At first, silence reigned.

Neither the warriors of the tribe nor the captives present could comprehend the violence that had just occurred.

“G-General…?”

“Did Tengri send down divine punishment?”

The object was not merely a javelin. It was a thunderbolt coursing along the earth, flown from a distance that defied logic.

Across the river, atop a low hill from which the Northern tribe’s campsite was barely a speck, a figure exhaled deeply, holding a perfect follow-through stance.

He stood stripped to the waist. Defined muscles, corded like the thick hawser ropes of a battleship, rippled in rhythm with his breathing. The only betrayals of his age were the white hair fluttering in the wind and the topography of scars layered across his exposed torso.

“Target impacted! Kill confirmed!”

Far below, a warrior of the War Department who had concealed himself near the riverbank waved a signal flag and bellowed the report.

“Enemy general is down! Death confirmed!”

It was a sniping feat performed with a javelin from an ultra-long distance, a range beyond common sense. This technique, which erased an unsuspecting enemy commander from the battlefield in a single strike, was known as the Thousand-Li Fog.

There was only one person in the Luoyang Sword Clan capable of such a feat.

“As expected, magnificent, War Department Chief.”

The chief executive of the Luoyang Sword Clan’s War Department, and the clan’s greatest expert in warfare, wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel.

“Thank you.”

He nodded briefly. Behind him, fully armed warriors of the Sword Clan’s War Department materialized like specters from the darkness.

“It is a surprise attack by the Sword Clan’s War Department!”

The tearing scream of a first-generation disciple of the Huashan Sect rang out. Although the absolute majority of the Northern tribe could not understand the language of the Central Plains, the terror in the voice transcended translation. On a battlefield, such a tone meant only one thing.

“Enemy surprise attack!”

“Move! Move quickly, you bastards!”

Warriors seasoned in war hurriedly kicked the soldiers to snap them out of their stupor. However, the nightmare was far from over.

“This is not the end!”

The tribesmen, deaf to the Central Plains tongue, could not understand the desperate warning of the disciple as he sprinted through the camp.

“The second wave is coming! A second attack is inbound!”

A few who understood the language tried to translate and shout the warning, but it was already too late. The first-generation disciple hurriedly shoved the unconscious Mount Hua Sword Dragon, Gam Woo-hyeon, under a cart and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“All disciples of Mount Hua, take cover!”

Mount Hua had educated them on the Luoyang Sword Clan, classifying them as potential enemies. He could only pray that some of the disciples remembered the contents of those analysis materials.

“Eek…!”

Just as the first-generation disciple dove behind a cart opposite Gam Woo-hyeon, the sky tore open.

Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum!

A rain of steel poured from the heavens.

“First row throw complete!”

The initial sniping by the War Department Chief had been the signal. The group of warriors positioned near the river unleashed the first volley. But that was merely the overture.

“Second row, advance! Second row, advance!”

Amidst flags waved by signalmen, the War Department warriors flowed like water. Those corresponding to the second row stepped forward as one body.

“Halt!”

“Prepare javelins!”

“Prepare!”

Simultaneously with the voices shouting the repetition of orders, the warriors twisted their bodies in unison, drawing back the heavy steel spears.

“Throw!”

The command to loose was never repeated.

Hup!

Exactly three large steps. The warriors of the second row took a running start and launched the steel javelins with low, synchronized shouts of exertion.

Swaaaack!

After the throw, they took two steps to steady their momentum. Even those recovery steps were perfectly synchronized. It was a sight impossible to replicate unless one was a warrior of the Luoyang Sword Clan’s War Department, tempered to the extreme as a soldier first and a martial artist second.

“Second row projection complete!”

A disciplined voice followed the completion report.

“Third row, advance!”

“Kuaaak!”

“Keu-heuk…!”

Across the river, the steel rain tore through leather and flesh, pinning soldiers to the frozen ground.

Crunch! Crack!

Even exceptionally hard iron helmets were rendered useless. Riders with better equipment than the foot soldiers hurriedly raised small bucklers strapped to their wrists.

Smash!

Javelins imbued with internal energy shattered shields, tore through armor, pulverized forearm bones, and embedded themselves in chests, spraying blood.

“Kuaaaaaak!”

A soldier whose arm was severed by a grazing javelin screamed and knocked over a torch.

Fwoosh!

Fire spread instantly, catching the canvas of the tents. The tethered warhorses, smelling blood and smoke, began to thrash in madness.

Neighhh!

“Grab it together and lift!”

“Lift it up!”

A group of soldiers shouted, heaving a large sack of grain to use as a makeshift barricade against the falling death. However, gravity and internal energy were unforgiving.

Thud! Crunch!

Several javelins slammed heavily into the sack.

“Uh? Uh?!”

“Hold it! Hold it!”

One soldier staggered from the impact. As the weight shifted, the rest collapsed in a heap.

Craaaaack!

The next volley found them exposed.

