Childhood Friend of the Zenith Novel MTL - Chapter 852

Chapter 852

Drip.
A warm trickle traced a path down his lips.
Ilcheon Sword wiped his trembling hand across his mouth—his fingers came away stained crimson. Blood was seeping from the corner of his mouth.
What was this feeling? The side of his face that had been struck felt like shattered bone, threatening to split apart. A fierce, scorching heat pulsed from the point of impact.
What in the world was going on? Ilcheon Sword’s mind struggled to process the situation.
He was on the ground. Why was he on the ground?
And those eyes…
Ilcheon Sword looked up into the icy, pitiless gaze leveled down at him. A pair of blue eyes, set in shadowed, expressionless features, held him frozen.
Grrrk.
A cold dread seized his body, tightening around his throat like a vise. His limbs went numb, and the overwhelming killing intent saturating the air pressed down on him, smothering.
«Ugh…»
His body locked up under the immense pressure. The sensation was utterly vile.
Somehow, he managed to circulate energy through his body, clawing back a shred of control. His breathing steadied, but the pain did not fade.
“…What just…”
What had occurred? He replayed the moments in his head again and again, but it defied logic. How?
His eyes wide with disbelief, Ilcheon Sword directed his quavering voice toward Gu Yangcheon.
«Y-you… You concealed your true strength…»
Boom!
«Urgh!»
His head snapped violently to the side from another unseen blow.
Once more, he had no perception of what had struck him.
«That is not an answer to my question.»
Gu Yangcheon seized Ilcheon Sword by the hair, holding his head in an unyielding grip.
«Don’t you know?»
«Wh-what… are you saying…?»
What could he mean? Ilcheon Sword could not comprehend. The only thing his primal instincts screamed was:
‘This is wrong.’
Something about Gu Yangcheon was deeply, fundamentally unnatural. The familiar, mocking smirk he always wore was gone. In its place was a hollow mask, his eyes staring down with a cold, vacant intensity.
But…
*’What… is this?’* Why was it so terrifying? It wasn’t just simple fear coiling within him—it was something far worse.
«Hah… Hah…»
He could not maintain eye contact. Staring into those depths for too long felt like being consumed, as if he might never return.
In the end, Ilcheon Sword averted his eyes.
“Hmph.”
Gu Yangcheon gave a slight nod at this. Then—
Boom!
«Ghhk!»
His fist crashed into Ilcheon Sword’s head once more, this time with even greater force. The punch carried a surge of energy, releasing a shockwave upon impact. With a sickening thud, Ilcheon Sword’s body collapsed to the ground. Blood streamed from his nose, forming a dark pool on the floor.
The room fell into a dead silence as every onlooker stared.
Could it be…
«Did he kill him?»
«Is he dead?»
«Did our captain just kill Ilcheon Sword…?»
The same horrifying thought occurred to everyone. With that much blood and Ilcheon Sword lying utterly still, death seemed the only conclusion.
But Gu Yangcheon nudged the limp form with his foot and spoke.
«He is not dead. Remove him.»
«…What?»
Not dead? But in that condition…?
«Take him and ensure he remains alive. This one is not permitted to die yet.»
«Wh-what does that mean…?»
«Are you refusing?»
«…»
The phrase «not permitted to die yet» hung in the air, heavy and ominous.
Quiet. Yet utterly chilling.
How could words delivered with such flat indifference feel so frigid?
Gu Yangcheon had always seemed unreachable, a formidable presence. But now… he was something else entirely.
‘A different person.’
This was not the Gu Yangcheon they knew.
The suffocating aura of violence, the way he looked at them—everything was different.
He had always been fierce, but he had still acknowledged them as human beings.
Now, it was as if…
‘He is looking at livestock.’
Not even as people, but as objects on the ground—insignificant pebbles under his heel. That gaze sent cold shivers down their spines.
The team moved cautiously to lift Ilcheon Sword’s unconscious body. His arms hung limply, a clear sign he was completely insensate.
Gu Yangcheon watched without a hint of emotion, then turned his head.
His eyes swept across the room, briefly meeting the gazes of the others. Those who locked eyes with him flinched, some trembling, others collapsing as their legs failed them.
The killing intent had receded, but it was still present, radiating from him like a silent tempest.
«Proceed with the search.»
The command, spoken softly, cut through the silence with unnatural clarity.
None of the subordinates dared to respond immediately.
But Gu Yangcheon did not seem to expect an answer. His gaze fixed on a point in the distance, and he crouched slightly.
«Young Master…! Wait—!»
Tang So-yeol called out in urgent warning, but—
Boom!
With an explosive shower of dust and shattered stone, Gu Yangcheon launched himself into the air.
The oppressive killing intent began to fade as he moved away.
Finally, those left behind could breathe again, drawing in ragged gasps of air.
«…Young Master…»
Tang So-yeol bit her lip as she watched Gu Yangcheon vanish into the distance.

