Crossing The River Of Years (4)

Neung Je-gang looked perfectly fine. Even his clothes were no different from before.

How could that be? His whole body had clearly been hacked to pieces and scattered…

This was the power of the Demon Line’s absolute forbidden art, the Death-Demon Flow: a mysterious technique that resurrected one wholly from within death—hence a taboo that must never be cultivated. Neung Je-gang completed the Death-Demon Flow with a single death.

At any rate, Neung Je-gang carried Go So-jeong to a clean patch of grass and laid the utterly exhausted Majil beside her, then checked both their pulses.

“After a nap, you’ll think it was all a dream. Heh-heh!”

He arranged for them to sleep soundly, picked up the No-Mind Sword, and went into the building where Yuk Cheon-u had died.

“Good thing Majil didn’t burn this one down.”

Had this building burned too, finding which pillar it was would have been a headache.

“This one? You want me to topple this?”

The post for tying cattle was tremendously thick—five grown men together wouldn’t match its girth.

“If it must be knocked down, so be it. Can’t risk losing the Empty-Spirit Seven-Saber Formula by doing something else.”

Creeeeak.

He roused his inner power and pushed the pillar.

It was a post meant to restrain strong cattle; ordinary strength wouldn’t budge it. Only when he finally exerted full force did it groan and slowly lean—the post was not only thick but deeply set.

“A chest.”

Where the pillar fell and revealed deep ground, a black chest lay caked with earth. Neung Je-gang hurried down, took it, and came back up.

Tap tap.

Though it had been buried for ages, the chest showed no rust as he brushed off the dirt.

“Not an ordinary chest, either.”

His hands trembled as he opened the lid. When he had once obtained Thunderclap, he hadn’t known what it was and had stayed calm—this time he knew.

Click.

Inside lay seven little knives.

“Huh? Knives? Come to think of it, they look like what Yuk Cheon-u used.”

Neung Je-gang noticed characters etched on their surfaces. Tiny and faint, almost unreadable—but clear to his cultivated eyes.

“As expected—the Empty-Spirit Seven-Saber Formula.”

Confirming it, he put them back in the chest and returned to where Majil and Go So-jeong lay.

Sitting beside them, he took out the small knives and read—no, memorized—the formula. Such things were best memorized while one could.

Having memorized the mnemonics, he pondered what to do with the knives. Throwing them away would be a waste, but keeping them risked someone one day realizing they held the Empty-Spirit Formula. Yuk Cheon-u had probably had the same thought and made similar blades to use.

“Wait—the fifth formula was the Steel-Saber Formula, wasn’t it? Could I use it to scrape off these inscriptions?”

He had only just memorized the verses, but Neung Je-gang could wield any inner power at will. Gripping one knife and circulating qi per the formula, even with a small amount of power, a blade-force formed on the edge.

“Whistle… this art is truly astounding. A realm of hardened blade-qi said to require enlightenment—attained merely by learning the mnemonics! Who would spend a lifetime polishing themselves to reach blade-qi if this exists? No wonder it became a forbidden art.”

Great for those who had it; ruinous to the motivation of those who did not.

Screeeeech.

With saber-force, he scraped along the knives’ flanks. With an ear-grating sound, the etched letters were crushed and rendered illegible. He did the same to erase all the rest.

“Now I can carry them. Heh—pity about the chest, but I’ll toss it.”

He flung the chest into the air, then swirled the No-Mind Sword a few times. The chest, of unknown material, scattered like dust.

“So it can serve as a sword as well—good. I’ll use this as the No-Mind Sword, and the daggers as Golden-Bell Darts.”

What he had just used was the second formula, “Fluttering Wind.” From this it seemed the Empty-Spirit Seven-Saber was saber-only in name; in fact, it could be applied to any weapon.

Having settled everything, Neung Je-gang finally walked toward the root of the incident—the horse-thief.

“S-spare me!”

Neung Je-gang grabbed him by the scruff and lifted him.

“Heh-heh. You’re impossible to spare—you’ve seen what you should not.”

“H-help!”

Startled, Neung Je-gang glanced toward the village entrance; many presences were approaching.

“Vile man…! Stay your hand!”

A deep, resonant voice rang out. One man flew in fast, others running behind.

Slish.

Even so, he could not stay his hand—the rat had seen too much.

“You cur!”

Kwoooooom!

Seeing Neung Je-gang ignore his shout and calmly behead the thief, the foremost newcomer crashed in like a storm.

Neung Je-gang too drew up qi into the hand holding the No-Mind Sword—and at last the two met.

“Ch-chief?”

The man who had flown in cried out when he saw Neung Je-gang; his hand slipped from his sword.

Neung Je-gang, likewise recognizing his face, withdrew the No-Mind Sword in surprise.

“…Cheong Yeon?”

When Yuk Cheon-u’s strike had torn him apart, Neung Je-gang’s face had reverted to his original looks—letting Cheong Yeon recognize him.

And so, after crossing the long river of years, they met again.