Xintu Galjihong shot toward the city and asked,

“Ugh. The stench. You’ve really made a mess of it. Five li out and it already reeks like this. Elder Sister, how do you want to handle it?”

He was asking how they would strike.

So Su-ryeon snapped back.

“There’s only one way. Why ask? Cut off the head.”

To someone who didn’t know her, So Su-ryeon’s tone could sound harsh, but that was simply her nature.

A person uninterested in anything but martial arts.

So, by her standards, that was relatively gentle.

Xintu was one of the few powerhouses she acknowledged—and a younger brother in name.

“I figured you’d say that.”

Xintu was the man with the fastest body-lightening art and qinggong around.

So Su-ryeon was little different.

Having trained leg techniques all her life, her lower-body cultivation was supreme; simply running on internal energy alone, she could produce speed that rivaled Xintu’s.

Thus the best course was to blitz straight for where their leadership was and sever the head.

As the two pushed their speed even further, the remaining five li shrank in an instant and the city gate came into view ahead.

So Su-ryeon struck first.

Crack!

A silhouette slingshotting forward, feet skimming horizontally across the surrounding trees.

In a blink like a teleport, So Su-ryeon’s body flashed into being before the Blood Cult warrior standing sentry at the city gate.

Slice.

One kick—and three necks were gone.

Not cut, but crushed out of existence, pulverized to nothing.

At the same time, a wrist vanished.

The Blood Cult warrior in crimson uniform, who had been lazily standing watch at the gate, didn’t notice his wrist was gone for a moment—then suddenly shrieked in agony.

“Graaah!”

Because the pain arrived a beat late.

So Su-ryeon landed in front of him and smiled coolly.

“Every last one of you dies today.”

Clutching the stump of his wrist, the Blood Cult warrior bolted inward.

Xintu dropped beside her and asked, incredulous,

“Hey now, didn’t you say cut off the head?”

If you were going to cut the head, you would slip in quietly, find the one ruling this city, and sever it—but she had blown things wide open from the front gate.

At his question, So Su-hyeon* grinned.

(*So Su-ryeon; the text uses a variant spelling/tone.)

“Now that one will tell us where the head is. Follow him.”

“Won’t the others come swarming out then?”

“So what? Whether a few mayflies come out or a few dozen, what does it matter?”

“I forgot for a second it’s been a while—this is you, Elder Sister...”

Xintu smacked his forehead in mock lament.

The Blood Cultists flooded out at the fleeing warrior’s cry.

“Who goes there! Do you have any idea where you are!”

Boom! Boom-boom!

One kick felled three or four at a time.

Blood as red as their crimson uniforms began to spread down the road like a velvet carpet, and the one they met in the city center—where the wristless man had led them—became what they worshipped most: blood. To be exact, a lump of bloody pulp.

Xintu, tongue clicking, fired a signal flare from his hand.

Pop!

“Waaaaaaaah!”

“Waaaaah!”

Moments later, the Murim Alliance troops stormed in and began putting the remaining Blood Cultists in the city to the sword.

***

At dawn the next day, the Central Army lay below, in sight.

As the Second Army, our main force was seventeen thousand five hundred imperial troops from Guizhou combined with two thousand five hundred martial artists—a total of twenty thousand.

This army, set to push straight south from the Guangxi–Yunnan border toward the capital of Dai Viet, Seungnyong (Hanoi), had formed ranks before a large city.

It felt like they were about to begin the assault.

Troops encircled the city’s four gates.

Inside, Blood Cult warriors were in a panic, milling about in confusion.

Their internal forces numbered just over five thousand.

Though the city was relatively large, there were no non–Blood Cult folk in sight.

One district along a flank was scorched pitch-black; countless charred bones lay scattered there.

It seemed whatever “blessing” of the Blood Cult this city had undergone was complete.

That so-called blessing—turning those with talent for blood-arts into Blood Cultists, then devouring the rest.

It was certain there were no survivors.

The sight sent anger surging up in me.

“Those trash.”

“Kwaaa.” “What is it?” Hongbi asked, sensing my fury.

It seemed curious why I had suddenly flared up.

“Those ones down there. This used to be a place packed with people, but it looks like they killed most of them.”

“Kwaaaa.” “Killed them? For what?”

“Maybe ‘ate them’ is more accurate.”

“Kwaa?” “Humans eat their own kind? But if they killed to eat, isn’t that unavoidable?”

Hongbi sounded like it was saying that if it was killing for survival as in the wild, that couldn’t be helped.

I shook my head.

“No. They’re not eating to survive. They’re melting down other lives just to get even a little stronger themselves.

It’s like you scarfing down white ants nonstop just to spit a stronger poison.”

“What!?” Hongbi’s eyes went wide.

From what it told me, even when Hongbi ate white ants, it didn’t do it recklessly.

The reason so many towers had holes was that it rotated among them, eating only a few every few days.

It ate by instinct, but with the consideration not to cripple the colony.

To a creature like that, the idea of slaughtering life wholesale simply to grow a bit stronger was shocking.

Staring down, Hongbi spoke in a grave voice.

“Kwaaaaaa. Those who devour until all life is gone are things that run counter to the laws of nature. That’s why you bared your anger.”

“You could say that.”

The reasons differed a little, but the conclusion was the same, so I nodded and asked Hongbi,

“By the way, do you still crave the termites?”

The white ant eggs we’d saved last time were already all eaten.

It had been days since it ate a proper meal, so I asked; it made a face that said it was fine.

“Maybe because I heard they’re what my poison is made from, I think of them less than before. I can still hold on. If the craving hits, I’ll tell you.”

“Got it.”

I’d been a bit worried, but hearing it was still okay, I felt a little relief.

Hongbi checked below again, pointed with a plump finger, and said.

