491 Chapter - Hwi’S Concealment Is Not A Martial Art.
491 Chapter - Hwi’S Concealment Is Not A Martial Art.
The moment Salwang saw the evil spirits, he knew.
‘It’s the Demon Sect’s martial art!’
Only one technique could summon such terrifying fiends.
Having heard of the Demon Sect’s art in words alone, seeing it in person carried an overwhelming presence. Simply watching it extinguished one’s fighting spirit.
If even Salwang felt this way, what of the assassins who had charged alongside him?
Their bodies still moved, but their will to fight had evaporated. Some faltered mid-stride, others froze in place.
These were seasoned killers who had survived countless battles, yet at the sight of the Nine Flames Martial Arts’ fiends, their hearts turned to ice.
Kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa kwak!
Each assassin resisted in his own way.
Some thrust daggers, others unleashed amgi. A few summoned protective qi, others cast sword flashes.
But nothing worked.
Neither attack nor protective qi made the slightest dent. Every blade passed through the fiends without even nicking them.
Those who tried to flee were yanked downward by an unseen demonic qi. No skill they possessed could evade it.
Peok peok peok peok peok peok peok peok peok!
Bones shattered, bodies split, flesh crushed. The fiends swept through, destroying everything in their path.
Only Salwang, who had run with Hwi, remained standing.
Salwang’s heart pounded as if it would burst. It was the first time since the fight began that he had shown any sign of tension.
What if there had been a fiend in Hwi’s place, pressing in on him—could he have held him off?
Chaaang!
After a fierce clash, Hwi and Salwang both stepped back.
They looked around.
The assassins had been reduced to pools of blood so thick their forms were unrecognizable.
Hwi planted his sword in the blood and bowed respectfully. This was not to honor the dead.
It was to pay homage to the Nine Flames Martial Arts.
Hwi’s heart swelled. Whenever the Demon Sect’s art was practiced, he always turned away and never so much as glanced at it. If he happened to witness it, he would bow in respect.
Yet now he had charged alongside it—and, gratefully, it had saved his life.
What could be a more moving moment in martial arts? He was certain none existed.
Salwang, however, surveyed the scene with hollow eyes. He felt no sorrow for his men’s deaths. Only a cold wind blew through his empty heart.
Hwi turned to Geom Mugeuk.
What words could be needed in this moment? In Hwi’s grateful gaze, ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Geom Mugeuk merely nodded once.
‘I owe you my thanks, sir.’
Geom Mugeuk, who felt more gratitude and respect for Hwi than anyone, had protected him always.
After acknowledging Hwi, Geom Mugeuk addressed Salwang again.
“I understand. Assassins are cowardly by nature, aren’t they?”
He mocked Salwang for combining with his men. Geom Mugeuk tried to provoke him, but Salwang remained unmoved.
Then Myeongshin spoke.
“He is a man without emotion.”
At those words, Salwang looked at Myeongshin. At least in Myeongshin’s eyes, some ember of feeling remained.
Geom Mugeuk interjected between their gazes.
“Speak plainly. If you hate someone, say you hate them. If you refuse, say you refuse. How can I know your heart if you only stare?”
Salwang finally spoke.
“What is there to say between us?”
“I have many questions for you.”
Salwang waited for Geom Mugeuk to continue.
“What did you receive for this contract? Did they promise you the title Nightlord in return?”
Geom Mugeuk teased Salwang with this, but he also wondered if there was some deeper motive.
Salwang remained silent.
“It is the rule not to speak of a contract.”
Geom Mugeuk sensed his resolve: he cared only for completing this assassination successfully.
At Salwang’s signal, the assassins revealed themselves all at once.
They emerged from alleys, appeared atop rooftops. Dozens of assassins who had been hiding in every shadow now stood before them.
“They gathered a lot just to kill one of us.”
All were skilled, renowned killers. Among them were genuine top-tier assassins hardened by countless missions. Though they hid their identities, Myeongshin was there to guide him.
– On the left rooftop, the one on the right… at the alley entrance on the right… the bearded one in the center…
Myeongshin relayed to Geom Mugeuk by spirit transmission the positions of the top assassins he recognized.
– Worried I’ll die?
– As long as you live, my betrayal matters.
Though technically not a betrayal—after all, Myungbu had destroyed his clan—he had spent so long among them that the words slipped out.
– Think nothing of betrayal. It’s business for them and for you.
