WeTried Translations

Translator: Joy

Editor: Joy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Damned Transmigration

Chapter 62

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Unforgettable

Yuri observed the battlefield through the dust and lingering magic.

The Withered Crone swayed, her ruined body barely upright. Spectral hands and fractured spells clawed at the air around her.

Biyeon surged forward, and Yuri tracked her movements.

She wanted the kill, unwilling to surrender the bounty to Sword Dragon or him. It was a reckless play. A high-circle mage cornered like a rat was a bomb waiting to detonate.

As she closed the distance, pitch-black Ganggi condensed on her hand, carving through the dissipating spells.

Whoosh.

The trap snapped shut.

The scattered spectral hands reversed their trajectory, surging back to engulf Biyeon. The air between the Young Leader and the Crone buckled under the weight of an immense binding spell.

The Crone was trading her life for an aggro pull on the highest value target.

Her eyes bled pitch black, and Rampaging Soul Power bloated her emaciated frame, sucking in ambient mana like a vacuum.

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

'A suicide wipe.' Yuri clicked his tongue.

Biyeon thrashed against the bindings, her Demonic Cult arts flaring, but the snare held fast.

Yuri flicked his wrist.

Swish.

Black Fang, saturated with Ganggi, lanced through the air and bit deep into the Crone’s throat. Blood geysered, her swollen form hitched.

The dagger had bypassed her shield entirely, as she had dumped all her defensive mana into trapping Biyeon.

A 6th-Circle mage possessed absurd physical resilience, leaving her head stubbornly attached by a ribbon of flesh, but the disrupted casting was enough.

Boom.

The corpse ruptured.

Had she completed the spell, the ensuing blast would have wiped the entire floor. Thanks to the interrupted cast, the radius shrank, the cavern walls shuddering,

Rumble.

Biyeon took the blast point-blank.

Her pitch-black shield buckled, crimson spraying across the inside of her mask.

Crackle.

Violet lightning divided the explosion neatly in two as Yuri stepped through the sundered flames.

Saving a high-profile target like the Young Leader of the Demonic Cult yielded no direct EXP, but leaving her to die would trigger a catastrophic encounter.

Right then, demonic energy bled from a jagged hole in the collapsed ceiling.

The observer had masked their presence flawlessly until the Crone’s death throes. The oppressive weight of their aura dwarfed the dead mage.

He caught Biyeon’s limp frame before she struck the stone. Pivoting, he drove a heel into the ground, sweeping his leg outward to scatter the last dregs of volatile mana.

Bang.

The fires died completely.

A ragged gasp tore from Biyeon's throat.

Crack.

The mask concealing her features, compromised by the blast, splintered down the middle.

She clawed weakly at her face, but her battered muscles lagged. The porcelain shards cascaded to the flagstones.

Yuri stared down.

Angry burn scars devoured the left side of her face. Biyeon bared her teeth, her good eye blazing with defiance.

Yuri kept his face entirely blank. Even without his active Disguise Art freezing his features, mocking the Demonic Cult’s heir was a fast track to the graveyard.

He casually broke eye contact, retrieved a spare Heretic mask from his robes and pressed it into her trembling hands.

She stared at the blank visage, then back up at him.

"Thank you."

Her voice barely registered above a whisper. She shoved the mask over her scars.

"I believe the rescue covers a bit more than loaning out a disguise."

She stiffened as he deposited her firmly on her feet. She swayed only slightly, finding her footing without offering a bow.

"You intervened. I acknowledge the debt."

Sword Dragon and Haryeong closed ranks around Yuri.

Sword Dragon’s hand hovered over his weapon, eyes locked on Biyeon, yet he remained perfectly still. The oppressive aura bleeding from the ceiling kept him tethered.

"We harbour no desire to antagonise the Orsia Family."

The voice drifted down like a falling leaf.

A man dropped through the fractured ceiling, landing without a whisper of displaced air. He offered a martial salute, a terrifyingly serene smile plastered across his face.

"A chance encounter, nothing more."

Sword Dragon ground his teeth.

Panteleon was neutral ground, not an Orsia stronghold. While the Demonic Cult were monsters, at least they were regulated, unlike the feral heretics.

Provoking an open war here, against an entity the Sword Emperor himself treated with extreme prejudice, wasn’t an option.

"Your business here?" Sword Dragon demanded.

"Executing the Rudella Mage Tower defector, Withered Crone, as you just witnessed."

