Let's Have Some Fun
Let’s have some fun. A true follower of the Demonic Path should never hesitate when it comes to retreat. Because retreat is simply a promise for the future—a passionate vow to endure today’s mockery, rebuild one’s strength, and exact revenge. Therefore, this is absolutely not running away or fleeing. It is not turning one’s back on the enemy and bolting. It is a hopeful march toward a better tomorrow!
“Retreat! Retreat!”
“It’s the retreat signal! Let’s go!”
“Scatter and regroup at Yeombang!”
This is where the difference between the White Bear Unit’s White Tiger Squad, the two elite White-level combat teams, and the Black Bear Unit’s Black-level combat teams becomes clear. While the Black-level fools flounder, grabbed by the enemy in confusion, the White-level teams immediately scatter in every direction with the mindset of, Oh, we’ve been waiting for this! Charge—in the opposite direction!
“The enemy is running! Catch them and kill them! If we let them live, they’ll become a thorn in our side forever!”
Kang Su-yang, knowing full well the petty nature of the Demonic Path—how they never forget a grudge—immediately shouts to alert the situation.
“Waaaaah!!”
The righteous faction warriors’ morale surged. It was only natural. If one had to swing a blade, it was far easier to face a back than a front. After all, human eyes cannot see behind them, and joints cannot exert force backward. So all one had to do was stab without worrying about any counterattack.
A strange gleam flickered in Cheong’s pupils. At a glance it looked red, but upon closer inspection it was a red that was blue—a verdant inferno, the color of twisted blood, the dead sheen from the glassy eyes of millions of fish corpses piled into hills along a beach, staring blankly at the sky.
Despite the ominous glow in her eyes, her widely parted lips revealed neat, elegant white teeth.
And so she cut. And cut again.
Huh? Where do you think you’re going?
Then suddenly, Cheong thought the fleeing Demonic Path warrior’s back looked incredibly familiar.
All at once, she was standing somewhere. In a world drawn only in black-and-white outlines. Was this a market? A familiar back stood arrogantly atop a pile of spilled vegetables, and an old woman flailing her arms and legs as she burst into tears.
Just kill me! Kill me, you bastard! Don’t you have parents? How can you do this?!
An enraged scabbard brutally struck the old woman’s head. Her aged body crumpled with a thud among the scattered vegetables. In that monochrome world, only the blood flowing from her head was vividly red.
The bright crimson blood touched the market floor and moved in strange patterns—splitting, bending, twisting, meeting, crossing—until it finally formed the shape of characters people called numbers.
One hundred and seventy-two.
The back of that head below it, the figure fleeing with all its might, somehow felt incredibly familiar. The posture was so familiar.
“Hup.”
At the strange sense of déjà vu, Cheong tilted her head. Why does it feel like I’ve seen this before? Well, the backs of all fleeing bastards look about the same. You can’t see their faces when they’re running away.
Cheong swung her straight sword in a wide arc. The blade entered the outside of the thigh and exited the outside of the thigh. The Demonic Path warrior’s torso, now missing its legs, tumbled across the ground with a clatter.
Cheong paused again. What was that? Something had just flashed past. But when she tried to recall it, it was like a dream already gone—something she knew she had dreamed but whose contents refused to surface, leaving only a murky, uneasy aftertaste.
Something…
Cheong reached into her mind, trying to grasp the fleeting vision. Right, there was definitely a scene I saw. It was—
BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!
At that moment, a loud horn blast tore through her ears! The faint something she had almost caught vanished instantly like a burst bubble, and flames roared up fiercely in Cheong’s eyes.
“Which bastard—”
Cheong harbored a very, very, very deep grudge against signal whistles of any kind. Blowing a flute in the middle of a sacred battle? If you’re going to blow it, at least blow it well! This was basically noise pollution between floors! Absolutely unforgivable!
And so Cheong suddenly accelerated.
“Young Lady!”
Chang Yeo-in desperately shouted as she tried to follow, but Gakda-gwi grabbed the back of her head and stopped her.
“You bastard, how dare you grab a woman’s hair—”
“Let her go. They’re all running away anyway, so there’s no danger. Just let her enjoy herself.”
“What are you talking about? Enjoy what? Are you trying to make it sound like Her Highness gets happy cutting people down like some kind of bloodthirsty demon? Should I tell Yeon Pa about this?”
