Chapter 950

For everyone, that summer felt unusually short and chaotic.

The strangely unpredictable weather was only one of many reasons.

Floods no longer even counted as surprising.

One midsummer day, hail fell instead of monsoon rain. On another, the worst heat wave in recorded history was followed by a layer of white frost.

People whose crops were ruined overnight sank to the ground and wept. As grain prices soared, they were left wondering where their next meal would come from.

The government released rice for famine relief, but a sack passed through a few hands and dwindled to a single hop.¹

In the end, those who could no longer bear their hunger headed for the mountains.

There they stripped bark from trees to eat, or took up rusted farm tools and became bandits.

But even that wouldn’t last long.

What could people who had spent their whole lives dutifully working the fields possibly do? All that awaited these clumsy bandits was death.

Whether by government troops or martial artists, they would eventually be hunted down. And only when cold blades cut through their bodies would a question suddenly occur to them:

How did I end up like this?

But no one knew the answer.

Events across this vast land were often too tangled for anyone to understand.

All the more so when one looked back on the past two years.

“Have you heard? Just a couple of months ago, in Nanman…”

“That’s not all. Guangxi has run red with blood.”

“This is driving me mad. What’s happening to the world?”

Stories circulated wherever people gathered. That was nothing new.

But compared to a few years ago, the mood had changed. No—the very air had changed.

The voices of the people filling the inn hung low as morning fog. Worry showed plainly in their eyes and on their faces.

Rumors about the Murim, once no more than talk to go with a drink, had become real blades, slowly cutting into their skin.

They could no longer laugh and sing.

They watched government troops patrol the streets in groups of dozens, and glanced anxiously at the occasional passing martial artist. Before nightfall, they hurried home.

By now, everyone knew it instinctively.

A new war had already begun.

A catastrophe beyond anything the hundred thousand Demonic Cultists who had trampled the Central Plains decades ago could have brought was looming over them.

And those within the world of the Murim felt the reality of it more keenly than anyone.

“I hear they’ve reached all the way into the Imperial Court. They’ve been at it for decades, since around the Great Faction War.”

“I heard the same from the Beggars’ Sect.”

“Dark Heaven is stronger than we thought. It’s a good thing their plan fell through. If it had succeeded…”

It was no longer unusual for dozens of martial artists to gather, especially Sect Leaders and Family Heads.

They discussed the situation in grave voices and tried to predict what would come next.

And one name came up every time.

“The Blazing Flame Divine Dragon distinguished himself again. I hear this earned him the Imperial Court’s active support and the Son of Heaven’s favor.”

“Then is that rumor true?”

“What rumor?”

“You haven’t heard? A few days ago, when the Blazing Flame Divine Dragon left the Imperial Capital, the Son of Heaven himself came out to see him off and made him a marquis.”

“What? The Son of Heaven gave a martial artist an official title—and made him a marquis, no less? Is that even possible?”

“There were plenty of witnesses. It happened in the Imperial Capital, so it took the Lower District Sect and the Beggars’ Sect a little time to get word of it, but it seems to be true.”

News travels a thousand li² without feet.

The Imperial Court’s proclamation declaring Dark Heaven a foreign enemy and announcing war, together with word of Jin Taekyung’s achievements and the unprecedented honor of his elevation to marquis, spread from mouth to mouth in no time.

Now even the Imperial Court had stepped in.

The Great Nation, which had sat back and watched even during the Great Faction War, possessed more troops and supplies than anyone could count. If it joined the fight, Dark Heaven would be little more than a candle in the wind.

Or rather, that was what everyone expected.

Everyone except the handful of people who knew the full situation.

Flap, flap!

The old man watched a messenger eagle disappear into the distance, its wings beating hard, then unfolded the tiny scrap of paper in his hand.

As his eyes moved over the minuscule writing, the sword scar on his face twisted little by little.

“So that’s how it is.”

The quiet mutter slipped between his dry lips.

He stood there for a while, deep in thought, then tossed the paper into a brazier in one corner.

He watched until the oil-treated missive, prepared to keep it dry, had burned away. Then he set off for his destination.

Thud. Tap.

A dull sound echoed with each limping step.

Whenever the old man passed, those who looked like Confucian scholars lowered their heads slightly.

“Welcome, Chief of the Hidden Shadow Pavilion.”

“I have a brief report on what happened in Guangxi.”

“We’ve received an urgent message from the Namgung Family.”

“And from Hebei, Liaoning, and Shaanxi…”

Some passed with their arms full of bamboo slips; others offered only a brief greeting before moving on. Most, however, brought the old man new information. With each report, he sorted and refined his thoughts.

