Lord Of The Black Alliance, Black Cloud Demon (2)

“Waaah—!”

A pack of martial artists let out a roar and charged like a crashing wave. Yang Wi-ryeong had finally whipped his warriors forward.

“Ahh, thank goodness. The Sect Master has come. Take heart! We must block them so they can’t escape.”

At the bearded man’s shout, the surviving members of the Bloody Veins Unit, who had been dying by inches, squeezed out their last strength.

The Sect Master had arrived. Now they could kill those six.

“Strike! Throw the hidden weapons!”

Yang Wi-ryeong bellowed.

Ching-ching, ping-ping

Whether they had prepared in advance or not, the storm of throwing blades Bae Ji-sang scattered filled the sky so thickly it hardly even looked like “hidden weapons” anymore.

“Kh… even the Tang Clan wouldn’t do something this brute-force…”

Bae Ji-sang muttered as he looked up. It looked as if the Tang Clan’s legendary rain of darts, Flowers Filling the Sky, had been unleashed.

“Gather up!”

At the sudden downpour of hidden weapons, Neung Je-gang shouted to his companions. Fending off the incoming blades, the party closed ranks.

Wooooom

The Heartless Blade let out an urgent cry.

Paaah!

At that moment, a blinding radiance burst from the Heartless Blade, shooting forth as a single mass of light—then exploded, spreading as if to cover the sky.

The hidden weapons that flew in and struck that light turned to dust and scattered like powder.

“Ahh, a sword screen.”

“No, that’s a sword wall.”

At Bae Ji-sang’s awed whisper, Jo Gwang-yeong bit his lip.

After the first despair, he had trained and trained again. He had rejoiced, feeling he had finally closed the gap a little.

But Neung Je-gang was already soaring far ahead. The distance only widened.

A sword wall!

“Damn it!”

Tears felt like they would come. Today became the second day of despair in Jo Gwang-yeong’s life as a martial artist.

“Aaagh!”

“Keugh!”

Outside the range the sword wall could shield, the Bloody Veins men were riddled by the incoming blades and collapsed, bleeding out.

“Why? How could you do such a thing…?”

The bearded warrior who had sworn loyalty to Yang Wi-ryeong after succeeding Cheong Yeon as unit chief could not comprehend it. They had comrades right there, they were fighting right there—how could he throw hidden weapons into that?

Their comrades were dying. Even corpses were pelted with blades.

“Abandoned… you’ve abandoned us!”

With a cry of grief, the bearded man fell to his knees. He wanted to beg forgiveness from his fellows for dragging them into this fight and pushing them into hell.

Puh-puh-puh-puh-puk!

Like rain, the hidden weapons slammed into his prostrated back.

Twitch.

He did not even scream; begging his comrades’ forgiveness, he quietly met death.

Yang Wi-ryeong had thrown the Bloody Veins Unit away. If he could only kill Neung Je-gang’s group along with them, he felt no regret at the cost.

“Throw! Throw more!”

He had eyes; he had seen the sword wall. He could not help being shocked.

A sword wall! Even seeing a sword screen woven from sword energy would be astonishing, but a wall at that age?

All the more reason he could not let him live. If he failed to kill him now, he felt he would never kill him.

“He’ll run out of strength sooner or later. Throw—keep throwing!”

But even his men’s stock of weapons had limits. The barrage thinned, dwindling to something no longer threatening.

“Urgh!”

Suddenly, Neung Je-gang’s face went pale—he coughed blood and staggered. The sword wall he was maintaining vanished without a trace.

“Captain! Uwaaaaaa!”

Majil howled.

“Captain!”

Cheong Yeon, who had not yet entirely shaken off his conflicted heart about Yang Wi-ryeong, grasped the fallen Neung Je-gang’s hand and let a sound tear up from his chest. Now he was free of conflict. He had seen Yang Wi-ryeong’s devilish heartlessness, and Neung Je-gang’s self-sacrificing righteousness.

