A raspy, gurgling sound escaped from Sacheon Dokhu’s throat as he leaned against a broken tent pole, his body riddled with darts. They covered him so completely that his skin resembled the scales of a fish. Despite his dire state, he managed a weak smile at Mu-hui, who looked down at him with indifferent eyes. Even that small act of smiling seemed to strain his breath, causing it to falter.
He never imagined that the culmination of his life’s work in the dark arts, the Mancheon Hwa-woo, would be the very thing to bring him to the brink of death.
“My Mancheon Hwa-woo… was magnificent,” he wheezed, his body a testament to its destructive power, flickering like a candle about to go out.
“Mehwa Swordmaster,” a voice called from behind, prompting Mu-hui to turn. It was Dang Gi-ho, who had launched a surprise attack from another direction alongside the Baekho leader.
Dang Gi-ho looked at Sacheon Dokhu, who seemed on the verge of death, with a bitter expression. He sighed deeply and addressed him with a term he hadn’t used in a long time.
“Sister.”
Sacheon Dokhu chuckled at the address. “Patriarch, why the long face? Why mourn the death of an enemy?”
“Before an enemy, you are family,” Dang Gi-ho replied, to which Sacheon Dokhu gave a hollow laugh, tilting his head.
“Some things never change. You always prioritized the softer side first.”
Sacheon Dokhu spat black blood, glancing between Dang Gi-ho and Mu-hui. “Do you really think you can survive in the martial world with such ideals? The martial world is ruthless.”
His eyes, once dimming, flared with a fierce light, prompting Mu-hui to speak.
“If being a warrior in the unorthodox sects means gaining power through martial arts, then in the orthodox sects, it means strengthening one’s weak body and mind through martial arts. That’s what makes a true warrior.”
Mu-hui continued, looking at Sacheon Dokhu. “The ruthless martial world? So what? True strength lies in pursuing what you believe in, even in such a world. Those who abandon their humanity for power seem weaker to me.”
Reflecting on his past life as a lone swordsman and his current life in the Huashan Sect, Mu-hui had come to a conclusion about martial arts.
“A warrior…” Sacheon Dokhu’s voice trailed off, losing strength.
“Sister, our family once sacrificed much for mere strength. I intend to change that, to make our family strong without such sacrifices,” Dang Gi-ho said.
Sacheon Dokhu, struggling to lift his head, reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll. “This is a record of all my insights. It may not be useful now, but it will be in the future. And you haven’t killed all my subordinates, have you?”
“Of course not. They are family, despite their crimes,” Dang Gi-ho replied, gesturing for the captured subordinates to be brought forward.
“Dokhu!”
“We’re sorry, Dokhu.”
Sacheon Dokhu sent a silent message to Dang Gi-ho, causing his eyebrows to rise slightly.
“It’s the formula for the poison I was working on. Help the patriarch restore it completely,” Sacheon Dokhu instructed, looking between Dang Gi-ho and his subordinates.
It was a plea for Dang Gi-ho to take in his subordinates and a command for them to return to the family.
“As a final request from your sister, you’ll grant it, won’t you? As the patriarch of the Sacheon family…”
“A patriarch’s role is to embrace even those who walk a different path,” Dang Gi-ho agreed, gently closing Sacheon Dokhu’s eyes.
“Convincing and accepting them into the new family is the task you’ve left me,” he said, nodding.
The Sacheon family was on the brink of transformation, and this was just the beginning.
At Mount Cheongseong, the historic site of the Cheongseong Sect, the main hall lay in ruins. The sect leader, Go-hoon, stood amidst the wreckage, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of the sect’s elders.
The severed limbs scattered around bore witness to the ferocity of the battle.
Go-hoon, pale and clutching a broken sword, coughed up blood. Despite his severe internal injuries, his eyes remained clear and resolute.
The Conqueror, despite his own injuries, stood tall, looking at Go-hoon with a mix of respect and pity.
“Master, the Cheongseong Sect has fallen. The legacy you tried so hard to protect is gone,” the Conqueror said, surveying the devastated landscape.
Go-hoon merely smiled. “Conqueror, our legacy isn’t just these old buildings. They can be rebuilt.”
“Then what is it?” the Conqueror asked.
“Our legacy is the young disciples who carry on the spirit and martial arts of Cheongseong. As long as they live, the sect can rise again,” Go-hoon replied.
The Conqueror’s smile turned cold. “The young disciples who fled with Dokgo Hoe? Don’t dream. The net of the Conqueror’s fortress will soon ensnare them.”
“One does what one can and leaves the rest to fate. I’ve done all I can,” Go-hoon said calmly.
The Conqueror nodded, acknowledging Go-hoon’s resolve. “I respect you, Master. The Nine Great Sects have proven their worth. If the other major sects in Sichuan weren’t part of the Nine, my fortress would have conquered long ago.”
The air around the Conqueror’s palm began to howl, the fierce energy cutting through the air. Go-hoon bit his lip, bracing himself.
