He trusted his comrade.
While the demonic cultists were excited at the chance for even a small measure of revenge, Noeakcheon ran a hand through his red hair, tilting his head.
Something about the orthodox warriors fleeing toward the forest from the hills on both sides felt off.
On the left, they appeared to be warriors of the Dokgo Family. On the right, Taoists of Kunlun.
Around fifty fighters on each side—yet they had emerged at the same time, running in unison as though prearranged. The sight was troubling.
The orthodox warriors wore the look of panic.
That made it all the stranger.
Why choose a course that left them in such panic?
Had they truly not anticipated being pursued by foes burning with rage and vengeance?
Perhaps some trap lay ahead.
At that moment, a possibility flashed through his mind like lightning.
There had been some three hundred orthodox warriors in the Sword Fragrance Manor.
Yet those moving now from both flanks numbered barely a hundred combined.
That left two hundred unaccounted for.
"Hm… an ambush?"
Hearing his murmur, Lord Sa Hyeolgang gave a look of agreement and replied,
"Did the Young Master think the same? Likely the rest of those orthodox scum are lying in wait in that forest."
At his words, the faces of those who had been so eager now turned tense.
Their strategist had been that scholar-warrior, the one who had toyed with them and brought them to defeat.
If it was him… it was entirely possible he had placed an ambush there.
Elder Hyulsaeja spoke calmly,
"It is possible. But even if there is an ambush, do you really think we would lose? Our warriors are of far greater quality."
Noeakcheon frowned and countered,
"We might win, yes. But we've already suffered so much. Shouldn't we avoid further losses?"
He was considering calling back the Red Wolf Division and the White Wolf Division who were chasing the orthodox warriors, and sought the opinions of the others.
Mabul shook his head firmly.
"Losses? How much more could we possibly lose? Our honor is already ruined beyond repair. For the sake of salvaging even a shred of it, we need at least a small victory now."
In truth, it was the So-noeum Sect of the Tang Clan that had taken the greatest losses.
The Asura Squad, including its master, the peak expert Lord Asura, had been annihilated.
Barely thirty followers remained.
Thus Mabul pressed for a hardline fight. He had nothing left to lose.
Though Noeakcheon and Hyulsaeja scowled at his position, they did not refute it. His logic was sound, and to keep making weak protests would only wound their pride further.
Sa Hyeolgang said,
"Since we don't know when the Tang Clan reinforcements will arrive, let's send a few scouts to the rear. The rest of us should strike the orthodox."
Noeakcheon eased his frown and nodded.
"That will do. Even if there is an ambush, if we strike swiftly and decisively, we can seize victory before long."
The next steps proceeded swiftly.
Three fast-footed scouts headed to the rear, while the rest split in two. They moved to support the Red Wolf Division and White Wolf Division, who were just entering the forest in pursuit of the orthodox warriors.
Even under the full moon, the forest was dark.
As the massive, eight-foot-tall, heavily muscled Red Wolf Lord entered the gloom, his eyes flickered.
Moonlight pierced through the branches here and there. Something in the air caught that faint light and glimmered.
"Hm?"
A sound of puzzlement escaped him before he screamed in agony.
"Gyaaaahhh!"
He was not alone. From his left and right, his subordinates also shrieked, filling the forest with cries.
"Aaaghh!"
"Guhhh! Wh-what is this?!"
Slash!
Flesh tore. Muscles split, spraying blood into the air. Clothing fluttered in tatters.
In the shadowy woods, the charging figures of the cultists were shredded like rags.
Arms severed, legs lopped off. Some had half their necks sliced, their heads dangling grotesquely. Others were cleaved at the waist, blood gushing in torrents.
Silver-Iron Thread.
It was wire—thin, yet strong and sharp—that Pyeong-u, at Cheon Ryu-yeong's command, had secretly procured from smithies.
Coated with soot to render it black, strung taut in hidden places.
Silver-Iron Thread was a weapon any assassin might carry. Often used to infiltrate and silently garrote sentries.
