Battle of Blood at the Tang Clan
Bang Yacheol furrowed his brow, staring intently at Cheon Ryuyeong. In truth, not only he—everyone present wore a perplexed expression directed at him.
Jo Jeonhu, though one who trusted Cheon Ryuyeong, shook his head this time and asked,
"Lord Cheon, what exactly is this clever stratagem you have in mind? If you speak only out of pressure to show us something impressive, I advise you to stop now. This doesn't sound right, no matter how I think about it."
At last, someone voiced the question that hung in the air after Cheon Ryuyeong's words had thrown everyone into confusion.
Calmly, he began to explain the situation, the psychology of the enemy, the element of time, and the lay of the land.
For the span of nearly half an hour, his deep, steady voice rang clear through the great hall.
Sometimes slow, sometimes quick, sometimes weighted with force for emphasis—never once vague, but always precise.
When he finally finished explaining the stratagem he envisioned, Hwa Gayun suddenly collapsed onto her backside without realizing it. Several times throughout, she had felt chills race down her spine; she had barely held herself together, but now all strength had left her body.
All from simply hearing a man speak.
"Th-the martial scholar… doesn't seem human."
Namgung Su and Jang Deukmu were frozen stiff.
Only now did they fully understand why so many people trusted this martial scholar with near-blind devotion. They themselves had now tasted the same awe that others had felt before them.
Suddenly, Jo Jeonhu threw both hands high into the air, then strode over to grip Cheon Ryuyeong's shoulders.
"Lord Cheon!"
"Yes."
"I always believed in you! Ha ha ha, as expected—Lord Cheon, you're a monster!"
"Th-thank you. But once we're on the battlefield, who knows what may happen? And from this moment on, every second counts. If we are too late, we'll be powerless to do anything."
"Hahaha, don't worry. The Demon Cult will surely move in great numbers, so their speed will be slower than ours. And even if the Tang Clan has lost the Formless Deadly Poison, they won't be overwhelmed in an instant. No, certainly not."
"Even so, we are still being chased by time."
"That Pyeong-u fellow isn't one to slack. By now, he should have completed most of what you asked of him."
Jo Jeonhu spoke with absolute confidence. But Cheon Ryuyeong replied with a faint trace of worry.
"I hope so."
Bang Yacheol had already stepped closer to him and cut in.
"Lord Cheon."
Cheon Ryuyeong looked at him and gave a gentle smile.
"Yes, Lord Nangwang. The White Tiger Corps' role is absolutely vital."
Having already heard what he was expected to do, Bang Yacheol nodded, then opened his mouth.
"When you first said you were going to aid the Tang Clan, I thought… you would just use me and the White Tiger Corps as expendables."
"Perish the thought."
When Cheon Ryuyeong showed a look of disbelief, Bang Yacheol sighed.
"That's how it's always been. Because the troops under me were former vagabonds, the Alliance's commanders never hesitated to send us first into the most dangerous fights. It didn't matter if sacrifices were heavy, because they thought we had no one to mourn us. That's how we've survived—breaking through death's gate time and again."
At his words, several in the hall bit back bitter smiles.
And some still had yet to shake off the shock and astonishment from Cheon Ryuyeong's plan. Leaving them behind, Bang Yacheol continued.
"But… thank you, for not doing the same."
And silently, he added to himself: It's a relief that someone like you is not a spy of the Demon Cult.
Cheon Ryuyeong answered with a warm smile.
"I hope you'll once again dream of the Constellation of the Overlord, Lord Nangwang."
"…!"
Bang Yacheol's eyes twitched. Cheon Ryuyeong met his gaze head-on.
"I have never thought your decision to join the Martial Alliance was out of a desire for comfort, nor for ambition or advancement. I've always believed it was because you wanted to show the wandering vagabonds—look, even if the entrenched powers hold the high seats, if you refuse to give up and keep challenging, then vagabonds too can achieve their dreams."
"Lord Cheon…"
"For those vagabonds, scorned day after day, rootless and anxious, didn't you want to open a new path?"
Bang Yacheol's face shifted with every word. He clenched his fist, biting his lip hard, staring at Cheon Ryuyeong.
"And even if you cannot become the Constellation of the Overlord—what of it? Please, instead, become the Constellation of Vagabonds."
Bang Yacheol echoed his words softly.
"The Constellation of Vagabonds…"
His gaze lifted into the air, eyes that had always been sharp now wavering as if in a dream. Cheon Ryuyeong nodded firmly.
"Yes. The Constellation of the Overlord may be desire—but the star you must walk toward, Lord Nangwang, the Constellation of Vagabonds, will be hope."
"…"
"In the seven years I worked as a porter, I met countless vagabonds. Listening to their stories, my own heart would burn with passion for a time. Many of them still remember and admire the Nangwang of the past. Please believe that."