“Yeon Pa too… Never mind. You really have no sense even though you’re a woman. Sigh. Forget it. I won’t say anything.”
Gakda-gwi shook his head slowly. Chang Yeo-in’s expression grew fierce. Whether she did or not, Cheong ran.
Since the Demonic Path warriors were also running, no one stood in Cheong’s way. However, someone suddenly ran shoulder-to-shoulder with her. When she glanced sideways, it was a Demonic Path warrior.
Hmm. Ninety-nine points. Tsk. One point short.
Cheong stabbed the side of the Demonic Path warrior with the pommel of her straight sword. Leaving behind the man who collapsed with a grunt, she focused on that noisy bastard blowing the whistle. That guy. I can’t forgive that guy. Anyone who blows a signal horn must die.
And finally, Cheong’s figure stretched out long as a furious shout rang out.
“Shut up! Stop making that damn flute sound!”
Mun Jeong-yeok, who had been continuously sending the retreat signal, was startled by the sudden shout and raised his sword.
Clang!
The blades collided, sending sparks flying.
“You are—”
“In public! Be quiet! Please!”
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
With every word, sparks flew and Mun Jeong-yeok was forced back a step. With each retreating step, his expression grew increasingly serious. What kind of woman has this much strength?! His hardened face was an effort to suppress the scream that nearly burst out unconsciously.
It was a pure trajectory with no technique whatsoever, yet the power contained within it was a thousand-pound force. The more skilled a swordsman, the better they were at the art of deflecting attacks softly to create openings—four ounces to move a thousand pounds. However, as the saying went, four ounces might move a thousand pounds, but laying a blade diagonally against a rolling wheel would not change the cart’s direction. The blade would break, or the one holding it would be thrown back.
Even when he placed his blade at an angle, Cheong’s trajectory did not bend. Instead, Mun Jeong-yeok’s sword was pushed back. Therefore, he had no choice but to retreat step by step.
“Wait! I am Mun Jeong-yeok—”
“Mun Jeong? Then I’m Beijing Station, you bastard!”
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Mun Jeong-yeok could not understand Cheong’s rage. What is this? Why is she so angry? Had he unknowingly earned a grudge from the Heavenly Flower Sword? But a warrior’s life was one where grudges piled up in places one did not know. Perhaps he had killed one of her acquaintances. Of course, it was merely the beep beep of the signal whistle that had triggered Cheong’s anger, but no matter how imaginative a warrior he was, there was no way he could guess such a reason.
“How dare you! Is that how you speak to a senior of the sword path?!”
“Hmph. Senior my ass. I’ve never once treated a Demonic Path bastard as a senior. You guys who haven’t done anything for me but still demand respect are the ones always crying about seniority.”
“What did you say?”
“Enough talk! Moonlight Sword—no, Hell—no, right, Severing Moon Blade. Yeah, Severing Moon is perfect!”
Cheong had already grown familiar with the giant kitchen knife known as the straight sword and now slapped an affectionate name onto it.
“Let’s go, Severing Moon Blade!”
Mun Jeong-yeok saw Cheong’s waist twist violently. Her right shoulder spun back at an unnatural angle. Her right hand holding the straight sword peeked out from beyond her left shoulder in a way that made one wonder if human joints could even do that. Setting aside whether such a flexible posture was even possible, the already monstrously strong woman had twisted her entire body in preparation to launch her blade.
Mun Jeong-yeok placed his left hand on the flat of his sword and held it out at an angle. And then—
CLANG!!
A violent collision.
“Huk. Severing Moon-ah?”
All that remained of Severing Moon (what had once been Severing Moon) was a single inch of blade above the hilt. A swordsman of Bokju Je-il-geom’s caliber did not use just any weapon. However, Cheong’s Severing Moon Blade was cheap junk hammered together by some neighborhood blacksmith. Was there even a need to emphasize the importance of divine weapons in a fight between sword qi and sword gang?
Cheong shouted, filled with rage.
“How dare you break my beloved blade! Unforgivable!”
If Severing Moon had possessed a soul, it would have asked, What? This sword? Beloved blade? And the original owner of the straight sword, now in the afterlife, would have clicked his tongue and said, That girl is a complete thief. However, weapons do not speak, and the dead speak even less.
“Hmph! You lost your weapon but your spirit is still alive!”
