The Last Defendant
Far from the garrison of the Trap Three Young Masters.
On the road leading into Luoyang city.
It felt less like a road and more like wading through a stream.
Torrential rain and darkness.
The withdrawing members of the Jeomchang Sect could not see so much as an inch ahead. The only thing that let them keep any sense of direction at all was the brilliant glow of Luoyang’s city lights, piercing through the rain in the distance.
“Sect Master! Another packhorse has broken its ankle!”
“A cart’s axle snapped after it sank into the mud!”
The words felt like accusations leveled at him for ordering the retreat in the dead of night under this downpour.
“Leave only the essentials. Divide the loads and do not slow the march!”
The supply officer answered the former Sect Master of Jeomchang.
“Even so, there is simply too much! The laborers forced to walk this mire will not last—!”
“Then the warriors can share the burden, can they not?!”
The old man’s roar, laced with internal qi, cut through the rain like a blade.
“Have you no hands?! Or have you lost your arms as well?!”
Under a presence that bordered on killing intent, every mouth snapped shut. Without another word, they began dividing the loads among themselves.
"……"
Even after confirming the open resentment on the warriors’ faces, the former Sect Master of Jeomchang turned his head and pretended not to see. Damn it all… As if he wanted to be doing this in the middle of a storm, at this hour of the night. Not a single one of them truly understands. That devil Yeon So-hyeon—what kind of monster he is, what he is capable of…
That night, too, the rain had poured without mercy.
The only difference was— …it had been summer then.
The Family Head of the Luoyang Sword Family. The man called the Master of the Sword had summoned him in secret.
“Jeomchang’s place within the Sword Family is nearly secured, yet I hear you still lack proper recognition.”
“As one might expect… a stone that rolled in from outside is always treated thus, is it not?”
“That is why I called you. I wish to give both you and Jeomchang an opportunity.”
The southern campaign had been a success, yet the region remained a nest of endless incidents.
“It seems I must take personal command once more to settle the latest affair. If Jeomchang stands with me and earns merit, what say you?”
Merit earned at the Family Head’s side would surely force the existing powers of the Sword Family to accept Jeomchang.
“…Forgive me, but I fear Jeomchang’s warriors are not yet ready for the battlefield.”
“Is that so? Then there is nothing to be done.”
The Family Head had given him a solemn charge.
“No one must ever learn that I am leaving my post again.”
“Of course.”
Yet he had refused.
Because…
On another night of pouring summer rain, inside a certain residence within the Luoyang Sword Family—
“When the Family Head who holds every power in his hands abandons his seat whenever the mood strikes him, how is this vast house supposed to function properly?!”
The Sect Master of the Zhongnan Sect—who had become a subsidiary far earlier than Jeomchang—had raised his voice.
“The family’s road ahead is smooth, yet decisions crawl like snails! At a critical moment when we must seize momentum for growth, the one man who holds every authority keeps vanishing like this—that is the problem!”
The Zhongnan Sect Master ranted as though he alone had built everything they possessed.
“S-Sect Master. Your words may be true, but your voice is far too loud.”
He had wiped cold sweat and urged the man to lower his tone.
“In a house without its Family Head, who dares stop the mouth of the great Zhongnan Sect Master?!”
Even after that boast, the Zhongnan Sect Master seemed to grow uneasy; he dropped his voice and asked him directly.
“Well then. It is time you made your decision as well, is it not?”
“Decision regarding what, exactly?”
He had played ignorant on purpose.
“Come now—the Grand Design. The Grand Design. The great plan to raise the Luoyang Sword Family to even greater heights.”
The Grand Design.
Fine words for what was, in truth, little different from open rebellion.
“…Even so, to scheme behind the Family Head’s back while he is away—”
“Nonsense. When one undertakes a great work, what is front and what is back?”
“That may be, yet…”
In his heart he had already decided to join them. He was merely delaying to drive up his own price. If not for that, I would have joined the Family Head’s secret campaign long ago.
Betraying them to the Family Head was never an option. Even though the Family Head’s absence was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, the highest ranks already knew. That alone proved there was no such thing as a perfect secret in a house this vast. …If I am branded an informer, that will truly be the end of me.
“Hahaha. I already know what lies in your heart.”
“…Pardon?”
The Zhongnan Sect Master had given him a meaningful smile.
“You want a proper seat secured after the Grand Design succeeds. So I have already persuaded our comrades…”
Excellent…! He had extracted every concession possible. To refuse further after they had gone this far would only invite elimination.
“If you have considered me so carefully, I can hardly refuse.”
“You will join us, then?”
He had wet his parched lips, about to speak the words of acceptance—
In that very instant.
“Arrest every traitor!”
The Family Head’s personal guard and escort—The Agency—stormed in.
“Any who resist will be executed on the spot!”
“Sect Master! We are almost at the city!”
A subordinate’s shout snapped the former Sect Master of Jeomchang back to the present.
“Good! Keep advancing!”
He urged his exhausted men onward.
Yet even now, the memory of that night—being dragged through the mud and rain in chains—remained vivid beyond endurance.
The Great Purge.
He had been present at the place where that midsummer blood-history began.
“Report from the scouts!”