Bang Yacheol's heart pounded. A chest he thought had been frozen for years now trembled with the urge to weep. Even in midsummer he had felt chilled—but now, suddenly, the air seemed warm again.
"Truly? There are still those who speak of me so?"
"Just because you cannot see them does not mean they are gone."
"…"
"They said the saddest thing was not that you had 'betrayed' them. No. What pained them most was the rumor that you had lost your smile. For in the past, Lord Nangwang—you smiled so often."
Bang Yacheol's eyes twisted. He bit down so hard on his lip it seemed it might tear.
He stared blankly into the air.
But everyone in the hall felt it in their hearts.
Nangwang, Bang Yacheol.
Without tears, without wails, he was weeping with his entire being.
A short moment stretched like eternity. The fragments of pain he had borne alone weighed down the hall. None dared break the silence.
It was Cheon Ryuyeong who finally did.
"Lord Nangwang. We do not have much time."
Bang Yacheol lowered his head, then slowly forced his lips to part.
"Lord Cheon. Just answer me one thing."
"Yes. Go ahead."
"Who was it that made your face like that?"
At his words, Cheon Ryuyeong smiled faintly—colors blotching his swollen face. And Bang Yacheol smiled back, bright and wordless.
Those who watched them found themselves smiling as well, without sound.
Then Cheon Ryuyeong shook his head, pulling them back to reality.
"This is no time for sentiment. We must prepare. Please instruct the White Tiger Corps with what I told you."
Bang Yacheol nodded, still smiling. It felt strange, laughing again after so long—but he laughed.
"Don't worry. I've always done my part."
"Yes. Please trust me, and lend me your aid. With our numbers lacking, the strength of the White Tiger Corps is crucial."
Cheon Ryuyeong bowed deeply.
Bang Yacheol, seeing him so, bent low in return and clasped his fists in salute.
"I will gladly take part in the legend you are about to write."
Dokgo Muyeong, pleased, interjected.
"I, too, cannot be left out of this legend."
Then Han Chugwang spoke.
"I almost feel guilty, that all I can do is show my face."
Jo Jeonhu shouted in excitement, "Oho! A legend!" and even the elder master, Taechungdang, added his assent. Watching all this, Dokgo Seol's eyes shone with deep emotion, whispering inwardly:
Lord Cheon, I'm so glad you're here. I keep repeating myself, but… truly, it's good that you are here.
She pressed her hand to her chest.
The vibration of her pounding heart spread through her palm.
Her chest swelled with elation—and a tender, aching warmth bloomed within.
Her gaze toward Cheon Ryuyeong was filled with affection, her smile radiant.
Namgung Su, noticing her, bit back a bitter smile.
He could tell at a glance.
Those were the eyes of a woman in love.
"To think I'd lose to a mere porter…"
He muttered words only he could hear, then gave a short, dry laugh.
His eyes shifted from Dokgo Seol to Cheon Ryuyeong.
"Well, he's no longer a porter now. Haa… the world truly is vast."
At last, Namgung Su acknowledged him. And in so doing, abandoned one desire and took up another—
That man. I must have him. He is the talent the Namgung Clan needs.
Everyone moved busily, preparing for the campaign.
The Scholar of the Martial World, Cheon Ryuyeong.
At last, the battle that would instantly make him one of the most famous figures under heaven was about to unfold.
Everyone in the Tang Clan Manor was left dumbstruck.
Flames had erupted in the underground east wing, and though they hurried to extinguish it, nothing remained.
The poisons, so vulnerable to fire, had all been obliterated in an instant.
The Tang Clan—renowned for poison and hidden weapons.
And now, all of their poisons were gone.
The problem was that, ever since the rise of the peerless Formless Deadly Poison, their hidden weaponry had grown noticeably weaker compared to before.
Of course, even so, the Tang Clan's hidden weapons still carried considerable might. But they could never hope to stop the overwhelming army of the Demon Cult.
If battle broke out, they all knew they would be swept away by the cult's advance without the power to resist.
The Poison Hand, Tang Cheolhyeon, shed tears of blood at the thought that his own greed had brought ruin upon his clan.
But they could not simply collapse in despair.
At the very least, they had to deceive the world into thinking they were still strong—just as they had deceived the world for the last hundred and fifty years.
He ordered his subordinates to act as if nothing had happened.
But only an hour and a half later, a carrier pigeon returned from the scouts watching the Sichuan branch stronghold. The message it bore was another bolt from the blue.
The Demon Cult's mobilization.
"Haa… I was trying to cover the sky with my hand."
In the high council meeting, Tang Cheolhyeon let out a bitter sigh of despair. The others bowed their heads with heavy expressions.
Tang Cheonwi, his grandson and the young lord of the clan, spoke up.
"Grandfather, we must request aid from Sword Incense Manor and the Qingcheng Sect."
The elder Poison of Cutting Water replied with a feeble voice.
