Chapter 97: Heavenly Demon Tomb

Ji Seungju’s eyelid twitched violently.

His expression didn’t change, but it wasn’t because he lacked emotions. Far from it.

“If you’re asking why, then here’s your answer: if you actually liked the illusion the formation showed you, you’d stay inside it—slowly starving to death in a lie. And you’re saying… that wouldn’t bother you?”

“What? Who said I wanna die?”

“You just said—”

“Aren’t you the formation expert? Why should I do it? Let our little genius handle it. You’ve got all the know-how and motivation. Go nuts.”

Ji Seungju’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

The sheer audacity.

“Even shamelessness should have a limit! You’re just gonna sit back and reap the rewards without lifting a finger?”

“Yup. Not like I’m in a rush.”

“T-That’s—!”

“And even if I wanted to help, I’ve got a perfectly good reason why I can’t.”

“Oh really? And what reason is that?”

“I don’t take orders from people weaker than me.”

Ji Seungju’s face twisted like he’d just swallowed battery acid.

“F—fuck! What kind of lunatic are you!?”

“The kind who’s standing right here. Might even stay for good, who knows. Though… the floor’s a little cold to lie down on.”

Qing grinned, twisting the knife.

Ji Seungju’s face turned bright red.

That’s when Qing’s smile dropped.

“Look, I might be uneducated, but I’m not clueless. What exactly are you planning to do with some dumbass who doesn’t know shit about formations?”

“Well…”

“You want me to carry stuff? Use some muscle? That’s it, right? But let’s be honest—if we’re not moving as a unit, you’re better off without me. And if we are moving together, then I’m basically just dead weight.”

Ji Seungju clamped his mouth shut.

Of course. Only people with nothing to say did that.

Qing, meanwhile, was forged in the fires of physical labor.

Which meant she’d seen countless newbies come and go.

And everyone knew—clueless rookies were a liability. Drag them around, and they slowed you down. Leave them alone, and they’d fuck everything up trying to help.

Qing didn’t know jack shit about formations.
So why bring her?

Because he didn’t trust her.

Because he was scared she’d start cracking skulls while no one was watching.

Qing might be ignorant—but she wasn’t stupid.

She knew damn well how to read the room. She was strategically petty—the kind of person who changed her face depending on who she was dealing with.
She didn’t try to act clever.
But she wasn’t about to be played, either.

Sure, sometimes she acted dumb because she followed her feelings.
And yeah, that made her look stupid on the outside.

But she survived, didn’t she?

She was a full-fledged martial artist. A woman with a sword.
Still standing.

Even if she was dumb enough to ignore everything that didn’t directly concern her…

You couldn’t say she was wrong.

“Hey, how about you go dismantle the formation for me? I’ll just hang out here and rest. My legs feel kinda tingly.”

Qing said it with a sleazy little grin.

Ji Seungju breathed hard through his nose, then finally let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“…Fine. But in return, please don’t touch any of the cult members.”

“Hmm. I dunno. Should I?”

“There’s no need for unnecessary grudges. If you plan to walk out of here in one piece, that is.”

I mean… I could just kill them all before that becomes a problem, no?

That was the thought dancing through Qing’s head when—

“Everyone experiences formations at different intensities. If someone wakes up from the illusion halfway through, there are several among them—even those at the Peak level—who might not be able to handle it mentally.”

“Oh shit. That… actually makes sense.”

Yeah. Just look at the kid here. He was managing fine.

But there’s no guarantee the others would be like him, right?

And with demonic cultivators, if you bash their skulls in, you have to finish the job.
If you don’t, and they survive, it turns into a massive pain in the ass.

If she left them alone, even if she didn’t get the Heavenly Demon Soul, she could at least walk away safely.

So there really wasn’t any point in going full murder mode right now.

Qing scratched her head.

Then, out of habit, she untied her messy hair and re-twisted it up again.

“Alright. I’ll be good. Just do some sightseeing or whatever. So, how long is this gonna take? Don’t pros like you get a feel for it pretty quick?”

“Well… If luck’s on our side, it could be within a few cycles of deep breathing. If not, we may all starve to death in here.”

“If you don’t wanna answer, just say so. God, you brainy types and your cryptic bullshit.”

Qing grumbled and turned around.

“Where are you going?”

“Sightseeing. Why?”

Actually, I’m going to find the Heavenly Demon Soul.

This clearly wasn’t going to wrap up fast. Might as well get a head start.

“If you get caught in the formation again, it could be dangerous.”

“Oh? Are you worried about me?”

“Hardly. I’m just saying I warned you, so do as you like.”

With that, Ji Seungju spun on his heel and walked off without another word.

Yep. Definitely sulking.

Qing shook her head and looked around the grand hall.

There were seven doors left—not counting the one she entered through and the one Ji Seungju exited.

Guess I’ll try the left-hand rule.

After all, in any maze, if you keep your left hand on the wall and keep walking, eventually you’ll get out.
Or so the theory went.

Qing headed toward the door furthest to the left.

Had it been half a day?

That’s what it felt like.

All Qing had managed to uncover was a tiny bit of insight into other people’s illusions.

In the end, all these visions fell into two types.

The ones driven by ambition saw themselves achieving greatness—imagined futures where they got everything they ever wanted.

And the others… clung to the past.
To the people and things they’d lost.

Even Qing—who only got a bowl of kimchi stew—had clearly fallen into the second group.

Which is probably why wandering around peeking into other people’s illusions… wasn’t that entertaining.

Sure, you could say they were looking at hopes for the future, and that sounded inspiring and all,
But in reality, it was just childish fantasy wearing fancy clothes.

And the people stuck in the past?

