More than six hundred men thundered across the night road.
At the head of the column, Namgung Su glanced sidelong at Dokgo Seol. She frowned.
"Young Master Namgung. Why do you keep sneaking looks at me? Do you have something to say?"
Namgung Su looked briefly embarrassed, then replied:
"Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your heart… it's still back at the Tang Clan estate, with Cheon Ryuyeong, isn't it?"
At that, Dokgo Seol bit her lip. Namgung Su pressed on.
"You didn't need to come."
Truthfully, he had expected her to stay behind at the last moment. Yet here she was, running in the vanguard beside him. And that confused him.
If she truly cared for Cheon Ryuyeong, wouldn't she have remained?
Namgung Su himself had intended to stay behind with her. But when she set out, he had been unable to excuse slipping away alone. So he came.
When she gave no answer, he asked softly:
"You don't… love him?"
"…"
"Because if you did…"
"If I did, I'd be making myself and my clan his sworn enemies for life."
Namgung Su stared, dumbfounded, then gave a faint smile.
"Do you even know what I was going to say, to answer me like that?"
"You want to draw him into your clan."
"…"
"Do you think me a fool? You'd tie him to your sister Baekhwa, wouldn't you? Tell me I'm wrong."
Baekhwa Namgung Soso—the younger sister of Namgung Su, like Dokgo Seol one of the Five Flowers of the Martial World.
Namgung Su could only give a wry smile. That wasn't what he'd meant.
He had guessed Dokgo Seol's feelings and only wanted to confirm them. If they were admiration for a strategist rather than love for a man, then perhaps… perhaps he could confess that he had fallen for her at first sight.
"Hahaha. Why would you think that?"
"Is it not true?"
"Even if I had such a thought, the elders would never permit it. They dote on Soso too much to give her to him."
Dokgo Seol's lips curved faintly.
"Is that so?"
"Of course. No one can deny Cheon Ryuyeong's brilliance. After this battle, his fame will shake the world. But to the elders, background matters more. You know this."
"Hmph! Background. That's made by people in the end."
"Yet from that background, many talents are born—better taught, better trained."
Dokgo Seol's gut twisted. She did not wholly disagree, but his words sounded like belittling Cheon Ryuyeong.
"If that's how you think, why did you just ask him to be your friend?"
"Simple. Because I liked him. He was the first man ever to stir my heart."
"…"
"But our talk has gone astray. In my eyes, you have feelings for him. So why leave him? Do you only see him as talent for your clan?"
Irritated by his barrage of questions, Dokgo Seol snapped back:
"And why does that matter to you?"
"Perhaps because… maybe your feelings aren't as deep as I feared. Maybe leaving him proves that."
Namgung Su had wanted to hear her say it—that she had left only because she did not truly love him.
Dokgo Seol snorted.
"I was out of line, bringing up Baekhwa. But if not her, you were ready to use some beauty to bind him, weren't you?"
"If you saw him only as an asset for your clan, then yes, it would be possible."
"Even if that meant enmity with my clan?"
"Impressive as the Dokgo family is, could it rival ours?"
His bluntness furrowed her brow. She stared straight ahead in silence for a while, then spoke:
"Leave him alone."
"Where he serves as strategist will be his choice."
"…"
"He's wise enough to judge which background will best help him rise."
Namgung Su studied her profile, growing harder with every word. His thoughts tangled more. Did she really see Cheon Ryuyeong only as talent, not as a man?
She spoke again.
"The reason I left him is simple."
"And what's that?"
"Shame. Guilt."
"…?"
"I dragged him into the martial world. I promised—well, I swore to myself—that I'd give him only the best, keep him from hardship. But… he suffers still. He hurts, he bleeds, he struggles."
Namgung Su bit his lip.
Her face, in the moonlight, was beautiful and sorrowful.
A bitter smile touched his lips. He had hoped otherwise, but the answer left him empty.
Dokgo Seol went on:
"When we take back the Sichuan branch, when he returns to us… he'll smile in welcome."
"You just want to see him smile."
"If I'd stayed, when he wakes, he'd only say, 'Let's go.' No matter how I tried to stop him, he'd rise. That's the man he is."
