Blood Pact Conference
"Damn it all…."
Hearing Ma Yu-gyeom mutter from the depths of his chest, I nearly let out a sigh myself.
It seemed I had been mistaken about far too many things.
It was earlier, during my duel with Lady Cheong-yeon.
She suddenly remarked:
"Captain Ma looks rather unsettled, doesn't he?"
"…Pardon?"
Her words caught me off guard, and I asked. She in turn pressed.
"I mean Ma Yu-gyeom. You've been watching him for a while now, haven't you? Him, and Mae Yeo-gyeong too."
"Wha—? Well, yes, but how did you…?"
I was flustered.
I had never spoken aloud my suspicions of Ma Yu-gyeom—yet somehow she had seen right through me.
"It was obvious just by looking. Well then, aren't you going to follow him?"
"Eh? But I'm still dueling you, Lady…."
"I'll be fine. Go on."
Pushed along like that, I gave chase to Ma Yu-gyeom—
and realized something else.
While I was giving my all in sparring her, she still had the composure to observe Ma Yu-gyeom from the sidelines.
If I wanted to surpass her, I would need far more time.
Thanks to the assassination arts I'd studied in my father's library, I managed to shadow Ma Yu-gyeom unseen, listening to his exchanges with Sa Gun-il… and then with Mae Yeo-gyeong.
I watched him return under the darkened sky, his steps heavy, as Mae Yeo-gyeong's muffled sobs drifted through the night air.
A pitiful scene.
My thoughts compared what I had just learned with what I already knew.
In my past life, all of us—Thirteenth Division included—believed the reason Ma Yu-gyeom eventually fell far enough to join the Blood Cult was Mae Yeo-gyeong's death.
That he loved her so deeply he could not endure her loss.
But… wasn't that wrong?
From what I overheard today, when Mae Yeo-gyeong died, Ma Yu-gyeom had already broken things off.
And the woman he truly loved was Tang Yeo-eun.
Then what is this? What really happened?
The more I thought, the more tangled it became.
If he was with the woman he truly loved, why did he shatter so completely?
And why treat Tang Yeo-eun so cruelly?
I could still recall it vividly: Ma Yu-gyeom, drunk, groping her chest before others, while she, humiliated, did not even resist.
If it wasn't Mae Yeo-gyeong's death, then what?
Could it have been Sa Gun-il's rejection? The collapse of his dream to rebuild Jeomchang?
Certainly, he valued Jeomchang's revival above all. Even I was startled when his pride bent enough to bow his head to Sa Gun-il and offer to yield the position of sect master.
But to say one refusal crushed him utterly? That seemed unlikely.
The Ma Yu-gyeom I knew would never stop there.
He would keep pressing, by any means, or find another path.
I disliked him, but I admitted it: he was resilient, iron-willed.
And so, his corruption was harder to fathom.
It only left me more frustrated.
With these questions still swirling, at last the day of the Blood Pact Conference arrived.
I had kept an eye on Ma Yu-gyeom ever since, but nothing unusual happened.
While Mae Yeo-gyeong withered day by day, he carried himself as though nothing had happened.
Clearly, neither her nor Sa Gun-il's rejection had dealt him a fatal blow.
"His Excellency the Alliance Leader will arrive shortly!"
A messenger ran ahead to announce.
Deputy Commander Heon Yeong-bo, already frantic, snapped like a madman.
"What are you doing?! Clean that spot again! You lot—sweep harder! Quickly! No time! Bah, out of the way! I'll do it myself!"
He hectored everyone, obsessed with scrubbing and tidying.
Bi Sa-yeong sidled away, muttering.
"He's throwing his whole soul into this. Looks half-crazed. At this rate, won't he just end up trailing after the Alliance Leader when it's over?"
I shook my head.
"Doubtful. All for nothing."
To me, his antics seemed both pathetic and pitiable.
By late morning, the Thirteenth Division lined up in order at the entrance.
The conference itself was in the afternoon, but the Alliance Leader's retinue was to arrive just before noon.
And soon enough, I saw them:
Alliance Leader Ma Yu-gyeom, the Sword King;
Supreme Strategist Jegal Ji-gang;
the Sword Guard;
and the Heavenly Dragon Division, the League's foremost force.
Over 150 in all.
The sight would make anyone tense, and all the soldiers stiffened. But oddly, I felt reassured.
The time, the numbers—exactly as I remembered from my past life.
That alone brought me calm.
We stood in line, bowing in unison.
At the front, our captain Pung-yang clasped his fists and raised his voice.
"We greet the Alliance Leader!"
