The path to the Temple of Eternal Sacrifice wound like a scarred vein through the heart of Golden Peak's forbidden slopes. It was not a road for the living—not truly. Carved in the aftermath of the Abyssal War, it snaked upward from the sect's outer walls, past wards etched deep into granite cliffs, where ancient Murim scripts pulsed with faint, warning light. The air grew thinner with each step, laced with the metallic tang of old curse ink that lingered like a bad dream. Bamboo groves gave way to jagged rock faces, where wind howled through fissures like the echoes of long-dead screams.
Hwang Geummo walked alone.
The summons from Baek Sooyoung burned in his mind like an unhealed meridian—urgent, laced with unspoken threat. But Taeho's words in the pavilion had stirred something deeper. The Sealed Heart Meridian. A curse from the war's black ink, they said. A flaw that chained his emotions behind an unbreakable wall. For years, Geummo had accepted it as fate, a quiet burden that shaped his blade and his domain into instruments of perfect balance. But whispers in the sect archives spoke of the temple: a place where the Union's ex-leaders had performed the final ritual to seal the Abyssal Wraiths' remnants. There, in the shadows of sacrifice, answers might lie.
He had chosen to detour here first. The Crimson Lotus Pavilion could wait an hour more. If Sooyoung's impatience was the spark, then this was the forge to temper his resolve.
The trail narrowed, forcing him to press against cold stone. Below, the Qingyun Region sprawled in deceptive peace: golden Hwang peaks at the center, their sturdy halls like unyielding sentinels; crimson Baek mountains to the south, veiled in haze from eternal forges; shadowed Seo valleys to the east, where mist concealed secrets sharper than daggers; and the serene white lotus fields of the Jin to the north, blooming eternally under healing qi. From this height, the Union seemed unbreakable—a scale perfectly balanced.
But Geummo knew better. Cracks hid beneath the surface, just as his own did.
The temple appeared suddenly around a bend: a squat, ancient structure half-buried in the cliffside, its roof curved like a dragon's spine, tiles cracked and moss-eaten. Massive stone doors stood ajar, guarded by twin statues of war-era patriarchs—eyes hollow, hands clasped in eternal ritual. Faded scripts covered the walls, telling the tale of the Unity Ritual: four families merging tattoos to seal the rifts. But deeper carvings whispered of sacrifice. The ex-leaders had not merely channeled qi; they had bound their very souls to the abyss, vanishing into the temple's heart to hold back the lingering ghosts of the Shadow Veil Cult.
No one entered here lightly. Disciples avoided it, elders spoke of it in hushed tones. Rumors claimed the air inside twisted qi, awakening dormant curses.
Geummo paused at the threshold. The wind died, leaving only silence. His hand rested on the hilt of his simple iron sword—standard issue, unadorned, balanced in weight and edge. He felt the faint hum of his meridians, the Equilazer Domain coiled within like a waiting spring.
With a breath as even as his gaze, he stepped inside.
The interior was a cavern of shadows. Dust motes danced in thin shafts of light piercing through cracks in the ceiling. The main chamber was circular, walls lined with stone tablets inscribed with the names of the sacrificed: Hwang Cheoljin, Baek Hyejin, Seo Minho, Jin Suyeon—heroes who had fused their guardian beasts into the seal. At the center stood an altar, black marble veined with gold, surrounded by a shallow pool of stagnant water that reflected nothing but void.
Geummo approached slowly, boots echoing softly on the flagstones. He knelt before the altar, tracing a finger over a faint script—reversed characters, much like those from the war tales. A chill crept up his arm, qi stirring unbidden. His chest itched faintly, where the sealed meridian pulsed.
"Show me," he murmured to the empty air. "The truth of the seal."
He pressed his palm to the altar, channeling a thread of neutral qi—colorless, probing, balanced. The stone warmed under his touch. Scripts glowed faintly, illuminating hidden engravings: depictions of the ex-leaders stepping into a rift below the temple, their bodies dissolving into ink as their souls anchored the barrier against the ghosts.
Ghosts. Not Wraiths, but the grudges of the fallen—echoes of the Abyssal horrors that refused to die.
Geummo's qi delved deeper. The altar trembled. A crack appeared in the marble, hair-thin at first, then widening with a low groan. The pool's water rippled, bubbles rising as though something breathed below.