Those who suffered most among the Red Wolf Division were the skilled ones with swift lightness arts, for they had led the charge.
The Red Wolf Lord, screaming, looked down at his abdomen.
The black thread had pierced through his tunic and his hardened muscles. He had thrown all his inner strength and stamina into halting the moment he felt contact.
But the inertia of his full-speed dash was impossible to stop completely. The wire had already sunk a third of the way into his waist.
"D-damn… I knew something felt wrong."
Blood poured from his mouth as he muttered.
Buzz!
With a furious sweep of his iron staff, he smashed the wire, and it fell slack. Dropping to one knee, he clutched his belly.
Indescribable pain wracked him. His vision blurred, his mind reeled.
Dokgo Mu-yeong turned and shouted,
"Attack!"
"Yes, my lord!"
His followers roared, drawing their blades, and charged at the chaos-stricken enemies.
The Red Wolf Lord's head spun, his ears ringing.
His innards shredded, survival was impossible. Blood kept welling up his throat. But seeing the Dokgo Clan Lord racing toward him, he forced himself to rise.
This was the pride of a peak master.
"I won't go alone!"
He raised his iron staff high, stepping forward to meet the oncoming Clan Lord.
It was an act of defiance.
But defiance is powerless before the unexpected.
Thrust!
"Khahh!"
His eyes bulged as he looked down. A sharp object jutted up through his foot.
Nails, hidden beneath the forest leaves. Of course, these too had been quietly purchased by Pyeong-u.
"Kkhh… damn…"
Even in his torment, he laughed bitterly. He could feel the last of his strength draining away like an ebbing tide.
How many years had he endured, training and suffering, to reach the peak? Never once had he imagined that it would all end so futilely.
He had always thought only the weak died pathetic deaths in the martial world.
But now—
Swoosh, slash!
Dokgo Mu-yeong's wind-sword fell, and the Red Wolf Lord's head dropped to the cold earth, rolling away.
Dokgo Mu-yeong flicked the blood from his blade and muttered,
"They wanted to vent the rage of their crushing defeat. But when grief and anger consume one's calm, victory can never be won."
It wasn't that he couldn't understand. Had he been in their place, he might have acted the same.
A slow grin spread across his lips.
Not a smile of expectation.
A smile of certainty.
Everything was unfolding just as Cheon Ryu-yeong had foreseen.
At least, up to this point.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Metallic clashes erupted throughout the dark forest. The Red Wolf Division warriors who had been slightly behind surged forward, furious at the meaningless deaths of their commanders and comrades, and clashed with the Dokgo Family's warriors.
But the ones screaming were almost all demonic cultists.
"Ghhhk!"
"Aaaghhh!"
They were helpless before the Silver-Iron Threads and concealed nails hidden in the darkness. Forced to move cautiously, they could not display their full skill and quickly fell beneath the blades of the Dokgo warriors.
"Waaaahhh!"
Shouts erupted spontaneously from the throats of the Dokgo Family's fighters.
They had waited here, anxious for news from the Tang Clan's forces, spending time setting up Silver-Iron Threads and traps, memorizing each position precisely.
Now their preparations bore fruit.
The demonic cultists were stronger than they were. In a straight fight, they would have been overwhelmed and slaughtered.
But with the advantage of terrain, the orthodox warriors fought fearlessly, drawing their enemies into traps, retreating just enough, or skewering opponents who had grown noticeably more timid.
The outcome was decided in an instant.
Of the seventy-odd cultists who had pursued them, some twenty ended up fleeing back out of the forest.
"Uwaaaahhh!"
The battle cry of the Dokgo warriors grew louder.
On the right side of the mountain, the situation was little different. The only distinction was that, unlike the Red Wolf Lord who had led from the front, the White Wolf Lord had stayed at the rear—and thus survived.
"Fall back! Get out of the forest!"
At his order, the surviving subordinates staggered out with vacant expressions. Behind them, the blades of Kunlun fell mercilessly.
Shhhk!
"Guhhhhk!"
The Invincible Sword, Han Chu-gwang.