“Oho—hahahahaha! He finally fell. Finally!”

Seeing the barrage dwindle, Yang Wi-ryeong had been preparing to flee. He had no confidence to face someone who could raise a sword wall.

What was a sword wall? At minimum it required one to manifest true sword force.

But he was only at the point of imitating sword force—barely enough to be ashamed to call it such.

Therefore he could not openly challenge the Black Cloud Demon; he had to scheme, plot, and clasp hands with the Necromancer Cult. What else could he do? If he wanted to live, he had to run.

But the man had fallen. He had spat blood and collapsed, unable to rise.

“Of course. What, is he a god of martial arts? How could he throw up a sword wall and be fine afterward?”

Yang Wi-ryeong decided it was over. His identity would remain hidden; he only needed to pin crimes on Secret Shadow and his party.

If he declared an immediate execution for their “crimes,” who would know otherwise? Only his subordinates and the Necromancer Cult’s warriors were here.

He exhaled a long, relieved breath. Still, he had to admit—it was impressive. Seeing a sword wall had been a stroke of luck.

‘Someday I’ll make one of those too… right?’

Yang Wi-ryeong indulged in a brief dream of the future. Then he shouted:

“Kill them!”

His subordinates charged at the order.

“Waaaah! Secret Shadow’s head is mine!”

“Like hell! It’s mine!”

They fought to claim the glory of cutting off the head of the man who had shown such divine might.

Cheong Yeon and Jo Gwang-yeong stepped in front of Neung Je-gang. Majil, who had been sobbing, rose and formed a fireball.

Bae Ji-sang grabbed every last hidden weapon left in one fist. He planned to throw the lot, then snatch up any blade and swing with all he had, poor skill or not.

Go So-jeong let go of Neung Je-gang’s hand—she had been holding it as she wept—and stood. As she rose, she gently caressed his face for a heartbeat. Though it was a false face, she had loved it.

They now truly steeled themselves for death. To die alongside Neung Je-gang, who had coughed blood and fallen to save them, felt like an honor.

“Uwaaa!”

“Hiyaaa!”

Just then, from the right side of the hill they were holding, hundreds of warriors came charging with blades flashing. At their head was Cheon Jang-myeong, Master of the No-Poison Sect, whom they had waited for so desperately.

And from the left came hundreds more, all brandishing sabers much like the one in Jo Gwang-yeong’s hands.

“Father!”

With a voice thick with feeling, Jo Gwang-yeong called to his father. At the leftmost front, Jo Je-hun was galloping forward, swinging a saber brimming with blade force in one hand.

They fell upon Yang Wi-ryeong’s men and the Necromancer Cult’s warriors without mercy.

“Uagh!”

“Argh!”

“Wah-hahaha! Yang Wi-ryeong, you cur of the Necromancer Cult! I’m here—for my son’s revenge! Stretch out your neck!”

“Yang Wi-ryeong! I’ll tear you to pieces—take my blade!”

Cheon Jang-myeong and Jo Je-hun scattered killing intent in torrents, sweeping aside anything in their way like pebbles and making straight for Yang Wi-ryeong.

“Wh-what is this? What is this?!”

Yang Wi-ryeong stamped his feet. It had all been over—it was the very last moment—and now everything was ruined.

“This… this is all because of him. Secret Shadow, you damned wretch! I’ll drag you to hell with me no matter what it takes.”

Yang Wi-ryeong charged toward the hill where Neung Je-gang lay.

From his sword rose half a ja of sword force. Having seen Neung Je-gang’s sword wall, none of the party were shocked—but none of them had the means to stop it, either. The No-Poison Master and the Lord of Blade Forest were far too distant.

‘Ahh, we really are going to die now.’

So they all thought. Still, they would do what they could; eyes wide open, they fixed Yang Wi-ryeong in their sights.

“Take this, you bastard!”

Go So-jeong hurled her dagger.

Whish, whish

Clang, clang

Her dagger bounced away.

“Take mine too, you bastard!”

Even then, Majil mimicked Go So-jeong’s tone as he flung a fireball hard—hoping Yang wouldn’t dodge, but would swat it aside.

“Wahahaha! Children’s games?”

Yang Wi-ryeong chopped the incoming fireball with his sword force.

Pak!

Suddenly the fireball shattered—and the flames leapt onto his body.

Fwoosh!

He thought it would go out with a puff of breath, but the fire devoured his clothes and roared up in an instant.

“Aaaargh!”

He could wield inner force, so he wouldn’t die at once; even so, the fierce heat felt like his flesh was melting and his blood boiling.

“You damned wretch!”

Ablaze, Yang Wi-ryeong charged again. He had already resolved to die—fire or whatever, he feared nothing.

Seeing his whole body catch fire from the first fireball, Majil had been delighted—he thought Yang would die just like that.

But the man kept charging in flames. Majil hurled fireball after fireball, but Yang dodged left and right and came on. There was nothing left he could trust.

Boom!

Thud!

Against the onrushing Yang Wi-ryeong, all he could do was fling up dirt.

Jo Gwang-yeong and Cheong Yeon’s gazes met. If they died fighting a master of sword force, that too would be a warrior’s good fortune. Encouraging one another with their eyes, they gripped saber and sword and rushed forward.

Yang Wi-ryeong’s terrible glare and the chill gleam of his sword force were ferocious.

“Hiyaaa!”

Jo Gwang-yeong unleashed the strongest thing he could muster—the Blue Surge he had learned by watching Neung Je-gang’s blade.

Spat!

Cheong Yeon, too, executed the swiftest quick-sword he could— to protect the one person who had once whispered that quick-sword best suited him.

Jjeo-jeong!

But nothing could stop Yang Wi-ryeong. The sword shattered and flew; the saber burst apart.

“Uwaaahp!”

Yang Wi-ryeong swung his blade at their bodies. Of the six, they were about to become the first recorded dead.

Rrrrrrumble!

Cheooong!

“Uwoooogh!”

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed. Cheong Yeon and Jo Gwang-yeong saw it and heard it with their own eyes and ears—and they saw Yang Wi-ryeong flying back the way he had come.

Flop.

He crashed down and did not move. Something black and heavy was buried in his chest, flames licking high—he looked very much dead.

Only then did the two slump to the ground. Not a drop of strength was left in their bodies.

But they were alive. They didn’t know why; what mattered was that they lived.

Step… step…

From behind the hill where Neung Je-gang lay, someone walked forward. It was like seeing another Neung Je-gang—clad all in black, even a black bamboo hat that hid his face…

“Heh-heh.”

He came like that, stood a moment before Neung Je-gang, then suddenly chuckled. From beneath the hat, his gaze fell on the Heartless Blade in Neung Je-gang’s grip—still clenched tight even in a faint.

“No need for me to intervene, it seems.”

The man in the hat murmured, then walked on.

Why did Neung Je-gang’s body flinch just then?

The hat-wearing man passed Cheong Yeon and Jo Gwang-yeong and approached Yang Wi-ryeong. Then he reached toward the burning corpse.

“It’s dangerous!”

Majil shouted. But the all-black hat-man drew out something long and pitch-black from Yang Wi-ryeong’s chest—no telling if it was a sword or a cudgel—burning fiercely. The fire looked like it should have scorched his hand.

“See? I told you—it is dangerous, it’s just that, uh…”

Majil’s voice trailed off. The man tapped the terrible flames with his hand and they simply went out.

Just then, Cheon Jang-myeong and Jo Je-hun hurried up to the hat-wearing man. The fighting across the field was already nearing its end.

“We pay respects to the Alliance Lord!”

They spoke as one, bowing deeply with cupped-fist salutes.

Ah—him. That man. Lord of the hundred thousand demonic paths across the Central Plains, the Black Cloud Demon, the strongest under heaven as all acknowledged.