Qing couldn’t care less about the personal sob stories of strangers she’d never met.

To make matters worse, she hadn’t found anything.

And really—how was she supposed to?
She didn’t even know what the Heavenly Demon Soul looked like.

What if it was just some random-ass rock?

She could walk around for fifty years and still miss it.

Goddammit. Can nothing go right today?

Qing grumbled her way across a wide, grassy plain, where horses grazed in huge herds and a waterfall thundered nearby.

Suddenly, the sound changed. A pounding rain kicked in, heavy enough to muffle her ears.

She blinked—and found herself standing in the middle of a dark, storm-soaked downpour.

She wasn’t fooled, of course. She’d already broken out of the illusion once.
This was just another fake. She could walk right through it.

But still—just the sound and sight of the rain felt overwhelming. Almost real.

In the middle of that deluge, someone sat on the ground.

Holding someone else in their arms.

As Qing stepped closer, she recognized him.

Choi Leeong.

He was cradling his daughter’s corpse, just sitting there, staring at her face.

Letting the rain beat down on him without moving.

Qing stood there silently and watched.

The world felt frozen. Like a photograph caught in time.
Only the slow blink of the old man’s eyes gave it motion—just enough to keep the sorrow from going still.

Qing had spent plenty of time eating, crying, laughing, and wandering around.

Easily half a day.

And it wasn’t hard to imagine that Choi Leeong had been sitting here this whole time, unmoving, clutching his daughter’s cold body.

Qing frowned.

You come into a dream, and this is what you pick? Couldn’t you go with something a little more uplifting? Maybe heal your spirit a little?

Goddammit. This old man is so fucking tragic.

“Hey. Old man.”

Choi Leeong slowly looked up at her.

Qing stared him down.

“Would it kill you to dream about something a little brighter? Something happy, for once? You finally get to see your daughter—maybe try recalling a good memory instead of wallowing in misery?”

The world shifted.

Suddenly, they were in a vast flower field, bursting with color.

A little girl ran laughing through the blossoms, chasing butterflies.

She kept glancing over her shoulder, over and over, just to check—

To make sure her father was still there.
To make sure he hadn’t left.

“There. That’s way better. Pick a good memory, die with a smile, and maybe someone’ll say you had a decent end. No point in moping around looking pathetic when you’re already halfway to the grave.”

Choi Leeong stared at the flower field like he was hypnotized.

Then, suddenly, he whispered:

“No.”

And just like that, the illusion snapped back.

The rain returned.
The corpse stayed cold.
The old man sat there, taking the storm head-on.

Qing groaned in frustration.

“What the hell now? What’s the problem?”

“She took her own life,” he said.

“Yeah. I know. You told me last time, remember?”

“Most people cling to life, no matter how painful it gets. They fight for every breath, even in misery. So if someone throws their life away… it means breathing itself became unbearable.”

“…So what? You decided to be miserable too?”

Choi Leeong gave a dry chuckle.

“Her dream was to leave the cult. Head out into the Central Plains. Don’t know who put the idea in her head, but she believed—truly—that happiness was out there.”

“And?”

“Back then, I was the Grand Protector of the cult. You think someone like that gets to go wandering around outside? All I knew of the Central Plains was that it was a cannibalistic hellscape where parents and children tore each other apart.”

What kind of father would let his daughter walk into that?

And it wasn’t just any daughter.
Choi Bangchae was the daughter of the most notorious high elder in the entire cult—the daughter of the man the whole martial world hated.

“She was a good kid. So gentle, she’d take the hit just to spare someone else. Couldn’t even raise her voice.”

But she changed.

Qing had watched her grow up. Watched her harden.
That girl who once teared up seeing others hurt had started speaking coldly to everyone—eyes full of venom.

But her nature hadn’t vanished.
That cruelty she used on others? It was always aimed inward, too.

And in the end… she took her own life.

“Only after she died did I give up my rank. Took a post in the Outer Hall. I wanted to see the Central Plains for myself. Wanted to spit on her grave. Tell her she was an ungrateful brat who didn’t know how good she had it—how lucky she was to be born my daughter.”

And then…

He left the cult.

And he saw it.

The child had been right.

He should’ve let her go.

At the very least, this place—this cursed, self-devouring hellhole of a cult—was never somewhere she belonged.

If it hadn’t been the Divine City, maybe she could’ve been happy.
Maybe anywhere else would’ve been better.

Choi Leeong looked down at his daughter’s face again.

And Qing finally, finally understood what she was looking at.

This man had already died—a long time ago.

His body was still breathing for one reason: to suffer.

He believed he’d killed his own daughter.
And this… was the sentence he’d passed on himself.

That’s why his wish took this form.

A loop of his worst memory, preserved and replayed, over and over.

A memory so sharp, so agonizing, it tore his chest open every time—because that’s what he wanted.

Because that pain meant he was still paying for it.

And Qing had to ask—

Is this even what you’d call “being alive”?

She clawed both hands through her hair, violently.

Then tied it back up again, even though it was pointless.

She always did that when something got under her skin.

“God. I fucking hate melodrama.”

But was it really his fault?

Was it really a mistake so huge he deserved to live like this?

She didn’t know. Not really. But she could guess what it felt like.

She’d seen what kind of sins the Purple Lightning Demonic Warlord had racked up.

She’d seen what they did to his daughter.

Maybe the old man deserved it.
Maybe he didn’t.

But Qing was sick of looking at this pathetic scene.

She couldn’t fix his trauma.
She didn’t have the degrees. Didn’t have the bedside manner.

But you know what?

She was great at physical therapy.

Qing raised the Bokshinjeok high over her head.