He pulled back, but too late.
The floor gave way.
Stone shattered like brittle bone. Geummo plummeted into darkness, the altar's glow vanishing above. Air rushed past him, cold and wet, carrying the stench of decay and salt—oceanic, impossible this high in the mountains. He twisted mid-fall, sword drawn in an instant, qi flaring to cushion the impact.
He landed hard in knee-deep water, the splash echoing in a vast underground chamber. Pain lanced through his legs, but he rose without a sound, expression unchanged. Darkness enveloped him, broken only by faint bioluminescent fungi clinging to walls. The air was thick, humid, laced with the metallic rot of curse ink.
This was no natural cave. Walls curved unnaturally, etched with massive, reversed scripts that pulsed like veins. The water around his boots swirled with faint currents, bubbles rising in patterns that suggested breath.
And in the shadows ahead, eyes opened glowing, malevolent, watching.
Something ancient stirred in the abyss below the temple.
Something that should have died fifty years ago.
Water lapped at Geummo's knees, cold and viscous, as though the chamber itself breathed through it. The bioluminescent fungi cast a sickly blue glow across the cavern, revealing walls that curved inward like the ribs of some colossal, drowned beast. Reversed Murim scripts etched deep into the stone pulsed slowly—black veins throbbing with remnant curse ink from the war. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of brine and decay, an impossible oceanic rot high in the mountains where no sea had ever touched.
Geummo stood motionless, sword raised in guard, eyes scanning the shadows. His breath came even, face a mask of stone. But inside, behind the sealed meridian, his qi churned uneasily. This place was wrong. The altar above had been a lie a thin seal over a deeper prison.
From the darkness ahead, the eyes multiplied.
First two, then four, then a dozen glowing with malevolent oceanic blue, slit pupils contracting in the faint light. Low, rumbling growls echoed, vibrating through the water like distant thunder. Shapes coalesced from the gloom: twisted remnants of the sacrificed ex-leaders, their bodies warped by fifty years of binding to the abyssal ghosts.
They were no longer human.
The first to emerge was once Baek Hyejin, matriarch of flame. Now her skin was pale and translucent, veined with black ink that swirled like smoke under glass. Her lower body had fused into a serpentine tail of jagged fins and spines, ending in a fan of razor-edged membranes that trailed lightning-like curse energy. Her upper torso remained vaguely womanly, but elongated, arms ending in clawed webs. Spikes crowned her head like a corrupted crown, and her mouth split too wide, revealing rows of needle teeth. She moved through the water with malevolent grace, bubbles trailing from gills that fluttered along her neck.
Beside her rose Hwang Cheoljin Geummo's own ancestral elder. Once a pillar of balance, now a hulking abomination of plated stone and shadow. His body was armored in jagged, crystalline spikes that protruded from every joint, black fissures glowing with inner void. Massive clawed arms hung low, knuckles dragging through the water, while a thick, spiked tail coiled behind him like a siege weapon. His maw gaped open in a perpetual roar, tongue lolling red and forked, teeth like shattered obsidian. Red cracks split his chest where his heart should have been, as though something had clawed its way out long ago.
They were not dead. Not alive. Bound eternally to the seal, corrupted by the abyssal ghosts they had trapped. Their guardian beasts had fused with the curse, twisting them into these phulking demeorbeasts—demonic guardians warped beyond recognition.
The water churned as they advanced.
Geummo did not retreat. There was no path back—the fall had sealed the way. His grip tightened on the sword. Neutral qi flowed through his meridians, steady and unpanicked.
"Intruder," the Baek remnant hissed, voice bubbling like boiling tar. "Fresh... qi."
"دخيل... طاقة... طازجة."
The Hwang beast roared—a sound that shook stalactites loose from the ceiling, sending them crashing into the water like spears.
They lunged.
The oceanic one struck first, tail whipping through the water in a blur. Lightning-curse energy crackled along its fins, forming a malevolent wave that surged toward Geummo. He met it with the Equilazer Domain.
The transparent sphere unfolded around him, edges shimmering. The wave crashed against it—curse lightning diffused, equalized, redirected in harmless arcs that fizzled into the water. Part of the energy flowed back into Geummo's limbs, sharpening his stance.
