The Frontline
After a restless night of tending to corpses and aftermath, dawn broke once again.
It was time to part ways with the wanderers and head to the front.
The faces of the usually cheerful wanderers had grown somber overnight.
Of course.
For martial wanderers who lived by the sword, losing a comrade was not rare—but losing someone was never easy for anyone.
All the more so when it was Yang Musa, who had always lightened the mood, and Yi Musa, who played along with him. Their absence left a painful void.
"Travel safely, Young Master Seonu. May fortune smile upon you."
"Thank you. I pray that Jang Musa and Jong Musa remain in good health. And that Gong Musa builds a happy family."
After firmly clasping hands with each of them, I took out three thin booklets from my pack.
I had written them bit by bit over the past few days.
"I originally made five copies, but I never imagined I would only be handing out three."
"What's this?"
As they accepted the books with puzzled looks, I smiled wryly.
"It's nothing grand, but it will serve you better than the Six Harmony Method."
At that, their eyes flew wide open.
"The Six Harmony Method? Then surely—?!"
"Yes. It's called the Preservation Method."
"Young master!"
Startled, they hurriedly flipped through the untitled manuals.
The Preservation Method was no trivial technique.
In my past life, Chief Seolpung had found it somewhere, and I had cultivated it myself.
It had taken me, a man of almost no internal energy, to the level of a top-tier first-class martial artist in less than ten years.
Of course, it couldn't compare to the pinnacle arts like the Mixed Primordial Infinite Art I practiced now. But at the very least, it scraped the threshold of true first-class.
It was far beyond the mediocre Six Harmony Method.
"At the back, I've also included several saber forms I know. Nothing extraordinary, but they should help."
While Jong Musa and Gong Musa eagerly studied the pages with wide eyes, Jang Musa looked at me, his eyes red.
"Young Master Seonu, why do you do this? How could we ever repay such a debt…."
I knew well what it meant for them.
A proper inner cultivation method—something ordinary wanderers could never obtain in a lifetime without connections or backing.
I myself had suffered in my past life for lack of one.
The moment I decided I wanted to gift them a true cultivation method was back when we faced the Green Tiger Stockade bandits.
When they risked their lives to cover me, urging me to escape first.
In my past life, I had seen the same.
Comrades who stayed behind to protect others.
When I first went to the front, too weak in martial skill, I had often been someone others needed to protect. They stayed behind for me—and most of the time, I never saw them again.
And now, I had seen that same spirit in these men.
They were nothing more than hired wanderers.
No amount of silver could outweigh their lives. I knew full well how most mercenaries behaved in such moments.
They abandoned their client and fled.
But not these men.
Whether it was conviction or affection for me, I didn't know. But I wanted to repay the trust they had shown me.
With a faint smile, I said:
"We've shared our hearts and crossed death's door together. Are we not friends? I have no more use for this, so gifting it to friends is nothing special."
"…Young master."
As Jang Musa looked as if he might burst into tears, I hurriedly said:
"Come now. I must go. Any longer and I won't make it across two ridges before nightfall. Next time we meet, let us be first-class martial artists together."
He wiped his streaming tears, then smiled.
"Indeed. I'll reach first-class for sure and come find you again. Then, let's drink properly."
We clasped hands firmly, and I turned and walked away without hesitation.
Even after walking for a long while, when I glanced back, they were still standing there, seeing me off.
My heart felt warm.
In this life, I had given them what Chief Seolpung had once given me.
For that alone, I felt life was worth living again.
At that moment, Lady Cheongyeon, who had silently walked beside me, spoke.
"I've never seen a martial man share his art with outsiders before…. Young Master Seonu is an unusual one."
I chuckled and replied:
"It isn't a secret technique of the Seonu clan, so what does it matter?"
She looked at me for a moment, then murmured something under her breath.
"…."
I couldn't catch it.
"Eh? What was that?"
"Nothing. Just talking to myself."
Still, it seemed time to have a proper talk with this unusual lady.
"My lady, do you truly intend to go to the front? It's crawling with monsters like the one last night, impervious to sword-qi. You may truly die."
She looked toward the front for a moment before answering.
"I thought long and hard about it last night. But in the end, I believe I must go."
Frustration welled up.
Even after what she had seen, she was stubborn. How childish.
