Beneath a rather steep hill.
From within the darkness spread below the slope, Baek Unhoe slowly swept his gaze over those bowing before him.
Out of the 350 men he had brought from the Sichuan branch, he had handpicked only the squad leaders and veterans—one hundred of the very best from the Cheonrangdae.
The Cheonrangdae was the strongest armed force in the Demonic Cult.
The reasons could be summed up in three points:
First, the Cheonma Sword was their commander.
Second, they possessed the five peerless masters known as the Cheonrang Five Demons:
Starting with Deputy Commander Gwan Taerang, the "Flash Demon Sword," then the First Squad Leader, the "Bloodstorm Blade," the Second Squad Leader, the "Ghost-Soul Spear," the Third Squad Leader, the "Asura Witch," and the Fourth Squad Leader, the "Demon-Spirit Sword."
Even in large orthodox sects, true peerless masters numbered only a few—sometimes only one or two. Yet the Cheonrangdae commanded five of them.
Third, as the saying went, "Under a great general, there are no weak soldiers." Could weaklings possibly exist beneath such masters?
Baek Unhoe addressed the finest elites of the Cheonrangdae, comrades with whom he had fought side by side for the past decade.
"This is nothing more than a small skirmish to seize the Cheongseong Sect. Surely none of you are nervous?"
Gwan Taerang spoke up.
"With these hundred men here, I'm confident we could take on the entire Cheongseong Sect. Two hundred and fifty lackeys? They're hardly worth mentioning."
At his words, shoulders shook and silent chuckles spread among the men.
Of course, even a hundred Cheonrangdae elites taking on the entire Cheongseong Sect was unrealistic.
But the confidence they exuded was genuine—confidence that even if such a thing happened, they would not fall easily, not with their commander, the Cheonma Sword, at their side.
To them, Baek Unhoe was almost an object of faith. Ten years of conquering the outer martial world had proven his worth.
"There's only one reason I chose only you—don't die. I won't even tolerate minor injuries."
A faint smile rippled across the lips of the hundred subordinates. Baek Unhoe met their eyes one by one, then spoke firmly.
"Now, it's time to depart."
At his command, everyone rose. The astonishing thing was that even with a hundred men moving at once, not a sound was made.
Baek Unhoe looked at them and spoke in a low yet powerful voice.
"Comrades of the proud Cheonrangdae!"
It was the rallying cry they used every time they went into action.
The hundred subordinates echoed back softly:
"For the dream we share! We shall open a new world with our own strength!"
Baek Unhoe turned, mounted the black horse at his side, and together with his men shouted the final cry:
"And thus, in the end, we shall become legend!"
Udun-ri, one of six villages surrounding Mount Cheongseong.
With around five hundred households and 3,300 residents, Udun-ri was home to numerous mid-sized martial halls and dojangs run by secular disciples of the Cheongseong Sect.
The largest among them, the Cheongho Dojang, had the most disciples in the village.
At present, all the warriors from Udun-ri's martial halls and dojangs had gathered there, along with seventy Taoist priests sent from the main Cheongseong Sect.
Two hundred and fifty people had assembled at Cheongho Dojang.
The reason was none other than the appearance of the Cheonma Sword.
The Cheongseong Sect had stationed main-sect disciples at every mountain pass in tight security.
But a problem remained—
The six villages around Mount Cheongseong, with their secular disciples.
They couldn't simply be left exposed to the Cheonma Sword's blade, which could strike at any time.
In the end, the Cheongseong Sect ordered all secular disciples in each of the six villages to gather in a single location for the time being.
And even that wasn't enough reassurance—so they stationed 50 to 70 Taoists in each village for support.
Wang Hoyu, the master of Cheongho Dojang, was a middle-aged man standing on the second floor balcony, surveying the bustling training yard and its surroundings.
A subdued gathering was underway.
They couldn't hold a lavish feast when disciples of the Uiseong Hall had died earlier that day, but with seventy priests from the main sect and all the warriors of Udun-ri together, there was still cause to talk, share news, and exchange greetings—accompanied by food, though not alcohol, in case of a sudden attack by the Cheonma Sword.
