Tang Cheol-hyeon barely suppressed his pounding heart.
A place where Cheonnyeon Muryeongcho grows in abundance—the indispensable ingredient for the Formless Deadly Poison!
If the old woman's words were true, then there was no longer any need for the position of Martial Alliance Leader. No need for the plot to poison the current Leader or the Chief Strategist to bend them into subordinates.
With this alone, the Tang Clan could rise to the supreme seat of the martial world on their own strength.
"Is… is that true?"
He tried to speak calmly, but his voice trembled of its own accord. If her words were real, he could reach for the Star of the Tyrant, and the Tang Clan would stand as the number one house beneath heaven.
The Star of the Tyrant.
As Cheon Ryuyeong once told Dokgo Seol, it was the root of all desire for those who wielded great power.
The old woman dabbed her face with her handkerchief and nodded.
"He told me I must never reveal it…"
"Then why tell me now?"
She fell silent for a moment, then answered.
"I pride myself on having collected nearly all poisons known to the world. But one is missing. Without it, I cannot die in peace."
Tang Cheol-hyeon gave a thin laugh. He could guess easily enough what she sought.
"The Formless Deadly Poison."
The old woman's eyes glittered as though she had found water in the desert.
"Yes. Without the King of Poisons, the White-Horse Poison—the Formless Deadly Poison—my collection feels incomplete. To possess it would be the fulfillment of my life."
"…"
"So when I was dragged—no, invited—here last night, I was afraid, yes, but also thrilled. Perhaps I might finally see the Formless Deadly Poison."
Tang Cheol-hyeon nodded as if he understood. Then he leaned forward, staring at her intently.
"An exchange—your information, for the Formless Deadly Poison?"
The old woman swallowed nervously. Yet her eyes shone with expectation.
"Yes."
"And if the information you give is false?"
At his pointed question, she shrugged her thick shoulders.
"Then I shall remain your hostage until it is proven true. If you fear the poison will leak beyond these walls, you needn't worry. Keep guards on me for the rest of my life if you wish. I will not object."
Tang Cheol-hyeon unclasped his hands and thought briefly.
But truly, it required no deep deliberation. Even if a little poison leaked, as long as the antidote was withheld, no disaster would occur. And as she said, she could be kept under constant watch. Judging by her appearance, she had little time left in this world anyway.
"Very well. I accept. Who is this man?"
The old woman gave a delighted "Heh!" before composing herself again.
"First, show me the Formless Deadly Poison. If I give up his name and you withhold the poison… what power do I have to stop you?"
Tang Cheol-hyeon cut her short with an irritated look.
"Fine. I'll have it brought."
"No—I wish to go myself and see it where it rests."
"That place is forbidden to outsiders!"
He roared, and the old woman turned pale with fright. Yet timid as she looked, she pressed on stubbornly.
"B-but if you bring some other poison and claim it is the Formless Deadly Poison… how am I to know the truth?"
"And you would know by looking? You've never seen it before!"
"True, but from the defenses, from the air itself, from the circumstances of the place… I might tell. I have that much discernment."
Tang Cheol-hyeon bit down hard on his lip. His mind was already racing toward the place where the herb was said to grow, but the old woman had caught his impatience and was reeling him in. Yet once a decision is made, to overturn it is harder still—especially when it concerns the fulfillment of one's lifelong ambition.
At last, Tang Cheol-hyeon summoned the Chief Steward and ordered him to escort the old woman to the underground eastern wing.
The Elder of Absolute Poison, who had entered alongside the steward, spoke anxiously.
"Clan Head. To take an outsider there… that place holds the very heart of our clan."
Tang Cheol-hyeon waved dismissively.
"She's nothing but a feeble old woman awaiting death. What's there to fear?"
They had searched her thoroughly, even checked her dantian. As the Clan Head said, she was but a powerless crone.
"That is not the issue. It violates the rules of the clan. And what if the old woman lied out of greed to see the Formless Deadly Poison? Then you break the rules for nothing—"
At his lord's glare, the principled elder let his words trail away.
