Prevent the Hiatus
Led by the Nine Sects and One Gang alongside the Five Great Families, the martial artists of Wuhan mobilized en masse. Even the common folk refused to be left behind, taking up pitchforks, scythes, and bamboo spears with the fiery zeal of legendary heroes setting out to vanquish the realm's greatest villains. For the day the Green Forest 108 Strongholds met their end was the day Nangahyeopjeon would return to life. United in heart and purpose, everyone threw their full might into this grand mountain-sweeping campaign.
"How much further?"
"Almost there! Just over this ridge and a little further, and the stronghold will be in sight!"
Dokgo Sanwol was personally heading toward Mangchonru, guided by someone intimately familiar with the geography of Mount Okhwa. Naturally, he hadn't come alone. The moment Sanwol announced his intention to settle the score in person, martial artists had flocked to his side in droves to offer their aid. The strike force numbered seven Peak Realm masters—including Sanwol himself—and three at the Transcendence Realm. With this caliber of martial power, even if Mangchonru had somehow broken through to the early Transformation Realm in the meantime, they could comfortably hold their own.
"Still, to have traveled such a vast distance in so short a time..."
That had been Sanwol's immediate impression upon seeing the map, and it still struck him as remarkable. Given how swiftly the abduction had been carried out, he had assumed Mount Okhwa couldn't be all that far away, wherever it was. This was an era without cars or locomotives, where flight remained either pure fantasy or the domain of reclusive Daoist immortals. While masters of the Profound Realm were said to ride flying swords or tread across empty air through sheer transcendence, such beings hardly grew on trees. In a world where the mythical Realm of Life and Death beyond the Profound Realm was revered as the Realm of Immortality, reaching the Profound Realm basically made one a living celestial candidate. Nor was that entirely wrong—masters of that stature truly possessed the uncanny ability to bend worldly laws through enlightenment and martial arts.
"He likely took a boat along the waterways on his way back. No one could cover this kind of ground on foot so quickly."
Just as the guide suggested, Mangchonru had indeed traveled by river to return to his stronghold on Mount Okhwa. In this archaic Central Plains, wheeled conveyances were limited to wagons and palanquins, making overland travel notoriously sluggish. Yet boats, humanity's oldest long-distance vessels, could move with remarkable speed whenever a river permitted.
Wuhan was the provincial capital of Hubei Province, while Mount Okhwa sat squarely in the heart of Jiangxi Province. The overland distance between them was immense, demanding considerable travel time. There was, however, a crucial geographic advantage: the Yangtze River flowed right past Wuhan, directly connecting to Lake Poyang, the largest lake in Jiangxi. From Lake Poyang, the waterway fed into the Gan River, which cut straight through Nanchang—Jiangxi's grand capital city—stretching far across the province. And one of the Gan River's primary tributaries ran directly past Mount Okhwa.
That was where Mangchonru, chieftain of one of the core Eighteen Strongholds of the Green Forest, made his lair—and where Sanwol's strike team was currently headed.
"The stronghold is in sight! Everyone, prepare to engage!"
The Murim Alliance martial artist guiding the vanguard shouted, resting a hand upon the hilt of his sword. Behind him, the others followed suit, their fingers wrapping around their respective weapons as they swept their gaze across the surroundings, primed for an ambush. Every single warrior coated themselves in Body-Protection Qi, exuding a terrifying aura poised to unleash violence at a moment's notice. The Kang Seokho rescue party—an elite force among elites—marched into Mangchonru's stronghold.
"Uncle Kang! We're here to save you!"
"Vicious bandits! Today is the day of your ancestral rites!"
"Give up any hope of walking out of here alive!"
Sanwol shouted into the compound to let Kang Seokho know help had arrived, while the warriors drew their weapons, coating their blades in vibrant Sword Qi and bellowing threats at the bandits. Yet astonishingly, not a single soul paid the rescue party any heed.
"Oh. You're here?"
"...Wait, Uncle?"
"What are you standing there gaping for? After dragging so many people along with you, too."
