“Enough! No more yielding to the Sword Forest!” Elder Yeom’s voice thundered over the battlefield. “Now, let us show our Lord which blade truly deserves to stand by his side!”

An earth-shaking roar erupted from the War Advisory Group as they surged forward with unstoppable momentum. Yet, amidst that thunderous tide of war cries, a lone figure suddenly burst through the ranks with frantic indignation.

“Yielding?! Did you say yielding?!”

It was, of course, Geom Gwi-hon, the volatile head of the Sword Forest. Using a swift movement technique to pull alongside Elder Yeom’s war chariot, he jabbed a finger toward the elder and bellowed, “Hey! Elder Yeom! Are you suggesting my Sword Forest wouldn’t have achieved a single merit if your Advisory Group hadn’t stepped aside?! Is that what you’re saying?!”

Elder Yeom spared him only a fleeting glance before shrugging nonchalantly. “If that is how the Deputy Head understands it, then I suppose it must be true.”

“You—!”

Crimson with rage, Geom Gwi-hon kicked off the armored hull of a nearby heavy war wagon. He spiraled through the air in a graceful mid-air somersault before landing squarely on Elder Yeom’s chariot. Stooping down, he screamed directly into the elder’s ear, “After witnessing the sublime beauty of my Forest’s charge and my own magnificent exploits, you still have the gall to utter such nonsense?! How could you possibly call that yielding?!”

Grimacing as if his eardrums were being pierced, Elder Yeom cut him off with a blunt retort. “In the end, wasn’t the Forest’s charge only successful because it was bolstered by our Advisory Group’s bombardment and the Grand Young Master’s brilliant stratagems?”

Geom Gwi-hon froze, his mouth hanging open. It wasn’t that the elder was wrong—it was simply that, occasionally, the truth was the most infuriating weapon of all.

“Elder Yeom!” Geom Gwi-hon began hopping in place, shrieking at the top of his lungs. “Turn them back! Bring those bastards back right now! I’ll show you exactly how cleanly my Forest can break them without your damn cannons or clever tricks!”

Elder Yeom carefully concealed his inward admiration. As expected of the Sword Demon… truly impressive. He wasn’t impressed by the man’s illogical, stubborn rambling. Rather, he was marveling at the fact that Geom Gwi-hon was jumping like a madman atop a violently lurching chariot—far from a well-paved road—without losing his center of gravity for even a heartbeat.

Elder Yeom let out a dry, mocking chuckle. “Goodness… it seems as you’ve grown in years, Deputy Head, you’ve only learned to be as stubborn as those pathetic old fools back at the main estate.”

Grown in years. Pathetic old fools.

“Wh-What did you say?!” Stunned by the double-tap to his pride, Geom Gwi-hon staggered momentarily before snapping his head back like a cornered viper. He gnashed his teeth, hissing, “Elder Yeooooom…!”

“Deputy Head Geom Gwi-hon. Elder Yeom.”

A voice cut through the bickering as soft and light as a celestial being descending upon a cloud. Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon had landed gracefully upon the chariot’s narrow railing.

“Grand Young Master…!”

“My Lord.”

Standing with his hands tucked behind his back, So-hyeon balanced perfectly on the thin metal rail of the racing, rattling chariot. He looked down at them with a knowing smile. “You two have been chatting for quite a while. Are you perhaps feeling a bit nervous?”

Ordinarily, Geom Gwi-hon would have jumped to deny it, and Elder Yeom would have covered his embarrassment with a gruff cough. This time, however, both men remained silent, tacitly acknowledging the truth in their Lord’s words.

Thump-thump-thump-thump!

The horizon ahead was choked with enemy forces, a massive, roiling tide of soldiers that seemed to swallow the earth. As the distance closed, there was nothing but the overwhelming, suffocating numbers of the foe. Even for veterans as battle-hardened as Elder Yeom and Geom Gwi-hon, charging headlong into such a sea of blades was enough to set anyone’s nerves on edge. Yet, as leaders, they could never show weakness to their subordinates. Their bickering had been a desperate attempt to bleed off the mounting tension.

