Chapter 405

Chapter 405

An involuntary intake of breath escaped a combatant stationed beside the tactical dais.

Perspiration completely drenched his uniform, a consequence of proximity to the command hub rather than actual engagement in the fray.

It was unavoidable.

The violent clash occurring near the primary platform was far beyond his capacity to comprehend.

Precisely then.

A sharp snap resounded.

The blade of an opposing champion pierced straight through the flank of their ultimate leader, the Grand Marshal.

‘How…?’

For an ordinary frontline fighter like himself, the execution of the strike was entirely unnoticeable.

A rapid sequence of luminous bursts had repeatedly sparked, leaving him to perceive only the devastating aftermath.

Having completed a stint along the frontier, he possessed the rudimentary combat techniques of a conscript. Within the martial community, he might qualify as a mediocre practitioner at best, yet this engagement transpired at a velocity his vision simply could not track.

The assailant who had impaled the Grand Marshal retreated slightly, executing a manual gesture that caused the blade buried in the commander’s torso to fly directly back into his grip.

The display felt entirely supernatural.

Consequentially, he was not alone in his reaction. The surrounding troops, who had formed a defensive perimeter to block the intruder’s exit, could only gape in stunned disbelief.

Suddenly, a low gasp broke the collective paralysis.

The sound came from the Western Army Grand Marshal.

As the blade retracted from his torso, the agonizing sensation forced him to expectorate fluid mixed with crimson matter, and only then did a stream begin to seep down his side.

“Grand Marshal!!”

“Regain your awareness, leader!!”

“Quickly!! Someone find a medic!!”

The remaining leadership surrounding the Grand Marshal cried out simultaneously.

The frontline fighter perceived a strange absurdity in their reactions.

It felt as though the commanding staff had lost their sanity.

‘Even if the legendary Hua Tuo returned from the dead, salvation is impossible.’

To someone with five years of experience on the outer borders, the fatal state of the Grand Marshal was undeniably terminal.

Why, then, were these superiors uttering such futile demands in this crisis?

It was an otherworldly environment. Watching their supreme commander perish in front of them provoked bizarrely practical reflections.

These were notions he tried to suppress, attempting to look away from the grim reality.

While observing the frantic, useless gestures of the superiors, a distinct sound struck the fighter’s ears.

Approaching paces.

Stiff as a corpse, the fighter remained motionless, shifting only his gaze.

The youthful warrior responsible for the Grand Marshal’s demise was advancing.

A crimson luminescence enveloped his blade.

Instinctively, the fighter understood the truth.

That shimmering crimson hue was unquestionably derived from the vital fluid of the Grand Marshal.

The instant this realization registered.

A flash of light.

A tearing sound.

The unsettling noise of rendering flesh began echoing in every direction.

“Attack him!”

“Destroy that wretch!!”

Commanders everywhere barked frantic directives, but the fighter—who had never failed to execute a command—found his limbs entirely frozen.

Shortly after, absolute quiet arrived.

Within moments, not a single living person remained in the vicinity of the tactical dais.

Save for one individual.

The warrior who had single-handedly eliminated every nearby superior. A young man completely saturated in crimson.

Peculiarly, despite being covered in gore, his weapon retained no residue.

The fighter comprehended the phenomenon.

He had witnessed the final leader’s decapitation, seeing the vital fluids drawn directly into the edge of the weapon.

An entity capable of slaying hundreds unassisted, executing the Grand Marshal and his staff while utilizing a terrifying weapon that thirsted for life force.

Could an individual like this be classified as human?

Therefore, no living souls remained in the area.

What title should be given to an entity that transcended humanity?

Suddenly, the rhythmic, terrifying chants from the opposing ranks struck his ears once more.

“Glory! Glory! Heavenly Demon Divine Cult!!”

These were fanatical followers seeking their divinity.

In that case, the warrior before him had to be the deity they venerated.

‘A malevolent deity? A demonic god? An avatar of demise?’

Before the fighter could resolve these thoughts, realization struck too late.

