OGHOU C43

Chapter 43

Cheongyeon was confined in the same room for several days. At first, he trembled in fear, but as this too became his routine, he grew somewhat accustomed. The greatest agony was being trapped in a boring room, unable to do anything all day.

With every window sealed, sunlight barely slipped through the door’s edges, making it hard to keep track of time. He pleaded with the guards outside if he could just step out briefly for fresh air, but no gap was given.

He passed time by inspecting the luxurious objects strewn around, even opening drawers hoping to find concealed treasures for a moment. He read a few boring books brought by Jihong, then discarded them. Boredom gnawed at him; he nearly lost his mind.

Muho hadn’t returned since his brief visit on the first day. He was supposedly busy—presumably with some excuse, but not even a glimpse of concern was shown.

Or maybe he forgot me.

Annoyed, Cheongyeon kicked the curtain with his foot.

If that’s the case, why bring me here at all? He might just have sent me home.

His mind swirled with worries about what was happening to the inn and what might have become of Jeha and the Master. But with no power to act, anger welled within.

Amid this, the door opened again. Once more, a meal was delivered, making Cheongyeon press his palm to his forehead like a caged animal. Yet now without a master.

“Breakfast…”

“I’m not eating.”

“Still…”

“I said I’m not eating.”

Thinking of starting a hunger strike, Cheongyeon glanced sideways at the newcomer. An unfamiliar face. He refused the food, so Jihong was the one who forced it on him. Whenever anyone else had come, he simply declined.

Ignoring the new visitor, Cheongyeon turned toward the wall.

Before long, Jihong came hurrying in.

“The master has given permission!”

“Permission for what?”

“To take a brief outing!”

Cheongyeon hesitated to laugh or not.

He was glad to leave this miserable room, but did he really need permission even to walk out himself?

Enough. This time I’ll seize the opportunity to run.

He roughly tidied his tangled hair and tied it back, steeling himself.

Though he had resolved to escape…

Cheongyeon glanced at Jihong’s profile and the two warriors who followed behind.

Do I really need this many escorts just to step outside? People might think I’m the Heavenly Demon himself!

Surveillance continued outside. If Muho suspected he’d try to flee, he had sent several to follow—like an indirect celebrity experience, and Cheongyeon wanted to sarcastically thank him.

Yet Jihong seemed oblivious to his growing displeasure. Cheerfully, he promised to show him around carefully, his bright face reminiscent of a tour guide. Cheongyeon followed along, amused by the thought that this man might be suited for guiding tours in the modern world.

Xinjiang had long been notorious for its harsh lands. Vast deserts made farming difficult. But here, the HQ of the Heavenly Demon Cult, conditions were somewhat different.

Among the many peaks of the Tianshan range, Seungri Peak stood tallest, with endless grand halls stretching across the hillsides. It was hard to believe this was high mountain terrain. The central main hall was enormous.

“The master is currently in the main hall with the deputy master. The deputy master served as chief elder under the previous leader, playing a large role in organizing the cult’s structure during the new master’s appointment.”

Looking up at the columns gilded in gold leaf, Cheongyeon reflected on the original story’s mention of the cult. After defeat in the righteous-demonic war decades ago, the cult had been exiled to Xinjiang to regroup and grow in power—including wealth. It was at about this time that Muho’s rise brought the cult’s might to its peak.

If not for the dry air and occasional dust storms, Cheongyeon might have lost sight of where he truly was.

Jihong stopped at a vast open space paved with solid blue stone. In the distance, a group of people moved in perfect formation.

A training ground.

No sooner had the thought formed than Jihong spoke.

“This is a secondary training ground. The main training ground is elsewhere. This place was off-limits for a long time but was opened to all after the master’s appointment.”

“Why was it forbidden?”

“It was reserved for the former and current master’s private use.”

The story unexplained in detail before piqued Cheongyeon’s ears.

“They say the master left the cult for a time in his youth for some reason. Upon return, the former leader named him the official successor and began training him in earnest in the Heavenly Demon techniques.”

Cheongyeon swallowed dryly. Training alone with the cult leader? Even imagining it made his head spin. It must have been hell—not just passing on skills but forced indoctrination.

Muho had even killed the previous leader’s son. No matter the lack of familial love, appointing one who’d slaughtered the heir was a brutal testament to survival of the strongest.

“From then, the master mastered every sword, saber, and spear technique—though he had a particular fondness for the saber.”

No wonder. He had found a fateful saber of his own, one he cherished deeply.

“Do you see the grooves atop that rock wall?”

“Yes. It’s impossible not to notice such deep carvings.”

“Those are the marks left when the master first wielded the saber.”

Impressive talent, indeed. Yet it felt like listening to a hagiography hearing so much praise for Muho.

“Before, most cult fighters favored sword over saber, neglecting the latter. But anyone who witnessed the master’s saber skills came to admire—and fear—it, hoping once in their life to train in such a technique.”

Jihong shyly pointed to the saber hanging at his waist, blushing slightly. Probably no reason for that.

“The master was feared as the ‘Saber Ghost’ even before his appointment, yet was also a charismatic leader, rallying followers. Any man would envy such a powerful physique.”

“Just one question.”

Cheongyeon ignored Jihong’s praise like a dog and asked bluntly.

“You said the predecessor named the current master successor, but I never heard of a successor in the cult. As an innkeeper, I hear all sorts of rumors from guests.”

Jihong nodded.

“I don’t know the full story but guess the predecessor intentionally kept it secret. They say the master is forbidden from stepping beyond Seungri Peak, to prevent cult secrets leaking to righteous sects.”

“Hm… and though the master was successor, why…?”

Why did he rebel and kill the predecessor?

Cheongyeon stopped, feeling these were too sensitive questions to ask. He suspected revenge for forced imprisonment and training, but sensed there was more to it.

After finishing the training ground tour, Jihong led Cheongyeon deeper into the mountain. In the shadows was an entrance like a rocky cave. Had the heavy iron door not been closed, one might have thought it a simple cave.

Jihong fiddled with the lock mechanism, easily opening the door. Smiling brightly, he said,

“This place is no longer used, but I wanted you to see it.”

Curious, Cheongyeon stepped inside, followed by the guards. The iron door slammed shut behind them, and darkness swallowed them.

“I can’t see a thing.”

Suddenly enveloped in darkness, Cheongyeon reached out and felt the wall.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

Jihong rustled his clothing and soon produced a small glowing jade orb, handing it to Cheongyeon.

“I had it ready but forgot—my night vision is excellent.”

He began down the stairs, and Cheongyeon rolled the orb in his palm, fascinated.

“The walls are forged from special iron that cannot be broken, and a sensory barrier blocks any aura beyond the walls. Unless one is as sensitive as the master, all must rely on sight and hearing alone.”

Distracted by the orb, Cheongyeon only half heard his guide’s explanation.

“It used to have an array of traps, but the master removed them all. No one comes or goes here anymore anyway.”

“Were traps concealed inside?”

“Haha, no. Actually, this is where the master spent most of his childhood. That’s why I wanted you to see it.”

“The master spent his childhood here…?”

Cheongyeon muttered those words without thought—then he shivered cold. If it was where Muho grew up…

A prison.

Just then, a sharp clanging reached his ears from the side wall. Turning, he found a door missed before—a thick iron gate similar to the one at the entrance, with a small window near its top. The shutter covering the window was raised.

“L-lord…?”

From inside the window came a trembling voice; Cheongyeon raised the orb to shine light there.

“Is that really you, lord? The innkeeper from Sichuan?”

The figure beyond reacted like seeing a noble patron, wildly excited. They reached through the small window, shaking the door ferociously to make noise.

“Save me! Please, save me! Get me out of here!”

A chill ran down Cheongyeon’s spine. He stepped closer, fingers trembling as he held out the orb to the window.

When he glimpsed the face beyond, he froze in place.