Chapter 1089

As the hour of the Rooster¹ began, an old beggar watched the sun inch toward the western mountains and muttered to himself.

“How strange. It’s not time for the sun to set yet.”

The other beggars huddled around a nearby campfire reacted to his words.

“Then what about weather like this at this time of year? Does that make sense?”

“Right. It’s not like this just started yesterday or the day before.”

“Branch Master, don’t stand out there in the cold wind. Come warm yourself by the fire. Have a bowl of hot soup, too.”

They had a point. The world hadn’t gone haywire just yesterday.

The old beggar—Man Chong, Branch Master of the Beggars’ Sect’s Xining branch in Qinghai—sighed and walked toward the fire.

Gung Gibang, the Successor Beggar, had returned to Xining several days ago. Man Chong, however, had stayed behind with around thirty Beggars’ Sect disciples under his command to gather information.

“Got anything to eat?”

“Of course. We may not have a damn thing to our names, but we always find a way to fill our bellies.”

“You saved some for the ones out on patrol?”

“Come now. Do you take us for beggars with no decency? Don’t worry. There’s enough for them to come back and eat till they burst.”

One of the beggars grinned, yellow teeth showing, and offered him a steaming bowl. Man Chong found himself smacking his lips.

“That smells incredible.”

“Just eat it. You’ll see it tastes as good as it smells.”

He was right.

Man Chong emptied the bowl in no time, then patted his full belly with a satisfied smile.

It looked like a hodgepodge if ever there was one, but perhaps because it was made with fish freshly caught in Qinghai Lake, it tasted like the work of a first-rate chef.

Well, I’m old. I deserve a little luxury like this.

Drowsy with contentment, Man Chong picked his teeth with a fish bone and looked around.

As he watched the waters of Qinghai Lake slowly take on the colors of the sunset, he felt his worries wash away, if only for a moment.

Reality, of course, was still bleak.

What good are a pretty view and a full belly? I can’t sleep easy until those bastards are gone.

Dark Heaven. At the thought of those terrifying Fiends, a shadow fell over Man Chong’s face.

The situation had hardly improved since Jin Taekyung and the reinforcements passed through here to join the others in Xining about four days ago.

No—it was getting worse by the day, as if to crush that brief glimmer of hope.

At this rate, we’ll be surrounded from both sides for sure… Damn it. We’re caught in a hell of a mess.

The mere thought of Dark Heaven’s massive army occupying Kunlun Mountain sent a chill down his spine. And from the rear, bandits who’d dealt the Central Plains Murim a vicious blow were said to be swarming in like ants.

There was only one thing they had going for them: Dark Heaven’s main force had yet to make a serious move.

But that’s only a matter of time. They’re coming, and soon.

The fullness in his belly vanished. Anxiety and fear took its place.

“…Damn it.”

His mood souring in an instant, Man Chong snatched up a pebble within reach and hurled it.

Whoosh!

His clothes were shabby, but he was a seasoned Branch Master and a master of the Beggars’ Sect.

The pebble shot from his fingertips toward the endless expanse of Qinghai Lake.

Splash!

The water split violently. Only then did the tightness in his chest ease a little. Man Chong snorted and turned away.

Or tried to.

He stopped when the ripples from the pebble settled and the water slowly grew still again.

What is it?

It didn’t take him long to place the sudden sense of déjà vu.

The color. The color of the water…

It was dark.

No—as black as if someone had poured ink into it.

Only moments ago, the waters of Qinghai Lake had glowed with the sunset. Now there was nothing beautiful about them, and even the quiet conversation behind him sounded strangely ominous.

“Man, why’s it getting dark so fast today? Usually the sunset alone lasts half an hour.”

“What can we do about it? It is what it is. Have some more food before the patrol comes back.”

“Don’t mind if I do. Branch Master, would you like another bowl?”

Man Chong didn’t answer. More precisely, he couldn’t.

At that moment, his instincts were sounding a red alarm in his head.

Something’s… wrong.

Of course, it could be nothing, as the other Beggars’ Sect disciples seemed to think.

Frost had fallen before harvest season, and giant monsters that barely looked human were running wild. What was left to be surprised by?

But he had a feeling he couldn’t explain. More than sixty years of experience—and an old veteran’s instinct, etched into his bones.

“The patrol. When are they due back?”

“Huh? Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

“Answer me. Now!”

The old Branch Master was usually so easygoing that his sudden bark left the disciples stammering.

“Th-they should be back soon.”

“W-well, they’re about half a gak² later than usual, but they must be close by now. There’s no need to worry, Branch Master… Huh?”

One of the disciples trailed off, eyes widening as he looked over Man Chong’s shoulder. Everyone turned.

On a low hill about two hundred zhang³ away, a group of men and horses had just appeared, tiny as specks. They were slowly descending through the gathering darkness.

“Speak of the devil. There they are.”

“Look at those lazy bastards. They’re already late, and now they’re taking their sweet time?”

“Branch Master, stay put. I’ll give them a proper scolding this time.”

As everyone tossed out remarks while watching Man Chong’s expression, he stared at the patrol with sunken eyes and muttered,

“Twelve.”

“What?”

“Twelve. Unless my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

“What does that—”

The disciple’s question died on his lips.

The patrol that had left to survey the area about two shichen⁴ ago had numbered ten.

