Chapter 476: I Don’t Believe in Legends (12)

It was a rare sight indeed—three masters of the Flower Realm all working at once to carve through a stone wall.

That Jang Suhwa with his blade, or Pobidon with his swords, fine, that much could be accepted.

But then—

“You mean to tell me you’re going to dig this out with your hands?”

“Impossible does not mean not possible. Fat Central Plains man.”

Amukhalab, the Freak Monk, could not help but insert himself, gouging into the stone with his fingers.

True enough, his qi-hardened fingertips slid smoothly into the stone wall.

But the depth he managed was only about the length of a finger.

Unless one wanted to carve their initials into the rock, it was completely useless.

“Why don’t you step back instead of taking up space? That elder over there has already stepped back.”

“The elder,” Elder Cheon Yuhak, only shrugged.

He had already withdrawn, saying he was of no help since he did not use a blade or saber to cut stone.

At that, Amukhalab shouted—

“Central Plains oppressors are always like this! Always stealing chances from us, the descendants of the superior high plateau!”

And suddenly the whole thing turned into a barbarian discrimination tirade.

“Wait a second—who the hell even mentioned barbarians? I said you can’t cut a stone gate with just—”

“We are not barbarians! Do not compare us to true savages like the southern tribes, the North Sea, the Eastern Isles, the Wae devils, or the Western rabble! We of the Western Regions are the most spiritually superior people in the world!”

“......?”

Good thing there were no masters from the southern tribes, the North Sea, the Eastern Isles, or the Wae here—otherwise this would have exploded into a contest of offended barbarian pride.

And so, while two hacked at the wall and one pest chiseled at it with his fingers, Qing’s group stood off at a distance, watching.

All eyes were fixed on the stone gate.

This would have been the perfect time to slip away.

But they couldn’t. Because—

Cheon Yuhak asked with a distasteful frown:

—What if they actually break through like this?

‘Ah. Maybe I’ve overestimated the Central Plains mechanism arrays. Perhaps they were too far ahead of their time...’

Qing hadn’t even finished whispering when— KWOOM!

A muffled explosion rumbled out from deep within the mountain.

The three Flower Realm masters froze, their eyes darting uneasily.

Crack, craaack.

Ominous noises spread as lightning-like fissures shot across the cliff surrounding the stone gate.

Qing looked at Cheon Yuhak.

Cheon Yuhak looked at Qing.

‘Run.’ ‘Run.’

Master and disciple understood each other at once.

The rest of the party exchanged looks. One, two, three—run!

Qing’s group spun as one and bolted.

“Ah! Those bastards! That Da Yeoreum bitch is running!”

Someone jabbed a finger toward the fast-retreating Qing party, shouting.

And everyone’s eyes went that way.

At the very instant cracks were spreading across the cliff face.

In a moment like this, when all eyes were distracted, the way it always is in the world—the moment of carelessness is the deadliest.

Rumble—CRASH!

The morning was only just breaking.

And a choking cloud of dust swallowed the world.

****

When the dust cleared with the wind, what had once been the West Gate was now only a collapsed heap of stone.

Warriors coated gray from head to toe in stone powder stared blankly at the ruin.

What on earth had just happened...?

Then, from the middle of the rubble—clatter.

A hand thrust up.

“Lo—Lord Holy!”

The warriors of Jeollak Fortress jolted awake and rushed frantically to the heap.

At that signal, the vagabonds and various others glanced at each other, then all at once scattered like a flock.

If the West Gate was gone—?

Then they had to go to another gate!

Left behind were only the Tyrant Force Sect and Jeollak Fortress warriors, plus a few vagabonds tied to Pobidon or simply wanting to stay with him.

“Lord Holy!”

Jo Sangchun, a First-Rank Captain of Jeollak Fortress known for his nimble bodywork, seized that hand firmly.

He heaved with all his might.

With a rattling crash of shifting stones, a figure was hauled free.

So hard he fell straight backward with the man on top of him.

Even as they tumbled down the rock slope, Jo Sangchun looked anxiously for his master’s face—

But the one lying atop him wasn’t the Holy Lord at all.

It was the scrawny lama monk of the Western Regions.

Ah. No wonder the hand had no flesh.

The two shared hot breath at nose-touching distance.

Amukhalab’s face flushed scarlet, and he turned his head aside with an awkward thanks.

“Th-thank, thank you.”

“Eeek.”

Why the hell is your face red!

Jo Sangchun shoved the Freak Monk off him in a panic.

Then above, the true Holy Lord of Jeollak Fortress emerged, having freed himself.

And under the morning sun, the highest master of Jeollak Fortress revealed—

A beggar’s state.

From his hair matted with stone dust to every hem and toe of his robe, he was stained a grim, uniform gray.

Only his eyes shone from the sockets, white and black blazing with a chilling blue hatred.

“I’ll kill her...”

“Pardon?”

“RAAAAHHH! Da Yeoreum! Bring her to me! No—I’ll go myself! That bitch! I’ll kill her! What the hell are you all doing! We’re going to crush that whore!”

He sprang off in a single bound, dashing. His disciples, finally shaken out of shock, scrambled after him.

The abandoned Freak Monk blinked once, then for some reason leapt after the departing Jeollak warriors as well.

“Heavenly Venerate? What about us...”

“We go too. Better to head for the gate with the most interference.”

If they trailed Jeollak Fortress north, chaos was guaranteed.

And chaos was what the Tyrant Force Sect, outnumbered, needed most.

Then the few remaining vagabonds eyed each other, split, and scattered—some north, some south.

The place emptied.

From beneath the rubble came Pobidon’s voice.

