Descent of the Slaughterer
—Slash.
Ak Ryu-yeop, one of the Three Evil Young Masters, could not believe what he was seeing. Amid a spray of blood, he recovered the twin swords that had been in his hands only moments before.
"What the hell is happening right now?"
He had just cut down the seventh Blood Sect fighter to come at him, yet he still could not accept the scene unfolding before his eyes.
"Is this hell?"
A colossal beast's howl seemed to roll through the air—then a thunderous crash shook heaven and earth. After that came men in beast masks, bare to the waist, charging straight at him. No matter how he looked at them, they were Blood Sect cultists.
"How in the world are Blood Sect people here?!"
He screamed the question, but there was no one left to answer.
"Aaaagh! Gyaaaaah!!"
Blood painted every direction red.
"We offer this blood to the Blood Demon!"
"We offer blood, we offer blood!"
All around him, Blood Sect cultists, seized by pure frenzy, swung their scythes in a mad ritual. Ak Ryu-yeop screamed as he whirled his twin blades, hacking through them without pause.
"Damn it, damn it! This was all planned from the start! This insane plan!"
The spectator stands that should have been packed solid were not even half full. From the moment he had first stepped into today's match, the space had felt strangely cramped and special. The air had reeked of oil. He had thought something was off—then shrugged it off. He had never imagined they would plan something this deranged.
"I have to live—at least I have to live!"
Fortunately, the Blood Sect fighters charging him were not on his level. The spectators still bolted like livestock in every direction, being slaughtered where they ran, but their numbers remained high.
—Clang! Clang!
Combat thundered from every side.
"That bastard—I didn't know he was that much of a monster, but I don't care! Getting out of here comes first!"
Far across the arena, the country bumpkin he had once dismissed was tangled in combat with the man who seemed to lead the Blood Sect forces.
—Crash!!
—Crack! Crackle!!
Black thunder swept the entire arena like a storm.
"Gyaah! Uwaaaaagh!!"
"Somebody help me!!"
With those agonized screams, the shockwaves of the two men's clash dragged Blood Sect fighters into the fray—bodies bursting, bodies torn apart.
"This goddamn—! Yongbi! No, I can't interfere—! Uwaaagh!!"
A desperate cry—and then the Blood Sect leader shot away like a red arrow, flung like a cannonball into a far corner. He slammed down in a great plume of dirt.
—Boom!
At once black lightning vaulted toward the ceiling, then drove down into the cultists still slaughtering in the distance—and that was the last Ak Ryu-yeop saw of it as it vanished from his sight.
Looking that way only forced him to face the shameful version of himself. He deliberately turned his eyes away.
"Hah… hah!!"
Flames leapt up on every side. He ran along the vast sweep of the stands. Getting out of this place was the priority.
"Sacrifices! For the sacrifices!"
The Blood Sect cultists kept chanting the meaningless word sacrifice as they murdered people and hauled corpses to the center of the arena, stacking them into a tower. Everyone ran for their lives, desperate not to die.
"To resurrect the Guardian, we have to kill at least eighty percent of the people here so the earth drinks their blood, and within the time limit make the 'dolls' face the arena! Those are the Seventh Palace Lord's strict orders!!"
A man in a monkey mask—apparently a mid-level commander—was urging his subordinates on.
"We don't even need to wait for the main festival! If we fill the quota during the eve itself, we can still force the Guardian's resurrection!!! Put your backs into it! The jianghu has gone soft, rotting in peace whether orthodox, unorthodox, or demonic! Only our Blood Sect remains truly strong!"
In his hand hung the freshly severed head of a martial artist who had made it to the round of eight in the Dark Fighting Tournament. The cultists raised their scythes and howled.
"The true master of the Blood Sect is the Blood Demon—and the Seventh Palace Lord alone!!!"
"Long live the Seventh Palace Lord! Long live!"
"Slit the throats of the other six Palace Lords, unify the Blood Sect, and drench the jianghu in blood!"
"For the resurrection of the White Lotus Demon Sect!!!"
One of the cheering cultists pointed and shouted.
"The fish are gathering!"
At the same moment, voices of people fleeing in the distance rang out.
"The door's open!"
Every gaze swung that way. North.
—Rumble.
A stone gate cracked open just wide enough for a single person to squeeze through. Hope appeared.
"—!!!"
The milling crowd all saw that escape route at once.
"Waaaaah!"
They charged. It was the most secluded pocket of the entire open complex—a bottle-necked cul-de-sac. In the middle of the sprawling free-for-all, every civilian began flooding toward it. Children. Women. The elderly. Everyone ran for that gap. They slammed into Ak Ryu-yeop's shoulder as they poured past. He was nearly dragged along with the human tide.
