Fwaaaat!
A blue lightning slash split the dark sky in two.
"Ugh!"
Elder Hwangmagek flinched, hastily raising his protective qi while swinging his broad willow-leaf saber.
Bwoooom!
The wide blade struck against the sword energy shot out by the ponytailed youth—or rather, it should have. But the speed of that sword qi was abnormally fast.
Fwaaaat!
Hwangmagek's black robe tore open at the chest. His tough skin beneath split as well, and blood welled out.
"...!"
The eyes of the Demonic leaders widened like lanterns.
It wasn't the small wound itself that shocked them.
It was the sheer speed of the youth's sword qi. And not only that—the force behind it was no small matter. Hwangmagek had clearly raised his defensive qi, yet the attack had pierced through it!
The Blood Priest fixed his gaze on Pyeong-u, voice tinged with caution.
"You… you're the one who killed the Asura Lord at Tang Sect. Fast. Abnormally fast…"
Pyeong-u's single strike had stopped the leadership's assault on Bang Yacheol. In that instant, he had already reached the Vagabond King's side, standing shoulder to shoulder.
Bang Yacheol glanced at him and smirked.
He remembered seeing this boy at Tang Sect—Young Master Cheon's bodyguard.
"Young Master Cheon?"
"He's probably safer than we are."
"Heh… is that so? Not bad. At that age and already a peak master… Wait—your name?"
"Pyeong-u. I'll take the three on the left."
"What?"
"You, Vagabond King, handle the three on the right."
Bang Yacheol was taken aback.
Was this ponytailed youth suggesting they split the six peak masters evenly and fight head-on?
That was reckless. The worst of strategies.
The best course was to defend and stall until the White Tiger Troop arrived.
But Pyeong-u was young, a genius who had already reached the peak realm, and thus fearless. Men like him often… perished young, destroyed by their own boldness.
Watching the enemies grit their teeth and close in slowly, Bang Yacheol opened his mouth.
"Pyeong-u, I'll tell you for your own good—"
But he couldn't finish. Pyeong-u had already dashed forward.
"Here I go!"
"You crazy—!"
Bang Yacheol swore under his breath—and had no choice but to follow.
Shhhhk!
Pyeong-u first, then Bang Yacheol, unleashed torrents of sword and saber qi. Their sudden, lightning-fast offensive truly startled the six leaders.
The enemies had naturally expected them to stay on the defensive.
Six peak masters, gathering all their internal power, spreading out for a coordinated strike—of course the Vagabond King and the youth should have stood tense and braced for impact.
The Blood Priest roared in fury.
"How dare you treat us so lightly!"
A storm of sword qi poured out from his silver blade.
From Noeakcheon's saber came crimson energy, while Ma Bul's twin palms spewed force. The combined torrent of three peak masters surged to engulf Pyeong-u.
But then Pyeong-u's form shot straight upward, nearly vertical, into the air.
Ogi Chungso (Riding Qi to Soar)!
A legendary lightness skill—raising the body high with a single burst of true qi in an instant.
His body was suddenly three jang above the ground.
Pwooooom!
The attacks of the Blood Priest, Noeakcheon, and Ma Bul struck the earth below, exploding in deafening thunder.
But Pyeong-u was already descending, terrifyingly fast.
Normally, masters never let themselves be airborne. Landing exposed too many openings. Only rare skills like Kunlun's Eight Forms of the Soaring Dragon could control movement mid-air.
Yet Pyeong-u did not care.
Counterattack? Ambush?
He would simply move faster than the strike.
Faster than anyone in the world.
That was the martial way of the Heavenly Palace.
To dodge and nullify by being a heartbeat faster—
To strike twice for every one blow of the enemy.
Ma Bul's eyes went wide.
The ponytailed youth was plummeting toward him, sword wrapped in a storm of blue qi.
Startled, yet ready, his fists had already blackened.
Black Iron Fist (Heukcheol Gwon)!
Papapapap!
Pyeong-u's sword qi shredded parts of Ma Bul's robe, but his skin was unscathed. His cultivation was higher than Elder Hwangmagek's, but more importantly, the Black Iron Fist hardened his body like steel.
Sword and fist met.
Kwooooom!
The two recoiled several steps back under the shock. But Pyeong-u planted a heel, stopped himself, and instantly launched forward again—directly at Ma Bul.
It was as if he had used Ogi Chungso against him.
This unexpected movement had two effects:
First, it caused the follow-up strikes of Noeakcheon and the Blood Priest, meant to catch Pyeong-u as he recoiled, to miss entirely.
