Even with a throwing dagger piercing his glabella, the King of Assassins did not so much as twitch.

I stared down at the corpse for a moment before turning my head toward where Tang Sowol was.

“She is still holding out well, I see. Well… she is not someone who would fall so easily.”

A faint smirk crossed my lips at the sight of the purple poison fog, now much thinner yet still lingering, as I adjusted my grip on my sword. My arm trembled slightly from accumulated fatigue.

White Sword. Formless Sword. Thunderclap Sword.

All of them possessed tremendous power—but their instantaneous consumption of inner qi and willpower was severe.

They were insights I had gained while struggling against opponents stronger than myself, or enemies that could not be cut through by ordinary means. So it was only natural.

Still, it was also true that they were overly focused on destructive force.

A sword was a tool. If it was sharp and sturdy, that should suffice—that belief remained unchanged… yet having a sword that was a bit easier to wield would not be a bad thing either.

If sharpness and sturdiness alone were enough, swords would not have things like hilts or guards.

For instance, techniques meant to efficiently subdue those clearly weaker than oneself.

“Since the thought has come up, I might as well test it.”

Perhaps because I was tired, the sword felt heavier than usual. Yet my senses were more sharpened than ever.

It was worth trying.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out. With a single step, I closed the distance to the poison fog.

It was only natural that the assassins, who had been using every possible method to push through the fog, turned their gazes toward me.

One assassin who seemed the most skilled among them spoke in a flat voice.

“The Valley Lord has fallen. Scatter. The rendezvous point is—”

“Where do you think you are going? Since the King of Assassins left not even a final word, I was hoping someone like you—who can still speak—might be of some help.”

I released killing intent, pressing down on the surroundings.

The one who had been speaking stiffened mid-sentence. The others were no different.

Assassins underwent training to suppress their own killing intent and to remain unresponsive to that of others—

But it seemed that enduring this level of killing intent was something only the King of Assassins himself could manage.

With movements as awkward as if they had forgotten how to circulate inner qi, they began to scatter.

I raised my sword toward them.

A sword meant to cut what could not be cut, and reach what could not be reached.

That was the sword I had pursued upon entering the Flowering Stage. I had surpassed mere sword wind and gained the ability to send strikes that tore through space itself.

Then striking multiple sword blows at once should not be entirely impossible either.

What difference was there between failing to reach something because it was unseen, strong, or distant—and failing to reach something simply because there were too many of them?

If a sword that transcended space was possible, then a sword that transcended number should also be possible.

And fortunately, I had once stolen a glance at the answer sheet from One-Saber Asura.

Like him, unleashing multiple overwhelming ultimate techniques at once was impossible…

But if I significantly reduced the power, and focused my willpower solely on dividing the sword strike—if I treated it less as a sword strike and more as splitting my inner qi into sharp fragments and sending them where I wished—

Perhaps it could work.

Where my killing intent reached—more precisely, where my willpower reached—was my domain, one I could perceive as clearly as the palm of my hand.

Focusing on each assassin who had yet to escape that domain…

I swung my sword to cut them all at once.

“Hup!”

Energy tracing the exact trajectory of my blade descended toward the assassins’ backs.

The killing intent filling the area suddenly took form, as though it were slicing through real flesh.

As if the world itself had become filled with sword strikes, the thinning poison fog naturally dispersed.

Tang Sowol blinked as she looked around in a daze.

“My heavens, was that your doing, Young Master Cheon?”

“As expected of the Lord’s…”

Even Twin-Ghost Killing Sword, whose arms and legs trembled as though he had overexerted himself, stared in astonishment.

Well. I had expected that kind of reaction. At the very least, it looked flashy.

But—

“Tsk. This is a failure.”

The consumption of willpower was acceptable, but the drain on inner qi was absurd. Worse still, the power was far less than I had anticipated.

If this was the result, it would have been far better to simply cut them down one by one. After all, ever since reaching the Flowering Stage, rending space itself was no longer particularly taxing.

Shaking my head, I returned the sword to my waist.

Each assassin bore a deep sword wound on their back, yet none seemed fatally injured.

Pointing at those limping—or nearly crawling—as they attempted to flee, I spoke.

“Tang Sowol. Would you handle it?”

“Hehe, in that state, it is hardly difficult.”

With a shrug, Tang Sowol spun lightly in place as though dancing. From between her fluttering sleeves, thin hidden weapons shot out.

Not enough to kill—but more than enough to finish them, as none were capable of deflecting her hidden weapons in their condition. Soon, the remaining assassins slumped over.

This was not bad.

When refining the technique next time, I should reference Tang Sowol’s hidden weapon arts as well.

Hidden weapons and poison arts—if used well, they could deal a decisive blow even to someone stronger; and when facing weaker foes head-on, they were highly efficient martial arts.

A perfect direction for the kind of practical technique I had just attempted. Whether it was easy to master was another matter entirely.

“Twin-Ghost Killing Sword. Leave them barely breathing and clean things up. The one who was issuing the retreat order earlier—bring him before me.”

“Understood…?”

Though he answered obediently, his expression was gloomy as he sheathed his sword.

Judging by the exhaustion written plainly on his face, I could guess why.

Fighting while protecting someone was always more draining than fighting alone.

Moreover, though Twin-Ghost Killing Sword was also a master at the very peak of Sub-Perfection, he could not help but lack foundational depth compared to Tang Sowol, who had undergone marrow cleansing from childhood and consumed rare elixirs and poisons.