"Then she'll die for it. For daring to mock me and our clan."
"Yes… still, if Cheonnyeon Muryeongcho truly remains in this world, then bending a few rules is a small price indeed."
Tang Cheol-hyeon relaxed into a grin.
"Kuhuhu. Yes, yes. My heart pounds like never before. I've never felt so alive."
The underground cave of the Tang Clan.
The eastern wing was so restricted that not even the guards stationed nearby were permitted entry.
Inside, there were two people. One standing, one lying.
The fat old woman chuckled coldly as she gazed at the floor.
At her feet writhed the Chief Steward of the Tang Clan, his body dissolving in agony.
Ughhh… a spy of the Demon Cult.
He wanted to scream for help. But he could not. His vocal cords had already begun to melt. Strangely, the old woman's hand was melting as well.
The deerskin gloves she had worn—said to absorb poison—had disintegrated, and the flesh of her hand was dissolving.
The pain must have been unbearable, yet she only grinned.
"I may be just a weak old woman, but you underestimated me. Strength can be borrowed, after all. Hohoho."
The Chief Steward had been struck by Hwagolsan (Bone-Melting Powder), the poison kept here for dissolving corpses.
It was a poison so lethal that carrying it was perilous. Sealed in an iron container, for even the smallest leak could melt flesh.
But the old woman had scooped it up with her gloved hand and flung it upon him in an instant—splattering his neck, face, and torso.
For all her claims of being merely a collector of poisons, this sudden assault caught him completely off guard. He had let his guard down, thinking her powerless, never imagining she would sacrifice her own flesh in such a way.
Such is how countless fatal mistakes occur—born of arrogance and superiority. And so the terrible price was paid.
The old woman gazed down at the dissolving steward and said:
"Curious what I'm about to do? I'll burn the Formless Deadly Poison. All poisons are weak against fire. Then you might wonder, where will I get the flame?"
Already, parts of her fingers were stripped to the bone, blood dripping in thick drops—grisly beyond measure.
Yet she calmly pulled the jade hairpin from her head and smashed it against the cave wall. The jade shattered, revealing a stone hidden within.
"Pyrite. Commonly known as flint."
She then loosened her belt and pointed to the metal ornament at the front.
"When these two strike together, they spark. Enjoy the fire show on your way to death… Ah! You've already stopped breathing."
With that, she entered the farthest chamber, the one marked Formless Deadly Poison.
No regrets.
Her life was nearly spent anyway. By offering herself in sacrifice, her children and grandchildren would prosper under the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
Moments later, bright flames erupted. The chamber, crammed with poisons that were all vulnerable to fire, became a raging inferno. Some combusted with explosive bursts. The blaze soon spread throughout the underground eastern wing, and finally licked up to the halls built above it.
Though brief, the fire could not escape notice. On a nearby mountain peak, a man caught sight of the flames. The messenger hawk on his shoulder soared into the sky, winging its way toward the Sichuan branch.
Upon hearing the martial scout's report, Cheon Ryuyeong muttered, his face stricken with shock.
"Already? They've already set out? That means the Tang Clan's Formless Deadly Poison has been destroyed."
He sighed heavily, rising from his seat, still speaking to himself.
"I thought the Heavenly Demon Sword would return from Qingsheng and then attack the Tang Clan with the Sichuan branch's cultists. But he's chosen instead to give the great merit away to his companions."
Cheon Ryuyeong cursed his own misjudgment. He had assumed he understood the nature of the Heavenly Demon Sword. But the man he once knew was gone.
This new Heavenly Demon Sword no longer sought to seize every deed and glory for himself. Even if the plans were his own, he was willing to share the fruits with his allies.
Time, experience, and the towering ambition of unifying the world had tempered him, made him more mature.
Cheon Ryuyeong clenched his teeth. He swept his gaze across the great hall, startling those who had risen to their feet, then fixed his eyes on Dokgo Muyeong.
"Where is Pyeong-u now? By that I mean, when will he bring what I asked of him?"
The moment was tense.