“Hahaha!” So-hyeon’s hearty laughter rang out from the railing, sounding as though he had never known the meaning of fear.

The two older warriors looked up at the seventeen-year-old youth in stunned silence. To them, nothing about this boy seemed to follow the natural order of the world.

“Grand Young Master!” Geom Gwi-hon grumbled, looking up at him. “Instead of mocking us, why don’t you tell us the plan?!”

“The plan…?” So-hyeon blinked, feigning confusion.

Before the two leaders could respond to his baffling expression, a lookout atop the war wagon screamed, “Entering enemy firing range!”

“Prepare for anti-projectile maneuvers!”

“Brace for fire!”

The shouts of the warriors snapped Geom Gwi-hon back to reality. “G-Grand Young Master…!” he yelled, clutching the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. “Tell me you didn’t lead us here without a single stratagem prepared?!”

Elder Yeom felt his heart sink as well, though he shook his head in frantic denial. “Surely… surely my Lord wouldn’t…!”

Seeing their panicked, innocent reactions, So-hyeon’s eyes widened for a moment before he burst into a fit of raucous laughter. “Of course there’s a plan. I’ve made my preparations.”

As the two men exhaled long, ragged sighs of relief, the lookout’s voice pierced the air again. “Enemy rear ranks are opening fire! Arrows inbound! Maximum range, high-angle volley!”

The sky turned a bruised black as a thick shroud of arrows blotted out the light. Then, like a sudden midsummer squall, the arrow-rain came pouring down.

Clang! Tang! Tatatatang!

A barrage of shafts hammered against the heavy plating of the war wagons. One of the repeating-crossbowmen looked up, his voice strained as he shouted, “Should we return fire?!”

“No!” a lieutenant barked, immediately shaking his head. “Returning fire now would be a waste of bolts. It wouldn’t make a dent in those numbers!”

The archer gnashed his teeth in frustration, but So-hyeon, who was casually batting away arrows from his perch on the railing, called out to him. “Don’t worry, soldier! You’ll have more than enough to shoot soon, so just be patient!”

“Yes, Grand Young Master!”

Satisfied with the spirited response, So-hyeon nodded. Geom Gwi-hon pressed him again. “So, what is this plan and these preparations you mentioned?!”

So-hyeon simply shook his head with a faint smile. “There is no need for you to know every detail from one to ten right now.”

“What?! That makes no—”

“What you both need to focus on,” So-hyeon interrupted, his voice dropping into a heavy, authoritative register that quelled Geom Gwi-hon’s impending outburst, “is the singular point of our breakthrough. That is all.”

He continued, his tone turning profoundly serious. “Regardless of what I have prepared, the final outcome of this battle rests entirely upon you two.” He met the gazes of Elder Yeom and Geom Gwi-hon with unwavering sincerity. “It rests upon the Sword Forest and the War Advisory Group.”

The two men exchanged a silent glance before nodding in unison toward Yeon So-hyeon.

“Leave it to us, my Lord.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Grand Young Master.”

Just as So-hyeon was the one they trusted and followed above all others, they were the ones he relied on most in this theater of war.

“…Excellent,” So-hyeon murmured, heartened by their resolve. “I’m counting on you.”

“Second volley! Here comes the second wave!” the lookout screamed.

“Everyone, back to cover!”

Watching the clouds of arrows descend like a storm, So-hyeon never took his eyes off the threat as he bellowed, “Watch out! They’ve hidden arrows infused with internal energy among the common shafts!”

“Forget cover! Intercept them!” Elder Yeom roared.

No sooner had the order left his lips than the arrows slammed down. Reacting with lightning speed, the warriors abandoned their shields. To conserve their internal energy and stamina, they wielded their blades with surgical precision, batting the lethal projectiles out of the air one by one.

As the defensive maneuvers concluded, So-hyeon turned to the host. “Listen well! As soon as the next volley ends, we will collide with the enemy!”

The warriors gnashed their teeth, their eyes burning with a fierce, murderous intent.

“Good. Truly magnificent!” So-hyeon surveyed them, his smile widening with satisfaction. “But do not worry. The initial impact won’t be as violent as you fear!”