******************

Why had things turned out this way?
He contemplated it deeply.
He should not have done it. Simultaneously, he cursed himself.
«I should not have called for him.»
He had known Ilcheon Sword was watching. Knowing that, he should never have summoned him in the first place.
Was it because of the killing intent emanating from the man? Or was it another reason entirely?
He should have determined that first.
Even if he had called him, he should not have revealed his power.
He should not have pressed him, demanding if he knew. He should not have crushed him out of sheer annoyance.
After all, there had been a plan. A meticulously crafted strategy to utilize Ilcheon Sword.
«Why did I do that?»
All the preparations he had made were ruined, and it was by his own hand.
Why?
He did not even know himself.
It was just…
Truly, it was just…
«I was weary of all of it.»
Everything felt exhaustingly burdensome.
The act of thinking. The labor of crafting schemes and executing them step by step.
For a single moment, he had released the tightly held reins of his reason.
What had the eyes of those around him looked like in that moment? They must have been full of fear.
Yes, just like in his previous life. The eyes that had looked upon him then were identical.
Even Tang So-yeol had been that way.
He recalled how she had been unable to meet his gaze.
He had despised that and vowed to live differently. And yet, he had cast that aside too.
Why?
He had sworn to himself, «Never again.»
So why had he relinquished it so easily?
He had labored tirelessly for a purpose. Everything he had done until now was for that purpose, to ensure that even if he acted, there would be no repercussions.
«I do not know anymore.»
Now, he did not even wish to think about it.
At this juncture, there was only one thing he could do.
Not kill Ilcheon Sword. Let him live.
That was the only measure he could take.
No, even that felt repugnant. Why should he allow such a wretched thing to continue breathing?
The others around him were no different.
There was no reason to keep them alive.
He had no need for them by his side.
Would it not be simpler to slaughter them all and continue on his own path?
That was what had crossed his mind then.
The absurd part was, even now, he did not think it was entirely incorrect.
Something was amiss. He recognized his thoughts were unlike his usual patterns, but was that truly an error?
«This is who I have always been.»
Since when had he ever been altruistic or rational? If something displeased him, he shattered it. He never concerned himself with the consequences.
He had never held anyone close.
Never carried anything with him.
No, even if he had carried something, no one should have known he was carrying it.
That was the person he had always been…
«Do you believe you have changed? You have not. You are still the same.»
He remembered those words and felt his own eyes grow cold.
They were right. Looking at himself now, he had not changed.
He was merely performing an act.
Boom!
The force of his landing tore through the earth, leaving the surrounding forest devastated.
This was not the western forest.
In fact, it was the complete opposite direction.
Even though he was supposed to be searching for them, he had come here instead.
«Is this the place?»
[Yes.]
His narrowed eyes followed the direction indicated by Shadow King’s telepathic response.
[It is not certain, but this was the last reported location.]
«…Understood.»
This was where Namgung Bi-ah and Wi Seol-ah had last been sensed.
Neither Shadow King nor the others had been monitoring them closely, so their precise whereabouts were unknown. But knowing they had been in this general area was sufficient.
With Namgung Bi-ah involved, matters would not have proceeded smoothly.
Even with Wi Seol-ah present, Namgung Bi-ah likely made the final decisions.
Those two, though different in many aspects, were strikingly similar in that way.
He clenched his fists, drawing energy from his core and channeling it through his entire body.
His swollen blood vessels throbbed with a dull pain, but he ignored it.
Pushing his senses to their absolute limit, he cast his aura outward. An overwhelming flood of information poured in through his ears and nose.
He discarded it all.
That was not what he sought.
«Where is it?»
He was searching for the faintest remnant—the slightest trace left behind by Wi Seol-ah or Namgung Bi-ah.
Or even their lingering scent.
It would be best if nothing had happened. But he knew better.
Those two were both at the Hwagyeong level and had even attained the early stages of Mind Sword.
They would not be easily defeated by anyone.
And yet…
«There is something.»
He knew the Celestial Stream Sect’s master was scheming, and his plans were far from ordinary.
He had intended to proceed with caution. But now, with circumstances as they were… caution held no meaning.
Whoooooosh!
He pushed his senses to their breaking point.
Truly, their absolute limit.
Ever since consuming the White Demon Stone, his sensory abilities had reached phenomenal heights. He unleashed them completely, spreading them as far as they could possibly extend.
His head pounded, and his heart hammered faster and faster.
«Do you sense anything?»
He steadied his breathing and asked Shadow King.
[Not yet.]
Even Shadow King could detect nothing.
Should he assume there was nothing here?
No.
He knew there was something. He trusted his instincts, however irrational.
«I will search here. Can you check elsewhere?»
[Understood.]
He sent Shadow King speeding toward the west as a precaution, maintaining his own intense focus.
The pain grew more acute, his body feeling the severe strain.
Drip.
A thin line of blood escaped from his nose.
It was the result of forcing his swollen blood vessels far beyond their limits.
«Was I mistaken?»
Could his instincts have been wrong?
He did not know.
«Then… just a little longer.»
Even if this was not the correct place, he had to exhaust every possibility before moving on.
Bit by bit.
Further still.
He extended his senses past their breaking point, disregarding the damage to his body.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity—
Woom.
«…»
A faint trace flickered into existence.
Immediately, he reeled his senses back in.
Wiping the blood from his nose and mouth, his eyes sharpened with a cold light.
«I have found it.»
This was the place.