"The Qingcheng Sect is already being harassed by the Heavenly Demon Sword. Even if they weren't, do you think they would truly help us?"
"Then at least we must send word to Sword Incense Manor immediately!"
The elder Poison of Zhejiang, sitting opposite, buried his face in his hands before speaking.
"Even if they came, it wouldn't change the outcome."
The Cutting Water elder added:
"To summon them, we would have to reveal that we've lost the Formless Deadly Poison. Do you really think they would come if they knew that? It's better not to hope for miracles."
Tang Cheonwi slammed his fist onto the table with a loud bang.
"So you mean to sit here sighing while seventeen hundred Demon Cultists march straight for us? What exactly are you doing? Do you not realize that the disciples and families outside these walls are looking only to us for guidance?"
The Cutting Water elder looked at him and said coldly:
"There is only one path left for us."
"And that is?"
"The Young Lord must escape to preserve the bloodline for the future… while we remain here and shatter ourselves like jade."
Shatter like jade.
It was the vow to fight to the last man and die gloriously in flames of loyalty.
Tang Cheonwi shook his head firmly.
"I am the young lord of this house. How could I flee?"
Tang Cheolhyeon, seated at the head of the chamber, finally exhaled a long, weary breath.
"Cheonwi… the elder is right."
"Grandfather! I could never abandon this place!"
"Then the main branch will be annihilated."
"Why are you showing such weakness, grandfather?!"
Tang Cheonwi shouted in fury, but Tang Cheolhyeon gave a bitter smile.
"My foolish greed has finally brought the clan to this state. How can I face our ancestors? Heh… Even if I must beg forgiveness in the underworld, at the very least you must live, so that our name is not erased entirely."
Tang Cheonwi's tears finally fell.
"How can this be your fault? It couldn't be helped. From the beginning, the birth of the overwhelmingly powerful Formless Deadly Poison was… the true calamity."
"The Formless Deadly Poison, a calamity?"
"Yes. True progress must be built on people. But we shackled ourselves to a single, remarkable tool. By depending on it, we rotted away."
"…"
"All we ever did was obsess over how to create more of that poison. We lived in constant anxiety, deceiving the world. Instead of raising the abilities of our disciples, we clung to that tool."
Tang Cheolhyeon looked at his grandson and nodded.
"You told me this long ago."
It had been more than ten years. At the time, Tang Cheolhyeon had scolded him as shortsighted—failing to make use of the advantage they already held. He even warned him to hide his focus on martial skills and hidden weapons, lest the world suspect the truth about their reliance on poison.
"Ha… If only I had listened to you then. They say a man's true nature shows in crisis. Only now do I see that you are the true future of our clan. I should have handed you the seat of clan head long ago…"
Regret always came too late.
At ninety-three years of age, Tang Cheolhyeon had clung to power, deeming his grandson's thinking dangerous for the clan. But in the end, he was wrong, and the boy was right.
The elder of Cutting Water managed a faint smile.
"Patriarch, in truth we should be glad. Our young lord will surely raise the clan anew."
The others nodded in agreement.
Tang Cheonwi clenched his teeth and cried out:
"Then we must fight to the last! I will request aid from Qingcheng and Sword Incense Manor regardless!"
Tang Cheolhyeon gave his grandson a sorrowful look and replied:
"I won't stop you. Because… it will be the last duty you perform for this clan."
"Grandfather!"
"I know you secretly trained disciples in martial arts and hidden weapons, rather than relying on the poison. Take them, and find the Martial Scholar."
Tang Cheonwi bit his lip. This was not simply an order to flee—it was a vital mission.
"The Martial Scholar?"
He had heard rumors of the Martial Scholar recently. Tang Cheolhyeon nodded.
"Yes. Only now do I realize—he foresaw that matters might unfold this way. He is every bit as brilliant as the rumors say, perhaps more so."
"…"
"Bring him to our side. If you do, our revival will come all the sooner."
High on a mountain ridge, a lone hunter gazed at the empty sky. He yawned idly now and then, but his eyes never strayed from above.
Suddenly, a faint smile curled his lips.
He nocked an arrow onto his crossbow.
Thwip!
The string snapped as the bolt shot skyward.
A pigeon that had just crossed the ridge dropped lifelessly to the ground.
This ridge was the very route between the Tang Clan and Sword Incense Manor along which carrier pigeons flew.
The Heavenly Demon Sword, Baek Unhoe, had anticipated the possibility that Cheon Ryuyeong might be at Sword Incense Manor. So he had planted Demon Cultists disguised as hunters all along the route.
Ten cultists, all skilled in archery, were stationed at intervals, waiting to pick off any carrier pigeon their comrades might miss.
Thus, the pigeons Cheon Ryuyeong sent to the Tang Clan, and the ones Tang Cheonwi sent to Sword Incense Manor, were all shot down mid-flight.