He dashed forward, sword slashing in a precise arc at the creature's exposed flank.
Steel bit into translucent flesh. Black ink-blood sprayed, sizzling where it touched the water. The remnant shrieked, coiling away, but not before her clawed hand raked across his shoulder—tearing robe and skin, curse poison burning like acid.
Geummo did not flinch. Pain was locked behind the seal, a distant echo.
The spiked behemoth charged next, earth-shaking steps sending waves crashing. Its massive claw swung in a horizontal sweep meant to pulverize. Geummo ducked under, domain absorbing the raw force, redirecting it into his counter-thrust. Sword pierced a fissure in the armor—crackling red light burst out, the beast bellowing as ink oozed from the wound.
They circled him now, coordinated in their corruption. The oceanic one dove low, tail lashing to trip him while the phulking one hammered down with both fists.
Geummo leaped, domain flaring wider. The tail strike was caught, balanced—its lightning redirected upward in a harmless burst. The fists met the sphere and rebounded, the beast staggering from its own force.
For a moment, he held. Sword flashed in relentless patterns—balanced strikes that exploited openings, equalizing every assault into fuel for his own. Ink-blood painted the water black. The remnants howled, wounds regenerating slowly from abyssal qi.
But they were not alone.
From deeper shadows, a third stirred—smaller, sly. Once Seo Minho, master of illusions. Now a lithe, ink-veiled figure with elongated limbs and fingers like shadow blades. It had waited, observing.
As Geummo parried another lightning tail, the illusionist struck from behind—claws aimed at his spine.
He spun, domain catching the stealth attack. Energy equalized... but something twisted.
The illusionist's tattoos flared—reversed scripts mirroring Geummo's own. It reached into the domain's flow, siphoning the balance itself. A cold void yanked at Geummo's dantian.
The Equilazer flickered. Cracked.
"No..." For the first time, a whisper escaped his lips.
The domain shattered like glass, fragments dissolving into black ink that the illusionist absorbed greedily. Geummo's meridians burned the seal on his heart meridian strained, but held. His unique power... stolen. Gone.
The remnants closed in.
The Equilazer Domain was gone.
The sudden emptiness in Geummo's dantian felt like a blade twisted between his ribs. For the first time in his life, the perfect balance he had always carried was ripped away, leaving only raw, unbalanced qi churning in chaos. The sealed meridian around his heart groaned under the strain, but held—barely.
The three remnants closed the circle.
The oceanic horror—once Baek Hyejin—slithered through the water with lightning curling along her fins. The phulking stone beast—Hwang Cheoljin—thundered forward, spiked fists raised to crush. The illusionist, Seo Minho's twisted echo, flickered in and out of sight, shadow-blades lengthening from its fingers.
Geummo had no domain left to equalize their power. Only common techniques remained—basic qi circulation, the Hwang Family's foundational sword forms drilled into him since childhood. Against these war-era monstrosities, they were child's toys.
He moved anyway.
The oceanic one struck first. Her tail whipped in a wide arc, curse lightning crackling into a crescent wave taller than a man. Geummo dove low, water exploding upward where the strike landed. He rolled beneath the phulking beast's descending fist—stone claws pulverizing the cavern floor, sending shards flying like shrapnel. One shard sliced his cheek; blood ran warm down his jaw.
He came up inside the beast's guard, sword thrusting for the red-glowing fissure in its chest. The blade sank deep. Black ink-blood gushed, sizzling. The remnant roared, backhanding him with casual brutality.
The blow caught him across the ribs. Bones cracked. He flew sideways, crashing into the cavern wall hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. Pain flared white-hot, but his face remained blank—eyes wide, lips flat.
The illusionist appeared behind him as he slid down the wall, shadow-blades plunging for his spine.
Geummo twisted at the last instant, sword parrying in a desperate circle. Sparks flew where steel met shadow. He countered with a basic Hwang thrust—straight, clean, balanced. The blade pierced the illusionist's shoulder. It hissed, ink spraying, but did not slow. Its free hand raked across his left forearm, shadow claws carving four deep furrows from elbow to wrist.
Blood poured.
He staggered back into the water, sword still raised. The remnants circled again, patient now. They sensed weakness.