******************

A damp and soundless space.
The air held a faint, pervasive moisture, each breath heavy with it.
The chamber was enormous and shrouded in darkness.
What purpose could such a place serve? It did not appear to be a natural cavern.
The sharp, geomet straight lines of the walls confirmed it was man-made—nature did not create such perfect angles.
Leaning against a shadowed wall, Wi Seol-ah scanned the area and spoke.
«Unni, do you think we will be in significant trouble when we return?»
«…Yes.»
Namgung Bi-ah affirmed her words without a moment’s hesitation.
They most certainly would be.
This time, the reprimand would likely be severe.
«…That is a serious problem,» Wi Seol-ah sighed.
«Yes…»
«Should we not just turn back now?»
«Seol-ah…»
«Yes?»
«…Do you know the way back?»
«…»
Wi Seol-ah fell silent at Namgung Bi-ah’s direct question. It struck true.
She was not as hopeless with directions as Namgung Bi-ah, but something about this place felt profoundly disorienting.
‘Somehow, we lost our way.’
Where were they now? How far down had they descended?
None of it made any sense anymore.
«…It feels as though a veil has been cast over this entire space.»
«Yes…»
Namgung Bi-ah nodded, and Wi Seol-ah let out a soft sigh as she watched her.
«…Unni, you were the one who said we should go back to avoid a scolding, but then you charged ahead anyway!»
«…My apologies…»
Namgung Bi-ah chose to apologize rather than offer an excuse.
It was true; the fault was hers.
The instant Gu Yangcheon’s name was mentioned, her body had moved on its own.
But…
«No, I am sorry… I should not blame you for this either.»
Wi Seol-ah was no different. If Namgung Bi-ah had not rushed forward, she would have been the one to lead the charge.
«The problem is… we do not even know how much time has passed.»
They had likely missed their deadline to return by a wide margin.
Since neither of them had come back, their absence would have surely prompted a search from the others.
«I only hope Young Master does not get involved… But he undoubtedly will, won’t he?»
«Yes.»
Both of them were certain.
Gu Yangcheon would definitely be looking for them.
That was their greatest fear.
He would not care about the cost or the consequences, and they dreaded that their mistake would be the cause of a catastrophe.
«We need to find a way out of here, quickly.»
Wi Seol-ah’s golden eyes glimmered faintly as they pierced the darkness.
‘If the exit is not this way, then where is it?’
They had already tried countless paths.
They had gone down, and they had gone up, often walking in circles.
How far down had they descended? How far up had they climbed?
How could such a vast underground space even exist?
That, in itself, was baffling.
‘And we lost track of those we were following.’
They had initially infiltrated by tailing voices in the shadows.
But somewhere along the way, they had lost their quarry.
Now, with no exit in sight, they were trapped in a disorienting maze.
At that moment—
Grip.
«Unni?»
Namgung Bi-ah tugged lightly on Wi Seol-ah’s sleeve.
Wi Seol-ah turned to her, a question in her eyes.
«Let us… try going this way.»
Namgung Bi-ah pointed forward with her fingertips.
Ahead of them stood a massive door of wrought iron.
It looked absurdly out of place compared to the walls and ceiling—immense and imposing.
It was a door they had discovered while searching for an escape.
Now, the two stood before it, concealing their presence.
Should they enter?
Wi Seol-ah hesitated for a brief moment.
«…»
No better solution came to mind.
And yet…
‘Something…’
Something about the door pulled at her.
It was a feeling that had struck her the moment she first saw it.
That door… there was something behind it.
«…Shall we go in?»
«Yes.»
The two moved cautiously toward the door, their senses heightened as they checked their surroundings.
Soon, they reached the iron door and began to inspect it.
It appeared to be nothing more than a rusted, aged slab of metal.
There seemed to be nothing remarkable about it.
Notably—
«There is no handle.»
There was no visible mechanism to open it.
How was it meant to be opened?
Push it? Wi Seol-ah hesitated, then placed her hand against the cold surface.
In that instant—
Whoooosh!
The door began to glow with a bright, sudden light.
Both Wi Seol-ah and Namgung Bi-ah instinctively reached for the hilts of their swords.
Creak…
The door emitted a low groan as it slowly began to swing inward.
Through the growing gap, they could see what lay within.
«What?»
Wi Seol-ah could not suppress a sharp gasp at the sight.