At last, he stopped before a firmly shut door.

Click.

The door opened as though someone had been waiting for him.

But the old man wasn’t surprised.

Just as he knew the details of events thousands, even tens of thousands, of li² away, the master of this room knew what happened around him.

There was a resemblance, though the scale of their abilities was entirely different.

The old man had countless eyes and ears. The man inside could sense everything happening within a radius of over a hundred zhang³ by his own power alone.

“Were you practicing martial arts?”

At the old man’s first words as he entered the exceedingly plain room, the man sitting cross-legged opened his eyes.

“I was. Until just now.”

“I’m sorry. It seems I interrupted you without meaning to.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you had good reason.”

The man smiled gently. He was young.

He looked barely thirty, and the compact muscles of his bare upper body were perfectly balanced.

Of course, once he put on his clothes, he looked like any ordinary young man.

“So, what is it?”

He continued to speak to the old man with the easy familiarity of a senior.

But he had more than enough standing and years behind him to do so.

Sword Saint Mae Jonghak was one of the greatest pillars supporting the Murim.

“I’ve come because there’s something I must report to the Alliance Leader at once.”

“Something you must report immediately.”

The smile faded from Mae Jonghak’s lips. He took his seat and tilted a teapot as he went on.

“Is it about Shanxi?”

Trickle.

Before the cold tea had even filled the cup, steam rose from it. The old man sat down across from Mae Jonghak and ran a hand over the teacup, heated by Samadhi True Fire.

“Yes.”

The cup was warm. The news to come would be cold and dark.

Mae Jonghak could see it in the old man’s face.

“Tell me, Chief of the Hidden Shadow Pavilion.”

The old man—Song Ho, the Thousand-Faced Fox—answered.

“The Jin Family of Taiyuan has called off its retreat.”

“Go on.”

“All of Shanxi Murim is mobilizing. Some thirty sects and families have gathered around the Jin Family of Taiyuan, and the Shanxi Provincial Office is mobilizing every available troop.”

“Hmm.”

Mae Jonghak let out a low hum.

He hardly needed to hear more.

This was an all-out war. Not just Shanxi Murim, but all of Shanxi Province would live or die by the coming battle.

“What forces does Shanxi have?”

“First, more than five thousand martial artists are standing by, led by the Jin Family of Taiyuan. In addition, the government has ten thousand troops, including a thousand cavalry.”

Fifteen thousand in all.

They had scraped together every last man.

They wouldn’t even have managed to gather five thousand martial artists if the Jin Family of Taiyuan hadn’t accomplished an extraordinary resurgence over the past two years.

But the greatest problem was…

“Not even half the enemy’s numbers.”

At Mae Jonghak’s mutter, the Thousand-Faced Fox nodded grimly.

According to the Hidden Shadow Pavilion’s intelligence, the grassland army marching south would swell to at least thirty thousand, perhaps as many as forty thousand.

Because it bordered the grasslands, the government troops stationed in Shanxi Province were highly capable. But the wave of cavalry, more than twice their total strength, was a nightmare in itself.

“They seem to intend to evacuate the north first and fight in the central region to minimize casualties.”

“The central region. Taiyuan, their stronghold?”

“More precisely, they appear to be planning a decisive battle at Jeongyang, about three hundred li² from Taiyuan.”

“Jeongyang. Jeongyang…”

Mae Jonghak murmured the name, then suddenly realized why it sounded familiar.

“That’s where Eight Spring Gorge is.”

“Yes.”

The Thousand-Faced Fox continued calmly.

“Eight Spring Gorge is a natural fortress. During the Great Faction War, the Demonic Cult’s great army was successfully repelled there. Two years ago, it also played a decisive part in the Jin Family of Taiyuan’s victory.”

Eight Spring Gorge lay on the boundary between central and northern Shanxi Province. It was shaped like a jar.

The path was steep and the entrance narrow, making it an ideal battlefield for a small force facing a larger one.

And considering that most of the enemy forces were cavalry, it would be hard to find a better location.

The problem was that those cavalry numbered in the tens of thousands—and the true enemy had yet to show its face.

“If the decisive battle is fought at Eight Spring Gorge, what chance do you give the Jin Family of Taiyuan?”

“Even at the most generous estimate, twenty percent. No matter how much the battle turns in the Jin Family of Taiyuan’s favor, anything higher than that would be difficult.”

The Thousand-Faced Fox’s answer was firm, his gaze darkening.

