Chapter 1102

Looking back over the whole of human history, sieges had always overwhelmingly favored the defenders.

If you wanted to take what belonged to someone else, you had to pay a fitting price.

An attacking force needed at least three times as many soldiers to capture an ordinary castle or fortress. And even with more than that, the chances of losing a siege were still considerable.

To some people, though, that was nothing but old, rusted history.

“‘Impregnable’ is just nonsense left behind by weak losers.”

Rumble.

A vast rumble rolled over the Blood Lord’s low voice.

At that moment, Dark Heaven’s enormous army advanced toward the city wall like a single wave, turning the once-green expanse of land pitch-black.

They would use the corpses of humans and monsters as footholds to scale that towering wall.

They would write a new history of their own.

The vanguard was annihilated faster than I expected…but it doesn’t matter. As long as we take Xining and cut that bastard’s throat.

Jin Taekyung, defending the West Gate, hadn’t been the only one to stop the vanguard.

The Bow Saint and Slaughter Saint had defended the South Gate and East Gate, respectively, while the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang, held the area around the North Gate. Four other Supreme Peak masters supported them from behind.

Yet even after thousands in the vanguard had vanished in reckless charges against the walls on all four sides, the Blood Lord remained unmoved.

This much loss is nothing if it means achieving my goal.

The monsters had been prepared for a moment just like this.

They would have been powerful assets in a battle on open ground, but the best use for an expendable asset depended on the situation.

Though he had lost nearly half the monsters, the Blood Lord was certain he’d made the right choice.

If he had sent ordinary followers—mere humans—out in front, they would have lost not thousands but tens of thousands before they could begin a proper siege like this.

“What about the mages? Are they all in their assigned positions?”

The Grand Sorceress nodded at the Blood Lord’s sudden question.

The hundred or so mages under her command were a core part of their forces, no different from a modern magic corps. They also had a vital role in this battle.

Under the ironclad protection of their allies, they were to keep the Supreme Peak masters off balance.

“Keep up the pressure. Make sure they have to spend their strength without a moment’s rest.”

Even with an overwhelming advantage, the Blood Lord wasn’t letting his guard down.

The four Demon Lords and the Demon Empress who had already met their ends had taught him a valuable lesson. And even without them, the defenders were an impressive lot.

No fewer than eight Supreme Peak masters.

One of them, the fool they called Great Sir, seemed so far gone that it was hard to imagine he could even function. But so many powerful fighters had rarely gathered in one place, even during the countless battles of the Great Faction War.

No—for that matter, the total number of troops assembled on this battlefield might be unprecedented in the history of Murim.

That was why the Blood Lord couldn’t allow even the slightest variable.

Especially not the one person who had created more variables than anyone else, time and again.

Jin Taekyung.

His gaze grew deep and still.

In the distance, he saw the young man standing in the path of his charging followers, whose cries shook heaven and earth.

He saw the fountains of blood erupting ceaselessly around him, too.

Fwoosh!

With every flash, another life flickered out.

His movements had reached an astonishing realm: simple, swift, and utterly overwhelming.

And yet—

Nothing lasts forever.

Jin Taekyung was undoubtedly strong.

He might even be growing stronger, little by little, at this very moment.

But everything had its limits.

In the end, he’ll grow tired. Jin Taekyung, the Fire King, and all the other old men.

Unless the Blood Lord gave the order, the wheels of this enormous war of attrition, turning on the back of overwhelming numbers and strength, would never stop.

Not until the eight Supreme Peak masters—the defenders’ heads and hearts—were exhausted.

The Blood Lord sensed that moment was drawing near.

And he knew what he needed to prepare to cut Jin Taekyung’s throat.

“From now on, the West Gate is mine alone.”

The Grand Sorceress understood the meaning behind his sudden announcement.

“For some reason, that sounds like you’re ordering me to leave. Am I imagining things?”

“That’s exactly what it is. Your imagination.”

“Then why should I leave the West Gate?”

“Do you need a reason? I’m the commander in chief.”

“I know. I just have my doubts.”

“Doubts? What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Well. For instance…”

The Grand Sorceress let her voice trail off. She looked from Jin Taekyung, fighting desperately to defend the western wall, to the Blood Lord.

“I worry that someone who’s always claimed to be that person’s most devoted servant might be a little too devoted—even to the point of defying his master’s wishes.”

It was as if she’d seen straight through him.

But the Blood Lord showed not the slightest hint of agitation.

He had considered that the Grand Sorceress might suspect his intentions from the moment he decided to kill Jin Taekyung.

“That’s beyond imagining things. You’re going senile. Do I look like an idiot who’d commit such an act of disloyalty?”

