The Curtain Rises on the Battle
Half a day's travel from Chengdu, Sichuan, stood the Sichuan Branch of the Murim Alliance.
For the past hundred years, it had endured twelve invasions from the outer-border martial world seeking to break into the Central Plains, yet not once had it been taken. For that reason, people called it the "Invincible Branch of the Murim Alliance"—an impregnable fortress.
In the middle of a wide plain rose a steep hill, atop which stood walls seven cheok high, strong and unyielding, encasing the massive citadel.
Now, it lay in a peculiar tension.
That very day had come word that a force of two thousand, led by the Demon Cult's young master, had finally crossed the high, rugged Bayan Har Mountains and reached Shiqu.
They were still three days away at a rough estimate. The Branch Lord of Sichuan had ordered his subordinates to rest well. Of course, if they pushed hard, they could arrive in two days, but then they would be too exhausted to fight.
Meanwhile, by tomorrow afternoon, reinforcements would arrive from the south—the Emei Sect—and from nearby Chengdu, the Dokgo Clan, the Kunlun Sect, and the Murim Alliance's Xuanwu Unit.
And that was not all.
By the morning of the day after tomorrow, the Tang Clan, long professing neutrality between righteous and unorthodox factions, had sent notice that they too would join the fight. The message had arrived that evening, raising morale to its peak.
The Branch Lord, Meng Cheon-hu—an old master at the peak realm, known as Ironblood—had doubled the sentries on the outer wall and ordered absolute vigilance, even while granting rest.
He meant to keep discipline sharp for the coming battle in three or four days.
At the very heart of the Sichuan Branch, beneath a crescent moon that kept drifting behind clouds, something suddenly rose from the ground behind the mess hall where the branch warriors were dining.
Puk!Ssssss!
A long, black, rod-like object quietly split the earth, then the ground collapsed where it had passed, revealing a pitch-dark hollow.
From that dark tunnel, a figure emerged onto the surface.
Wearing an expression of discomfort, he brushed dirt from his clothes and hair. More figures climbed out behind him.
"You've come, sir."
From the shadows of the building, a man approached the first to emerge, bowing low. Nearby lay a guard, head severed, who had been stationed there only because the Branch Lord's heightened security had placed sentries in unusual spots.
The first man out smiled faintly.
"It's been three years."
His voice was young, smooth, yet with a core of steel beneath it.
"I've been waiting for the day you'd come, enduring among these damned righteous dogs."
"You've done well. I knew you'd succeed. I never doubted you."
The middle-aged man's eyes shone with emotion, his long hardships melting away in an instant.
Three years earlier, at the young master's command, he had infiltrated the branch as a kitchen hand. Working in secret each night, he had dug a tunnel twenty li long to complete this moment.
"For you, sir, my life is nothing."
"We'll save the reminiscing for later. Your merit will not be forgotten."
"Thank you."
The middle-aged man looked up at his smiling master—a man whose very face could make the heart swell.
Only twenty-nine years old, yet the most talked-about figure in the martial world.
Leader of the Cheonrangdae—the Sky Wolf Unit—the Demon Cult's most elite force.
The Heavenly Demon Sword, Baek Yun-hoe.
At fifteen, he had voluntarily entered the Cheonmadong, the Heavenly Demon's Cave—where the legendary Heavenly Demon had left all his legacy. For five hundred years, countless top masters of the Demon Cult had tried to challenge it, and all had died. Baek Yun-hoe had emerged alive after only three years.
Over the past decade, traveling with the Demon Emperor, he had accomplished the first unification of Byunghwang, the northern frontier, and founded the Black Heaven Union.
He had turned impossibilities into reality, led from the front with an unbroken record in battle, and given the credit to his subordinates while living simply himself.
Among the unorthodox, he was called the Demonic Chivalrous Hero. Many women who saw his upright, manly good looks fell hopelessly for him.
His strategies were ghostly in their precision, his swordplay made the world tremble, and no praise seemed enough for him. Even some righteous sect members whispered that perhaps Baek Yun-hoe was the "Conqueror's Star."
Looking up at the cloud-filled sky, Baek Yun-hoe murmured, "A pity."
On the night he began his campaign to conquer the continent, he would have liked to see the Conqueror's Star shining.
A man approached—Cho Ji-myeong, leader of the Black Wolf Unit, famed for his ferocity.
"Sky Wolf Leader, everyone's up."