The entity, having cleared the surrounding targets, shifted its gaze directly toward him.

Only then did the fighter comprehend.

The reason such pointless reflections had occupied his thoughts.

‘My life is over. Over. Over. Over. Over.’

‘Grant me mercy. Grant me mercy. Grant me mercy. Grant me mercy. Grant me mercy.’

An overwhelming dread stemming from an opponent that could not be fought.

The entity opened its mouth while maintaining eye contact.

The fighter felt like a transgressor awaiting sentencing before the throne of Yama.

The movement of the entity speaking seemed to occur in extreme deceleration.

In opposition to this, a torrent of past memories raced through the man’s consciousness.

A full review of his existence, driven by the baseline urge to survive. In the window between expiration and persistence, analyzing every memory to uncover a path to safety.

Yet searching his entire history offered no method to withstand that presence.

The velocity of these mental images accelerated beyond measure.

‘I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you.’

An intense sensation akin to a scorching intellect gripped him.

The drive to survive extended beyond cognitive function.

The physical form pushed past ordinary constraints to remain alive.

Every sinew tightened to its absolute limit, skeletal joints groaning under the pressure.

His pulse quickened drastically to deliver energy exceeding normal capacity.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

In this altered state of perception, only the rapid, violent pulsing of his own circulatory system reached the fighter’s awareness.

Just before his vital organs collapsed from the strain.

At last, within the frozen timeline, the warrior spoke clearly.

“Lay down your arms and capitulate, and your lives will be preserved!”

Initially, the fighter failed to grasp the meaning of the statement.

The concepts seemed entirely alien.

However, his mind, desperate for preservation, rapidly processed the declaration.

‘Ah… The divinity offers clemency…..’

The sense of relief was fleeting.

‘Quickly, discard the weapon and submit!!’

His physical form, exhausted by the extreme tension, collapsed forward onto the earth.

“Lay down your arms and capitulate, and your lives will be preserved!”

Following the moment Il-mok projected his words utilizing his internal reserves, a brief hush settled over the immediate area.

Splat. Splat.

Identical impacts resounded from every flank in rapid succession.

A vast multitude of the surrounding forces dropped to their knees in submission.

‘The compliance is swifter than anticipated.’

Il-mok had envisioned greater defiance, not expecting such immediate capitulation.

It was a minor misinterpretation.

Their submission was not a conscious, logical choice; their limbs had simply failed them.

The same occurred with their armaments. Their grips failed entirely, leaving them unable to hold their gear.

“What is that?”

Moments later, an offensive odor reached Il-mok.

Though his olfactory senses were dulled by the scent of widespread slaughter, Il-mok identified the smell instantly.

Fear had caused many to lose control of their bodily functions.

“Hmph.”

As Il-mok expressed his disapproval, a chorus of involuntary gasps sounded from the perimeter.

They all gazed at Il-mok, their complexions devoid of color from absolute dread.

“Ah!”

“Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! Oh god! Spare me, please!”

Certain troops had completely lost their sanity to terror, while others succumbed to physical heart failure.

Finding no logic in their behavior, Il-mok ceased analyzing them and advanced.

He had no time to waste on these broken men.

Il-mok swept his blade through the air, completing the decapitation of the deceased Grand Marshal.

He raised the spear, transfixing the Grand Marshal’s head as it rolled across the ground.

‘An unpleasant task, but essential.’

With the prize secured upon the point, Il-mok hoisted it aloft and shouted across the field.

“The Grand Marshal has perished!! Discard your armaments and yield!! Clemency will be granted to those who surrender!!”

Since the immediate troops had already abandoned resistance, Il-mok activated his movement techniques, projecting his voice as he traversed the field.

Il-mok harbored no desire to destroy ordinary conscripts. The vast majority of participants—on both sides—were merely ordinary men.

Ultimately, the swiftest method to curtail casualties and conclude this grim conflict was clear.

Eliminate the supreme commander and secure the capitulation of the masses.

“This is impossible…”

“Our commander is dead…”

As Il-mok circulated through the sectors displaying the spear holding the Grand Marshal’s head, chaos erupted through the ranks.

The fanatical declarations continued to reverberate from the vanguard.

The combatants of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult continued their relentless assault, driving through the opposing lines from all sectors.

Coupled with the verification of the Grand Marshal’s demise, the remaining defense crumbled instantly.

Securing the advantage completely, Il-mok altered his proclamation slightly.

“Those who wish to assist us in purging the corrupt eunuchs destabilizing the imperium, drop your weapons and yield!!”

Following his lead, the attendants amplified their own voices using internal energy from a short distance away.

“Discard your weapons and your lives will be spared!!”

“Yield if you wish to survive!!”

Il-mok had never intended a total massacre from the inception of the strategy.

Annihilating an army of eighty thousand would result in severe depletion of their own forces, regardless of the outcome.

To protect his own numbers and integrate captives to reinforce their strength, demanding submission was paramount.

Furthermore, they possessed a legitimate purpose.

When the temporary leader had initially advanced to challenge the Grand Marshal, it was explicitly to introduce this concept to the ranks beforehand.

Prompted by the declarations of Il-mok and the women, nearby combatants began abandoning their gear and kneeling in sequence.

‘They are demons.’

‘Resistance is pointless; it is merely an empty demise.’

Dread ruled the day.

An engagement where control was dictated from the opening move. Surrounded exclusively by the cries of their compatriots, their resolve was entirely spent.

‘Indeed! As stated, the true culprits are those court eunuchs!’

To men consumed by panic, the justification offered by Il-mok and the temporary leader served as an ideal escape route.

Nonetheless, compliance was not universal.

“Anyone who aligns with these insurgent bandits will face the eradication of their entire lineage!!”

“You fools!! Retake your positions and strike them down immediately!!”

As frontline fighters pulled back or abandoned their posts to capitulate, intermediate officers of the Western Army barked orders across the zone.

A swift cut.

Certain leaders went so far as to execute retreating conscripts themselves.

Even for an individual of Il-mok’s caliber, tracking every single commander across a field of thousands would require a dozen versions of himself.

In front of him, another commander screamed at an exhausted conscript, raising his blade.

“The propaganda of the traitors…”

A sharp crack.

Prior to the blade connecting with the conscript’s throat, a projectile pierced the commander’s skull.

The marksmanship of Jeong-hyeon.

“Those who yield will be spared!!”

“Abandon your weapons and submit!”

Members of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult echoed the demands for capitulation, targeting and eliminating the vocal enemy leadership across the theater.

Particularly those at a distance.

A whistling sound.

An impact.

Guided by Jeong-hyeon, alongside fighters from the Baek Cheol Clan, they utilized ranged armaments and arrows to neutralize targets.

Noticing the Grand Marshal’s head displayed on the pole, Gong Taegam broke off his engagement with Baek Un-hak and executed a rapid withdrawal.

He recognized that any prospect of success had completely vanished.

Predictably, the operatives of the Eastern Depot followed his retreat in a state of panic.

Baek Un-hak and the core forces of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult commenced a pursuit, but changed course.

“You cowards! Pick up your weapons this instant!!”

With intermediate officers continuing to drive their men to pointless deaths, Baek Un-hak prioritized organizing the theater over hunting the escaping Eastern Depot.

This matched the vital instruction Il-mok had emphasized prior to the engagement.

Moving behind Il-mok and the attendants, Baek Un-hak and the elite forces of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult focused entirely on offering terms and neutralizing resistant commanders, causing the trend of submission to cascade across the area.

The collective resonance of dropping metal and knees striking the earth rippled uninterrupted across the landscape.

Inevitably, these sounds reached the ears of the Rebel Army, who were entirely caught up in their fanatical praises.

“We have triumphed.”

“The day is ours!!”

“The Divine Presence!!!”

Achieving success in their sacred campaign, they hoisted their gear aloft to praise their figurehead.

“The Heavenly Demon Descends!!”

“Ten Thousand Demons Rise!!”