woo Hobup's desire to capture him. If death had been the goal, it would have ended long ago.
Grinding his teeth, Samanbul spat:
"Woo Hobup. You should count yourself lucky. If not for this, I'd have crushed your skull already."
Woo Hobup replied with disinterest.
"Perhaps so."
The fight was nearly done. Tang Mujin's heart pounded.
Those who surrendered would live, more or less.
But Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae weren't cultists—they'd almost certainly be executed. The cult wouldn't accept too many outsiders.
Tang Mujin forced himself up, staggering.
Isn't there some way?
Nothing came to sight—yet something stirred at his back.
The poison in the air thickened suddenly.
What's this…?
He turned.
The giant bird had landed, looming over the prone Mok Wana, inspecting her as though considering how best to devour her.
Tang Mujin wavered to his feet.
A chance. A faint, desperate chance.
Tang Mujin slowly crawled toward Mok Wana.
The poison bird must have sensed that he wasn't in a normal state, because it showed no fear.
Instead, its cold, avian eyes stared straight through him.
I don't like that look.
Mujin crouched low at Mok Wana's side, waiting.
The moment the bird stretched its long neck and lowered its beak toward her—Mujin shot forward like an arrow and clamped both hands around its throat.
"Kyaaak!"
The bird flapped its wings furiously, thrashing as thick clouds of poison spewed out.
Pain tore through Mujin's ribs where they had broken, but he refused to let go. His grip only tightened.
The shriek made everyone else recoil in horror.
"Damn it, when did that monster get this close?!"
"Why the hell is he wrestling with a poison bird?!"
"Stay back! You'll get poisoned!"
Then Mujin did something that defied reason.
He opened his mouth wide—and bit down on the bird's neck.
"Kyaaaak!"
Its scream split the air as hot blood sprayed everywhere.
"Is that lunatic insane?!"
Gasps and curses rose from the onlookers, but Mujin didn't hear them.
The bird's poison burned under his skin like thousands of insects gnawing at his flesh. Worse, where its blood touched his lips, all sensation went numb—leaving only a faint metallic taste.
But he couldn't stop now. Mujin bit down again, and again.
The bird thrashed for a long while, then its struggles weakened.
No one dared intervene—the miasma was too thick.
Staggering, Mujin rose to his feet and slashed with his sword.
Puk!
The sharp blade of the Danhon Sword ripped the creature open from neck to belly in one strike.
A torrent of blood burst forth, its venom so potent that people scrambled away on hands and knees to escape it.
But Mujin stepped closer. He plunged his right hand into its belly, groping through hot, slimy entrails.
If it's truly a spirit beast, maybe it has a core.
Blood blinded his eyes, but he kept searching. The sensation was sickening—the slippery press of organs, the tearing of flesh.
Someone cried out:
"He thinks the damn thing has an inner core!"
"Looks like it!"
Laughter broke out from a few. Birds didn't have cores. Mujin's heart sank.
Damn it.
Then—his fingers brushed something.
Not a core. A different presence.
Like a chicken's gizzard, half the size of a fist—but pulsing with a dark, seething power.
A poison sac.
Far more potent than the Seven-Treasure Snake's gland he'd once consumed. Just brushing it made his skin prickle, as though it might rot away.
But there was no time. If he hesitated, he'd be captured by the cult, and Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae would lose their heads.
In a trance, Mujin shoved the sac into his mouth and swallowed.
"Spit it out! That's not a core!" someone screamed.
He knew. It was madness.
But he also knew there was a chance. He had seen the proof—Mok Wana.
Those who consumed poison usually staggered from infection to death.
But Mok Wana had balanced on that razor's edge, and survived—with poison-infused inner force as the result.
So why couldn't he?
She managed without cultivating poison arts. I've trained in them. I can endure.
His only worry—this was a far deadlier poison than hers.
The sac dissolved in his stomach, releasing venom so fierce it felt like his insides would explode.
His vision flipped backward. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, leaving only eerie whites.
Endure.
Mujin stood frozen, like a post driven into the ground.
But it wasn't true balance. His legs held him upright, but his torso sagged forward, limp, ready to topple.
Black blood poured from his mouth—not from bitten lips, but rising from deep inside. To the onlookers, he seemed dead.
***
Mujin's mind was no longer in the Tianshan foothills.
He stood in a vast white space, before a towering wall.
It wasn't unfamiliar.
He lifted his gaze to the wall, fingers brushing the Danhon Sword at his hip.
But he knew—even with its peerless sharpness, his insight still fell short of its edge.
Yet he didn't retreat.
Instead, he simply stared at the wall.
There was no need to cut it down. Perhaps it only needed to be crossed.
Then, behind him, waves surged.
Not blue waters or white foam, but black, sticky tides. Poison, crowned with ominous violet froth.
It was venom—so vile that a single touch would stain forever.
The waves engulfed him instantly, yet still poured in, endless.
The white world drowned in black. The tide rose against the wall like a flood breaking through a dam.
Mujin swam upward through the poison. He didn't know where he was going—only that he had to reach the surface. To sink was death. To breathe above was life.
At last, he broke through the surface and exhaled the breath he'd been holding.
Phaaah—
Panting, he turned.
The wall stood behind him, and beyond it the venom surged.
Could this be called crossing the wall?
No one had ever done it like this before. Not even Goiyi, who had only added poison arts atop a sword already beyond the peak.
But the method didn't matter.
What mattered was that Tang Mujin had arrived on the other side.
Slowly, Tang Mujin opened his eyes.
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://beastnovels.com/