I shoved Tang Sowol far away behind me.

Then I leveled my sword at the old man slowly walking through the shattered main gate. Or more precisely, from beyond it.

“Kehkeh. Youngsters these days have sharp instincts.”

The old man’s lips curled into a twisted smile as he looked at the tip of my blade.

At a glance, he seemed like an ordinary old man. No, among old men, he looked especially decrepit.

His back was so hunched it was practically folded in half, making his originally tall frame meaningless.

His body, skin taut over bones, was so emaciated you could trace his skeleton through his wrinkled skin.

Time had struck him so cruelly that wrinkles had taken the place of facial features.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he stepped over the remnants of the gate—he looked like someone who could drop dead at any moment.

And yet, there was something ominous about his presence.

Though he hadn’t reached the level of a Flowering Stage master—who harmonizes mind, energy, and body—he had certainly reached a considerable level of mastery, enough that his presence alone exuded a distinct aura.

Sword masters and saber users emitted sharp, slicing energy. Fist and leg martial artists gave off the presence of immovable stone. Some martial artists radiated overwhelming dominance.

The higher one’s cultivation, the more blatant and unmistakable their aura became.

That was because martial arts deepened in proportion to how much of one’s life had been devoted to them.

By that standard, the old man in front of me exuded a bizarre and off-putting aura.

Not in a way that made him feel dangerous or powerful—just fundamentally wrong.

An instinctive sense of rejection, one difficult to articulate.

It was the kind of aura often found in those who had practiced forbidden martial arts—taboo arts that required extreme cruelty.

Like eating a person’s heart raw to absorb their innate qi, or martial arts that only grew stronger by killing others instead of training.

Such arts differed even from demonic martial arts, which often focused on inflicting pain on oneself for rapid growth.

Taboo arts, on the other hand, were predicated entirely on the suffering and sacrifice of others.

Just learning one could brand you as a criminal across the martial world. Even the Demonic Cult and Outer Murim treated such arts with extreme caution.

But they offered power. Power that rivaled demonic arts.

And since their side effects could be forced onto others instead of the practitioner, there was always someone willing to take the risk.

This old man was, in all likelihood, one of them.

“But in the end, your sharp instincts have hastened your doom. A twist of fate, as they say.”

“So what? Are you telling me to blame heaven instead of you?”

With a dry laugh, I exploded my internal energy and shot forward, kicking off the ground.

Judging by the situation, this old man had to be the “grandfather” Hwangbo Gwang had spoken of—the mastermind behind today’s events.

Even if not, he was clearly an enemy—and one who had learned taboo arts. There was no point talking.

KRAANG!

With each step, thunder rumbled beneath me as I changed speeds mid-run to throw off his timing.

Then, a beat later than expected, I slashed my sword.

It was aimed straight for his throat, the blade wreathed in violent flames that resembled the bite marks of a beast.

He was a moment too slow to dodge completely, and if he tried to block, he’d likely lose an arm.

Though his aura was intense and foreboding, it wasn’t Flowering Stage level.

This strike should have forced a wound—no matter how small.

Or it should have.

“How hasty.”

The old man’s arm twisted into an unnatural angle.

And I don’t mean it moved in a way I didn’t understand—I mean it moved in a way no human body could.

His entire forearm bent, not just at the joints, but like a snake.

A grayish qi-covered fist struck the blade directly.

PUUOK!

Our inner energies clashed. My sword and his fist both recoiled from the backlash.

I hadn’t expected it to be blocked, but I never thought a single strike would end it either.

I unleashed the killing intent I’d suppressed for the ambush, pouring it all into him.

His eyes widened at the intense pressure bearing down from all sides.

But it didn’t seem to restrict his movement.

Like Hwangbo Gwang, it was as if his senses were too damaged to even feel fear.

That didn’t matter. Killing intent becomes less effective the stronger the opponent anyway.

Reminding myself of its true purpose, I twisted my body violently—letting the sword move first and my body follow.

My blade, reinforced, cut toward the pull of my killing intent.

“Huup!”

Ssswaeek!

Sharper and more vicious than before, the sword slashed down toward his collarbone.

It wasn’t quite his neck, but it would certainly sever an arm.

That certainty lasted only a moment.

The wrinkles on the old man’s face twisted into something like a grin.

Then came his satisfied voice.

“So ferocious. You’re exactly the kind of talent I’ve been seeking.”

And then I understood how his arm had moved that way.

UDUK!

His right arm suddenly swelled.

Once thin like a dead tree branch, it now looked like it belonged to a robust warrior.

