Return of the Mount Hua Sect Chapter 1269: Worry About The Ten Thousand People Clan Bastards! (4)

“Aaaaaaaah!”

“Aaaaargh!”

A section completely collapses.

Naturally, when compared to the immense force that seemed to engulf the shoreline, the fragment Chung Myung tore away was minuscule, scarcely impacting the overall tide. Yet, any detached observer would witness the undeniable ripple effect originating from that small breach.

The shockwave generated by Chung Myung’s actions spread like concentric circles on placid water. The army, poised to rend flesh and devour blood, faltered momentarily, their advance losing its terrifying momentum.

“G-get out of the way! You curs!”

“Retreat! Fall back! Aaaah!”

This was no longer a mere clash between a thousand-strong force and a solitary warrior. Those thoroughly unnerved by Chung Myung—those who, despite the esteemed name of the Ten Thousand People Clan, had devolved into quivering cowards—turned and fled.

Stripped of all reason, they unleashed their blades indiscriminately upon any comrades unfortunate enough to obstruct their path.

“W-what, are these lunatics possessed!”

“What in the blazes is happening!”

“Aaaaargh!”

Those struck by their own brethren’s weapons, initially startled, erupted in rage. Ultimately, however, a profound bewilderment rendered them immobile.

‘What in the world is this situation?’

A swordsman of the Ten Thousand People Clan stood frozen, his gaze sweeping around in utter confusion.

Chaos on the battlefield is a common occurrence.

Fleeing from the primal fear of death is hardly a rare sight. This doesn’t imply they are inherently accustomed to taking lives.

But the crux of the matter was that those screaming to flee, even turning their weapons upon their own ranks, were all seasoned veterans of the Ten Thousand People Clan.

These were not green recruits. They were veritable demons of the battlefield, having faced innumerable foes and stained the grounds of countless sects with blood.

How could such individuals, as if witnessing bloodshed for the very first time, abandon their adversaries and flee in such a panicked, frenzied manner?

“S-settle down!”

“Move! I told you to move! Move! Aaaaargh!”

The utterly terrified continued to shriek, pushing, shoving, and desperately struggling to break free. If he didn’t shift immediately, they seemed poised to cleave him—and the blade guarding his head—clean in two.

“This madman...”

It was at that precise moment.

Paaaang!

A sound like the very fabric of air being rent apart assaulted their eardrums. Concurrently, a crimson line bloomed across the chest of the swordsman from the Ten Thousand People Clan, who was desperately attempting to escape.

“W-what...”

What began as a delicate line, akin to a fine calligrapher’s stroke, expanded until the upper torso slid downwards along the diagonal incision.

Despite being bifurcated, the torso, not yet fully comprehending its demise, remained upright.

Shhaaaaaak!

Scarlet blood erupted from the severed surface.

The individual who had, moments before, been blocking that warrior’s path witnessed it: a shadowy silhouette surging forward beyond the terrifying crimson spray.

Blood saturated the dark hair, turning it a deep, vibrant red, and scattered in all directions. What drew the eye were the lips, curved into a smile glimpsed through the falling locks of hair. And the stark white gleam of teeth.

“Aaaaaaaaah!”

He finally understood the reason behind the desperate flight of those ahead. The grim reaper, unseen due to his obstructed vision, regrettably offered no chance for escape.

Paaaang!

With another violent crack, his head detached from his body, launching skyward.

In the fleeting instant before the severed head surrendered to the ultimate finality of ‘death,’ he perceived it with absolute clarity.

He saw Chung Myung, much like a black leopard stalking its quarry, tread upon the headless corpse and then spring forward.

‘This is much better...’

The world dissolved into blackness.

No one can ascertain the final thought he attempted to form.

Ho Ga-Myung observed the unfolding carnage with icy detachment.

A single individual was quite literally dismantling the swordsmen of the Ten Thousand People Clan, whom he had painstakingly nurtured.

Yet, Ho Ga-Myung, who had been watching with an impassive expression, suddenly lowered his gaze to his hand.

He slowly uncurled the fist that had been clenched with formidable force. He became aware of the intensity of his grip when crimson blood began to seep into his pallid, drained hand, accompanied by a gnawing sensation akin to a swarm of ants biting.

“Huh.”

Ho Ga-Myung let out a short breath and slowly inclined his head.

He could feign indifference to many things, but at this juncture, such pretense would be mere foolishness. Ho Ga-Myung candidly admitted that he was profoundly disturbed.

“...This is a most ignominious spectacle.”

He couldn’t help but be shaken, as he understood with clarity the reason for this unfolding disaster.

To instantly shatter the enemy’s morale with overwhelming power. Subsequently, to annihilate the foe with such ferocity and brutality that any who dared to resist would comprehend the dire fate awaiting them.

Humans are, fundamentally, beings driven by what they perceive. Regardless of how objectively one might attempt to analyze matters intellectually, instinct dictates the immediate surrender to the terror presented before them.

An eventual victory?

What significance does victory hold when one faces imminent death? What meaning can the glory of the Ten Thousand People Clan possess for the individual standing directly in the path of that deadly blade?

The instant a single person turns tail and flees, dread takes hold. This contagion of fear swiftly demolishes the resolve of an entire contingent, ultimately extinguishing any will to fight back.