Namgung Su chuckled, nodding.
"Yes. That's him exactly."
"I can't watch him suffer anymore. Before he does, I'll end this. I won't let him bear all the weight alone."
Namgung Su let go of the last of his longing. Her words hit harder than any confession. They burned his chest with both pain and release.
"Lady Dokgo, you will not end this alone."
"…?"
She turned her head. He smiled brightly.
"We'll end it together. For the Scholar of the Martial World."
She smiled back.
"You're right. Forgive me. We'll all fight together."
Her dazzling smile, white as pear blossoms in the moonlight, was the very smile that had toppled the fortress of his heart three months ago. And it hurt all the more to know it could never be his.
"I've always thought men and women cannot truly be just friends."
"…?"
"But there are always exceptions."
She blinked.
"What are you saying out of nowhere?"
"I ask you to be my second friend."
She looked at him as though he were mad, then laughed.
"You're nothing like the man in the rumors."
"No. The rumors are true. But before a true friend, one gives their real self."
She pursed her lips, then said cheerfully:
"Fine. Being friends with the third son of the Namgung Sword Clan is hardly a loss."
"True friends don't speak of loss or gain."
From behind, Jang Deukmu butted in:
"Lady Dokgo, I'd like to be your friend too."
He always did like to tag along.
Meanwhile, Noeakcheon's temper was rising.
They were moving along a road with mountains to left and right. Though between mountains, the way was broad—forty jang across.
Even if enemies had laid ambush on both slopes, there was space enough to fight.
Mabul advanced, scanning the ridges.
"This is vexing."
Elder Hwangmagek replied:
"It must be the orthodox sects from the Sword Fragrance Hall."
All nodded grimly.
From the moment they entered the mountain pass, they had felt it—murderous intent, pouring openly from both ridges.
They knew it was an ambush. Yet Noeakcheon and his lieutenants had not changed course.
There had been three hundred of the orthodox at the Sword Fragrance Hall.
Their numbers were not so different from their pursuers. And though they were now reduced to the state of fugitives, these were still the Tang Clan's finest—elite forces chosen to occupy Sichuan.
Most of the leaders were peak masters.
So if the orthodox sect warriors dared to attack, they were itching to teach them a lesson.
Yet time dragged on, and the orthodox never showed themselves. They remained hidden in the mountains, trailing from a distance.
Noeakcheon ground his teeth.
"If I followed my temper, I'd storm that ridge right now."
All their faces showed agreement. The constant harassment was intolerable; they wanted to slaughter those orthodox pests.
It would be a way to vent the fury burning since their crushing defeat at the Tang estate.
But in reality, they dared not.
If battle broke out and the Tang reinforcements arrived bearing the Formless Deadly Poison, the situation could spiral into catastrophe.
Elder Monghyeolbi stroked his beard and spoke.
"I don't think it would be so bad to strike. Clearly those men plan to stall us until the Tang arrive, then block our retreat or spring a pincer attack. But the Black Wolf Unit should reach us before the Tang do, should they not?"
Blood Priest clicked his tongue.
"Tch. The Black Wolf Unit may already have been wiped out by the poison. The fact they haven't come yet… makes that all too likely."
That had been Cheon Ryuyeong's true purpose in sending the Black Wolf Unit north: to keep these men ignorant of the poison's truth.
At Blood Priest's words, Monghyeolbi licked his lips and lowered his head. Blood Priest smirked oddly.
"In any case, their game won't last much longer."
Monghyeolbi lifted his head.
"What do you mean?"
"Did you not note the terrain when we passed this way before?"
"Ah—my apologies. I was too eager for battle…"
Truthfully, he had been too eager for merit and reward.
Blood Priest gave him a look of disdain.
"In less than an ik ahead, the mountains fall away. There's a stretch of bare, rolling hills."
"Ah, yes. I remember. Then the orthodox won't be able to shadow us so openly."
"Exactly. And if they do dare follow into open ground… we'll erase them. Not that I expect them to."
"Indeed. Only a death wish could drive them to such folly, hahaha."
Monghyeolbi let out a ghastly laugh, which drew frowns from many.
