Chapter 598 : A Gift from My Disciple

Chapter 598: A Gift from My Disciple

Heavenly Will Palace Master Wi Mucheon was deeply shocked.

‘The Heavenly Will will only be fulfilled three hundred years from now?’

Right beside him, the Guardian Palace Master saw Wi Mucheon’s eye twitch visibly. It was the first time seeing the Palace Master so startled and flustered.

Even Geom Mugeuk inside the Temporal and Spatial Transference Technique was equally astonished.

‘She foretold it three hundred years ago?’

It was truly hard to believe, even after witnessing it with his own eyes.

Silence fell over the hall.

Wi Mucheon, who had been staring at the Priestess, slowly walked over and sat back down. He then poured himself a drink.

Pouring a drink while seated in front of the Priestess was a breach of decorum, but no one cared at this moment.

Ttorororong.

In a place where even breathing could not be heard, the only sound was that of pouring liquor.

The Guardian Palace Master could sense it—just how furious Wi Mucheon was. That clear trickling sound of liquor was the sound of him restraining his rage.

Wi Mucheon silently stared at the brim-full cup.

So much blood had already been spilled. They had come too far to turn back. And now, the heavens claimed to have delivered such a prophecy? Then why had the Secret Box awakened? Why had it cried so bitterly in his hands?

Wi Mucheon, after fiddling with the cup for a moment, asked the Priestess in a calm tone.

“Would you care for a drink?”

The expressions of the women in white standing in formation on either side stiffened.

As if drinking alone wasn’t enough, he was now offering liquor. No matter that he was the Heavenly Will Palace Master—this was not something he should be doing.

Because the Priestess’s eyes were covered, no one could tell what she was feeling.

“I’m all right.”

At the Priestess’s calm reply, Wi Mucheon drank alone.

Just as he was about to set down the cup, a surprising remark flowed from the Priestess’s lips.

“I cannot drink, but I will pour you a cup.”

The women in white all looked at her at once, then bowed their heads again.

They were startled and tense. That the Priestess, who would never usually act this way, was now doing so—this could not simply be because they were in the middle of a war.

It must be because this prophecy was that important.

The Priestess slowly stepped forward. Though her eyes were covered, she walked precisely to where Wi Mucheon sat.

As if she could see, she picked up the liquor bottle and accurately poured it into Wi Mucheon’s cup.

Ttorororong.

The clear sound of liquor being poured only deepened the fear in the hearts of the women in white. They could feel a tension as if something tremendous was about to happen. Everyone knew well what this prophecy meant to the Heavenly Will Palace Master.

Without drinking the liquor she had poured, Wi Mucheon asked:

“If I don’t back down from this war, what will happen?”

At that, the Priestess calmly delivered the prophecy.

“In this battle, the Heavenly Will Palace will suffer a crushing defeat. You, Palace Master, will perish by their hands.”

It was a statement that no one else could ever dare to say. Had it been anyone but the Priestess, their head would’ve been shattered by the Heavenly Will Palace Master's palm without question.

But Wi Mucheon did not act. His cold fury only served to keep him composed.

He emptied the cup the Priestess had poured.

“Regrettable, but this prophecy is incorrect.”

It wasn’t even, “It seems to be wrong.” He declared it definitively as wrong. It was an even greater discourtesy than offering the drink earlier.

The arrayed women simultaneously lifted their heads and stared at the Heavenly Will Palace Master. Their gazes were those of people ready to die. Denying the Priestess’s prophecy meant denying their very existence.

Wi Mucheon paid them no attention. His gaze remained fixed solely on the Priestess.

Amidst the chilling tension, the Priestess opened her mouth. She was as calm as if she had already expected him to reject it.

“There may be times in a Priestess’s life when no prophecy is given, but once delivered, a prophecy is never wrong.”

From deep within Wi Mucheon’s heart, a single desire surged.

It was a murderous intent—to kill the woman before him and use her as a sacrifice for this battle. But he couldn’t act on it. If he did, morale in the Heavenly Will Palace would collapse, and the public sentiment would turn against him. The warriors of the Heavenly Will Palace believed in the Priestess’s prophecy.

“Even so, I will not stop this war.”

“May I ask why?”

“This time, the heavens conveyed their will to me directly.”

“In what way?”

“Shouldn’t you already know everything?”

Wi Mucheon’s tone leaned more toward rage than mockery.

If the Secret Box hadn’t awakened, he would have believed the Priestess’s prophecy. Even if he hadn’t believed it, he would have abandoned the war. Because of that ridiculous prophecy.

Wi Mucheon stood up and slowly approached the Priestess. Standing close, he whispered in a voice only she could hear.

“After unifying the world, I will kill you and destroy the Priestess Palace.”

Even in the face of that shocking declaration, the Priestess showed no reaction. Wi Mucheon’s whisper continued.

“It doesn’t matter either way, does it? If your prophecy is right, then I will die anyway. But if it’s wrong, then you’ve deceived me with a false prophecy and committed a crime worthy of death.”