The stronghold was completely deserted. Not an ant was in sight. And from the main gates of the compound's largest building, a solitary man emerged, yawning leisurely.
It was Kang Seokho—the very objective of their frantic dash across provinces.
Why in the world was the fortress empty, and why was the supposed kidnapping victim strolling out of what was unmistakably the chieftain's personal quarters while lazily scratching his belly? Was this some kind of stratagem out of Zhuge Liang's playbook?
As the entire group stood frozen in utter bewilderment, Kang Seokho clicked his tongue and waved them over.
"Get in here first. There's plenty to show you, and I'll explain everything that went down while I was here."
Deciding to shake off the fatigue of their long journey, the group followed Kang Seokho into the spacious hall.
"Right then. Where should I begin?"
"Start from when they grabbed you," Sanwol said.
"Aye, fair enough. Guess that's what you'd want to know first."
Kang Seokho fell into quiet contemplation with a low hum, then exhaled deeply before speaking.
"Well, not that any bandit is reasonable, but... he barged in out of nowhere and made absurd demands."
The assembled warriors nodded in agreement. Bandits were never creatures of logic; barging in unannounced to extort folk was just par for the course.
"Naturally, I told him where to shove it. He started threatening me, so I asked if he wasn't afraid of the Murim Alliance. And you know what the bastard did? He hauled me off."
"So he was a lunatic through and through?"
"Aye. Guess being a bandit chief scrambled his brains, because the fellow couldn't think like a normal human being."
As Seokho elaborated, it turned out Mangchonru's brilliant logic had been: I am afraid of the Murim Alliance, but if I take you somewhere the Murim Alliance isn't, there's nothing to fear. Sanwol couldn't stifle a snort of derisive laughter as he trashed Mangchonru's intellect, and the rest of the company nodded along in disgust.
"Anyway, once I got hauled out here, I was locked in a cell day in and day out, eating slop that barely qualified as food."
As Seokho recounted his captivity, the air in the room chilled noticeably. Sanwol was furious on behalf of someone he held dear, and the warriors—having witnessed Sanwol's frantic reaction back in Wuhan and piecing together their close bond—bristled with indignation. Seeing their rising tempers, Kang Seokho sighed and told them not to get their blood up over it. But before they could even cool off, he dropped the real kicker.
"Wait... he unlocked the cell door and fled?"
The bandit chief hadn't just left the door ajar—he had flung it wide open as if practically begging Seokho to leave, abandoned all his plunder and supplies, and bolted with nothing but the weapon in his hand.
"Aye. The fellow was trembling so hard you'd think he'd lost his mind. Restless as a cat on hot coals. I thought you'd pulled some strings or sent someone."
"I mobilized right away, but I haven't done anything to Mangchonru directly," Sanwol replied, frowning. "The whole point of coming here was to smash this place and pull you out."
Sanwol, Kang Seokho, and the rest of the company clutched their foreheads, entirely baffled by Mangchonru's bizarre behavior. No matter how much they turned it over in their minds, the man's actions defied all rhyme or reason. It was true one shouldn't try to understand bandits, but this went completely beyond common sense.
"Hmm. Then why on earth was he carrying on like that? Looked like he'd seen a ghost."
"How should I know? Maybe he caught wind of the Murim Alliance marching out and panicked."
In the end, they concluded that Mangchonru must have caught wind of the Murim Alliance and an army of martial artists marching all the way into Jiangxi Province, wetting his pants and fleeing in terror.
"What should we do now?" one of the warriors asked.
"Let's head back to the Alliance first," Sanwol said. "There could still be lingering danger for a while, Uncle, so you're staying at my manor."
There were no bandits left to cut down, and Kang Seokho was completely unharmed—hale and hearty. Whatever had possessed Mangchonru, the bandit had left behind enough provisions and plunder for someone to live comfortably here for months. Looking around, Sanwol noticed that while the accompanying martial artists looked relieved, an undercurrent of disappointment lingered on their faces. They had clearly hoped to fatten their purses by taking down a notorious bandit chief, only to find the nest utterly deserted.
Still, they had made the grueling trek on his behalf, and their efforts couldn't go unrewarded.
