Chapter 1037

Sama Pyo suddenly wondered where he was, who he was, and what he was supposed to do against the enemies still pouring in.

Thwack!

Even as the thought crossed his mind, his saber moved on instinct and cut through an enemy’s neck. But Sama Pyo already knew: even if he cut down dozens, hundreds, tens of thousands more would remain.

His strength was far too meager to turn the tide of this disadvantageous battle.

Clang! Krrr-crack!

“Argh!”

“Gah…!”

Horrifying screams rang out from every direction.

No—more precisely, only their allies were screaming.

At the center of the front line, which was crumbling beneath an endless spray of blood, Sama Pyo could see what was coming.

At this rate… it’s all over.

His body was exhausted, but his mind was colder than ever. His judgment was clear.

When two forces of roughly equal size clashed, the quality of their troops and their momentum decided the outcome. And Dark Heaven’s army had them beaten on both counts.

Half an hour at most. No—fifteen minutes. The front line will collapse by then.

He kept to himself the thought that would have plunged any of his allies into despair and charged at another enemy.

Jin Taekyung had plunged so deep into the enemy ranks that Sama Pyo could no longer see him. Sama Pyo could barely hold the line, let alone follow. Anger at his own helplessness drove his next strike.

Slice!

One clean strike cleaved the enemy’s upper body in two.

Beneath the shower of blood, a young martial artist who had been trembling in the certainty of his own death lit up with relief.

“Th-thank you… Huh?”

His eyes widened. He sounded dazed.

He looked barely twenty. Just as he recognized Sama Pyo, Sama Pyo recognized the Black Dragon Demon Gate uniform he wore. Something about him seemed familiar, too.

Where have I seen him before?

But the question only flickered through his mind. A moment later, Sama Pyo hurriedly twisted around and swung his saber.

Whish—Kkakak!

Sword Energy tore through the air and met his blade with a violent screech.

Beyond their locked weapons, his opponent’s eyes were vacant as a corpse’s. The Sword Energy, though, shone fiercely—brighter and sharper than Sama Pyo’s own.

A master…!

One brief clash was enough to feel the gap between them down to his bones.

But there was one thing Sama Pyo had failed to notice.

Crack.

His saber had been battered and dulled in clashes with dozens of enemies. It was too weak to withstand the fierce Sword Energy of a man who stood at the threshold of the Peak realm.

KWA-CLANG!

The clash ended almost as soon as it began.

Half of Sama Pyo’s blade spun high into the air. A streak of light shot straight toward him.

Danger!

An alarm blared in his mind at the sight of that devastating flash. Instinct spoke before reason could.

Dodge. Survive, whatever it takes. No matter how disgraceful it looks.

But…

Where am I supposed to dodge?

Time seemed to slow, as though his life were flashing before his eyes. Sama Pyo was acutely aware of everything around him.

Clang-clang! Thud!

“Gaaah!”

The ceaseless clash of blades. Blood scattering through the air. Dying screams.

And his allies, still facing the enemy in a line so tightly packed their shoulders brushed.

Sama Pyo could clearly sense the tremor in their breathing. And at the same time, he knew:

There’s nowhere to dodge.

No. That wasn’t true.

He could dart to either side right now, or duck and roll to avoid as much of the enemy’s Sword Energy as possible.

Narye tagon?¹

Who cared? Dignity was a luxury in the face of death.

Covered in filth instead of blood, or with an ally used as his shield—it made no difference. Surviving by any means necessary was the way of the unorthodox faction.

That was what his father, the Black Night King Sima Gong, had taught him—the man who’d passed his blood down to him.

Yes. That’s what he taught me.

But things had changed.

One year.

In that short time, the son had stepped out from beneath the shadow his father had cast over his entire life. He had met people, lived through much, and changed.

That was why Sama Pyo saw no way out now.

He could dodge. He couldn’t dodge.

If he avoided the Sword Energy creeping toward him through that seemingly frozen moment, one of his allies would surely die.

What a damn mess.

The curse rested soundlessly on the tip of his tongue.

Sama Pyo didn’t notice the faint smile forming on his lips. Nor did he notice how strangely relieved he felt, even with death right before his eyes.

He launched the dagger he’d hidden under his sleeve, thinking that if the person who’d suddenly come to mind were watching, they might even praise him for this.