Wi Mucheon then smiled and spoke loudly for all to hear.

“In that sense, we could say this is a rather special prophecy.”

The Priestess turned her head and looked at Wi Mucheon.

From beyond the veil that covered her eyes, her gaze seemed to peer directly into Wi Mucheon’s face, into his heart—and even beyond, as if it were gazing into the future.

Was that why?

Wi Mucheon felt a desire to strip away the veil covering the Priestess’s eyes. What kind of gaze lay beneath that cloth, watching him?

‘I’ve treated you with such reverence all this time, and now, on the eve of this critical battle, this is all you have to offer me?’

The Priestess, just as calmly as before, spoke to Wi Mucheon.

“I only deliver the prophecy. It is you, Palace Master, who must judge and decide.”

She bowed respectfully to Wi Mucheon and turned away. Just before exiting, she stopped.

Though her eyes remained veiled, her gaze turned briefly toward one wall.

Everyone assumed she was looking at the map of the Central Plains that hung there—but in front of that map stood Geom Mugeuk, who was inside the Temporal and Spatial Transference Technique.

Geom Mugeuk could feel it.

‘She’s looking at me.’

As she turned back to Wi Mucheon, the Priestess spoke.

“I, too, shall remain here and not return.”

Not only the women in white but even Wi Mucheon was taken aback. No one had expected her to say she would remain on the battlefield.

Without waiting for Wi Mucheon’s response, she stepped outside.

Geom Mugeuk understood why she had said such a thing.

‘She wants to meet me.’

*         *         *

The aura of the Fist King Kang Hu had completely transformed.

His killing intent blazed white and took visible shape, while the characters glowing in his hands like Ghost Flame bewitched his opponent’s vision.

Behind Kang Hu, the Gate of Hell opened. Those who had committed sins and fallen into hellfire screamed in agony. Demonic spirits rampaged wildly through the sea of flames.

Kang Hu’s martial field was hell itself.

Simply sensing it filled one with terror and drained all will to fight—a domain that crushed the spirit.

But the Fist Demon King showed no fear. Stripped to the waist, his full fighting spirit emerged. The sheer force of his presence was terrifying.

He walked boldly toward the hell ahead. Demonic spirits clung to him from all sides, and the world around boiled like molten lava.

The Fist Demon King flung open the Gate of Hell and entered.

Whoooosh!

The Fist Demon King's martial field was wind.

Not a wind that shredded and tore—but a wind that stirred the hearts of people. A changed wind.

And that wind began to blow within hell.

The Fist Demon King's wind swept the demonic spirits away. The flaming masses that had risen like molten lava were flung in all directions by the gusts. The demons shrieked as they burned. Hell had become a true hell.

At the heart of that wind-swept hell, the two figures clashed.

KWAANG!

Fists flew toward one another, each charged with immense internal energy. As if confronting mortal enemies, the two hurled their fists straight ahead.

CRACK.

Each time their fists struck, the ground beneath them split and cracked with violent force.

Neither of them took a single step back. From their clashing fists came the cries of ghosts and bursts of thunder.

Bang! Kwaang! Boom!

Murderous intent and demonic energy—unable to coexist—pressed against each other, trying to overwhelm.

Lee Ahn’s heart pounded wildly as she watched.

Even from her distant position, she could feel it. The vicious aura emanating from Kang Hu’s fists.

Had the One-Slash Sword Supreme not shielded her from that energy, she wouldn’t have been able to stand there watching—not with her internal energy completely depleted.

Yeon Baekin, whose internal energy was still intact, had been forced to retreat far back, unable to bear the pressure and vomiting everything he had inside.

‘They’re all monsters.’

Even if he obtained the peerless secret art, could he ever stand against beings like them? He wasn’t confident. And if he couldn’t, what meaning would there be in acquiring such a technique?

Secret art, secret art, secret art.

His mind had become filled with nothing but that single thought. He had forgotten everything else. Forgotten that all of this had started against his will from the very beginning.

What had made him forget—was the man who had gone down into the underground.

That man’s calm demeanor had convinced him—perhaps he truly would hand over a peerless divine art. But in the end, wasn’t that man just another monster? No, perhaps even more terrifying than the ones before him.

Meanwhile, the exchange between the Fist Demon King and Kang Hu raged on.

The Ghost Flame emitted from the characters inscribed on the fists mingled with Kang Hu’s killing intent, thickening the air to the point where it was hard to even breathe.

And yet, even in that suffocating space, the Fist Demon King didn’t retreat a single step.

As if to say: This is the fist of the Fist Demon King.

But that wasn’t all.

He didn’t only have fists.

Swaeaeaeaeaeek!

Crack!

The perfectly balanced standoff was broken in an instant—by a single, devastating move.

A kick from the Fist Demon King sliced through the space between their fists and extended straight toward Kang Hu.

Fourth Technique of Thunderous Asura Fist—Iron Leg Asura.

With that single blow, Kang Hu’s jaw twisted as he was thrown backward.

He hadn’t expected the Fist Demon King to use a kick—and that fast and powerful strike landed cleanly.

