WeTried Translations

Translator: Joy

Editor: Joy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Damned Transmigration

Chapter 70

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Wall staring

The rule of Shinjeong was simple: the strong reign.

While Biyeon had just returned from the Foul Village, rest could wait. Her master required a report.

A sharp tut escaped from behind the blank canvas of her white mask. The sound was small, but it carried the full weight of her fury.

Before she had even set foot back in the city, the Orsia Family had broadcast their version of events.

The newspapers had seized upon it and now her name was being dragged through their speculative mire. They picked her apart, guessing at the face behind the mask, her age, the life she had led before she was chosen.

'A transmigrator,' some claimed.

'The Heavenly Demon’s bastard child,' others whispered.

They chattered like monkeys, flinging their filth without a single fact to cling to.

“It seems the Sword Emperor intends to use our Divine Cult as a shield,” a voice

chuckled behind her. Sword Shadow, ever present.

“In his eyes, I suppose there is little difference between the chaos-sowing heretics of the evil god and our Heavenly Demon’s Divine Cult.”

Biyeon’s lips twisted.

“Is he fighting fire with fire, or does he simply wish to protect his precious Sword Dragon from the Sect of Chaos’s attention?”

“The latter, I would imagine,” Sword Shadow said.

“The Sword Emperor must be quite vexed. From what I observed, his grandson acted entirely on his own authority.”

At the corridor’s end stood a door the colour of dried blood, flanked by a towering stone demon. As they approached, the statue’s eyes screeched open, locking onto them.

It was a toy gifted by the Corpse Immortal some time ago, which she had infused with the magically synthesised souls of demonic spirits.

Its combat abilities were mediocre at best, however the Corpse Immortal had insisted it looked impressive standing guard before the Divine Demon Hall, and so there it stood.

The Corpse Immortal was her master’s oldest friend. In all of Shinjeong, only she and Biyeon herself could enter the inner sanctum, the Ascension Pavilion, without first seeking leave.

Rumble.

The heavy doors began to swing open, granting them passage.

Behind her mask, Biyeon’s expression tightened. She stepped over the threshold, Sword Shadow following without pause; he had been granted permission in advance.

The hall beyond was familiar, a space of red and black, yet the moment the doors boomed shut behind them, Biyeon knew that everything they saw was an illusion.

The world dissolved.

In its place was a tranquil sea, a perfect mirror of black silk without a single ripple. Above, a moon of impossible brilliance presided over a sky teeming with stars. At the centre of this cosmos, a pavilion floated, untethered to earth or water.

This was the Ascension Pavilion, a pocket dimension woven from the Heavenly Demon’s will.

Usually, one entered by walking into the lake behind the main hall. Today, her master had summoned them directly.

Biyeon and Sword Shadow instantly dropped to their knees.

She simply bowed her head, a silent gesture of respect. Sword Shadow, however, threw his arms high.

“Heavenly Demon Ascends! Divine Demon Returns! All Gods Perish! The One True Ruler Reigns!”

“You’re so loud,” a grumbling voice drifted down from the star-dusted heavens.

A woman, wrapped in a large, fluffy cloak as if it were a blanket, floated slowly towards them.

“I already find your cult’s doctrines insufferably grandiose, but this ceremony of kneeling and screaming is the most irritating part. Is it not terribly inefficient?”

The Corpse Immortal, Herein Rudella, Master of the Rudella Mage Tower, snapped shut the book she had been reading.

“Don’t you agree, Young Leader?” she asked, her gaze falling on Biyeon.

“You’re always with him. You must hear that chant dozens of times a day.”

Biyeon did not reply, her eyes fixed on the pavilion ahead, Sword Shadow remaining equally still.

Being ignored was a familiar state for the Corpse Immortal. She clicked her tongue and idly twirled a strand of grey hair.

“Why not just write it on your clothes or carry a flag? Far more efficient and it wouldn’t be so noisy for the rest of us.”

Muttering, she drifted like a lazy cloud towards the pavilion.

“What do you think, Heavenly Demon? Isn’t it a brilliant idea? Don’t tell me you’re going to give me some tedious lecture about tradition.”

“That, too, is a form of worship.”

The voice came from the pavilion’s roof, where a figure sat cross-legged with the full moon as his halo.

As the Heavenly Demon opened his eyes, the placid sea trembled.

Thrum.

A single, colossal ripple expanded outwards, shaking their very reality.

