Chapter 965

Boooo! Boooooo!

The horns sounded in wave after wave, but this was nothing like their earlier call.

Instead of joining in one great roar, the blasts broke off in fits and starts. There was urgency in them, too.

Even the people of Shanxi, who did not know exactly what the horns meant, could tell that something unexpected had happened to the enemy before them. And that this sudden turn would bring them a stroke of luck they had never imagined.

“Now! Now’s our chance!”

“Don’t fall back! Keep pressing them!”

Not one of the Shanxi defenders stopped to wonder what had happened.

Not a single one.

They had already made peace with dying. They had stayed to protect their homes, their families, and their friends, and now they faced the invaders head-on.

Those who came to take, and those who stayed to protect.

They did not share the same desperation, or the same weight of resolve.

The people of Shanxi wrung out every last bit of strength. They stumbled forward and swung weapons that felt heavier than ever.

At the enemies faltering as they grasped what the horns meant.

At the cruel invaders from the steppe.

Klang!

Thud, thud!

Sparks flew where sharp blades met.

The Keshik, frozen for a moment in confusion, scrambled to fight back. But that moment of distraction was all the furious Shanxi defenders needed.

Shhk!

Saber Force surged along a crescent saber, sending the limbs of three or four men flying. Yet even in their agony, those who had not died threw themselves at a Keshik squad leader with all the strength they had left.

“Y-you crazy bastards…!”

Crack!

Flesh split with a sickening sound. The shout stopped short.

Not many people could survive an axe buried in the crown of their head.

No. None could.

“That’s what you get for setting your sights on Shanxi Province, you damned barbarian.”

Ptooey.

An unknown martial artist spat phlegm onto the squad leader’s corpse, its eyes still wide open in death. Then he carefully took the sword from the hand of a comrade who had fulfilled his final duty and closed his eyes in peace.

His voice was thick as he said goodbye.

“Rest here a little while. I’ll kill just ten more and be right back.”

He knew the truth.

No—all the people of Shanxi knew.

They might never come back. They might never meet again in this life.

But knowing that changed nothing.

Nothing except the resolve with which they faced certain death.

“Yaaaaah!”

A cry like a scream shook the gorge.

It broke the stillness of the deep night, pierced the blare of dozens of horns, and traveled farther and farther on.

Past grass darkened by night and ground packed hard by countless hooves, until it reached a band of horsemen cresting a high hill and racing toward the battlefield.

The towering old man at their head smiled when he heard the fierce cry rising from the people of Shanxi.

“Yes. I hear you loud and clear. This old man does—and so do we all.”

Thud, thud, thud!

Pounding hooves shook the earth.

The wind drove the stench of blood deep into their nostrils. The ceaseless clangor of steel set blood that had gone cold boiling again.

“Thank you. You’ve held out well.”

His murmur faded into the wind rushing over him.

The towering old man spoke from the heart to those who had fought without giving an inch in the worst of circumstances. To those still desperately facing an overwhelming enemy.

He offered them his respect, his gratitude, and his apology.

“We swore to stand together beneath one banner. Yet some turned away when our neighbors were in danger, afraid their own fences would come down.”

His voice rang clear over the pounding hooves.

The words were a reminder of his own shame, and a rebuke to everyone riding behind him.

“Spilled water cannot be gathered again, nor can an arrow be called back once it leaves the bow. But…”

The Jin Family of Taiyuan and the people of Shanxi had not been easily broken.

They were still here, burning with countless lives as fuel.

Their cup had not yet shattered. Their enemies’ arrows might still be on the string.

“Look at them. And remember this well!”

His shout rose like wildfire, tearing through the night air.

The old man pointed toward the gorge, where a fierce battle was raging.

Below the hill, the steppe army was rapidly closing in, moving toward them to the sound of horns. He paid it no heed and continued to shout.

“They are our neighbors, our friends, our comrades-in-arms! They swore beneath the same banner as we did. And they are the very people our family tried to turn its back on!”

The old man was ashamed.

Ashamed of the family that had tried to abandon the people of Shanxi. Ashamed that he himself had wavered, if only for a moment, at that pathetic proposal.

But he had not forgotten the vow they had made long ago: to rise together against the injustice of Dark Heaven and save a world sunk in misery.

That was why he had ridden here with all his strength, repeating the same hopes to himself again and again.

Hold out until the end. Let us not be too late.

The people of Shanxi had not let him down.

They had given him another chance to unfurl the banner he had been too ashamed to raise.

“What are you?”

At the old man’s roar, like the bellow of a beast, two thousand tightly shut mouths opened as one.

“Fighters!”

Fighters.

For a very long time, they had called themselves fighters, not martial artists.

To them, martial arts were not something to hone for their own sake. They were tools for battle.

“And what is an enemy to you?”

At the old man’s next shouted question, the eyes of those riding through the darkness flashed.

“Weak losers who will kneel before a fighter’s spear and blade!”

Thud, thud, thud!

Boooooo!

Thunderous hooves and blaring horns rang out one after the other.

The sight of countless horsemen charging toward them through a hazy cloud of dust, just over thirty meters¹ away, did not shake a single one of them.