The Fist Demon King didn’t miss the opportunity.

Thud!

His fist, moving like a shadow, drove mercilessly into Kang Hu’s abdomen. Even with his Protective Energy activated, the pain felt as though his intestines had burst.

“Ugh!”

It was the first groan that escaped Kang Hu’s lips.

Having seized the advantage, the Fist Demon King’s fists grew even faster, even stronger.

Thud! Thud! Thwack!

His fists continued to slam into Kang Hu’s body in a relentless flurry.

“You bastard! Enough already!”

Having taken several consecutive blows, Kang Hu cursed and leapt far away, fleeing toward the spectators' stands. Just as he reached the seating area, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Death itself—

Swaeaeaeaeek!

The Fist Demon King’s charging fist flew in, aimed to utterly crush his face.

In that moment, Kang Hu’s eyes changed. A look that said, I’ve been waiting for this moment too.

Instead of blocking with his fist, Kang Hu spread his palm wide.

Siiiiiik.

A pitch-black wall appeared in front of his palm. The Fist Demon King’s fist came flying in with the momentum to break anything it struck.

As the fist hit the wall, a different sound echoed.

Ssswoooook.

The wall rippled. It felt like liquid—this strange, fluid wall absorbed the Fist Demon King’s punch. He tried to withdraw his fist, but the bizarre substance clung tightly, refusing to let go.

Swaeaeaeaeek.

At the same moment, Kang Hu’s other fist sliced through the air.

The sound was different again.

Not the crash of a blow—

But splutter! slash!—the slicing of flesh, again and again.

Paaah!

The Fist Demon King finally wrenched his fist free from the fluid mass, only to be blasted backward.

Jureureuk.

Blood streamed from the Fist Demon King’s arm, the one that hadn’t been caught.

His thick, massive forearm and fist had been slashed deeply. It could have been worse—Kang Hu had been aiming for the neck and heart.

At the end of Kang Hu’s fist, a blade shimmered like light. It wasn’t an ordinary blade—it was a blade formed from his killing intent, forged from pure murderous energy.

His trump card had been unleashed.

Watching that unfold, Lee Ahn felt her chest drop. It was the first time she had seen blood flow from her father’s fist.

And it was just then.

The Fist Demon King raised his hand, as if to signal a brief pause.

While he pressed down on the pressure points of his arm and hand to stop the bleeding, Kang Hu also began tending to the internal injuries he had suffered earlier.

Gulp—

As Kang Hu focused on healing, he coughed up blood. Yet oddly, his face looked calmer after vomiting it out.

Meanwhile, the Fist Demon King stepped forward, then picked up the upper garment he had tossed aside on the ground.

Was he going to apply Golden Wound Medicine? That couldn’t be. Kang Hu was watching him, thinking just that.

The Fist Demon King pulled something out from his clothes.

It was a pair of gloves.

They stretched flexibly and fit snugly around his massive hands.

“No way...”

Kang Hu realized what they were. Anyone who had trained in fist techniques would recognize them instantly.

“War God!”

It was the War God gloves that Geom Mugeuk had once given him. If the supreme sword was the Heavenly Demon Sword, then the supreme pair of fist-guards was none other than War God.

Kang Hu’s expression stiffened. He had never imagined that the Fist Demon King would possess the War God gloves. No—what truly mattered was that they were now fitted on the Fist Demon King’s hands.

“The great Fist Demon King wearing fist-guards? The world ought to laugh.”

It was a taunt, an attempt to provoke him into removing the War God gloves.

But the Fist Demon King didn’t take the bait. He didn’t let pride rule him. In the past, he would rather have died than face an opponent without his bare fists.

But the Fist Demon King had changed. Instead of showing shame, he proudly told Kang Hu:

“My disciple gave them to me as a gift.”

“What?”

Stunned and flustered, Kang Hu gaped as the Fist Demon King added:

“Our Young Cult Leader gave them to me.”

Watching from afar, the One-Slash Sword Supreme realized that the Fist Demon King’s growth wasn’t limited to martial skill.

‘The Fist Demon King has become more flexible.’

He had changed. The man who once seemed unbreakable, harder than steel, whose pride surpassed anyone else’s—

‘He grew stronger because he changed.’

The One-Slash Sword Supreme could sense who had caused that change. It was just like why she no longer wore makeup and let her white hair remain as it was.

“You bastard!”

Kang Hu burst out again with crude, ill-fitting curses. He summoned all of his killing intent. It wasn’t deliberate—it simply exploded out of him. That was how deeply he hated the Fist Demon King at this moment.

Saaaak—

From the end of Kang Hu’s fist, the blade of killing intent grew longer, sharper. It radiated a force that seemed capable of slicing through even Millennial Cold Iron.

“You goddamn Mad Demon! Come on then! Better start now—it’ll take some time to chop up that huge body of yours!”

In response, the Fist Demon King slapped his gloved fists together, letting them ring as he stepped forward.

Pang! Pak!

“This is their first outing—consider it an honor!”