"What is this..."
I never thought we would be attacked on this mountain.
Gakhae was a man who had been with the Rakshasa Monk Corps for twenty years.
He spent half of that time in the vanguard.
The subjugation of bandits south of Hangzhou, the annihilation of an Evil Cult on the East Sea coast.
The battlefields he had set foot on were too numerous to count on ten fingers.
That was why he knew.
This sortie was supposed to be a simple annihilation.
The remaining remnants of Hocheon numbered two or three hundred at most.
And half of them were likely injured.
It was a task that should have been over in half a day.
Simply put, he wanted to give Beopjong a chance to widely bestow the way of the Buddha.
In the Rakshasa Monk Corps, Beopjong was the Junior Brother most cherished by Gakhae, no, by most of the 'Gak' generation monks.
He was different from the others of the 'Beop' generation.
Not because his Bones and Sinews were good, but because his heart was soft, he was a child who put his sincerity into chanting.
When he was first given the Crescent Moon Saber, he couldn't eat for two days.
He remembered the day that child first put the Buddhist Law into practice.
The hand that hesitated for a long time, even with the Crescent Moon Saber at a bandit's throat.
The hand that trembled ceaselessly at the tip, even as he clenched it so hard his knuckles turned white.
Only when Gakhae placed a hand on his shoulder did the blade finally move.
After that, Beopjong's chanting deepened by another level.
A depth that only one who has fully preached the way of the Buddha can attain.
That was why this annihilation had to be an easy task.
It was a perfectly fitting opportunity for Beopjong to spread the way of the Buddha with his own hands against the remnants of Hocheon, most of whom were injured.
That was the plan, and it had to be that way...
"Senior Brother Gakhae."
Beopjong, who was following closely behind, called out to him.
"The vanguard is quiet."
Gakhae's eyes narrowed.
Two hundred in the vanguard.
They went up the mountain half a quarter of an hour ago.
It was strange that no battle report had come down, but it wasn't unheard of for the mountain terrain to block Sound Transmission, so it wasn't that strange.
However.
The vanguard's chanting itself had stopped.
The vibration that shook the earth, born from hundreds of voices layered as one, had been abruptly cut off halfway up the mountain.
The chanting of the main force coming up from below was still present, but the echo of the vanguard that should have come down from above had vanished.
Chanting was a Rakshasa Monk's lifeline.
As long as they were breathing, their mouths were meant to chant the sutras.
This was especially true when spreading the way of the Buddha...
For it to be cut off all at once meant— "The Sound Transmission isn't connecting either."
A pale-faced Beopjong brought him back to reality once more.
"...Did you say all of them?"
"Yes, Senior Brother."
Gakhae did not answer.
He couldn't.
The chanting of two hundred could not stop simultaneously.
Even if there had been an ambush, individual skirmishes would have continued, and some residual sound would have remained.
All at once... It was something he could never understand, something that should never have happened.
At that moment.
Kugugugu—
The mountain shook.
It wasn't from beneath his feet.
It was a vibration coming down from the middle of the mountain, as if something gigantic was treading on the mountain itself.
And then.
The air changed.
The vibration of the chanting pouring out from hundreds of mouths distorted all at once.
Simultaneously, the tongues chanting the sutras stiffened, and their jaws locked.
Their breathing grew heavy.
It felt less like inhaling and more like the air was crushing their chests.
'An unseen energy is pressing down on the entire mountain...'
Gakhae knew of nothing like this.
It wasn't the pressure emitted by someone possessing Qi.
The space itself had changed.
All movement became sluggish as if submerged in water, and the Internal Energy he tried to expel through his Meridians was melting and dissipating into the air.
He immediately tried to use Sound Transmission to all the men following behind him, but it didn't work.
The Qi... the Qi Wave was failing to produce sound.
In this space.
In urgency, he let out a shout.
If a Qi Wave wouldn't work, he had no choice but to use his natural voice as a temporary measure.
