At the Kunlun disciple's stunned question, the surrounding injured warriors felt a sudden, intense curiosity.
What could Cheon Ryuyeong have said to change a man's expression so completely in the blink of an eye?
For this brief moment, their interest in his words even outweighed the brutal reality at the front line.
In response to the question Who are you?, Cheon Ryuyeong blinked and replied,
"I'm Cheon Ryuyeong. No—wait. What are you doing? This is urgent."
His brow furrowed, and the Kunlun disciple startled, replying hastily,
"Ah! My apologies, I was just… too shocked…"
The young man turned and sprinted off without further delay.
Cheon Ryuyeong's gaze returned to the front, his focus unwavering. From time to time, he cast a sidelong glance toward the right-hand grasslands.
If the Demonic Cult had additional reinforcements, they must not arrive now—they had to come only after the Black Wolf Unit was destroyed. Of course, the best outcome would be that they never came at all.
His face was calm, but his palms were slick with anxious sweat.
Jjeooong!
The nine-cheok Blue Dragon Halberd met a five-cheok greatsword with a crash that spat blue sparks.
A flicker of surprise passed through Cho Jimyeong's eyes. The massive man who had blocked his relentless advance—
The Yacha Sword, Jo Jeonhu—glared at him.
"Black Wolf Unit Leader! Don't underestimate us. I am the Yacha Sword, Jo Jeonhu, and I'll be the one to stop you."
Hot-blooded pride burned in his voice.
To him, Cho Jimyeong was the enemy who had killed his childhood friends from the Northern Sea Ice Palace. His expression carried the icy steel of vengeance.
Here was one of the rare opponents against whom he could unleash his full skill. His martial heart blazed with the desire to win.
His mission was not to defeat Cho Jimyeong, only to buy time. But if he could bring the man down? All the better.
For the first time since the battle began, Cho Jimyeong stopped moving forward. The corners of his mouth curled into a long, mocking grin.
"Hohoho… the Yacha Sword? You're nothing but a jackal."
Jo Jeonhu answered coldly,
"Laugh while you can. Let me tell you just one thing—do you remember the Northern Sea Ice Palace? That's my home. My childhood friends died at your hands. I'll have my revenge—"
A gleam lit Cho Jimyeong's eyes, and he cut him off.
"Oh? Then I'll send you to join them."
His halberd sliced through the air toward Jo Jeonhu's head.
Shwaaaak!
Jjeong!
The shriek of metal tearing the air rang out, and Jo Jeonhu's eyes widened. A groan slipped between his clenched teeth.
"Khh… stronger than I thought…"
The impact struck his entire body harder than before. Which meant that until now, Cho Jimyeong hadn't even been using his full strength. Was he holding back for fear of the Invincible Sword?
Gasping in pain, Jo Jeonhu slid back four steps. Cho Jimyeong closed the gap in an instant.
Buuuuung!
The halberd, lifted high, came crashing down like a falling boulder.
Eudeudeudeuk.
Jo Jeonhu gritted his teeth and swung his sword upward to meet it.
Jjeong!
"Khh!"
He couldn't suppress the groan this time—five more steps skidded by under his feet before he could stop.
He had always prided himself on never losing in sheer strength. But now he knew how hollow that pride was.
Only three strikes—just three—and his arms were already tingling, his muscles screaming.
Cho Jimyeong pressed forward again.
The halberd rose high once more, then plunged down. Jo Jeonhu realized that if he kept meeting it head-on, either his sword or his body—or both—would be shattered. He dodged to the side instead.
A head-on clash wasn't the only way to fight.
His footwork, surprisingly nimble for his bulky frame, carried him clear—until his eyes twitched in shock.
The halberd, falling vertically a moment ago, turned almost at a right angle midair and chased his waist.
How…?
The disbelief in his eyes was plain. To suddenly change the halberd's trajectory with such force—without slowing down at all—wasn't just brute strength, it was something beyond human.
Jjeoong!
He blocked, barely. His grip felt as if it would tear apart, his wrists aching sharply. If this kept up, his arms might soon go numb—and that would be the end.
"Haa… haa…"
His breath was already ragged. Cho Jimyeong, meanwhile, looked almost relaxed as he lifted the halberd again. In Jo Jeonhu's eyes, he was no longer human—this was the real Yacha.