Smiling inwardly, Sanwol promised a generous bonus to the visibly longing warriors. Instantly, their sour expressions melted away into beaming, radiant grins. Showering people with goodwill and gold was, after all, the surest way to build a sterling reputation and ensure ready help when trouble arose.
"Ah, come to think of it. It might be wise to have this stronghold thoroughly investigated later."
"Huh? Why investigate?"
Just as they finished their rest and prepared to set off for Wuhan, Kang Seokho spoke up with a peculiar look on his face. Sanwol mentally conjured a question mark—a punctuation mark not yet invented in the Central Plains—and asked for clarification.
"These bastards... it seems they've been associating with those godforsaken Blood Cult scum."
"What?!"
"The Blood Cult?!"
"The Green Forest has finally crossed the line! To conspire with the Blood Cult—scum who deserve to be minced into salted fish!"
The Murim Alliance martial artists reacted even faster than Sanwol, their voices rising in outrage at the mere mention of that name. Generally speaking, factions that deviated from the Orthodox path and preyed upon the common folk were labeled the Unorthodox and Heretical factions. The Yangtze Waterways Stronghold and the Green Forest represented the Unorthodox path, while the Demonic Cult stood as a famous public adversary. Everything else that strayed from the righteous path fell under the umbrella of heresy.
Yet the Blood Cult was never counted among them.
For they were not considered human in the first place.
Orthodox, Unorthodox, or Heretic—regardless of morality, those were paths walked by humans. But the wretched cultists of the Blood Cult were human in birth alone; their deeds were no different from demons crawling out of the deepest hells.
"From my cell, I often heard that bastard Mangchonru bellowing at the top of his lungs," Seokho explained. "Sounded like he was relying on some 'Living Jiangshi' he received from the Blood Cult as his ultimate trump card."
"A Living Jiangshi... Then their collusion with the Blood Cult is beyond doubt."
"This is no minor matter. The moment we return, we must inform the Murim Alliance and prepare for an unholy alliance between the Blood Cult and the Unorthodox faction."
The cheerful smiles born of anticipated bounties vanished in an instant, replaced by grim, stony expressions. They hastily gathered only the essentials and prepared to depart immediately. Sanwol swept through the stronghold as well, checking for any lurking bandits or hidden stashes, while also searching for the stolen copies of Nangahyeopjeon.
"Wait, what?"
In the largest room of the estate—presumably Mangchonru's bedchamber—Sanwol discovered the stacks of Nangahyeopjeon.
"Why is it short by one copy of each volume again?"
After hearing the earlier report of theft, they had surely restocked the stolen volumes, yet one of each was missing once more, leaving only nine copies per volume.
"Damn it... who was it this time?"
Sanwol let out a weary sigh, clutching his temples in frustration. It suddenly dawned on him that Mangchonru hadn't simply fled out of fear of the Murim Alliance. Someone had beaten them to the punch, decimated the stronghold, and made off with a set of Nangahyeopjeon.
If it had been an operative of the Murim Alliance, they would have finished Mangchonru off and escorted Kang Seokho to safety. Instead, Mangchonru—a martial artist at the Transcendence Realm—had been reduced to a quivering wreck, bowing and scraping before a mere commoner like Kang Seokho, while Seokho himself had no inkling why.
"...Did someone from the Demonic Cult drop by?"
It wasn't the Orthodox faction. It wasn't the Unorthodox faction, since the Green Forest was the Unorthodox faction. The Blood Cult wouldn't bother turning on an ally—well, actually, they might, but if it had been the Blood Cult, the stronghold would have been drowned in a sea of blood.
Eliminating the possibilities one by one, only a single faction in all of the Central Plains remained: the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
"Nah, no way."
Given their location, it made zero sense. They were a reclusive religious cult tucked away in the desolate, frigid boondocks of the Heavenly Mountains. Besides, what on earth would the Demonic Cult gain from stealing copies of Nangahyeopjeon?
Mangchonru probably just grabbed a copy of each volume before he ran for his life, Sanwol concluded, gathering up the remaining nine copies of each volume.