"You idiots! Don't go! Can't you see the obvious trap?"
Anyone with eyes could tell. This was a lure. Bait to gather fish that had been thrashing in every direction—so they could be netted in one stroke. The sweetest kind of bait.
The moment the people bunched together, the Blood Sect cultists snapped into place, scythes gripped tight, sealing the front and rear of the narrow exit.
"Ah…"
The commoners flinched and shrank back, faces full of terror.
—Smirk.
The reek of death settled over them. Despair took hold.
And then—
"P-please help us! Master Ak Ryu-yeop!"
In the crush of bodies, the people recognized the only martial artist still standing among them.
"Wh-what?"
Ak Ryu-yeop froze. Whatever people said about his quality, he had still reached the round of eight in this Dark Fighting Tournament. The crowd recognized him and reached out, begging to be saved.
"Master Ak Ryu-yeop!"
"Young Master of the Three Evils!"
"Please—with those twin swords!"
"With your martial arts!!!"
Everyone gestured at him. The cultists who had been stabbing the people in front and dragging them off noticed Ak Ryu-yeop as well. One of them whistled.
"Whoa. Those twin blades look sharp."
"What, there's still a martial artist left?"
Ak Ryu-yeop flinched.
"What, not a jianghu man? Go on, give us a swing. You look like you can throw a punch or two, right?"
Scythes glinted from every side.
"The eve festival was getting boring—why not come at us once? We'll play with you, big brother. We're using scythes instead of swords for the ritual, so you should be able to manage, yeah?"
At those words, Ak Ryu-yeop hesitated.
"Oh, looks like he really might. Since when did the Blood-Scarlet Eight Gates turn into a pack of mutts?"
"Been a while since we last stepped into the jianghu, hasn't it?"
"Among the Blood-Scarlet Eight Gates, our squad's always been the bottom of the barrel."
Ak Ryu-yeop's pupils went slack.
"The Blood-Scarlet Eight Gates…?"
As far as he knew, they were one of the most vicious elite vanguard units the Blood Sect possessed. His reaction seemed to amuse the cultists; their snickering never stopped. Behind them, more Blood Sect fighters poured in without end. Even consecutive sparring matches against this many would have worn a man down. But this was a life-or-death duel—a match of pure death. The only difference was the condition: until I die.
"Ah…"
Skill had nothing to do with it. For Ak Ryu-yeop, a life-or-death duel predicated on dying was a first.
"What, the so-called martial artist is completely pissing himself."
"Not gonna protect these people? Black path or not, you're still a martial artist at the core. Not protecting them? Even though you've got the strength? Even like this?"
—Thrust.
A scythe drove through the old man in front. A couple collapsed. A family collapsed. An entire household collapsed.
"Aaaaah!"
Ak Ryu-yeop stumbled backward, his face bloodless white.
—Thud.
He looked behind him. A little girl stood there.
"…Master Ak Ryu-yeop?"
His breath came short and sharp. He grabbed the child's shoulder. The approaching cultists paused. Ak Ryu-yeop shoved the girl forward.
"Ha… haha."
"…"
"I-I'll give you this kid instead of me. Let me go. Then nobody wastes blood for no reason, right? Better for both of us."
"Oh man—heeheehee."
The Blood Sect fighters laughed. They looked at one another and laughed without end. The cultist standing at the very front pointed his scythe at Ak Ryu-yeop.
"You really are a rare, world-class piece of shit. That stunt just now—if those brainless Demon Cult bastards who worship power had seen it, they'd have torn you into shreds without leaving a scrap of flesh."
"…"
Ak Ryu-yeop's face was slick with cold sweat, turning a sickly, mottled color. The cultist went on.
"But we're different."
He nodded.
"Fine. Go. Not because it's a good deal—more because your cowardice is so pathetic it's funny. And the little miss? Why don't you come over here?"
The cultist reached for the hair of the girl who stood only as high as his waist. Beneath the beast mask, his tongue flicked out.
"The little miss is just my type, so before I kill her I'll enj—"
—Whoom.
And after that, everything happened in an instant.
"Hey, watch o—!"
A comrade shouted from behind, but it was already too late. Far across the field, a boulder I had thrown smashed him to pieces.
"What the—!"
The Blood Sect fighters all reeled in shock.
—Boom.
A massive impact thundered from the distance.
—Tremble…
One cultist looked down. Blood had pooled on the floor. Along that pool of blood, a ripple-ring was spreading.
—Boom.
Another explosion far away. The sound of collapse. Faint screams.
—Boom.
—Tremble-tremble…
Another ripple-ring. Another collision, mixed with distant cries.
Blades aren't working!
This footwork—!
