Chapter 1109

The moment fierce flames swept through the battlefield, everyone—ally and enemy alike—thought the Blood Lord was dead.

That was how much power the strike had contained.

Even with his near-immortal regenerative ability, surviving that dreadful, hellish heat had seemed impossible.

But there was one exception.

Jin Taekyung had used even his own life as kindling to summon those flames.

Splash.

His knee sank into a pool of blood. Beyond the drifting ashes, the monster that had stopped just short of death began to rise.

Then a single shout burst from Jin Taekyung’s lips, now pale as snow. He wrung it out with every ounce of strength he had left.

“Attack!”

The azure dragon’s roar shook the air on every side, breaking the momentary silence and setting time in motion again.

The first to respond was another Divine Dragon, still hurtling away after being caught in the aftermath of One Annihilation.

“……!”

Cheongpung’s eyes flew open.

The thrill and elation he’d felt just after cutting off the Black Ghost’s head were gone.

Only overwhelming shock and confusion rushed in to take their place.

How is this even possible……!

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. But he had no choice but to accept it.

Gritting his teeth, Cheongpung twisted around.

Whoosh.

His body spun against the howling wind. He thrust out a foot and stepped into empty air.

No—he made it burst.

Boom!

Compressed air exploded.

The distance of some twenty jang¹ closed in an instant, bringing the staggering monster sharply into view.

I’ll kill him. No matter what!

Cheongpung’s mind was cold as ice.

His instincts were screaming at him. If he didn’t stop that terrible monster now, he might never get another chance.

He had to bring the creature down by any means necessary, before it recovered its original strength.

But another group of monsters awaited his descending sword. They went by a different name: fanatics.

“Stop him!”

“Heaven above and earth below; all demons—!”

Sh-sh-sh-shhk! Slice!

Purple Force flowed along Cheongpung’s blade, cutting through flesh and bone without hesitation.

Thirty-Six Plum Blossom Swords.

Huashan’s finest sword technique filled the air. Along the path traced by his blade, the Force of the Zaha Divine Technique blossomed and scattered like petals.

Beautiful, and sorrowful.

And more than anything, desperate.

Thud! Fwoosh!

He cut, and cut, and cut again.

They fell, and fell, and fell again.

But—

They’re not backing down……

Cheongpung’s face turned pale.

Everything around him was stained red. Blood poured out without pause, washing away the fragrance of his sword technique and obscuring the purple Force.

The defenders who had joined the fight were swinging their weapons with the resolve to die, but even so, the wall of fanatics held firm.

To them, death—the thing every living person feared—was sacred martyrdom.

“The great Lord of Heaven’s power has descended upon this land! We will give our lives to protect His Apostle!”

“Lord of Heaven, lead us!”

The fanatics’ spirits had never been higher than after witnessing the Blood Lord survive.

No—this had gone beyond madness.

To others, his survival was a strange and terrible calamity. To the fanatics, it was a miracle proving their faith had been right all along.

And amid that whirlpool of madness and death, Cheongpung could see the monster clearly.

A monster slowly retreating from the jaws of death, absorbing the blood of friend and foe pouring in from every direction.

Rustle.

New flesh began to grow over its charred body.

Crack.

Melted bone and muscle regenerated.

Pop. Pop.

Its lips, fused together above and below, came apart to reveal sharp white teeth.

A long, blood-red tongue flicked out between them, driven by an unbearable thirst.

“……More. Give me more.”

The moment a voice like scraping metal slipped from the monster’s parched lips, Cheongpung felt the blood in his whole body turn cold.

Already?

The sight was bizarre beyond words, and the recovery was far too fast. It was well beyond what he and the other allies had expected.

For a moment, he wondered whether they would be better off falling back, if that could delay the monster’s recovery even a little.

But even in that fleeting moment, the mindless monster was regaining its original strength at an astonishing rate.

“More!”

The Blood Lord’s sudden cry sent a shiver down Cheongpung’s spine.

Because his voice was so much clearer now?

No.

It was the majestic internal energy carried in that cry—something Cheongpung hadn’t been able to feel just moments ago.

No!

With that silent scream, Cheongpung thrust his sword forward with all his strength.

Sh-sh-sh-shhk!

Force brighter than ever slashed through the air.

The fanatics blocking his way, endlessly chanting their eight-character incantation, were cut to pieces and scattered.

A breakthrough aimed at a single point.

Jeong Hogun and the Embroidered Uniform Guards under his command, now among the defenders, charged in behind him.

“Wipe out the rebels!”

“Long live His Majesty the Emperor!”

They were the Great Nation’s finest troops in every sense, each a martial artist of at least Supreme First Rate, with others at Peak.

They had cast aside the golden armor and helmets bestowed by the Son of Heaven, but their pride and their vows still shone. Every sword point drove in the same direction.

Toward the Blood Lord.

Fwoooosh! Boom!

A deafening crash sent a thick spray of blood surging through the air.

A narrow gap began to open among the countless fanatics, whose ranks had seemed like an unbreakable iron wall.