With a faint smile, I pointed at several wandering warriors lying at a distance, pretending to be dead.

“That one. That one. And the one pretending to be crushed beneath the collapsed wall. Aside from superficial scratches, they are unharmed. Make use of them appropriately. Do not foolishly try to do everything alone just because I assigned you the task.”

“Understood!”

His expression brightened noticeably as he approached the warriors I had indicated. He would manage the rest.

Just as I let out a deep sigh, thinking things had finally settled—something crept up behind me and clung to my back.

When I glanced over my shoulder, Tang Sowol was leaning against me, her body slack with exhaustion.

“You are heavy.”

“Oh? After carrying me this whole time without complaint, I find that hard to believe.”

“You might have grown heavier in the meantime.”

“As if. If anything, I have released so much poison that I should be lighter now.”

…

Instinctively, I focused on the sensation against my back. And was immediately caught.

“Just in case you were wondering, when people call them poison pouches, it does not mean they are actually filled with poison, you know?”

“I was not thinking anything.”

“What a transparent lie…”

“These consecutive battles must have been taxing. Let us find a place to rest first. We have things to discuss.”

“Hm.”

Perhaps she truly was exhausted, for she said no more and quietly entrusted her weight to me.

Whether I was carrying her or dragging her along, I headed toward where the King of Assassins’ corpse lay.

“First, I would like you to see this.”

“The leader of the assassins…? If the Valley of Assassins has entered the Demonic Cult’s fold, and the Golden Ghost Wolf King had ties to them, then it is not strange. Though I was startled at first. I thought we had won, and then suddenly an ambush.”

“The same for me. I had just relaxed after defeating the Golden Ghost Wolf King.”

“Sigh. Frankly, it makes little sense. The King of Assassins and many other masters died by your hand.”

“Yes. I believed the Valley of Assassins could no longer pose a major threat—until I saw this one.”

“You know who he is? Given that he targeted your life, he must not be an ordinary assassin.”

“He is the King of Assassins.”

“…?”

“??”

“It truly is the King of Assassins. At the very least, he wielded martial arts identical to his.”

“But the King of Assassins is dead. Did you not defeat him together with Sister Hwarin?”

“To be precise, I defeated the King of Assassins alone. Seo Mun-Hwarin dealt with the Green Forest King. …In any case, he died by my hand once.”

“And yet he returned to life? Could it be a disciple? Does not the Demonic Cult possess methods to forcibly push someone at the brink of Sub-Perfection into the Flowering Stage, despite side effects?”

“In such cases, it shows. They can use aura, but it feels soft. Or the insight gained upon entering the Flowering Stage—the uniqueness of willpower that makes the impossible possible—feels incomplete.”

The Sword Demon had been like that.

His aura could crush sword flames, yet shattered easily when clashing against aura of equal level.

Though his realization—that to become a supreme swordsman one must become the sword itself—granted him a willpower and heartscape unbound by physical form, similar to my Formless Sword…

He had still been bound by the length and width of the blade he habitually used.

“But this second King of Assassins showed no such signs.”

Aura was born of immense inner qi and willpower, exuding overwhelming presence.

Yet like the first one I had slain, this one wielded a faint, translucent aura with almost no presence.

And his stealth—without the Heavenly Eye or my domain-like qi-sense, it would have been nearly impossible to detect.

Such a thing could never be achieved with half-baked willpower.

“Above all, everything else about him was identical to the first.”

“Everything else?”

“His gait. The rhythm of his breathing. His judgment under pressure. His physique. His taciturn nature. The qi veil wrapped over his skin to hide from all things—stealth difficult to replicate. Whenever he wore black and fought, he appeared to be the exact same person.”

“…That…”

No matter how strictly raised, even a treasured disciple could not wield martial arts identical to their master’s in every detail.

The broad framework might match—but finer aspects inevitably differed.

Because in this world, no two people were perfectly identical.

Yet the two King of Assassins had achieved precisely that. In every regard, they were the same.

“Wait. You said when he wore black… does that mean—?”

“It means exactly what you think. Without the black attire, he is different.”

I fully removed the torn mask. A shocking sight awaited beneath.

“Ugh!”

“Unsightly.”

Tang Sowol recoiled for an instant. Even I, having seen it once, could not help but frown upon closer inspection.

The King of Assassins’ face looked as though bones had been forcibly broken and flesh crumpled, then fixed into a specific shape by sheer force.

Twisted and twisted again. Yet one thing was certain—

Originally, it had been a woman’s face.

“As I thought. It is different.”

“Do you have some idea?”

“The first King of Assassins’ corpse was heavily damaged from being split in half, but he was unquestionably male.”

“So someone imitated him?”

“Imitated him… I wonder. Having fought him directly, a different expression seems more accurate. For example… he was made into the King of Assassins.”

As I said that, I cut open his black clothing with my sword.

Inside was a body even more grotesquely distorted than his face.

A grotesque form, as though testing the limits of bone-restructuring techniques. Tang Sowol’s eyes widened as she murmured,

“Made… into him?”

“If you melted a person, poured them into a mold, and let them harden, perhaps it would look like this.”

I knew it sounded absurd.

But had we not already witnessed the absurd more than once?

The Heavenly Demon, who had noticed my regression, had merely guided a few Flowering Stage martial artists into conflict with me, while primarily focusing on strengthening the Demonic Cult’s foundations. That alone was strange.

“We need to find out why the Valley of Assassins joined the Demonic Cult.”

Because it did not seem to be for any ordinary reason.