Yet his voice was calm. Dokgo Muyeong, however, was not. Known for his prudence, his mind was now tangled in confusion, and his voice trembled.
"W-well… I'm not certain. Before sunset, he should arrive…"
"There's no time. Find Pyeong-u at once. If he hasn't yet secured everything, divide the task and finish it together."
From where he sat with arms crossed, Bang Yacheol raised his head and asked, his tone edged like a blade:
"Are you saying we three hundred should march to aid the Tang Clan?"
His pointed question already admitted the possibility that the Tang Clan had lost the Formless Deadly Poison. Otherwise, why would the cultists be moving against them?
The Tang Clan's forces numbered just over six hundred. By contrast, the Sichuan branch's cultists, even after the Heavenly Demon Sword drew some away to Qingsheng, still numbered close to two thousand.
If fifteen hundred of them marched on the Tang Clan, leaving only a bare garrison behind?
Victory would be near impossible. No—hopeless.
Especially if the Tang Clan had indeed lost the Formless Deadly Poison. To aid them would be like carrying kindling into a raging blaze.
As Cheon Ryuyeong nodded in answer to Bang Yacheol's question, Namgung Su spoke sharply.
"We have no place to intervene. If the Tang Clan still holds strong, there's no problem. If they've lost the Formless Deadly Poison, then even if we rush to their side, we cannot change the outcome. We'd only die like dogs."
His words silenced the hall.
To watch helplessly as Sichuan's martial world was handed over was bitter beyond words. Yet no one could refute Namgung Su's reasoning.
Dokgo Seol trembled, fists clenched. If Sichuan fell, the entire central plains would be threatened. Her own sect in Hanzhong was practically at the doorstep.
At the cult's sneeze, they would be left writhing with fever. Instinctively, her eyes turned to Cheon Ryuyeong.
He was speaking with the Dokgo Clan's patriarch and two elders.
"…So you must dispatch men at once to secure Pyeong-u's location, and split the remaining tasks without delay."
Even his face, so full of self-reproach before, had returned to calm resolve. Seeing that, Dokgo Seol felt her own unease ease away.
The two elders of the Dokgo Clan leapt from the second-floor hall to the ground below.
Han Chugwang, staring bitterly at his injured body, asked with a gloomy face:
"Lord Cheon… Do we really have any chance of victory?"
Cheon Ryuyeong bit his lip hard, then answered.
"If we arrive in time, the chances are more than enough. And even if the odds are slim, should we not fight with everything we have?"
Han Chugwang looked into his clear, shining eyes and smiled faintly. He too felt his chest settle, as Dokgo Seol had.
"Heh… is that so?"
"Yes."
"Sadly, I cannot fight…"
"Just being with us is enough. That alone will strengthen me—and everyone."
Watching this, Namgung Su clenched his fists. He seethed at how this so-called martial scholar was handing people false hope.
This was the reckless heroism of a man who rose too fast. The martial scholar was playing at hero, dragging them all to the brink of death.
Yes, his remarkable insight so far was undeniable. But this was no puzzle to solve—this was a matter of life and death. Judged coldly, only despair awaited them.
"Senior Han, forgive the intrusion, but I must speak plainly to the martial scholar."
Without waiting for Han Chugwang's reply, Namgung Su faced Cheon Ryuyeong.
"Even if the Tang Clan has lost the Formless Deadly Poison… do you truly believe we can win?"
Cheon Ryuyeong's eyes gleamed.
"If we arrive in time, we can win. And we must fight believing that."
"Absurd…"
The hall split into two camps—those who believed, and those who called it madness.
But the words Cheon Ryuyeong spoke next left everyone stunned, speechless.
"If possible, we must not only repel them but reclaim the Sichuan branch itself. With the Heavenly Demon Sword in Qingsheng, it can be done."
"...!"
Namgung Su, Jang Deukmu, and Hwa Gayun gaped in shock. Even those who had just placed their trust in him were frozen stiff at the sheer audacity of his claim.
It was so outrageous that they couldn't even find words. That was precisely how they felt.