Cho Ji-myeong's Choice
The White Demon Powder, the grainy substance like a pale devil, scattered bluish under the moonlit night sky. At that very moment, alarm bells tolled "deng deng deng deng!" inside the heads of the dark martial artists.
And then—they ran.
Each one hurled themselves toward the nearest of the four exits they had entered by, desperate to escape the grand training ground before the infernal firestorm descended.
They exploded their inner energy at once to flee, driving their qi cores to the limit. In their panic, many stumbled from the backlash of force surging through their bodies.
But almost all of them rotated their dantian to the maximum, pouring everything into their movement arts.
This was the vanguard of the Demonic Cult and Heukcheonryeon alliance—fourteen hundred elite warriors, drilled to absolute precision. A force so powerful they could sweep away even the Nine Great Sects or Eight Great Houses in half a day.
But now, that overwhelming strength became their own hindrance.
The stronger warriors clogged the paths of escape. Comrades, allies, superiors, subordinates—all turned into obstacles, into enemies that blocked survival.
In an instant, the formation collapsed. The so-called four exits—their only roads to life—became a death race, survival by first-come, first-served.
The leaders and mid-level commanders gave no orders.
What orders could they give?
Should they command them to fight? Or order them to retreat in formation?
When death pressed down by the heartbeat, words were useless. To shout would only waste breath—breath they would need to hold once the poison truly fell.
It was the silent scream of desperation.
At the instant the Formless Deadly Poison descended, after the first cry of terror, came a stampede of silence.
But for fourteen hundred men to escape through four exits in a heartbeat—impossible.
And the high-level masters, arrayed at the front lines to meet the Tang Clan's last stand, were the furthest from those exits.
Now, with the poison descending, what choices would they make? What of the mid-level commanders? The rank-and-file?
What had been a natural formation for a final clash against the Tang Clan now became a formation birthing tragedy.
The Fall of Loyalty
Baekrang Unit's third deputy commander, Yungjeok, froze for a split second as he watched the poison spread over the grand martial arena. But he was no mere drifter—he was Baekrang's elite.
He spun his body and whirled his dantian at full power. The only art he needed now was lightness skill.
But the path was clogged—packed with his closest comrades.
A moment of hesitation.
And in that moment, a lance of pain seared across his back.
"Keurhk!"
Yungjeok collapsed, turning to see the attacker—a monk of the Asura Corps, wielding a staff, eyes bloodshot. A man who only an hour earlier had traded silly jokes with him!
Kwaajik!
The monk's foot, infused with qi, stomped Yungjeok's head as he tried to take flight. His vision dimmed—just in time to see the monk himself fall, struck in the back by a blade from Sahwanggung.
"Kuhuhuhu…"
Yungjeok laughed as he died. His killer had fallen with him.
See you in the afterlife, you damned monk.
And so, at the moment of death, he ground his teeth not at his enemy—but at his ally.
The Stampede
Shweeeek!
Blades tore through the ranks of the alliance.
"Kuaaaaah!"
"Out of the way!"
Paaah! Pung! Pung! Pung!
Bursts of energy exploded everywhere. Sword qi from peak masters lashed toward the exits.
Survival—survival at any cost! None would die like a dog here!
Hell itself descended. Comrades of moments ago now ripped into each other with slaughterous intent, unleashing savage attacks.
"Uaaaaagh!"
"H-how could you—!"
"Lord Leader!"
Those who tried to escape first clashed endlessly. And then the Formless Deadly Poison poured down upon them—white death falling before their eyes.
Some could not bear the terror and screamed.
"Uwaaaaah!"
And those who screamed were struck down—by their comrades' energy waves, by their superiors' swords, collapsing in fountains of blood.
Who could tell whether they died from blades, from qi, or from the poison?
The side effects of overdriving qi cores left many spitting blood. To the terrified dark martial artists, it only confirmed the poison's deadly effect.
Overwhelmed by despair and the desperate urge to live, their faces turned ashen. They became a mob of lunatics.
