Chapter 200
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 200
Chapter Title: Day of the Decisive Battle (2)
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The mobilization was simple.
In front of all the assembled troops.
"We will defend this land."
Moyong Danha conveyed his intent in a few short words.
"We defend!"
The rest could only respond with their own resolve.
...Far more moving than any speech he'd heard before.
Defend it.
Defend it...
Chewing over the resonance of those words.
"Moyong young master, your face looks like you're chewing shit."
"...Don't talk to me. You'll rub your filth on me."
He teased Moyong Wicheon, who was walking beside him.
As for why this insolent bastard's title had been demoted from something fitting to downright filthy.
Right now, he wasn't Geum Sihyeon.
He was a demonic cult expert who had reverted to his youthful prime.
The hidden younger brother of Sword Demon Wi Ji-ryang.
If the east in Liaodong had the Black Reaper,
Then the west in Tianshan had the white mask.
Thus, White-Faced Ghost Wi Ji-hyeon.
That was him.
...Though he'd covered his eyes and played blind man's buff to get here.
- Geum Sihyeon is using demonic arts!
- Heavenly Demon...! Scary...!
Better than reactions like that.
Heavenly Pedro... was just way too brain-breaking no matter how he thought about it.
.
.
.
In modern society, wars never erupt in an instant.
After countless media plays, local provocations, military drills to heighten tensions, and gathering all those signals.
The final ultimatum and declaration of war.
That whole tedious process always included something called justification.
That's why, even as the sparks of war grew over years, people always thought, "Surely it won't actually come to war."
"They're coming. Prepare."
On the vast plain, countless cavalry units began filling the space like a tidal wave crashing in.
"Take care of Seol-i."
"Are you insane, Geum Sihyeon?"
Moyong Wicheon looked at him like trash, but he stood tall with pride.
What do you mean "Seol noona"?
She's my wife, so Seol it is.
To begin with, he was the demonic cult's White-Faced Ghost.
It felt a bit off fighting alongside righteous faction warriors.
And considering the nature of his martial arts, he absolutely shouldn't.
The Moyong Family had even raised elite cavalry specifically to counter foreign tribes, so he couldn't risk affecting his own allies.
Therefore.
He'd be the fire punch.
He'd be the diversion...!
Judging the distance appropriately.
Kuuung—!
He stomped down hard and shot into the air in an instant.
"Hya, there's a lot of them."
Taking in the swarming formation of his Mongolian friends, he adapted Heavenly Demon Moon Step to mimic mid-air treading for a moment.
His eyes met Moyong Seol's.
She wore an expression on the verge of tears.
Hm.
Seemed like even after squeezing out a month's worth of moisture, some still remained.
Well...
Hard to say "I'm not going to die" when he was clearly charging into the jaws of death alone.
But what could he do?
They were his people, and the people of his people.
Staring any longer would just weaken his resolve.
He adjusted his mask slightly and wrapped his body in demonic qi.
And then.
"Hihihiheng...!"
"A person flew down from the sky...!"
He landed precisely in the midst of the chaotic enemy ranks.
"Kuhaha! Everyone, come at me!"
He had descended.
His inner thoughts and outward expression had flipped, but he didn't care.
Stepping Heavenly Demon Supremacy Step, he scanned his surroundings.
Gazes filled with enmity.
Gazes filled with fear.
He saw all sorts of emotions swirling around him at the center.
A warrior who looked like he'd been a giant since birth aimed his weapon at him.
He gazed at a soldier who oddly resembled his high school classmate—definitely had a Mongolian spot on his butt.
He closed his eyes.
And opened them again.
It was a contradictory sensation.
When hurling Invincible Meteor Strikes from afar, they were wicked foes, their lives weightless.
Yet just locking eyes up close and sharing the same breath made him feel their weight instinctively.
Different from the clear weight of evil karma borne by assassin friends or Blood Cult comrades.
Because...
"H-Hiiik...!"
In the young man clutching a slender spear, barely able to stay mounted,
he saw his own reflection—the idiot destined to be flipped by elite recruits around age twenty-one.
"D-Die!"
Hm, yeah.
He'd have shot the enemy in front of him first too.
* * *
As expected of a demonic cult madman, the moment White-Faced Ghost fired the first shot of the battle.
Amid the warriors' shouts and the horses' neighs echoing from all directions.
There was one place.
A spot thick with silence amid the throng.
"A young pup."
"...Hmph."
In warrior battles, numbers and momentum mattered, of course—but far more crucial was the count of absolute experts.
And, all too naturally.
The representatives of each camp had no choice but to gather at one point, if only to shake off the burdens on their shoulders.
From the righteous martial world: Moyong Danha and Paeng Gong.
And from Gale Wind Temple: Ironwood Bear alone.
"Did you eat your father?"
Ironwood Bear's eyebrow twitched at Moyong Danha's indifferent remark.
The phrasing was extreme, but...
Not wrong.
Ironwood Bear had achieved overwhelming prowess beyond his years.
From his father, grandfather, great-grandfather...
Burning his life solely on the vow to revive Mongol glory and echo Borjigin's name in the Central Plains once more, he had sown seeds and tilled the fields.
The result was Ironwood Bear.
"They'll surely be pleased when I offer your heads on the ancestral altar."
Warriors spoke with weapons.
No more words needed.
.
.
.
Though now the weight of their clans sat heavy on their shoulders, making things a bit awkward.
