Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 021
Chapter Title: Search Party Deployment
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The order to deploy had come down. The seven members of Squad 2, including Seok Du-myeong, got ready and headed to the assembly point in the training grounds.
Over fifty people had already gathered there.
Scanning the roster, Seok Du-myeong saw thirty Strike Team members and twenty-four from Demon-Exterminating Corps Squad 2's Support Team—including the seven in his own squad. Squad Leader Maeng So-bo was nowhere to be seen.
Among the thirty Strike Team members, there were quite a few elite experts.
It was proof that the higher-ups were putting some real effort into this operation.
Even at a rough glance, there were more than five peak-level masters, and the rest seemed to be seasoned veterans with plenty of combat experience—pulled from the Subdue Demon Corps and Assault Corps.
Leading the Search Party was Sama Jung, the Subdue Demon Corps First Squad Leader—a man Seok Du-myeong knew all too well.
"Shit, we're screwed."
Yeom-pal muttered under his breath the moment he spotted Sama Jung, voicing exactly what Seok Du-myeong was thinking.
Sama Jung was a peak-level master, known as the right-hand man of the Subdue Demon Corps Leader.
His moniker was Changpyeong's One Sword.
A nickname tacked onto a regional name like that always raised eyebrows in the martial world.
Taken literally, it just meant he was the best swordsman in some backwater called Changpyeong.
It was the kind of everyday label slapped on someone without any standout feats.
The issue was the size of the region. Who in their right mind would strut around calling themselves World's Greatest Swordsman?
They'd lose their head before long.
Skill mattered, of course—people wouldn't give a nickname like that to someone incompetent...
That was why even nicknames with a single province upfront were rare.
How many provinces were there in the world, after all?
Sure, if the region was massive, it carried weight—but who knew or cared where Changpyeong huddled in some forgotten corner of the realm?
In any case, Sama Jung was undeniably a peak-level master.
No one questioned his martial prowess.
The problem was how the Subdue Demon Corps troops rated him: abysmally.
His ambition and thirst for glory were off the charts, driving his subordinates into meat grinders far too often.
It was so bad that among the Subdue Demon Corps rank and file, his nickname was Changpyeong's Dead Spawn.
Sure, the units under him racked up kills in every battle, but the body count on his side was just as brutal.
They said an incompetent commander on the battlefield was scarier than the enemy.
But a reckless one made you want to kill them even more.
Gazing at Sama Jung, Seok Du-myeong felt a chill creep up his spine.
Though organized as a Search Party, the troops were split into search units and miscellaneous support, assembling separately to receive orders.
"Alright, double-check your gear and packs."
Squad Leader Jo Ja-muk of Squad 2 was handing out supplies and equipment, urging them to be thorough.
Considering the makeup of the support crew, it looked like they'd cherry-picked from Demon-Exterminating Corps Squad 2's five squads—either the ones short on manpower or full teams like Squad 2.
If casualties piled up on this mission, they'd probably merge three squads into one.
What a bunch of bastards.
Having spent years in this hellhole, Seok Du-myeong could see their schemes plain as day.
Rage boiled in his chest. To them, rogue Demon-Exterminating Corps swordsmen were nothing but expensive consumables.
*
That night.
The fifty-four Search Party members crossed Song River under cover of darkness, slipping into Demonic Cult territory.
After marching through the night, they found a suitable spot, camouflaged themselves, and took a brief rest as dawn broke. Gong Seo-chil, I Jo-hyeok, and the other Demon-Exterminating Corps support crew bustled about preparing breakfast.
"Brother Du-myeong, there's booze in the pack I'm carrying."
Yeom-pal sidled up to Seok Du-myeong, who was sitting and resting, whispering low.
"For real?"
"Brother, do I have a regular nose or what?"
"True, it's better than a mutt's."
Yeom-pal proudly scanned the surroundings.
"I've stashed one bottle away, so keep that in mind. I'll make time for a drink soon enough."
'Damn, that guy's got a talent for it.'
Seok Du-myeong nodded inwardly, acknowledging Yeom-pal's knack.
But he couldn't suppress the surge of fury.
Who the hell brings booze on a Search Party? These lunatics!'
The Demonic Cult that Seok Du-myeong knew wasn't called the martial world's strongest single organization for nothing.
Forged in harsh lands under a law of the jungle, its cultists were no pushovers.
Their savagery was something Murim Alliance troops could never match.
Back when the war's early, brutal clashes raged, the Alliance's officers and troops hadn't been the clusterfuck they were now.
