The metallic rasp in the Bloodstorm Blade's voice made Cheongjang Daoist and the righteous warriors of Cheongho Dojang flinch.
The Cheonrangdae—known even among the Demonic Cult as its strongest unit—had come.
It was to be expected, given that the Cheonma Sword had appeared earlier that day, but the very name Cheonrangdae brought with it a chilling air of dread.
Cheongjang Daoist rebuked the bald man in a stern tone.
"Were you too afraid to climb Mount Cheongseong, yet unwilling to turn tail without coming this far?"
"Malko Daoist, you needn't worry about that. The Cheongseong Sect will soon follow you to the afterlife. Think of this as a warm-up. Heheheh."
"Lies. Do you truly believe you can take on the main sect with only this number?"
"Listen well. We are the Cheonrangdae. And I don't think this is the time for you to worry about our ability to attack the main sect. You should be more concerned about being wiped out—by this small force right here."
"Arrogant fool!"
Cheongjang barked the words, but there was a strange smile on his lips. The others wore similar expressions.
From the Bloodstorm Blade's words, they surmised that these hundred men were all there was. In that case, holding out for the three gak until reinforcements arrived might be difficult, but possible.
"Arrogant or not, you'll find out soon enough."
The Bloodstorm Blade pulled a four-foot curved saber from the leather sheath on his back.
Seeing this, Wang Hoyu asked,
"And where is your leader, the Cheonma Sword?"
"The main character always enters later."
"…?"
"One gak. If you're still alive one gak after the fighting starts, you'll get to see our commander. But I wonder—will anyone here be lucky enough to survive that long?"
Everyone, Cheongjang included, was dumbfounded.
That bald man had just declared that he would finish them all within one gak.
Even if they were the strongest unit in the Demonic Cult, it was an absurd claim—and all the righteous warriors present felt deeply insulted.
The Bloodstorm Blade, unfazed, continued,
"When you meet the King of the Underworld, be sure to tell him exactly why you died. Tell him it was because of the Cheongseong Sect's leader. We warned him, and he ignored us."
Mo Gae's anger surged, and he was about to retort—but the words caught in his throat.
The saber in the Bloodstorm Blade's hand began to hum and glow red.
Uuuuuum.
A young Daoist exclaimed in a hushed, frightened tone,
"He—he's a peerless master!"
A peerless master—one whose strength far surpassed that of a hundred men, a thousand even.
There were only two effective ways to counter such a warrior:
First, to pit another peerless master against him. But there was no one here who had reached that level.
Second, to counter him with a coordinated formation of skilled fighters. But here, the warriors were from mixed sects and schools, and most small and mid-sized sects didn't teach such formations—they barely had the resources to raise individual skill.
There was one more possibility—send more than a dozen first-rate fighters to take turns engaging him without pause. But that was risky; they might lose their best warriors without achieving anything.
Cheongjang signaled to his subordinates.
The only hope of stalling the Bloodstorm Blade was for the Cheongseong Daoists to work in coordination. Six Daoists trained in cooperative formations quickly moved in behind him.
The Bloodstorm Blade smirked inwardly.
What would their faces look like if they knew that among those on the wall were three more peerless masters—the Ghost-Soul Spear, the Asura Witch, and the Demon-Spirit Sword?
He spoke,
"Now you'll learn why the Cheonrangdae is the Demonic Cult's strongest unit—why, in the past ten years, we've never lost a single battle. Starting now, you have one gak. If you can last, then last. Hahaha!"
His red-glowing saber stabbed toward the moon in the sky.
At the same time, the hundred Cheonrangdae warriors on the wall launched themselves into the air.
Cheongjang roared,
"Kill the demonic cultists!"
Chaang!
Two hundred and fifty righteous warriors drew their swords in unison.
The Bloodstorm Blade brought his crimson saber down.
Kwa-kwak-kwak-kwak!
A torrent of deadly saber energy tore through the earth, a deep trench splitting toward Cheongjang's feet.
Kwaang!
Cheongjang drove his sword into the ground, halting the saber energy with a thunderous boom.
"Nngh…"
He couldn't help but groan. He had blocked only pure energy, not even the real blade, yet he could feel it—peerless strength he could not easily withstand.
The Bloodstorm Blade sounded almost impressed.