"Damn… this is a real monster!"
The curse escaped his lips before he could stop it.
Shwaaaak!
The halberd stabbed down like lightning.
Jjeong!
Jo Jeonhu threw everything into blocking it, but still stumbled backward. The fact that he hadn't been thrown to the ground was a miracle in itself.
Cho Jimyeong barked a laugh.
"Is that all you've got? Is that how you think you'll avenge your friends? Hahaha!"
He thrust the halberd into the sky, then brought it down like a thunderbolt.
Jjeong!
Jo Jeonhu's vision swam.
"C–come to think of it, they weren't really close friends."
"…"
"…"
A brief silence.
Then Cho Jimyeong chuckled.
"Kukuk… so you still have the breath to joke."
"No, seriously. We just exchanged letters out of habit. I barely remember their faces."
Jo Jeonhu wanted to talk as much as possible—anything to rest his arms before they went numb. But Cho Jimyeong wasn't a man who could be stalled with idle chatter.
Jjeong! Jjeong! Jjeong! — Jjeong jjeong!
The halberd hammered down again and again, driving him back.
The attacks were simple, but heavy and fast—no clumsy trick could break through them.
Jjeong jjeong jjeong…
Jo Jeonhu's thoughts grew hazy. At this rate, he'd die a bachelor, never having married.
He had often said he'd have no regrets if he died in battle against a great master. But honestly—wouldn't it be better to survive after such a fight?
And there were still things he wanted to do as a man—like avoiding dying an old bachelor.
As he kept falling back, he cursed at the Hyeonmu Corps behind him.
What the hell are they doing? It's time to switch already!
With a fierce shout, Dokgo Seol kicked off the ground, her sword aimed squarely at the Black Wolf Unit's 2nd Squad Leader, Pareuk. The man, his long black hair flying, had just cut down an orthodox fighter's arm and was about to twist away.
"Oh?"
A strange note of admiration left Pareuk's lips as he flicked his wrist, lifting his oddly shaped saber.
Tiiing!
Dokgo Seol's well-timed strike bounced off effortlessly.
It was the subtle mastery of Transplanting Flowers Onto Trees (Ihwajeopmok)—redirecting the force of a strong attack and sending it elsewhere.
With only minimal strength and movement, it produced maximum effect—a level of skill impossible without years of refinement. If executed even slightly poorly, it was a double-edged sword that could cost the user their life.
Pareuk watched Dokgo Seol stagger back and let a cruel smile curl his lips.
"Kukuku… Was that a sneak attack you were aiming for, pretty little fledgling?"
Before his taunt even ended, his oddly shaped saber whipped up a fierce wind, arcing down as if to split her head in two.
Her initial strike—into which she had poured her full strength—had been brushed aside so easily that her balance faltered.
It had been a mistake.
The sight of the 4th Squad Leader's death and the slaughter of his subordinates had triggered a fear that the front line might collapse at any moment, pushing her into a reckless attack without thought for her position.
Shugagagak!
The saber sliced through the air, grazing her head.
Dozens of strands of hair scattered in the air, and the heroic headband on her forehead fluttered away in the wind. Her short, jet-black hair rolled to her shoulders like a wave.
Had she turned a fraction of a moment slower, Dokgo Seol would have left this world then and there.
Pareuk's lips twisted as he prepared to swing again—then his eyes went wide.
"A woman?"
And not just a woman—an impossibly beautiful one, the kind whose beauty could steal the breath from a man's lungs.
His saber wavered—only for a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Shwaaaak!
Dokgo Seol's sword shot into the opening without hesitation.
Pusshk!
"Urgh!"
Pareuk's face contorted in pain. He whipped his body back, flipping through the air.
Paaah!
A ribbon of blood scattered overhead—her blade had pierced his right forearm and withdrawn, leaving a trail of crimson.
"Khh… damn it."
Landing on his feet, Pareuk ground his teeth.
Rage boiled in him—at himself for such a blunder. Now that he thought about it, even when she'd first attacked, her strength hadn't been enough to warrant using Ihwajeopmok (Transplanting Flowers Onto Trees). He could have blocked her sword without it.
