Part 1

Chapter 22. Accusation

White Sky Pavilion, located at the very center of the Anhui branch.

The only thing moving in the pavilion was the dust fluttering in the sunlight.

The pavilion was empty without a trace of presence. That was because all of its members had gone underground.

The gatekeeper, who had come running while gasping for breath, stomped his foot with a troubled expression.

“Damn it!”

White Sky Pavilion was a restricted area. That was because it secretly gathered information not only from Anhui but also from the Central Plains. Moreover, the underground secret chamber had been completely sealed off two months prior, so that no one could enter unless they were accompanied by the pavilion master himself, the young lord.

An order was an order, but still..!

Glancing back briefly, the gatekeeper descended underground into White Sky Pavilion with a feeling of throwing caution to the wind.

The sin of disobeying the pavilion master’s order would not be light, but it was better to be punished. If it was someone from Namgung, then the Young Lord—no, Namgung—being placed in a difficult situation couldn’t simply be ignored.

***

The underground secret chamber had been specially constructed to let not even a hint of warmth in, making it feel disconnected from the real world. One might wonder if the Ice Mountain Hell would be like this once darkness fell. Unlike the warm weather outside, the chamber was filled with cold air. The white mist that followed each breath hinted at the chamber’s temperature.

Several wooden platforms large enough for grown men to lie on were arranged inside, and on top of them lay corpses stitched together here and there with black thread, like cloth dolls.

A man, wearing a thick cotton robe alone, cut through the thread of one corpse. As he did so, he spoke to the young lord and the branch members standing across from him.

“To put it simply, the cause of death is poison.”

The coroner cut all the threads near the heart and opened up the chest wide of the corpse. What appeared was a heart that had blackened, as if scorched by fire.

It seemed the heart had already been removed and examined once, as it lay there like an object in a box, easily separated.

“There were no rotting wounds, but the internal organs had turned black, which I found strange. Upon close inspection, it turned out the blood had blackened.”

When the coroner gently wiped the heart with a cloth, the black liquid was absorbed into it, and the heart regained its red color.

“It was the same with the other corpses. So I examined the blood closely and found it full of ash. Now, how could ash form inside a human body? That was strange too, so I observed the blood further, and would you believe it—this black powder was all insects.”

The coroner gave a slight shudder, as if disgusted. He placed the heart back into the corpse and touched the blood vessels above it with his hand.

“So, it was because these tiny insects swarmed into the heart, blocking the blood flow completely, that they died.”

He ran his fingers along the blood vessels. The vessels attached directly to the heart were pitch black, but the farther they were, the paler they became, appearing as black spots, and the gaps between them gradually widened.

Namgung Jin closed his eyes and scratched between his brows.

He had captured nine members of the Blood Sect and five unidentified martial artists, but had gained nothing.

The Blood Sect members died the moment they arrived in Anhui, bleeding from every hole. The five martial artists remained silent during interrogation, and after three days, they gave a few answers—then suddenly all died.

The reason those martial artists died was poison.

Poison again.

The Young Lord’s eyelids slowly lifted. His exposed eyes were full of fatigue.

He recalled the Tang Clan’s young lady he had seen at Emei Mountain. The sharp gaze that asked whether he was suspecting the Tang Clan. It was only natural to be displeased when under suspicion, but her eyes had held an excessive, razor-sharp fury. A chill that couldn’t be masked by a smile.

In the past, if he had seen such a bizarre poison technique, he would have been wary of the Tang Clan, but…

Namgung Jin sighed and stroked his chin.

If anything, the fact that poison keeps appearing is becoming suspicious.

It feels unnatural, as if they’re deliberately flaunting their poison technique. As though trying to anchor his attention on the poison.

“… For now, write up a corpse examination report that omits the poison.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

He wanted to carefully track the movements of the Blood Sect, but since he had already encountered both the Emei Sect and the Tang Clan in Sichuan, he had no choice but to share this matter with the Murim Alliance. Fortunately, the Emei Sect still didn’t know these people were from the Blood Sect. The Tang Clan, on the other hand, did know—but they wouldn’t inform the Emei Sect of the Blood Sect’s resurgence.

It might seem like cooperation would go smoothly when multiple sects operated a single branch, but that was far from the truth. Years of subtle power struggles over regional control had caused deep-rooted animosity.

A few years ago, the Shaanxi branch had seen several pavilions collapse when the Mount Zhongnan Sect and the Mount Hua Sect engaged in a sword fight over the branch leader position, and the Wudang Sect and the Zhuge Clan of the Hubei branch had long ago agreed to strictly divide their respective jurisdictions and not interfere with each other’s territories.

The Sichuan branch, jointly managed by the Emei Sect, Qingcheng Sect, and the Tang Clan, was even more peculiar.

The Emei Sect and Qingcheng Sect shared a rapport, being sects that venerated Buddhism and Taoism, and thus had some degree of exchange. But the Tang Clan was one of the most secular sects in the entire Murim Alliance and was subtly excluded because of it.

The Emei Sect and Qingcheng Sect had all but abandoned the branch’s affairs to the Tang Clan, thinking they were using them as subordinates. The Tang Clan, meanwhile, believed they were the ones guiding those clueless hermits.

