Chapter 54 - Act 8. Daemudo’s Main Mountain (5)

One of the pureblood Cultivators charged, swinging a real sword without a single trace of spiritual energy in it. Though his spiritual energy was sealed, the weapon’s sheer sharpness was threatening enough.

Every weapon they carried was a ritual implement forged from fine metal. Had any of them used a hand axe, Yise might have coveted it.

But even a famed sword was no more than a sharp toy if the hand wielding it could not put proper force behind it. They had awakened to spiritual energy early and relied far too heavily on it throughout their training.

He could tell at a glance.

Yise stood still, waiting for them to charge, then stepped forward. He knocked aside the foremost weapon with the Yellow Grand Parasol.

CLANG!

As blade struck shield, his fist shot out and slammed into the Cultivator’s upper lip.

That single punch rattled the Cultivator’s brain and dimmed his consciousness. The others rushing in behind him fared little better.

Upper lip, jaw, solar plexus, temple.

He gave these little upstarts, who had bled their families dry to raise their realms, their first taste of pain in real combat.

Belatedly, they flailed with their weapons, but they could not catch Yise as he glided past with Dokkaebi Steps.

The Yellow Grand Parasol slammed into an opponent’s side. A heavy thud, the crack of breaking ribs, and the sound of a body hitting the ground rang out in succession.

“...!”

As their fallen brothers piled up one by one, the remaining pureblood Cultivators’ faces grew pale and stiff.

Combat without spiritual energy laid bare the raw disparity between their bodies. And that primal violence inspired fear far more readily than a difference in realm.

The shield thrust straight out and struck a Cultivator in the Adam’s apple. He spat blood and sank to his knees, clutching his throat.

“Ah, sorry. Nearly killed you there.”

Even as Yise muttered the words, he drove between the two nearest opponents. His shield smashed one in the jaw, and he spun at once, kicking the other in the side.

One went up, the other sideways. In perfect unison, both tumbled to the far end of the sparring platform.

It did not take long for every pureblood Cultivator to lie sprawled across the platform. Groans and hacking coughs sounded from all sides.

They could not understand why this senior would nurse such a vicious grudge over a mere argument, but they understood perfectly well that he was beyond them. And that he was an utterly unreasonable man they must never provoke.

“Stop, please stop, Senior. We won’t... touch the training compound disciples again...”

Ju Guyeon had finally come to his senses and forced the words out through his pain.

Yise did not stop. He hauled Ju Guyeon upright, struck him down, then hauled him up again. When someone passed out, he set them aside and beat the other disciples. The instant anyone woke, he rushed over and pummeled them to a pulp.

After several repetitions, tears streamed from Ju Guyeon’s eyes.

“I was wrong, Senior... How long are you going to keep doing this?”

“Well.”

Yise answered very slowly.

“Until I’ve knocked some sense into you. Until I stop thinking I ought to kill you and silence you for good, in case you cause trouble later.”

Ju Guyeon’s eyes trembled. Instinct told him this was no joke.

The man standing before him was not the sort to speak lightly of killing people to silence them.

Of course, Yise had not the slightest intention of actually committing murder. Daemudo’s regulations forbade killing disciples or destroying their spiritual roots.

Put another way, as long as he neither killed them nor destroyed their spiritual roots, a certain degree of force was permissible. Insubordination in particular deserved a torn-out tongue or severed limbs. He had every justification.

“... Never again. I will never displease you again, Senior. I won’t speak of this to anyone, either. Please, have mercy...”

“Good. Looks like you’ve learned something now.”

“Th-thank...”

“About a tenth of the lesson, anyway.”

“...?”

Yise loosened his shoulders, then called briefly toward the outside of the platform.

“Bu Chun.”

Bu Chun, who had been guarding the Twin-Banner Spirit-Domain Sealing Standard, cautiously poked his head around the entrance. Even he had never seen this side of Yise before, and he answered stiffly with tension.

“Yes, Senior!”

“How long are these platforms rented for?”

“Usually in blocks of at least three days.”

“Will three days be a little short?”

Yise looked genuinely troubled. Ju Guyeon’s face turned deathly pale.

“Can’t be helped. Let’s pick up the pace.”

Yise pulled up the Twin-Banner Spirit-Domain Sealing Standard and stowed it in his storage pouch.

The sealed spiritual energy was released all at once, from every direction. Its flow was so dense that the very air over the platform seemed to grow heavy.

“Again. Starting with this eldest-brother bastard.”

“...?”

“Now that our spiritual energy is back, this will hurt a little more.”

Auspicious energy gathered around Yise’s hands. Released from its confinement, spiritual energy surged from his body like a rebound.

“Fair warning: if you resist, it’ll be hard to hold back.”

A piercing scream followed his words.

Cultivators passing nearby frowned.

“Isn’t that the platform the new formal disciples are using? Why are they training so fiercely?”

“Leave them be. It’s good to see them working hard. They’ll only get to run around in a big pack like that for so long.”

“True enough. These are the good days.”

* * *

Their correction ended sooner than expected.

On the platform, his juniors knelt in neat rows, reformed to a satisfactory degree. Their clothes were torn in places, and not a single part of their faces remained unscathed.

Their limbs, however, were intact, and they were fully conscious. That clarity of consciousness had been the most important part of Yise’s lesson.

Unconsciousness was an escape. Yise knew from repeated experience that people learned sense fastest when escape was not allowed.

They had to reach the point where merely hearing his name or meeting his eyes would make them piss themselves. His guiding principle, learned over the years, was that he should not even begin unless he was prepared to go that far.