"Maintain the formation! Do not fall back!"
His voice, devoid of True Qi, was weaker than the mountain wind.
The front line was pushed back, the rear line tripped over the front, the hands of his junior brothers holding the Crescent Moon Sabers trembled, and the tips of the long spears shook erratically.
A Rakshasa Monk who has lost his chanting is nothing more than a monk with a blade...
And in that very instant.
A man was walking down from above.
Slowly.
He was in no hurry.
"Namu Amitabha!"
The Rakshasa Monk standing at the very front swung his Crescent Moon Saber, but.
Seogeok-.
A white line was drawn in the air, and the leading Rakshasa Monk fell.
And his next step followed.
In response, the Rakshasa Monks swarmed him again, but it was no use.
With each white line, a dozen Rakshasa Monks were beheaded, cut in half at the waist, their necks severed.
His expression didn't change.
No anger, no killing intent, no excitement could be read from him at all.
He just kept walking steadily towards them.
That was all, yet wherever his feet touched the ground, crimson-brown monastic robes fell like leaves.
Was that all?
Seogeogeogeogeok!
"Ah, these monk bastards! They keep coming endlessly."
From one side, Sword Qi flew in continuously.
The figure who suddenly appeared and rushed about was a woman.
Her elegant yet cruel sword persistently aimed only for the knees.
Three or four Rakshasa Monks were paralyzed from the waist down in succession and collapsed.
From the rear, Lightning erupted.
Peo—eong!
Muscles contracted and joints locked up as the rear ranks crumbled.
The lightly armed monks who had been maintaining the chanting fell first, and as they collapsed, even the lingering echoes of the chanting died out.
'Are we... surrounded?'
On three sides, no less.
Gakhae realized that it was not the remnants who were surrounded, but their own Dark Rakshasa Way, when the man was about ten steps away.
However.
There was an energy rising from the foot of the mountain.
Two streams.
One was a heavy Qi that shook the mountain.
The other was a deep sound that colored the atmosphere.
Both were different in density from the miscellaneous energies filling this battlefield.
Senior Brother Gakjin.
Senior Brother Beom-eum.
'The Eight Rakshasas are coming. I just need to hold on until then.'
Heat stirred in Gakhae's chest.
He quickly grabbed Beopjong's shoulder, pulled him closer, and shouted.
"Hold on! Our Senior Brothers are coming!"
But even as the aura of the Eight Rakshasas climbed the mountain, the man's feet were steadily approaching, one step at a time.
It was clear that the man would arrive before the Eight Rakshasas reached the mountainside.
'One quarter of an hour.'
He had to hold out for a quarter of an hour for his Senior Brothers to arrive.
Gakhae gritted his teeth.
He pushed Beopjong behind him and raised his Crescent Moon Saber.
Wuuung-.
He poured all the Internal Energy he had cultivated over twenty years of living by the sword of the Dark Rakshasa Way onto the blade.
"Namu Amitabha!"
With a single verse of chanting, the Crescent Moon Saber shone.
The Dharma-Protecting Saber of the Rakshasa Monk Corps.
A martial art perfected only when the chanting and the blade become one.
The dozen or so Rakshasa Monks remaining behind barely managed to pull themselves together at Gakhae's shout.
Their chanting had ceased, but they were still Rakshasa Monks.
Strength returned to the hands gripping their Crescent Moon Sabers.
"Dharma-Protecting Formation!"
A team of three.
Three Crescent Moon Sabers drew a single trajectory, blocking the man's path.
The man's steps halted for the first time.
Or maybe not?
It seemed he hadn't stopped.
He was merely watching the trajectory of the three blades.
He didn't even raise his sword.
Then, just before the trajectories reached his body.
Seogeok—.
His sword moved just once, yet all three Crescent Moon Sabers were sent flying at the same time.
One of the blades split in half, and the wrists of the other two were bent back, forcing them to drop their sabers.
One exchange.
In a single exchange, the Dharma-Protecting Formation crumbled.
