Wudang Sacred Scriptures-Chapter 80

With that first scream, the silence shrouding Zhengwuguan was shattered.

“Who goes there? Argh!”

“This place belongs to the branch of the Great Wudang Sect—urk!”

Even as the shrieks rang out one after another, not a single clang of weapons echoed through the air.

The men of Zhengwuguan were too deep in their drink. Their weapons lay out of reach.

Those who managed to scream likely died knowing it. The countless others who died without a sound were probably slaughtered in their sleep—without ever realizing they'd crossed the threshold into death.

Waking in the afterlife, drunk and dazed. Maybe that's the kinder way to go.

Only after a long string of screams did the sound of weapons clashing finally begin to rise—but so few and scattered that it was pitiful, given how many men Zhengwuguan had on its rolls.

That, too, soon died away. It was clear now: the Black Execution Unit had already reached the heart of the compound.

Only then did Yi Gwal, Chief Overseer of the disbanded Black Snake Gang, rise from the shadows.

He entered through the wide-open front gate of Zhengwuguan.

A mountain of corpses, a sea of blood.

No—that didn't capture it. This was carnage the eye could not bear.

Bodies cleaved in two, in three, littered across the courtyard. Twisted limbs, gaping wounds—utter annihilation.

Though these were enemies, even Yi Gwal found himself recoiling at the work of the assassins he had once called allies.

It was only by drawing on his long-held hatred for Zhengwuguan and the Wudang Sect that Yi Gwal managed to walk through the carnage.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward through the blood-soaked court, arriving at the central audience hall.

By then, the battle—or rather, the slaughter—had ended.

Inside the ravaged hall, the Lord of Zhengwuguan, Mo Daegeon—renowned as the Elegant Sword—was on his knees before Jeong Seopbo, the Crimson Frenzy Blade and leader of the Black Execution Unit.

Mo Daegeon’s prized Songmun Sword was lodged in a pillar, trembling weakly. Beside him lay a dismembered corpse—the puppet master of the Ghost Sound Gang, whom Zhengwuguan had propped up as a figurehead.

Jeong Seopbo clicked his tongue in irritation.

“So, Overseer Yi—weren’t you so eager to witness the head of Zhengwuguan roll? What kept you?”

The blood-soaked Mo Daegeon lifted his head with effort.

“...You... you’re the Overseer from the Black Snake Gang!”

Even caked in blood, Mo Daegeon recognized him.

“Why would the Demonic Alliance’s executioners—?”

Yi Gwal was stunned.

Was the Lord of Zhengwuguan truly this oblivious?

Did he genuinely not understand why this was happening?

Yi Gwal trembled with disbelief and spat his words.

“Lord Mo... After all the cunning schemes you pulled, did you really think the Demonic Alliance would let it slide?”

“What cunning schemes? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t feign ignorance—not now, not at the end.”

But Mo Daegeon shouted back with rage in his voice.

“Zhengwuguan has never crossed the Demonic Alliance! What schemes? Our Ghost Sound Gang puppet simply took over your territories after your leader disbanded your gang! How is that our crime?”

“...?”

“I’ll admit to assisting the Ghost Sound Gang when they asked for help in expanding their operations. But for that, we deserve this? The Demonic Alliance sends executioners into the open? You think Wudang will sit by and let this go?”

But Mo Daegeon never finished that sentence.

“Enough noise.”

Jeong Seopbo swung his blade.

Mo Daegeon’s head fell, rolling across the bloodstained floor.

“Finish your complaints in front of the King of the Underworld.”

Yi Gwal watched the severed head with a chill running through his spine.

Even in death, Mo Daegeon looked utterly confused. Lost.

That couldn’t be.

No one could wear a mask of such innocence in the face of death.

Then... had Zhengwuguan truly not known? Was the cave Daoist not part of their plot after all?

But that couldn’t be either.

Hadn’t Sagungjin shown him that stone—the Ten-Thousand-Year Black Jade? It had been cleaved clean in two with a single stroke.

Only an unmatched master could split such a stone. No mere cave-dwelling recluse could achieve that.

Then why... why did Mo Daegeon look so sincerely bewildered?

What if that man was a cave Daoist?

What if he truly had reached the realm of Fire and Sword Fusion?

Yi Gwal’s face paled.

But he shook his head violently.

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

If he had sent that report to the Demonic Alliance based on a false assumption...

If all of this had been triggered by his mistake...

Even being dismembered limb by limb wouldn’t be punishment enough.

“Yi Gwal. You’ve been well compensated already. Take this as your chance to step away. If you get caught between whales again, you'll be the shrimp whose back gets broken.”

For the first time, Sagungjin’s retreat seemed... wise.

****

The courtyard of Seongha Sangbang was shrouded in darkness, filled with wagons loaded for departure.

Despite the value of the cargo, no guards had been posted.

Kwak Yeon slipped soundlessly into the compound, his Floating Cloud Steps refined to its peak. He moved like wind through fog, undetected.

He examined the wagons.

Most carried sacks of rice, pickaxes, hammers—ordinary cargo.

Blacksmiths existed in every town. Grain was hardly scarce. None of this seemed worth the trouble of transport.

He was now certain: Wuhan was not the true destination of this caravan.

And he was equally certain—Seo Cheongsam, the man he sought, was among them.

Just as he turned to leave, a foul stench caught his nose.