The phulking beast charged once more, unstoppable. Geummo met it head-on—there was nowhere left to retreat. He channeled every remaining thread of qi into a common defensive form: Golden Bell Barrier, a thin shell of hardened energy around his body.
The spiked fist smashed through it like rice paper.
The impact lifted him off his feet, hurling him across the chamber. He hit the water face-first, skipped once, twice, then sank. Darkness pressed in. Blood clouded the water around him.
But he rose.
Knees shaking, left arm hanging useless, ribs grinding with every breath. Sword gripped in his right hand alone. Face still stone.
The oceanic horror dove, jaws unhinging impossibly wide. Lightning gathered in her throat.
Geummo waited until she was committed—then stepped forward.
He drove his sword upward under her jaw, qi exploding in a crude burst along the blade. Steel punched through translucent flesh, erupting out the top of her skull. Lightning discharged harmlessly into the cavern ceiling. She thrashed, tail slamming him sideways, but the strike lacked force. Ink-blood poured. Slowly, agonizingly, the creature sank, body dissolving into black mist that seeped into the water.
One down.
The illusionist flickered, enraged. Shadow-blades lengthened into spears. It hurled them in a storm.
Geummo could not dodge them all. Three struck home—one in his thigh, one glancing off his collarbone, the third burying deep in his left shoulder. Curse poison spread like ice through his veins.
He roared inwardly no sound escaped his lips and charged the illusionist.
Basic footwork.
Basic thrust.
Basic slash.
The shadow creature parried, countered, danced around him. It was faster now, feeding on the stolen domain. But Geummo fought like a man who had nothing left to lose.
Steel rang against shadow. Sparks flew. Blood splashed.
The illusionist overextended on a lunge. Geummo trapped its blade arm, twisted, and brought his sword down in a diagonal cut. The shadow limb severed at the elbow, dissolving into smoke.
The creature shrieked and vanished into darkness.
Only the phulking behemoth remained.
It bellowed a sound that cracked stalactites from the ceiling and charged like an avalanche.
Geummo met it with the last of his strength.
He feinted high, drew the massive claw upward, then dove low. Sword slashed across the beast's tendon behind the ankle. Ink-blood sprayed. The remnant stumbled.
Geummo rolled beneath its flailing tail, came up on its blind side. With a wordless surge, he drove his blade into the red fissure in its chest twisting, pouring every remaining drop of qi into the wound.
The beast froze.
Red light flared, then dimmed. Cracks spread across its armored body like shattering obsidian. It toppled forward, crashing into the water with a thunderous splash. Stone plates crumbled. Ink dissolved.
Silence returned, broken only by Geummo's ragged breathing.
He knelt in the shallow water, sword planted for support. Blood poured from countless wounds. His left arm ended just below the elbow the illusionist's final shadow-blade had taken the hand clean, cauterized by curse ink. The stump smoked faintly.
Pain crashed over him in waves, but his face remained expressionless. Tears welled locked behind the seal, they could not fall.
Slowly, he rose.
A faint path revealed itself in the cavern wall a narrow fissure glowing with residual seal light. The way out. He staggered toward it, leaving a trail of blood in the water.
Hours later perhaps days he emerged from a hidden crevice high on Golden Peak's northern slope. Night had fallen. Stars burned cold overhead. His robes hung in tatters, body a map of wounds hastily bound with strips of cloth. The stump of his left arm throbbed ceaselessly.
He had to warn them.
The remnants lived. The seal was failing. The ghosts stirred.
He descended toward the sect's inner gates, each step agony. Guards spotted him, cried out in alarm. Disciples rushed forward, faces pale at the sight of the bloodied, one-handed figure.
"Elders," he rasped, voice flat despite everything. "The temple… the sacrificed… still alive. The seal—"
A senior disciple bowed hurriedly. "Young Master Hwang, the Patriarch is in closed seclusion. But… Miss Baek Sooyoung has summoned you again. Urgently. She waits at the Crimson Lotus Pavilion."
Geummo's remaining hand tightened on his broken sword.
The night wind carried the faint scent of flame and betrayal.
He turned toward the crimson lights in the distance.
The abyss had taken his domain, his hand, nearly his life.
Now something else waited to take the rest.