Second, it caught Ma Bul completely off guard.
Fwaaat!
A short whistle of qi. A cry of pain.
"Gaaaah!"
Ma Bul staggered back, clutching his side. He had dodged, but still been cut.
Had he not already been wary of Pyeong-u's speed, he might have died as the Asura Lord had.
Only the Blood Priest's intervention—rushing in and unleashing real sword attacks—kept Pyeong-u from pressing the advantage.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The Blood Priest's blade spat sword qi as it hammered against Pyeong-u's strikes.
Papapapaa!
Pyeong-u had no choice but to take the sword qi head-on. If he tried to parry that too, the real edge might cut him down.
But the same held for the Blood Priest. Pyeong-u's blade never ceased spewing sword qi, battering him in return.
It became a mad duel of blades.
Noeakcheon rushed close to aid, but had to retreat—
Even his peak-level vision couldn't follow the speed.
The two swung so quickly, their blades seemed to number in the hundreds.
Afterimages clashed endlessly, spraying sparks of blue light everywhere.
In such a frenzy, clumsy interference could easily harm even the Blood Priest himself.
Noeakcheon's jaw dropped.
That youth, barely twenty, was holding his own in even combat against their Grand Elder—the Blood Priest of the Great Heavenly Demon Sect.
A man strong enough to wipe out minor sects singlehandedly.
And yet this unknown youth was not being overwhelmed.
Noeakcheon felt the same shock as when he had once witnessed the Heavenly Demon Sword Baek Unhoe's martial prowess.
Ma Bul, clutching his bleeding side, swallowed hard again and again.
"Khhrk!"
At last, a groan slipped from one of them. Both Noeakcheon and Ma Bul brightened at the sound.
It was the ponytailed youth.
After nearly half a gak of brutal fighting, Pyeong-u and the Blood Priest broke apart.
Pyeong-u wiped blood from his lips with a sleeve.
"That hurt a little."
His left shoulder was steadily soaking with blood. Clearly, the earlier groan had come from that wound.
The Blood Priest, glaring with a grave expression, demanded:
"You… who are you? What sect are you from?"
He thought of the Heavenly Palace, one of the Three Mysterious Sects. But their rule was clear: no one under forty could enter the martial world. And surely one of theirs wouldn't serve as Young Master Cheon's bodyguard.
Pyeong-u spat blood from his mouth, then grinned.
"Defeat me, and I'll tell you."
"Hmph. The victory is already mine. If you die, where will I hear your answer?"
"Oh? You think grazing my shoulder means you've won? Your wounds are worse than mine."
At those words, Noeakcheon and Ma Bul's eyes quickly swept over the Blood Priest's body. Both of their gazes wavered.
From the right hand that gripped his sword, drops of blood were dripping steadily onto the ground.
Pyeong-u spoke again.
"Can you even hold that sword properly?"
"I'll show you I'm perfectly fine!"
"That's good. It's been a long time since I've seen someone wield the Swift Sword with such mastery. In that case… shall I go twice as fast?"
"…!"
The Blood Priest's eyes shook violently. Noeakcheon and Ma Bul too wore astonished expressions, only to shake their heads. That was impossible. And yet, all three of their faces were darkened with tension.
Meanwhile, as Pyeong-u surged forward, Bang Yacheol had no choice but to dash toward the right flank. It wasn't of his own will, but even then, his mind was calmly calculating.
He was someone who had experienced more real battles than anyone else. He knew exactly how to deal with masters of this caliber.
When facing more than one peak master?
Target their complacency.
People assumed that masters of great strength never dropped their guard. But that was a misconception.
The stronger a man, the more he trusted his own power—and the more likely he was to grow careless, especially when there was a chance to claim merit. And if they had other high-level allies at their side? All the more so.
These three had all of those conditions.
Bang Yacheol chose Sa Hyeolgang among the three on the right. He swung first, scattering streams of saber qi. Sa Hyeolgang answered as though he had been waiting, slashing his curved blade.
Pwooooom!
Sa Hyeolgang shredded every strand of the Vagabond King's saber qi.
Then their true weapons collided.
Pwooom!
Another explosion. But unlike their first clash, this time Bang Yacheol was the one hurled sideways.
Yet Sa Hyeolgang did not smile.
'What? What was that?'
The Vagabond King's strike had contained almost no internal energy. He had already been preparing to move aside even as their blades met.