"Ho… Not a single step back? You must be near the peak of the Daoist path. But it won't change the outcome."
Even as he spoke, he charged forward. The six Daoists flanking Cheongjang split into two groups of three to attack his sides.
Suddenly, a violet whip lashed out of nowhere, coiling around the lead Daoist's neck.
"Ghk!"
Startled, the Daoist tried to duck, but the whip was too fast—it tightened around his throat.
"Kuk!"
His eyes bulged; he dropped his sword and clawed at the whip, but it was useless.
Pah!
The violet whip gave a single violent jerk—and his head separated from his body.
Shhh!
A fountain of blood sprayed into the air.
"Looks like I drew first blood, First Squad Leader. Hohoho!"
The owner of the whip laughed sweetly—she was the Asura Witch, the only female squad leader of the Cheonrangdae.
The first casualty had fallen in the blink of an eye. And as the two Daoists behind him faltered in shock, the Bloodstorm Blade surged in to exploit the opening.
Shugagagak!
"Aaargh!"
"Ghk!"
The formation meant to counter him was broken before it could even take shape.
All around the Cheongho Dojang training yard, the clash of steel and cries of pain erupted.
Jyaaaang!
"Uwaaagh!"
"T-they're too strong!"
The Cheongseong Daoists and secular disciples were shocked by how the Cheonrangdae swept into their ranks—like wolves tearing into a flock of sheep.
Shhhk! Clang! Slash!
"Gyaaaah!"
Screams rang out again and again, and the Cheonrangdae said nothing—only cutting down every enemy in sight.
Cheongjang watched his formation collapse in moments and shouted,
"Stay calm! Fight with the comrade beside—"
But he couldn't finish. The crimson saber of the Bloodstorm Blade came down like a lightning strike.
Clang!
He blocked it, but the force sent him skidding back three full steps.
The Bloodstorm Blade smirked.
"Giving orders while fighting me? You think you're capable of that?"
"Ugh…"
Cheongjang trembled with rage. These weren't just any Cheonrangdae troops—they were the very best, the most powerful warriors handpicked from the unit.
Otherwise, how could they be so overwhelming?
The Bloodstorm Blade approached, grinning.
"Regretting it? If you'd known the gap between us was this vast, you'd have scattered and fled the moment you saw us, wouldn't you?"
The words struck Cheongjang to the core. Shameful as it was, he realized that would indeed have been the wisest choice.
"Heheheh. But what can you do? Regret always comes too late, doesn't it?"
Pah!
The crimson saber sliced down through the air.
Clang!
Cheongjang blocked again—but this time he spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Kuhuk!"
The sheer force of the blow had injured him internally.
Beside him, Wang Hoyu—struggling to fight—saw the blood and cried out in alarm,
"Cheongjang Daoist!"
Even a moment's distraction came at a steep price.
Slash.
Wang Hoyu's right arm was severed by a member of the Cheonrangdae's First Squad.
"Guhhh!"
With his arm—and his weapon—gone, Wang Hoyu staggered back screaming. But the onrushing Cheonrangdae warrior was faster.
Crunch.
The blade shattered his ribs and pierced his heart.
A one-sided massacre unfolded across all of Cheongho Dojang.
At the rear gate of Cheongho Dojang
Wang Hoyu's wife, Ju Soryn, hurried along, clutching the hands of their young son and daughter. Behind them trailed about fifty people, their faces pale.
They were the wives and children of Udun-ri's martial hall and dojang masters, along with servants and kitchen staff.
The only guard with them, Wang Hoyu's third disciple Seon Jiun, reached the lead and was about to open the rear gate when he froze.
From the front of the dojang, in the training yard, came the clash of weapons followed by screams.
The fifty people behind him turned even paler.
They couldn't confirm it, but somehow the voices screaming sounded like their own side—not the cultists.
In a low, steady voice, Seon Jiun said,
"Do not worry too much. Reinforcements from the main sect will be here soon."
No one replied. They only trembled and nodded faintly.
Deciding it was more urgent to get them to safety than to ease their tension, Seon Jiun pushed open the rear gate.
Creak.
He stepped out first, and the group of fifty poured out after him. But they all drew sharp breaths when they saw flickering lights in the darkness.
Fire.
