Unwi drew his sword and sheathed it in its scabbard.

“Today’s tab will be paid by Cheon Eojin. Anyone who’s thirsty for a drink—help yourself before you leave. And Shin Janghu.”

“Y-Yes, Branch Lord... no, Daehyeop!”

“From now on, you’d best move quickly if you want things to go smoothly.”

“...You’re right, Daehyeop! I’ll come to the branch headquarters tomorrow without fail.”

With that, Shin Janghu departed from Yangryeong Hall faster than anyone else.

Unwi lingered a moment, quietly sweeping his gaze over the remaining sect leaders before turning away without a word.

They had witnessed it with their own eyes:

How rewards and punishments were distributed.

This was basic common sense.

What’s the first thing one must do when starting a war?

Discipline the interior.

That’s where it begins.

As he stepped outside, Unwi lifted his head.

Raindrops were falling from the sky.

Yangryeong was a place of extremely capricious weather.

It was heavily affected by the massive snow-capped mountains nearby, but that didn’t mean it only snowed.

Sometimes, like now—it rained.

This rain would, at least a little, wash away the blood of Yangryeong.

***

The light drizzle had turned into a torrential downpour.

Thunder boomed loud enough to tear the sky apart, and the world was suddenly bathed in shades of gray.

“Ugh...”

Yaseokmyeong, the Chief Supervisor of the Yeom Clan's trade caravan, muttered as he shook the water off.

For those leading trade convoys, rain was a disaster.

Mountain paths became mud, cargo got soaked, and visibility worsened.

Naturally, everything slowed down—and with that came danger.

There was no avoiding it.

“We’ll rest here. Set up the tents.”

At Yaseokmyeong’s order, the merchants and porters quickly got to work.

And what was the Yeom Clan?

One of the core factions of Jeogan.

Whenever they sent out a caravan like this, elite martial escorts were assigned without fail.

Even amid the heavy rain, the four warriors standing tall retained their aura—they were the elite.

The strongest among them was of Samhwa-Chwijeong rank, one was Oryong-Bongseong, and two were Yanggwang-Ihyeon.

This was a true elite squad, and beneath them were around twenty Shinsamgyeong-rank warriors.

Combined with porters, regular escorts, and merchants, the convoy numbered over a hundred.

Yang Ilmun, the Samhwa-Chwijeong master, was in a foul mood.

“Damn it...”

He spat as he glared up at the sky.

“To think we’re delayed because of this pathetic rain.”

And then he heard it.

Footsteps cutting through the downpour. At first, the sound was buried in the rain, but gradually it grew louder and clearer.

Yang Ilmun narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows.

Four figures in black hats.

Through the sheets of rain, one man at the front stood out—immense in size.

His face bore a sly grin, and his towering height neared seven cheok.

Rain ran down his broad shoulders as he walked, and each step seemed to shake the earth.

The three behind him were each distinct.

One was a slim woman.

Another wore a cloth covering half her face.

The last was a young man whose eyes gleamed with murderous intent.

Yaseokmyeong stepped forward.

“Who are you people?!”

The giant opened his mouth.

“Are you Yaseokmyeong?”

“...That’s right.”

“The Chief Supervisor of the Yeom Clan?”

“I said yes. Now identify yourselves.”

The giant grinned wider.

“We’ve come from Yangryeong.”

Yaseokmyeong’s eyes went wide.

“Yangryeong? You mean from the Everlasting Snow Palace’s Yangryeong?!”

The man’s laughter rang out through the downpour.

“You know it well. That’s the one. I am Cheonpung, Sub-Branch Lord of the Yangryeong Division.”

At that, the woman wearing the cloth slapped Cheonpung’s shoulder.

“Hey, you—how can you just blurt that out now? Are you insane?”

“Now, now. Mind your language.”

“Screw language, you big idiot—”

“What’s there to worry about?”

“...What?”

“We’re going to kill them all anyway.”

Cheonpung’s chilling gaze pierced into Yaseokmyeong’s chest.

His heart dropped like a stone.

Shit...

This one was real.

“Well, that’s just how life goes, isn’t it? Still, I’m a man of some conscience, so I’ll explain first. A few days ago, Jeogan’s martial artists invaded Yangryeong and caused all kinds of chaos. If I or our Branch Lord had been present, such nonsense never would have happened... What do they call it again? When the tiger’s gone, the fox plays king... something like that?”

“......”

“Anyway, we’ve come to collect the debt.”

Yang Ilmun, the Samhwa-Chwijeong master, stepped forward.

“I’ve heard enough. This is your final warning—get lost or—”

“Shut your damned mouth, you dog. Who gave a slave the right to butt into grown men's business?”

Cheonpung unslung the massive sword from his back and charged forward.

Yang Ilmun was taken aback.

“Slave? Did he just call me a slave?!”

That quickly turned into rage.

He drew his blade and swung without hesitation.

The Yeom Clan was known for three key martial techniques.

Among them, Yang Ilmun had mastered the Flame Flower Blade—a technique of overwhelming power.

He swung with devastating force toward Cheonpung—and Cheonpung responded by swinging his own massive sword.