“Have you both been well?”

The Black Cloud Demon returned their salute and words, then walked slowly down the hill.

“Waaah—!”

“Long live the Alliance Lord!”

“Long live the Black Alliance!”

For the first time in ages, the Black Cloud Demon, Lord of the Black Alliance, appeared before the world—and the Alliance’s warriors shouted and cried manse.

Cries that only the Emperor should hear. In that moment, he stood prouder than any Emperor.

“No-Poison Sect, remain here and secure the site. Afterward, strike Yang Wi-ryeong’s household and the Heavenly Poison Grove.”

Cheon Jang-myeong stepped up, rallying his men.

“Warriors of Blade Forest, with me—to the Hwanam Merchants’ Union!”

Jo Je-hun shouted and strode off, the proud warriors of Dorim following close behind.

“The Hwanam Merchants’ Union… so he’s going after that woman?”

Watching his father vanish into the distance, Jo Gwang-yeong tilted his head. Shouldn’t a man at least check on his son when things were finished? A son who had nearly died…

Seeing Jo Gwang-yeong, Cheong Yeon suddenly asked,

“That just now—that was Sword-Control Art, wasn’t it?”

They spoke of the technique they themselves had barely seen—the art with which the Black Cloud Demon saved them and slew Yang Wi-ryeong.

“Didn’t he just throw it? If it was Sword-Control, shouldn’t it have punched through, circled in the air a few times, then returned to its master’s hand?”

“Heh, no. I’m sure it was Sword-Control. What else could let you throw a blade from there to here, smash through sword force, and pin it in his chest?”

“Ah, right! It did shatter the sword force. Hah—so it really was Sword-Control.”

Jo Gwang-yeong had no words left. A sword wall and even Sword-Control—today he had seen the very apex of offense and defense achievable with the sword.

Meanwhile, Neung Je-gang was pondering. Should he get up and walk on his own two feet, or keep pretending to be unconscious to the end?

After raising the sword wall, he had seen signs Yang Wi-ryeong might run, so he had feigned a faint on purpose. It seemed he had succeeded in keeping him from fleeing.

But his companions’ reactions were too intense. When Majil and Cheong Yeon wept—and when Go So-jeong stroked his face—he had nearly jumped to his feet then and there.

Still, when Cheong Yeon and Jo Gwang-yeong stepped forward, he had gripped the Heartless Blade tightly, ready to intervene at any moment. Then a black “club” flew in from somewhere—hardly looking like a sword to his eyes—saving both of them and killing Yang Wi-ryeong.

He felt a slight regret at not dealing the finishing blow himself, but since it was a Black Alliance matter, it was better, he thought, for the Alliance to resolve it. And the one who threw that black “club” seemed to see through his feigned faint at a glance.

The Black Cloud Demon!

Truly different. He could not tell exactly what martial art it was—but frankly, if they crossed blades now, he had no confidence he could win.

With all done, these people were now just leaving him lying there?

“Uuungh.”

Neung Je-gang finally pretended to awaken.

“Captain!”

Majil, closest to him, snapped to attention.

The rest of the party hurried to his side.

“Ugh… what happened?”

Neung Je-gang feigned ignorance—and everyone began talking over one another about what they had seen. He already knew it all, so it only gave him a headache.

“Captain, can you stand? Should I carry you?”

As Majil said this, a carriage came rattling up. It stopped right below the hill, and someone climbed out.

“Lord of the Hall of Ten Thousand Sounds!”

“Well, well—long time no see. The Alliance Lord said you’d need it, so I brought a carriage. Can you get in?”

With help from the party, Neung Je-gang climbed aboard.

The Lord of Ten Thousand Sounds spoke to the driver.

“Go slow. As slow as possible—don’t let the injury worsen. Understood?”

Had Neung Je-gang been a quick-tempered man, he might have died of sheer frustration in that carriage.