“If the enemy army consisted only of nomads, I’d put their chances above fifty percent. But…”

“Right. We can’t forget them.”

Dark Heaven.

Pitch-black clouds had swallowed even the blue skies over the grasslands. Their presence alone held everyone fast, like a trap around their ankles.

“As things stand, we can’t expect to send the Jin Family of Taiyuan any support.”

The Thousand-Faced Fox’s face was dark as he said it.

As the Murim Alliance Leader’s right hand and the head of the Hidden Shadow Pavilion, he was one of the people who understood the current state of the world better than anyone.

“Everyone knows what could happen if we move rashly. We could be caught in their dark arts and suffer a terrible blow.”

It defied common sense, but Dark Heaven had already used the dark art known as the Moving Formation several times.

Shaolin, the Mount Tai and Northern Dipper of the Murim, had suffered devastating losses because of it. The Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Families were no less vulnerable.

Not even here in Henan, where the Murim Alliance’s headquarters was located.

“Then the forces we can mobilize right now…”

“None.”

“None?”

Mae Jonghak gazed steadily at the Thousand-Faced Fox, who had answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“I want to ask you one thing. Think carefully before you answer.”

“Ask.”

“When you say we have no troops to send to Shanxi, is that the absolute truth?”

“…”

The Thousand-Faced Fox chose silence.

He had lived a life worthy of his epithet.

Hiding his identity and telling brazen lies as though they were the truth came as naturally to him as breathing.

But even he could not bring himself to lie under the clear gaze of Sword Saint Mae Jonghak.

“You know as well, Alliance Leader…”

The Thousand-Faced Fox spoke at last, his voice heavy.

“The balance of power has tipped too far. Helping Shanxi now would be a poor decision. You should formally order the Jin Family of Taiyuan to retreat at once.”

“I think it’s too late.”

“It isn’t. Time is short, but if we pull the front line back to Henan without delay, we can preserve our remaining forces and plan for what comes next.”

“No. It’s definitely too late.”

Mae Jonghak shook his head slightly.

“Too late to change their minds.”

“…!”

“The Lesser Family Head of the Jin Family of Taiyuan is an astute man. He takes a broad view of every situation and is exceedingly careful before making a decision. Isn’t that why you recommended him to the Murim Alliance’s strategy division?”

The Thousand-Faced Fox let out a quiet hum before he could stop himself.

If a man that cautious had staked his family’s fate on a decision, he would never take it back.

Not even on the Murim Alliance Leader’s orders.

“But if this continues, we could lose Shanxi. We could lose them all.”

“I know. If they retreat now, the innocent commoners who haven’t managed to flee will be massacred by the enemy.”

“…!”

“Don’t turn your eyes away. They aren’t fighting only to protect the homes where they grew up.”

At a loss for words, the Thousand-Faced Fox closed his eyes, unable to meet Mae Jonghak’s gaze.

Yes.

He knew. He had only pretended not to.

This was not a battle. It was a war.

To win it, a few thousand martial artists mattered more than a hundred thousand people.

“Was my judgment…wrong?”

“No. It was excellent. You’re a better strategist than anyone I know.”

At the unexpected answer, the Thousand-Faced Fox opened his eyes.

Mae Jonghak was looking at him with a gentle smile.

“You simply forgot one thing.”

“What was it?”

“You were so busy looking at the whole forest that you missed a small branch within it.”

At that very moment—

Srrk.

With a motion of Mae Jonghak’s hand, a surge of qi reached out and flung open the firmly shut door.

Then, with the faint stir of a hidden presence, a figure swept in like the wind.

“What news have you brought?”

At Mae Jonghak’s question, as if he had been expecting the arrival, a messenger from the Alliance Leader’s Office bowed low and answered.

“Urgent news! The Hebei Peng Family, the Murong Family, Huashan, and the Zhongnan Sect are each sending two thousand reinforcements to save Shanxi Province—”

The Thousand-Faced Fox froze. He heard nothing more.

They were sending that many reinforcements when their own strongholds might be in danger?

It went against every principle of warfare he had learned. Against plain common sense.

But…

So that’s what it was.

The Thousand-Faced Fox smiled bitterly.

Only after the messenger, bearing news he could hardly believe, had left did he break the long silence.

“I understand now. I know the name of the branch I failed to see.”

“What is it?”

“Chivalry.”

Mae Jonghak smiled gently.

He remembered his younger self, who had sworn to build chivalry through martial arts.

“Never forget again. We’re all martial artists.”

That day, with the Double Ninth Festival⁴ four days away, two thousand martial artists left the Murim Alliance headquarters and headed north.