Flames were rising from seven places in Udun-ri. By the direction, they could tell where—it was the martial halls and dojangs. The remaining Cheonrangdae forces had set fire to the now-empty buildings.
Seon Jiun swallowed a groan. He had intended to hide the people in the nearest martial hall, but now there was nowhere to go.
"Should we hide in private homes? No… we'll have to head for Mount Cheongseong."
He bit his lip. He had heard countless stories of the Demonic Cult's cruelty during their last invasion of the Central Plains. With that in mind, he couldn't promise the civilians' safety in private homes.
Then, faintly, he heard the sound of hoofbeats.
Tak… tak…
Seon Jiun and the fifty others flinched and looked around.
From the darkness between the houses about ten jang away, two riders emerged.
Seon Jiun swallowed hard.
Enemies?
A rumor flashed through his mind—
That very afternoon, the Cheonma Sword and his subordinate had appeared at Cheongpyeong Inn on horseback and then vanished.
Brrr.
Seon Jiun shivered involuntarily.
The Cheonma Sword!
He took pride in his own martial arts, but he was no match for the Cheonma Sword. And his subordinate had single-handedly slaughtered the nine top experts of Uiseong Hall.
"We… we have to flee. It's the Cheonma Sword."
He told this to his master's wife, Ju Soryn. But instead of running, the people froze in place.
Where could they even run?
Especially when the two were on horseback.
As they stood paralyzed with fear, the Cheonma Sword and Gwan Taerang closed the distance to mere steps away.
Chaaang.
Seon Jiun drew his sword and stepped in front of the people. Gwan Taerang's hand went to his own blade.
Seon Jiun shouted,
"Scatter and run! I'll hold them off for a moment!"
But before anyone could move, Baek Unhoe spoke.
"If anyone moves without my permission, they'll die where they stand."
At that flat statement, the frozen people who had begun to stir stopped instantly.
Seon Jiun gritted his teeth and shouted again,
"If you don't run, you'll all die!"
He stepped forward. Gwan Taerang began to draw his sword—but Baek Unhoe raised his hand to stop him.
"It's fine. This one's no threat at all."
Gwan Taerang replied evenly,
"But he pointed his sword at you, my lord."
"A dog barking isn't reason enough to kill it."
At that, Gwan Taerang withdrew his hand from his sword. Seon Jiun, for his part, felt a wave of humiliation.
Not just from their words, but from the overwhelming presence they radiated as they looked down at him from horseback—an aura he could never hope to withstand.
Lowering the tip of his sword to the ground, Seon Jiun said,
"These here are all powerless people. If you let them live, I will cut off my own head and offer it to you."
Pfft.
Baek Unhoe gave a short laugh. Gwan Taerang frowned.
Seon Jiun's face tightened in desperation.
"Spare them!"
Baek Unhoe finally spoke.
"I am Baek Unhoe, the Cheonma Sword."
"…?"
"Gwan Taerang, just what sort of rumors are going around about me?"
Gwan Taerang shrugged.
"There are so many, my lord."
"Tsk tsk. Do any of them say I kill powerless women or children?"
"Hm. Some call you a demonic hero, others say you're like a yaksha."
Baek Unhoe kept clicking his tongue, then turned back to Seon Jiun.
"Your name?"
"Seon Jiun."
"Age?"
"Twenty-three."
"Alright, Seon Jiun. Let me ask you just one thing."
Biting his lip, Seon Jiun said,
"Ask."
"You said you'd cut off your own head and offer it. Can you actually do that?"
"What?"
"Exactly what I said. Can you?"
"…"
"So you lied."
Seon Jiun was incredulous.
"That's not what I meant!"
"Hahaha. Fine. Enough jokes."
Seon Jiun was speechless.
The Cheonma Sword—while his subordinates were fighting and killing—stood here making idle jokes?
An awkward silence passed between them. From Cheongho Dojang, the screams continued without pause.
The nearby villagers must all have been awake by now, but of course, none dared step outside.
Time passed.
Finally, Seon Jiun spoke.
"What are you waiting for?"
Baek Unhoe answered,
"The victory report."
"You're not going to fight?"
"If I joined in, the fight would be over too quickly, and my subordinates wouldn't enjoy themselves. I'm just here to watch for anyone trying to escape."
Seon Jiun could only gape.
Just what was this overwhelming confidence?