That's how they'd held the line without folding, turning it into a stalemate.
But as the war dragged on into deadlock, new replacements and volunteers filled the ranks—mostly incompetents chasing personal gain.
Now, the force teemed with officers more terrifying than the enemy for their uselessness and more kill-worthy for their pointless bravado.
The unit marched on.
Moving a group this large by day was too risky, so they split: vanguard of ten, main body of twenty, rear guard of fifteen and nine—marching at set intervals.
By noon, the mountain paths gave way to open plains.
From here, even in small groups, evading enemy eyes seemed impossible, so they set up camouflage for a daytime camp and planned to move at night.
"Seo-chil, you know that Search Party leader's moniker?"
Yeom-pal called out to Gong Seo-chil, who was finally grabbing a bite after prepping lunch.
"Yeah, Changpyeong's One Sword, right?"
"Bullshit. It's Changpyeong's Dead Spawn! Bet over a hundred Subdue Demon Corps guys have gone to the afterlife on his watch, even if he doesn't know it."
Gong Seo-chil stared at Yeom-pal in shock.
Yeom-pal glanced at the Search Party crew lounging off to the side.
The Search Party members sat in their own cluster, casually eating—having others cook every meal.
Yeom-pal said this without lifting a finger himself, scarfing it down.
But he wasn't wrong.
Seok Du-myeong had eaten his fill too and was rummaging for his bedroll. With a night march ahead, sleep now while you could.
"Hey, cut the chatter and rest up while you can. All-night treks aren't a joke."
February here meant brutal cold by default, and daylight faded fast.
Even starting now, time was tight.
As dusk fell and darkness settled, Jo Ja-muk returned from the Search Party briefing with orders.
"From now on, we operate separately from the main body. They'll skirt the ridge on the plain's right via Mingjo Peak bypass. We cut straight across the plain. Stash your packs here—take only weapons and combat gear."
Seok Du-myeong's face hardened. His eyes sharpened to a blade's edge.
It was the grim expression and gaze that surfaced when he scented death—far from his usual brazen smirk.
This instinct and bold response had kept him alive through years of war.
Right now, his gut screamed it: this support squad including him wasn't just hauling gear.
The baggage was a cover. Their real role? Bait to lure out the enemy.
Seok Du-myeong gathered his close brothers.
"Seo-chil, pack emergency rations like always. Yeom-pal, fill your canteen with water—not booze. Jo-hyeok, you usually carry a dagger, right? Got it today?"
"Yeah, Brother. It's here."
"Good. Keep it safe. One last thing: stick close to me, no matter what. Don't stray."
"Brother, something up?"
Yeom-pal eyed him anxiously.
"Hope nothing is."
Seok Du-myeong's voice had turned ice-cold.
*
Squad 4 Leader Yang Dan-gu took point, followed by Squad 3, with Seok Du-myeong's Squad 2 bringing up the rear.
They'd trekked far, but the plain stretched endlessly—the distant mountains where the Demonic Cult was likely camped still loomed impossibly far.
With only scattered saplings for cover, hiding was out of the question.
Luckily, the overcast sky hid the moon. No sign of the Strike Team either.
The Demon-Exterminating Corps support trudged on, reaching a slightly rolling spot in the plain.
"Rest here!"
Yang Dan-gu halted his squad for a break.
They still had half a day's march to the wooded foothills beyond the plain, but none of the squad leaders or members in this support group were in any hurry.
From the start, they'd geared up expecting only auxiliary Strike Team support—no desire to press closer to Demonic Cult lines and risk combat.
"Seo-chil, got anything to eat?"
Yeom-pal asked Gong Seo-chil.
After lunch, they'd moved right at dusk—so not just Yeom-pal, but everyone felt the hunger.
"Here, Brother—have some of this."
Gong Seo-chil pulled dried jerky from his pack, handing it to Yeom-pal and passing it around.
Seok Du-myeong fished out his own jerky and chewed steadily.
Good thing it was cloudy—if the moon had shone bright, this terrain would've been perfect for enemy spotters.
In this wide-open plain with zero cover, stumbling into foes left nowhere to run or hide.
A master archer's volley here could be catastrophic.
As Seok Du-myeong mulled this...
Shwee—ik.
He heard an arrow slicing through the air from afar.
His senses, honed razor-sharp after his master's treatment...
Seok Du-myeong felt it clearly.
The arrows hurtling fiercely toward them...