Righteous Chivalry Guild (2)

It did not end there.

After loosing the qi orbs, Sa Won-yang truly began to move.

Swish!

“Heh-heh, where were you looking?”

In the instant the startled fighters faltered, Sa Won-yang’s figure flashed before their eyes.

“!”

A beastlike strike lunged straight in.

From both his hands, crimson qi extended like long claws.

Fwoosh!

“Graaah!”

By the time an Emei master screamed, body split wide, Sa Won-yang’s figure had already pounced on another.

He moved like a wildcat ravaging a nest of rats.

It was a massacre.

Rip!

“Ugh! Sect Leader!”

Emei did have many pinnacle masters, but most were only at the entry stage—or a notch above, with roughly seventy years of inner skill.

Caught alone and unable to combine their attacks, they faced a monster they could not hope to match.

Only then did Gyeolhan snap fully to her senses.

Of the twenty-odd pinnacle masters she had brought, half had already fallen.

The first-rate fighters were hardly worth mentioning.

And that was merely so far; if left as is, total annihilation would be a matter of time.

Gyeolhan rushed Sa Won-yang.

“You cur!”

Her all-out sword strike appeared before his eyes as if the space itself had jumped.

Shuah!

It was Formless Sword Pattern, an ultimate Emei art granted only to Sect Leaders.

A sudden, almost teleporting attack—worthy of Emei’s supreme technique.

Sa Won-yang’s eyes gleamed with interest, but he did not fluster.

“Oh? So that’s the Formless Sword?”

As if yanked from behind, his body slid back through the air.

Gyeolhan’s blade cut only emptiness where he had been.

Shraaak!

Comfortably out of reach, Sa Won-yang smiled brightly.

“That looks entertaining. But this seat likes to save the tastiest bite for last.”

Then he streaked away, a bolt of light.

Not at Gyeolhan—but at another pinnacle master some distance from her.

“You craven—!”

Gyeolhan cried. Her shout and the next butchered scream came almost together.

Rip!

“Aaagh!”

Those at the entry to the pinnacle could not withstand even one of his moves.

The sharp, clawlike qi from his hands sliced through their qi, their blades, and their bodies in a single stroke.

Gyeolhan ground her teeth as she watched, unable to catch his speed.

She understood his intent.

He meant to cull the weak first.

And the end of that was obvious enough not to need confirming.

“Group up! Do not scatter—form up and resist together!”

At her urgent command, the pinnacle masters scrambled to cluster and combine their strength.

Sa Won-yang only curled his lip.

“Fools.”

Crimson qi orbs swelled in both his hands again.

Gyeolhan shouted, aghast.

“No! Eva—!”

The orbs flashed out like lightning and pierced the clustered masters one after another.

Thwip! Thwip!

“Ghk!”

“Sec…t Leader…!”

Two per orb this time—four lives vanished in a blink.

Spread out, and he hunted them one by one. Close in, and his qi orbs shredded them in rows.

Emei’s elites no longer knew how to fight. Terror had them by the throat.

Gyeolhan was little better.

Her eyes, too, brimmed with despair.

She chased with all her might, but he would not be caught; toying with her, he flashed to the outermost fighter and cut her down again.

Rrrip!

“Sect Leader!”

Gyeolhan gritted her teeth, more frantic by the breath.

“If this goes on…”

A grim picture formed in her mind.

Including herself, only eight pinnacle masters remained; the first-rates were already slaughtered.

So long as the pinnacle remained, he avoided a head-on with her—but once he judged their number low enough, he would stop avoiding.

And that would likely be her end.

A thought flickered.

‘Should I run now?’

Perhaps this was the last chance.

Guilt at abandoning her disciples pricked for a moment—but that, she could rationalize.

If the Sect Leader of Emei died here, that would be a great loss to Emei, would it not?

She, at least, must survive.

Even if it meant leaving them all behind.

Another thought intruded.

Those who supported Gyeolhan—all of them were here.

Could she keep her seat if she returned alone?

She shook her head.

No. Impossible.

The opposition would rise like wildfire to tear her apart.

She would be lucky not to end up in an iron cell, much less keep the seal.

While she wavered, Sa Won-yang killed another.

Slash!

“Gyaah! Sect Leader!”

Gyeolhan, ever more desperate, hissed through her teeth.

“Tch!”

Then—

From over the wall, out of the black night, someone fell like a meteor.

“Hold!”

A blade carved the air, and a crimson glow like evening cloud painted the sky.

Startled Emei masters cried out.

“Red-Rain Divine Sword?!”

It was Hwa Yeong-bin, the Red-Rain Divine Sword.

He poured a majestic, blood-red sword-qi over Sa Won-yang.

“Haaaaap!”

Sa Won-yang frowned faintly, then slid back through the air as before, as if something pulled him—much the same reaction he’d shown to Gyeolhan.

“Red-Rain Divine Sword!”

“Senior Hwa!”

Emei disciples called his name in relief.

Despite his usual distaste for Gyeolhan’s faction, never had he been more welcome.

But after forcing Sa Won-yang to yield a step, Hwa Yeong-bin shouted not to them, but to Gyeolhan.

“Elder! Chasing him alone is pointless! Line everyone in a single file! You and I anchor the two ends and press him slowly!”

She understood at once.

Lined sideways toward the enemy, his qi orbs would be far less effective; with herself and Hwa Yeong-bin at either flank, he could not charge in lightly.