"Our Senior Brothers are coming!"
Gakhae roared and immediately filled the empty space.
He held his Crescent Moon Saber vertically to receive the man's sword strike.
Kaang—!
A shock as if his hands gripping the hilt were being torn apart reverberated up his arms to his shoulders.
His bones vibrated.
It was a kind of weight he had never experienced before.
It was not just Internal Energy, but the force of the space itself pressing down, creating a Heavy Sword so immense that he couldn't even dare to resist it.
Nevertheless, he somehow endured it.
The mere fact that his saber wasn't sent flying made him better than the three in the Dharma-Protecting Formation.
Gakhae's Crescent Moon Saber slid along the man's sword, deflecting it and drawing an arc for a counterattack.
Rakshasa Dharma-Protecting Saber First Form, Demon-Subduing Horizontal Slash.
It was the first form a Rakshasa Monk learns.
A move that could cut even without chanting, the very first technique Gakhae had learned twenty years ago.
Therefore, it was the technique most deeply ingrained in his body.
Gakhae's body spun.
He was converting the Internal Energy from the man's attack into an exact reversing force and returning it.
The gleaming Crescent Moon Saber generated a formidable force as it swung towards the man's upper body.
However.
Seupat—.
The man merely leaned his upper body back by half a handspan, and the blade cut through empty air.
The stray Saber Qi only futilely cut down dozens of trees in front of him.
In contrast, the counterattack was immediate.
Beontteuk—.
A white line was drawn in the air.
Kaang—!
He barely managed to withdraw his Saber Qi and raise his Crescent Moon Saber to intercept the opponent's Sword Qi mid-air.
But the blade was completely chipped.
Jjeojeojeok, a crack could be clearly seen spreading up the back of the blade.
At that moment.
Two Rakshasa Monks leaped in from the left and right.
The structure of the Dharma-Protecting Formation was already gone, but it was a combined attack aimed at the opening while the man's sword was tied up with Gakhae.
However.
The man's head tilted left, then right.
Seueut—.
Seueut—.
Two white lines crossed, splitting their bodies.
"...It can't be."
The man held a sword in his mouth.
A blade held in a reverse grip between his pearly white teeth.
While the sword in his hand remained as it was, a second sword, drawn from somewhere, was held in his mouth, cutting down the two with just a nod of his head.
Without even looking.
That sword moved again.
His head tilted once more, and a white line was drawn.
Kwaang—!
The Crescent Moon Saber shattered.
The blade fragments flew through the air and rained down on the remaining Rakshasa Monks.
Each fragment became a deadly weapon, embedding itself in the crimson-brown monastic robes.
The man swallowed the sword from his mouth.
No, I'm not sure.
I don't know if that's the right expression.
I felt that way because the sword I thought he was holding in his mouth just a moment ago had disappeared.
Now, only the Nine Demon Annihilation Wheel Sword in his hand remained where it was before.
All that was left in Gakhae's hand was the hilt and half a handspan of the blade.
His palms were already cracked open, blood streaming down.
Still, Gakhae did not discard the broken Crescent Moon Saber.
There was nothing he could do with only half a handspan of blade left, but he knew that if he let go, it would be the end.
If he let go, there would be nothing left in front of Beopjong.
From behind him, he could hear Beopjong's trembling breath.
A breath that tried to chant the sutras, but the tongue was too stiff to form the sounds.
"Beyond this point... You shall not take another step."
Gakhae raised the broken blade.
Dong Bongsu looked at Gakhae in silence, and their eyes naturally met.
Eyes that still revealed nothing.
Not hatred, not mercy, not contempt.
Not even killing intent.
To Dong Bongsu, Gakhae was a stone on his path.
Nothing more than a small pebble that wouldn't even trip him.
"Namu..."
The last verse of his chanting was not even half-finished.
Seueut—.
One line.
Gakhae's vision tilted.
His knees buckled first, and the world turned sideways.
A line of heat pierced him from chest to back.