KRAAAANG—!!

Steel clashed midair with an explosive shockwave.

Rain burst in all directions.

Cheonpung was pushed back a step, while Yang Ilmun was lifted clean off his feet, retreating nearly four steps.

His eyes trembled violently.

“...Well, well. You’re a slave who knows how to swing a blade.”

“Who are you calling a slave?!”

Cheonpung smirked and spoke softly.

“Kill them all.”

It was an order to the branch members. The moment he said it, a woman brushed past him.

Through the thin cloth veil, her sharp eyes locked onto Yang Ilmun.

“...Who are y—?!”

That became his final words.

The sword Ju Soa had drawn was thinner and longer than a standard sword.

It looked almost like a whip-sword, but it was a blade.

Her legs sprang, her wrist flicked.

And the sword began to dance like a living serpent.

Ghost Serpent Soul-Severing Sword—secret technique of the Killing Sword Sect.

Slice—!

Yang Ilmun’s head soared through the air.

Ju Soa didn’t stop.

Two more martial artists stood across from her—Oryong-Bongseong level.

She dashed forward again. Rain splashed as her form elongated in motion.

Slice—!

Slice—!

Both their heads flew skyward.

The remaining Yanggwang-Ihyeon warrior was paralyzed with fear.

He could tell at a glance—he didn’t stand a chance.

He had to run.

As he turned to flee—

There was someone faster.

Something appeared that should not exist in this storm.

A black flame.

Demonic Flame (Maha).

A man cloaked in that flame swung his blade.

The terrified warrior jerked back.

He thought he dodged.

But as he leapt backward, the black-flamed man ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) sprang after him.

With every step he took, demonic flame erupted from the ground.

He recognized it.

It was a footwork art: Returning Flame Phantom Step of Hondo Demon Flame Palace, a demonic sect from Sama’s Outer Factions.

Horrified, he tried to scream—but Han Murin’s blade pierced his forehead.

Thunk—!

It trembled violently—then—

BOOM—!!

His head exploded.

Han Murin turned coldly.

There were still many enemies in view.

She would kill them all.

While she continued her slaughter, another woman was facing off against five warriors.

Her blade moved in slow, circular arcs.

It was the first form of the Cheongu Sword Technique Unwi had crafted.

Wonyang dashed forward. Two warriors swung at her, but her blade slipped between theirs.

Slice—!

One lost his head, and as her sword twisted like a dancing arc through the air, it slit the other’s throat.

Azure Wing Returns to Heaven (Cheongu Hoicheon).

She ducked low—just in time, as a blade grazed over her head.

She tilted her sword sideways—like a bird spreading its wings.

As if preparing to take flight.

Then she thrust.

It pierced through the heart of the warrior who had swung at her.

Soaring Wing Pierces Frost (Biik Cheonsang).

Her gaze deepened.

She pulled the blade from his heart and dashed again.

Two more warriors.

She saw their swords, their muscles—she read everything.

In an instant, she found the optimal path and slipped between them.

Shlick, shlick.

Their swords only grazed the edge of her robe.

That was all.

Her blade traced the air like two swallows in flight.

One aimed for the throat, the other for the gut. They tried to guard—

Slice—!

Thunk—!

Both neck and abdomen were pierced—

BOOM—!!

They exploded.

She had blended the final form of Cheongu Sword Technique, Twin Swallows in Flight (Yuyeon Ssanghaeng) with Unwi’s Heaven-Slaying Wolf Fang Strike.

Wonyang’s gaze shifted.

She bore no personal grudge against them.

But this had to be done.

Just as Unwi said, they had sinned.

Responsibility wasn’t only the Branch Lord’s burden.

The branch members bore it too.

And so she had to do what ordinary people wouldn’t.

She had to take responsibility.

These were one of the Jeogan-affiliated sects that had infiltrated Yangryeong.

They all had to die.

Killing them—all of them—was the only answer.

KRAAAANG—!!

A warrior struck by Cheonpung’s greatsword flew toward Wonyang’s side.

His body was mashed to pulp—savage strength as always.

Wonyang immediately dashed toward another group of enemies.

Slice, slice.

Necks and limbs were severed without pause.

Cries rang out—

“Run!”

“Spare me!”

But amid the chaos, one man walked forward with a grin.

It was Cheonpung.

And each step he took, Yaseokmyeong backed away.

“Please... spare me...”

Cheonpung only smiled.

“There’s no way you can kill us all! There’s only four of you! How can four people kill over a hundred?! Not to mention, there’s a torrential storm—this is impossible!”

“And?”

“So... I just... want to live, that’s all.”

Cheonpung shook his head.

“I sit in a seat of responsibility as Sub-Branch Lord. And you—you’re the Chief Supervisor, aren’t you?”

“...That’s...”

“Then you should take responsibility too. Why try to squirm out alone, you bastard?”

Cheonpung reached out and grabbed Yaseokmyeong’s head.

“You know, our Branch Lord always says something when he kills people... What was it...? Something like ‘If there’s an afterlife...’ no—‘Become a ghost and watch’—was that it?”

As if recalling it, Cheonpung broke into a wide smile.