He Comes.
With over a hundred White Tiger Troop members and twenty or so disciples of Cheongseong charging beside her, Dokgo Seol bit down hard on her plump red lips.
She could see the Dokgo Clan locked in fierce battle. Their formation looked on the brink of collapse, ready to shatter at any moment.
Running just behind her, Jo Jeonhu also saw it. His eyes widened as he shouted toward Won Pung, deputy leader of the White Tiger Troop.
"Some of us must aid the Vagabond King and Pyeong-u, while the rest split to reinforce the clan and Mount Kunlun!"
It was clearly the best judgment for the moment. Won Pung was about to agree—
When the Vagabond King, wary of Sa Hyeolgang, shouted with qi-laden voice:
"All White Tiger Troop members—join me and strike these foes!"
The Vagabond King's command.
Won Pung faltered for a heartbeat. But the order came from his superior, his idol—so he obeyed at once.
"Yes, sir! The White Tiger Troop will assist our Lord Leader! Forward!"
"Waaahhhh!"
With a fierce roar, the White Tiger Troop surged at full speed.
Dokgo Seol's face twisted in disbelief, and she cried out:
"Can't you see where help is needed most?!"
Her protest found instant sympathy—Jo Jeonhu, Namgung Su, even the disciples of Cheongseong all showed faces of fierce agreement.
The Vagabond King's command seemed painfully selfish.
They knew he and Pyeong-u were locked in a desperate struggle against the enemy leadership—but to draw the entire White Tiger Troop to his side?
As they sprinted with the troop, their voices rose together in protest.
Monk Cheongu Yulsa shouted gravely:
"Vagabond King! We of Cheongseong will aid you and Pyeong-u. Let the White Tiger Troop divide—half to Kunlun, half to the Dokgo Clan!"
Jo Jeonhu exploded, forgetting respect for his senior in his sect's moment of peril.
"Damn it! Vagabond King! This isn't right!"
Namgung Su too cried out:
"Vagabond King, you must look at the whole picture!"
Jang Deukmu, gritting his teeth, was about to add his voice—
When suddenly the enemy's leadership fell back from the Vagabond King and Pyeong-u, calling out:
"White Wolf Troop, Red Wolf Troop—return at once!"
"Asura Squad, fall back here!"
"Disciples of the Sect, what are you doing? Join us, now!"
Noeakcheon, Ma Bul, and Sa Hyeolgang's shouts rang one after another.
At those orders, the ones rebuking the Vagabond King stopped short, faces flushing.
The Vagabond King Bang Yacheol had been right!
The Black Path's leaders, seeing the entire White Tiger Troop converging on them, had panicked and called for reinforcements.
Jang Deukmu cried out at once:
"I, Jang Deukmu of the Quick Sword Sect, never doubted the Vagabond King!"
Dokgo Muyeong gasped, ragged breaths pouring from him.
He felt as though he'd been to the underworld and back in just moments. Only by clinging desperately to defense had he managed to endure.
Then fifteen Black Path masters had joined the fight, and their formation had nearly collapsed.
In less than half a gak, over ten had died. It had seemed certain that it was the end—that they could not hold a moment longer.
The arrival of the White Tiger Troop was like rain in a drought. But then came the Vagabond King's order.
In that moment, Dokgo Muyeong felt not relief, but bitter betrayal.
How could he give such an order?
They had fought, believing in their comrades, to hold this line.
Yet when the Black Path leaders recalled their troops, Dokgo Muyeong gave a wry smile of self-reproach.
He shook his head as he watched the enemy—who had pressed them so hard—retreat swiftly without lowering their guard.
"Haaah… I still have far to go."
His eyes locked onto the Vagabond King as he merged with the White Tiger Troop.
By his side, the elder of the Five-Star Sword Sect spoke.
"That is why he is idolized by vagrants. Truly, the judgment of a man forged in countless battles."
"Indeed."
"And surely, his time in the Martial Alliance, watching the strategists, taught him much."
"Yes."
Dokgo Muyeong turned to reply—then froze, eyes widening.
The elder's face was smeared in blood. One of his ears was gone.
The Five-Star Sword elder smiled faintly.
"Some of my disciples have fallen as well."
"…."
"This is war, is it not?"
Dokgo Muyeong nodded heavily, wordless. The elder's eyes glinted as he went on:
"And the fight isn't over. Now… it's our turn to attack."
Dokgo Muyeong drew a long breath.
It was not yet time to lay down his sword. For the sake of the disciples who had fallen here, he must keep fighting.
Yet when he looked around, most of the Dokgo disciples bore wounds great or small.
The time they had fought was not long—but the gap in power between them and their foes had been vast.