A subordinate ran up shouting.
“Large-scale force approaching from the direction of Luoyang city ahead!”
The nape of his neck went ice-cold.
“Identification complete—Luoyang Sword Family. Main house forces!”
The old scar still running down his back throbbed with especial violence.
Inside the encirclement.
The fortified district of the poor laborers.
On a rooftop beneath the hammering rain, warriors lay flat as corpses. They were the reconnaissance team of the Beheading Unit.
Wrapped in matte rain cloaks, they carefully crawled back in retreat.
The man who had created the temporary Beheading Unit—the Sect Master of the Hyeongsan Northern Stream—wore a dubious expression.
The black camouflage paint on the Hyeongsan Northern Stream Sect Master’s face looked especially awkward.
The temporary scout captain produced a waterproofed map and pointed to a single spot.
There was no proper light, yet a night pearl the size of a millet grain was more than enough for men of exceptional internal qi to read a map.
And yet, until this moment, there had not been a single engagement. They had not even been discovered.
"……"
The deliberation was brief.
His combat instincts had dulled considerably, yet the experience he had accumulated over the years had not vanished.
These were enemies who had nearly allowed a surprise attack under this very downpour. Temporarily abandoning the outer districts in order to tighten their cordon was entirely plausible.
At the Hyeongsan Northern Stream Sect Master’s sound transmission, the warrior responsible for the sabotage teams stepped forward.
The corners of the Sect Master’s mouth twisted into something resembling a smile.
Because their faces were painted black, only the white teeth reflected by the tiny night pearl gleamed in the darkness.
A short while later.
One sabotage team had taken position in a defensive strongpoint that showed no sign of enemies.
The man planting the charges received a shrug from the warrior acting as his assistant.
The warrior on watch grinned and joined the sound transmission.
They already swaggered as though the work were finished.
Yet one man did not join their conversation.
"……"
The young warrior of the Hyeongsan Northern Stream simply stared down from the building, devoted solely to the duty he had been given.
The warriors behind him muttered among themselves by sound transmission.
The young Hyeongsan warrior could overhear every transmission from men whose skill fell short of his own.
"……"
In the past he would have beaten the lot of them into pulp for not knowing their place. Is this fight a righteous one…?
The words that there were not merely enemies and allies. The face of the dead government soldier who had been the youngest of them. The face of the enemy child who had looked up at him from a field cot. …Is it still all right to do this?
An unshaved, unkempt beard cast only dark shadows across his face.
Everyone snapped at the man who had failed to grasp the plan.
The warrior on outer watch thumped his own chest in frustration.
"……"
A brief silence settled.
Had he been too harsh toward a peer in a transmission everyone could hear? Feeling awkward, the warrior sent another message.
No reply came.
Still nothing.
The transmission cut off.
"……?"
Sensing something wrong, the young warrior of the Hyeongsan Northern Stream gripped the hilt of the sword he had already half-drawn from its scabbard.
He waited. No reports returned.
They mocked me for being temporary team leader from Hyeongsan… are they playing some prank now…?
In peacetime, perhaps. But in the middle of an actual operation, deep inside enemy territory, to toy with their direct superior? That was grounds for summary execution. However rotten they might be, they were still warriors of the Sword Family. They could not be that utterly devoid of sense.
Something is happening…!
He abandoned the rooftop observation post he was responsible for and headed down the stairs.
Creeeak—
The sound of the wooden steps beneath his feet was swallowed by the rain. Moreover, by employing light-body arts, his footfalls grew even quieter.
Creeeak—
Yet the faint vibration and noise transmitted through the tip of his foot felt inexplicably grating.
Reaching the door to the chamber where the explosives had been planted, he carefully projected his energy inside.
No presence whatsoever within…!
Should he withdraw at once and report to another team or the main force? …And go report when I do not even know where the main force is right now?
There was no choice.
Clamping the sword he had already drawn against his side, he carefully opened the door.
Plip. Plip-plip. Plip-plip-plip.
Through the narrow gap came the successive sound of something liquid falling from within.
Was rain leaking because the building was unfinished?
"……"
The water running from his own thoroughly soaked hand contained far more sweat than rainwater.
The door he was opening with the greatest possible care bumped softly against something with a dull thud.
"……!"
He tried to stop the hand pushing the door, but whatever it had struck rolled away, and the door swung open of its own accord.
“Hhk…!”
His eyes met a pair of eyes that showed only the whites. He swallowed his breath.
The object the opening door had struck was unmistakably the severed head of the team member who had been planting the explosives.
Blood from that severed head had soaked thickly into the floor.
He had locked gazes with that head.
Goosebumps raced across his entire body.
Trembling violently in a chill that belied the month of April, he forced his gaze forward.
It was a voice like molten iron boiling over, a voice like tens of thousands of vengeful spirits crying out as one.
Seated atop the heap of explosives, a pitch-black figure wore a twisted smile beneath a white mask.
He lifted a long-nailed finger. In that direction, the headless corpses of the team members hung from the ceiling, swaying gently.
Plip. Plip-plip.
Plip. Plip.
The sound he had mistaken for leaking rain was the blood dripping from those corpses and striking the floor.
“U-uwaaaaah—!”