Let Them Die Like Vermin (2)
"Gah!"
Sojanggye’s face twisted grotesquely.
What in the world are these bastards?
The young sword users in black martial robes came charging in without hesitation. Of course, he wasn’t startled by the situation itself. Everyone gathered here had weathered battle after battle; this level of fighting broke out all the time down in the southern riverlands.
What truly threw him off was the fact that the swords these bastards wielded were so sharp it defied common sense.
On top of that—
Clang! Clang-clang-clang!
When their blades struck, the force slid along the edge of his dao and stabbed into the back of his hand.
"Ugh!"
Sojanggye let out a pained groan and hurriedly pulled his arm back. But the moment his dao withdrew, the sword that had been aiming for his hand twisted its direction in an instant. It spun around and came at his upper body, multiplying into dozens of phantom blades as it did.
Sojanggye staggered back, flailing his dao in a frenzy.
This is absurd!
It made sense that they were strong. Even if Hwasan was a sect that had never belonged to the Gupailbang, it was already common knowledge that they had once contended for the title of the greatest sword sect in the world.
But this was not something that could be explained by strength alone.
They’re too skilled.
Ridiculously enough, their swordplay was as deft and fluid as men who had spent decades on the battlefield. The instant he thought they were aiming for his arm, a blade was already at his throat; when he tried to guard his throat, his knee was cut instead.
Just when they seemed poised to strike with brute force, they would slip back, thrusting forward with blinding speed; a sword that had been flying toward his face like lightning would suddenly change course and drop toward his chest.
"Kraaah!"
In the end, a long slash split his chest, and blood sprayed into the air. Sojanggye ground his teeth through the pain.
"Th-this… damn bastards…!"
He couldn’t understand it.
The swordsmanship alone was enough to make him recoil. It felt as though they were toying with him, as if his opponent had placed him on the palm of his hand and was playing him for a fool. What those brats showed was less the sword of the righteous path and more like the illusionary blades of the demonic sect.
But even more astonishing than that was the look in the eyes of the men using those swords.
The battlefield was a monster that devoured people whole.
No matter how calm a man might be, once blood was flying in front of his eyes and people were dying without respite, it was only natural that he would lose his usual composure. His arms would tense, and his sword would gradually grow cruder and more forceful.
Yet these bastards didn’t let their expressions change even once, as though they were seasoned veterans who had survived a hundred battles. They weren’t excited; they were keeping perfect control of their swords.
What kind of training did they go through to become like this…?
But he had no time left to think. Another sword was already flying for his eyes.
"Kh!"
Sojanggye twisted his head and narrowly avoided the incoming blade. His face flushed scarlet.
"You damn brat!"
Whooooong!
His dao burst forth with a crimson aura. No matter how incomprehensible and troublesome the opponent was, he was still young. That meant it would be better to crush him with force than to try matching him clumsily technique for technique.
As a man who had been worn down by the battlefield until he was calloused through and through, his judgment in that split second was unquestionably correct.
Clang!
Dao and sword collided in midair with a shrill shriek.
You bastard!
Sojanggye bared his teeth and pressed down with all his strength. Triumph flickered in his eyes.
No matter how skillfully the sword was wielded, no matter how uncanny and wondrous the swordsmanship might be, the one swinging it was still nothing more than a young swordsman. In raw inner power and brute strength, there was no way he could beat an experienced warrior like himself. If he crushed him by force right here, the brat wouldn’t be able to hold on.
"I’ll cut you in two…"
And at that very moment, a faint smile touched the face of the one opposing his blade.
What?
Sojanggye’s eyes widened a little.
He’s smiling in a situation like this?
"You idiot!"
A chill crawled down his spine, and Sojanggye pressed his dao down with everything he had. Even if he couldn’t cleave the boy in two, he intended to crush him bodily, sword and all.
But…
Rasp, rasp, rasppp!
The friction of blade against dao scraped harshly at his ears.
Clang!
Then Sojanggye realized something was going wrong. He had no choice but to realize it.
