Amid the heavy silence, Dokgo Seol spoke softly.
"Young Master Cheon… are you truly saying you're fine again?"
She was angry—but she did not want to vent her anger. He was exhausted, in pain, and burdened already. She did not want to corner him further. She wanted to stop him. To make him rest.
Yet his desperate will pressed against her chest, stealing her words.
Cheon Ruy yeong turned his head toward her.
"Miss Dokgo, I want to keep knocking at the door."
Tears clogged her throat, but to lend him strength she forced out a single word.
"As you wish."
Cheon Ruy yeong's face broke into a radiant smile. Then he looked to Jo Jeonhu.
"This morning… didn't we agree to help one another?"
"Young Master Cheon… no, Cheon Ruy yeong, you rascal. Are you truly all right?"
"You'll help me, won't you?"
"…"
"…"
"Even Miss Seol has given her consent—what's left? Do as you like."
"…"
"Damn it. Fine. I'll help. I'll help until my flesh splits and my bones shatter! Is that enough? Even if you collapse midway, I'll carry you and keep running—so stop worrying."
Cheon Ruy yeong smiled at Jo Jeonhu's bluster, then turned his eyes, still moving on his knees, to the frozen Dang Nam-u.
"You must go first. Tell Elder Dok-su this: don't give up. Tell him we are not giving up, not any of us."
Dang Nam-u wiped his tears with a sleeve and nodded.
"Yes, Brother."
"Tell him we will come—even if late, but not too late. Until then, show the world the might of the Dang clan."
"Yes, Brother!"
Only then, as if finished speaking, Cheon Ruy yeong lifted his eyes to Dokgo Seol above him.
"I must prepare too. Wake me two quarters before we reach the Dang clan. If I don't rise from fatigue, pour cold water over me. That will do."
Dokgo Seol's heart shattered anew. Just that single offhand remark stabbed her chest with pain.
She could imagine it. That once, when he had collapsed from exhaustion, others had poured water on him to force him awake. That they had treated this precious man like a beast of burden.
Cheon Ruy yeong's eyes slowly closed. Namgung Su suddenly cried out.
"Young Master Cheon!"
He did not realize it was the first time he had ever addressed him with that honorific.
Cheon Ruy yeong's eyes fluttered, then opened again.
"What is it?"
"Do you understand? You could collapse and die any moment. Do you not know how grave your condition is?"
Cheon Ruy yeong cut him off sharply.
"I am no longer a servant of the Demonic Merchant Guild. I am a martial man of the righteous path."
Namgung Su's eyes went wide.
"What? What nonsense is that?"
"To act with chivalry, to fulfill responsibility, to guard honor—even at the cost of death. Is that not the way of a righteous warrior?"
"…!"
Namgung Su's lips trembled. It felt as though a bolt of lightning had pierced his body.
Those were the words his master had spoken when he first began his martial training. The words every righteous sect warrior heard upon stepping into the world of the martial arts.
Act with chivalry. Bear responsibility. Uphold honor. Fear not death if it is required. That is the way of the warrior.
Words repeated often, inscribed on scrolls and walls. Yet in his heart, he had long since forgotten.
Now they struck deep, painfully.
"You…"
Namgung Su began, trembling, but Cheon Ruy yeong's eyes had already closed. He had fallen asleep—or perhaps slipped back into unconsciousness.
Still, Namgung Su bit down on his lip and forced his voice onward.
"From now on, you are my friend. This is the first time in my life I've ever asked such a thing. If you refuse… I'll kill you."
Beside him, Jang Deukmu sighed.
"And today, I seem to have gained an elder brother."
It was typical of Jang Deukmu to slide in quietly.
Behind them, Pyeon-u had been staring intently at Cheon Ruy yeong's sleeping face. At last he turned and walked away. After fifty paces, he stopped and gazed up at the sky.
No one noticed—everyone's eyes remained on Cheon Ruy yeong.
"A warrior of the righteous path, huh…"
Pyeon-u had always despised martial arts, despised the martial world. He lingered here only to survive. Once he had enough silver, he would leave without looking back.
A faint smile spread across his lips, then deepened.
"Perhaps… it might not be so bad. If it's with you, Brother Ruy yeong."
Clang.
A thick iron weight fell from his sword hilt to the ground.
It weighed twenty gwan—nearly as much as his own body. The first seal he had broken since entering the martial world. To unleash the fastest sword under heaven: Cheon-seom (Heaven's Flash).