They were valiant fighters. Those men were losers who would soon be broken and crushed.

“I’ll ask you one last time!”

The old man roared. The enormous saber in his hand now scattered dazzling flashes of light.

“Who are we!”

The gap closed. Watching a wave of lances glint in the darkness, the two thousand fighters shouted with one voice.

“The masters of Hebei!”

At that very moment—

Flap.

The twenty or so standard-bearers, who had waited through the past several days for this moment alone, raised their flags high.

A blue tiger that looked ready to leap to life, and four characters stitched in a rough hand, billowed fiercely in the rushing wind.

At last, they revealed themselves to everyone on the battlefield.

The Hebei Peng Family.

The Tiger of the North. One of the Five Great Families.

And the towering old man leading them was a great tiger, grown stronger still through the long years.

“Charge!”

With a roar that shook earth and sky, the old man kicked off his saddle and shot toward the enemies closing in on him.

Rrrumble.

Thunder that chilled body and mind.

The old man—no, the Thunderbolt Saber King—swept his great saber through the dense forest of spears and blades like a massive bolt of lightning.

Kaboom!

A blinding flash and a deafening boom swallowed everything around them.

Behind the old tiger, who rampaged through the enemy formation and shattered it, two thousand fighters burst through the thick haze of blood. Together they pierced the enemy ranks like a single awl.

Crack!

In the deep of night, when even the birds slept—

The battle, and the Double Ninth Festival,² were not over yet.

Everyone heard it.

And everyone saw it.

The strange thunder that had come from the ground, not the sky.

Beyond the flash and the boom, dozens of blood-soaked flags snapped in the wind as the enemy shrieked.

“The Hebei Peng Family! It’s the Hebei Peng Family!”

“T-The Thunderbolt Saber King…!”

The first was the Shanxi defenders’ cry of joy. The second was the nomads’ lament.

Peng Cheolhu, the Thunderbolt Saber King.

His name and title were no relics of a bygone age.

An old tiger might lose its strength and standing among its own, but the teeth and claws of the great tiger called the Thunderbolt Saber King had only grown sharper.

What’s more, the Hebei Peng Family was a renowned great family that ruled the north alongside the Murong Family.

In that sense, the Thunderbolt Saber King and the martial artists of Hebei following him were showing exactly how they had earned the titles of Ten Kings and one of the Five Great Families.

Boooo! Boooooo!

As the horns blared without pause, Jamukha had a sudden thought.

This is going to be a long night.

But he was not flustered.

The Shanxi defenders, united around the Jin Family of Taiyuan, had fought harder than he expected. The arrival of the Hebei Peng Family, though, was within the range of what he had anticipated.

So was the Thunderbolt Saber King himself.

“Just as that person said.”

At Jamukha’s muttered words, Jin Mukyung’s face stiffened. He had been trying to steady himself, to keep his emotions from taking hold.

“What did you just say?”

“The Thunderbolt Saber King’s temper is so fiery that he’ll act without thinking of the consequences. So even if he leads the Hebei Peng Family to Shanxi’s aid, it will be no surprise.”

Jamukha spoke without hesitation, then added quietly:

“That is what that person said. I remember it clearly.”

“……!”

“Don’t look at me like that. If you thought we couldn’t anticipate even this much, I’d be very disappointed in you.”

“W…e?”

“Yes. We.”

Jamukha nodded slightly and clicked his tongue as he looked at Jin Mukyung.

“A pity. If you’d taken my hand, you could have been one of us.”

Step.

Jamukha took a step as casually as if he were out for a stroll.

Shwack!

The crescent saber in his hand sliced through the air.

The strike was so precise and swift it made Jin Mukyung’s skin crawl. His eyes widened as he twisted aside.

Shhk!

His hair fluttered. Blood sprayed from the gash cut into his forehead by the pressure alone, blinding him.

Damn it.

Jin Mukyung’s body jerked to a halt for an instant. His two years of training had made losing his sight no problem—but the blood in his eyes was enough to shake his composure.

For Jamukha, it was the perfect opening.

A chance to uproot the young Sword Demon, still unfinished but full of potential.

“If you’d put that collar on yourself, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Jamukha raised his crescent saber, his voice low.

He surpassed the Demon Bird in every respect. Even facing Jin Mukyung, exhausted to the limit, he did not let his guard down.

Calmly and without a word, he found the fastest, most precise path and brought his saber down.

Farewell, young Sword Demon.

Blue-green Force flowed along the smooth blade, about to cut through the air—

Whoosh! Whoom!

With a fearsome whistle, a great saber shot in like a bolt of lightning and plunged squarely between Jamukha and Jin Mukyung.

Kaboom!

Beyond the boom that sounded as though the sky had split and the cloud of dust rising pale in its wake, the towering old man appeared. He bared his teeth in a grin at Jamukha.

“Ready to die?”

At the sight of the Thunderbolt Saber King drenched in blood from head to toe, Jamukha replied in fluent Chinese.

“Thanks for saying what I was about to.”

For Jamukha, nothing had changed.

Nothing at all.