Ho Ga-Myung was intimately familiar with this tactic. The reason was straightforward: it was the very method favored by the Ten Thousand People Clan.

The dread the name Jang Ilso evoked, and the perception that those under Jang Ilso’s command would plunge into any inferno without hesitation—Ho Ga-Myung and Jang Ilso themselves had meticulously crafted and nurtured this reputation to instill terror in their enemies.

They would establish overwhelming dominance from the very start, leveraging fear to shatter the enemy’s morale. Through this strategy, they had secured seemingly unattainable victories on numerous occasions.

Now, Ho Ga-Myung fully grasped the feeling of having their own tactic turned against them.

No, this was far worse. It demonstrated how to obliterate an army in a manner that was significantly more brutal and merciless.

“...The Sword Saint of Mount Hua.”

That individual was undeniably abnormal.

Jang Ilso had claimed he couldn’t fathom the madman known as Hyun Jong, but Ho Ga-Myung held a different perspective. To Ho Ga-Myung, Hyun Jong was nothing more than a simpleton consumed by the doctrine of Harmony and Righteousness.

What truly baffled him was Chung Myung, the Sword Saint of Mount Hua.

‘What in the world is he thinking?’

Chung Myung’s immense power wasn’t surprising. If Ho Ga-Myung were taken aback by Chung Myung’s current might, he would be a fool, utterly unfit to command the forces of the Ten Thousand People Clan.

What he could not comprehend was the sheer audacity of this madman charging alone against a colossal army.

Is there no one in existence stronger than Chung Myung?

Not at all.

There are, most certainly. Even Jang Ilso, for one, Ho Ga-Myung felt assured, was more powerful than this Mount Hua lunatic. Even the esteemed Elders of the righteous factions or the reclusive martial artists from eras past might possess greater strength than Chung Myung.

And not one of those formidable individuals would ever engage in the reckless behavior exhibited by Mount Hua’s Sword Saint.

It wasn’t due to a reverence for life, but rather an understanding of the immense price they would pay should such recklessness lead to their demise.

Yet, that madman seemed indifferent to death itself, charging forward, his sword flashing, trampling the enemy at the very forefront.

By Ho Ga-Myung’s standards, it was foolish, pathetic, akin to the actions of an insect.

“Aaaaaargh!”

“Ruuuun!”

“Aaaaargh!”

But that profoundly foolish charge had shattered the ironclad military discipline that Ho Ga-Myung had painstakingly ingrained into his soldiers.

Ho Ga-Myung bowed his head once more. The fist he had only just managed to relax clenched tightly. Noticing the blood welling from his broken nail, he squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Ga-Myung.’

He had to concede. He had known it intellectually, but now he needed to move beyond mere knowledge and accept that this individual could not be assessed through conventional reasoning.

“The damage is severe.”

As he struggled to quell the tempest within, the sneering voice of Gwi Yang, Captain of the Blood Sword troops, slithered into Ho Ga-Myung’s ear.

“They cannot suppress him.”

“...”

“This isn’t a contest between people. It's a battle between beasts. Certainly, a multitude of jackals can bring down a tiger, but…”

A sinister, unsettling smile stretched across Gwi Yang’s lips.

“That’s when jackals retain their mental faculties. If the one leading the charge has its throat torn out and begins spewing blood from the outset, what remains is a one-sided massacre.”

Battlefield momentum is paramount. And Mount Hua’s Sword Saint, through both intuition and instinct, grasped this truth implicitly.

“So? The battlefield is already lost, are you simply going to stand by and watch?”

“Why? Do you feel sympathy for the lives being extinguished? The renowned Ho Ga-Myung?”

Ho Ga-Myung fixed Gwi Yang with a frigid stare.

“Do not direct that gaze at me, Commander.”

Gwi Yang let out a dark chuckle. Though his laughter echoed, his eyes remained coldly fixed on Chung Myung’s every movement.

“Beasts cannot hunt a tiger. Hunters do. Do you comprehend the most critical element when hunting a magnificent tiger?”

“...Not being detected.”

“No, it is being noticed.”

A flicker of suspicion crossed Ho Ga-Myung’s brow, but Gwi Yang, as if anticipating the reaction, continued his explanation.

“One can successfully ambush an ordinary tiger, as you suggested. However, a truly great tiger cannot be captured that way. The crucial factor is to deplete its strength. From a distance where a surprise assault is infeasible, you emit a scent that announces your presence. For days, perhaps months, you keep it aware of your proximity until it becomes exhausted.”

“...”

“Those lives?”

Gwi Yang offered a chilling grin.

“If those expendable meat-shields can even deplete the stamina of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint, is that not an honorable end for them? I find myself wanting to applaud.”

“You wretch.”

“Ah… However.”

A bone-chilling killing intent radiated from Gwi Yang’s eyes.

“He will perish. The more ferociously he rampages, the more assured his end will become.”

Sensing Gwi Yang’s encroaching murderous aura, Ho Ga-Myung gave a silent nod.

‘Mount Hua’s Sword Saint.’

His gaze was locked intently on Chung Myung, who was carving a bloody path amidst the carnage.

‘You will undoubtedly meet your end.’