Moyong Danha and Paeng Gong had long synced their styles through shared journeys in the jianghu.
So their joint assault on Ironwood Bear's spear was flawlessly clean, hard to believe it had been so long.
The fruit of experience and years.
"With just this?!"
"..."
"You pup...!"
Regrettably.
Ironwood Bear's realm, nurtured on rivers of blood, edged slightly ahead.
A spear art mystical as a dragon's roar splitting into nine branches instead pressed Moyong Danha and Paeng Gong.
In a flash, an exchange of thirty bouts.
The dazzling flows of Oh Ho Sword Gate and Nine Thousand Flowing Water Sword ripped apart by the profundity of Gale Wind Dragon-Slaying Spear, pompously named.
Just that much.
Merely that exchange of blows.
"Is the famed house's might only this much?"
Ironwood Bear was convinced of his victory.
Of course.
"Filial son who ate his dad."
"Y-You old fart...!"
He couldn't hold back his rage at Moyong Danha's casual venom.
"No, Brother Moyong, why provoke him—"
Paeng Gong paled, but the water was already spilled.
And so.
They threw everything into blocking Ironwood Bear's now even more ferocious assault fueled by fury.
Of course.
Each held an ace up their sleeve.
None of the three had yet unleashed their unique mind-images.
As if tacitly agreeing to clash purely with martial arts, sans mind-images.
But.
Soon, that balance shattered.
From a completely unexpected quarter.
While other righteous warriors systematically countered the cavalry with their own formations.
One man alone.
Silently venturing into the heart of Gale Wind Temple, stirring chaos at will.
And.
"...!"
"Hm."
"This is..."
Not like any human's presence.
A chilling aura like a ghost's blanketed the entire battlefield in an instant.
And simultaneously.
All three gazes turned to its origin.
What they saw there.
A doll engulfed in black flames, as if it'd forsaken humanity.
Holy fire of dark hue, eternally unquenched, eternally burning, seeming to incinerate and purify all it touched.
"What the— you mad bastard...!"
At the abrupt change in the man who'd been massacring Gale Winders until moments ago, Ironwood Bear wrenched his shoulder back, instantly aiming his spear.
Even pouring in the unique mind-image he'd been saving.
Intending one thrust to pierce absolutely everything.
For if that inhuman thing stepped into the next realm in that state, Gale Wind Temple's fate was all too clear.
Ironwood Bear drew his trump card to stop him.
But again.
Moyong Danha's twin swords blocked the way.
Drawing a trajectory opposite to Returning Thrust Palm, softly wrapping the spear tip.
Returning Thrust Palm could redirect force intact, but not the intent loaded into the weapon.
Contrary to his outwardly cold demeanor, Moyong Danha hated trouble so extremely he might be called timid or cowardly.
His intent fully embodied his will.
Thus, all things impermanent.
Though not ordained, his Buddha-nature wielded it.
The intent in his swords.
Even the intent in Ironwood Bear's spear.
Returned to emptiness, leaving only.
"Ha... sly old fox."
Ironwood Bear's sigh.
And.
"I've outlived your father's lifespan."
Moyong Danha's tongue, ever cold to foes, brewed more venom.
* * *
How long had it been since he threw himself onto this land?
Now, he no longer knew.
The battlefield's heat was a drug that intoxicated even the unscathed.
Explosions, clashes, shouts, screams, death rattles.
All layered with nose-numbing blood stench.
Splitting instants of no relaxation: dodge, stab, dodge, slash, dodge, explode.
"Keuuk—"
A casual thrust effortlessly stole a life.
Were they villains?
He didn't know.
Were those he'd burst with Invincible Meteor Strike villains?
Still didn't know.
Such seemed the warrior's life.
Kill or be killed.
Under that brutally simple premise, everyone here squeezed their all to crave their own life, to seize others'.
They flailed.
They thrashed.
Kung—!
Each stomping step made the weak-willed crumble on their own.
And before he could act, they were swallowed by the battlefield's waves, dying by blades unknown friend or foe.
Then, did he take that man's life?
Kang—!
He deflected a spear thrust dead at his chest.
Turning the subtleties of thrust into block, claiming the life.
This one, yes—he took this life.
One.
Another.
"H-Hiiik...!"
One who'd lost the will to resist.
"D-Die, you monster...!"
One whose neck flew even as hate-filled eyes bulged till the end.
Dodging a blade grazing his throat by a hair, yet another.
Moment's lapse, and he'd be one too.
Just another corpse among the heaps, fading namelessly.
The essence differed not.
To Central Plains folk, Gale Wind were invaders.
To Gale Wind, Central Plains were oppressors.
Merely front or back of the same paper.
Righteous, demonic, unorthodox—same.
Officials, civilians, martial artists—same.
Just adding a line to history writ in blood, with new blood.
In annals terms.
On such year, month, day: clashed with Mongol remnants in Liaodong.
Just that much.
But...
"I don't want to go through this twice."
Was there need to spill this blood, stacking tragedy's chain?
Survivors would rage at him, curse the Moyong Family, hate the Central Plains.
Human greed knew no end.
The same mistakes would repeat—
To end worldly strife, overwhelming deterrence was needed.
A savior to root out conflict.
Only then, true great martial world.
If Azure Heaven Society wouldn't take that role.
He would.
As long as he lived and breathed, no one would crumble him, his circle, his world.
"True final peace... is becoming peace myself."
The world.
Had grown vast.
No.
He had become the world.