Dirt touched his cheek.
At the edge of his blurring vision, he saw Beopjong.
He was standing there, blocking the man's path, holding the Crescent Moon Saber aloft with both hands.
His whole body was trembling, just like that day he first practiced the Buddhist Law.
He was clenching it so hard his knuckles had turned white.
The only difference from that time was that Gakhae's hand was not on his shoulder.
Seueut—.
Another line was drawn.
Beopjong's Crescent Moon Saber was split in two in mid-air.
The child's small neck was severed, and the sight of his head and body flying separately was clearly captured in his eyes.
"Eu, geureureu..."
Gakhae's hands clawed at the dirt, but they couldn't reach.
No, it was impossible.
Because the limbs of a decapitated corpse can no longer function.
The freshly severed head of Beopjong fell right onto his corpse.
And then.
Dong Bongsu kicked them aside one after another and continued to advance.
But after just a few steps, Dong Bongsu's advance came to a halt.
The steps that had not stopped even once since he set foot on this mountain finally came to a standstill.
Wuuuuuuuuuung—!
Chanting covered the mountain.
It was on a different level from before.
The chanting that couldn't change the mountain's air even when recited by hundreds was now making the entire mountain resonate with the voice of just one person.
Leaves flipped over from the vibration, and the blood pooled on the corpses spread out in concentric circles.
Fine cracks spread like spiderwebs across the surfaces of the rocks, and at a certain point, they burst.
Dong Bongsu's Super True Qi Field and the vibration of the chanting collided head-on at the mountainside.
Jjeong-!
The air tore, and the atmosphere violently fluctuated.
Along the boundary line where the two invisible forces clashed, tree branches split and dirt shot up.
The crimson-brown monastic robes covering the field of corpses were blown upwards like leaves.
And parting those leaves, a single figure flew down.
Kwang—!
A trident plunged into a rock covered with corpses.
A trident longer than an average man's height.
It pierced through the rock on the mountainside and embedded itself.
The rock was torn to shreds, and the resulting shockwave swept through the field of corpses, sending fragments flying in all directions.
Kurururururururu...
Only after a long while did the dust settle, and the figure of a man like a mountain was slowly revealed.
A monk, eight feet tall with shoulders as wide as a door, the muscles of the arm pulling out the trident, bulging like rocks beneath his crimson-brown monastic robe.
And.
Behind him, a solemn chant was echoing.
A lean frame.
Closed eyes.
Slightly parted lips visible through the loose monastic robe were ceaselessly chanting the sutras.
The chanting of a single person was making the mountain ring and the field of corpses vibrate, clashing head-on with Dong Bongsu's Super True Qi Field.
The second of the Eight Rakshasas, Gakjin.
The fifth of the Eight Rakshasas, Beom-eum.
Gakjin's eyes swept over the remains of the corpses at his feet.
On the mountainside covered in crimson-brown monastic robes, there were, of course, no more Rakshasa Monks standing.
In the middle of it all lay two decapitated corpses.
Gakhae and Beopjong.
They were his most cherished comrade and junior brother.
In the hand gripping the trident, veins like earthworms bulged one after another.
"You bastard!"
One of the Seven Great Demonic Sects, the Dark Rakshasa Way.
Slaughter is Liberation.
Under the twisted Buddhist Law that both the killer and the killed are saved, the blood they have shed in this Central Plains for eight hundred years has formed rivers and seas.
Those who draw mandalas with blood and craft Dharma Artifacts from human bones.
And the Twelve Rakshasas were the purest crystallization of that madness.
If the Upper Four Rakshasas were the cult's shield, the Lower Eight Rakshasas were its sword.
Wherever the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate pointed his finger, the sword of the Eight Rakshasas would strike.
Their most recent achievement was the annihilation of five hundred members of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect's Branch Sword Corps in a single night, so there was no need to speak further of the weight of that sword.
Now, two of them were charging towards Dong Bongsu.
Kwang-!