The mountain was moving.
Before the fog had lifted, a russet color began to flow down from beyond the eastern ridge.
At first, it was indistinguishable from the fog.
The russet band seeping into the deep gloom of the mountainside looked like a part of nature.
But fog makes no sound.
Shhk.
Shhhk.
The sound of stepping on fallen leaves continued steadily.
It was not a single pair of feet.
Hundreds of feet were treading the ground in the same rhythm.
Their strides were uniform, and even the height to which they raised their knees was orderly.
It was the march of an army.
Moreover, it was the walk of a discipline ingrained in their bodies through long training.
Russet monk robes.
Shaved heads.
At their waists, a Crescent Moon Saber or a long spear.
The line pouring down from the ridge was endless.
It was such a long column that when the vanguard reached the middle of the mountain, the rear had not yet left the foothills.
Not one line, but many layers.
The density of the monks descending, filling the gaps between the trees, was not one man every few trees, but one man per tree.
The column was not a straight line.
It was drawing a semicircle along the mountainside.
The ends of the column, which started from the east, extended to the southeast and northeast, forming a shape that intended to envelop the entire mountain.
As that arc narrowed, the space on the mountainside contracted like a pouch.
There was no Killing Intent on the monks' faces.
Neither anger, nor fear, nor excitement could be read.
Only their half-closed eyes and slightly parted lips were chanting the same sutra.
They were not the expressions of those heading to a battlefield, but the faces of ascetics going to offer a Buddhist service.
With those faces, they wore blades.
With those mouths, they prayed for slaughter.
Na—mu—A—mi—ta—bha.
The chanting ascended the mountain.
Hundreds of voices overlapped into a single wave, oppressing the atmosphere.
The collection of low, deep voices rising through the trees and rocks… was not a typical Buddhist chant.
It was a marching song.
In Dong Bongsu's hand, the sword vibrated faintly.
The sword itself was resonating with the approaching footsteps.
'The number…'
The points of Qi detected by the Super True Qi Field were rapidly increasing.
Each one was insignificant.
Between the high-end of the second-rate and the low-end of the first-rate.
However, the first ones he detected numbered around two hundred.
Not the main force, but the vanguard.
The interval of the footsteps coming up from the base of the mountain was even and without gaps.
Not a patrol, but an infiltration.
It was the level of a reconnaissance team meant to mop up stragglers.
"…"
With a sharp shift of his gaze, Dong Bongsu shot forward.
Paaat!
A linear acceleration as he kicked off the ground.
Instead of piercing through the trees, he climbed onto them, stepping on branches, and stood atop the crowns of the trees.
He could see everything below him clearly.
The column in russet monk robes was crawling up the mountainside.
Ten men with Crescent Moon Sabers were in the lead, followed by five or six rows of men with long spears.
It was a force of about two hundred, as expected.
Did they sense something?
The Crescent Moon Saber of the leader trembled slightly.
But his eyes, looking up, couldn't find their target.
Swoosh.
Dong Bongsu dropped from the tree like a ghost.
Downward.
Kwaang!
His landing was his entry.
The Super True Qi Field expanded.
From detection to suppression.
It stretched beyond a fifty-step radius, enveloping the entire vanguard.
The air grew heavy and sank.
Three monks at the front reflexively raised their Crescent Moon Sabers, but before their swords could even swing once, the pressure of the Super True Qi Field crushed their Qi.
The flow in their Meridians reversed, and their joints locked up.
Naturally, the sword had no choice but to move on its own.
Swoosh.
A single line.
The three at the front fell without a scream.
Dong Bongsu continued his steps.
He charged into the center of the hundred men in a single breath.
Each time the sword moved, one fell, then two.
The Super True Qi Field first suppressed their Qi, and the sword finished the job.
It wasn't sequential, but simultaneous.
The moment the field touched them, the sword had already arrived.
A Crescent Moon Saber flew toward him.
It must have been thrown from outside the field.
A group meant to check him with a kind of long-range throw.