Mun Jeong-yeok’s eyes flashed. An opportunity! The swordswoman had lost her sword, so—
Huh? Swordswoman? Why is a swordswoman calling a straight sword her beloved blade? Why?
A sudden question caused the tip of Mun Jeong-yeok’s sword to tremble ever so slightly. However, whether it trembled or not would not have made much difference. Because the Heavenly Flower Sword, having lost her weapon, reflexively reached out with her right palm to grab the incoming blade.
They called her a once-in-a-millennium genius, but she panics when empty-handed.If you’re going to lose something, lose your left hand instead.
The moment Mun Jeong-yeok formed a sneering smile—
Clang! Clang?
Mun Jeong-yeok’s face went blank. Of course. Even if she wrapped her hand in inner qi, a late-stage Transcendent’s sword strike filled with sword gang could not possibly be caught bare-handed.
In that instant, Cheong’s left hand slammed into Mun Jeong-yeok’s abdomen. His torso flew backward in the shape of the character for dagger (匕).
In Mun Jeong-yeok’s mind, the wrinkled face of Sa Sa-ui suddenly appeared—the expression of unbearable resentment and frustration that had nearly suffocated him. Why did that face come to mind?
The Heavenly Flower Sword is the Little Demoness! It’s true! She’s really the Little Demoness! It’s real! It’s real!!
Ah.
Mun Jeong-yeok realized it too late. No, why is that the truth? It doesn’t make sense.
Mun Jeong-yeok felt wronged. But he did not have time to feel wronged. The Heavenly Flower Sword was rapidly closing in. Pale, elongated fingers raised high. They truly were the most beautiful hands in the world, just as the rumors said.
Suddenly, the flickering soul flame visible through her face veil—the side effect of the cursed demonic art known to those in the know as the Jeonryun Mageop.
“Why is it really the Jeonryun—”
That was as far as Mun Jeong-yeok got. He had not cultivated the tenacity to continue speaking after a hand blade had split his skull. If he had possessed such tenacity, he might have been able to roll a cigarette with a piece of iron embedded in his head, leisurely reminisce about the good old days, and die in peace. This is why people must cultivate tenacity.
Bokju Je-il-geom Mun Jeong-yeok. Skull split. Dead.
The more elite and experienced the warriors, the faster they fled at the front. They were the smart older brothers who had thrown their younger siblings as bait to survive. However, their relief at having lived was short-lived. Something that looked like a previously unseen wall on the main road began to wriggle. When they got closer, they realized it was not a wall but a wall of shields.
“Halt! You wicked criminals who dare violate the law of the land and carry weapons!”
Long spears thrust out from between the shields. In fact, any person of the Central Plains could easily deduce that behind them, a line of archers was spread out. Why are the government dogs suddenly here?
“Sir, we are martial artists—”
“Silence! Are martial artists not citizens of this nation?! Drop your weapons and kneel at once!”
“Sir, the government and Murim have always—”
“You bastards! Open the fire ports!”
At the general’s command that cut off the Demonic Path warrior’s words, the shield wall split left and right, revealing the gaping muzzles of cannons.
People of the Central Plains in this era had a habit of suddenly turning into docile lambs in front of cannon muzzles. That was because thousands of razor-sharp iron fragments would fly out from those muzzles. It was said that two people had to stand in front so that a third person might barely survive. Such was the power of those iron shards.
“We’ll kneel! We’ll kneel!”
The Demonic Path warriors threw down their weapons one after another and dropped to their knees. A beat later, the righteous faction pursuit team arrived.
It was surprising to see the fleeing enemies suddenly kneeling, but even more shocking was the cannon muzzles arrayed toward them. The righteous faction warriors froze the moment they arrived and obediently sheathed their blades.
“Who are you people!”
“We are warriors of the Gyerim Sword Sect…”
“Ah. You must be the upright martial arts instructors His Highness spoke of. We came out to arrest the wicked group that attacked the martial arts dojo, so you may now rest easy and return.”
The expressions of the Demonic Path warriors soured instantly. Some were called wicked criminals, while others were called upright martial arts instructors!
“Uh… Yes. Thank you for your hard work.”
The righteous faction warriors awkwardly bowed their heads. They did not know why the government was taking their side, but for now, they had no choice but to withdraw in front of the cannons.