Why?
That bastard’s sword wasn’t budging.
He was pressing down with all his might, with every ounce of inner power he possessed, and yet the thin blade blocking his dao didn’t move back even a single inch. It held firm in place, as unyielding as a stone statue, stubbornly resisting his strike.
A sword that did not so much as tremble. And beneath it, those emotionless eyes.
He was the one pressing down, and yet he was the one feeling pressure.
"Aaaargh!"
Sojanggye shoved downward with every last shred of strength in his body.
Rrrrrip—crack!
Blade and dao ground against each other, sparks flying up into the air. But that was all. There was a slight sense of giving way, perhaps, yet the sword still held his dao fast and firm.
And then, in that instant—
The corner of that damned Hwasan brat’s mouth curled upward ever so slightly, and the sword that had been meeting his dao suddenly withdrew in a flash.
The moment the deadlock shattered, Sojanggye, who had been pouring all his strength into pressing down, lurched forward as if he’d been yanked into empty space.
Bang!
And then the Hwasan swordsman, who had pulled his blade back, smashed into Sojanggye’s dao with a force completely unlike anything that had come before.
"Ghk!"
Swept off balance, Sojanggye was driven backward in a panic.
The force that traveled through the dao twisted not only his wrist but his shoulder as well. His whole arm went numb, as though he had been struck by lightning.
Insane…!
He got pushed back? By force?
No—this wasn’t force so much as technique. But whatever it was, the fact remained: he had been driven back.
His mind felt like it was being turned upside down by this incomprehensible turn of events. Worse, the eerie feeling he got from that bastard had cooled the boiling rage and bloodlust in his veins.
And then, as he staggered back in disarray, a tiny sound brushed past Sojanggye’s ears.
It was faint, almost delicate, like the sound of snow settling, yet it cut through the confusion of the battlefield with startling clarity.
Shrrrk.
Sojanggye’s eyes widened.
The Hwasan swordsman’s blade trembled lightly in the air, and flowers began to bloom at its tip like something out of a hallucination.
No, wait…
His instincts screamed danger, but after absorbing the shock carried through the dao, he had no room to charge forward again.
Shrrrraaaah!
The flowers blooming abundantly in midair swayed as if caught by a sudden breeze, then began scattering petals in all directions.
Is this…
He had heard of it before.
The sword that made flowers bloom.
A sword that had once ruled the world, only to be forgotten and turn into legend. But at some point, that Hwasan secret sword art had begun to shake the world again.
"Ma, plum blossom sword…"
Fwoooooosh!
The petals that had bloomed burst forward toward him all at once.
"…Damn it."
Feeling the thin plum blossoms pierce into his body, an involuntary groan escaped Sojanggye’s lips.
"Group up! Damn it, these bastards are no joke!"
"Don’t face them alone! Form up!"
Making a name in the demonic path was not as easy as it looked. The greater the infamy, the more often one was forced into conflict, and the more work it took to maintain that reputation.
The men here had all survived battles like this—ten times over, at the very least. They might not have had a broad strategist’s eye for the battlefield, but their survival instincts were unquestionable.
Their judgment was swift when they saw the front line collapse in an instant. Those who had looked down on the enemy as mere brats and had charged in alone were now all collapsing in blood.
It was so swift, and so brutal, it was almost laughable when measured against the reputations they had once flaunted.
One-on-one is a guaranteed loss!
It was absurd that they had to make such a judgment, but they couldn’t deny what their own eyes had seen. At any time, survival came first. Pride did not.
"Pair up in twos and threes and take them down!"
So the conclusion they reached was simple enough. Those brats were definitely strong, but they would have little experience in this kind of chaotic battlefield melee. If they could at least entangle and pressure the enemy as a mob, the battlefield would become a tangled mess—and in that confusion, the ones who could throw blades from behind would be at a far greater advantage.
For a decision made in such a short span of time, it was a remarkably sound one.