Baek Yun-hoe glanced at the thirty black-clad men around him. The Sichuan Branch housed seven hundred warriors, but his thirty were all peak-realm masters—Cho Ji-myeong, the Demon Cult elder Heuk Gwido, the twin masters of ice and blood, Naeng Jeol and Hyeol Jeol…
Alone, they could not take the branch. But cause chaos inside while the main force attacked from without?
Baek Yun-hoe's lips curved in a cold smile.
A shaft of moonlight pierced the clouds, briefly touching his face—six cheok tall, lean, with thick brows over large eyes, a proud nose like a mountain peak, and a strong jaw beneath pale lips. A deep scar ran from just under his right eye to his jaw, lending an icy allure to his handsome features.
All eyes were on him. Though higher-ranked elders were present, it was Baek Yun-hoe who had devised the plan and would lead the operation.
The strategy: "To capture the enemy, first seize the king."
If they destroyed the Sichuan Branch—the heart of the current defense—the righteous forces would lose their center and be defeated in detail. The branch was the king, and their enemies did not know the Sky Wolf Unit was already here; their focus was on the Demon Cult's young master, expected in three days.
"You all know the layout and your tasks—no need for chatter. But remember this: we'll smash this so-called invincible branch and show the world what true invincibility is."
Silent, confident smiles spread.
Baek Yun-hoe turned to the still-bowing middle-aged man.
"In one gak (fifteen minutes), fire a flaming arrow into the air."
That would be the signal for the 1,300 elite of the Sky Wolf Unit, the Black Wolf Unit, and the Black Heaven Union waiting outside to charge.
"Yes, sir!"
"Now—let's begin hunting the branch's leaders."
At his word, the thirty men scattered like silent, predatory wind.
Baek Yun-hoe's gaze fixed on the seventh-floor pavilion—the quarters of Branch Lord Meng Cheon-hu. He walked toward it as if on a leisurely stroll, a cold smile on his lips.
Rounding one pavilion, he passed two guards at a brazier.
Papat!
Flashes of silver in the dark—blades at their throats. They collapsed without a sound.
Three guard posts fell the same way. Most defenses were at the outer wall; inside, they were lax. Even if they hadn't been, none could have escaped Baek Yun-hoe's killing touch.
He reached the pavilion, where five guards stood watch. Fingering the two remaining throwing knives at his waist, he clicked his tongue.
"Only two left. No matter."
Whistling softly, he walked forward.
The guards frowned.
"Hey, who's that?"
"Isn't that one of the officers on night patrol?"
"Never seen him before…"
"And why's he whistling in the middle of the night?"
One stepped forward.
"Halt, and state your affiliation and rank."
Three jang away, Baek Yun-hoe stopped and brushed hair from his brow, the cold wind tossing it back again.
"It must be nearly time. No disturbance yet—should I call that skill?"
"…?"
"Did you ask who I am?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
The guard found himself replying in formal speech, though the man's casual tone was unsettling. Something about him felt off—his aura was unfamiliar, though it seemed impossible for any outsider to get in past the fortress's defenses. Even the greatest assassin alive could not manage it…
"Since you asked, it's only polite I answer. I am what you people call the leader of the Demon Cult's Sky Wolf Unit—
the Heavenly Demon Sword, Baek Yun-hoe."
"…"
There was no reaction. Of course they couldn't believe it. Two of the five even thought it was a joke and chuckled quietly.
Baek Yun-hoe shrugged.
"If you can't accept the truth, that's not my problem."
Papat!
Two throwing knives flashed. Two men collapsed, eyes wide.
Only then did the remaining pair cry out in alarm.
"E-enemy!"
"An intruder!"
One turned to strike the alarm bell.
Baek Yun-hoe moved.
Flarrr!
His black robes whipped in the wind, and from behind his back a silver blade slid free without a sound.
Shuga-gak!
The two guards froze, mouths hanging open. Such speed—both in movement and in the sword—shouldn't exist!
They fell forward. The only surviving sentry clutched the bell rope, trembling.
Baek Yun-hoe spoke.
"Well? Why aren't you ringing it?"
"…"
"You have to sound it to throw the inside into chaos."
"S-spare me…"
Baek Yun-hoe clicked his tongue and looked up. Then his foot tapped the ground lightly.
In a blink, he sprang over the courtyard and landed on the first-story roof. Another leap, and he flipped like a leopard—second floor, third, fourth…
Deng deng deng deng deng!
The alarm bell pealed. As it rang, Baek Yun-hoe landed on the sixth-floor roof, striding toward a central window.