“The Heavenly Demon’s Divine Cult is a faith where any follower may become the Heavenly Demon, yet still they worship me,” he continued, his voice calm and vast.

“I take no more pleasure in their reverence than you do, old friend. But I am not so heartless as to reject the words they offer from their knees.”

He looked down, his gaze washing over Biyeon and Sword Shadow, sending an identical shiver through them both.

His followers believed him a man who would one day ascend to divinity, a Divine Demon born of the Demonic Path.

For forty years, Wi Jin-hwa had held the title of Heavenly Demon, the strongest practitioner of that path. While he claimed any could take his place, it was an empty truth.

No one could hope to challenge him while he lived. His power was absolute.

“You performed the task I gave you well,” the Heavenly Demon said, his focus settling on Biyeon.

Her shoulders twitched, but she held his gaze.

“I was unable to carry it out exactly as you intended, Master.”

“My intention?”

“I could not defeat the Withered Crone on my own.”

“I have seen the Sword Emperor’s statement. It claims you fought alongside his grandson, the Sword Dragon, and two others named Thunder Cloud and Dark Blossom.”

“Yes.”

The word was soft.

“I have no intention of scolding you,” the Heavenly Demon said, shifting his position in the night sky.

He rested his chin on his hand, observing her.

“My will was for you to deliver a message to the Sect of Chaos. I cannot very well send a letter to a headquarters I cannot find, nor could I appear myself to declare them my enemy. You were my messenger.”

Biyeon remained silent.

“The others were a coincidence. Had you retreated, you would have failed the task. Or do you believe it would have been better to kill your allies first?”

“I do not know what answer you wish to hear, Master.”

“The correct answer is the one you decide for yourself. I ordered you to kill the Bishop, and you did. That is all.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“So, what did you learn?”

‘…?’

“Out there. In the world. I had hoped your perspective might broaden, but your silence tells me it remains as narrow as ever.”

“I apologise.”

Biyeon bowed her head again.

He clicked his tongue.

“For a disciple of mine, you lower your head far too easily.”

“I bow my head to no one but you, Master.”

“The problem is that you bow it at all. As my disciple, as the Young Leader, you are the closest to becoming the next Heavenly Demon. Reverence for your master is a fine thing, but beneath it you should be hiding the ambition to surpass me.”

“I will try,” she said, raising her head.

“The fight with the Bishop was not easy. Had I been alone, I would have had to be prepared to die.”

“My Heavenly Demon’s Divine Art holds a natural advantage over most magic. Had your mastery of it surpassed the limits of your Circle, you would not have been overwhelmed, even by a mage of a higher rank.”

“As you say, Master, the Divine Art did not falter against her magic, but she bolstered her spells with divine power. It made her a difficult opponent.”

“‘Difficult’ implies you would not have lost.”

“Yes. Had I been prepared for death, I believe I could have killed her.”

The Corpse Immortal, floating nearby, tilted her head.

“Then it seems the Withered Crone never managed to use Eternal Thirst.”

“No.”

“Foolish, pitiful creature,” she chuckled, though her words sounded sympathetic.

“I was curious to see how she would make my magic bloom, but in the end, she accomplished nothing and withered to dust.”

“If you have understood your own limits, the journey was not without meaning,” the Heavenly Demon said, his attention returning to Biyeon.

“What else?”

“I learnt that the world is a wide place.”

“In what way?”

“Before I met the Sword Dragon, I assumed his reputation was mere bluster. That was my own arrogance. He was strong enough to justify his name, his family, and his fame.”

The Heavenly Demon waited, his faint smile unwavering.

“Dark Blossom fought on a different battlefield, so I could not properly gauge her abilities. But I believe I had a good look at Thunder Cloud. Forgive me, Master, but the strongest person there… was him.”

“Oh?”

A strange light flickered in the Heavenly Demon’s eyes.

His body descended from the sky, feet coming to rest on the surface of the midnight sea without a ripple.

“Are you saying this boy, Thunder Cloud, was stronger than you, the inheritor of

my teachings?”

“Yes. I was inept. I allowed impatience and complacency to sway me, and was caught in the Bishop’s final, desperate attack. It was Thunder Cloud who saved me.”

“An interesting tale.”

He had expected her assessment of the Sword Dragon, her reflections on the fight. He had not expected this lavish praise for a name he had never heard.