Her head cleared.

“Do as Senior Hwa says! Form a single line! Senior Hwa and I will hold the ends!”

The six surviving pinnacle masters spread into a long row, with Gyeolhan and Hwa Yeong-bin at the tips.

Bent line, almost a shallow crane-wing.

Thus arrayed, they began to advance on Sa Won-yang.

Some of the smile left his face.

He still smiled—but thinner now, plainly.

In the hearts of Emei’s women, a flicker of hope finally took light.

At that same time, Seonu Jin and Bi Sayoung were racing like a gale deeper into the Guild.

Earlier, Seonu Jin had asked Hwa Yeong-bin to step in only when Emei stood on the brink—to buy time—begging him not to overextend.

If things turned truly dire, he must retreat without looking back. For Emei’s sake, it might be better if Gyeolhan fell—but Hwa Yeong-bin must not.

Hwa Yeong-bin had hesitated, then nodded.

Even so, Seonu Jin could not be sure he would keep to that.

Would a chivalrous man who has lived more than ten years for a dead beloved really abandon others and flee?

Likely not.

They had to free the captives fast, then return to him.

Running alongside, Bi Sayoung cursed.

“Damn it! This place is huge! With no intel, can we even find where they penned the women?!”

“We try!”

If the Guanyin Hall underlings had been truthful, the women had been moved inside the Guild.

And given that most Guild fighters were not Blood Cult, there weren’t many places they could stash them.

That was why Seonu Jin ran in a straight line for the Main Hall—the Guild’s heart.

A place only the leadership can approach; heavily guarded, yet raises no suspicion.

He guessed that was the spot.

If not, they would have to grab Hwa Yeong-bin and withdraw.

When Squad Leader Seol Pung and old Master Seok Gyeong-dal had faced the Blood-Seeker Marquis Ji Gwang-ok, even two ninety-year masters hadn’t held a super-pinnacle for long.

Sa Won-yang ranked above Ji Gwang-ok by reputation.

“There! Is that the Main Hall?!”

Between the halls ahead, a building loomed—vast beyond the rest.

O Gwang-hon, known as Mantis Ghost-Sickle, had surpassed the eighty-year wall; since Sa Won-yang had founded the Guild, he had been among the most trusted, a rare Blood Cultist famed for his loyalty.

Even now, with two subordinates, he guarded the Main Hall while Sa Won-yang was away.

One underling spoke timidly.

“Chief O, please—go inside and rest. We can keep watch here.”

O Gwang-hon shook his head.

“With the Marquis himself in the field, how could I relax alone? Spare me and watch carefully.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first-rate-peak Blood Cultist bowed—courteous without, cursing within.

If the chief stood here, they couldn’t slack.

He glared at the back of O Gwang-hon’s head, fixed on the front approach.

Stuffed-shirt. Thinks he’s some righteous sect man?

Then—

From the roof, something fell soundlessly behind him.

So silent he never noticed until a blade kissed the back of his neck.

Shiiik!

“Ghk!”

At that short gasp, ice ran down O Gwang-hon’s spine.

He whirled, whipping out his signature mantis hook-sickle (dangnang-sak) in a desperate sweep.

Sheee! Clang-clang-clank!

His instincts had saved his life.

He barely blocked the lightning thrust from behind.

He sprang back, shouting,

“Who goes there?!”

The other subordinate at last registered an intruder, drew his saber, and barked,

“Alarm—!”

He never finished.

From behind him, someone streaked in and drove a hidden dart into his nape.

Thunk!

“Urk!”

Incredible footwork—so fast even O Gwang-hon couldn’t catch his face.

Like a bolt, the newcomer skimmed past O Gwang-hon’s back and scattered darts.

Ffft-ffft-ffft!

O Gwang-hon whipped around, knocking the darts aside.

Tin-ting-ting!

In that heartbeat, the first attacker thrust from behind—three sword-images stabbing at once, a blindingly fast thrusting trio.

“Kh!”

Clang-clang-clank!

He parried by a hair and snarled,

“Four-One Sword! Are you a Dianchang Sect dog?!”

He tried to break away—when the other blur had already looped behind to rain more darts.

Ffft-ffft-ffft!

“Tch!”

His wits spun.

Two speed demons meshed like gears—front and back—never letting up.

Overwhelmed, he abandoned blocking the darts and rolled aside.

The forward swordsman shadowed him and unfurled a blade of light—phantom wings blooming.

A phantom blade? Not Dianchang after all?

Grinding his teeth, O Gwang-hon swung the mantis sickle wildly to sweep it aside.

“Hrrra!”

A thin ray shot from the heart of the wings—so crisp it chilled the guts.

One-Breath, One-Line.

“—?!”

O Gwang-hon, a pinnacle master past eighty years, mustered all to meet it.

Clang!

Blocked!

He exulted inwardly—he had stopped what seemed unstoppable.

Then he collapsed to his knees.

And toppled, eyes wide with thwarted fury he never shut.

Thud!

Buried deep in the back of his neck sat a hidden dart—thrown by Bi Sayoung.

Rushing in with Burst-Step, Bi Sayoung had timed the dart to the instant O Gwang-hon’s focus fixed on the One-Breath, One-Line—too late for him to react.

With O Gwang-hon down, Seonu Jin and Bi Sayoung bumped fists once and slipped into the Main Hall.