Crack!
His kick shattered the frame. Inside, a gray-haired old man was rising from his bed, shouting.
"Who goes there?!"
The bell still boomed. Lights flickered to life in windows across the compound.
Baek Yun-hoe smiled as he watched the old man leap toward the weapon rack to seize his sword.
"Heh… Ironblood Branch Lord, is it? Living alone—good. I don't kill defenseless women."
He rested one foot on the windowsill.
"Cool night, isn't it? Shame the clouds hide the stars."
Chaaang!
Meng Cheon-hu drew his sword and barked again.
"I asked who you are."
Baek Yun-hoe turned his head lazily toward the darkness outside.
A flaming arrow shot up into the ink-black sky. While the outer sentries rushed inward to find the source of the alarm, his forces would be charging.
"I am the Heavenly Demon Sword, Baek Yun-hoe."
"…!"
"The road to the afterlife will be cold. Dress properly. You're a senior who's done much in the martial world—righteous or not—so I'll give you that courtesy. And… I'm curious about your skill."
Meng Cheon-hu's eyes widened like lanterns.
"H-how… how are you here? Impossible!"
Baek Yun-hoe brushed his hair back again, though the wind only sent it tumbling forward once more.
"The explanation's long. I can't spare the time. If you're curious, ask the King of Hell."
"…"
"No clothes? You're the Branch Lord of the Sichuan Division—dying naked is hardly dignified."
Watching the night sky, Baek Yun-hoe smiled faintly before looking back at him.
Meng Cheon-hu hesitated, then began hastily pulling on his garments, unwilling to fight bare-bodied, but never letting down his guard.
No rescuers came—the guards were surely still questioning the alarm ringer. That gave perhaps fifteen minutes' grace.
Baek Yun-hoe's eyes returned to the window.
There.
His 1,300 elite were charging like a black tide.
"Heh… Starting here, before tomorrow ends, I'll sweep away Emei, the Dokgo Clan, the Kunlun Sect, and the Xuanwu Unit."
He looked up. A single star gleamed red through the clouds.
"You've come out? Watch me. I won't disappoint you."
From anyone else, such words would earn scorn. But Baek Yun-hoe—he was a man who could back them. His plan was flawless, and he had the strength to see it through.
But battles never go as planned. Like life, war is full of unforeseen intrusions.
No one—not even Baek Yun-hoe—could have imagined that an ordinary man named Cheon Ryu-yeong would be drawn into this conflict, nor how his presence would affect the greatest, fiercest clash in the history of the martial world.
The curtain had risen on a war that would drench the land in blood.
Dokgo Seol's brows knit. Her head throbbed from the hangover… and her chest felt strangely sore.
They say the heaviest thing in the world is your eyelids—
She forced hers open.
Dim air above her. She shook her head lightly—then froze.
Something warm and soft pressed against her back.
And on her chest… something that felt suspiciously like a hand.
Her eyes snapped open. Then she smirked faintly and flicked her tongue.
A dream.
So she thought—until—
Squeeze. Squeeze.
The "hand" fondled her breast.
"…!"
In an instant, her mouth went dry, the pounding in her skull vanishing. Gooseflesh rose over her whole body.
Slowly, she sat up. The hand slid away. It was rough—clearly a working man's hand.
"Ugh—no way…"
Her voice was low, but edged with panic as she threw off the covers and bolted upright.
Even in the dimness, her bare form shone—Dokgo Seol, the "Blue Flower" among the Five Beauties of the Martial World.
Even the purest blossom would bow its head before her grace.
She spotted her clothes strewn haphazardly about the bed and turned her gaze to the sleeper.
"You… beast! Worse than an animal!"
Cheon Ryu-yeong.
The man lay there, mouth open, snoring in blissful ignorance.
Snore. Phew. Snore. Phew.
He'd taken off only his shirt, still wearing his pants.
Almost without thinking, she touched herself. No pain, no unusual sensation.
A relief—he must have passed out cold. The clothes, she must have stripped off in her sleep.
But if he'd been conscious at all…
The thought alone was revolting.
A blaze of fury roared through her. Her eyes swept the room. Her sword leaned against a small round tea table.
Chang!
She drew it without hesitation, stepping onto the bed and leveling the point at his chest.
The white blade descended slowly until the tip hovered over his heart.
Her hands—and the sword—trembled.
As a maiden, her chastity was her life. She felt it had been toyed with. But could she truly condemn him? Did she have the right? Could she pass judgment on this man?