The only mistake was that they didn’t know exactly what sort of people they were facing.
Clang! Clang!
Sword against sword. Sword against dao. And sword against spear.
Once the demonic warriors confirmed that their opponents were no pushovers, they focused first on blocking those swords. They had already learned that if they tried to attack carelessly against those blades that could mesmerize the eye, their throats would be cut before they knew what had happened.
How’s that!
But then things no one had ever imagined began to happen.
Clack!
The moment sword and dao met, terrifying inner power burst from the sword and twisted their weapons off line.
It wasn’t merely parrying. The sword that had been sticking to their dao as if glued there suddenly yanked their weapons sideways.
What?
Just as they were about to wonder why in the world it was doing that—
Fwoooooosh!
From right beneath the arm of the swordsman who had twisted their dao, an overwhelming streak of sword qi shot in at blinding speed.
"Hah!"
The men recoiled in alarm, but the Hwasan sword that had latched onto their weapons had no intention of letting go.
"Aaagh!"
"Aaaagh!"
The color drained from Samaho’s face.
"You, you insane bastards…"
That was barely even worthy of being called a combination attack.
The moment the men in front twisted the arms of their opponents, sword qi had already come flying from behind—meaning those who launched the blades from the rear had moved first, before the ones in front even twisted their arms.
The men in the back had simply assumed the front line would naturally twist their opponents’ arms and had sent their blades flying in anticipation.
And if they had been even a single fraction late, the swords would have sliced into their comrades’ arms instead of their enemies’!
They’re mad.
Whether it was the men hurling their swords without the slightest hesitation, or those urging their companions to send sword qi flying toward their own arms without a shred of doubt—
These bastards were not right in the head.
But the effect was monstrous. The ones who had tried to hold out and change the situation were forced back relentlessly, spitting blood.
And in that moment, the swordsmen in the rear leapt clean over the heads of those in front and scattered dozens of sword qi bursts through the air.
"B-block them!"
"Damn it! These bastards…!"
Those already wounded in many places had no time to tend their injuries; they just swung their weapons in desperate panic. If they didn’t stop those sword qi strikes, the outcome was obvious.
But the combination didn’t end there.
"Aaaagh!"
"My leg!"
The men in front suddenly dropped low and began slashing at their opponents’ legs.
One high above the head, the other low enough to skim the ground.
It was impossible to block sword attacks coming simultaneously from both those angles without tremendous difficulty. A combination of high and low, rather than left and right, instantly doubled the power of their swordsmanship.
H-how…?
They hadn’t even exchanged glances. Not a single brief word had passed between them, and not even a shouted signal had been used.
And yet those insane bastards were executing their coordination perfectly, as though they had already planned it all in advance, meshing together like gears. As if they were all one body.
"Th-this is impossible! You damn bastards!"
It was right then, as Samaho roared in explosive fury, that a bizarre sight entered his eyes.
The men who had been hammering them without pause suddenly changed direction and fell back to the left and right.
What?
An utterly irrational move, as if they were surrendering the advantage they had already seized.
Samaho stared blankly at the scene.
Shrrrraaaaaak!
And then he saw it.
At the tips of the swordsmen’s blades, flowers—identical to the pattern sewn upon their chests—burst into glorious bloom.
The men who had been forced back by sheer pressure could only stare dazedly at the plum blossoms blooming and blooming before them. There was nothing left they could do now, even though they clearly knew those flowers, spreading with frightening speed, were more lethal and dangerous than anything else on the battlefield.
"…Hwasan."
Samaho let out a hollow, empty laugh as vivid petals flew through every visible inch of space.
These are the kinds of people you say Hwasan can handle anytime? Gal Cheon-lip, you mad bastard…
If there were a hundred men using swordplay this insane, then that place would be less a battlefield than hell itself. The moment they willingly set foot inside that hell, their fate had already been sealed.
The blooming petals surged all at once.
Beautiful.
The plum blossom rain pouring down and filling the sky pierced mercilessly into the bodies of the lawless men.