Those who hesitated for even an instant were trampled mercilessly by masters rushing from behind.
As they tangled with each other, failing to escape, the poison reached them.
There was only one path to survival now.
A breath—two at most. Find shelter anywhere, seal one's breathing, and circulate qi.
Many turned their heads. Escape through the exits was hopeless. Their eyes fixed on the inner fortress wall glimpsed between the pavilions.
Beyond lay the outer fortress. A place of deadly traps and Tang Clan mechanisms.
And yet, men abandoned the exits and rushed for the walls.
The Tang Clan's Roar
Meanwhile, the instant Cheon Ryu yeong gave the order to unleash the poison, he spurred his white horse toward the Tang warriors.
"Tang Clan!"
At his call, they answered with a roar.
"Waaaaaah!"
Hearts pounded wildly.
Blood surged hot through their veins. Muscles bulged along their forearms gripping weapons, their legs coiled and ready to spring.
Tang Cheolhyeon, the Poison Vulture, cried out to Cheon Ryu yeong, his face flushed.
"I entrust command to you!"
Moisture rimmed his eyes.
It was overwhelming. The Tang Clan, whom he thought doomed to collapse, had resurrected at the edge of death. Life snatched from the jaws of oblivion—his chest quaked with emotion.
Never in his life had his heart burned like this—not even when he himself had ascended to the realm of poison mastery.
Beside him, Dokchalnyeo screamed with the others. Tang Nam-u, appearing at her side, thrust his fist to the sky and roared as well.
Old and young, man and woman, all Tang Clan members raised their voices.
Cheon Ryu yeong nodded to Tang Cheolhyeon, then swept his gaze over the Tang warriors.
"Chase the enemy—but keep your formation! Do not plunge deep into their ranks!"
"Waaaaaaah!"
"Drummers, strike the war drums! Go! From this moment, the battlefield belongs to you! Show them the terror of the Tang Clan! Show them our strength! Avenge the comrades who died protecting this house!"
"Uwoooooooh!"
Doom, doom, doom, doom!
The middle-aged drummer beside Tang Cheolhyeon struck the drum with tears streaming down his face.
Roars and drumbeats shook the air. And the Tang warriors surged forward, stepping boldly upon the fallen dust of the "Formless Deadly Poison," their spirits ablaze.
At the head of the charge rode Cheon Ryu yeong.
Tak, tak!
His white horse galloped forward, unhesitating and yet unhurried, steady and composed.
Cheon Ryu yeong felt the pain in his chest growing sharper, but he clenched his teeth.
The battle was not yet over. And the long road to reclaiming Sichuan Branch still lay ahead.
To forget his pain, he shouted louder:
"Unleash the hidden weapons!"
No sooner had the order been given than the Tang warriors hurled their concealed weapons with all their strength—from their sleeves, inner pockets, and belts. Those who had already expended their stock during the earlier fighting in the training ground stamped their feet in frustration.
Shuaaak!
Shweeeeek!
The shrill hiss of steel cut into the chaotic enemy rear.
"Aaaagh!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
Screams, screams, and more screams!
In an instant, nearly two hundred collapsed. Yet not a single dark martial artist dared turn to face the Tang Clan.
At the front, Pyeong-u led the charge.
Shugagagak!
Dozens of his sword auras tore through the enemy rear, already a maelstrom of panic.
"Kyaaaagh!"
"Uaaaagh!"
The screams came endlessly, only to be drowned out by the war drums and the Tang Clan's roars.
Doom-doom-doom-doom!
The drumbeat quickened, the Tang warriors' shouts grew fiercer.
To the dark martial artists, gasping for breath and staggering in disarray, it was the wailing summons of the underworld.
"Hahahaha! I am Yacha Sword Jo Jeonhu! Don't just show me your backs—face me, you cowardly demon wretches!"
Jo Jeonhu swung his massive five-chi sword like a madman. Beside him, Namgung Su, the Changcheonryong, displayed the refined sword techniques worthy of the Namgung Clan's Third Young Master.