I pressed again.
"You saw it yourself, and still?"
Still gazing toward the front, she spoke at last.
"I don't understand."
"Eh?"
"How is it that the martial world doesn't know what you're fighting against out there?"
"…"
She was right.
Most people only knew that many died at the front. Few knew what truly lurked there.
Because of the oath of secrecy.
The Martial Alliance made all warriors swear never to speak of what they experienced there, under threat of execution by the Pursuit Order.
They claimed it was to prevent chaos in the martial world.
But those of us who had been there suspected it was to hide the disgraceful past of the Mt. Zhen Sect, once one of the orthodox nine, and the Alliance's humiliating defeat.
Even so, that didn't explain everything.
She continued.
"If there are countless such creatures at the front, as you say, then that means people are fighting them even now, doesn't it? If I turned back here, knowing that, wouldn't I be turning away?"
Her eyes were unseen, but her firm voice was enough.
She wasn't going out of childish heroism.
"I didn't learn martial arts to live like that. Nor did my father raise me that way. Young Master Seonu, what do you see me as? A woman? Or a warrior?"
Her tone was calm, her gaze unreadable, but there was not a trace of hesitation.
I sighed.
"Haah…."
She was right.
Before being a woman, she was a warrior.
One already at the highest tier of first-class.
And even in spirit, she seemed more mature than I had been at twenty-one.
That I had treated such a warrior like a naïve girl—pathetic.
I bowed respectfully and clasped my fists.
"I misunderstood your resolve, my lady. I sincerely apologize."
Her lips curved slightly.
The first smile I'd seen from her.
"I accept your apology. You are refreshingly frank in admitting fault, Young Master."
Her small, rosy lips curved into that smile—suddenly, I thought them beautiful.
"Haaap!"
Puhak!
"Kiaaaak!"
Sword-qi stretched two inches forward, raking the chest of a naked Miao tribesman.
Blood spurted, his chest split open, but the man only staggered before charging again at the young swordsman.
"Fall back, Jung-rang!"
"Yes!"
The young swordsman leapt back, evading, while the fiend's gaze locked on him.
In that instant, like clockwork, a woman rushed in from the side. Her blade slashed across the wound, deepening the cut.
Chuak!
"Kiiiik!"
As its gaze swung toward her retreating form, the man's sword shot forward like lightning, piercing the fiend's heart.
Puuk!
"Kkiaaaagh!"
Even with its heart pierced, the fiend screamed hideously, flailing its arms. But the swordsman had already released his blade and sprung back.
Their teamwork was seamless, like meshing gears.
The man grinned at the woman.
"One down. Well done, Sonmae."
"You too, Jung-rang."
The Hangu-i (Wild Dog Ghost), its heart destroyed, slowed more and more until half a moment later, it would cease to move entirely.
Those already dead would truly be dead.
The man and the woman—called Sonmae—shared a brief, tender glance before the man turned his eyes around.
Across the dense jungle, eight comrades fought in pairs against other Hangu-i.
Seeing that none seemed in immediate peril, the man turned back to the woman with a grin.
"Looks like we finished the fastest."
"Seems so."
The two watched the battlefield, ready to rush to aid another pair if needed, yet they also stole a moment to clasp hands and savor a fleeting intimacy in the midst of combat.
They had begun their relationship a year ago. For warriors on the frontline—living isolated, face-to-face with death each day—romance was almost the only human act of comfort or joy that remained.
Of course, the iron rule was that it must never interfere with battle.
"The captain went after the mid-rank Hangu-i, right?"
"Yes. There were two that sword-qi wouldn't touch."
As the man observed the fighting closely, he turned back to the woman with a sly smile.
"I hope he returns quickly. So we can be alone sooner."
The woman's shy smile was just forming—
When something suddenly burst out of the brush nearby.
"Kuahahahaha!"
But the man, never neglecting vigilance even as he spoke with her, shoved the woman aside and drew the dagger from his thigh like lightning.
"Haaap!"
But his foe's weapon glowed with a blood-red light.
Jjeong!
It was hardened qi.
The warped sickle, sheathed in qi, bit halfway through the dagger and locked it in place.
His face changing, the man released the dagger, leaping back as he shouted:
"Sonmae, run! It's the Twin-Sickle Seven Fiends!"
