Baek Yun-hoe's sudden order left the Qingcheng Sect Taoists wide-eyed in shock.
Bewilderment, outrage, and anger.
To give such a blunt, senseless command to kill the moment they met eyes—without preamble or cause. What was even more galling was that the man who received the order dismounted, gripped the sword hilt at his side, and began to advance with slow, deliberate steps.
A middle-aged Taoist ground his teeth and shouted,
"How dare you! Do you not know we are the great Qingcheng Sect? No—before that, state your identity! Are you truly the Heavenly Demon Sword?"
In answer, Baek Yun-hoe reached up and removed his bamboo hat.
Whoooosh.
Through the curtain of pouring rain, his face was revealed.
The distance was a mere five jang, even in this torrential downpour.
The Qingcheng Taoists' eyes twitched. The first thing they noticed was a deep sword scar running from beneath his right eye down to his jaw.
One of the Taoists gave an involuntary gasp and cried out,
"It really is the Heavenly Demon Sword!"
Even the spectators gathered at the Qingping Inn, standing a little apart, began to stir.
Not a single soul had expected the commander-in-chief of the Demonic Cult to appear with only one subordinate in tow.
It was precisely because no one had anticipated it that the impact was all the greater.
Whispers spread from mouth to mouth, but their eyes stayed fixed on the Heavenly Demon Sword—and also on the man called Gwan Tae-rang, who was quietly stepping forward.
Splorch, splorch.
A faint, killing smile formed on Gwan Tae-rang's once-expressionless face.
It was a display of confidence.
That smile only stoked the Qingcheng Taoists' fury.
Just one man.
And not even the Heavenly Demon Sword himself, but his underling—walking forward with a smile, as if mocking them.
The middle-aged Taoist who had questioned Baek Yun-hoe turned to the elder at the head of their ranks.
"Please grant permission to draw my sword. This is an insult to our sect."
They had not come here to fight.
If by some chance the Heavenly Demon Sword truly appeared, their plan was to speak with him first. But if he attacked without warning like this, they could only respond in kind.
If they backed away now… it would look like fear.
At the request, the elder nodded grimly.
Nine Qingcheng Taoists drew their swords as one.
Schiiing!
The moment their blades left the scabbards, they charged. Nine against a single man—that was how much the Heavenly Demon Sword's provocation had enraged them.
Qingcheng Sect—Sichuan's foremost sword sect, proud and unyielding.
When the Emei Sect, the Dokgo family, and Kunlun went to support the Sichuan branch of the Martial Alliance, Qingcheng Sect had also been asked for aid.
But the Qingcheng Sect Leader had refused the Martial Alliance's request—because Grand Strategist Zhuge Cheon was courting the Tang Clan.
Qingcheng Sect and the Tang Clan were like dogs and monkeys—mortal enemies.
The Tang Clan had once been firmly aligned with the demonic path, up until just 150 years ago, when they declared themselves beholden to neither the orthodox nor unorthodox factions.
Before that, for generations, the orthodox Qingcheng Sect and the demonic Tang Clan had clashed endlessly for the title of Sichuan's number one sect.
Emei Sect was also an orthodox sect of Sichuan, but it lay far to the south. Qingcheng and Tang Clan, on the other hand, were only a day's ride apart.
Thus the two had fought countless battles over the years, with many lives lost.
Even after the Tang Clan proclaimed neutrality, the old grudges remained buried deep.
In the eyes of the world, the Tang Clan was now Sichuan's foremost sect—but Qingcheng disciples never accepted that. In their hearts, they were still the supreme sect of Sichuan.
And so Baek Yun-hoe's provocation was as humiliating as it was infuriating.
"Haaahp!"
The middle-aged Taoist at the front dashed forward, sword slashing toward Gwan Tae-rang. A flash of light glinted in Gwan Tae-rang's eyes.
Chang!
His blade sprang forth like a lightning bolt.
Shuga-gak!
The instant it cleared the scabbard, it pierced the air.
"Ghk!"
Before anyone realized it, the sword tip was buried in the Taoist's throat. The man's blade had come within mere inches of Gwan Tae-rang's head—but that was as far as it got.
After-strike, first control.
He had drawn later, but struck first. The meaning was clear: an overwhelming gap in skill.
Slice.
Gwan Tae-rang's blade tore halfway through the man's neck before whipping free into the rain.
The onlookers' eyes widened in shock. Even the charging Qingcheng Taoists halted in disbelief.