Wearing armor over his bandaged body, he appeared at the forest's entrance, smiling faintly at the White Wolf Lord.
"You fled from the Tang Clan… and now you want to retreat here too?"
The White Wolf Lord gnashed his teeth and shouted,
"Cowards! Come out of the forest!"
"Heh, why should I obey the words of a beaten dog?"
"So this is what passes for honor among the so-called orthodox?"
Han Chu-gwang's brow twitched at the insult, but he quickly recovered his smile.
"You were the ones who invaded peaceful Sichuan. Didn't you seize the Sichuan branch through trickery?"
"T-that was strategy, not trickery…"
But he could not finish. To exploit an enemy's psychology and lay plans—that was strategy. There was no such thing as "trickery."
If one fell victim to such a plan, it only proved one's own incompetence.
The White Wolf Lord trembled with rage, his body quivering.
"Invincible Sword! If you are a true warrior, fight me one-on-one!"
A provocation aimed at Han Chu-gwang's pride and martial spirit.
The White Wolf Lord knew he could not match the Invincible Sword. But he also knew that Han Chu-gwang had been weakened from his bloody duel with the Black Wolf Lord not long ago.
Han Chu-gwang felt his blood stir at the provocation. But he calmed it.
Cheon Ryu-yeong had warned him again and again: never fall for the enemy's ruses and jeopardize the greater plan.
If it were only his own fight, he might have taken the challenge. But this was not a battle fought alone—it was a fight fought together with comrades.
Han Chu-gwang turned away, waving his hand.
"If you're so desperate, come to me."
He vanished back into the shadows of the forest.
Unable to restrain himself, the White Wolf Lord frothed at the mouth in rage.
"Invincible Sword, you bastard! Come out! Come out right now! You took my men, and now you hide? Bastard!"
Han Chu-gwang's voice rang out from the darkness.
"If you're too scared to step in, what does that make you?"
"Ughhh!"
Meanwhile, the cultists who had been moving to support the Red Wolf and White Wolf Divisions froze with dazed expressions.
When they first heard the screams from the forest, they hadn't known what was happening. But when they saw their shattered subordinates stumbling out moments later, they understood—they'd been caught.
One of the Red Wolf Division squad leaders rushed to the commanders and knelt, explaining what had transpired.
Noeakcheon ground his teeth, fists shaking, glaring at the forest.
"Was this too… the work of that martial scholar? That one scholar has made fools of the Black Heaven Alliance and our cult's masters?"
At his furious muttering, silence fell. Elder Hyulsaeja sighed and shook his head.
"This night… is far too long."
They had already lost countless elite subordinates. To think there was nothing left to lose, yet here they were again.
If only they had heeded the Heavenly Demon Sword's warning—to beware the martial scholar. Perhaps they wouldn't have been driven to such straits.
Hyulsaeja in particular felt hollow, thinking of Geotap, his trusted aide, cut down so miserably. Now he felt nothing but emptiness.
He had come to the battlefield, yet had hardly fought at all.
This helpless, one-sided slaughter—it was like a nightmare.
Mabul's eyes blazed as he cut in,
"We just advance cautiously, checking as we go. They couldn't have set wires and nails across the entire mountain! We cannot retreat with this disgrace!"
Hyulsaeja shook his head repeatedly.
"If we advance, they'll strike again. We can't win fighting blind against unseen traps."
"Then if they come close, we just fall back—"
Hyulsaeja snapped irritably, cutting him off.
"You want us to advance and retreat all night long? When Tang Clan reinforcements could arrive at any time?"
Mabul hunched his shoulders and muttered,
"Then, Elder, do you truly mean… we should just withdraw? They'll chase us over the mountains again."
"Deputy, what choice do we have? We must return to the Sichuan branch at once…"
He trailed off, frowning, tilting his head.
He had the nagging sense he was missing something important. They had been too rattled by their crushing defeat at the Tang Clan.
What would he be thinking if he were that martial scholar?
He calmed himself. And then, suddenly, something flashed across his eyes.