Clang.
The leather belt at his waist dropped, heavy iron rings within clashing with metallic sound.
That weight was thirty gwan.
The final seal was undone. And with it, the shackles binding the fastest body art under heaven: Cheon-bo (Heaven's Step).
He hated his grandfather, who had screamed at him every day, "You alone have the qualities to become the Star of the Tyrant! I'll forge you into it!"—dragging him through countless hells.
That man's madness had taken his father's life, and had nearly taken his own.
The Celestial Palace (Cheon-gung)—one of the Three Great Mystical Sects of the martial world, known to exist yet hidden from all.
Pyeon-u was its young palace lord, its sole heir. For the Celestial Palace allowed only a single successor.
He had sworn never to use Heaven's Flash or Heaven's Step, not while his grandfather still lived. But for the sake of one man, he now broke his vow.
Pyeon-u gave a bitter laugh.
"Perhaps… this too is fate."
Even without him, perhaps the Dang clan's battle might be won.
But he would not allow Cheon Ruy yeong to suffer further.
If only he had guarded him properly at Sahan-hyeon, he would not be in this state. And if he had broken his seals sooner, he could have shielded him even inside the carriage.
To abandon him now felt like a sin. He had the strength—so he must use it.
On the summit of Mount Sojun, thirty jang to the right of the Dang clan estate, a lone man stood.
The Wolf King, Bang Yacheol.
He stared intently down at the Dang clan, then drew a deep breath.
"So… they've finally breached the outer wall. And Young Master Cheon… has he arrived already? He'd better have."
The Demon Cult advanced with excruciating caution.
As though testing every stone on a bridge before stepping, they shattered the paved roads as they moved. The result: the Dang clan's painstakingly crafted mechanisms and arrays never even had a chance to activate.
From the outer to the inner gates, bamboo groves and shrines were engulfed in flame.
The Demon Cult's advance was slow, but visible in stark detail.
Occasionally, a Dang clan expert struck from ambush with hidden weapons. But against an enemy creeping forward in full readiness, the assaults achieved little. Most attackers were slain—or forced back into the inner compound.
As Bang Yacheol observed, his sword-tip tilted faintly. He turned his head.
"Who's there?"
A gravelly voice answered from ten jang below.
"Chief, it's me. Charu."
Charu was the youngest of the White Tiger Band—even at thirty-two years of age.
Bang Yacheol had stationed three subordinates behind the mountain as well. Another of Cheon Ruy yeong's precautions—to receive any "guests."
Bang Yacheol had said it was merely a possibility. But now that it was reality before his eyes, he gave a soft, incredulous laugh.
"Truly… what a monstrous friend."
As he shook his head, Charu climbed up to the summit. Two others, utterly exhausted, staggered up behind him, gasping for breath.
Bang Yacheol turned toward the woman directly behind Charu and offered a martial salute.
"I greet the Military Advisor."
It was Bingbong Murong Lin.
Her hair was in disarray, her robes covered in dust, for she had ridden without rest.
Murong Lin returned the gesture.
"I never imagined I'd meet the White Tiger Lord here. Truly, this is a relief."
No sooner had she spoken than Haweol Pyeong-u jong, face bright with joy, stepped forward.
"I pay my respects to the Hero of Langwang."
Bang Yacheol glanced at their haggard state and allowed himself a faint smile.
"Military Advisor, please come stand by my side."
"Eh? Oh… yes."
Murong Lin tilted her head. Had she imagined it? For the briefest instant, it had seemed as though Bang Yacheol smiled. She dismissed it—surely just her fatigue making her see things.
From the summit, the Tang Clan estate spread out below them.
Unconsciously, both Murong Lin and Pyeong-u jong let out groans.
Pyeong-u jong's face paled.
"This… this is an army."
Even at a glance, the numbers exceeded fifteen hundred. Bang Yacheol nodded.
"Closer to seventeen hundred."
Pyeong-u jong let out a long, weary sigh, his face tightening with regret.
"So we rode ourselves half to death for nothing… It's far too late. There's nothing we can do here. Which means… the Tang Clan has already lost the Formless Venom."
"Most likely."
Despair flickered across Pyeong-u jong's features. He shook his head slowly.
"That Heavenly Demon Sword… truly terrifying. How in the world did he purge the Formless Venom? From now on, the orthodox sects will have to mark him as their top priority."
Murong Lin's face also hardened. They had come hoping for even a shred of possibility—but found only despair and futility.