He shifted into a ready stance, anticipating that she would chase him after his flip. This was the perfect moment for him to counter.
But instead, Dokgo Seol stepped back, well clear of his range. His brows knit.
Why? That was a perfect chance.
Then he thought he understood.
The Black Wolf Unit Leader was surging forward unhindered, his men clashing and pushing through the orthodox lines.
Which meant—he had been forced back alone. That woman must have feared becoming isolated if she pressed the attack.
But… he was wrong.
The orthodox bangjin was shifting with deliberate precision. It looked as though the center was collapsing under the Black Wolf Unit's breakthrough, but in truth…
They were transitioning into a Crane Wing Formation (hakikjin).
What looked like the flanks retreating in panic was actually the wings of the crane slowly opening. And soon, they would spread fully.
Pareuk sneered at her retreating form.
"Kukuku… So timid. Definitely a fledgling."
Dropping his guard, he stepped forward again.
Drip, drip.
Blood slid down his forearm and splashed onto the ground. He lifted the arm and ran his tongue along it.
"A crossdressing beauty… and a peerless one at that. My type, but I can't let you live—not after you made me bleed."
He quickened his pace—five steps—then sprang into the air.
In a single bound of a jang and a half, his saber came slicing down, its blade radiating killing intent.
Shuaaaaaak!
A raging torrent—blade wind and sword energy mixed into a single, overwhelming wave.
Dokgo Seol felt as though the pressure alone might suffocate her, but her eyes widened, locking on her opponent.
There are only two ways to face fear: confront it, or avoid it.
And right now, she had no choice but the former.
Stay calm! One more mistake and I'm dead.
Steeling herself, she held her blade steady, moving it in a rapid zigzag.
The Four Seas Sword—First Section, Third Form.
Dominating the World's Defense (Jonghyeong Cheonha-su).
A guard stance said to cover all directions so that no strike could pass—when perfected, it could reach the level of a sword curtain, an impenetrable wall of steel.
It was the defensive technique she had drilled the most.
The sweat shed in training was meant to save blood in battle.
Puh puh puh puh!
Pareuk's raging torrent shattered piece by piece under her blade.
His eyes flickered with surprise. A fledgling—and a woman at that—yet she possessed swordsmanship of a fairly high caliber.
But the cruel smile never left his lips.
Shwaaaak!
He brought his saber down in a crushing blow, intending to overpower her through sheer strength.
A glint flashed in her eyes. Pivoting on her left foot, she drew her right foot back, pulling in her sword and giving it a slight shake.
Jjing-jjing-jjing!
Three rapid collisions, brushing past each other almost as one, and both blades returned to their wielders.
Pareuk's face flushed red.
It was different from earlier, but still—it was Ihwajeopmok, the same redirection technique he had used before.
"Tsk tsk…"
He clicked his tongue. The careless contempt he'd held for the fledgling woman was gone, swept a thousand ri away.
She was younger, with less real combat experience, and her inner power and strength were certainly below his. Yet she was meeting him calmly, defusing his attacks with the best defenses she could muster.
Fledgling or not, she was no one to underestimate.
"At that level… you must be quite a well-known hougijisu in the orthodox world."
He advanced as he spoke. Dokgo Seol stepped back, but her eyes held no fear.
"I am the Sword Peak, Dokgo Seol."
"Oh? So you're that Cheonghwa. I see."
Dokgo Seol bristled.
"Not Cheonghwa—Sword Peak!"
"Very well. Sword Peak it is. I acknowledge you… and now I'll kill you. This time, I'll strike with full recognition of your skill—so prepare yourself. Kukuku…"
Suddenly, his body flooded with a surge of killing intent. In the next instant, he exploded forward.
Papapapaaaah!
His feet stamped the ground in a blur, his upper body swaying wildly from side to side.
Dokgo Seol's eyes went wide.
Where is he coming from?
Too fast. Too erratic.
She couldn't even guess where his saber would strike. He kept it hidden behind his back.
Head? Waist? …No—the neck.
She read his shoulder line and decided, moving her sword toward the high guard—only to gasp in shock a heartbeat later. Her sword was rising, but his saber was sweeping for her waist.
It was too late to block.
A victor's smile bloomed on Pareuk's lips.
"Farewell, little lady."