Dokgo Seol, the Sword Peak, and Jang Deukmu, the Flying Sword, also unleashed their skills, no less dazzling.
At first, they had not planned to exert themselves so greatly. But Pyeong-u's display of unmatched prowess had provoked them—both the shock of realizing his superiority, and the pride that refused to let themselves look lesser by comparison.
Their fierce onslaught ignited the Tang warriors' morale even further.
After all, this was the Tang Clan's own home ground.
As its masters, they had to prove their strength.
And so, the dark martial artists crumbled—assailed both from within and without.
Those unable to withstand the assault broke and fled toward the outer fortress. Immediately, Tang warriors surged forward to cut them down.
But Cheon Ryu yeong yanked his reins, halting his horse, and shouted:
"Hold formation! Tang Clan elders and officers, control your subordinates!"
"By your command!"
The aged elders and the middle-aged commanders answered almost in unison. By now, even the eldest among them acknowledged Cheon Ryu yeong as their commander—for he had been recognized by Tang Cheolhyeon, and he was the one who had given them fire, victory, and hope.
His voice rang out again:
"Focus on the enemy leaders, including the young cult master! Capture them!"
When the poison was unleashed, Nok ak cheon and the leadership had carved their way through their own men to slip toward the passage beside the Taedang Hall.
Slaughtering their subordinates to save themselves—despicable, but natural. Those who have much cling hardest to life.
Thus, Cheon Ryu yeong pointed to the true objective.
And not only the Tang Clan, but the dark martial artists also heard his words.
In that instant, instinctively, they realized where survival lay.
To force one's way through the passages was difficult, and even if one made it, Tang warriors chasing the leadership would cut them down.
So what then?
Many turned away.
Over the inner fortress wall, toward the outer fortress!
Of course, they knew the outer fortress was filled with terrifying Tang mechanisms—they had seen it earlier when the Red Wolf Unit advanced and was torn apart.
Yet so many had already rushed that way. They hoped those first to go would be sacrificed to break the traps, opening a path for the rest.
With a single shout, Cheon Ryu yeong had split the fleeing enemy into two groups—masters forcing through the passages, and the bulk of the elite heading for the outer fortress.
As more abandoned the passages for the outer wall, the Tang Clan's formation wavered again.
The sight of so many panicked enemies fleeing was tempting. The Tang warriors wanted to chase them and cut them down—it was only natural.
But Cheon Ryu yeong shouted once more:
"Hold formation! Advance through the nearest passage and pursue the enemy! The ones we must capture are their leaders!"
His commanding voice snapped the Tang warriors out of their temptation.
Even so, regret flickered across their faces. Clearly, attacking the fleeing rabble would yield maximum results with minimal risk.
Even elders like Jeolsudo and Jeolgangdok hesitated. But in the end, they followed Cheon Ryu yeong's order.
After all, the enemies fleeing under the "Formless Deadly Poison" could be dealt with later.
The Tang warriors still believed utterly that the flour was truly the dreaded poison.
In truth, Cheon Ryu yeong had split the enemy on purpose.
Those who rushed to the outer fortress would mostly die to the mechanisms.
Yet with so many of them, enough would clamber over the corpses of their comrades and escape the Tang walls.
And what would they do then? What choice would they have but one?
They would seek somewhere to hide and circulate their qi, believing themselves poisoned. The nearest place was the thick forest of Mount Sojun.
And waiting there, scattered in ambush, was the Baekho Unit of Nangwang Bang Yacheol.
Thus, the Tang Clan need not waste themselves attacking desperate enemies. A cornered rat will bite even the cat, dragging it to death.
Those enemies were destined to perish anyway—either in the fortress traps or in the Baekho Unit's ambush.
The flow of battle, the psychology of men, and the lay of the land—all were pieces already painted into Cheon Ryu yeong's design.
The dark faction's leaders had come to destroy the Tang Clan with one thought in mind:
To claim the greatest victory with the smallest sacrifice.
But so too had Cheon Ryu yeong.