One of the advisors rose from his seat and objected.
"General, martial artists of the Jianghu cannot be controlled.
They may be on our side today and join the enemy tomorrow.
They are rogues—unmanageable, unpredictable, impossible to restrain."
Zhu Yuanzhang replied without expression,
"Control is unnecessary."
"…Then?"
"All I need is the Korean expert's head."
In Zhu Yuanzhang's calculation, Jianghu masters would kill and vanish—
nothing more.
That calculation was one branch of his arrogance.
Another general asked cautiously,
"General… whom do you intend to summon?"
Zhu Yuanzhang produced a sealed letter.
"The scattered martial factions of Sichuan."
"The Salan Sect, secretly cultivated remnants of the former Yuan forces."
"And the man known as Bloodwind Blade, said to wander the Jiangdong region."
Everyone inhaled sharply.
These were names that carved their paths with blades and blood.
Whether they were rumor or reality was unclear—but the fear was real.
Yu Baiwen's gaze darkened.
"The moment you summon them, the nature of this war changes."
Zhu Yuanzhang answered briefly,
"It already has."
That night, Zhu Yuanzhang summoned his most trusted courier and issued a simple command.
"Deliver this to the one hiding beneath the cliffs west of Sichuan—
the old hermit lands."
The courier bowed and vanished into the darkness.
To another messenger, he handed a different letter.
"This goes north through the merchant routes to Jiangdong.
Tell the information brokers to summon Bloodwind Blade."
To the next messenger, he leaned close and whispered,
"To the Salan Sect."
"There is only one condition."
"The Korean expert's head."
The courier's face drained of color, but an order was an order.
He departed at once.
After the messengers left, only Yu Baiwen remained.
He spoke slowly,
"General, once Jianghu warriors are drawn in, the board changes.
One day they fight for us—
the next, they hunt us."
Zhu Yuanzhang closed his eyes.
"I know."
"Then why—"
Zhu Yuanzhang replied coldly,
"Anyone who touches my army must die by my hand."
Those words were not spoken from vengeance alone.
They were proof that his authority, power, and momentum had been shaken.
This was a decision meant to restore that balance.
Yu Baiwen said quietly,
"…There are those who may be killed,
and those whose death shatters the flow itself."
Zhu Yuanzhang opened his eyes.
"Breaking the flow is also part of war."
Yu Baiwen said no more.
There was not enough leverage to persuade a resolute Zhu Yuanzhang.
When defeat spreads, the strange and forbidden are always summoned.
And such strangeness almost always calls for greater bloodshed.
That night, messengers split into three paths and disappeared into the dark.
Each carried a letter written by Zhu Yuanzhang himself—
promising vast sums of gold for success,
offering high office as reward.
Blood was spent cheaply.
Promises were thrown expensively.
Days later—
From an abandoned temple in Sichuan,
from a port in Jiangdong,
from the northern remnants of the Salan Sect—
Different shadows, driven by different reasons, moved toward the battlefield.
From that moment on,
this was no longer a war soldiers understood.
It became a war where blades sought blades.
Where momentum hunted momentum.
A war in which a single breath could shake the fate of the world had begun.