“Th-that means…”

“Could be one of two things. Either they found survivors who made it through by sheer luck…”

Man Chong drew the iron staff, worn smooth from years of handling, from his waist and added quietly,

“Or some sons of bitches who deserve to be chewed up alive are pretending to be the patrol.”

“…!”

“Get to the boat now. We’ll raise anchor, put some distance between us, then see what happens.”

“Y-yes, Branch Master!”

At last grasping the danger, the disciples moved as one.

By the time they’d boarded the boat moored by the shore and rowed far enough away, the mysterious group—friend or foe, they couldn’t tell—had reached the campfire they’d left behind.

“Seok Sam! Seok Sam, are you there?”

Man Chong’s sudden shout was answered from beyond the darkness, which had grown noticeably deeper.

“I’m here! What is it?”

In that instant, Man Chong’s face went rigid.

So did every other Beggars’ Sect disciple’s. Not one of those staying at Qinghai Lake could have spoken down to Man Chong, their Branch Master and the oldest among them.

Worse, the voice from the darkness sounded exactly like Seok Sam’s.

“B-Branch Master…”

Leaving the Beggars’ Sect disciples behind, their faces pale as if they’d seen a ghost, Man Chong gritted his teeth and shouted again.

“Who are you bastards?”

For a moment, silence fell.

It lasted only a moment, but felt longer than ever—like an eternity.

Then an unfamiliar voice suddenly rang out, shattering the silence that seemed ready to suffocate them.

“Well, I guess beggar bastards are quick on the uptake.”

With a buoyant voice that even carried a hint of laughter, the figure that had only been a silhouette emerged into view, heading for the still-burning campfire.

Tap-tap.

Amid the sparks rising into the air, a man and horse crossed the gravel without the slightest sound. Man Chong’s eyes widened.

“W-what is that…?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

The horse was a skeleton, its white bones exposed. But it was the man seated so casually on its back who filled him with a fear unlike anything he’d ever known.

The man grinned, baring unnaturally white teeth and fangs as sharp as a wild beast’s.

His blood-red eyes gleamed even at this distance. Just meeting his gaze felt as though it bound Man Chong’s body and mind.

“Y-you…”

The man shrugged at the trembling Man Chong.

“You know who I am, more or less.”

His nonchalance only made him more terrifying. Man Chong forced out a question.

“The patrol… What happened to them?”

“Aw. How touching. All that begging together must have made you close.”

“You bastard! Answer me!”

“How am I supposed to talk with a beggar yelling at me? Fine, fine. Don’t get so worked up.”

The man waved a hand as though calming him down, then smacked his lips.

“To sum it up, they’ve gone to a better place. Didn’t taste like much, though.”

“W-what did you say?”

Man Chong froze, his mind settling on a suspicion too horrible to put into words. The man frowned.

“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea. Maybe it’s because they were mangy beggar bastards, but their bodies weren’t much to write home about either. I only drank a little blood, just to have some fun.”

“…!”

“What? Was that not good enough for you? I thought I got the voice pretty close.”

Grit.

The pungent scent of blood filled Man Chong’s mouth. Even so, he clenched his teeth with all his strength.

It wasn’t only rage at losing a subordinate who had been like a brother to him. He had to do this—had to hold on somehow—to bear the fear tightening its grip on him with every passing moment.

Dark arts.

Never had those words felt so chilling.

Nor had he ever felt as if his head could be severed at any moment by someone standing a hundred zhang³ away.

“So you’re the one. The leader we’ve heard about.”

“Well, let’s say I am. At least here, that person has entrusted everything to me.”

The man—the Blood Lord—smiled at Man Chong.

Then he slowly swept his gaze over the twenty Beggars’ Sect disciples, frozen like statues around him, and spoke.

“So, who’ll it be?”

“What?”

“I’m planning to let at least one of you live. One of you gets to survive, and I get someone to deliver a message. Good for both sides, isn’t it?”

“…!”

“Look at your faces. What, did you think you could just run away?”

The Blood Lord grinned at their rigid faces a hundred zhang³ away, then turned to look behind him.

“Time to get moving, isn’t it? It’s something we have to do anyway.”

At his words, one of the figures waiting in the darkness stepped forward.

Swish.

Long robes brushed the gravel. As if the Blood Lord weren’t worth answering, the Grand Sorceress passed him, reached the lakeshore, and extended her hand.

“Cold north wind…”

Wooooom.

The air trembled. A vast chill swept across Qinghai Lake.

And then, they saw it.

“Freeze.”

Crack-crack-crack!

With a crack of ice, Qinghai Lake froze white.

“…!”

“…!”

Man Chong and all twenty Beggars’ Sect disciples stared, wide-eyed.

A miracle that should not—and could not—exist.

Faced with that impossible sight, they could do nothing.

Not even when the foul stench of monsters began to drift toward them from beyond the thick darkness in the distance.

Not when the Blood Lord crossed the frozen lake as casually as if out for a stroll, climbed onto the bow of their boat, and looked down at them.

“Whoever survives, go tell them. I—the Blood Lord—am coming.”

At that moment, Man Chong forced out his voice with everything he had.

“You’ll never win—”

Crunch!

Scarlet blood sprayed across the white ice.

“So, have you decided who gets to survive?”

In the cold, deep night, the Blood Lord’s blood-red eyes gleamed.