Not a bad end for an unorthodox bastard, don’t you think, Pavilion Master?

Sama Pyo smiled brightly.

At the same time, he felt the enemy’s Sword Energy grow even fiercer. It swallowed the dagger flying toward it and surged toward his chest.

Then he heard two sharp, unexpected whistles through the air.

Slice! Thud!

Sama Pyo stared with wide eyes.

At the last moment, someone had leaped in front of him. Blood sprayed from the man’s chest as he staggered. Over his shoulder, a blackish-blue saber blade drove through the enemy’s throat.

This is…

Sama Pyo recognized the blade at once. It was the Black Dragon Saber, his treasured weapon, which he had left behind before the meeting with the Blood-Sword Demon Lord.

He recognized the owner of the Force imbued in it, too.

“You fool.”

That chilling voice was utterly familiar—and one he could never grow used to.

Thwack!

The twisted blade of the Black Dragon Saber finished severing the enemy’s neck. Black Force rose like a spreading wildfire and swept across the front.

KRRR-CRACK!

A fierce, blood-red gale engulfed dozens of enemies. The allies who witnessed that overwhelming display of martial might cried out one after another.

“S-Sect Leader!”

“The Sect Leader is here!”

The Black Night King, Sima Gong, had finally appeared on the front line. The great tree that supported the unorthodox Murim had come with the finest martial artists of the Black Dragon Demon Gate.

“Attack.”

A single word escaped his tightly pressed lips.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh! KABOOM!

Dozens of Peak masters plunged into the enemy ranks.

Cheers broke out across the front. For that moment, none of the allies holding it dared ask why Sima Gong had only appeared now, or why he had stayed in the rear when he’d had plenty of time to join them.

None but one.

“You’re late.”

The son did not look at the father he had met on the battlefield.

Sama Pyo was looking at the body of the young martial artist who had just thrown himself in front of him. The boy he had saved a moment earlier had looked as though the peach fuzz had scarcely left his face.

His father followed his gaze to the body. His reply was cold.

“He died because you were weak.”

“That’s right. If I’d been stronger, he would’ve lived.”

Sama Pyo nodded calmly, then spoke without restraint.

“Then what were you doing, when you’re so strong?”

“What?”

“The monsters called Black Ghosts never came this way. If you’d brought your forces in at the right time, we could have broken through the enemy lines.”

Why hadn’t the Black Ghosts appeared here? Sima Gong commanded thirty thousand troops, a force central to this battle. Why hadn’t the enemy targeted it?

And why had his father stood by while that opportunity passed?

Sima Gong’s gaze darkened as his son voiced the questions everyone else had momentarily forgotten.

What are you trying to say?

At the sudden Sound Transmission in his ear, Sama Pyo gave a quiet laugh.

Why? Afraid someone might hear?

How dare you…

I’d already suspected you had other plans. But I kept telling myself it couldn’t be true. I wanted to believe in you.

His son—no, Sama Pyo—drew a deep breath.

You’re still my father, after all.

……!

Do you still not understand why I volunteered for a position that was practically a death sentence?

Sama Pyo had known instinctively that his father was harboring other intentions. He had known that if the heir to everything Sima Gong had built over his lifetime had not been in danger, his father would not have appeared here even now.

“But please, don’t worry. However this battle ends, the Black Dragon Demon Gate will survive.”

For the first time, the son chose a path different from his father’s. He turned away without hesitation. Before charging back toward the enemy, he offered one more remark—perhaps the last he would ever make to him.

“It looks like the other one is dead already. A pity.”

The son left those cryptic words behind. The father remained.

When Sima Gong’s gaze, still frozen like a statue, finally settled on the fallen body, he suddenly remembered a middle-aged man and a young man from several days earlier, as they crossed the desert. They’d dared to speak of the Black Dragon Demon Gate’s and Sama Pyo’s hidden history.

And the command he’d given that had decided their fate in an instant.

See to it as you see fit.

The order had been carried out. Both men had been placed in the most dangerous part of the front line, and both had died.

But the Black Night King, Sima Gong, had not known.

No one could have known that a young man whom a cold-hearted father had sent to his death would save his son.

“……What a cruel twist of fate.”

Sima Gong murmured quietly, then looked down at the Black Dragon Saber in his hand.

The treasured blade he had given his son as his first and last gift now reflected an old man with a troubled look in his eyes.

At that moment, it caught a distant flash of light as well.

It was like lightning.

Bolt after bolt falling without pause, tearing and burning everything beneath them with overwhelming force.

Yet everyone staring wide-eyed at the distant scene knew what they were seeing. Their heightened senses, their instincts and common sense as martial artists, told them what those countless flashes lighting up the battlefield really were.

They were blades, like the ones in their own hands.

Fwoosh!

Dozens of brilliant streaks tore through the darkness beneath the heavy clouds.

They moved freely through the air, like living things, sweeping over beings that could no longer be called alive because they felt nothing.

KRRR-CRACK!

No screams followed—only the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart.

Weapons forged through hundreds of rounds of tempering in lands beyond the desert shattered the moment they met that wave of steel. Their wielders fared no better.

Splash. Thud-thud-thud!

Blood surged up like a wave.

Beneath that red rain, bursting from the bodies of dozens and soaking the ground, one man slowly walked forward.

Squish.

Sticky. Blood pooled up to his ankles and sloshed with each step. Its foul stench seeped into his nose.

Jin Taekyung was covered in blood from head to toe, but he kept walking.

The enormous wave of steel moved with him, subject to his Will alone.

Clack. Thud-thud-thunk!

Something clicked into place, followed by a whistle through the air. Jin Taekyung’s fingers moved ever so slightly.

Clang!

Five great sabers floating through the air spread their broad blades across his flank. The steel shield opened like petals in full bloom, catching the arrowheads that came flying at him in quick succession.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Kakakakclang!

A dozen arrows bounced away in showers of sparks.

Jin Taekyung did not flinch. He had already made everything within a three-jang² radius his own.

And whoever had hidden among his allies to fire the repeating crossbow would not get another chance to ambush him.

Go.

There was no need to turn and find the archer. At Jin Taekyung’s command, the five great sabers that had shielded him shot away like enormous arrows.

Thud-thud-thud!

More than twenty people died in the time it took him to exhale: the one who had fired the crossbow, those who stood in the sabers’ path, and the enemies beside them.

But the five sabers didn’t return, either.

Even Jin Taekyung had limits when it came to hurling steel weighing dozens of geun³ apiece like bolts of lightning.

Grit.

A terrible headache struck without warning. He clenched his teeth.

Was that too ambitious?

Unlike the Lower Dantian, the Middle Dantian was the domain of Will—of mental strength.

Controlling this many weapons was nothing short of a miracle. Imbuing each one with internal energy and controlling it perfectly was another matter.

A master of a certain level could stop weapons propelled by strength and speed alone.

Just as some of them were doing now.

Thud! Kakakakclang!

The weapons shot forward again at his command, piercing flesh and bone. But over a distance of barely ten jang⁴, the blades that had once numbered close to a hundred had dwindled by half. Some of the enemies who had reached the Peak realm were beginning to knock them aside without much trouble.

Not yet. Not yet.

Since the battle began, he had cut down hundreds of enemies on his own.

No—perhaps more than a thousand.

It was a feat worthy of the name One Against a Thousand.

But…

It’s not enough.

The deeper he pushed into the enemy ranks, the closer he came to Jeok Cheongang’s fight with the Blood-Sword Demon Lord, the stronger the enemies grew.

To bring down every enemy still surging toward him, Jin Taekyung would have to unleash everything he had.

Just one. One strike is enough.

The instant the thought arose in his mind and took shape as Will—

Slip. Clang-clang-clang!

The dozens of weapons surrounding him fell from the air.

All but one spear. It had drunk more blood than any of the other blades, yet its gleam had not faded.

Now.

Fwoosh.

In the wavering space, White Flame blazed with Force and shot forward.

At the end of its fierce passage through a human wave numbering in the hundreds stood one man.

KWA-BOOM!

A roar split the air like the sky breaking open. The immense force behind the spearhead drove a figure backward.

The Blood-Sword Demon Lord had been rushing at Jeok Cheongang, who was now drenched in blood. He bared his bloodstained teeth at Jin Taekyung, standing on a red path strewn with finely chopped flesh.

“So, you’ve come?”