Fwhhhp!
Gwan Tae-rang spun on his heel, sweeping his foot across the rain-soaked, muddy ground.
Schlaaash!
Mud and water exploded upward, forming a wall before him.
The Taoists flinched at the cheap trick, their vision obscured even as they reeled from their comrade's swift, pointless death.
Pah, pah, pah, pah, pah!
Five crimson sword auras burst through the muddy curtain.
"Ahh!"
"Urgh!"
Two of the five Taoists in the lead dodged, one batted the attack aside, and the remaining two were struck in the chest and abdomen, stumbling backward.
Thud!
As the wall of mud and water fell away, Gwan Tae-rang emerged like a pouncing tiger.
Swift body, swifter sword.
The three who had avoided his initial strike were cut down before they could react.
"Uwaaaah!"
"Ghhhk!"
Two screamed; the third died without a sound.
From the fall of their foremost fighter to this moment, it had all happened in the blink of an eye. The spectators stood slack-jawed, speechless.
The remaining Taoists' faces now held not anger, but fear and dismay. Gwan Tae-rang drove into their ranks without pause.
The elder at the head—his rain-soaked beard trembling—knew it was time for him to act. But he could not move.
Not because of Gwan Tae-rang, but because of the man slowly riding forward behind him—the Heavenly Demon Sword himself.
A crushing, formless pressure locked him in place. He knew that if he moved even slightly, Baek Yun-hoe's sword strike would come instantly—and he knew in his bones he could not withstand it.
If the pressure of his invisible sword intent was already so suffocating, the power of his true blade was beyond imagining.
Clang, schlaaash, clang!
"Aaagh!"
"Urrraaagh!"
Steel rang, and screams followed—every one of them from Qingcheng disciples.
The elder bit down on his lip, then drew the sword at his side.
Schiiing.
Splorch, splorch.
Before he knew it, the Heavenly Demon Sword was standing within a single jang of the elder. The subordinates who had been standing beside him moments ago now lay sprawled on the ground, all defeated.
Click.
Gwan Tae-rang slid his blade back into its sheath and bowed beside the Heavenly Demon Sword.
"It's done."
Baek Yun-hoe nodded, then looked at the elder.
"If your sect leader's intent was to disregard me, then I have no choice but to keep my word. I've already given warning—so this should come as no surprise."
This elder was the Lord of Uiseong Pavilion, sent by the Qingcheng Sect Leader with orders to seek an audience if the Heavenly Demon Sword truly appeared, and arrange a new meeting.
The pavilion lord gritted his teeth.
"And you call this an audience? You attack without warning?"
"You were the ones who drew swords first."
"Are you really saying that? You ordered my men to be killed first! Do you not understand the weight of a leader's words? That was you attacking us before we ever raised a hand!"
The pavilion lord's voice dripped with fury, but the Heavenly Demon Sword only gave a thin smile.
"You've just said something worth remembering."
"…?"
"Taoist, you're right—words from the mouth of a leader carry heavy meaning."
"What are you getting at?"
"That your sect leader ignored the words of me—the commander-in-chief entrusted with the occupation of Sichuan Province by both the Demonic Cult and the Black Heaven Lotus."
"…!"
"And I already warned of the consequences."
"That… that's only because he never thought you'd actually show up. Even if you did, we expected a messenger to deliver your—"
Baek Yun-hoe's cold voice cut him off.
"Are you saying the head of Qingcheng so easily speaks empty words?"
"…"
Baek Yun-hoe's gaze pierced through the curtain of rain, toward the looming bulk of Mount Qingcheng in the distance.
"I'll spare you. Go back and tell him this—because he ignored me and misjudged the situation, the Qingcheng Sect will be erased from the world."
The pavilion lord's hand shook around his sword hilt. The distance was only a single jang. If he went all out, he might not kill him, but he could at least wound him.
Drawing deep on the energy in his dantian, the pavilion lord spoke.
"Do you think the Qingcheng Sect is some dog's name to trifle with? Do you really believe you can do that? We are the Qingcheng Sect! There are fifteen hundred swordsmen in our mountain stronghold, five hundred secular disciples in the surrounding villages, and a history stretching back—"
Baek Yun-hoe suddenly hurled his bamboo hat.
Whirr—slash!
The hat spun toward him at frightening speed, and the pavilion lord, startled, swung his sword to intercept.
BOOM!
"Ugh!"
