War.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people clashed, fighting and killing each other.
Seo-jun thought as he ran.
With a single use of the Heaven-Reversing Sun and Moon Art, he could kill hundreds, but was that really feasible?
It’s easy for many to crush a single ant underfoot, but how many could stomp down on a place crawling with hundreds or thousands of ants?
And what if they weren’t ants, but people?
“What a mess.”
So, what was he supposed to do? Was he really going to judge each soldier individually, deciding who deserved to live or die?
He scoffed.
If the surviving soldiers came back, if he lost the war by a narrow margin, and if he had to watch the Namgung family go up in flames before his eyes—
‘That would be foolish.’
He wasn’t trying to be a saint. Chivalry was a luxury he’d indulge in only when circumstances allowed.
He couldn’t afford to get confused.
The enemy soldiers he didn’t know and the people he shared bonds with.
The Namgung family. His father-in-law. Commander Baek. Uncle Bae-ho. Aunt. Sister. Chun-bong. And all the others he had met along the way—more people than he could count on his fingers. He didn’t need to weigh them on a scale.
Who was more important? That was a ridiculous question.
Seo-jun’s figure shot across the sky.
Snow fell.
White snow blanketed the corpses, piling up on the shoulders of those still standing.
Anyone normal would freeze to death within a few hours.
Luckily, the fighters here were all at least of the Absolute Stage, so as long as they weren’t gravely injured, they wouldn’t have to worry about freezing.
“Damn…”
Namgung Chang-hwi glared at the tent before him. It was where the severely wounded were gathered.
Would they make it through the night? Probably not.
They’d sent a request for reinforcements from the Murim Alliance, but who knew when they’d arrive? With the Black Lotus Sect poised to strike at any moment, waiting for help wasn’t an option.
The cold that seeped to the bone would freeze the wounded, leaving behind only cold, rigid bodies in the tent by morning.
“Damn it.”
Namgung Chang-hwi roughly brushed the snow from his shoulders and headed to where the other leaders were gathered.
Pushing aside the flap, he felt the warmth hit his skin as he walked in, scratching his neck in frustration.
“This isn’t going to work.”
All eyes turned to him at his words.
Though he was a distant branch of the Namgung family, he was still Namgung and one of the few Absolute Stage masters present.
“If we stay here, we’re all going to die. We need to get the others out and leave only the necessary fighters behind.”
“Amitabha… Those who remain will surely perish.”
The venerable monk from Shaolin, Venerable Jibeak, folded his hands, his tired eyes scanning the room. Gone was the gleam from when they first met; his gaze now bore only exhaustion.
“We will stay.”
Namgung Chang-hwi sighed.
“Let’s evacuate the martial artists from the lesser sects. Even if we don’t return, it won’t be a severe blow to our families, but their sects could collapse.”
“You’re thinking backward.”
Chwikugae, the Beggars’ Sect’s Drunken Dog, frowned.
“Looking to the future, the fighters from the major sects should survive. Frankly, the lesser sects don’t make much of a difference.”
“Are you only thinking about the present?”
“What, and you think the lesser sects will be fine if the Murim Alliance falls?”
“I understand.”
Namgung Chang-hwi nodded.
“The Beggars’ Sect can leave. Namgung will handle it from here.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that…”
Chwikugae cleared his throat and looked away. Namgung Chang-hwi turned to Venerable Jibeak, who simply closed his eyes without a word.
“Amitabha…”
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Namgung Chang-hwi left the tent. The cold wind bit into his cheeks as he scanned the area. By the campfire, a group of warriors gathered.
“So there I was, telling them straight up! You fools! Stop this nonsense!”
One fighter rambled on, his mouth never closing. No one responded; the others kept their mouths shut, as if their lips were glued together.
Still, he kept talking, whether to bolster his comrades’ spirits or simply because he’d lost his mind, no one could tell.
Namgung Chang-hwi clicked his tongue and moved on.
He found the Namgung warriors gathered together, joined by monks from Shaolin and beggars from the Beggars’ Sect.
A Namgung warrior raised his head as he approached.
“You’re here.”
Another Namgung warrior, he nodded back at him.
“Sorry, but we’ll need to stay behind.”
The Namgung warriors gave a heavy nod. One beggar scratched his head and clicked his tongue.