Confusion rippled through the ranks. They stared at him, unable to grasp his meaning. Under the collective weight of their stares, So-hyeon’s grin turned predatory.

“Very soon, the enemy’s front line will become as soft as freshly made tofu!”

In that moment of shared confusion, Elder Yeom’s keen nose twitched. A sharp, stinging scent drifted through the air. “This smell…!”

***

A short distance away, at a vantage point where the Dread King’s host and the charging Grand Young Master’s forces were both visible, a faint message vibrated through the air.

[Southeastern wind confirmed.]

From the seemingly empty, desolate plains, a figure suddenly stirred.

[Southeastern wind confirmed on this end as well.]

A camouflage cloak was swept aside, revealing a figure clad head-to-toe in a jet-black suit made of an unrecognizable, sleek material.

[It seems our squad drew the winning lot.]

As if in response, several other black-clad figures materialized across the plain, shedding their own camouflage.

[Check equipment.]

They performed a final, meticulous check of their gear, including the leather-like masks that completely obscured their faces.

[Final check of the poison-filter masks complete.]

[All clear.]

The field commander issued his order, his voice leaking through the filter-mask with a sinister hiss.

[Initiate poisoning.]

[Commencing poisoning.]

As his subordinates echoed the command, the commander’s eyes crinkled into a cruel smile beneath his mask.

[Let these northern hillbillies feel the true terror of our Sichuan Tang Clan.]

***

At the front of the Dread King’s center army, the enemy commander sat astride his horse, his voice booming over his troops.

“(Our goal is not merely to stop their charge…!)” He rode along the front line, rallying his men. “(We do not wait! we will seek our honor and glory by charging into the enemy ourselves…!)”

The strategy was simple: force a mutual annihilation through a counter-charge. Had they been low on manpower, they would have dug in their heels and defended, but the Dread King had no such limitations.

“(Even if our arms are severed, our legs hacked off, and our hearts pierced…!)” the commander roared, his voice rising in pitch. “(If every single one of us dies after inflicting even a sliver of damage on the foe, then in the end, the victory shall be ours!)”

A roar of approval went up from the vanguard—warriors who had volunteered to be the first to die.

“(Fire!)”

From the rear, the third and final volley of arrows arced into the sky, whistling over their heads.

“(Understand?! As soon as this volley ends, we begin our charge!)”

The enemy drew closer. Some of the vanguard warriors, their spirits burning as they listened to the terrifying screech of the arrows overhead, suddenly began to cough.

“(Cough…!)”

At first, they thought it was simply because they had screamed too hard with dry throats.

“(Hacking… cough, cough!)”

But soon, even the elite warriors who possessed perfect control over their bodies found themselves unable to stop.

Neigghhh!

The commander’s heart turned to ice as he watched horses foam at the mouth and collapse. He suddenly remembered a report from the Third Young Master of the Luoyang Yeon Clan regarding the Grand Young Master’s estimated capabilities.

“(Poison…!)”

The colorless, odorless poison of the Sichuan Tang Clan.

Faceless and Nameless.

The horrific weapon that had first revealed its nightmare nature during the Battle of Sinners’ Valley had surfaced once again here, in the far northern reaches.

“(It’s a poison attack! Everyone, hold your breath and—cough—detoxify…!)”

The commander and his warriors desperately circulated their internal energy to purge the toxins, but their breaths were already growing shallow.

“(On these windy plains—cough—the poison attack won’t last—cough—long…!)”

But by then, it was already too late.

[Where do you think you’re looking?]

Since he was biting down on a Poison-Averting Bead, Geom Gwi-hon’s voice came through only as a mental transmission.

“(—?!)”

Shlik!

A flash of brilliant steel severed the commander’s head before he could even register the movement. Having used an explosive movement technique, Geom Gwi-hon had leaped into the enemy vanguard faster than anyone.

“Ch-Charge… cough!”

The enemy warriors tried to carry out their original plan of a counter-charge, but the sky above them was already darkening.

The signal for the true beginning of the war had arrived.

Elder Yeom, the Sword Pinnacle Crushes the Mountain, was descending upon them, his massive greatsword poised to deliver a world-shattering strike.