Roar!
The city of Shenyang shuddered under the thunderous cheers of the constabulary. It was the raw, unbridled sound of victory.
“We won!”
Unaware of the grim complexities of war, little children darted through the streets, caught up in the infectious excitement. Citizens who had kept a sleepless vigil through the night wept with relief, rushing forward to press food and water into the hands of the soldiers.
“Eat as much as you like! You’ve earned it!”
Those with shorter tempers dragged the corpses of the Neutral Tribal Alliance mercenaries out, hanging them from the eaves of their homes. Even if the bodies were to be burned later, the people needed this moment of catharsis to vent their fury.
“Filthy bastards!”
“Don’t you dare set foot in our Shenyang again!”
Bathed in this adoration, two figures strutted toward the command center.
“Moyong Ho! Moyong Ho!”
“Life-Stealing Ghost Sword! Ghost Sword!”
Moyong Ho, the younger brother of Great General Regent Moyong Woon-jeong, and the Life-Stealing Ghost Sword, whose blade had danced brilliantly during the defense, were the undisputed heroes of the hour. The louder the crowd chanted their names, the higher their chins tilted, their noses threatening to pierce the sky.
“Ahem…!”
“Hmph hmph…!”
Shoulder to shoulder, they walked, subtly jostling and shoving one another in a petty contest to stand even an inch ahead of the other.
“Haha.” The Life-Stealing Ghost Sword laughed loudly, striking a pose. “If not for this Ghost Sword, the constabulary would have been ground to dust by the Neutral Tribal Alliance. There would be no victory today. Is that not so?”
“Huhu.” Not to be outdone, Moyong Ho laughed with equal volume, puffing out his chest. “Surely, the esteemed Ghost Sword made a great contribution. But it is hardly equal to this Moyong Ho, who controlled the constabulary and led the battle’s tactical flow.”
Veins bulged on their foreheads as they shoved against each other with renewed vigor, neither willing to yield the center stage.
At that moment, a refreshing voice cut through their posturing from behind.
“What is so funny?”
“Waaaaah—!”
A cheer erupted that instantly drowned out the chants for the two men. It was a roar loud enough to make even the bold Life-Stealing Ghost Sword and the arrogant Moyong Ho flinch.
“Yeon Seo-rin!”
“Seamless Heavenly Robe!”
The Ghost Sword was certainly famous, but he had been inactive for years, his reputation centered in the Jiangnan region rather than the North. Moyong Ho, despite his family name, was a mere military officer.
But Yeon Seo-rin?
The Seamless Heavenly Robe was a titan, more renowned than any “Dragon” or “Phoenix” among the current generation. The crowd’s fervor for her transcended imagination.
“Hahaha!”
Waving effortlessly to the crowd, she slung her brawny arms around the shoulders of the Ghost Sword and Moyong Ho, pulling them into a crushing embrace.
“What is it? I asked what was so funny?”
Though the men were tall, next to Yeon Seo-rin—who stood half a head taller and a full head broader in the shoulders—they looked unusually diminutive, trapped in her friendly headlock.
“…It is nothing.”
“…Nothing at all.”
The Ghost Sword shook his head with a sulky expression while Moyong Ho sighed in defeat. Weighed down by the heavy arms of the Seamless Heavenly Robe, their triumphant march slowed to a crawl.
“Everyone has arrived.”
Lifting the flap of the temporary command tent, a woman welcomed them. Her golden eyes shone with exceptional brightness under the sunlight. It was the Grand Young Master’s Head Handmaiden, Jeong-ah.
“Waaaaah!”
“Golden-Eyed Goddess! Golden-Eyed Goddess!”
With the appearance of a celestial maiden and the skill to behead the famous Full-Blossom Sword Phoenix of Mount Hua, her fame had spread through Shenyang in the blink of an eye.
“Ahem.”
Quickly composing herself from a moment of fluster, Jeong-ah ushered them inside. “Everyone is waiting.”
The Ghost Sword and Moyong Ho looked exceptionally sullen at being upstaged yet again.
“Haha, nice. Head Handmaiden, why don’t you give them a wave?”