We all echoed:
"We greet the Alliance Leader!"
Ma Yu-gyeom smiled warmly, accepting our salute.
"It gladdens me to meet you all at last! You who guard the front lines without rest, protecting the righteous martial world. Because of your tireless struggle, we in the heartlands live in peace. I, Ma Yu-gyeom, have been remiss to come so late—accept my apology. And my deepest gratitude."
His voice boomed, steady yet forceful, each word thrumming with inner power.
The weight of his presence was overwhelming—
greater, even, than the Sword Guard or Heavenly Dragon Division behind him.
When he returned our salute, Heon Yeong-bo sprang forward, eager to speak.
"How can guarding against the Blood Cult's provocations be called toil?! It is our honor to offer what aid we can to you, Alliance Leader! Please, do not say such things!"
Ma Yu-gyeom burst into hearty laughter.
"Ha ha ha ha! Indeed? Such noble spirits! Worthy of heroes of the righteous way! Ha ha ha!"
At his good-humored reaction, Heon Yeong-bo beamed, emboldened.
"Heroes? No, no, that is too much! Before the true hero of the righteous martial world, how could we dare claim such a title?!"
"Ha ha ha ha!"
The Sword King laughed again, amused, as Heon Yeong-bo rushed to add more—
"I, Heon Yeong-bo, would—"
But Strategist Jegal Ji-gang cut him off, expression blank.
"Alliance Leader, shall we go in? The young warriors cannot relax until you do."
"Ah, of course. Then let us."
Foiled in his flattery, Heon Yeong-bo scrambled.
"I-I will guide you! This way, please!"
The Alliance Leader and strategist entered, surrounded by the Sword Guard and Heavenly Dragon Division.
At last, Captain Pung-yang turned to us.
"Dismissed for now. Remain close—when the Blood Cult envoys arrive this afternoon, we will line up again."
We dispersed to rest.
I turned to ask Captain Seol Pung:
"What did you think of the Alliance Leader, Captain?"
He hummed, deep in thought.
"Hmm. Like a mountain—so high you cannot glimpse the peak."
Acknowledgment of the man's strength.
It was a statement acknowledging the Alliance Leader's strength.
But then Captain Seol Pung quietly added:
"Yet… he does not reach the clouds."
As expected.
I nodded as well, knowing exactly who those clouds referred to.
The Alliance Leader, Sword King Ma Yu-gyeom, certainly radiated overwhelming might.
But compared to the Heavenly Demon of the Demonic Path—the Seductive Demon Hand Son Eun-sang, whom we had recently encountered—
the difference was clear.
Just as the captain put it: Ma Yu-gyeom was like a mountain, towering yet still measurable.
Whereas Son Eun-sang was like a cloud—his height unfathomable, impossible to gauge.
Of course, we could not be certain of our impressions; it might simply have been our misconception.
Yet coupled with the hollow formality of the Alliance Leader's greetings, and the way he basked in Heon Yeong-bo's sycophancy… his image as the pinnacle of the righteous path left me vaguely disappointed.
And that disappointment only deepened in the afternoon, when the Cult Leader of the Blood Cult—Blood Fiend Jeon Mu-gwang—arrived at the Thirteenth Division.
Jeon Mu-gwang came with only four men at his back, each clad in black, their bamboo hats pulled low.
Just five in total.
And yet we could scarcely breathe.
The oppressive aura those five exuded eclipsed the one hundred and fifty men who had arrived with the Alliance Leader.
Behind me, Bi Sa-yeong whispered:
"Unreal… it feels like being crushed beneath a boulder. Why does five feel like more than a hundred and fifty?"
I silently agreed.
Especially the man in front—Blood Fiend Jeon Mu-gwang himself. His presence rivaled the suffocating immensity I had once felt from Son Eun-sang.
It was overwhelming.
The Blood Fiend smiled faintly as his gaze swept over us.
"I've long heard tales of the Flying Dragon Thirteenth Division. That it boasts many talented young warriors. An honor, to meet you in person."
His impression was surprisingly refined.
If not for the crimson robes marked with the character for Blood and his piercing eyes, one could have mistaken him for a righteous master of the orthodox sects.
Well, that makes sense, I thought.
He had once been the head of the Jeon Clan—a family that had stood firmly within the orthodox world.
I recalled the tale told by old Seok Gyeong-dal, and my feelings grew complicated.
Captain Pung-yang stepped forward, clasping his fists respectfully.
"To meet the leader of the Blood Cult is an honor. I am Pung-yang, Captain of the Flying Dragon Thirteenth Division. The Alliance Leader awaits."
At those words, the four behind the Blood Fiend stiffened.