—Hey! Anybody? Younger brother? Joo Ayo? Help me out here! I’m stuck!

****

At the northern slope of Gebong, the North Gate emerged.

A crystal observation window twisted upward to the gate chamber. Inside, an Empty-Blood Hall technician grinned through rotted front teeth.

“Yes... fight, fight. Kekeke.”

A memory stirred in his mind—

His mother’s corpse, eyes glazed.

The cold body of his elder brother in his arms.

The jeering heretics taking pleasure, the neighbors bowing and pocketing coins.

The government enforcers who beat him for daring to appear in sight.

The righteous clans’ heavy gates that never opened, no matter how he begged three nights and days.

The world had always been cruel to him. Always unjust.

So fight. Kill each other.

Tear at one another like the jaws of hell.

If the world was a living hell to him, then they should taste the same torment.

The technician was elated.

Twenty years of digging tunnels through this mountain had never once felt like toil.

Because the passages he made would become coffins for worthless men, and the traps he laid would become blades in their hearts.

This was the reason he had lived a life otherwise without meaning.

So fight.

Claw like beasts, kill one another. And when victors stand, let their own greed drown them in blood inside the cliff-carved tomb.

That was the scene he had lived to see.

Blood vessels bulged in his eyes.

Through the tiny hole, those bloodshot eyes awaited the massacre to unfold at the North Gate.

Before the massive stone gate, tension seethed.

On one side, the great Oedo sects—Mysterious Clan Mountain-River, Suwang Fortress, and Guangryong Fortress—leading a coalition of heretics.

On the other side, vagabonds and wanderers, their numbers nearly equal.

The northern mountain trail led toward Gebong’s peak.

So the vagabonds’ numbers massed here were not inferior to the sects’.

Two sides split, weapons drawn, each aiming at the other.

From the heretic line, Guangryong Fortress Holy Lord Ui Ryungchang growled:

“Must blood really be spilled?”

“Even if you open the gate, everyone knows you won’t let us inside. And you demand we sacrifice an Absolute? Better we settle it here and now.”

“You dare! You would defy the Ten Evil Celestial Sects themselves?”

“Hmph. And what if I do? With Sichuan land and Shaanxi land, more than half the Central Plains is ours to live in.”

The words stabbed right where it hurt most. The heretics’ eyes sharpened.

But the man who sneered on, unfazed, was Jong Jeongpil.

Surname Jong, given name Jeongpil—known across the world as one of the Five Vagabonds, the “Solitary Blade.”

“Keh. You strut, relying on nothing more than your pitiful skills.”

“Pitiful? You’re the one hiding behind a pack of second-rates.”

“Fool. You don’t even understand. ‘Pitiful skills’ meant solitary skills. You’re only one man. Even if you’re a master, you’re still one. And you vagabonds—when a few of you die, will you still hold to your so-called loyalty?”

“Ha. Heretics preaching loyalty. The world truly has gone upside down.”

“Ha. You would spurn right wine and drink the dregs. My disciples—”

Ui Ryungchang was about to bellow the attack order when—

“STOP!!!”

A voice thundered, stuffed with brute internal force, cutting his command clean in half.

All heads snapped toward it.

From afar, a group of warriors charged full tilt.

“Cease violence! I will open the gate! I am Da Yeoreum! The one who opens every door in the world!”

Da Yeoreum? Anybody know that name?

Glances darted among the gathered warriors.

Of course, none did.

Then, from that charging group, one tall figure suddenly accelerated, bursting out ahead.

Those with keen eyes froze.

That speed—monstrous.

A body technique worthy of rivaling the world itself!

“Wait—stop—”

“Out of the way!”

Already the sects and vagabonds were split to either side of the gate.

And through the gap, like a streak of lightning, Qing shot forward.

She seemed to paint afterimages that stretched far to either side.

It wasn’t that they moved back—only that she streaked through between them.

Every step her foot touched down, the ground looked ready to explode from the impact.

Her shoulders drew back.

Fists clenched.

Her arm swung behind, wrist twisting upward.

Three steps forward.

Her shoulders drew back to their limit, vanishing from the front view.

Two steps.

Her forearms swelled double in size.

One step.

Her fist shot out like lightning itself.

BOOM!!!

A thunderous roar as if the heavens collapsed.

Trees shook, birds scattered into the sky.

All eyes widened at the result of that strike.

In the middle of the stone gate, a huge crater gaped open.

Spiderweb cracks spread in a half-length radius.

But that was all.

The gate still stood firm—

“Friend! Step aside!”

Another blur swept by.

One man, but two swords.

Namgung Sinjae.

From his right and left hands burst sword qi like shining sky-light.

As Qing vaulted gracefully into the air, Namgung Sinjae slid underneath, his two blades thrust forward.

No sound—just the hilts protruding as the blades buried themselves to the guard in the crater.

Qing landed, planted her hands, flipped, and skidded back three revolutions.

Then—thud.

Kneeling low, both hands pressed to the ground before her feet, one knee bent.

Since ancient times, the bent knee was to draw power.

Qing straightened her legs.

One step, two, three.

The Heavenly Demon crosses the void in just three steps—this was the Heavenly Demon Conquest Step.

Her twin fists drew back.

She skimmed past Namgung Sinjae, narrowly brushing him, her fists rotating half a circle forward.

Her twin fists hammered the two sword hilts embedded in the stone.

KWOOM!!

Another earth-shattering roar.

Qing froze in place, fists driven wrist-deep into the gate.

It was like time itself stopped.

Two fists buried, unmoving.

The crowd gulped.

All silent.

And then—

Craaaack... craaaack...!