The hat struck with an explosive force—Baek Yun-hoe had infused it with his inner energy. The pavilion lord skidded back five full steps, legs trembling. He had to force strength into them just to keep from collapsing, and swallowed down the blood rising in his throat.
Baek Yun-hoe's expression was one of irritation.
"I didn't come here to listen to petty boasts about the Qingcheng Sect. I wouldn't care if it were the Shaolin themselves, stronger than you and older in history. What matters is this—I've decided you'll be erased. And in this world, the most important thing… is my will."
"Did you just call the Qingcheng Sect petty?"
The pavilion lord's killing intent surged with his anger, but Baek Yun-hoe burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha! Hahahahaha!"
The laugh, charged with his internal power, made the falling raindrops shudder and scatter away from him.
When the laughter stopped, Baek Yun-hoe's eyes locked on the pavilion lord.
"Your sect leader—the man you call master—was too afraid to even show his face for a challenge from a mere twenty-nine-year-old you call a fledgling. And you expect me to respect such a man?"
"That… that's—"
"No matter what you say now, it's all excuses and pretense. Go back. Tell your sect leader that I'm coming for his head. If he ignores me again, he'll taste the same bitter defeat as you've seen today. Tell him to prepare well."
"Heavenly Demon Sword… you truly are mad. How can a commander say something so absurd?"
Baek Yun-hoe gave a faint smile.
"Then perhaps it will be all the more amusing for you—to see the proud Qingcheng Sect crumble beneath the blade of a so-called madman."
He tugged on the reins.
Neigh!
The black stallion whinnied and turned. In moments, he and Gwan Tae-rang were gone into the rain.
The spectators at the Qingping Inn, who had witnessed everything, still could not close their mouths.
Cheon Ryu-yeong slowly scanned the five people in the room.
His mother, his younger sister Soo-yeon, Dokgo Seol, Pyeong-u, and a young man who appeared to be a physician.
When he saw how gaunt the three women looked, he gave a look of guilt.
"I've worried you."
The physician, still holding his wrist for the pulse, gave a faint smile.
"Your pulse is weaker than it was earlier, but the worst is over now that you've regained consciousness. Rest for a few days and take the prescribed tonic—you should be fine."
Everyone's faces relaxed in relief at his words.
His mother sighed in gratitude, then said,
"That young lady Seol over there took better care of you than we did."
Cheon Ryu-yeong turned to look at Dokgo Seol. Even without his mother's words, he could see her face had grown pale and thin.
"Thank you, Lady Dokgo."
Dokgo Seol brushed back her hair and shook her head.
"No. I didn't do anything. I just stayed by your side… And besides—"
She trailed off, then spoke gently to his mother.
"I told you, please just call me Seol."
"I couldn't possibly…"
Dokgo Seol moved closer on her knees, took her hands, and bowed her head.
"Young Master Cheon saved my life, and the lives of many others. As the mother of such a man, please treat me without formality—just as I do you. I beg you."
Yu-hwa, Cheon Ryu-yeong's mother, looked flustered.
When she first learned Dokgo Seol was the eldest daughter of the Dokgo family, she had been stunned. Even those outside the martial world knew of the Nine Great Sects and the Eight Great Families of the orthodox faction.
In a nation long abandoned by its corrupt officials, where law and order had crumbled, the great martial factions effectively ruled the land.
Yu-hwa said nothing, and Soo-yeon stayed quiet as well. No matter how informal Dokgo Seol acted, to them she was still someone from the highest reaches.
Yet deep inside, pride swelled in Yu-hwa's chest. Her son—her brother—was being addressed as "Young Master" by someone like her.
Pyeong-u interjected.
"Please do as she says. If Madam keeps calling Sister Seol 'young lady' and us 'honorable warriors,' it'll put Young Master in an awkward position."
At the thought of making her son—or brother—uncomfortable, Yu-hwa and Soo-yeon reluctantly nodded.
Cheon Ryu-yeong glanced at them, then turned back to Dokgo Seol.
"Lady Dokgo, how long have I been unconscious? It feels like it's been more than a day…"
Pyeong-u answered in her stead.
"A day? Pfft, not even close. This is the fifth day. Do you have any idea how worried we've been?"
Cheon Ryu-yeong's eyes widened, and he suddenly sat upright.
"We have to leave for Chengdu immediately!"
His voice was a shout, nothing like the calm tone he'd been using moments before, startling everyone in the room.