"You expect me to believe this isn't a calculated strike to destabilise this district? To threaten Orsia?"

The man chuckled.

"Had I wished to threaten Orsia, I would have come alone. The district would already be ash."

A vein pulsed at Sword Dragon’s temple.

"Relax your grip, young dragon. We tracked a rat, we exterminated it. No grand conspiracies."

Sword Dragon shifted his glare to Biyeon.

"Identify yourself. I am Estor Orsia."

"Biyeon."

She offered the name flatly, then shifted her gaze past him, locking her one visible eye onto Yuri.

“And you? Your name."

Sword Dragon mirrored her attention, his scrutiny heavy.

"Indeed. We are long overdue for proper introductions."

The Cult master arched an eyebrow, his serene smile faltering into mild curiosity.

He studied Sword Dragon’s golden aura with brief, professional approval, then swept a critical eye over Biyeon. The faint disappointment in his posture was palpable.

Then, those dark, bottomless eyes settled on Yuri.

The man’s smile returned, sharp and evaluating. He was peeling back Yuri’s layers, dissecting the flawless integration of his Lightning Qi and martial arts.

The sudden, intense focus confirmed what Yuri already suspected. The Cult master recognised him as the highest-level threat in the room.

"I share their curiosity," the Cult master said.

"The world paints us as bloodless fiends, but we remember our debts. You pulled our Young Leader from the fire."

He offered another precise martial salute.

“Supply your name, and the Divine Cult will ensure this favour is repaid."

Yuri calculated his exits. None were viable.

He opened his mouth to deploy a burner alias, but the master spoke first.

"Your true identity, if you please. The false face and fabricated moniker will not suffice."

Yuri’s jaw snapped shut. The man’s smile remained pristine.

"A disguise?"

Biyeon stepped back and Sword Dragon’s hand tightened on his hilt. Neither had detected the forgery.

"How did you bypass the visual filter?" Yuri asked.

The Cult master tapped the corner of his eye.

“Such flesh-crafting cannot deceive the Insight Eye. It merely twists what is already there. To a 7th-Circle master, your realigned bones and stretched musculature are glaringly obvious."

'A 7th-Circle perception check.'.

Knowing the gig was up, he severed the mana supply to the art.

Crack, snap.

His jawline shifted. His cheekbones lowered. The artificial tension in his shoulders melted away as his skeletal structure reset.

"Yuri."

Sticking to the lie was a waste of stamina as they had already labelled him a benefactor.

"Yuri," Biyeon echoed, testing the syllables.

Sword Dragon scowled, clearly searching his memory and coming up entirely empty.

"Thunder Cloud?"

The Cult master tilted his head, genuine surprise cracking his placid attitude.

"The prodigy endorsed by the Moonlit Reveller. The apprentice of Fist Wolf."

"Not his apprentice," Yuri corrected sharply.

"Astonishing. Intel placed you at the 4th-Circle."

The master’s gaze slid past Yuri, landing heavily on Haryeong.

Haryeong met his stare for a split second before reaching up and unhooking her fox mask.

“Haryeong of Salhomun." Her tone was frigid.

"Dark Blossom."

Recognition flared instantly in the master's eyes. He smiled.

"I am familiar with the shadow guarding Mad Thunder's flank."

"I highly doubt your reports were flattering," she replied, her words clipped.

"Mad Thunder butchered our lower ranks with rather unseemly enthusiasm. But sheath your claws, girl. The Cult does not mourn the culling of the weak."

He dismissed the tension with a wave of his hand.

"Benefactor," the master continued, returning his focus to Yuri.

"Your internal energy reads distressingly low compared to your martial output. If your travels bring you to Shinjeong, present yourself at the Cult. We house vaults of elixirs that could rectify this imbalance."

Yuri suppressed a smirk. Even a 7th-Circle Insight Eye couldn't pierce the Veil of Deception's stat-masking properties.

"Noted."

"I am entirely serious. Our doors are open to you."

The man’s predatory stance betrayed his true desire.

He wanted to beat him unconscious and drag him back to the Cult as a prized recruit, but the presence of Orsia’s golden boy and Yuri’s status as a VIP benefactor stayed his hand.

He stepped back, conceding.

"The Crone is dead, but her heretic lapdogs remain," the master said, addressing Sword Dragon.

“Your next move?"

"State your point."

