Chapter 817: Our Boys Are a Bit Rough (2)

 

“Don’t lose your cool!”

Hyun Jong’s voice thundered through the air.

It was rare for him to raise his voice, but now, it carried an unusual force.

“Stay calm! Don’t let anger cloud your judgment! You are disciples of Mount Hua! Trust your senior brothers and hold your ground!”

“Yes!”

Hyun Jong clenched his teeth, his gaze fixed on Chung Myung and the others on the opposite cliff.

You fools…!

They were fighting Jang Il-so, the Commander of the Defeated Army.

Though he knew his disciples had faced formidable opponents in the past, it was the first time he’d witnessed them all together in a life-or-death struggle right before his eyes.

It felt like a sharp blade was scraping against his insides.

He finally understood what it meant for his blood to run dry. His entire mind was on the distant cliff where his disciples fought.

But…

“Ung-geoooom!”

Hyun Jong’s bellow shattered the tension, catching the attention of Ungeom, who had been about to charge forward.

“Stand back!”

“……”

“Are you trying to die by rushing in?!”

Ungeom bit down hard on his lip, his shoulders trembling.

But he ultimately held his position. Disobeying the sect leader’s order wasn’t an option for him.

Hyun Jong knew how he felt.

Not only Ungeom but the other disciples, too, must have wanted nothing more than to cut down the Myriad-Mind troops blocking their path and rush to aid the Five Swords.

But that couldn’t happen.

Mount Hua’s forces weren’t yet strong enough to take on the Myriad-Mind Troops head-on. Attempting to break through would mean total annihilation. Just holding their ground here was already more than they were capable of.

Oddly, though, the Myriad-Mind Troops weren’t attacking as aggressively as expected.

Perhaps this makes sense.

They had no reason to rush. The ones trying to ascend had been stopped by a clash of martial titans above, and the Myriad-Mind Troops likely couldn’t fathom the idea of Jang Il-so losing.

In frustration, Hyun Jong bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He wanted to yell out, to insist they fight through and aid his disciples, whatever the cost.

But he couldn’t.

He was Mount Hua’s sect leader. He couldn’t sacrifice others to save a select few, even if they were his most talented disciples.

He was responsible for everyone in Mount Hua, even the weakest among them.

So…

Hyun Jong gripped his sword tightly.

Trusting those fighting on the cliff and holding back the Myriad-Mind Troops here—that was his duty now.

Please don’t make me regret this decision for the rest of my life. I beg you.

A silent, desperate prayer, one that couldn’t reach them.

 

Boom!

The cliff seemed to shake to its core.

Mujin shouted commands, deflecting the shards of energy and rocks raining down from above.

“Take the detour! Watch the cliffs above! Move, now!”

His face was contorted with anger and frustration.

Damn it!

Above them, a battle of unimaginable magnitude was unfolding.

Each exchange of blows shook the cliff and rumbled through the skies. Even for the disciples of Wudang, attempting to climb up amid this chaos was like throwing oil onto a raging fire.

But they couldn’t simply cling to the cliffside, either.

The disciples of Shaolin, Wudang, Namgung, and the Cheongseong sect below had started taking a long, careful detour to avoid the chaos above.

“Stick close!”

“Aaaargh!”

At that moment, a massive wave of sword energy crashed down from above.

Mujin’s eyes widened as he saw the sword energy bearing down on him, only for a figure cloaked in green to appear, deflecting it with his own sword.

Boom!

“Head Leader!”

It was Hyeong Jaja.

After deflecting the energy, he bellowed out commands.

“Elders, protect the disciples! We need to reach the top of this cliff!”

“Yes!”

Everyone, without exception, followed orders.

Those with the skills to maneuver along the cliff, especially those with higher internal power, blocked the energy shards and tumbling rocks cascading from above.

If we can just make it to the top… somehow…

Suddenly—

Boom!

With a deafening roar, a section of the cliffside couldn’t withstand the impact and broke away. A massive boulder, as large as a small pavilion, began sliding downward, crashing toward those below.

“Block it!”

With a shout, a figure leaped upward.

“Elder Heo Gwang!”

A blade shining with black and white energy traced a perfect arc.

“Haaaah!”

The opening move of the Tai Chi Severing Sword cleaved the falling boulder, and the Shaolin elders followed, shattering the fragments with bursts of energy.

“Cover it!”

They hacked and struck, overcoming even this near-disaster with teamwork and discipline.

But…

“Senior brother!”

Not everyone managed to escape unharmed.

Some slipped from fatigue, while others, struck by falling rocks, let out cries of agony as they plummeted.

“Ugh!”

Mujin bit his lip hard.

“Keep climbing! Once we reach the top, we’re through! Don’t look back—just go!”

“But, senior brother… my master…”

“Didn’t I tell you to climb?!”

“……”

Tears of blood welled in Mujin’s eyes.

These damned unorthodox dogs.

As a disciple of the Way, it wasn’t a thought he should have. But a murderous intent now flooded his mind.

“I’ll kill them! I’ll kill every last one of them!”

Gritting his teeth, he continued scaling the cliff.

 

A blade’s edge narrowly grazed his throat.

Whoosh!

The sound followed a split second later.

It was a strike that could only be described as extraordinary. But its true strength lay not only in its speed.