One, the largest of them, suddenly let loose a murderous aura and barked:
"How dare you! To address the Exalted One in such a manner?!"
Hwaaahk!
"Ugh!"
The surge of killing intent crashed upon us.
We had to draw upon our inner strength simply to keep our footing.
Those of first-class level or higher barely held their ground, while second-rate martial artists stumbled and staggered back.
With nothing more than raw intent, that black-clad man had forced so many warriors to retreat.
His martial power was extraordinary.
But then the Blood Fiend lifted one hand lightly and said:
"Enough, Cheok-gang."
At once, the suffocating pressure vanished.
That single raised hand had nullified the murderous aura spreading in all directions.
Realization dawned on us, and our faces blanched.
For that man was Cheok-gang—Iron Body Maniac Cheok-gang, one of the Five Fiends of the Blood Cult.
A name counted among the Thirty-Six Stars, said to stand closest to the realm of the Fifteen Supreme Masters.
No wonder his aura alone had nearly crushed us.
And yet, compared to the Blood Fiend himself, even Cheok-gang's terrifying might seemed to pale.
To not only withstand such a rampage of formless energy but to completely control and cancel it out—
that was a feat on another level altogether.
It meant the Blood Fiend could manipulate formless qi as though it were an extension of his limbs—moving objects, or even killing a man, without ever laying a hand on him.
The very essence of an absolute master.
The Blood Fiend spoke gently to Cheok-gang:
"If a Captain of the Flying Dragons, belonging to the Martial Alliance, does not call me the leader of the Blood Cult, then what should he call me? Do you expect him to say 'Exalted One'? Then you too should call the Alliance Leader by such a title."
Cheok-gang's head dropped, his voice flustered.
"B-but to call that wretch…"
The Blood Fiend cut him off, voice stern.
"Cheok-gang! We are here for a conference. And a conference cannot take place without mutual respect! Are you trying to sabotage the very meeting I myself have arranged?!"
Cheok-gang immediately dropped to his knees, pounding the ground with his fists.
"Forgive me, Exalted One! This fool once again failed to comprehend your will! Please, punish me!"
We all stared in shock.
Cheok-gang—one of the infamous Thirty-Six Stars, known for his savagery and arrogance—
kneeling so quickly, begging for forgiveness.
And in front of mere youths of the orthodox sects like us, no less.
It showed just how absolute the Blood Fiend's authority was within the Blood Cult.
"Rise, Cheok-gang. Your punishment will be decided when we return to the Cult."
"Yes, Exalted One!"
After rebuking Cheok-gang, the Blood Fiend turned back to us with a genial smile.
"A poor display for the young dragons of the orthodox sects. As children of the demonic path, we are prone to such lapses. I ask your understanding."
He spoke lightly, but none of us could laugh.
This was no fiendish tyrant as we had imagined.
Rather, he seemed like a great senior of the martial world—his absolute mastery tempered by poise and dignity.
His gaze swept across us as he continued.
"Before coming, I looked into the Flying Dragon Thirteenth Division. Indeed, I see many promising young talents here."
His eyes settled first on First Captain Han Gyo-seong.
"The Blue Sword Dragon of the Cheongseong Sect, Han Gyo-seong—hailed as a genius even within one of the Nine Great Sects."
Han Gyo-seong silently clasped his fists.
His usually drowsy gaze now shone sharp as a drawn blade.
"Next, the Sword Dragon of Jeomchang, Sa Gun-il—said to be the foremost among Jeomchang's disciples."
Sa Gun-il simply glared back, refusing to clasp his fists.
Understandable, given it was this very man who had brought ruin to his sect.
The fact that he had not yet drawn his sword was restraint enough.
"And… ho, as rumored. A peerless beauty indeed. You must be Lady Tang Yeo-eun of the Tang Clan. To pair such grace with talent—your parents must be immeasurably proud. I can only admire them."
Though his words sounded complimentary, Lady Tang trembled, biting down hard as she forced herself to clasp her fists.
The Blood Fiend acted as though he did not notice her displeasure. His gaze shifted at last…
To Ma Yu-gyeom, who had been glaring daggers at him from the start.
The Blood Fiend smiled.
"You must be Ma Yu-gyeom, the Sword Hawk of Jeomchang. Son of Ma Won-il, the previous Sect Master. Your looks… do not much resemble your father."
Ma Yu-gyeom's face twisted in fury.
For the Blood Fiend—
the very man responsible for his father's death—
to casually speak his name…
Even I knew he could not possibly endure it.
With a snarl, he reached for his sword.
"You dare?!"