Night had fallen, but the Cheongho Dojang was as bright as day from the many bonfires, and the air buzzed with conversation over shared meals.
"Master Wang, come, sit with us."
From a nearby martial hall, Hall Master Mo Gae called to Wang Hoyu.
Around fifty people sat at tables in the large second-floor hall, talking over food.
Wang Hoyu smiled faintly and replied:
"Master Mo, I've eaten too much. I'll stand here and get some fresh air."
Mo Gae stood and walked over.
"Are you alright?"
Wang Hoyu wrestled with his heavy heart—he was a secular disciple of the Uiseong Hall's master.
In other words, the disciples who died today at Cheongpyeong Inn were his senior and junior brothers. Mo Gae knew this and was offering comfort.
Wang Hoyu nodded.
"It feels like my chest is being torn apart, but… what can I do?"
"All the more reason to compose yourself and show strength."
"Indeed. Thank you for your concern."
They stood side by side at the railing, gazing into the distance.
Under the moonlight, a serene blue darkness lay over the plains before the Cheongho Dojang. The air was cool and clear after the heavy rain earlier that day.
They remained silent for a while before Wang Hoyu spoke again.
"What do you think the Cheonma Sword is planning?"
Mo Gae replied immediately—he had been wondering the same thing. In fact, everyone at Cheongho Dojang was talking about it.
Speculation abounded: that he had to be captured and killed, that appearing at Cheongpyeong Inn with only one subordinate meant he was insane, and countless old rumors about him resurfaced.
"Master Wang, the priests from the main sect are keeping quiet, but… I believe they think the Cheonma Sword will almost certainly return to the Sichuan branch."
Wang Hoyu nodded.
"I think so too, but we can't let our guard down."
"Exactly. As we saw today, we don't know what kind of lowly ambush he might attempt. It's best to be fully prepared."
Wang Hoyu gave a wry smile at that—
A lowly ambush by the Cheonma Sword?
Could today's incident at Cheongpyeong Inn truly be called an ambush?
He had openly sent a challenge letter, even posting it in every village.
The Cheongseong Sect might claim it was a dishonorable act, but the rest of the martial world likely saw it differently. Even fellow orthodox sects might outwardly agree with Cheongseong, but inwardly admire his boldness.
"Master Mo, do you truly think the Cheonma Sword will just leave like this?"
Mo Gae smiled.
"Yes. And I have a very good reason for thinking so."
Wang Hoyu tilted his head with a curious expression. Mo Gae was the most well-informed man in Udun-ri, so if he said something like this, it meant he'd heard credible news.
"What's the reason?"
"It's said that the subordinates the Cheonma Sword brought with him are few."
Wang Hoyu's brow furrowed at Mo Gae's words.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I overheard the main-sect Taoists talking among themselves. A carrier pigeon from Bingbong Woon-gunsa in Chengdu arrived, and apparently most of the demonic cultists are still in the Sichuan branch."
"Ah! That's a relief."
Wang Hoyu let out the anxiety that had been pressing on his chest. He had feared that all the cultists in the Sichuan branch had come—if that were the case, Mount Cheongseong would surely have turned into a hellish battlefield.
Mo Gae grinned.
"Master Wang, you should mingle a bit. I understand the grief of losing your brothers, but in times like these, you must clear your mind and keep abreast of the world's affairs."
"You're right."
"Yes. Once the Jeomchang Sect arrives, we'll wipe out every last one of those cult bastards. The day of vengeance isn't far, so take heart."
"When the time comes, I intend to ask the Cheongseong Sect to let me lend a hand. I must avenge my brothers."
At Wang Hoyu's words, Mo Gae's eyes lit up.
For the people living around Mount Cheongseong, the most important thing was the kind of ties they had with the Cheongseong Sect.
The more high-ranking members they knew personally, the higher their own standing became in the area.
Mo Gae added,
"I'll also make sure I join the Demon Suppression Campaign."
His intent was clear—he wanted to make a name for himself in the eyes of the Cheongseong Sect.