Pyeong-u jong, drained, turned to Bang Yacheol.
"Hero of Langwang, forgive my rudeness, but… may I sit for a while? I don't even have the strength left to stand."
"Then sit."
The moment Bang Yacheol spoke, Pyeong-u jong slumped against a pine tree, then looked at Murong Lin.
"You should rest as well, Ice Phoenix."
Murong Lin brushed her disheveled hair back from her forehead and shook her head.
"I can still endure."
She turned her gaze to Bang Yacheol.
"Lord of Black Tortoise Hall… did you expect us to come here?"
Bang Yacheol answered while gazing down at the Tang estate.
"Did Charu not tell you anything?"
"No. Every time I asked, he said he only obeyed orders and knew nothing."
A bitter smile tugged at Bang Yacheol's lips. The White Tiger strays hated the orthodox alliance's military advisors—loathed even exchanging words with them.
He muttered, glancing back, "That fellow…" before facing forward again.
"Lord Cheon said there was a chance survivors from Mount Cheongseong would make their way here. Pursued by the Heavenly Demon Sword, or fleeing—either way, Tang Manor was more likely than Geomhyangjang."
Pyeong-u jong, slouched against the tree, suddenly straightened at those words.
"Lord Cheon… you mean the Scholarly Lord? He's returned to Geomhyangjang?"
"Yes. This very afternoon."
"Incredible. I've got gooseflesh… He anticipated the fall of Cheongseong Sect already?"
"He deduced it the moment he received word of the massacre at Udun Village and the corpses being ferried to Wolseong Lake."
"And even foresaw that we'd come here first… ha! Truly a remarkable man."
"I share that opinion."
Murong Lin, watching their exchange, tilted her head again. Bang Yacheol answering so freely? That wasn't like him at all.
Bang Yacheol bent down, picked up a small chest at his feet, and tossed it to Pyeong-u jong.
"You'll need this."
Caught off guard, Pyeong-u jong blinked, holding the box.
"What is it?"
"An antidote."
"...!"
Goosebumps prickled along Pyeong-u jong's arms. Murong Lin, seeing him open the chest and take out a pill, turned to Bang Yacheol with a shocked voice.
"You assumed we'd been poisoned…?"
"Immortal Rot."
"...!"
Even Murong Lin felt chills.
"Lord Cheon said as much. That eight or nine times out of ten, they'd use a poison so subtle it wouldn't be detected until you tried to circulate your inner qi."
Pyeong-u jong held the antidote in his hand but couldn't bring himself to swallow it.
Murong Lin bit her lip, then strode over, took a pill from the chest, and swallowed it herself. Within half an hour, she'd be able to wield her qi again.
Relief filled her chest. But then she frowned, looking back at Bang Yacheol.
"White Tiger Lord… if you had antidotes, why didn't you distribute them to your man Charu and the others? Then we wouldn't have had to climb this mountain half-dead."
Bang Yacheol's face remained impassive. The resentment toward orthodox strategists wasn't only Charu's—it was his own as well. He kept silent.
"White Tiger Lord?"
"I simply didn't think of it. Past fifty, and I keep forgetting the small things."
Using his age as a shield, Bang Yacheol left her unable to press the matter further. This was hardly the time to quibble anyway.
At last, Pyeong-u jong swallowed his pill as well and then asked:
"Hero of Langwang… did you come here at the Scholarly Lord's request, to observe the Tang Clan's battle?"
"No. We came to fight."
"What? Then… the White Tiger Division?"
"They're lying in ambush on this mountain."
Pyeong-u jong blinked blankly, scratching his head.
"You came to fight, yet hide here? But the battlefield is there…" He pointed toward the Tang estate. "Unless… you mean to strike from the rear? But the White Tiger Division numbers barely a hundred. Against such odds, that's suicide."
His thoughts spun, his mind unraveling, until suddenly he sprang upright.
"Then… has the Dokgo Clan or Mount Kunlun arrived as well?"
"Not just us. Everyone at Geomhyangjang has mobilized to drive back the demon cult."
"Such spirit is admirable—but this is nothing but a fool's death! You must retreat. Live to fight another day."
Bang Yacheol smiled again. The words Namgung Soo had cried back at Geomhyangjang resurfaced in his mind. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though he himself had become Cheon Ryuyoung. And strangely, that pleased him.
Langwang Bang Yacheol—
he was swiftly returning to his former self.