His reply was calm, without a trace of hesitation. The Grand Sorceress studied him for a moment, then shrugged.

“True. Disloyal is the last thing I’d call you. Though your loyalty has made you look like an idiot now and then.”

In the past, the Blood Lord would have bared his teeth and snarled at that. But his mind was colder than ever.

“So, what’s your answer?”

“Fine. Where should I go?”

“Take the South Gate.”

“The South Gate? The Bow Saint?”

“I’ll assign you three Black Ghosts. No, four. With that much force, even the Bow Saint won’t have many options.”

What the Blood Lord said was true, but the Grand Sorceress frowned.

“Black Ghosts? Four of them?”

Nine Black Ghosts had yet to enter the battle.

Even after one had been lost to the Fire King and Slaughter Saint’s surprise attack, assigning her four was hard to understand. They retained all the martial prowess they’d possessed in life and could recover from almost any wound.

And it wasn’t merely a question of her safety. Sending four to the South Gate would leave a gap in the forces available to break through the walls on all sides when the time came.

But her doubts vanished at the Blood Lord’s next words.

“Don’t hold back. You and the mages—press them hard. Once the Black Ghosts appear as well, the enemy will commit more of their strength to the South Gate.”

The Grand Sorceress finally understood and let out a quiet laugh.

“So I’m bait to draw in the Fire King or the Slaughter Saint?”

“Half right, half wrong.”

“What?”

“The Fire King won’t go to the South Gate. He’ll be busy greeting an unexpected guest.”

The Blood Lord answered without hesitation. He turned his cold gaze toward the Dalai Lama, who had been watching the northern wall all this time.

“Isn’t that right, Palace Lord?”

“……!”

The Dalai Lama’s eyes trembled.

The moment of revenge he had waited so long for had finally arrived. Slowly, he parted his lips.

“What should this humble monk do?”

“Show that old man, the Fire King, the resentment and strength the Potala Palace has built through long years of endurance.”

“I have waited my whole life for this moment alone.”

The Dalai Lama pressed his palms together with heartfelt sincerity, then leaped atop a massive elephant.

“Come. The time has come to avenge our ancestors.”

His quiet voice, infused with internal energy, carried on without end.

The Twelve Secret Monks, including two Supreme Peak masters, and the Potala Palace’s ten thousand monks answered with a roar loud enough to make their ears ring.

Bwooooo!

A horn sounded, shaking the battlefield.

The great army of Tibet’s Murim, now a single religious state, charged through the torrential rain toward the North Gate.

To trample the descendants of the Fire Gate Clan, sworn enemies with whom they could never share the same sky.

To offer the head of Jeok Cheongang, the current Sect Leader of the Fire Gate Clan and heir to that accursed lineage, before the spirits of their ancestors.

As the Dalai Lama’s forces receded into the distance, the Grand Sorceress’s voice reached the Blood Lord.

“Does that leave only the East Gate?”

“I’ll send two Black Ghosts to the East Gate.”

“Two? An awkward number. The Slaughter Saint might even take them down.”

“But that won’t happen. I’ll order them to avoid a direct fight with the Slaughter Saint as much as possible and stick to a cautious attack.”

“I take back what I said about the number being awkward.”

The Grand Sorceress’s lips curved softly beneath her veil.

“It’s just the right number to let the Slaughter Saint leave his post to rescue the South Gate when it’s in danger.”

The Blood Lord gave a faint smile to match hers.

“And that will keep them from suspecting us.”

If Dark Heaven sent no significant force to the East Gate, that alone would arouse suspicion.

But if they sent a substantial force and merely kept the pressure a little lighter, the troops at the East Gate, including the Slaughter Saint, would have some room to breathe. They would have time to look around.

Time to help their allies elsewhere, who would be on the verge of collapse.

The gap left at that moment would be the crack that brought down that massive, solid dam in an instant.

Whoosh!

Wind and rain whipped at the Blood Lord’s clothes.

An ordinary person would have been soaked through and shivering from the cold that bit to the bone. The Blood Lord smiled and reached out his hand.

An east wind.

A fiercer east wind than ever was blowing along a tributary of the Yellow River.

And with it came more guests, riding the surging river waters to bring this battle to its grand finale after the Potala Palace.

Preee!

An eagle flew in from the east through the dark, rain-filled sky. It gave a powerful cry and landed on the Blood Lord’s shoulder.

Bones showed white through its body in patches, and its blood-red eyes gleamed.

The Blood Lord knew what good news the eagle’s arrival heralded. He stroked the hilt of the sword at his waist and murmured, “The time has come.”