The moment he saw the Blood Lord’s savage smile, the Dalai Lama felt a chill race up his spine.
What in the world is this man?
He was different. Unmistakably different.
Something about the man before him stirred the primal fear every human being carried.
A darkness as deep as an abyss, enough to make even the ruler of vast Tibet shudder.
A predator.
He looked at the Dark Heaven followers who had surrounded him and the Twelve Secret Monks as if to enclose them.
“This humble monk… has been discourteous.”
For a moment, he had forgotten what sort of man the Blood Lord was. And who stood behind him.
But when the Blood Lord bared the fangs he’d kept hidden, the Dalai Lama remembered the reality he’d let slip from his mind.
Who was weak, and who was strong.
If a conflict broke out now that neither side could take back, which of them would be devoured?
That was why the king of the theocratic state that ruled Tibet had no choice but to bow his head slowly.
“I swear, I had no intention of insulting someone the Lord of Heaven favors. It’s only that I was troubled, and made a mistake…”
“A mistake.”
The Blood Lord cut him off and ran his red tongue over his lips, like a beast savoring the sight of its prey.
Then he smiled at the Dalai Lama.
“I understand. Anyone can make a mistake now and then. Once.”
The meaning in the Blood Lord’s quiet final words was unmistakable.
Once. Just once.
He would not tolerate a second mistake.
The Blood Lord had gone back to addressing him respectfully as though nothing had happened. His attitude said the opposite. The Dalai Lama gritted his teeth and accepted it.
“Thank you for saying so.”
“Come now, there’s no need to be so formal. We’re comrades working toward a great cause, aren’t we?”
“…You’re absolutely right.”
Of course, the Dalai Lama knew how hollow those words were.
The balance of power had been settled decades ago, when he took the hand the Lord of Heaven had offered him. This was the generosity only the strong could afford—a carrot tossed his way after a crack of the whip.
But by now, the Dalai Lama and the Potala Palace had only one choice left.
They had to acknowledge it and accept it all.
Only then could they avenge the grudge passed down from their predecessors and survive in the new world Dark Heaven would one day rule.
“The Potala Palace will do everything it can to repay, in some small measure, the grace the Lord of Heaven has bestowed upon us. However…”
“However?”
The Blood Lord’s eyebrow twitched. The Dalai Lama went on in a low, subdued voice.
“I trust you’ll honor your promise.”
The Blood Lord studied him as though he could see right through him, then clicked his tongue.
“So that’s what you meant… Don’t worry. The Fire Gate Clan’s lineage will end right here in Xining.”
“I don’t doubt you, donor1, but couldn’t they escape Xining and flee to the Central Plains before the Green Forest Alliance and the Yangtze River Channel League seal off the rear completely?”
“Escape? Did you just say escape? The Fire King and Jin Taekyung, of all people?”
Before the Dalai Lama could answer, the Blood Lord laughed aloud and continued.
“Palace Lord, you hate the Fire Gate Clan more than anyone, yet you know nothing about them.”
“If we’re talking about a small handful of people—those two in particular—I’d say they have plenty of chances to get away. Even the Fire Gate Clan’s fools, who can’t tell up from down, might decide to live to fight another day when the odds are this bad.”
He was right.
They weren’t talking about the tens of thousands of troops huddled in Xining, or its hundreds of thousands of people. They were talking about a tiny handful.
And if those people were the Fire King Jeok Cheongang and the Blazing Flame Divine Dragon Jin Taekyung, they could break out through the rear right now and tear a hole in the encirclement.
But the Dalai Lama’s concern only made the Blood Lord laugh harder.
“Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Don’t you know? You just said it yourself.”
“What do you—”
The Dalai Lama’s question was cut short. The Blood Lord suddenly stopped laughing and spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Fucking idiots who can’t tell up from down. That’s the Fire Gate Clan.”
“…!”
“Master and Disciple alike, not one of them gives a damn about his own life. And with tens of thousands of allies and hundreds of thousands of civilians still here… well, that settles it.”
If those two had wanted to live to fight another day, they wouldn’t be in Xining now.
No. None of what they’d done up to this point would have happened.
Once they lost their temper, they’d charge straight in whether their opponent was the Demonic Cult or the Jade Emperor2 himself. And even with their lives at stake, if there was something they had to protect, they protected it.
Someone like the Blood Lord might mock their deeds as idiocy rather than chivalry.
But that was the Fire Gate Clan.