“…No.” When Yeon Seo-rin teased her, Jeong-ah’s cheeks flushed. “Rather than that—”
Before she could finish, a thunderous shout erupted from within the tent.
“What are you doing dilly-dallying outside?!”
It was the voice of Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon.
Startled, the group hurried inside as if burned. Immediately, they sensed the atmosphere was wrong.
“—This is the latest report just received.”
“—So, for now, the balance of the front line is—”
They had expected the command staff to be celebrating, perhaps leisurely handling the aftermath of victory. Instead, the tent was a hive of frantic activity.
“…What is this?” The Ghost Sword looked bewildered.
“…I will go ahead first.” Moyong Ho spotted his sister, Moyong Woon-jeong, huddled with military officers around a strategic map. Hardening his expression, he strode toward them.
“Oh my.” Yeon Seo-rin smiled bitterly at the heavy air. “The battle is over, yet the smell of war lingers.”
As they gathered before the central desk, Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon snapped his fingers, summoning Moyong Woon-jeong and her group to join them.
“You were all curious why the Neutral Tribal Alliance, who were loitering outside the walls, suddenly charged into Shenyang, yes?”
Except for the few who had arrived early, everyone nodded.
“This is the reason.”
The Grand Young Master unfolded a letter. Stamped deeply with the seal of the Northern Great General’s Estate, the red characters for URGENT and CONFIDENTIAL seemed to bleed on the page.
“Dread King, Yelü Nuzhucha, has launched a preemptive strike?!”
Reading the title aloud, the Ghost Sword gasped.
“Correct.” Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon reached out, his finger landing on the front lines guarded by the Northern Great General’s Estate on the map. “Starting at early dawn, upon learning of Great General Regent Moyong Woon-jeong’s absence, the Dread King’s direct legions launched simultaneous attacks on all fronts.”
As the color drained from the faces of those hearing the news for the first time, the Grand Young Master tapped the map again.
“And it has been confirmed that troops dispatched on a large scale from the Neutral Tribal Alliance are mixed within those direct legions.”
“So…” Moyong Ho spoke quietly, realization dawning. “The troops stationed here entered Shenyang because of that.”
“Yes. Other commanders on other fronts would be starting to build merit. Hearing the news of the war’s opening, the commander here couldn’t just sit still.”
The Neutral Tribal Alliance operated strictly on merit and ability. Idleness was not an option.
“Indeed…” Moyong Ho nodded, agreeing with the interpretation, then froze. “No, wait…!”
He jerked his head up, eyes wide. “Then…?!”
According to the deduction, the Neutral Tribal Alliance joined the war due to Grand Strategist Sima’s decision. But the fact that their main forces were observed in the far north, not here, meant one terrifying thing.
“Shenyang was not Grand Strategist Sima’s main objective?!”
“Correct.”
The Grand Young Master’s voice was calm, but the implication was devastating.
“Likely, already last night…” He placed his hand on the map marker for Shenyang. “Sima must have judged that he would be too late to reach Shenyang himself. So…”
He placed markers representing the Mount Hua and Wudang Vanguards, along with the trebuchet unit, onto the city.
“To tie us down in the rear—here in Shenyang—as much as possible, he deployed the vanguards and the siege unit as additional fodder.”
Next, he moved the markers of the Dread King to the northernmost front line.
“And he sent word to the Dread King to move his direct legions.”
Grand Strategist Sima hadn’t cared about winning in Shenyang. He only wanted the rebels and the vanguards of Mount Hua and Wudang to join forces and shackle the feet of the Grand Young Master and Moyong Woon-jeong for as long as possible.
“Then…?!” Moyong Ho shouted. “Are you saying Grand Strategist Sima never intended to come to Shenyang personally from the start?!”
“Initially, he was likely coming here. But it seems he changed his judgment midway.” The Grand Young Master smiled lightly, intrigued. “He was a day behind me. Therefore…”
He picked up Sima’s flag and planted it firmly on the northern front.
“At the midpoint, he decided not to pass through Shenyang and instead cut across the shortest distance, heading north.”
“That means…!”