Slice! Thud-thud-thud!

Even with Temporary Strength Pills, they could not close the gap in martial enlightenment.

Dozens of Huashan’s finest techniques poured from Cheongpung’s blade, while the Embroidered Uniform Guards, led by Jeong Hogun, drove into the fanatics’ formation like an awl.

Before another enemy could fill the gap.

So they could get one step closer, one moment sooner, to the Blood Lord.

At this rate, we can do it.

No—they had to do it.

They all thought so, and they were all prepared to die.

The Kunlun Sect Daoist who, even with a sword buried in his chest, used his last strength to wrap his arms around a fanatic.

The young, nameless soldier behind him, squeezing his eyes shut as he thrust his spear.

The middle-aged Embroidered Uniform Guard, holding in the entrails spilling from his split abdomen as he advanced, clad in pride that shone brighter than his armor.

They all knew it instinctively.

If they let the chance Jin Taekyung had given them slip away, they might never bring that monster down.

If the West Gate fell, they would be slaughtered—and so would the hundreds of thousands of people sheltering in the Inner City.

Their unshakable, desperate resolve shot toward the wall of fanaticism like the spear of someone kneeling behind them.

“Now!”

At Cheongpung’s shout, every ally who had pushed deep into enemy lines squeezed out their remaining strength and lunged forward.

It might be their final charge. None of them would regret it.

Crack-crack-crack!

Fountains of blood burst into the air.

Cries of pain spilled from every direction, and the bodies of allies and enemies alike tangled together as they crumpled.

But it was enough.

Countless fanatics still surrounded them. Right now, though, Cheongpung had only one target.

Crunch. Crunch.

The monster was chewing something Cheongpung couldn’t identify—and didn’t want to. It suddenly turned to look at him.

It had two arms and two legs like a human, but could no longer be called one. In its red hand hung a corpse with its neck gone.

Dozens more bodies lay at its feet: fanatics dried out like mummies.

“Who are you?”

It looked and sounded genuinely curious.

Cheongpung didn’t know why the monster couldn’t remember him, but one thing was certain.

He still hasn’t fully recovered.

Watching his reflection in those blood-red pupils, Cheongpung spat out his answer, his voice more hostile than ever.

“You don’t deserve to hear my name.”

And at that moment—

Flash.

Cheongpung’s hand moved faster than sound. Purple light burst from his fingertips.

Slice!

Skin split, and blood flew.

The Blood Lord stared at Cheongpung in bewilderment, then blinked as he noticed the deep gash across his chest.

“Ah, ah……?”

With the pain, forgotten memories began to rise slowly to the surface.

And with them came anger.

“You……”

He reached out as though in a trance.

But before he could recover his memories, Cheongpung was already moving without hesitation.

Slice, slice, slice!

They moved at a speed like streaks of light, their bodies tangling and crossing. Each time they did, blood sprayed into the air.

The Blood Lord’s blood.

Drip-drip-drip.

Watching his own blood spatter across the ground, the Blood Lord’s eyes widened.

“……No.”

It wasn’t the pain.

Thirst.

The more blood he lost, the tighter that terrible thirst—briefly quenched—closed around him again.

Sh-sh-sh-shhk!

Even as sword strikes rained down like a storm, the Blood Lord looked around, his thirst growing stronger.

I need it. Blood. I need more.

But Cheongpung was pouring his last strength into the attack, giving him no time to quench it.

Crack! Crunch!

Blood flowed everywhere as the battle went on, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It could only close the wounds appearing across his body, one after another.

But he had remembered something else he’d briefly forgotten.

Other beings that could quench his thirst.

Right. That’s right.

The Blood Lord grinned, unable to contain his delight.

He raised both hands toward the sky and cried out eagerly.

“Come! Hurry!”

At that instant—

Whoosh!

The purple Force Cheongpung had sent flying grazed the Blood Lord’s arm as he paused for an instant.

No—it cut through both arms.

Slice!

Both arms flew high into the air. Pain and thirst surged through him at once.

But even after losing the arms he had barely regenerated, the Blood Lord kept smiling.

He knew what the countless shadows plunging down toward him would do. They blocked even the heavy rain pouring over his head, turning an already dark sky utterly black.

They would quench his thirst.

Kiiieeet!

At the bloodcurdling sound that suddenly rang out from the air, Cheongpung instinctively looked up.

He saw them.

No. Everyone saw it clearly.

Countless flying beasts—too many to count—plunged toward the battlefield, their blood-red eyes flashing.

And at the center of them all, at the very end, was one being.

Flap-flap-flap!

A wave of monstrous creatures no one could block or evade.

Beyond the thunder of countless wings beating as they poured down and covered the space, the voice of the monster who had finally regained all his strength and memories pierced Cheongpung’s ears.

“I remember your name.”

“……!”

“And the debt I owe that bastard Mae Jonghak, the Sword Saint.”

At that moment—

Crack-crack-crack!

Flesh and bone tore with a sickening sound, and sticky blood stained Cheongpung’s vision red.