Even the Five-Star elder, only after the enemy had pulled away, noticed his disciples' state and bit his lip.
"Even holding defense… we were pushed this far."
The Dokgo Clan was counted among the Eight Great Clans of the orthodox sects. Yet here they felt keenly how far they still had to go.
Dokgo Muyeong could not deny it—they were indeed the lowest among the Eight.
He looked upon his disciples and spoke.
"The fight is not over. Can you muster a little more strength?"
They could not simply withdraw. But he needed to hear it.
"We will fight!"
That answer.
Unrivaled Sword Han Chugwang thrust his blade into the earth. Watching the enemy retreat, he pressed both hands to its hilt.
Only thus could he hold up his failing body.
In the midst of the fierce battle, sudden enlightenment had struck him. It had drained his qi, made him oblivious to his wounds.
And when those fifteen Black Path masters had joined, he had exploded with all that remained of him.
Thanks to that, Kunlun's casualties were lighter than the Dokgo Clan's. But Han Chugwang had passed his limits.
"Khhrk."
A cough, and blood spilled from his lips.
Seok Hyeonja rushed to him.
"Are you alright?"
Han Chugwang nodded, wiping the blood with his sleeve.
"Yes. But… any further battle… may be beyond me."
The Kunlun disciples, Seok Hyeonja foremost, looked at him with pained admiration.
To fight masters of the Demonic Sect so fearsome, and shine the brightest among them—he was their pride, even as they grieved.
Seok Hyeonja smiled softly, yet spoke with firm resolve.
"From here, I will take the front."
Han Chugwang bit down hard on his lip. Once, he would have insisted on leading to his death.
But no longer.
He knew now what his life meant to Kunlun. That reckless vengeance or pride could only bring ruin.
He had too much yet to do.
"I… leave it to you."
"Yes. Just follow behind us. That alone will give us strength."
The full moon had vanished from the heavens.
Soon, dawn would break in the east.
Tang Cheolhyeon leapt from the rock where he had been sitting. At last, he saw his disciples rushing toward him.
"You finally arrive. I thought I'd—"
He began with a weary complaint—then his eyes bulged wide.
Beside the Tang Sect disciples galloped a white horse.
"Young Master Cheon…"
Tang Cheolhyeon stared in disbelief. He rubbed his eyes again and again—but still, atop the white horse was Cheon Ryuyeong.
As though he had never collapsed, his black robe billowed proudly as he rode.
"Hah… hahahaha."
Laughter burst out of Tang Cheolhyeon. Strength returned to his limbs.
Cheon Ryuyeong dismounted before the Tang disciples arrived and bowed.
"Thanks to the Tang family's treasure, the Ten-Thousand Elixir Pill, I recovered quickly."
"Amazing. I can hardly believe it. Already?"
Tang Cheolhyeon gazed up at him, his face radiant with joy.
"Forgive me for not dismounting."
"Hm?"
"I must be on my way at once."
Cheon Ryuyeong too had seen the western sky glowing red. A foreboding seized him, and he drove his white horse forward at full speed. Only then did Tang Cheolhyeon realize how grimly set the young man's face was.
"B-but… Young Master Cheon, if you go alone—"
Cheon Ryuyeong cut him off.
"It is my fault. Judging from the location of that fire…"
He bit his lip lightly, then went on:
"If the Xuanwu Troop Leader had not gone to aid them, our allies might already be in grave danger."
"S-so even if you go, what can—"
Again Cheon Ryuyeong interrupted.
"You must come as quickly as you can. Ah—before you even reach the battlefield, you must shout your war cries, loudly."
Then he nudged his horse's flank with his heel.
"Hyah!"
Neighing fiercely, the white horse thundered forward once more.
The tide of battle shifted suddenly.
The Demonic Sect forces had pulled into a circular formation, better suited for swift concentration of troops.
In that moment, the Vagabond King split the White Tiger Troop in two—sending one half to Kunlun, the other to the Dokgo Clan.
Thus the Demonic Sect lay in the center, the orthodox sects forming a three-pronged encirclement.
But "encirclement" was only a word—the numbers were nearly even, and in sheer power the orthodox were still slightly weaker.
Everyone knew it. That was why Bang Yacheol deliberately raised his voice to Deputy Leader Won Pung:
"What of the Tang Sect?"
Won Pung, joined with the Dokgo Clan, shouted back:
"They'll be here soon!"
At that simple exchange, faces brightened among the orthodox. Kunlun and the Dokgo Clan found new strength. On the other side, the Demonic Sect grimaced—the very situation they dreaded most.
Dokgo Muyeong, catching the shift in their expressions, called out to the Vagabond King:
"Why did you not bring the Formless Deadly Poison?"
Bang Yacheol caught the intent behind the clan lord's question and laughed inwardly as he replied:
"Would the Tang Sect simply hand it over to us?"
"Then they should have arrived sooner."
"Indeed."
The Demonic Sect leaders knew this banter was psychological warfare meant to rattle them. Still, they could not refute it.
Noeakcheon, seeing his subordinates' unease, finally raised his voice:
"Hmph! If the Tang Sect were coming, they'd already be here! Stop lying!"
The Vagabond King shrugged.
"Believe what you like."
"No—the Tang Sect must have suffered grievously against the Black Wolf Troop."
At that, many demonic disciples flinched, exclaiming "Ah!" as if reminded of what they'd forgotten.
If Cho Jimyeong, the Black Wolf Captain, was the spearhead, then the fight must have been ferocious. Even with the Formless Deadly Poison, the Black Wolves would charge like men possessed, fighting to seize the antidote within the span of a gak.
The Vagabond King hesitated, unsure what retort to make—when new figures burst into the field.
Moyong Lin, Pyeong-u Jong, and Hwa Gayeon.
Laughing with qi-infused voice as she ran, Moyong Lin cried out:
"Hahaha! You still don't know? The Black Wolf Troop tucked tail and fled!"
Noeakcheon flared with anger.
"Impossible! The Black Wolves, retreat?!"
He disliked Cho Jimyeong, but even so—never had he imagined the Black Wolf Troop fleeing from battle. Not once.
Moyong Lin retorted:
"Even the Black Wolves had no choice. With the Tang Sect's Formless Deadly Poison in front, and the White Tiger Troop at their rear—what could they do?"
Noeakcheon had no answer.
Ignorant of what had transpired within the Tang Sect's grounds, he glared as Moyong Lin joined the Vagabond King.
"Then… the Black Wolves must be behind us—"
"Fool. I just told you—the White Tiger Troop blocked their rear."
"…."
"They fled north, seeking any path of survival."
The demonic forces bit their lips. If true, the situation was bleak indeed.
Moyong Lin pressed on:
"Surrender. I swear on my honor as allied strategist of the Martial Alliance, on the name of Ice Peak, that your lives will be spared."
A crooked smile twisted Noeakcheon's lips, then laughter slipped out.
"Keh keh keh. How laughable. You speak as if you have us beaten already. Woman—you must be deluded. The Tang Sect has not yet arrived."
"Can you not see further fighting is meaningless? Yes, our side has suffered—but yours will be annihilated."
Noeakcheon exchanged looks with the other leaders. Each nodded grimly.
There was no certainty the Tang Sect would come.
And after once already being outwitted by the silver tongue of the Martial Scholar, they could not now flee or surrender.
Indeed, the words of the Black Wolf Captain had been a dagger. If they had fought to the death, it would not have been a one-sided loss—at least mutual destruction. That rebuke had scarred their pride as warriors. To repeat such shame twice in a single campaign was unthinkable.
Blood Priest muttered darkly:
"As I said before—if the Tang Sect does appear, we'll each withdraw north as best we can."
Sa Hyeolgang nodded.
"And if they do not… we slaughter them all."
Elder Mong Hyeolbi, splinting his wounded thigh with a broken staff, growled:
"We cannot ignore her words outright—but we cannot believe them either."
Wounded in his side, Ma Bul agreed.
"Strike!"
Moyong Lin knew they would choose battle in the end. Still, she had offered surrender for one reason—
Time.
They needed to hold until the Tang Sect arrived. And Kunlun and the Dokgo Clan, weary from the fight, needed even a brief reprieve.
But delay was over.
The enemy, unsure when the Tang Sect might descend, would now strike with full force.
What form would it take?
She scanned the battlefield.
"They'll aim for piecemeal annihilation."
The Vagabond King asked:
"What do you mean, Strategist?"
"They'll target our strongest—our leader—and us few, first."
Bang Yacheol grinned.
"Good."
At his side, Pyeong-u also smiled, eyes alight.
Moyong Lin swept her gaze over those beside her.
Two supreme masters: the Vagabond King, Pyeong-u.
Jo Jeonhu, Dokgo Seol, Pyeong-u Jong, Namgung Su, Jang Deukmu, Hwa Gayeon, twenty Cheongseong disciples—and herself.
Her heart pounded fiercely as she spoke:
"When they charge, we resist and fall back. Remember—this battle hinges on holding until the Tang Sect arrives. They will come soon."
Hardly had her words ended when Noeakcheon gave his order.
"Attack!"
The Demonic Sect's circle formation thrust outward, shifting smoothly into a wedge assault.
As Moyong Lin predicted—they sought to crush them piecemeal.