Wang Hoyu nodded and turned his gaze forward again, unknowingly letting out a small breath.
"Hm?"
Seeing the unusual look on Wang Hoyu's face, Mo Gae asked,
"What is it?"
Mo Gae's gaze followed his. Then his own eyes widened like Wang Hoyu's.
Far off in the pitch-black darkness of the plains, a group of figures was charging toward them.
From between Wang Hoyu's teeth came a trembling voice.
"C-could it be… the cultists?"
His words made everyone on the second-floor hall freeze. They all leapt to their feet and rushed to the railing.
Mo Gae swallowed hard, then shouted like a scream,
"Enemy!"
Those in the training yard stood up in alarm.
Wang Hoyu followed up with a shout,
"Everyone stay calm! Calm yourselves!"
The warriors in the yard ran to the wall, and there they too saw the group of figures cutting through the darkness toward them.
They were fast.
So fast it almost stole one's breath.
Chaos suddenly engulfed Cheongho Dojang.
Then, from the second-floor hall, an elderly Taoist with a youthful face called out,
"Their number is around a hundred! Don't be overly tense!"
His voice, infused with inner strength, rang out across the entire dojang. At once, the panicking warriors began regaining their composure.
The enemy numbered a hundred, while they had 250 swordsmen here.
The approaching men were almost certainly demonic cultists—strong ones—but with more than double their number, it seemed possible to fight them off.
The elderly Taoist, Vice Palace Master Cheongjang of Bokgeon Palace within the Cheongseong Sect, called someone's name.
"Myeongchong."
A young Taoist in the yard stepped forward.
"Yes, Master."
"Go straight to the mountain gate. Inform them that enemies—likely cultists—are charging toward Cheongho Dojang and request reinforcements."
"Understood."
At this, the faces of those nearby noticeably brightened.
From here to the mountain gate—the entrance to the Cheongseong Sect—was about half an hour's walk for an ordinary person. But Myeongchong was skilled in lightfoot techniques; he could make it in just over a quarter-hour. Even allowing for a round trip, reinforcements would arrive in about forty-five minutes if they could just hold out.
"Also, go directly to Bokgeon Palace and inform the Palace Master of this, then report it to the Sect Leader of Sangcheong Palace."
"Yes."
Bokgeon Palace was a short distance up from the mountain gate.
"Go at once."
Myeongchong didn't bother with the main gate; he vaulted over the wall. His swift, agile movements and rapid speed drew murmurs of admiration.
In an instant, he vanished into the darkness.
But tension quickly returned.
The enemy was nearly upon them.
Cheongjang leapt down from the hall.
Flutter.
His robe flapped in the wind. Wang Hoyu and the others followed him into the training yard.
Cheongjang turned to Wang Hoyu.
"This is your domain, but in this emergency, I will take command."
"Of course."
Cheongjang's gaze swept the area, landing on the servants trembling in the corner.
"Those without swords, use the rear gate to escape. All warriors, fall back from the wall and form ranks behind me!"
"Yes, sir!"
Someone shouted the response, and they began moving according to his orders.
Watching this, Wang Hoyu let out a breath of relief.
Forbidding alcohol tonight had been a wise choice.
They were almost finished forming up in the center of the yard when—
BOOM!
The front gate of Cheongho Dojang was torn apart like paper.
A burly, middle-aged man, over six feet tall, stepped inside.
Swish, swish swish swish!
Figures in black night-garb landed atop the tiled wall.
Despite their rapid approach, not one of them showed the slightest sign of labored breathing.
They landed on the tiles as if each had a predetermined position, their movements so precise it was like watching a perfectly drilled military formation.
There was no need for blades to cross to know—
These were elite warriors forged through brutal training.
The middle-aged man who entered through the shattered gate was bald, with small, sharp eyes that gleamed dangerously.
He swept his gaze across the front without hesitation. His lips curled into a grin.
"I am the First Squad Leader of the Cheonrangdae—the Bloodstorm Blade. I'm the one who'll be escorting you to the underworld."