“By now.” The Grand Young Master smiled, baring his teeth. “Grand Strategist Sima must have arrived at the Dread King’s camp.”
He added briefly, the weight of the words sinking into the room.
“Using the troops deployed in Shenyang as sacrifices, Sima has finally reclaimed the day he lost to me.”
Moyong Ho swallowed dryly. A chilling wind seemed to brush past the assembly, extinguishing the warmth of victory.
***
Afternoon.
The summer sun blazed overhead, baking the earth.
Inside the Military Camp of the Dread King, Yelü Nuzhucha.
“…So. Grand Strategist Sima.”
An old man with a dignified bearing and a long white beard spoke in a low, vibrating voice. Though the sleeves of his white martial robes were embroidered with blooming plum blossoms, his tone carried a chill as thick as winter frost.
“In the end, you used the children of the vanguard as mere sacrifices to reclaim your one day?”
Who dared? Who could pressure Grand Strategist Sima so directly?
Only this old man. Given his seniority and position, it was his right.
He was the Sword Monarch. The Supreme Elder of the Huashan Sect.
“It was merely a handful of troops.” Sima replied without backing down an inch. “If you find that loss wasteful, I would advise you to retreat to Mount Hua even now.”
“…What did you say?!”
The Sword Monarch’s white eyebrows twitched dangerously.
“Hoho.”
Seizing the moment, another old man clad in splendid black martial robes laughed heartily. “This poor Taoist also… cannot help but agree with Grand Strategist Sima’s view this time.”
The Sword Monarch of Mount Hua frowned deeper upon confirming the interjector.
“…Immortal Master Taechong.”
The Immortal Master Taechong. He was a figure one generation higher than the Manifestation of the Profound Baek Cho or the Steel Dragon Fang Baek Cheong. He was of the same generation as the former Sect Leader of Wudang.
“This is a battlefield, Sword Monarch.” Immortal Master Taechong wagged his tongue as if lecturing a child, feigning kindness. “I understand your heart cherishing the children. But it is insufficient as a mindset to achieve victory in war.”
The Sword Monarch’s wrinkled eyelids trembled with suppressed rage. “…You must feel good, having eliminated the Manifestation of the Profound—whom you despised as a different faction—by the hands of the enemy.”
“Hoho.” Immortal Master Taechong gave a hollow laugh. “Even when given good advice, he couldn’t understand, and so he lost to the greenhorn Sword Pinnacle Crushes the Mountain.”
“Taechong—!”
“Sword Monarch.”
To the Sword Monarch, who looked ready to spew lightning from his mouth, Sima threw a quiet warning. “There are many eyes watching here.”
The Sword Monarch’s eyes swept the assembly instantly.
Generals wearing the distinctive attire and shining armor of the Northern tribes were whispering on the other side, their eyes fixed on the argument.
“Ahem.”
The Sword Monarch coughed shortly, swallowing the shout that was about to burst out.
“Anyway,” Sima continued, as if considerate of him. “It is a great fortune that the main forces of Mount Hua and Wudang arrived on time without issue.”
Naturally. If there was a “Vanguard,” there was also a “Main Force.”
“Hoho, indeed.”
“…I agree with that.”
Wudang’s Immortal Master Taechong and Mount Hua’s Sword Monarch were the commanders leading those very forces.
“And with this old man arriving on time as well…”
At that moment, the general guarding the front entrance raised his voice.
“Show respect, all!”
Thud.
In unison, the generals knelt on the floor.
“The True Sun of the North! The Righteous Master of the Great Steppe! The Great Lord of Thirteen Great Tribes and Twenty-Nine Tribes! The Father of All Northern Bloodlines!”
The herald raised his voice to a crescendo.
“The Dread King arrives!”
Grand Strategist Sima smiled and muttered to himself softly.
“Grand Young Master.”
Watching the tent flap open, he gathered his hands in the manner of Central Plains etiquette.
“Now, our skirmish is over.”
Clutched in his fist was a note he had received via messenger hawk just before entering the camp.
[Grand Young Master’s Main Force. Approaching the North.]
***
“There never was a good war or a bad peace.”
— Benjamin Franklin [1706.1.17.~1790.4.17]