My Cultivation System Runs on Karma

CHAPTER 9: Sealing the Toxin

The rough, uneven stones of the dungeon stairs tore at my knees and shins. Two Alliance guards dragged me downward by my armpits, my feet completely numb and useless, scraping against the damp granite. 

The air grew significantly colder with every step, heavy with the stench of mildew, old blood, and human waste. The torches mounted on the walls flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like mocking spirits.

"Throw the trash in cell four," one of the guards grunted, breathing heavily from the exertion. "Let the rats finish him off."

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and tossed me forward. I hit the cell floor hard. The stone was covered in a thin layer of freezing, stagnant water. Pain flared in my dislocated shoulder and the deep gash in my side, but the physical impacts were dull, muffled by the terrifying numbness creeping up my neck. 

The heavy iron door slammed shut. The slide of the deadbolt echoed like a thunderclap in the tiny, pitch-black space.

I lay there in the freezing water, staring up at the invisible ceiling. My breathing was incredibly shallow. Every inhalation felt like swallowing crushed glass. The nightshade extract had bypassed my liver and was marching directly toward my heart. The veins in my neck bulged, turning a sickening, bruised black. 

The system window illuminated the darkness with a glaring, frantic red light. 

[Warning: Lethal Toxin penetrating the cardiovascular system.]

[Estimated time of death: 3 minutes.]

[Option: Convert 40 Karma to isolate toxin?]

If I spent the Karma, I would drop down to ten points. I would be walking a microscopic tightrope over the abyss of Existence Erasure. One wrong move, one selfish thought that the system penalized, and I would be wiped from reality. 

But I had no choice. Dead men couldn't earn Karma. 

Convert, I commanded mentally, grinding my teeth together. 

[Converting 40 Karma to Spiritual Energy.]

[Current Balance: 10.]

[Existence Stability: 15%. Danger Zone.]

The familiar, scalding heat erupted in the center of my chest. But this time, I didn't let the Qi flow freely through my meridians to heal the tissue. The amount of Qi I had was pathetic—barely enough to light a candle, let alone neutralize a military-grade Unorthodox poison. 

If I let the Qi disperse, the poison would swallow it. I had to use it as a wall. 

I forced myself into a cross-legged, seated position. The effort made my vision white out, but I locked my joints into place. I closed my eyes, filtering out the freezing water soaking through my clothes, and focused entirely on the golden drop of energy in my chest. 

Using the Shadow Hall's internal circulation technique, I violently compressed the Qi. It fought back, burning the lining of my meridians, but my will was forged from forty years of torture and survival. I forced the energy upward, wrapping it tightly around the valves of my heart in a dense, protective seal. 

The moment the nightshade-laced blood hit the Qi barrier, my entire body convulsed. 

I pitched forward, vomiting a stream of black, foul-smelling liquid onto the stone floor. I coughed violently, my lungs screaming for air. The poison slammed against the golden wall of energy over and over, trying to break through to my heart. 

The physical toll was agonizing. I was essentially holding a steel door shut while a battering ram slammed into the other side. My muscles seized. Cold sweat poured down my face, mixing with the grime and rainwater. 

But my heart kept beating. 

The poison remained trapped in my bloodstream, paralyzing my left arm entirely and leaving my legs weak and trembling, but the lethal threat was contained. For now. 

I collapsed against the damp, moss-covered wall of the cell, my chest heaving. The red warning screens slowly faded, replaced by a dull, pulsing amber alert. 

[Toxin isolated. Continuous Qi expenditure required to maintain the seal.]

[Warning: Host is severely weakened.]

"Tell me something I don't know," I rasped to the empty cell. 

Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. 

They were not the heavy, dragging boots of the prison guards. These steps were measured, silent, and arrogant. The leather soles barely made a sound, yet they carried a heavy, imposing rhythm. 

A key turned in the heavy iron lock. The deadbolt slid back. 

The door swung open, allowing the flickering orange light of the corridor torch to spill into my cell. Standing in the doorway was Nam Gyu-Jin. 

He had changed out of his wet azure robes into a fresh, dry set of deep blue silk, embroidered with silver threads. The sickeningly sweet scent of expensive lotus incense rolled off his clothes, immediately clashing with the rot of the dungeon. 

He didn't step into the water. He stood on the dry threshold, looking down at me with absolute, unfiltered disgust. 

"You're still breathing," Gyu-Jin noted. His smooth, cultured voice was completely gone, replaced by a cold, metallic edge. "Nightshade usually stops a mortal's heart in an hour. You must have a strong will."

I didn't answer. I just stared at him, my dead, black eyes tracking his movements. 

"I don't like mysteries, rat," Gyu-Jin said, pulling the wooden Heavenly Sword token from his sleeve. He flipped it between his manicured fingers. "Baek Jin-Woo is an arrogant fool who plays by his own rules, but he does not hand his guest tokens to beggars in the mud. So, let's stop the act."

He stepped fully into the cell, his polished boots splashing into the stagnant water. He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. The fake, gentle smile he wore for the public was entirely absent. This was the real Nam Gyu-Jin. The monster wearing a righteous mask.