They were probably a unit prepared in advance to deal with high-level masters.
However.
Spat!
The sword rose and struck the Crescent Moon Saber away.
In the same motion, the sword descended, cleaving the shoulder of a Rakshasa monk in front of him.
The throwing continued.
The training level of the Rakshasa Monk Corps' Throwing Squad was quite impressive.
The rear ranks took turns throwing their Crescent Moon Sabers to check the vanguard's advance, while the long spear formation in the middle pushed forward—a textbook combination.
Of course.
"…"
It was useless against Dong Bongsu.
The moment they entered the Super True Qi Field, that combination collapsed.
The long spear formation approached.
Eight long spears thrust forward simultaneously.
The spacing and timing were precise.
Dong Bongsu did not retreat a single step.
The Internal Energy imbued in the spears scattered midway, and the tips lost their power.
It would be no different from throwing a punch underwater.
Their Qi melted away in the air.
The sword weaved through the gaps between the spears as if it were an empty field.
Clang!
Clang!
Shk!
Three shafts were cut, and two were broken.
The owners of the remaining three were already on the ground.
Shhk, Thud.
Dong Bongsu's sword quickened as he cut through the enemies who were falling like a grove of bamboo being felled.
Kaang!
Thwack!
Crack!
It took less than half a quarter of an hour to crush the two hundred men of the vanguard.
The russet monk robes covered the mountainside, but no one was left standing.
Dong Bongsu slung his sword over his shoulder and looked down the mountain.
"…"
The Super True Qi Field's detection was picking up new points.
Quite a lot.
About twice as many as before?
Na—mu—A—mi—ta—bha.
The chanting was rising again.
A much thicker, much heavier wave than that of the vanguard.
The vibration of four hundred voices joined as one shook the mountain.
'The main force.'
Dong Bongsu's eyes narrowed.
"Sect Leader."
Yan Bilyeong, who had caught up at some point, called from behind.
She was already drawing her sword.
"How many of them are there?"
"About four hundred."
"Four hundred… What's their level?"
"First-rate. A few are first-rate masters."
Yan Bilyeong's brow furrowed, then quickly smoothed out.
Her lips twisted.
It was hard to tell if she was smiling or grimacing.
"Ah, seriously. What the hell am I even doing here?"
A short sigh melted into the wind.
Behind her, Myo Jinheo chuckled and folded his fan.
A signal that his observation was complete.
"Their approach formation is a horizontal line. They are coming up along the mountainside in a semicircle."
"Does that mean we're half-surrounded?"
"That's right. So, for now, it seems better to retreat."
Yan Bilyeong snorted.
"If the Sect Leader were the type to retreat, he would have done so already. What are you even saying?"
Dong Bongsu didn't look back.
But his lips twisted.
He himself probably didn't know if it was a smile or something else.
He had always done everything alone, but he was surprisingly finding that team play wasn't so bad.
He also judged that this was more natural for Kim Rae-won.
"Trigram Master Yan, you take the left. Trigram Master Myo, the rear."
"What?"
"It's simple. I'll take the front, and the two of you can pick up what I miss."
Yan Bilyeong's eyebrows drew a slight arc upward.
"Hee-ya, that's just like you, Sect Leader Kim. Just how many of those shaved heads are you planning to take on by yourself?"
"All of them, if possible."
"And Trigram Master Myo and I get to eat the leftovers?"
"If you don't like it, you can take the lead."
As soon as he finished speaking, Dong Bongsu pointed the tip of his sword at the ground.
The Super True Qi Field rapidly expanded.
The field, which had started at twenty steps, pushed past fifty and then to a hundred.
The air sank, and the leaves on the trees flipped over all at once.
Even the wind on the mountainside stopped.
It was enough to distort the sound of the chanting.
Na—mu—A…
The rhythm of the prayer faltered, and four hundred mouths stuttered at the same time.
At that instant, Dong Bongsu leaped again.
This time, along the ground.
A straight line piercing through the trees.