Rotten eggs.

One wagon was filled solely with black crates—and the smell came from them.

Sulfur.

He remembered that stench from the apothecary of the sect’s head instructor. A medicinal substance... and an ingredient for more sinister uses.

Grain, tools... and sulfur.

There was no guessing where they were truly headed.

I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll follow them.

Kwak Yeon slipped out of the compound, not returning to the inn.

Instead, he exited the town and waited just beyond the southern gate, cloaked in the quiet of night.

At the first blush of dawn, the merchant caravan of Seongha Sangbang began to move out through the city gate.

Riding at the front was the chief overseer himself.

It was said that the suspicious trade missions were always personally led by the chief, so there was no longer any reason to hesitate.

Kwak Yeon followed at a distance, trailing the caravan quietly and unobtrusively.

On the third day of the journey, while still following the main road, something changed.

Deep in the uninhabited mountains, a group of armed men joined the caravan.

“To take a shortcut, I arranged for escort guards in advance. Don’t dawdle—get moving,” the chief barked.

At his order, the caravan veered off the road and began heading into the hills.

These so-called guards bore no insignia, and their behavior did not resemble any legitimate escort squad.

Proper escorts would typically spread out—some at the front clearing the path, others positioned within the ranks to respond swiftly to trouble.

But these men remained only at the rear, always watching behind them.

They’re checking for anyone following us.

Which could only mean that the true destination of this trade mission was meant to be kept hidden.

As the mountain ranges unfolded endlessly before him, Kwak Yeon could not help but frown.

There can’t possibly be a city deep in a place like this. We keep veering off the official road—where are they even going?

It wasn’t a shortcut, that much was clear. Before long, the path degenerated into a narrow trail—barely worthy of being called a road at all.

“Leave the wagons here. Carry everything by hand from now on.”

At the chief's command, unease rippled through the laborers.

“Sir, this path leads away from Wuhan, not toward it,” one of the more direction-savvy workers ventured.

The chief snapped back.

“I decide where this caravan goes. The destination has changed. There’s somewhere more urgent than Wuhan. Stop asking questions and get moving.”

The workers had little choice. As long as they were paid at the end, it wasn’t their business where the goods went.

But after that exchange, the atmosphere shifted.

The guards’ eyes became sharp, menacing. Their formation changed—they no longer simply followed from behind but moved to surround the caravan.

At night, the shift became more blatant. The guards forced the workers to sleep huddled together in a single spot, forbidding any movement on their own. Even a trip to fetch water required an armed escort.

Tension and dread settled over the caravan like a stormcloud.

Inevitably, one worker sensed the change and tried to slip away under cover of night.

He didn’t make it far.

He was dragged in front of the chief by the guards, beaten senseless in front of everyone.

“You dare break contract and flee? I should have you flayed alive.”

The head guard, a man referred to as Captain Jang, raised his voice after pummeling the man to a pulp.

“Keep his hands and feet intact,” the chief warned. “Hard to find good laborers these days.”

After that brutal example, no one dared move without permission.

“This time, it ends here because it was your first offense,” Captain Jang said darkly. “The next person caught trying to escape won’t meet fists. They’ll meet this.”

He drew a long, cold blade from his side.

The workers turned pale.

Captain Jang shot a crooked smile toward the chief.

“Chief So, men like these only listen after you draw blood. We’re not running some fancy operation here, and it’s not like we’ll ever see them again. Why bother keeping up appearances?”

“Still, I’d prefer we avoid any messy complications before we arrive,” the chief muttered.

“We’re already close. All that’s left is to rattle them a bit so they’ll work faster once we get there.”

The chief sighed and nodded.

“Do as you will, Captain Jang. Just make sure their limbs are usable.”

Captain Jang turned toward the terrified workers.

“Listen up, you lot! I’m Jang Isul, and when it comes to breaking pigs and dogs, I’m second to none. If any of you want to see just how good I am, try running. Go on. I dare you.”

From that day forward, the laborers were marched like beasts through hell.

Anyone who so much as lagged behind was immediately met with a guard’s kick.

Kwak Yeon’s eyes burned with quiet rage.

But he endured it.

He hadn’t come all this way simply to save a handful ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ of people.

Three more days passed in this way.

Finally, the caravan reached a valley deep in the mountains.

It was surrounded by a towering palisade of sharpened wood, like a fortress hidden from the world.

As Kwak Yeon took in the sight, he was reminded of the sect instructor's training compound on Mount Wudang.

The key difference here was the presence of watchtowers at regular intervals.

A mountain stronghold?

But this wasn’t the work of bandits.

The scale was too large, and the terrain—layered mountains with no proper road in sight—was far too remote to support casual travel or trade.

From within the walls, plumes of gray smoke curled steadily into the sky.

If it were truly a bandit hideout, they’d never risk announcing their presence so blatantly.

Then Kwak Yeon caught the unmistakable scent in the air—sulfur.

That confirmed it.

This was the true destination of the trade mission.

“What are you standing around for? Move it!” barked a guard, shoving the workers toward the gate.

Kwak Yeon, still watching from a distance, furrowed his brow.

First, I need to find Seo Cheongsam. If he’s not in there, I may never get another chance.

Whatever this place was, he would learn soon enough.

Settling beneath the shadows of the forest, Kwak Yeon pulled out his rations and quietly ate as he waited for night to fall.