The first-generation disciple of Mount Hua, huddled under the cart, watched the slaughter with a pale face. The campsite was being reduced to ruins instantly, as if exposed to heavy artillery bombardment from the front.

“Archery Captain!”

With the general dead, the vice-general—now the highest authority—roughly threw down a steel javelin he had managed to catch with his bare hands.

“What is the Archery Captain doing?!”

At that roar, the Archery Captain hurriedly rallied his men.

“Prepare counter-fire! Prepare counter-fire!”

Although the javelin attack was devastating, this was the Dread King’s vanguard corps, possessing overwhelming numbers.

“Align! Align!”

“Enemy direction is across the river!”

Watching the archers scramble into formation, the first-generation disciple of Mount Hua gritted his teeth.

Only javelins? Is that everything?

Something was wrong. The Sword Clan’s War Department would not sacrifice the element of surprise merely to throw spears across a river. Clearly, there was an intention he had not yet grasped.

Confirming that Gam Woo-hyeon was safe, he rushed out from cover.

“Now is not the time for counter-fire!”

Whether they understood the Central Plains language or not, he ran toward the vice-general, shouting desperately.

“You must prepare an Anti-Collision Defense Formation! Anti-collision defense!”

By a shred of luck, a soldier of Central Plains origin hurriedly translated the warning for the vice-general.

“What? Collision defense formation?”

Hearing the translation, the Dread King’s vice-general smirked.

“Ignore him!”

He had no reason to heed the words of a defeated, fleeing Central Plains martial artist.

“The enemies are across a deep and wide river. First, we must block their ranged attack.” He turned and barked orders to the Archery Captain. “Pour arrows ceaselessly! Disrupt the enemy’s javelins and buy us time!”

He knew the enemies were martial artists possessing internal energy. But he also knew that even martial artists could not block a rain of arrows while throwing javelins simultaneously.

“Damn it…!”

The Mount Hua disciple cursed. Seeing the archer unit deploy, he realized his warning was futile.

“Master!”

At that moment, a voice called out in the familiar Central Plains tongue. Martial artists were running toward him—the other disciples of Mount Hua.

“Fortunately, there are no injured from the javelin attack!” a second-generation disciple reported urgently. “Our position was on the outskirts of the camp, and—”

“Report later!” The first-generation disciple grabbed the junior’s shoulder. “Go to the perimeter immediately and visually confirm the enemy’s movements! Hurry!”

The second-generation disciple was momentarily flustered.

“I said confirm immediately!”

As the senior shouted, she turned and sprinted toward the outskirts, unfolding her footwork. Watching her retreat, the first-generation disciple shouted his next orders.

“Eldest Senior Brother is under that cart! Secure him, and bring those panicked horses over here!”

“But those horses belong to the Dread King’s—”

“It doesn’t matter!”

Tap, tatatat!

Unfolding Mount Hua’s footwork, Plum Blossom Fragrance Drift, the second-generation disciple raced toward the edge of the camp. A question lingered in her mind as she ran.

The enemy is across the river. The archers will check the javelins. Why is he so urgent?

The Dread King’s corps had positioned themselves behind a deep, wide river specifically because it was difficult to cross. Even if the enemy had boats, crossing under arrow fire would give the tribe ample time to respond.

In her vision, a watchtower on the outskirts came into view.

That’s it!

The tower, hastily constructed from timber, bristled with dozens of steel javelins, making it look like a chilling porcupine of iron.

Gulp.

Swallowing dryly, the disciple stepped onto the protruding javelin shafts and vaulted upward.

Tap! Tatak!

Bodies of soldiers who had failed to escape slid down the structure as she climbed. The watchtower creaked anxiously, but her skilled footwork carried her to the top.

The enemy’s direction is—

She channeled internal energy to her eyes, brightening her vision in the pitch-black darkness.

And then, looking toward the river, she froze.

“Fire!”

Far behind her, the Archery Captain roared. Arrows soared into the black sky in unison.

Shoo-shoo-shoo-shook!

The massive cloud of arrows passed over the second-generation disciple’s head, but she could not tear her eyes away from the nightmare unfolding below.

Splash-splash-splash-splash!

Dozens—no, over a hundred—warriors of the Luoyang Sword Clan were moving.

They were creating splashes as they crossed the surface of the deep, wide river in perfect unison.

Running.

How could a martial artist not recognize that high-level technique?

“F-Floating on Grass to Cross Water…?”

The arrows fired by the archer unit slammed uselessly into the empty riverbank where the enemy had been moments ago.

“Th-This is crazy…!”

It was an impossibility. She doubted her own eyes. How could that many warriors, without exception, use such a high-level lightness technique so skillfully?

Pababababak!

The secret seemed to lie in their boots, which shimmered with a strange gloss as they defied nature.

“E-Enemies—!”

Unable to resolve her shock, she screamed at a high pitch.

“Enemies are crossing the river! They are charging in unison!”

Chachachachang!

The terrifying metallic ring of hundreds of swords being drawn at once echoed across the water.