At last Noeakcheon snapped.
"Elder Monghyeolbi! Do you laugh now, of all times?"
The laugh died instantly. Blood Priest clucked his tongue at him again.
Noeakcheon exhaled heavily, again and again.
"Remember this well. Our defeat was because of the Heavenly Demon Sword."
They had already agreed upon that excuse on their way back. Yet Noeakcheon, uneasy, repeated it for emphasis.
He dreaded that the Heavenly Demon Sword might speak as the Black Wolf commander had—accusing them of cowardice.
The Heavenly Demon Sword could well sneer: "Had you fought to the death, even with the poison against you, would the rout have been so pathetic?"
He might even question whether they could still call themselves warriors.
And so they had decided in advance on their defense: if they stood together, they could insist there was no alternative; but if they were divided, humiliation would be unavoidable.
Suppressing their rancor, they at last reached the rolling hills.
And then, shockingly, the orthodox emerged from the forests onto the open ground as well.
"What—?"
Noeakcheon let out a breath of disbelief.
Dozens of orthodox fighters appeared to left and right.
Too stunned to issue orders, he only blinked, looking back and forth.
Then the orthodox suddenly charged forward, sprinting madly.
Monghyeolbi pointed frantically.
"Th-those bastards!"
Their intention was obvious: to dash across the hills and vanish back into the mountains. And to keep harassing them like this, needling them endlessly.
Noeakcheon roared:
"After them! Kill them all!"
Boom!
Cheon Ryuyeong awoke to an explosion in his lower abdomen, pain tearing through him like fire.
His eyes snapped open, mouth opening in a scream—
But Elder Jeolsudok's hands clamped down on his jaw and skull.
"Young Master Cheon! You must not open your mouth!"
A strangled groan escaped between Cheon Ryuyeong's clenched teeth. His whole body burned as though aflame, while the pain in his belly threatened to tear his soul from him.
"Young Master! Listen to me. Your guard, Young Hero Pyeong-u, is channeling his qi into you through the Mingmen point!"
Jeol sudok summarized as briefly as he could.
Through his flickering consciousness, Cheon Ryuyeong caught only fragments. He could not piece together their meaning—his mind was consumed with enduring agony.
Yet even so, he grasped two things:
He must not open his mouth.
And they were treating him.
He clenched his teeth. Cloth pressed between them—it had been placed there to protect his teeth from shattering.
Boom!
Again an explosion shook his abdomen, rattling his skull.
I'm dying, he thought.
"Ghhhhh!"
He bit down harder, tears of blood spilling down his face, his muscles spasming uncontrollably.
At the sight, Tang Hyemi—who had stepped briefly inside—turned away, trembling. Elder Jeolsudok wept as he watched Cheon Ryuyeong's bloody tears.
Then a familiar voice sounded in Cheon Ryuyeong's mind—Pyeong-u's voice, a whisper of inner transmission.
『Brother. It's me, Pyeong-u. You must endure. I chose this path because I believe you can.』
Even through the haze of agony, the words were clear. Cheon Ryuyeong nodded faintly, heavily, but surely.
Boom!
Another blast wracked his core, making his ears ring.
A gush of blood surged up his throat. Unable to open his mouth, it reversed course, spilling out through his nose.
He couldn't breathe. The seconds dragged like eons. Then at last the blood cleared, and air filled his lungs again—only for the pain to intensify.
His eyelids began to fall.
Elder Jeolsudok, crying, shouted:
"Let go of consciousness! Trust us! You will not die!"
But Cheon Ryuyeong refused.
His face, twisted by torment, slowly changed.
Jeolsudok stared, eyes wide.
Is he… smiling? Impossible!
Cheon Ryuyeong gritted his teeth and forced a smile. Or at least, the attempt at one.
I will not yield!
His bloodshot eyes, brimming with tears of blood, stared into empty air—
And in that void, he saw phantoms.
His mother. Suyeon.
What he had to protect.
Family.
Boom!
Another detonation shook him. Yet the grotesque, almost ghastly smile on his face did not fade. Veins bulged across his brow and neck.
I will not yield!
Even weeping blood, Cheon Ryuyeong did not lose his smile.