The master retrieved a crisp, folded parchment from his robes.

"We located the defector’s sanctum. It remains untouched. Ransack it, and you may unearth trinkets beneficial to the Orsia Family."

Sword Dragon did not reach for it.

"We brought fire to your doorstep. Consider this compensation. Take the intelligence, declare a victory and spare us any further bother."

The words patronised the swordsman. Sword Dragon’s knuckles whitened, forcing the words through his teeth.

"Acknowledged."

"Splendid."

The master released the parchment, using telekinesis to carry it across the cavern, depositing it neatly into Sword Dragon’s hand.

“We take our leave."

"Your name," Sword Dragon demanded, his voice rigid.

The master paused.

"My birth name is dust. The martial world knows me as Sword Shadow."

The temperature in the cavern plummeted.

Sword Shadow, one of the Seven Evils.

Sword Dragon brought his blade up.

"A single exchange. Before you depart."

Sword Shadow’s smile turned feral.

“The Sword Emperor's progeny demands a lesson. Young Leader, have I your permission to oblige?"

Biyeon waved a hand, entirely unconcerned.

“Indulge yourself."

This wasn’t a duel. Sword Dragon was a generational talent, but Sword Shadow traded blows with the Rakshasa Witch for the mantle of Sword Fiend.

Sword Shadow drew his weapon.

It possessed no crossguard, the blade impossibly narrow and straight, resembling an oversized executioner's awl.

He let it hang casually by his thigh.

“I yield the initiative. Strike."

Sword Dragon advanced, his footwork meticulous. At the edge of striking range, he exploded forward. Golden aura erupted along his steel, a brilliant crescent of sheer destruction tearing through the subterranean gloom.

Clang.

Yuri stopped breathing. The execution was frame-perfect.

Sword Shadow’s awl whipped upward, slicing cleanly through the golden aura and shattering Sword Dragon’s blade.

In the same frictionless motion, the master snapped his wrist, hooking his steel over the ruined stump of Orsia’s weapon.

The razor edge rested a hair's breadth from Sword Dragon’s jugular.

Sword Shadow’s aura had manifested as a singular, microscopic flash, flaring only for the millisecond of impact before vanishing entirely.

Maximum efficiency. Zero wasted mana.

"I yield," Sword Dragon whispered.

"The Emperor's curriculum yields fine fruit," Sword Shadow chuckled, sliding his awl back into its scabbard.

He turned his back on them, while Biyeon lingered.

She pressed her fingertips against the spare mask Yuri had given her, burning his face into her memory, before vaulting through the shattered ceiling in Sword Shadow’s wake.

Sword Dragon exhaled a long, ragged breath as he stared at his trembling hands.

He then produced the Cult's map, looking both at Yuri and Haryeong.

"Will you assist in the raid?"

There was no reason to decline

***

The wind howled past them as they scaled the city's architecture, leaving the ruined district behind.

"Who is Thunder Cloud?" Biyeon asked.

The alias was a phantom, but she recognised his supposed patrons, of course.

The Moonlit Reveller was a high-priority antagonist to the Cult, and Fist Wolf was a roaming berserker who had vanished into seclusion after a legendary spar in Rutlan two years prior. But Thunder Cloud? Nothing.

Sword Shadow leapt effortlessly between rooftops.

“An operative who surfaced in the Underworld last year. He built his reputation fulfilling bounties for Haomun and acting as muscle for various shadow syndicates."

"That man did not move like a street-level fixer," Biyeon stated.

"My thoughts exactly. His documented history was disappointingly mundane for someone carrying the Reveller's endorsement," Sword Shadow continued, his voice barely carrying over the wind.

"I dismissed him as an overhyped novice. Clearly, he has been aggressively masking his strength."

Biyeon said nothing.

"Forgive my bluntness, Young Leader, but Thunder Cloud was the best combatant in that cavern."

Biyeon’s jaw tightened.

"Is the disparity between us truly that vast?"

“…I fought poorly," Biyeon admitted, the sting of failure bitter on her tongue.

"The crone nearly took my head."

"You claimed the kill before the corpse went cold. Had you maintained your guard until her mana completely dispersed, the snare would have failed."

"Duly noted."

She dragged her fingertips over the smooth porcelain of the Heretic mask.

'Thunder Cloud. Yuri.'

The sword techniques of Orsia's golden child were already fading from her mind, but those two names were carved into her memory, sharp and indelible.

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