Chapter 958

Ka-boom!

A faint tremor followed the explosion.

Jamukha stroked his beard as he watched a pale cloud of dust rise from the distant cliff, visible even in the darkness.

Looks like they’ve started.

Jamukha knew Chinggen—or, more precisely, the person wearing Chinggen’s face—well.

Cruel, savage, and strong.

No matter who he encountered up there, he would carry out his assigned task. And he would do it exceedingly well.

Clang! Krrrunch!

Flashes flickered without pause through the dust cloud, followed by more deafening crashes.

Below, the nomads had shed their armor and taken up hooks and daggers. As the archers’ fire slackened, they seized the opportunity and rapidly climbed the cliffs.

“Loose!”

Fwish-fwish-fwish!

Arrows continued to fly, accompanied by occasional shouts, but that was all.

The archers’ composure and accuracy had faltered. So had the dense crossfire pouring down from either side. None of it compared to what it had been moments before.

Of the thousand archers holding the two cliffs facing each other, half were already tied up by Chinggen. The other half had to keep the ground forces in check as they surged into the gorge once more.

A loosened net would eventually tear.

Jamukha intended to bring that moment a little closer.

“Mukal. Jerme.”

“Yes.”

“Give your orders, Khan.”

At Jamukha’s quiet summons, two men stepped forward.

Their clothing alone set them apart from the other nomads. Among the Keshik Jamukha had personally trained over many years, they were two of the most capable.

Following the example of the great conqueror who had once crossed the steppe and ruled the continent, Jamukha called them the Five Steeds and Five Hounds.

Five fine steeds and five loyal hounds.

The ten commanders of a hundred were outstanding leaders and fearsome warriors alike. For decades, they had served Jamukha faithfully.

Though only days ago, he had lost one of them in vain.

“There are cowards hiding up there, doing nothing but shooting arrows. What should we do?”

“We’ll break their bows, cut their throats, and return.”

“It’s close to the heavens. Tengri¹ will be watching over us.”

The two commanders struck their studded armor with clenched fists, then turned away.

Jamukha watched them lead a hundred Keshik apiece up the cliffs, deflecting arrows as they climbed. Then he spoke again.

“Tiraun. Boorchu. Ongge.”

Three this time.

Jamukha pointed toward the gorge, where screams rang out without end.

“Your sworn brother’s killer is there.”

“…!”

“…!”

“…!”

The corners of the three men’s eyes twitched.

It wasn’t simply that they remembered their sworn brother, who had left days ago at the head of the vanguard with a hundred Keshik under his command, only for his head to return without him.

It was their pride.

Their lord was telling them to join forces and avenge the sworn brother who had died before them.

“Khan. I’m more than enough for him on my own.”

“The same goes for me, Tiraun!”

“Please send me, Ongge!”

Jamukha watched the three commanders vie to step forward.

Their bulging temples and sharp, shining eyes showed that these masters had reached the far edge of the Peak realm.

But Jamukha was both their lord and their teacher. He knew them better than anyone.

A few days ago, his subordinate’s severed head had returned instead of news of victory. Jamukha had seen the wound on its neck, leaving him no choice but to make this decision.

He’s no pushover.

Send one man, and he would never return. Send two, and only one would make it back. Send three, and they would surely return with the man’s head.

That was why their eagerness to fight could not sway him.

“Go.”

His voice was calm, but its chill was unmistakable.

This was an order. They could not refuse it.

Realizing there was no way to defy Jamukha, the three commanders bit their lips and turned away.

Then, like their comrades who had set off for the cliffs ahead of them, they led their Keshik forward at a run.

Hundreds of figures shot across the gorge, leaving their horses behind and vaulting over rocks and the bodies of fallen men and mounts.

Their first victims were not the Shanxi defenders, who continued to resist fiercely, but their own allies, backing away in fear.

“T-this isn’t right! This isn’t right!”

“Black Sheep Clan, withdraw at once! Fall back and regroup—!”

Shhk!

The old chieftain’s head flew into the air.

Several hundred members of his small tribe had joined the battle at the Great Steppe’s call to arms. Now, reduced to half their original number, the survivors stared wide-eyed.

“C-Chieftain!”

“How dare you!”

But dozens of spears and swords were already closing in from every direction.

Fwoooosh! Thunk!

“Guh—!”

With every flash of a blade, heads and limbs rolled across the ground.

The Keshik slaughtered a hundred or so tribespeople in moments with their lances and scimitars. The entire gorge froze at the sight.

So did someone watching from far away.

“W-what are you doing?!”

Temur’s voice shook as if the ground beneath him were quaking.

But the voice and gaze that answered him were drier than the steppe’s bitter wind.

“They disobeyed the Khan’s orders and ordered a retreat on their own. We simply carried out the summary execution.”

“B-but they’re under my command—”

“That’s right. They’re under your command, Khan Temur.”

Jamukha’s next words were too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“And you, the man who commands them, are standing right beside me.”

“…!”

“Is there a problem? If you have any complaints, speak now.”

Under a pressure that seemed to grip his heart, Temur suddenly understood.

This was the limit the man before him had set for him.

Cross it even slightly, and he would not escape death either.

“N-no problem.”

“I can’t hear you very well. I must be getting old.”

“N-no problem.”

Only when Temur had forced out those words through his fear and humiliation did Jamukha nod.