But the woman was already seized, overwhelmed from behind by another attacker.
"Ahhh! Jung-rang!"
The man froze as he saw her caught by blood-forced shackles.
That instant of hesitation sealed his fate.
Puuk!
"Guhh!"
"Jung-rang!"
A scythe had driven into his heart from behind.
"Kehahaha! To think you'd dare turn your back on this old man!"
"Jung-rang!"
"Keheheheh! Is that girl your lover? Fear not—I'll soon make her forget you entirely, keheh!"
Already, seven figures had surrounded the woman.
They were the Twin-Sickle Seven Fiends, sorcerous warlords of the Blood Cult.
Middle-aged brothers who wielded grotesque double sickles—three of them were at the pinnacle realm, the other four at the top tier of first-class.
"Kyaa, look at this one, brothers! My mouth waters already."
"Hah, didn't I tell you? The Feilong Squad girls are a delicacy."
"But big brother, there's another girl over there. Do we only take this one?"
They pointed—and there, another young woman had spotted them and fired a red signal flare.
Puooong!
A red blossom spread in the sky.
Watching it, the eldest, Jimak, spoke.
"She fired a red signal, so bothersome pests will be here soon…. But let's seize one more before we go."
"As expected of you, big brother!"
"Second, third—come with me!"
"Yes, brother!"
"Yes, brother!"
At once, three of the Fiends leapt toward the girl who had fired the flare.
That girl was Mae Yeogyeong, sub-captain of the 4th Squad of the Feilong Thirteen. She shouted to her squadmates:
"Cease fighting! Form a defensive circle immediately!"
Her squad disengaged from their Hangu-i and gathered, forming a tight ring.
Their movement was practiced and sharp.
But to the three pinnacle masters of the Twin-Sickle Seven Fiends, it was laughable.
"Keheheheh! Do you think that's enough?"
Jimak released crimson qi, the mark of a pinnacle master, and charged.
Mae Yeogyeong, herself a top-tier first-class warrior, gritted her teeth.
"Hold them off! The captain will be here soon!"
Chaecheng! Chaeng! Chaeng!
The squad poured all their strength into blocking Jimak's strikes.
But their weapons' blades bent and broke beneath the overwhelming qi.
"We're here too!"
"Keheheheh!"
The two younger brothers attacked from behind, their sickles shimmering faintly with qi.
The squad's faces contorted as they braced themselves—
When suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
Piiiiiiiik!
It sounded like a hawk's cry—the whistle was the sign of their captain, Sword-Hawk of Mt. Zhen, Ma Yugyeom.
"The captain!"
"The captain is here!"
Relief swept across the squad as, with that long whistle, a striking young man shot through the sky like a meteor.
"Cheh! The Sword-Hawk is here. Big brother, what do we do?!"
The second brother asked Jimak, who snorted.
"So what if it's him? He's mine. You lot, take care of the others!"
And with that, Jimak launched himself at Ma Yugyeom.
"Young whelp, die!"
"Haaap!"
The two clashed in midair, crimson and azure qi colliding in a blaze of light.
Teoong! Teong! Teong! Kwaaang! Kwaaang!
Ma Yugyeom's skill was astounding.
Though only in his twenties, he met the famed fiend Jimak blow for blow, not yielding an inch.
And he wasn't the only reinforcement.
The fourth Fiend, trailing behind, suddenly cried out:
"Big brother! Another one's coming!"
He pointed to a figure speeding toward them across the treetops—a woman so beautiful she shone even from afar.
The fourth Fiend shouted in near hysteria:
"That's Tang Yeoeun! Brother!"
Tang Yeoeun, the 3rd Squad Captain of the Feilong Thirteen—called the Tang Clan's Sword Phoenix—was one of the most renowned beauties of Yunnan Province.
Even the eyes of the Fiends burned as they saw her.
Truthfully, she was the reason they had targeted the Feilong Thirteen again and again.
Even as he fought Ma Yugyeom, Jimak roared:
"I'll handle this one! All of you, seize her! Just grab that girl and we flee!"
His brothers shouted in glee:
"Yes, brother!"
"Yes, brother!"
They lifted the earlier-captured woman onto one shoulder, then hurtled toward Tang Yeoeun's path.