Naturally, the Tang Clan would have no reason to inform the Emei Sect about the Blood Sect’s identity. They had even admitted that their poison had been leaked to the Blood Sect. From the Tang Clan’s perspective, it would be difficult to expose the Blood Sect’s resurgence. Even if they were innocent, it was still true that the Blood Sect had used their poison.

Most decisively, the Tang Clan had been with the Blood Sect.

They were surely worried about drawing suspicion. They would wait to review Namgung’s investigation results before deciding how to handle the situation.

Namgung Jin intended to relay the information they had discovered about the Blood Sect to the Tang Clan before reporting it to the Murim Alliance. After all, the Tang Clan had entrusted the Blood Sect members to him in good faith.

‘But another death by poison…’

He would have to investigate this particular poison case further before informing them.

If he had more time, he would’ve preferred to keep it hidden until he uncovered the Blood Sect’s roots. But since a sect had already encountered the Blood Sect, staying silent could bring backlash.

It might take about three years to find them and cut them out for good.

Namgung Jin’s gaze slid to the deepest part of the secret chamber. Unlike the other corpses lying nude, one was dressed in blue martial garb and placed in the corner. His eyes darkened as he looked at it.

He needed to move covertly until he reached the truth—but thanks to that damn regulation, he was about to give the Blood Sect bastards another chance to hide.

It was then.

“Young Lord! I’m Namgung Sang-rim of Red Sky Pavilion. You need to come up immediately!”

Someone was calling Namgung Jin from outside the door.

“You fool! Weren’t you told not to enter the underground chambers—!”

Namgung Mun-seon had been shouting furiously but suddenly fell silent. The Young Lord had reached out and quietly gestured for him to calm down.

Namgung Jin had forbidden entry to the underground chambers. Yet his subordinate had broken that order, and instead of stating the urgent matter immediately, he hesitated. That alone made things feel off.

“I’ll be out shortly. Wait.”

Namgung Jin spoke without taking his eyes off the corpse.

“My apologies, but there really isn’t enough ti—”

Namgung Jin’s gaze slid toward the door. The sound had suddenly disappeared.

It wasn’t that the speaker had gone silent—it felt like the sound itself had been swallowed up.

In that strange silence, just as his hand instinctively moved toward his sword—

The door burst open, and over a dozen martial artists clad in pure white martial robes stormed into the dim chamber.

Recognizing them, Namgung Mun-seon stepped in front of the Young Lord and shouted,

“What is the meaning of this! How dare you set foot in another branch without authorization!”

Embroidered on the left chest of the martial artists’ robes was a black emblem.

Fifteen slender crescents converging to form a circle—

The symbol of the Murim Alliance.

Unlike his uncle, who loudly protested, Namgung Jin remained silent.

His calm gaze was fixed not on the martial artists, but on the open door beyond them.

What bothered him wasn’t the presence of the Murim Alliance’s enforcers—it was the unnatural stillness.

The cold metal hinges always let out a chilling screech when turned, yet this time the door had opened without a sound, smooth as silk.

Moreover, even the Murim Alliance’s headquarters didn’t have the authority to barge into a regional branch unannounced like this.

Except for one.

Namgung Jin’s unease deepened, and his grip tightened on his sword’s hilt.

The Murim Alliance, the supreme martial organization of the realm, comprised of an alliance of fifteen noble sects.

No single person could command all fifteen sects. And so, the founding Leader of the Alliance had created the Four Seasons Hall to resolve disputes among the members and maintain balance between the sects.

Within it were four divisions:

Spring Pavilion – Mediated conflicts based on the Murim Alliance’s laws.

Summer Pavilion – Exposed conspiracies and internal conflicts between branches.

Autumn Pavilion – Audited branches based on reports submitted to Summer Pavilion.

Winter Pavilion – Punished branches that refused to comply with Spring Pavilion’s rulings.

Among these, only one had the authority to invade another branch without prior consent.

Autumn Pavilion.

But this was the Anhui branch—not a weak place that a mere Autumn Pavilion could assault at will. This was the domain of the Namgung Clan, one of the mightiest forces in all of the Central Plains.

As if to confirm Namgung Jin’s suspicions, the martial artists stepped aside, parting to form a path.

Through the center of that path walked a man.

He advanced to the middle of the chamber without a single footstep echoing.

There was no change in his expression whatsoever.

His hair swayed gently, nearly brushing his shoulders, and his face was slender. More striking than his feminine appearance were his eyes.

Hazy bluish-gray eyes, as if veiled in mist.

This was Zhuge In-hwi, Lord of the Four Seasons Hall, commanding the four divisions.

The clouded eyes of the blind man gazed directly ahead. He surely couldn’t see a thing, yet his steps halted precisely in front of the platform where the corpse lay.

A heavy silence blanketed the chamber.

As his pale eyelids slowly moved, his watery pupils flickered into view, fading in and out.

As if reading the currents suspended in the air, he quietly gauged something.

Then slowly, his gaze shifted—and landed exactly where the Namgung Young Lord stood.

His gently closed lips curved into a soft smile.

“It seems White Sky Pavilion now hosts a corpse examination room, Young Lord.”

His serene voice cut through the chill and drove a wedge between Namgung and the Four Seasons Hall.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep