The Art of Joint Attack
The Joint Attack Technique of the Tianshan Sword Elder. Though the name sounded grand, it was ultimately just a method for multiple people to coordinate their strikes. Yoo Jeong had already experienced something similar: the twin sisters of the Haomen. The technique they had used to target him from both front and back was also a form of joint attack.
Of course, it wasn't as simple as multiple people striking at the exact same time. From timing and direction to the execution itself, they had to coordinate flawlessly. Otherwise, they would end up tangling with one another, or worse, harming their own allies. In that regard, despite their lack of experience, the twin sisters' joint attack had been excellent.
Wielding their strange weapons, they had been remarkably honest for members of the Haomen. They were manufactured Peak Experts, relying entirely on memorized forms like the greenhorns of orthodox sects. Had he faced them individually, they wouldn't have lasted a single exchange. Yet, their perfectly synchronized assault had momentarily halted Yoo Jeong's movements.
That was the essence of a joint attack technique—a method for the weak to contend with those stronger than themselves. So, what of the joint attack of these Demonic Cult martial artists? Yoo Jeong thought to himself: It is annoyingly superb.
The crows descended. One by one, the Demonic Cultists took their positions, their black capes fluttering in the wind. They looked like a flock of crows gathering to pick clean the carcass of a wild beast.
Twelve of them. Seeing no sign of their numbers increasing, Yoo Jeong drew Cheonru. Scree— At that exact moment, twelve swords were unsheathed in unison. Though their lengths and shapes varied, every single one was a sword.
"Does everyone in the Demonic Cult only use swords?"
"We are not the Demonic Cult."
Most of them were First-class experts, while two were Peak Experts who seemed to lead the pack.
"Only you lot think that. You're just a bunch of heretics, cultists, and charlatans."
Yoo Jeong provoked them without hesitation despite being outnumbered. He even tilted the tip of his sword toward the strongest of them, but internally, he remained perfectly calm and composed. This was neither reckless bravado nor a foolish whim. He was provoking them precisely because they had the advantage in numbers.
"Lead away the goat in passing! Jeong-ah, when masters clash, even a single pebble on the road can decide victory or defeat. Though you hold a sword, it is no different from a game of Go. You must never overlook even the smallest advantage."
Combat was not something decided solely by internal energy or realm. Those were merely individual factors. The advantages of one's weapon, the terrain, the numbers, the formation, and even the emotions of the combatants—countless variables existed in a single fight. A master's victory or defeat depended on how well they could seize these variables and make them their own.
Formation? Terrible. They had already surrounded him. Numbers? Even worse. Yet, he did not despair. Because I am far stronger. Instead of giving up, he kept talking to manufacture an advantage. It was a provocation tactic. If their minds wavered, their sword paths would falter. Since he was at a numerical disadvantage, Yoo Jeong sought to create an opening. Thus, he mocked the Demonic Cult—the very entity they took pride in.
"Calm down. He is an expert on par with an Outer Hall Master."
As several warriors wavered in anger, the leader calmed them. Yet, the leader himself was not entirely unaffected. In the only visible part of his masked face, his eyes burned with a cold, suppressed fury.
"I suppose even a backwater cult has its notable figures, seeing how they have someone of my caliber here," Yoo Jeong drawled.
"You wield your tongue like a blade. But can that wagging tongue of yours block a sword from behind?"
"Who knows? We'll find out once we try."
"Demanding your punishment before it is even offered. Kill him."
The moment the leader's command fell, four blades lunged toward Yoo Jeong. Occupying all four cardinal directions, the swords thrust at him from different angles. The frontal thrust aimed at his brow and the rear slash targeting his neck carried a menacing momentum, but Yoo Jeong knew they were mere feints. The true strikes lay elsewhere.
Like snakes stalking their prey, the stealthy strikes targeted his vulnerabilities. Their destinations were clear: his left armpit and his right calf. These were difficult areas to defend, and taking a hit there would severely hinder his ability to fight. However, once seen through, they were utterly meaningless.
"Cheap tricks."
Clang! Twisting his body, he deflected the sword aiming for his armpit, redirecting it toward the one targeting his brow. Startled, the attacker immediately aborted his form and retreated. Yoo Jeong kept moving; the onslaught was far from over. Rotating his body from his twisted stance, he blocked a horizontal slash before using his internal energy-infused toe to kick away the flat of the blade targeting his calf.
Not only the warrior who had thrust his sword, but also those preparing the next move widened their eyes in shock. One step, one sword. That was all it took to neutralize two feints and two lethal strikes.
"Your god must be weeping. To think you call this martial arts."
"You bastard!"
Having his opening move blocked and subjected to mockery, the warrior in front roared in fury and swung his sword wildly. As if in response, four blades swept in from four directions once more. This time, Yoo Jeong didn't settle for merely dodging. *Swish!* He lunged forward toward the weakest of the four directly in front of him. He saw the man swinging his sword, desperate to redeem his previous failure.
Yoo Jeong met the incoming blade with Cheonru, reinforcing his grip with his sword-art finger. Cheonru slid down the opponent's blade. The man's eyes shook as their gazes locked. They were close enough to feel each other's breath. The distance closed in a mere fraction of an inch—faster than the blink of an eye. Though he could have taken the man's life at any moment, Yoo Jeong did not swing his sword. Instead, he pushed him back, spun gracefully, and slipped behind his back.
"Argh!"
For there were three other swords, besides Cheonru, perfectly positioned to finish the man off. Using his opponent as a meat shield to block the other attacks, Yoo Jeong moved again.
The footwork of the Heavenly Sword Style. Moving like a hawk riding the wind, he circled the perimeter of his foes at blinding speed.
Every time his sword-wielding hand swept out like a wing, blood sprayed.
Three down. No, two dead, one wounded. Of the four who had initially surrounded him, two were dead and one was injured. Too shallow. From the moment Yoo Jeong began moving to break the encirclement of the four, a second perimeter had already begun to close in. Pressing in from all sides in a triangular formation, they squeezed the space. Meanwhile, the two survivors pulled back.
Fewer numbers, but... these ones are stronger. The tips of the swords pointed at him radiated an extraordinary aura. Even in this pitch-black world where the moonlit blades served as torches, it was glaringly obvious. A faint, hazy white energy shimmered from their swords. It was the nascent stage of Sword Qi, meaning they were elite First-class experts knocking on the door of the Peak Expert realm. Moreover, they were highly battle-hardened veterans.
If the Haomen twins fought these three, these guys would win. But that was the extent of it. They posed absolutely no threat to Yoo Jeong. His gaze shifted past them to the leaders directing the pack. The Peak Experts. The heads of these Demonic Cultists merely shifted around busily, biding their time for a perfect opportunity to strike. If they saw an opening, they would undoubtedly unleash a seasoned blast of Sword Qi in a surprise attack. And that strike would be executed in perfect unison with the others, just as before.
Maybe I should take down one of the leaders first. Like the mythical Jian birds that could only fly when paired, if even one of them was eliminated, there would be no reason to worry. He was seriously contemplating this when—*Swish! Swish!* Sensing his attention had drifted, the trio launched their attack. It was different from before. Sharper, faster, and—
Staggered attacks. Unlike the previous four who struck simultaneously, these three swung their swords with minute intervals between them. Evading the first strike, then the second and third that followed in rapid succession, Yoo Jeong swayed his shoulders and stepped back repeatedly to dodge. Yet, the interlocking trajectories, like gears in a machine, did not let him escape easily. By the time the first attacker's turn came around again, a small piece of Yoo Jeong's sleeve was sliced away.
They're gradually closing in. Like wolves herding their prey into a dead end, the trio's attacks complemented one another to lure Yoo Jeong. If he moved to dodge the first and second strikes, his path of retreat became restricted. They were exploiting this, using the third strike to herd him from the very spot he dodged to. In other words, the swords they wielded were not targeting Yoo Jeong's current position, but where he would be next. Realizing this, the corners of Yoo Jeong's lips curled upward.
"Who is the prey here?"
Cheonru moved. Should he use the Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven, the Heavenly Sword of the Martial Ancestor, to cleave them in a single strike and show them the vast difference in their realms? He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately chose a different path. It would be a waste to use such a technique on these bastards. The tip of Yoo Jeong's sword gently met the blade of the first of the three wolves. It felt less like metal clashing against metal and more like a sword brushing against silk. As their eyes met, he could clearly see the suspicion in his opponent's gaze, wondering if Yoo Jeong would repeat his previous trick.
As if. In an instant, the man's eyes widened as if he had seen a ghost. His sword was infused with a nascent Sword Qi, and his well-trained, robust body was bolstered by internal energy. Yet, it was entirely useless. Despite the swords clashing, there was no metallic ring. The Demonic Cultist felt as if his blade had struck a ball of cotton, and he instantly realized something was terribly wrong. And then, his sword path was redirected—not by Yoo Jeong himself, but by Yoo Jeong's sword. Like someone possessed by a fox spirit, the warrior's sword tip wandered aimlessly before ending up in an entirely unintended spot.
Clang! The swords collided, and their trajectories were disrupted once more. But Yoo Jeong did not stop there. He swung Cheonru again. At the same time, his left hand, which had been holding a sword-art finger gesture, moved in tandem with Cheonru but in a different direction. His target was the sword of the third warrior thrusting toward him. Like the Wisdom Sword of Wudang, he drew elegant circles, twisting the sword paths at will. The third warrior tried to resist by pouring more strength and internal energy into his blade, but—
The gentle yields to none, yet redirects the mighty. The gap between them and Yoo Jeong was simply too vast for them to break free from the flow.
And so—*Thuck! Thuck! Thuck!* In a chain reaction, their swords plunged into one another's throats.
"It was you lot," the leader spat, staring at the gruesome end of his subordinates. "...Four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds."
"As if it were merely that," Yoo Jeong smirked, about to retort.
"It is Grafting a Flower onto a Tree."
If not for the voice that suddenly interrupted.
At the sudden presence, Yoo Jeong's smirk vanished. He turned his gaze toward the source and asked in surprise, "Why are you here?"
The top floor of Hwayeollu. The room connected to the back of the mistress's office was modest, unlike the luxurious office itself. Modest in terms of furniture, at least.
To think there are women who put so much effort into makeup. Namgung Sua's gaze swept over the cosmetics arranged in front of the bronze mirror, and she shook her head with a look of mild exhaustion. She had neither the confidence nor the ability to manage so many cosmetics.
To swing a sword one more time instead of fussing over makeup was the virtue of a martial artist. That was what she believed. Yet, a scene suddenly flashed through her mind: Hwayeolluju, flaunting her feminine beauty like a blooming peony in her elegant court dress and makeup. At that memory, a faint sense of admiration and envy welled up inside her. It was a purely feminine emotion.
Looking toward the bed, she saw a pure, clean face even without any makeup. Even the moonlight seemed captivated, casting a gentle glow over her.
"Mmm, nngh... I can't breathe..."
"Haah." Namgung Sua silently lamented that the world was truly unfair.
Snuggled against the mistress's chest, her aunt-master, the Sword Empress, tossed and turned, murmuring in her sleep. If she's being pressed down by those... It was no wonder she couldn't breathe. Yet, Hwayeolluju did not let go. Instead, she hugged the Sword Empress even tighter, causing the little girl to struggle even more. At this rate, one of them is going to suffocate. With that thought, Namgung Sua gently pried the mistress's arms open and separated the Sword Empress from her. She wondered where Hwayeolluju, who didn't even know martial arts, got such strength.
"Are you alright?"
"Ugh... Unni... Thank you." Speaking half-asleep, her aunt-master's voice was filled with exhaustion. She had been squeezed so tightly that red marks were clearly visible on her doll-like face. Blinking her sleepy eyes, she looked around and asked Namgung Sua, "Where is Jeong-ah?"
"Young Master Yoo went out for a moment on some important business."
"Oh, I see. But Jeong-ah needs to sleep early to grow tall."
"...Isn't it a bit too late for that?"
"Yeah. He should sleep early, but it's already so late. It's dangerous to wander around at night."
"No, what I meant was... Never mind. I'm sure Young Master Yoo will be fine."
Yoo Jeong's sword. She had only seen it properly once, back at the training ground of the thatched cottage. But even then, his sword had drawn a beautiful trajectory that naturally captivated anyone who watched. Because he was that kind of person, that kind of master, Namgung Sua trusted him.
"So, don't worry and get some deep sleep."
"I can't sleep deeply."
Glaring at the sleeping mistress with narrowed eyes, the Sword Empress grumbled, making Namgung Sua chuckle softly. It was just another night.