Aagh! My arm's been ripped off!
Stop him—stop him!
The wet sounds of flesh bursting and bones snapping carried through the air.
—Boom.
—Tremble…
The ripple-rings grew. Now even droplets of blood were leaping into the air. A colossal crash, and agonized screams rang out clear.
Aagh, help me! Save me!
Bare hands crushing a blade—!
We need reinforcements!
The desperate screams were distinct now.
—Thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud-thud!
At a speed almost too fast for the eye, a black figure was charging madly toward them.
"What the hell is coming at us?"
The Blood Sect fighters muttered in fear.
"Y-you fucking—you bitch!!"
One cultist yanked the little girl's hair up and raised his scythe to her throat.
"Kyaa!"
"Come on, then!"
Beneath the beast mask, the cultist's bloodshot eyes blazed.
"Come on, you son of a bitch!!"
He swung his glinting scythe and screamed.
"Just try it—if you come, this girl dies, and you di—!!"
—KRAAASH!!
In the same instant the water pooled at their feet leapt more than a handspan into the air—
"Above—!!!"
At that desperate cry, every head snapped upward.
—CRACKLE-CRACKLE!!!!
What filled the sky was a blaze of black thunder so brilliant it threatened to blind. And within it, a man in black martial robes, wreathed in that black lightning, his sleeves streaming.
I thought our eyes met.
Everything happened in a flash.
—Flash!
With a crack of thunder, my form vanished.
—Crunch.
The next instant, my foot was driving a vertical kick straight into the cheek of the cultist who still held the little girl.
"Ghk—!"
My heel carved into his cheek. Shattered his molars. Twisted his jaw. Dragged his entire body with it. Drove him into the earth. Crushed him down.
The ground itself fractured, caving more than a handspan deep.
—BOOOOM!!!!
In that great cloud of dirt and dust, the bloodbath began.
—Crack, crackle!
Black thunder surged up from my body, and my form began to blur.
Possession Experience Synchronization
Blood Sect — Blood Shadow Mist Phantom Body Art
—KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA!!!!
With every step I took, the marble floor shattered to my height as I began to run straight up through the air. One cultist tore off even his mask and shrieked.
"I-I've seen these red afterimages before! That was the battle at the Namgung—!!!"
—CRACK!!!
His head went flying.
—Click.
A dagger I had pulled from my calf settled into my hand. A damp weeping sound echoed through my skull.
Sixty percent of full power — Stage of Annihilation applied
—Hum! Hum! Hum! Huuuum!!!
—KRA-BOOM!!!!
A sound that did not merely cut the wind but tore it apart—and my crimson afterimage stretched long. I stamped down with everything I had.
—BOOM!
Fragments sprayed in every direction.
"Uwaagh!"
"Gyaaaaagh!!"
"It's a monster!!"
People flew as if their organs had twisted inside them. They shattered. A storm of flesh and debris filled my vision.
"Hup!"
I began climbing that storm in a mad scramble, stomping upward.
"Good gods. Is that the Fragment-Stepping Sky Crossing the enthusiasts only ever talk about?"
A few fleeing spectators stared in disbelief.
"To think a martial artist like that exists."
"Even among the Nine Sects and One Gang that level is rare—how is someone that strong at a Dark Fighting Tournament?"
"Impossible. That sort belongs at Cheonsubaekryeonsa, among the elite disciples of the great houses."
"This is a Dark Fighting Tournament for lowborn trash."
In the open plaza—
—Tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap!
—I raced out, black robes streaming. I made a ceiling where none had been. I made walls where none had been. And when walls existed on every side for me to plant my feet, I knew one of the strongest movement arts there was.
—Kiiing!
Scarlet light blazed from both my eyes.
White Lotus Demon Sect — White Lotus Eight Night End
—Ripple.
My shadow, thrashing like a mad silhouette cast by a bonfire, spidered across the floating shards, vaulting from fragment to fragment as I moved. Where acceleration fell short, I used Hyeol-yeong-mu-hwan-sin-sul. At the end of it all waited Blood Sect fighters on every side.
—Ripple!!
The black shadow surged like dark fluid whipped into a typhoon and slammed into them. It was the start of ultra-close combat—so close they could not even swing a blade!
"D-don—ghk!"
—Flutter!!!
The snap of my robe-ends tore through the air like something shredding eardrums. Only after the sound had passed—
"Uwaagh!"
"Gyaaaaagh!!"
"My arm! My arm!!"
Eight Blood Sect fighters exploded outward in a spray of blood, bodies crushed as if a bomb had gone off among them.
"Stop him! Stop him!"
"O-oh god!"
"Blood Demon!"
It was a single gale of blood.
—Fwoosh.