“Well, numbers aren’t everything in a fight. Even if the lesser sects fall back, we might still have a shot at winning, right? Why the long faces?”
“The Beggars’ Sect and Shaolin are retreating.”
“What?”
The beggar’s eyebrows shot up.
“You’re telling us to run while you stay? Since when did the Beggars’ Sect grow a cowardly tail?”
A monk shook his head.
“It’s not ideal to break our vows, but a disciple of Shaolin can’t turn a blind eye to injustice. We will help.”
Namgung Chang-hwi looked at them for a moment before raising his head.
“…It’s pointless. It’s too late.”
The sinister presence approached swiftly through the darkness.
A flare shot into the sky, a mocking glow barely illuminating the heavens.
‘Discovered before we could even signal.’
That flare was likely fired by the Black Lotus Sect, taunting them.
Namgung Chang-hwi watched the distant flames before he moved.
“…Let’s go.”
His long, blue coat flapped in the snowy wind as the Namgung warriors followed him.
Blades clashed. Blood stained the ground. He stepped over an unknown corpse.
Snapping back to focus, Namgung Chang-hwi surveyed the chaos around him.
People fell like insects. Sensing an approaching attack, he reflexively swung his sword.
Clang!
As he blocked, the opponent stepped back. The Namgung warriors reinforced him, maintaining their sword formation.
The opponent showed no reaction.
“Still fighting like a girl, I see!”
It was Heukgweol from the Black Mountain Sect. He charged into the Namgung formation alone.
Namgung Chang-hwi struggled to fend him off within the formation’s rhythm.
Heukgweol wasn’t entirely untroubled, either. If he took out the surrounding warriors, it would be easier, but that would open him to an attack from Namgung Chang-hwi.
Chang-hwi swung his sword, entwining it in the formation and forcing Heukgweol back.
As Heukgweol staggered, Namgung Chang-hwi quickly assessed the situation.
Shaolin’s Venerable Jibeak and Chwikugae from the Beggars’ Sect were still alive. It wasn’t the worst situation.
No, Chwikugae had just fallen.
“Elder…!”
Chwikugae’s head burst under a powerful blow. Namgung Chang-hwi gritted his teeth.
‘This is the worst.’
The fragile balance they’d maintained was shattered. He knew all too well what an Absolute Stage fighter could do with newfound freedom, and his mind raced.
“…Support the Beggars’ Sect.”
The Namgung warriors moved swiftly, merging with the Beggars’ Sect.
The Black Lotus Sect watched in silence. The battle’s outcome had already been decided.
“Not bad for someone raised in a greenhouse.”
Chuk Mugang from the Black Dragon Gate laughed. He’d just crushed Chwikugae’s skull. Behind him, massive warriors from the Black Dragon Gate stood with ferocious intent.
“Enough chatter. That Namgung warrior is mine. Don’t interfere.”
Chuk Mugang scoffed at Heukgweol’s claim.
“So what? Am I supposed to just sit here? I don’t want to get involved in that mess.”
Nearby, Shaolin and Northern Sea Ice Palace clashed, freezing and shattering everything in golden chaos.
Namgung Chang-hwi, watching their idle conversation, sent a mental command.
[Withdraw now. If you stay here, we’ll all die. Take who you can and head for Anhui. I’ll hold them off.]
No one responded. The Namgung warriors glared at him.
“We can’t do that.”
One of them raised his sword high.
“Namgung Unyielding! Unmatched under Heaven!”
“Namgung’s Blade! Unbreakable, Unyielding!”
The warriors’ shouts echoed, and Namgung Chang-hwi frowned.
“You’re too young…”
What good was dying with such youthful fervor? Life was the only thing that gave anything meaning.
Even though he’d just ordered them to stay, if there was a way out, he shouldn’t hesitate.
“Fools.”
Namgung Chang-hwi sighed, pointing his sword. So be it. They’d all fight, cut down their enemies, and live to tell the tale.
Heukgweol grinned at him.
“This should be interesting.”
“No, we should retreat.”
“What?”
Heukgweol frowned, but Chuk Mugang shook his head.
Despite his muscular build, he was the strategist of this battlefield.
“Reinforcements have arrived. Two at the Absolute Stage. We’ve already gained enough; there’s no need to continue fighting.”