“Hey.”

“Yes!”

Yise spoke to no one in particular, and thirteen Cultivators answered thunderously in unison.

“Remember this. Disrespect the realm someone worked so hard to reach, and you’ll make them want to kill you. Keep acting like upstarts who don’t know their place, and you could die out there without anyone ever knowing.”

“Yes!”

“What do you do when you meet a training compound graduate?”

“Treat seniors with the utmost respect, be friendly to fellow Daoists, and look after juniors with kindness!”

“And what do you say when you’ve displeased a senior?”

“Please spare my life, Senior!!”

The taut, disciplined chorus rang across the platform. Yise surveyed his juniors with satisfaction and raised one corner of his mouth.

That seemed enough to keep them from swaggering around outside and meeting a violent end. He had spent a precious day on these sorry wretches... but he decided to consider it a contribution toward building a healthy sect.

“Then I’ll see you at the exchange gathering. If any of you pull something stupid before then, I’ll give you another reminder of today. Getting beaten until your head bursts in front of everyone wouldn’t be much fun, would it?”

“... Yes!”

“Return the spirit stones you took from Bu Chun. With interest.”

“Understood!”

The purebloods shuddered in terror and answered together.

“And no more of this pureblood nonsense. What does that make us, mongrels?”

“No, Senior!”

Not a moment’s hesitation. Satisfied, Yise turned away.

Behind him came the dull thuds of his juniors collapsing in a heap.

* * *

The Year-End Merit Celebration.

A small festival that closed out Daemudo’s year, honoring those who had brought distinction to the sect and renewing their resolve to strive harder in the year ahead.

By a Cultivator’s standards, a year passed in the literal blink of an eye. For a festival, it offered little bustle or excitement.

It was the sort of annual event people stumbled across and remembered with an idle, “Oh, that thing? It is that time of year.”

Only three groups truly enjoyed the festival. The first was ordinary people.

The second was Cultivators with families. Their children, in particular, supposedly began counting the days as soon as autumn arrived. Parents who usually devoted themselves to secluded cultivation and scarcely had time to see their families would take their children by the hand and stroll through the main mountain’s square on this day.

The last was Cultivators who had reached Great Attainment in Qi Refining and stood on the verge of Foundation Establishment.

The festival’s main event, a spell combat tournament open only to Qi Refining Cultivators, offered an elixir pill called the Void-Accumulating Pill as its prize.

BOOM! BOOM!

A spell duel opened the festival.

Two Foundation Establishment Cultivators, forcibly assigned to the task, took the stage looking thoroughly reluctant and cast flashy spells that were all for show.

Visually, it was quite convincing. Blue beams shot from a sword and collided with flames scattered by talismans, each impact sending what looked like stars bursting across the stage.

The children below cheered and clapped while the adults watched fondly. Even the Foundation Establishment Cultivators, who had begun with halfhearted flourishes, seemed moved by the children’s excitement. They put increasing enthusiasm into their dazzling spells, enlivening the festival.

The Qi Refining spell combat tournament followed.

More precisely, the earlier main rounds had apparently already concluded, leaving only the semifinals and final for the day itself. Only four contestants were introduced.

Unlike the opening duel, which had been closer to a performance, the Qi Refining tournament had a decidedly serious air.

So serious that it verged on desperation.

Their spells were less spectacular than those of the Foundation Establishment Cultivators, but their hunger for victory reached the spectators all the same. The crowd responded with tremendous cheers.

Yise’s attention, however, was elsewhere.

‘Is it really all right to offer elixir pills as prizes while calling the Pill Refining Sect pill addicts...?’

The Void-Accumulating Pill was made by modifying Foundation Establishment Pills plundered from the Pill Refining Sect to suit the cultivation methods of Daemudo’s disciples. It eased the process of Foundation Establishment.

Since plunder was a prerequisite, they reportedly produced only one or two a year at most.

Two tenth-star Cultivators clashed onstage. Ice and water, fire and metal collided fiercely, producing thunderous blasts with every impact.

These two were certainly serious. Having crossed both minor thresholds, they were fighting with everything they had for a single pill that would help them cross a major one.

‘So this is a fight between tenth-star Cultivators.’

Yise watched the stage calmly. He was thinking that they seemed rather more manageable than he had expected.

Even discounting the effects of his supernatural treasure, the Twin-Banner Spirit-Domain Sealing Standard, he felt there was no great difference in their spell handling or physical abilities.

He was watching the match, continually imagining how he would fight if he were up there, when someone called out.

“Yise! So this is where you were?”

A familiar voice approached through the crowd. It was Seol Ryeong.

“They say the exchange match starts as soon as this ends. You need to get ready, too.”

“Already?”

“Yes. We have to prepare ahead of time. Come on.”

She tugged at his sleeve.

The exchange match would be a three-on-three team contest.

The training compound graduates had three representatives: Yise, who had placed first; Hae Unchan, who had placed second; and Hong Wonseo, who had placed third.

The three were chatting in one corner of the waiting room when the pureblood Cultivators approached.

They strode toward them with an air so solemn it bordered on grim determination. Hae Unchan tensed, and Hong Wonseo grew wary. Then all three newcomers abruptly lowered their heads.

“Our respects, Senior!!”

As the newcomers bent at right angles, bewilderment spread across the two onlookers’ faces. Then they saw Yise casually raise a palm to acknowledge the greeting, and their expressions twisted into something truly peculiar.