The four Rakshasa monks in front had their shoulders and arms split before they could even raise their Crescent Moon Sabers.
It was all too natural that his sword never knew rest.
He charged toward the center of the four hundred.
Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-shhk!
Five or six ascended to the heavens with a single slash, but they were distinctly different from the vanguard.
Before the main force's formation could collapse, it was reformed.
If the vanguard was breached, the middle ranks would open up to swallow the enemy, and if the middle ranks were split, the rear ranks would fill the gap and push forward—the rhythm of a grand formation warfare.
"…"
Dong Bongsu's response was simple.
He merely increased his sword speed.
Not one line, or two, but three lines were drawn simultaneously.
While the Super True Qi Field suppressed their Internal Energy, his sword cut through in three layers in all directions.
Still, they pushed forward.
His vision was filled with the tenacity of the Rakshasa monks, who filled the formation even as they died.
The vibration of the chanting was moving their bodies.
They were men who had lost their fear.
A madness that believed even death was salvation was embedded in their steps.
Piercing through that gap was Sword Qi that had flown in from the left.
Papat!
Yan Bilyeong.
Leaping off a rock on the mountainside, her sword slashed horizontally, cutting the knees of four Rakshasa monks in a single blow.
Not their backs, but their knees.
A precise sword strike that didn't kill but prevented them from standing again.
Shhk.
Dong Bongsu's sword cut the seam in front, and in the instant the formation opened, Yan Bilyeong slipped through.
Yan Bilyeong's feet landed where Dong Bongsu had passed, and Dong Bongsu stepped into the empty space left by those Yan Bilyeong had disabled to move to the next line.
There were no words, no glances.
Their bodies simply read where the other's sword would pass.
Over the screams of the monks with broken knees, Yan Bilyeong's voice fell.
"Wow, why are these guys so tough? I don't think you can eat them all by yourself if they're this chewy, you know?"
Her grumbling was interspersed between sword strikes.
But her feet did not stop.
Landing and leaping became a single motion as she charged into the next group.
Booom!
Lightning erupted from behind.
Myo Jinheo's Thunderclap Absolute Sealing Circle.
The moment his fan opened, static electricity spread throughout the entire rear rank of the Rakshasa Monk Corps.
The metal of their armor and weapons resonated, creating sparks.
Muscles contracted, joints locked, and dozens in the rear staggered simultaneously.
"I'll block the rear."
One sentence.
The fan folded and then opened again.
Booom!
A second bolt of Lightning.
The rear came to a complete halt.
The lightly armed monks who had been maintaining the chant collapsed first.
As they fell, the vibration of the chanting that had blanketed the entire Rakshasa Monk Corps was cut off.
When the prayers disappeared, all that remained were screams.
Attacked from three sides simultaneously, the formation of the Rakshasa Monk Corps rapidly crumbled.
From the front, the Super True Qi Field suppressed their Qi and the sword slashed; from the left, Yan Bilyeong's sword strikes tore at their flank; and from the rear, Myo Jinheo's Lightning blocked their retreat.
Three against four hundred, no, now less than three hundred.
All too naturally, the side being pushed back, no, being devoured, was the three hundred, no, the two hundred.
Just then.
The Super True Qi Field caught something different.
Behind the main force.
A point of Qi rising from a position that had not yet left the foothills.
Its density was on a different level from the hundreds of Rakshasa monks.
If the surrounding points were grains of sand, this was a lump of lead.
It wasn't just one.
Two.
Duuung.
A heavy mechanical sound rang in his head.
[Sub]Rakshasa of Slaughter [Sudden]:
There are those who draw their blades in the name of Buddha.
Among them, two with particularly heavy steps are showing hostility towards you.
Be careful.
They don't seem to have ordinary fangs.
· Repel the Rakshasa's high-ranking forces.
├─ Target: 2
├─ Progress: 0/2
└─ Reward: Hero History +5, Fame +5
Ssk.
A smile naturally formed on Dong Bongsu's lips.
Because the main dish, not the leftovers, was being served.