“Sword Shadow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sword Shadow rose smoothly to his feet and approached, bowing his head.

As he removed a necklace and held it aloft, the night sky above them shimmered, the stars dissolving to project a new scene.

Sword Shadow had recorded it the battle with a magic tool from his vantage point above.

Kneeling before the silent, watching image, Biyeon felt a flush of heat creep up her neck.

Looking back now, her mistakes were glaring. She could have fought better. She would never have been caught in that suicidal final spell if she had kept a cool head.

But the Heavenly Demon wasn't watching to critique her. Biyeon knew this, and it brought a fresh wave of shame.

For now, he was more interested in Thunder Cloud than in her. Being unable to hold her own master’s attention was a disgrace.

'That’s just how strong he was…'

The thought cooled her anger.

Rather than envy a man who wasn't even here, she would acknowledge him. He was strong. That was a fact. One day, she would simply have to surpass him.

Composing herself, she watched the recording of Thunder Cloud’s movements.

“Hah…”

A breath, half surprise, half sigh, escaped the Heavenly Demon as Thunder Cloud’s kick sliced through the Withered Crone’s magic. It was a movement Biyeon hadn’t seen clearly in the chaos.

He had woven through the spectral hands, his entire body a fluid weapon, dismantling the spell piece by piece right up until the Sword Dragon’s light had obliterated them.

The Heavenly Demon smiled.

“I see.”

Other practitioners might not recognise it, but he knew that flame. It was the martial art of his once-cherished younger martial sister, a divine art born from the same source as his own, yet split from it, an ocean apart in purpose.

'It’s not exactly the same. Lorelia, do you wish to guide him down a different path from your own?'

The Sacred Flame Divine Art was a technique that turned its user into a fire to burn away, cleanse all demons and heaven itself.

Thunder Cloud was its inheritor.

'Is that your answer?'

He remembered the day he had first declared he would become the Heavenly Demon. He could still see his sister’s eyes filled with resentment, shedding tears of blood.

On that day, his Sacred Flame Divine Art had been reborn as the Heavenly Demon’s Divine Art, the art of domination. And hers… hers had become something else entirely, earning her the title of Fell Saint.

“Indeed. How splendid,” the Heavenly Demon murmured.

The Fell Saint still lived within that flame. He knew the demons she sought to burn included him and that her murderous intent had not faded with the years.

He thought of her now, in the Sect of Order’s sanctuary.

They had established a training ground in the nearby mountains, a deliberate provocation that had thankfully kept the Sect of War’s hunters at bay, their attention drawn to the Vernoc Conflict.

And so Lorelia, for more than two years, had remained in the Punishment Hall, meditating.

She could leave whenever she wished, not even the High Priestess could stop her, but she had not emerged. With no immediate enemies, her penance had become just another form of training.

'Can she break through her wall,' he wondered with a joyful smile, 'while still clinging to such delusions?'

***

Two years.

For Lorelia, the time had not felt long. It was called the Punishment Hall, but she was free. This peace had allowed her to sit before a stone wall for two years and focus solely on her training.

She had been faithful to her penance, consuming nothing but grain-abstinence pills. The only trial was her own powerlessness, trapped behind this wall, not hunger.

'Thunder Cloud.'

Lorelia opened her eyes, a gentle smile touching her lips. The recent news from the outside world had made her heart flutter.

'Fifth Circle in just two years…'

It was an unprecedented speed. She suppressed the raw desire to shatter her bindings and storm out.

'I should praise him when we meet.'

She had heard the tale of him defeating the evil god’s Bishop, thoroughly extinguishing the thought that he might have been swayed to the other side.

'No… perhaps I should scold him instead.'

She had also heard that he had joined forces with the disciple of that

detestable Heavenly Demon. That was hard to forgive. He should have killed the girl on sight.

Lorelia centred her conflicting emotions and closed her eyes again.

'Praise first, then scold, or scold and then praise…?'

The order was irrelevant; she would just do both. It was not something she could do immediately, in any case. Seeking him out now would be foolish.

If they moved with the same purpose, they were bound to meet one day.

'I should leave soon.'

She had gained a small enlightenment from her two years of meditation. Any deeper understanding would not be found by staring at a wall.

Her title was the Fell Saint, she was the violence of the Sect of Order. The greatest leaps in her martial arts had always blossomed from the battlefield.

To move forward, she had no choice but to return to it.

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried