Chapter 1056

Shwaa!

The flash that tore through the wind was razor-sharp and perfectly aimed.

The Black Dragon Saber.

It was the first and last treasured blade his father had given him. He had been only a boy in his teens then, though he’d distinguished himself so early that his youth hardly mattered. Now the blade followed its master’s hand and cut cleanly through the target before him.

Shhk!

Blood sprayed with a cold slicing sound. The pair of eyes that had watched it all sank deeply.

“What have you done?”

The question held a great deal, but the answer was simple.

“Because this isn’t the path I want.”

Sama Pyo let go of the hilt, cold beneath his hand.

The keen blade, permitted only to the heir of the Black Dragon Demon Gate, had grazed the bridge of Sima Gong’s nose and cut through the pool of blood.

As if mocking the father who had rejoiced to see his son become a true man of the unorthodox faction—and had willingly accepted death.

“This is my choice. The path I, Sama Pyo, have chosen as the man who will succeed you as Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate.”

“Why…!”

Sama Pyo calmly met Sima Gong’s gaze as his father shouted, his voice thick with blood.

“Because it isn’t right.”

“What?”

“Because it isn’t what comes first—or what’s best.”

For Sama Pyo, this wasn’t a question of what came first.

It was a question of what was right—of what was better.

“I’d forgotten for my whole life. No—I’d grown so used to it that I kept pretending not to know. But not anymore.”

His life in Gansu had been one long struggle.

Like the siblings born before him, the youngest of the Sama family had fought desperately to avoid being cast aside.

They were family, bound by blood, and rivals competing for the one position of heir. They were little more than soldiers obeying the man who had given them that blood.

Soldiers who sometimes had to face even death.

“Father, Second Brother…!”

“I’ve already heard from the messenger. We’ll hold the funeral after we’ve wiped them all out. Understand?”

Sima Gong had been a cold conqueror. Unifying the unorthodox faction demanded blood and sacrifice.

It was an open secret that more than five of Sama Pyo’s brothers and sisters had died as the Black Dragon Demon Gate brought every unorthodox faction in the land under its banner and rose to stand alongside the Kongtong Sect.

But no one knew that the Black Dragon Demon Gate’s youngest Young Master, chosen as heir while still in his teens, wasn’t as cold as he seemed.

“Why are you crying so bitterly?”

“Father helped Black Dragon Demon Gate. But he died. Taishan sad.”

“…!”

“Need to find body. Taishan needs to bury father. But, but those people said they don’t know. Taishan sad.”

“…You said your name was Taishan. Come with me.”

Sama Pyo had found the father of the enormous boy weeping before him. He’d found him in the Black Dragon Demon Gate’s uniform, surrounded by crows, and buried him with care.

And for the first time in his life, Sama Pyo had made a friend.

A friend more precious than family—the only person who cared for him more than his own father did.

But he’d never imagined he would make more friends over a decade later.

“Living with them taught me that, in the end, everything depends on the choices I make.”

The Fire Dragon Pavilion.

Despite its grand name, it had fewer than ten members. Among them, Sama Pyo had found a path he’d never known existed.

There were no shackles or labels there.

They always trusted one another and fought together, and that was how they overcame each crisis.

Perhaps that was why Sama Pyo had begun looking back on his life again and again.

Why, at some point, he had begun to feel something unfamiliar toward his merciless father.

“It occurred to me that, when you look at it, you’re rather pitiable yourself.”

“…!”

“You probably weren’t like this from the start. Ambition took hold of you little by little. Then one day, you stopped caring what it took to get what you wanted.”

Gone was the son who couldn’t bear to meet his father’s cold gaze.

Now Sama Pyo looked at his dying father with calm, sorrowful eyes.

“It wasn’t a coincidence.”

“What… do you mean?”

“I didn’t come back by chance. I came to be with you at the end. Not as the Black Night King’s heir, but as Sima Gong’s son.”

Splash.

“Do you know?”

Sama Pyo sat in the pool of blood and met his father’s eyes. Watching them tremble, he continued slowly.

“There is no son in this world who can kill his father.”

“…!”

“I’ll tell them everything myself. I’ll tell them about the pathetic son who knew of his father’s betrayal and tried not to see it.”

“You…”

“I’m not asking to be forgiven. I’m choosing to bear it.”

There was such peace in his answer, such acceptance, that Sima Gong could say nothing.

He could only struggle to hold back a feeling he’d long forgotten—a feeling he had remembered only here, today.

His vision slowly darkened. His breathing grew short, as if signaling the end.

“You asked why I did it. Why I, who’d spent my whole life chasing survival and practical gain, made such a foolish choice…”

To save the heir who would inherit everything he had?

No. That wasn’t it.

At least in that moment, Sima Gong knew there had been another reason.

He was simply too late to confess it.

“I… This father of yours…”

Facing the son who had returned to be with him at the end, Sima Gong used all the strength he had left to force out the words.

He didn’t even realize they were his final breath.

Slump.

His head suddenly drooped.

To his father, who had died so wretchedly, as if burdened by the deeds of his life, the son whispered, “I heard you. Clearly.”

Sama Pyo’s shoulders began to shake. The pool of blood soaking father and son trembled with them.

Highly trained hunting dogs always obey their master’s commands.

They fix their eyes on the prey he points out, bare their teeth and growl. The moment he slips their leashes, they race forward and tear into it with all their strength.