“I’ll say it one last time: they will never leave Xining. I’ll stake my life on it.”
More certain than ever, the Blood Lord recalled the young pup who had dared to face him a year ago in a blood-soaked valley on Mount Song, and how desperately he had fought.
He recalled the fire in the eyes of the young beast he’d faced again today—one he could no longer call a pup.
At last, he knew for certain what sort of person the Blazing Flame Divine Dragon Jin Taekyung was.
And he made up his mind.
Even if he had to defy the Lord of Heaven’s command, he would kill Jin Taekyung and eliminate the threat.
Even if someone inside smuggles him out through the rear, it won’t matter.
Farmers worried about their crops being washed away watched the sky closely. Everyone else noticed the storm clouds only when raindrops landed on their heads.
The peace that had lasted more than fifty years was long. And the storm clouds that had crept slowly toward them were now overhead.
Even as Dark Heaven’s concealed blade, planted deep within their ranks long ago, pierced their flesh, they had yet to notice it.
The moment I get the signal from inside, I’ll strike and finish this in one go.
The Blood Lord smiled faintly and looked up.
One by one, raindrops fell from the dark sky, heralding a downpour unlike any before it.
An omen of the storm that would sweep away everything in Qinghai.
Tap. Plip.
As I felt the sudden raindrops wet the top of my head, I thought:
For a victory celebration, this is pretty damn soggy.
We’d fought a battle we hadn’t planned on, but for such a short fight, we’d accomplished plenty.
By my estimate, we’d taken down hundreds of enemies. That included the Black Ghost Jeok Cheongang had reduced to ash with a full-powered strike.
Of course, that was only a fraction of them.
I kept that thought to myself and stared past the wall at the army blackening the land beyond it.
Hundreds fewer enemies. Thousands more.
For a moment, the balance of power had edged the tiniest bit closer to even. With the Potala Palace’s arrival, it had tipped further against us than before. The weight of it pressed down on one corner of everyone’s heart, mine included.
“Maybe… we’ve already missed our chance.”
Watching the enemy build an ever tighter, more impregnable encirclement, Bow Saint continued in a heavy voice:
“Since we were already committed, we should’ve finished things before the Potala Palace arrived. We might’ve had a chance then.”
At that one sentence, which put into words what everyone already felt, someone who’d been standing with his arms crossed in silence spoke up.
“Even so, if we use the cover of night to eliminate their entire leadership, we’ll have a good chance.”
If Hyuk Mujin had said that, I’d have hung him upside down and thrown him over the wall. Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that.
The words had come from the assassin hailed as the greatest of all time.
The others looked at him hopefully, waiting for him to go on. I shook my head without hesitation.
“Absolutely not.”
The Slaughter Saint asked:
“Why do you object?”
“Can I be honest?”
“When have you ever been anything else? Go on.”
“It’s simple. You’d go in there just to die like a dog.”
“…!”
The mood sank at once. The Slaughter Saint gave me a long, searching look.
“That goes beyond honesty. It’s almost a provocation.”
“I like joking around, and I’m good at provoking people. But I don’t do that to allies in the same boat. You already know that.”
“I learned something from facing them myself just now. If I go, there’s a chance.”
“How much of a chance?”
“One in ten.”
The Slaughter Saint answered as if the slim odds were no big deal, then looked at the rain, growing heavier by the moment.
“One in five, if the heavens lend a hand.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s as much as one in five. Considering what we’d gain if I succeeded, my life would be a bargain.”
He was right.
Even so, I could only smile bitterly.
“If we stood to gain anything at all, I wouldn’t have called it dying like a dog.”
“Now that they know I’m here, I expect them to prepare. They might even set every Black Ghost they have left to guard their leaders.”
“I know. I know you’ve considered the other possibilities, too.”
“Then why?”
“Because it’s simple.”
Naturally, I wasn’t the one who answered.
Jeok Cheongang had been silent all along. Now he spoke up and continued as everyone turned to look at him.
“Dark arts—no, Magic. When it comes to that damned stuff, even the greatest assassin of all time is as good as deaf and blind. Am I wrong?”
I nodded.
No—more precisely, before I could even nod, Jeok Cheongang grabbed my shoulder and made me move.
Before I could ask why, his low Sound Transmission slipped into my ear, and I had no choice but to fall silent.
—So, are you really not going to tell me until the very end?
Jeok Cheongang stared at me, his gaze sunk deep.
—What nonsense that bastard the Blood Lord was spouting at the last moment.
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