– Business?
– You took the contract yourself. You’re both just doing your jobs.
A faint smile touched Myeongshin’s lips.
Even now, Geom Mugeuk cared for his feelings. His words were a comfort.
Geom Mugeuk drew his sword as he watched Salwang and the assassins.
“That’s right—what more need we say?”
Then Hwi stepped forward toward Salwang.
His back spoke for him:
Leave at least this one to me. This is my fight.
‘I understand, sir. But be careful!’
Salwang met Hwi’s gaze with clarity.
Like Hwi, Salwang saw only Hwi before him.
He understood now: the greatest obstacle in this contract was not Geom Mugeuk, who knew the Nine Flames Martial Arts, but Hwi himself.
Strong martial arts posed no problem for assassins.
No matter how powerful the art, they would find a weakness and kill.
But Hwi, the Protector of the Demonic Sect’s chief, could not be undone that way.
He was the one who covered that weakness.
Without hesitation, Hwi and Salwang charged at each other.
With the sharp clang of steel, countless sword lines formed and struck toward each other’s lives.
These were no ordinary strokes. Each line contained a lifetime of training, drawn again and again at the cost of lives.
As the duel began, Geom Mugeuk leapt into the fray against the assassins.
If the ordinary and top-tier assassins were dogs and wolves, Geom Mugeuk was a massive tiger.
Some assassins had fancied themselves grim reapers. Now they truly met the reaper.
Geom Mugeuk vanished in an instant using Shadow-phasing Step.
When a startled assassin turned to find him, the only thing in view was sky—then, with a clatter, Geom Mugeuk’s blade had severed his neck.
At that moment, an assassin’s blade hurtled toward Geom Mugeuk.
He was the fastest among Myungbu’s killers.
‘Got him!’
His blade was already at Geom Mugeuk’s throat.
Puuuk!
But before that, Geom Mugeuk’s sword had cut through his heart.
‘Why?’
Even as he died, he could not understand. His foe had reacted far slower—so why?
Yet such bewilderment was nothing new to the assassins.
Geom Mugeuk plunged his blade into one assassin’s heart and throat to use his body as a shield.
Another assassin, standing behind, was impaled as he lunged.
Shick! Shick!
Blades flew from both sides, barely grazing Geom Mugeuk’s body.
Their hearts whispered regret.
‘What a waste.’
It might seem the skill gap was narrow, but such close calls only occur when the gap is overwhelming.
An attack dodged by a hair represents the epitome of optimized combat.
Shiiiiiiing.
Swoosh! Swoosh!
Geom Mugeuk’s sword flashed with Phase-slash, slicing through the assassins on both sides in a glittering instant.
Even more astonishing was that he continued to watch Hwi’s fight.
He gauged their battle by catching brief glimpses of Hwi and Salwang, listening to the clash of sword and dagger.
He was also mindful of Myeongshin.
Myeongshin fought fiercely, employing every strike technique against the killers.
He used his own devices too. His thrown amgi exploded, slaughtering assassins nearby. No one knew assassin psychology better.
Of course, the assassins did not relent. They unleashed every hidden blade, every poison-coated dart.
In the maelstrom, Myeongshin sensed a strike from behind and despaired.
‘Too late!’
It was an attack by a top-tier assassin brought from outside. Unfamiliar, he had not expected a rear assault so swift.
‘Expose my shoulder.’
Twisting to avoid instant death, Myeongshin braced himself.
Shiiiiing!
With a fierce gust, something swept past his face.
Puuuuuk!
The blade that pierced the assassin barreling toward him was Geom Mugeuk’s Black Demon Sword.
Myeongshin had no time to offer thanks. Like a hornet’s nest, the assassins swarmed both of them.
They thought Geom Mugeuk’s momentary disarmament their chance.
But an opportunity existed for him as well: to use a martial art in real combat.
Dodging a flying blade, Geom Mugeuk threw a punch.
Pa-eok!
An assassin’s ribcage shattered as he was hurled away.
Kwarururung!
Thunder boomed from his fist. It was the Thunderbolt Palm of the Fist Demonic Arts.
Peok! Peo-eok! Peok!
Dodging thrown blades lightly, he struck again.
The assassins’ jaws fractured, internal organs expelled. It was a fate more agonizing than blade-death.
Frightened by his momentum, the assassins paused.
Geom Mugeuk extended his hand toward one side.
Shwiik.