“A wise choice. Military discipline must always be strict. Don’t you agree?”

Temur trembled instead of answering.

He had foreseen this when he begged for his life in front of Chinggen’s corpse, but he had tried to look away. Now that terrible future was unfolding before his eyes.

Clang-clang-clang!

Raaaagh!

From the cliffs. From the gorge.

Most of the ceaseless clashes of weapons and screams belonged to the tribespeople who had followed him into battle.

Yet as they died, those who had pledged loyalty and vengeance on the strength of a fabricated lie would never know that the two young Great Chieftains who had brought them a brief peace and prosperity had already betrayed them.

No. I’m the only traitor. I’m the one who led them to their deaths.

Temur clenched his teeth until they drew blood.

Chinggen had died with his courage intact. Temur had survived in shame.

He had fallen for the promise that if he cooperated fully, they would spare his life and let him keep his position as Khan.

No—that was just an excuse.

He had simply…

Wanted to survive. No matter what it took.

Yes. That was the only truth.

And this was the result.

Sending twenty thousand tribespeople who followed him and Chinggen ahead as arrow fodder, as human shields, to get through that dreadful gorge.

“Damn it.”

Jamukha’s brow furrowed at the mutter that slipped through Temur’s clenched teeth. Just then—

“Khan!”

A figure approached at a run, calling out urgently.

Jamukha recognized him as one of the Keshik who had headed into the gorge with the three commanders moments earlier. His gaze darkened.

More precisely, it darkened at the weapons in the man’s hands.

“These are…”

A lance, a scimitar, and a bow.

Even at a glance, the three weapons gave off a cutting edge far beyond that of anything the other nomads carried. They were familiar to Jamukha.

They had been specially made as gifts for the ten commanders of a hundred who had excelled above all others among the Keshik, his personal guard.

He didn’t need to ask what fate had befallen their owners.

“Did those boys go peacefully?”

The Keshik set down the weapons, now keepsakes, and bowed his head.

“They fought bravely as warriors. Surely they’ll be welcomed into Tengri’s embrace.”

“Yes. I see.”

Jamukha murmured softly.

Kill someone, and be killed by someone.

That was the inescapable fate of a warrior of the Great Steppe. The same fate awaited everyone else.

“What of the other losses?”

Everyone present understood what he meant.

Even now, dozens of nomads were bleeding and falling somewhere in the gorge, but their lives counted for nothing in his calculations.

Jamukha cared only about the losses among his personal guard.

“Though three commanders of a hundred have fallen, our overall casualties are small. Only around twenty are dead or wounded. The rest have withdrawn to the rear and await new orders.”

Three commanders had died, but their troops had suffered few losses. That could mean only one thing.

Remembering the commanders’ confidence that each of them was enough on his own, Jamukha let out a quiet laugh.

“They disobeyed my order.”

There was no doubt those three had fought a life-and-death duel.

One at a time.

Foolish as commanders, brave as warriors.

And one by one, they must have lost their lives to the young Sword Demon of the Jin Family of Taiyuan.

“Those pathetic fools.”

Jamukha silently looked down at the Keshik, who could only bow his head even lower rather than agree. Then, abruptly, he spoke.

“Order the Keshik still in the gorge to charge.”

“Khan. You mean—”

“The senior ten-man commanders will temporarily take the vacant posts of commanders of a hundred. Minimize our losses as much as possible and wear them down.”

There would be no more reinforcements.

Several other commanders of a hundred remained at Jamukha’s side, but Eight Spring Gorge was only the first hill they had to cross.

He had no intention of wasting more of his forces in this narrow gorge, or of trusting commanders who might do something foolish again.

He wanted a surer hand.

Not one of the fine steeds or loyal hounds that raced like the wind at the turn of his reins, but a vicious dog that served the same master he did.

Ka-boom!

Jamukha watched calmly as a tremendous roar shook heaven and earth. A streak of red light came hurtling toward the ground along with a section of the cliff.

Fwoosh.

The breeze felt cool as it brushed Jin Mukyung’s hair.

It was a freshness he could never have felt in the training hall deep inside the cave.

Like a reed swaying in the wind, he twisted his body smoothly.

Shwaack!

Five lances grazed his arms, legs, and waist as they passed.

Jin Mukyung reached out, and a gleaming white-silver blade slid along the steel shaft of a lance.

Shhk!

A cold slicing sound announced another death.

At the same moment, the strength and weight behind the shaft vanished.

Jin Mukyung seized the shafts that had crossed past him, grazing his body, and spun rapidly.

Krrrunch!

There were no screams. Only a thick mist of blood.

With the five lances as teeth and his own body as the turning axle, Jin Mukyung ground everything within a three-jang² radius to pieces. When he stopped, there were no enemies left around him.

And he knew his martial prowess was not the only reason.

Ka-boom! Rrrumble!

The gorge shook.

Rocks large and small came pouring down amid a roar that seemed to split the sky. Among them, Jin Mukyung caught sight of a streak of red light bending like a living creature.

Clang!

A tremendous blow struck his sword.

As Jin Mukyung retreated, a dull ache running up to his wrist, an exuberant voice reached his ears.

“Now that’s a shame. If I’d gotten a little more used to it, I could’ve landed a whopper.”

Chinggen.

He tossed aside his black-wood fishing rod, soaked in dark red blood, and raised two swords, one long and one short. He smiled.

At his new prey.