The answer came swiftly.
The direction Bang Yacheol had been blasted—there, an Elder of the Demonic Sect was rushing in.
Hwangmagek.
When Bang Yacheol rolled across the ground, groaning, the elder's eyes gleamed. As if fortune itself had delivered prey to his feet.
He raised his willow-leaf saber without hesitation—
But Bang Yacheol's saber was faster.
"Be careful! He wasn't overwhelmed—"
Sa Hyeolgang shouted. But even as his words rang out, the Vagabond King's blade swept across Hwangmagek's lower body.
"Ugh!"
Hwangmagek leapt back, but his own saber swing had cost him a sliver of time.
Slash!
"Ghhhaaa!"
His right ankle was severed clean through.
Bang Yacheol dodged the storm of sword qi raking his back and clicked his tongue.
"So this is what it means to be a peak master. You still managed to evade in that instant."
He had aimed for both legs, but only taken the ankle. A pity. Yet not bad either—one man was effectively removed from the fight.
"Kill him! Kill that bastard!"
Hwangmagek bounded back, hurriedly staunching the bleeding while howling. Rage twisted his features as the realization of his blunder crushed him.
"Damn it! Slaughter him! Make him pay!"
Sa Hyeolgang's curved saber and Elder Monghyeolbi's sword tore toward Bang Yacheol.
Shhhhk! Claaang!
Blades from both sides rained down without pause. Yet Bang Yacheol parried in a most unusual way.
Even as he slashed wildly, he kept jerking his shoulders in sharp, sudden motions. Each twitch made it look as though he was about to lunge in that direction. And whenever he did, his opponent on that side instinctively flinched, bracing for defense.
With that simple feint—just a trick of the shoulders—the Vagabond King deflected the two peak masters' combined assault.
Time and again, Sa Hyeolgang and Monghyeolbi found themselves fooled. They told themselves they would not fall for it again, only to brace involuntarily the moment his shoulders shifted toward them.
It was instinct.
Any human, when faced with something rushing at them, could not help but prepare to block.
Bang Yacheol, a master forged in countless real battles, used that instinct with flawless timing.
The two peak masters grew ever more infuriated. And worse—their anger was stoked further by Hwangmagek.
As time passed, the elder felt the loss of his ankle ever more keenly. Pain and shock had first ruled him, but now rage and the need for revenge consumed him.
"What are you doing? The two of you can't even handle one man?"
"Lord Sa! Strike harder! Stronger!"
"Elder Monghyeolbi! You should have aimed for his waist! That's wrong!"
"Don't just kill him. Let me take his ankle in return!"
"Argh, so frustrating! Are you saving your strength? Use everything!"
Sa Hyeolgang and Monghyeolbi understood his fury. But already frayed by Bang Yacheol's shoulder tricks, his constant shrieking grated on their nerves.
At last, Elder Monghyeolbi snapped.
"Silence! We must concen—"
It was the moment the Vagabond King had been waiting for. He shook his shoulder toward Monghyeolbi.
Startled mid-speech, the elder flinched even harder.
Whether fighter or warrior, men sometimes spoke in the midst of battle. But if attacked in that instant, the brain itself screamed—Why are you talking now, in such danger?—causing an instant of frozen thought and stuttering movement.
A fleeting gap. But for a peak master, such gaps were priceless.
Fwaaat!
"Ghhk!"
Monghyeolbi's dying cry rang out.
The Vagabond King's saber ripped across his thigh.
Thud.
The elder collapsed, clutching his leg. Not a mere cut—the limb was hanging by threads.
"Khhrk!"
This groan came from Bang Yacheol himself. Though he had kept the strike against Monghyeolbi brief, it still opened a dangerous gap.
Sa Hyeolgang's curved blade had slashed diagonally across his chest. The wound wasn't deep enough to reach the bone, but it stung.
Bang Yacheol expected Sa Hyeolgang to press the attack immediately. But seeing that he didn't, he cocked his head, then chuckled.
"Heh. Finally arriving, are they?"
From the dark edge of the forest behind him, the White Tiger Troop emerged.
Deputy Leader Won Pyeong's qi-charged shout split the night.
"White Tiger Troop of the Martial Alliance! We've finally arrived! Forgive us for being late, Lord Leader!"
"Waaaahhh!"
The White Tiger Troop roared as they stormed the battlefield. Alongside them came Dokgo Seol, Namgung Su's party, and twenty disciples of the Cheongseong Sect under Monk Cheongu Yulsa.