“Primordial Lord…” he murmured, raising his broken sword.
Despite the shattered blade, the vibrant blue and red aura of the Cheongseong Sect’s signature technique shone brightly, illuminating Go-hoon’s face.
It was as if the Cheongseong Sect refused to be extinguished.
Mu-hui moved swiftly, the landscape blurring around him as he crossed mountains in a single breath. He had separated from the main forces to respond to an urgent message.
The front lines at Mount Cheongseong, which had been holding against the enemy, had suddenly collapsed. The disciples, including Dokgo Hoe, were fleeing, pursued by the Conqueror’s fortress.
‘The Conqueror.’
The sudden shift in the battle was due to the Conqueror’s unexpected appearance. He had left his seclusion to personally lead the assault.
‘I’m not yet ready to face the Conqueror head-on.’
Mu-hui knew he was not yet at the peak of his abilities, but with the Sword King absent, he was the only one capable of challenging the Conqueror.
It was a perilous task, but Mu-hui was driven by a singular purpose: to save his disciple, Dokgo Yul.
Sensing a presence in the distance, Mu-hui drew his sword, unleashing a wave of violet energy. The blade’s arc cut through the air, targeting the Conqueror’s men.
The crescent-shaped energy moved with such speed that by the time the enemy realized it, their ranks were already being decimated.
“Argh!”
Caught off guard, the Conqueror’s men barely had time to react, their defenses crumbling under the onslaught.
The path left by Mu-hui’s sword was soaked in blood. As he emerged, only a handful of the enemy remained standing.
Those who survived trembled at the sight of the plum blossom pattern on Mu-hui’s robe.
“The Sword Saint of Huashan!”
Mu-hwi cast a dispassionate glance at the warriors of the Paewang Fortress before raising his sword, Shimyeonggeom. He had no time to waste on idle chatter.
Having swiftly dealt with the twenty or so warriors, Mu-hwi stood waiting for someone.
After a short while, a group appeared in the distance. They were warriors from the Sichuan Alliance, who had been waiting for Mu-hwi, unable to venture into the treacherous Tianlajiang on their own.
“Greetings, Sword Saint!”
Thanks to the signals and markers Mu-hwi had left while approaching Tianlajiang, they were able to find their way and join him quickly.
Mu-hwi acknowledged them with a nod.
“I’ll head straight into Tianlajiang to search for survivors. If I find any, I’ll guide them in this direction. Guard the entrance well.”
“Leave it to us.”
With a thunderous crash, Mu-hwi leaped into the depths of Tianlajiang, where he was immediately confronted by numerous warriors of the Paewang Fortress.
“It’s the Sword Saint! Stop him!”
The air was filled with the sound of clashing swords as Mu-hwi’s blade unleashed a storm of energy, scattering sharp petals of light in all directions.
Mu-hwi cut through the warriors in his path, disrupting their formation with ease.
“Damn it!”
“What kind of sword is that…?”
The warriors couldn’t even see the dark blade of Shimyeonggeom clearly. It seemed to ripple through the air, and those in its path fell, blood spraying.
Yet, the warriors of the Paewang Fortress showed no hesitation, attacking Mu-hwi with a ferocity akin to a pack of wolves. But they couldn’t slow his advance for even a moment.
When a signal flare exploded in the sky, calling for reinforcements, not a single warrior of the Paewang Fortress remained standing. Even the one who had launched the flare lay defeated.
Seeing the flare’s light fade in the sky, Mu-hwi unfurled his secret map, cutting down any warriors he encountered.
As he moved, more flares lit up the sky, guiding his way. It was only after the seventh flare that Mu-hwi finally met up with Dokgo Hui and the disciples of the Cheongseong Sect, who were struggling within Tianlajiang.
“Sword Saint? How did you get here?”
“Did you come all the way from the capital?”
“The siege suddenly loosened, and now we know it was thanks to you.”
Mu-hwi inquired about the whereabouts of Dokgo Yul, who was not among them.
“Where is Dokgo Yul?”
The faces of Dokgo Hui’s warriors darkened at his question.
“The leader stayed behind at Chamdan Mountain to buy us time with the first disciples of the Cheongseong Sect.”
Mu-hwi nodded grimly, pointing in the direction he had come from.
“I’ve been breaking through Tianlajiang from the southeast, so the Paewang Fortress forces are likely following that path.”
“Then we should avoid heading southeast and take a detour to escape.”
Mu-hwi nodded in agreement.
“The Sichuan Alliance forces are guarding the entrance to the southeast. Once more of their warriors join, they’ll push into Tianlajiang. Head southeast.”
“Thank you, Sword Saint. Please, save our leader. We beg of you.”
Exchanging a fist salute with Dokgo Hui’s warriors, Mu-hwi immediately set off for Chamdan Mountain, where Dokgo Yul had stayed behind.
“That disciple of mine is really a handful.”
As Mu-hwi made his way to Chamdan Mountain, the carriage carrying the Paewang himself was also racing toward the same destination.