I pinched gray smoke pellets between the knuckles of both hands and smashed them into a cultist's eardrums.
—BOOM!
Pressure blew his head apart. Twice-concentrated, choking smoke flooded every direction.
"Uwaagh! Uwaagh! Uwaaaaagh! I can't see!"
—Flutter.
The fierce snap of cloth.
—Crack-snap!
A nauseating sound—a neck twisting.
Still running, I yanked a dagger from my thigh.
"Uwaaaaagh!! He's coming! Coming-coming-coming!!"
I stabbed and cut. I ripped a scythe from an opponent and hamstrung him with it. After dropping two men, I felt the edge dull and the grip unfamiliar and threw it away.
—Clang!
I knocked aside a swinging scythe with the dagger and drove a counterstab home. My fist snapped a jaw upward. My elbow punched a temple. Into the mouth of the next man who lunged I jammed my fingers, ripped his jaw free, and stuffed a black sphere down his throat.
"Uhhhh!!"
I hooked the back of a panicking cultist's knee and dumped him backward. His off-balance crown lined up like a cannon barrel aimed at the men behind him. My front kick smashed into the fully exposed underside of his jaw.
—KRA-BOOM!!
The scatter-shot pellet in his mouth detonated, blowing his skull apart forward. The storm of shot swept the cultists behind him clean.
—Flutter.
In the wake of that colossal roar, at least, there was no Blood Sect fighter left to bar the open stone gate.
"…The Slaughterer of Yoryeong."
Someone among the spectators who had been waiting only for death at the open gate muttered it blankly. That was the beginning.
"It's Master Biryu."
"It's the Slaughterer."
"I said it's Master Biryu."
—Flutter.
I held out my hand. A black sleeve and a callused palm pulled the little girl in.
—Thud.
I pushed her toward the open exit.
"Go."
No more words were needed. People watched my face carefully as they began to file toward the open gate. Using me as a breakwater at their backs, they slowly slipped out. No one could stop them. Every Blood Sect fighter was watching a single man for his cue.
Ak Ryu-yeop could not bring himself to look at me. I murmured low in his direction.
"You cowardly bastard. You showed off so hard during the tournament trials, leered so greedily at So Yeomgyo and every other woman around you… and as a man, was living this wretchedly what you wanted?"
"…!"
The face of Ak Ryu-yeop, one of the Three Evil Young Masters, flushed red enough to burst.
"Heh… heheh. Heheheh. Did I actually pass out for a moment there. Me—this kind of humiliation."
Ryu Hwasa sat slumped on the dirt floor, coughing. Earlier he had been smashed by Biryu like so much cargo and flung into the ground.
"Well, fine. My disgrace at blacking out isn't what matters. I'm not a martial artist. For me the plan is, first and last, the completion of the Hundred-Eight Night Delusion Ritual. My real job is buying time. My men will have gathered the sacrifices by now, and in the end victory will be mine. Don't forget the essence, Ryu Hwasa. Now then—the progress of the eve festival."
He lifted his head and looked at the stands encircling the arena. Ringing those stands were hundreds of human-shaped dolls. Each was split down the middle—half painted red, half painted blue.
"What."
Only half of them were smiling with red faces turned toward the arena.
"That's all? Impossible. That can't be. Has that little time passed?"
He pulled a half-broken hourglass from his robes.
—Ssshhh…
Staring at the hourglass, Ryu Hwasa muttered blankly.
"…Not much time has gone by, but still—this is far too slow. What the hell are my people doing?"
He jerked his gaze back to the arena floor. Plenty of Blood Sect fighters remained. But their momentum had clearly broken. Every one of them was watching a single man for his cue—a man whose number was one, while theirs numbered in the hundreds of times that.
"Ha…?"
Confirming it, Ryu Hwasa let out a dry laugh.
"Ha… haha. Uwahahahaha!!!"
His arid laughter rolled out in every direction.
—Whoosh.
The flames spread farther. The seething fire climbed the roof. Matching it, Ryu Hwasa's eyes burned hotter and hotter with rage.
"Ahahaha… uwaaahahaha!!"
Everything was being swallowed by the fire-demon. Beneath that fire-demon, the Blood Sect fighters had already forgotten the frenzied atmosphere of the eve festival of the Hundred-Eight Night Delusion Ritual they had pushed so hard at the start. Every last one of them only watched a single man and flinched.
This was absolutely not the atmosphere Ryu Hwasa had dreamed of. The climax he had longed for even in his sleep—the grand finale—this was absolutely, absolutely not it.
"Grit—."
Through split lips, Ryu Hwasa dragged in a huge breath.
"That dogshit bastard son has ruined my plan like this!!!!"