A grotesquely muscular limb that didn’t match the rest of his emaciated frame.

That arm, now wrapped in gray internal energy and resembling a stone pillar, blocked my sword.

PUOK!

The impact felt like hitting solid rock. Despite my blade’s edge, all it did was nick the skin.

Even for me—someone who’d faced countless demonic cultivators—this was shocking.

“What the hell…?”

What kind of martial art allows this? No, is this even martial arts?

Martial cultivation is usually gradual. Even the most unorthodox arts require steady progress.

But this—his sudden transformation—was beyond unnatural.

I quickly pulled my sword back before it could be caught and continued to strike.

Neck, chest, eyes, ribs, thighs—I aimed at every vital spot I could.

But each time, his body grotesquely swelled to protect itself, his physique growing more monstrous.

With cracking bones and expanding flesh, his form warped further.

Even when I backed off, the transformation didn’t stop.

The deep wrinkles on his face smoothed out, revealing distorted but clearer features.

His hunched back straightened—he now stood two heads taller than me.

A body bursting with pulsating muscles—no longer that of an old man.

It was like he had reversed aging itself.

“Rejuvenation? Rebirth?”

A voice now smooth and youthful—yet disturbingly familiar—emerged from the face that vaguely resembled Hwangbo Gwang.

“Kehkeh. I haven’t reached True Steel Defense, but to think you could wound me through such dense inner energy…”

How absurd.

So that’s why my sword couldn’t pierce him.

His transformed physique alone was formidable, but on top of that, he’d coated himself in thick internal energy—Qi Flame—to further protect himself.

You can cut through a twig with no qi, but a massive tree requires energy and precision.

Even with my refined sword aura, cutting through his thick defense and reinforced body in one strike was a tall order.

But this wasn’t true Willpower-Forged Energy.

It was pure inner power, forcibly molded and shaped.

A foolish, wasteful technique that drains your core immensely—something even the Blood Flame Fist Demon would only use as a desperate last resort.

Yet the old man wore this terrifying armor with ease, smiling calmly.

When I scoffed, he chuckled mockingly.

“Jealous, are you? But this much is easy. I’ve been building this inner power for over a hundred years—eating every kind of elixir… and person.”

“…A hundred years? Did you just say people?”

So he had studied taboo arts.

The youthful vigor in his body, his immense inner energy, and now the mention of consuming people—it had to be a form of Qi Absorption Art.

“Correct. Blood Flame Sword Demon, your talent will feed mine next.”

“You think talent can be taken by force just because you have enough qi? That’s laughable.”

“You misunderstand. When I say ‘talent’, I mean true talent. In its rawest sense.”

He shook his head cryptically and picked up one of Hwangbo Gwang’s guards lying on the ground.

The grotesquely swollen old man hoisted the barely conscious man—missing an arm and leg—like he weighed nothing.

Apparently still clinging to awareness, the guard twitched at random intervals.

He hadn’t reacted at all to my killing intent.

But as soon as the old man approached—he began spasming violently.

As if he instinctively knew what was about to happen.

The old man watched the pitiful resistance with a kindly smile.

“Young Yu Cheong-hyeon was a promising man. He heard the rumors—that the Hwangbo Clan offered martial arts and titles to anyone with talent and loyalty—and came running. Brave, yes. Foolish too. But it meant no one suspected when he received the Great Method.”

“The… Great Method?”

My face twisted instinctively. I didn’t like the sound of that.

The old man didn’t care. He kept talking.

“He was passionate. Gifted, too. His footwork was particularly excellent. Both his body and technique showed rapid improvement.”

“…A shame he won’t run again on those legs.”

Exactly. That’s why I cut off both.

Still wearing that grandfatherly smile, the old man continued.

“Kehkeh. It’s fine now. Your talent will help rebuild the Hwangbo Clan, alongside Hwangbo Yeongcheon.”

“AAAAAAH! AAAAGH!”

As the old man uttered his name, the guard flailed in utter terror, using his remaining limbs to resist.

But Hwangbo Yeongcheon easily pinned him, then opened his mouth—and bit into the guard’s head.

CRACK.

Of course, a human jaw can’t swallow a whole head.

So he chewed.

Bit by bit.

Crunch. Crunch.

Ignoring the horrified stares, he carefully chewed every drop of blood and scrap of flesh.

Then he tossed aside the headless corpse like garbage.

His blood-soaked eyes glittered with satisfaction.

And his gait now mirrored the twitching spasms of the man he had just devoured.

Now, I understood.

“…You’re insane.”

This bastard wanted to devour me—to make my talent his own.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep