Chapter 91: Oblivion (4)

The Oblivion Ridge (忘我嶺).

Even within the Tianshan Mountain Range, home to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, it was notorious as the most dangerous and forbidden area.

However, contrary to its reputation, the official designation given by the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult for this place was the Peach Blossom Ridge (桃花嶺)—a paradise-like place overflowing with flowers and fruit trees, just as the name suggested.

And befitting its beauty, this place was meant to be a sanctuary, a kind of retirement haven for the elders who had dedicated many years of service to the cult.

So why was such a retreat saddled with the grim name of "Oblivion Ridge"?

The reason was quite simple.

The elders of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult were, by definition, old fogeys who had practiced Demonic Arts to high levels.

But those who had mastered their Demonic Arts to Transcendence generally occupy important positions, such as the Divine Guardians of the Cult, Law Enforcement Elders, Heads of the Five Great Families, or the Left and Right Guardians of the Cult.

It was a situation borne out of necessity to be able to manage the young, capable, yet mentally afflicted martial artists of the Demonic Cult.

This meant the elders sent to this ridge were not the ones who had achieved Transcendence. They were the unfortunate souls who had failed to reach that state with their high-level Demonic Arts. Instead, they were consumed by mental afflictions, eventually forgetting even themselves in their twilight years.

That's why it was called the Oblivion Ridge.

Because it was a prison holding old monsters who no longer knew who they were.

This might seem cruel for those who’d sacrificed themselves for the cult and gone insane, but it was unavoidable.

These elders, senile from their mental illnesses, were all formidable masters who had reached at least the Extremity of their Demonic Arts, if not higher.

If such masters were allowed to run wild after losing their minds, the very foundations of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult would be uprooted.

Yet killing those who had dedicated themselves to the cult would be too cruel, and crippling their martial arts was also too risky; who knew what horrors would unfold if they destroyed the dantian of men already driven mad by their martial arts?

So, as a last resort, they decided to send these senile old masters to Peach Blossom Ridge and contain them there using a powerful formation.

And at this very moment...

"You insolent cur! As the Vice Commander of the Black Dragon Corps, I won’t give you mercy! Huh? Vice Commander of the Black Dragon Corps? You bastard! How dare you impersonate the Vice Commander of the Black Dragon Corps! As the Deputy Chief of the Law Enforcement Hall, I cannot let this stand!"

One of these old monsters glared at Il-mok, radiating terrifying killing intent and demonic energy.

Il-mok's heart sank.

He had some experience dealing with senile old men.

In his previous life, his job as a social welfare official meant he occasionally had to deal with such people, directly or indirectly.

But that very experience made him feel even more hopeless now.

Dealing with dementia patients required an almost superhuman level of patience.

Especially when...

"Die!!"

…the senile patient was a martial artist far stronger than he was.

As the old man swung the cane that had been supporting his body, a massive ink-colored Sword Qi curved like a crescent moon and flew toward Il-mok.

Il-mok immediately bent his back almost to the breaking point. The colossal black energy wave skimmed just over the bridge of his nose.

WHOOSH!

WHOOSH!

A series of thunderous booms echoed as trees behind Il-mok were cleanly sliced through.

Having narrowly saved his life, Il-mok quickly straightened his back to avoid the next attack, but the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks.

The old monster who had just demonstrated an absurdly powerful technique with a mere wooden cane was now groaning and sprawled on the ground.

"Ouch!"

It was the price for swinging the cane that was supporting his body.

His memory was so scrambled that, despite demonstrating amazing swordsmanship, he’d forgotten how to maintain his stance or footwork.

“Hehehe. To think you could knock me down! Excellent skill, young man!”

The old monster was even under the delusion that he had fallen due to Il-mok's attack.

But Il-mok found this sight more frightening than amusing.

'This means there's a whole bunch of crazy geezers here?'

He’d gotten lucky this time with the old man falling, but there was no guarantee the same would happen next time.

Besides, getting tangled up with this one could create enough noise to attract a whole horde of other crazy old men.

Feeling like he was about to lose his mind, Il-mok furiously racked his brain.

How could he escape this retreat for crazy old people? No, how could he stop this senile old man's attacks?

He considered attacking while the old man was down, but that might provoke him into remembering his martial arts.

Even worse, battling this nutjob could lead to enlightenment.

‘Wait a second.’

Il-mok realized something.

Why was he avoiding enlightenment so desperately?

Because he didn't want to go crazy.

But this place was the gathering spot for the craziest people within the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, which was already a cult of mentally unstable people.

Above all...

—You've been running for more than half an hour. Don't you feel sticky?

—Dirt and sweat are caked all over you. It’s disgusting!

Even now, another self inside Il-mok's mind kept screaming.

His mind was spinning.

'In a world of two-eyed people, a one-eyed person is a mutant, but in a world of one-eyed people, a two-eyed person is the mutant. If that's the case!'

Il-mok had a new enlightenment, a different kind of secret technique.

Following the first secret technique of Il-mok Style, "The Youngest Young Master Hides His Talent," came the second technique.

Namely, Gone Batshit Insane.

"Aaaargh! It's disgusting!! It itches!!”

Il-mok suddenly screamed, then stripped off his martial clothes at incredible speed.

Splash.

He jumped headfirst into the nearby stream.

"Heeheeheee! Hehehehe!"

Then, he burst into bizarre laughter while scrubbing himself furiously in the water.

It wasn't fake laughter.

Until now, he had been suppressing his other self to avoid becoming a madman, but now that he moved to the other self’s desire, a strange pleasure that was hard to describe was rushing in.

And the old man, who had barely managed to get up using his cane, stared blankly at the frenzied Il-mok.

"Heehick! Gotta scrub harder! Skin, get clean! Oohahaha!”

Watching Il-mok scrubbing his skin with smooth, round stones from the stream bed, the old man clicked his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk. Such a young lad, already consumed by madness. What a pity."

The old man shook his head before tilting it in confusion.

"Hmm? Why am I here?"

Falling into confusion, the old man began muttering incomprehensible words to himself before turning around and disappearing beyond the bushes.

Even after the old man left, Il-mok couldn't stop immediately.

"I need a loofah. A loofah!!"

Muttering strange words to himself, he furiously messed up his hair, then hastily tidied it when his other self reacted to the disheveled state.

After thrashing about for a while, Il-mok finally managed to stop and exhaled a rough breath.

"Whew. I feel like I'm going insane."

Trying to regain control after letting go felt twice as difficult as it usually did.

After subduing the demonic energy that threatened to drive him mad, Il-mok used his lightness skill to leap out of the stream at once. Then he approached the martial clothes he had roughly stripped off earlier.

'Fuck. I have to put this back on?'

It was somewhat bearable when he was just wearing it, but the thought of bathing and putting on the sweat-and-dirt-stained clothes again made him want to curse.

After agonizing for a while, Il-mok held his scabbard in one hand and pinched the dirty clothes with the fingertips of his other hand, and walked away without putting them on.

'Let's move somewhere else first. The stream is dangerous.'

The crazy old men were likely to come here often to drink. Then again, were those senile old men even able to remember the stream’s location?

'Damn it. I need to find a way out of here somehow.'

As he walked, Il-mok recalled the information Jin Hayeon had told him about the Oblivion Ridge.

A massive formation blocked the Oblivion Ridge. To be more precise, it was designed to prevent people from leaving.

It utilized the Illusionary Dream Formation, causing people who tried to leave to walk in circles until they returned to their original position.

But that didn't mean there was no exit at all.

A life gate (生門) opened at specific intervals, and during those times, a few warriors entered the Oblivion Ridge.

While this was essentially a place of exile, they still needed to check on the elders' conditions.

Those skilled in stealth would sneak in to check on their well-being, leave some food they'd brought, and leave through the life gate.

And some warriors would wait near the life gate to watch for any elders trying to escape.

Which meant that, if he knew the location and timing of the life gate, he could escape easily.

'But I have no idea.'

Il-mok forcibly suppressed a sigh that threatened to escape and tried to think positively.

'Okay, but if I just hold on, maybe the guys who come to Oblivion Peak will find me?'

Just as he was thinking that he might escape if he could hold out long enough...

"Who are you?"

From beyond the bushes, the cold voice of an old man who had approached without any presence reached Il-mok's ears.

'...Holding out my ass.'

Faced with this sudden crisis, Il-mok forced his eyes to stay open despite the urge to squeeze them shut. This was a place where closing his eyes for a moment might cost him his head.

Il-mok slowly turned to look in the direction of the voice and saw a strange old man.

Unlike what one would expect from an elder suffering from dementia, the old man had a neatly groomed beard and hair and wore an impeccably clean martial outfit.

At least, he wore a spotless top.

Why his pants were missing was anyone’s guess. At least he was wearing underwear.

"Wandering around the Divine Cult’s territory in such a disgraceful state… You’ve got a death wish.”

The old man, ignoring his own barely clothed state, drew his sword and charged at Il-mok.

"!?"

Il-mok desperately looked around but was immediately filled with despair.

‘If I knew this would happen, I’d have stayed in the stream!’

The situation was not conducive to activating his newly realized secret technique of going crazy.

With a feeling of resignation, Il-mok threw the dirty martial clothes he had been holding at the charging old man.

Slash!

As the old man's sword cleanly cut the clothes in two, Il-mok quickly drew his own sword to block the old man's attack.

Clang!

Unlike what one would expect from someone with dementia, the old man's sword drew a simple yet efficient path.

And Il-mok was barely able to block the old man's consecutive attacks.

Not because the old man's skill level was low, but because the sword path was too familiar to Il-mok.

Incredibly, the sword technique the old man was using was the same as Il-mok's—the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword.

"You scoundrel! How dare you steal my martial arts!"

The old man seemed to have realized this fact as well and swung his sword in rage.

His anger was so intense that a brilliant Sword Qi had already formed on his blade.

"You fucking lunatic!?"

Horrified, Il-mok dove for the ground, forgetting he was naked, and rolled desperately to avoid the old man's sword.

'I'll die at this rate!!'

He was holding on because of luck and because the old man's sword path was familiar, but the situation could turn fatal at any moment.

As he rolled, Il-mok saw the old man's sword hurtling toward him and an idea struck him like lightning.

'Fighting him is suicide! So…!'

It wasn’t enlightenment about the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword.

"Master! Have you already forgotten your disciple?!"

Il-mok yelled, then finished his roll by slamming his forehead to the ground in a deep bow before the old man.