Frontal Breakthrough (2)
“Mm.”
A man with neatly combed silver hair let out a low groan. Four women were diligently kneading every inch of his body. They were working so fervently that their own bodies were drenched in sweat.
“Finally feels good. Guess I'm getting old—my body's not what it used to be.”
His low, resonant voice carried a weight that belied his slender frame. It rumbled like distant thunder.
The women shuddered.
His voice was uncanny. A pleasant baritone, yet it scraped at the nerves like a blade. It felt like the sound itself was a martial art, brimming with murderous pressure. An aggressively intimidating tone.
“So, the Hwarang Group just... vanished?”
“Yes, sir.”
The middle-aged man in dark robes bowed before him.
“Wiped out completely. Not a single survivor.”
“Tch.” The man clicked his tongue.
“Swept through the outskirts for a decade, and in the end, they're just bandits at heart.”
The Hwarang Group wasn't your average bandit crew. If they got serious, they could crush minor sects with ease. With proper strategy, even great sect-level masters would suffer casualties. There was no reason to belittle their combat prowess.
But this man had every right to say it.
The middle-aged man glanced up. The man's gaze, looking down with lazy indifference, was utterly apathetic—unlike his aggressive voice.
Impressive, even on second glance.
Whoooong.
His dantian, brimming with inner energy, instinctively recoiled.
Master was right. Only someone like the High Priest of the Church could handle him. Are all the Ten Sacred Thrones of Heavenly Heaven such monsters?
He wasn't even emitting power or anger. Just eye contact alone felt like invisible chains binding his limbs.
A natural human intimidation, laced with the absolute might of one who had glimpsed the ultimate realm. It leaked unconsciously.
An ordinary person without cultivation couldn't even stand in his presence without losing their mind.
His very existence is a calamity.
A realm the middle-aged man couldn't even dream of reaching.
He spoke cautiously. “The Hwarang Group did fall short of expectations, but the alliance unit they sent wasn't ordinary either.”
“Myeol Sa Army, was it?”
“Precisely, the Tang Ma Army and Myeol Sa Army—two units.”
“Tang Ma and Myeol Sa. Blunt names.”
A flicker of interest crossed Tu Wang Yang Cheon's face.
“That Myeol Sa Army... didn't they smash several black path sects recently?”
“Yes. The Hongyo Society among them.”
“Hongyo Society.” Yang Cheon frowned.
“Not even a snack for me, but tough for kids, right?”
“Exactly. Their martial arts aren't exceptional, but they don't hold back on killing. They use banned firearms and even take commissions from officials.”
“I like that.” Yang Cheon's eyes gleamed.
“They kill without discrimination... Forge their own path, heedless of others. Shame they went down so easily.”
The middle-aged man swallowed hard.
Still the same.
Yang Cheon was dangerous. His yardstick for judging people wasn't martial prowess or intellect.
It was the line.
Those who crossed it without hesitation earned his favor, talent or not. The rigid and capable? He despised them.
That mindset had made him this strong—and unified the black path so swiftly.
“Anyway, with the Hwarang Group in ruins, even the master-disciple pair must be shitting bricks.”
The middle-aged man's eyes sharpened.
“They'll try infiltrating again.”
Yang Cheon chuckled. “Cautious or just cowardly? You need some recklessness for big things. That's their problem.”
“...”
“What? Upset 'cause they're your kin?”
“Impossible. The moment I vowed to serve you, my soul settled here.”
“Kuhahat! Good talk.”
Yang Cheon burst into wild laughter.
Ku-gu-gu-gu-gung!
The middle-aged man's face paled.
Not just him—the women massaging Yang Cheon gasped, then collapsed unconscious.
Monstrous inner energy!
His laughter carried raw power. A perilous force drilled into ears, shattering balance and shaking the brain. Even the building trembled faintly.
Whoooong.
The middle-aged man hurriedly circulated his energy to protect his head and ears.
Yang Cheon stopped laughing and looked down at him, ignoring the fallen women.
“Heuk Yang.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This letter arrived for me this morning.”
Sruruk.
A red letter floated onto Yang Cheon's palm.
Heuk Yang's eyes wavered.
Void Grasping!
Manipulating objects without touch via extreme inner energy. Yang Cheon had mastered it to perfection—no air displacement from true energy flow. Pure will alone.
A superhuman feat. No longer quite human.
Whoosh.
The red letter floated to Heuk Yang and settled before him. He bowed, unfolded it, and his eyes widened.
“Interesting, isn't it?”
“...!”
“They say a true hero needs not just talent, but heavenly fortune and human virtue. By that logic, don't I qualify?”
Intense fervor burned in Heuk Yang's eyes.
“Will you accept?”
“Who knows? I don't want just anyone. If the rumors hold, they're worth keeping under me.”
Yang Cheon smiled.
“What say you? Want to test them yourself?”
Heuk Yang bowed deeply.
“I'll depart at once.”
“Good.”
Heuk Yang left.
Yang Cheon's smile vanished.
“No matter what, he won't truly be mine.”
Heuk Yang was talented enough to keep. But loyalty? None.
He claimed to have cut ties with the Church for Yang Cheon, but he knew better.
So he'd shown an exaggerated display. Heuk Yang was Church— he'd report everything back.
Part of him wanted to crush him then and there, but the time wasn't right.
Languidness returned to Yang Cheon's face.
No one I can trust.
It stung his pride, showing weakness to someone he could kill with a flick. But he accepted it.
Petty men obsess over the present; great ones see the future.
Still, he was growing weary.
“Tch. Black path's problem—no real talent to nurture. Give me true devotion, and I'd hand them the world.”
Yang Cheon rose.
Whoooong.
The four unconscious women floated up.
Hands behind his back, he strode into the corridor, the women trailing behind.
* * *
After sufficient rest, the group pressed into western Hunan. The journey was smoother than expected—no stealth, no paranoia.
Yeon Hojeong even worked to keep spirits high. Jokes for all, joint training when needed.
Gadeuksang alone saw through the intent.
To look natural.
Yes. Yeon Hojeong was the leader. His cheer set the tone, and it worked—by Hunan, even Dang Sang-a smiled more.
Gadeuksang grinned.
What a guy.
Calculation or instinct, he knew his role per mission. Even clowning came naturally.
Quiet by nature, playful with friends—yet this felt seamless.
“Something on my face?”
“Huh?”
Gadeuksang grinned at Yeon Hojeong's words.
“Just handsome all over.”
“I know, Eldest Brother.”
“Our Third's too honest for his own good.”
“Haha!”
Nicknames had stuck naturally. Awkward at first, now they felt like real siblings.
“By the way, where's Junior Uncle?”
Gadeuksang's eyes sparkled—meaning Paeryul.
“Roughly two hundred li ahead. Leisurely pace, we'll meet by tomorrow evening.”
“Can't wait. Race there for training?”
“Our Third loves honing himself.”
Gadeuksang turned to Dang Sang-a and Jegal A-yeon.
“Stretch the legs? Light run?”
“Yes, Eldest Brother.”
“Let's go.”
Thwooooong!
The four bounded forward with light footwork.
Jegal A-yeon lagged in overall skill but matched her age peers—especially footwork, rivaling Dang Sang-a.
They traded leads, piercing the official road. They'd covered a hundred fifty li when—
Yeon Hojeong's eyes flashed.
It's starting.
He sensed the gaze sweeping them. Subtle, unremarkable stealth—but elusive, now you see it, now you don't.
Been a while.
A faint smile touched Yeon Hojeong's lips—feral nostalgia, faint tension, odd comfort.
Truly nostalgic, this sensation.
White path tailing was different. Now he felt it: he'd returned to his world, the cesspool he'd known half his life.
No longing before, but stepping in stirred hometown vibes.
Nostalgia aside, business was business.
“Sister-in-law.”
“Hm?”
Yeon Hojeong said calmly, “Bugs buzzing around.”
Dang Sang-a's eyes lit up.
“Really? I don't hear any.”
“I'm sensitive. I'll point directions—clear 'em.”
She smiled slyly.
“For Third? Piece of cake.”
Perfectly in character. Maybe enjoying this most.
Killing intent flickered in Yeon Hojeong's eyes.
“Start from the rear?”
“Sure.”
“Left rear, fourth pine. Right rear, shadow by biggest rock.”
Her hands blurred like lightning.
Pipipiping! Pububuk!
Invisible darts drew sprays of blood.
Yeon Hojeong smiled coldly. Dang Sang-a mirrored it.
“Fine work, sister-in-law.”
“Thanks.”
“Let's get serious. Not one escapes.”
“Don't worry.”
Papapapang!
Daggers netted the surroundings.