The Black Demon Sword embedded in a corpse floated into the air.
Horror gripped the minds of the watching assassins.
They had always believed death belonged to others.
Now death hovered in midair, watching them, before returning to Geom Mugeuk’s hand.
Still, they would not relent. They madly sought to kill Geom Mugeuk and Myeongshin.
They rained sword qi upon Geom Mugeuk—iron nets spread, poison-tipped darts flew. They unleashed every assassination technique they had learned.
Nothing struck home.
Where could one dodge? Space existed, but…
How to counterattack? Geom Mugeuk found the impossible direction, adjusted his angle, controlled his speed.
Puaaahk!
He evaded the last assassin, and that assassin collapsed spouting blood.
Already soaked in gore, Geom Mugeuk did not flinch from the spray.
As ever, he never deigned to glance at the dead.
Myeongshin watched wordlessly.
This was not the loquacious, joking Little Pill Master he had known, but a solitary warrior who had survived the battlefield alone.
‘This is the true face of the Little Pill Master.’
At that moment, Myeongshin met Geom Mugeuk’s eyes.
Loneliness and a bright laugh mingled in those eyes.
He had returned to being the cheerful Geom Mugeuk once more.
“You survived.”
Geom Mugeuk said, and Myeongshin nodded.
“We must finish our contract.”
Their gazes intersected in midair.
But now was not the time for shared emotions.
They looked to where Hwi and Salwang fought.
Their duel had also reached its climax.
And at the end, there was only silence.
Neither Salwang nor Hwi was visible. They fought in concealment.
An assassin’s invisibility against a protector’s concealment.
Two masters proud of their stealth made their final choice.
In empty space, only the flashes of sword and dagger remained.
Cheng! Cha-aeng!
Sparks flew in midair. The sudden blades appeared and vanished.
Shik! Paat!
With each flash, someone’s blood spattered.
They sensed a presence that did not breathe, then struck.
A duel of ultimate concealment technique.
Everything they had—innate talent, senses, effort, resolve, even fortune—was at play.
Surely one side’s total was greater.
Swoosh! Paaak!
Again flesh was cut, blood burst in the void. By the amount of blood, this wound ran deeper than before.
Paak!
Simultaneously, blood sprayed from the other.
Neither granted the other a mere opening. One cut, the other cut back.
Blood spattered again and again.
They uttered not a sound, so Geom Mugeuk and Myeongshin could not tell whose wounds were deeper.
‘Sir!’
The fight had become one of concealment; intervening was perilous.
A misstep might cause harm to Hwi instead.
He was the greatest variable to disturb Hwi’s focus at the height of concentration.
Cut, cut again. Hide, reveal. Sense, sense again. Offer flesh, aim for bone. Hide once more.
As that breath-stealing duel raged…
Shiiiiing.
Shwaaang.
Two blades cut through the air unlike before. The following sound was not only flesh being sliced—it was bone piercing.
Puuuuuuk!
Silence fell.
Juurururuk.
Blood flowed down in midair.
Concealment dissolved, and a man’s form began to appear.
He emerged slowly, blood streaming from his pierced heart.
The figure of the man who had driven the blade was also revealed.
The blade running with blood, the hand gripping its hilt, the outstretched arm, a lone warrior who had fought with all his strength: Hwi.
Geom Mugeuk exhaled a deep breath of relief and looked up at the sky.
‘Thank you. Truly, thank you.’
He had questioned whether he should have come alone a dozen times as he watched the battle. He had wrestled with every excuse to go by himself.
Having fretted so, Geom Mugeuk felt such joy he wanted to shout.
He realized this intervention may have decided the outcome.
It did not matter whose concealment was superior or more refined.
What determined victory was that Hwi had lived concealed far longer than Salwang had.
Hwi, who had spent his life silently concealing himself to protect his father.
Hwi’s concealment was not a martial art but his life itself.
Perhaps it was Hwi’s devotion that allowed Salwang to be slain.
Blood gushed from Salwang’s mouth.
When this contract began, Salwang had never imagined such an end. If he died, he thought it would be at the hands of the Sect Master or the Little Pill Master.
Now emotion finally showed on Salwang’s face: anger and irritation. Though unspoken, his expression said:
—To be slain by a mere protector.
Hwi looked into Salwang’s fading, transparent eyes and spoke calmly. His words perhaps voiced every protector’s resolve.
“After all, we chose a life of protection.”