“Kwaaaa. Someone’s walking out,” Hongbi said.

Looking down, I saw a figure slowly emerging from the Second Army’s formation.

A swordsman, oddly enough, with blades strapped to both hips.

His hair was pure white, an elderly figure.

He looked older than Elder Geolhwang himself.

One thought sprang to mind.

“Ah, that must be one of the Three Sovereigns—the Zhongnan Sword Sovereign?”

The Zhongnan Sword Sovereign who was the grandmaster of Elder Brother Geom Ryong.

I recalled hearing he held seniority even above the Murim Alliance Leader and Elder Geolhwang.

A grandmaster meant he was the master of my martial brother’s master.

Even after rebirth through the Transformation Realm, he still bore the appearance of an old man.

From what I’d heard, after reaching the Transformation Realm, aging begins at strange moments.

One could maintain youth for long years, but not forever.

Even after entering the Transformation Realm, old age eventually arrives—but it doesn’t come gradually.

Rather, after the rebirth, time seems to freeze, until one day, aging suddenly descends all at once.

They say that moment comes the instant one realizes they are blocked, unable to climb higher.

‘They said, besides me, he was the closest to the Manifestation Realm... so he must believe he’s reached his limit.’

That appearance was proof he’d admitted to his own limits.

As a fellow martial artist, it made me feel a little sad.

The Zhongnan Sword Sovereign stepped alone before the city gate.

The distance was about ten jang.

He let out a deep breath, then turned his body.

To someone unaware, it was unclear why he had come forth—but to my eyes, what he had done was clear as day.

“Kwaaaa. Unbelievably fast. Thirty-seven strikes in an instant?” Hongbi said.

And it wasn’t just me; Hongbi recognized it too, and I stroked the creature’s head with admiration.

“Impressive, Hongbi.”

Of course, I could see it clearly since I’d reached the Manifestation Realm—but Hongbi could as well thanks to the peculiar eyes of a frog.

A frog’s eyes had unusual features.

First, frogs can’t see motionless objects well.

If something doesn’t move, they don’t perceive it.

Their brains are programmed to ignore static things, filtering them out like noise—repeated light, still shapes.

But they are extremely sensitive to movement.

Even the smallest motion is picked up by their eyes, evolved to detect prey or predators.

Biologists explain this as their visual system filtering out irrelevant stillness to focus on dynamic changes crucial to survival.

That was why Hongbi caught the blindingly fast sword strikes.

Rumble!

Below, the city gate and part of the wall collapsed, and the Blood Cultists crowded there scattered like dust.

‘I thought something felt uneasy... maybe it was just needless worry?’

Seeing the Sword Sovereign’s devastating sword strikes eased my unease a little.

No matter how formidable that Blood Demon might be, surely nothing could survive that.

***

It was needless worry.

By evening, I arrived where the First Army was engaged in battle—an assault on a port city.

The city wasn’t very large.

Three masters at the front stormed like a hurricane, while imperial elites surged in behind like wolves, butchering Blood Cult warriors.

The cultists were being slaughtered without offering real resistance. Some tried to flee, but were trapped by the encirclement of over ten thousand troops and annihilated.

Then I spotted it.

A ship, already some distance out, as a group tried to escape by sea.

I couldn’t let it pass. With Yeondu, I dropped down and blasted the ship’s hull apart.

Boom!

The side of the ship blew open under Seomseo Explosive Palm.

It became a submarine, sinking on the spot.

Some went down with the vessel, others thrashed to the surface to survive—but I went to each and gave them a knuckle blow.

The kind of knuckle blow that delivers you straight to King Yeomna.

Crack!

“Grk...”

I sank the last one like a whack-a-mole under water.

From the port, a voice transmitted to me.

[That giant serpent spirit beast? Could it be—you are So-ryong?]

Turning my head, I saw the three masters who had been leading the charge looking my way.

I immediately approached and bowed with clasped fists.

“So-ryong of Murim greets the honored Elders of the Five Sovereigns.”

They looked barely in their twenties, but that was the Transformation Realm’s rebirth at work. From what I’d heard, these were ones who had only recently ascended to the Transformation Realm, so their apparent age looked closer to that of my wives.

One bore a massive golden wheel—likely Lady of the Wheel, Heo Muha.

Another held a staff, said to be the reincarnation of Sun Wukong—the Staff King, Gam Muncheong.

The last hefted a huge axe; that must be Lady of the Axe, Seop Biyu.

“Oh-ho, good to meet you at last,” one said.

“So, you’re So-ryong?”

“My, indeed.”

Their faces were warm, delighted.

The one presumed to be Wheel Lady Heo Muha spoke.

“Thank you, little brother. I was debating whether to throw my wheel, but you took care of it for us.”

The other two gave her scandalized looks.

“B-brother? Heo, have you gone mad?”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

“How else could you call a lad barely past twenty ‘little brother’ when you’re past sixty yourself? Grandson would be more fitting.”

“Don’t you dare mention age, Sister Seop!”

They seemed like amusing people. Between the bickering Wheel Lady and Axe Lady, Staff King Gam Muncheong asked,

“We heard you were heading to Hainan. Why not rest at our camp before you go? At this pace, night will fall.”

I shook my head.

“No. Seeing how hard everyone is fighting, I must hurry as well.”

With all laboring so, how could I rest idly?

Gam Muncheong nodded, but his next words brought that uneasy feeling back.

“Very well. Then hurry. The deeper in we go, the stronger the Blood Cultists grow.”

“Stronger?”

“Yes, little brother. When we struck the first city, not a single one reacted. But in this one, half a dozen actually responded to our blows.”

Half a dozen strong enough to react to Transformation Realm masters’ strikes.

I bid farewell quickly and hastened on my way to Hainan.