Having completed the sweeping move, Heo Do-jin leaped back.

A stinging pain flared at his neck, even though he had evaded the blade.

“…Invisible Force.”

Every time the blade slashed, an intangible force radiated from it, tightening around Heo Do-jin’s body.

He had heard of this technique.

A legendary demonic sword art that killed its victims without them even realizing what had happened. They died as if struck by the Grim Reaper’s hand.

“…Is that the Twelve Ghost Kings’ Sword?”

“Ah, you recognize it.”

The Magnate of Ten Thousand Coins nodded expressionlessly.

“It’s hardly a suitable sword art to use against the Sect Leader of Wudang, but it’s an art with some renown. And more importantly…”

Whoosh!

The Magnate of Ten Thousand Coins thrust his sword toward Heo Do-jin. Heo Do-jin twisted his body to dodge, but the sword energy pierced deeply into the cliffside.

“……”

Just how far did it go?

“It’s quite an efficient technique, so I use it often. I dislike wasting energy, after all.”

A faint tremor showed in Heo Do-jin’s eyes.

That sword was indeed tricky to handle.

“Why hesitate?”

“……”

“I don’t mind dragging this out. But can you afford that? The longer this goes on, the more your beloved disciples will suffer. Can you live with that?”

Heo Do-jin bit his lip.

Defeat?

Such a concept had no place in his mind. He was the head of Wudang. Even if it meant his death, he wouldn’t die at the hands of an unorthodox demon.

But his disciples…

He glanced down at those struggling to ascend.

Disciples from the Nine Great Sects and the Five Noble Families were straining to climb, braving falling rocks and deadly energy with every ounce of their strength.

They were clinging to the cliff in desperation.

“……”

Their faces were so battered and bloodied that it was painful to even look at them.

They were drenched in oil, bleeding from arrow wounds, groaning in exhaustion. Far below, in the depths of the cliff, fallen disciples writhed in agony.

When did it come to this?

Somehow, things had gone horribly wrong.

Scaling the cliff had seemed like the only path forward, the only chance for survival.

But was it truly?

Survive?

Their enemies awaited them at the top with their forces intact, having merely hurled down rocks and arrows.

The Myriad-Mind Troops, the Hao Gate, the Black Ghost Stronghold, and reinforcements gathering below, all converging on this place.

Meanwhile, even if the disciples of the Nine Great Sects managed to reach the top, they would be exhausted and out of strength, forced to face the full might of the Sapae Alliance.

How did it come to this?

When they had entered this canyon, they hadn’t foreseen this bloodbath. What mistake had led to the needless sacrifice of so many lives?

What was this all for?

“You seem lost in thought.”

“……”

Heo Do-jin gripped his sword tightly, almost as if it might snap in his hands.

Not far from him, Namgung Hwang and the Black Dragon King were locked in a fierce duel. The Black Dragon King’s monstrous energy filled the air, while Namgung Hwang matched him blow for blow.

But—

Boom!

“Argh!”

Every time their weapons clashed, the cliff crumbled, energy swirling in deadly torrents.

And the disciples of Wudang and Shaolin, leading the climb, bore the brunt of the devastation.

He understood that it was unavoidable. If the leaders held back to protect those below, they would be overwhelmed by the Black Dragon King, who would then crush everyone hanging on the cliff.

That would mean the end of everything.

Yet, as much as he knew this, bitterness still crept into his heart, wondering if he’d do the same if it were the Namgung disciples scaling the cliff instead of his own. This bitterness was proof of how desperate Heo Do-jin felt.

Even Beopgye wasn’t much help.

Although the elder from Shaolin had strength comparable to a sect leader, he was struggling against Cheon Myeon Soo Sa, the master of disguise and foremost hand-to-hand combatant of the unorthodox factions. Beopgye was finding it hard to hold his own.

…So what was there left to do?

Grinding his teeth, Heo Do-jin’s eyes were bloodshot with frustration.

Jang Il-so.

There was only one name that occupied his mind.

Whirr…

Suddenly, a cold resolution settled over Heo Do-jin’s face. His sword began to emit a flowing, black and white aura, as if ink had bled across the blade.

The energy formed a dense, swirling current around his ancient pine-patterned sword, the Songmun Gogeom.

“Hm?”

The change in Heo Do-jin’s aura made the Magnate of Ten Thousand Coins narrow his eyes.

The hairpiece atop Heo Do-jin’s head, unable to withstand the surge of power, broke apart, leaving his hair to stand on end like an enraged demon.

“Hmmm… I may be at a disadvantage here if I’m not careful.”

The Magnate raised his sword with a reluctant look.

Buzzing!

In that moment, white and black energy spiraled out from Heo Do-jin’s sword, forming a massive circle in the air.

Tai Chi?

The Magnate’s face grew tense, turning ashen.

The Tai Chi Wisdom Sword.

The supreme technique of Wudang, the Tai Chi Wisdom Sword, was finally being unleashed from Heo Do-jin’s hand.

“Hmph!”

The Magnate adjusted his grip on his sword, his face darkening.

“Well, then… let’s see just how impressive Wudang’s Wisdom Sword truly is.”

A cold glint of determination filled the Magnate’s eyes.