Until their prey stops breathing.

Or until their master orders them to stop and return.

Just like now.

Shwaa!

A fierce, piercing whistle and a flash of light came from the side.

But speed was always relative.

The Sword Energy surged along a white blade and fell toward the top of my head with all the speed expected of a Peak Master. To me, though, it wasn’t fast.

Shhk!

Space split in an instant.

A fraction of a beat later came the slicing sound. Everything in the silver-white spearhead’s path had been cut apart.

The Sword Energy, snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The blade that had carried that mighty energy.

And finally, the body of the person who had launched this futile attack.

Fwoosh!

A tremendous fountain of blood burst from his cleanly severed body. I didn’t blink at the sight.

Neither did the other hunting dogs charging from every direction, even now.

Thud, crunch! Whump!

I drove my spearhead into the chest of the first enemy charging straight at me, then crushed the face of another who came at me from the blind spot with one punch. At the same time, I yanked out the embedded spearhead and swung it.

“Ghk—kgh.”

Thump.

Three Peak Masters fell with dying cries in place of last words.

No—not three masters.

Three corpses.

But the frenzy of battle sweeping across the blood-soaked snowfield showed no sign of easing.

Shh-shh-shh-shhk!

The Dark Heaven cultists rushed in to fill the gaps without giving me a moment’s pause.

At the sight of their blank faces and eyes devoid of feeling, I felt an exhaustion so deep it weighed down my whole body.

How many is that now?

I had no idea.

I had neither the time nor the reason to count every enemy I’d killed.

I could only fight. Keep knocking them down.

Those soulless wooden puppets.

Those hunting dogs, those moths to the flame blindly carrying out their final order even though the master who held their leashes was gone.

Of course, I knew what this was.

A one-sided massacre. Slaughter.

But I had to do it.

It was the only way to end this blood-soaked battle, and the only way to save as many allies as possible.

So I had no choice but to cling with all my strength to the thread of consciousness that felt ready to snap at any moment.

Come on.

I muttered the words to myself and charged toward the enemy.

Or tried to.

That was when my vision began to fade.

“…!”

A red alarm bell rang in my head.

My mental strength had reached its limit long ago. Now, unable to endure any longer, it was sending me a warning.

But by the time I gritted my teeth and forced my eyes wide, it was already too late.

Shwaa!

My view had tilted. A dozen blades were raining down on my body, which had staggered without my even realizing it.

They looked faint. Slow.

My eyesight was still sharp enough to follow them. The problem was my brain: the part that needed to tell my body to move had frozen like stone.

Damn it.

I cursed inwardly as the world slowed around me.

These men were no Blood-Sword Demon Lord or Grand Sorceress. They couldn’t even compare to the Black Ghosts.

They fell far short.

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve scoffed at the difference between us.

Even so, I had a gut feeling I wouldn’t be able to dodge all their attacks.

And while my body refused to move, one ridiculous thought crossed my mind.

If I level up, would it heal me even if my limbs got cut off?

Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about that unpleasant first experience—the sort only someone like Cheongpung might enjoy.

The next moment, an enormous rush of air sounded from somewhere and swept my worries away.

Whoooosh!

It happened in the blink of an eye.

A huge shadow rose over the shoulders of the enemies charging toward me. With it came a two-section staff, big and beautiful just as its name suggested, cleaving through the air like lightning.

Craaaack!

If anyone ever asked whether I’d seen five heads knocked flying with a single swing of a bat, I could nod without hesitation.

I could even name the top prospect who’d tear through the modern Major Leagues, now a playground for Awakened Ones.

Of course, that lunatic hulk would introduce himself before anyone else got the chance.

Just like now.

“Taishan! Came! Saw! Hit!”

“Well done! Now, Body Slam!”

Starting with Namho, perched on the shoulder of Taishan—who had just delivered a line to make Julius Caesar weep—familiar faces burst onto the scene like streaks of light.

“Young Master! No, Benefactor! No, Pavilion Master!”

Shhk!

Ju Hwaran split an enemy’s skull while blurting out a three-step change of address that even Transformers would’ve had trouble keeping up with.

“Fools! You dare try to harm the Captain? Your courage is admirable, but first you’ll have to get past me—the Captain’s right arm and heart! I, Hyuk Mu—whoa, shit!”

Clang!

Hyuk Mujin had charged in with a grand entrance, only to scramble backward when his opponent’s counterattack proved stronger than he’d expected.

“Uh, does that guy know how to fight with his mouth shut?”

“You should try shutting yours first.”

Thrust!

Song Ilseom saved Hyuk Mujin and cut down the remaining enemies in a flash. And… wait, who was that black, shaggy old guy?

“The Seven Masters of the Black Horse?”

The name slipped out before I knew it. The middle-aged man, a former mounted bandit, twisted his already fearsome face.

“Not Black Horse—White Horse! I’m Ma Junggeol, eldest of the Seven Masters of Baekma Bang! Who do you think I went through all this shit for? And you forgot me…!”

“Lower your voice. While I’m asking nicely.”

At Ju Hwaran’s chilling warning, Ma Junggeol clamped his mouth shut. A laugh escaped me before I knew it.

It was just good to see them.

To know we hadn’t lost anyone.

And…

Because I could see the one last person I’d thought I’d never meet again.

“You made it?”

Sama Pyo, who I hadn’t even seen arrive, shrugged.

“Am I late?”

No.

Not at all.