Chapter 204

Chapter 204
## Chapter 204

### Chapter Title: Battle of Phoenix Mountain (3)

—

Phoenix Wing Ridge.

This location stood as the peak and most perilous gateway leading toward Phoenix Mountain. Here, the soft rise of the mountain terrain transformed into a vertical, narrow precipice, creating a tactical bottleneck where a handful of soldiers could theoretically repel a legion.

The air was thick with the sounds of agony, vitriol, and the metallic ring of slaughter.

The mountain spine was painted crimson by a brutal struggle between those entrenched in its heights and those desperate to storm them.

Previously, the Blood Cult combatants positioned throughout Phoenix Mountain had collapsed with surprising haste under the weight of the massive subjugation forces attacking from every cardinal direction. Although these defenders represented a mere fraction of the total enemy strength—perhaps less than ten percent—the spirits of the Righteous Heaven Alliance fighters had soared toward the clouds, fueled by their string of easy triumphs.

However, Phoenix Wing Ridge became the first obstacle to blunt the Alliance’s relentless momentum. The Blood Cult garrison at this specific point was markedly more numerous and far more disciplined than the groups encountered earlier in the ascent.

“What is wrong with you? Move forward! Their numbers are thinning!”

Jong Mun, the leader of the West Sword Clan House, screamed until his vocal cords were raw.

Serving as the lead element in the climb up Phoenix Mountain, his men had efficiently cleared away hidden threats across the slopes and reached this ridge before any other unit—only to find themselves suddenly snared in a death trap.

‘Curse it!’

Jong Mun bit down on his lip, drawing blood.

The operation had started with such promise. They had saturated the area with scouts, identifying every hidden enemy cell and eliminating them with negligible casualties.

That success had been their undoing.

The ease of the initial skirmishes had birthed a lethal arrogance. By charging ahead without the necessary tactical wariness, they had walked straight into a devastating concentrated counter-strike from the cultists.

The vanguard that first stepped onto the ridge had been annihilated. More than half of the reinforcement wave sent to retrieve them met the same fate. Every subsequent attempt to take the ground resulted in nothing but further loss.

A grueling, bloody stalemate had taken hold.

“Watch out!”

A frantic cry of caution preceded a massive, ear-splitting boom.

A Blood Cultist, riddled with mortal wounds, chose to detonate his own internal energy, taking several West Sword Clan disciples with him in the blast.

The warrior who took the brunt of the explosion vanished instantly, while his nearby comrade was thrown back, his arm completely severed. Blood sprayed from countless lacerations as the survivor teetered on the edge of collapse.

“You soulless demons!”

One of the few remaining fighters spat out his fury at the enemy’s willingness to use their own corpses as munitions.

“This is madness.”

Jong Mun’s eyes were threaded with red veins as he witnessed the carnage.

How many of his followers had been discarded in such a senseless manner? The terrifying part was the uncertainty of how many more suicide strikes awaited them in the shadows.

“Patriarch Jong.”

O Gwang, a protector of the Righteous Heaven Alliance, sprinted toward him, his garments saturated with gore.

“Are you injured?”

Jong Mun asked, his voice tight with alarm.

“It isn’t mine. I nearly fell for one of their disgusting traps.”

O Gwang trembled slightly, brushing fragments of remains off his sleeve with a look of revulsion.

“They are beyond vicious. They refuse to pass into the afterlife alone. Our losses to these tactics are mounting rapidly.”

“I have lost far too many men as well. But look—the conclusion is near.”

Jong Mun followed the direction of O Gwang’s hand.

A group of warriors wearing unfamiliar colors was systematically and violently overwhelming the Blood Cult front.

“Who are those people?”

“Martial artists from Shandong, arriving to bolster our line.”

“I see.”

Jong Mun felt a flicker of relief dampened by a heavy blow to his ego.

Phoenix Wing Ridge was a natural fortress, but the fact that they required outside assistance from Shandong to break the line wounded his professional pride.

Sensing the patriarch’s internal conflict, O Gwang offered a steadying word.

“Put the objective first. We cannot permit more honorable lives to be extinguished by this Blood Cult filth.”

Jong Mun gave a solemn nod. He began rallying his remaining disciples for a final, decisive charge—intent on proving their own worth in the conquest, even if the Shandong reinforcements had provided the opening.

Pinned between the two forces, the Blood Cultists finally broke their fanatical defense and retreated into the woods in a sudden blur of movement.

“Cowardly dogs…”

Jong Mun gnashed his teeth as he watched them retreat like a receding tide. He felt a burning urge to hunt every last one of them down, but he knew the strategic priority was to hold the ridge and prepare for the main host of the enemy, not to chase after fleeing stragglers.

“Hard to believe.”

O Gwang, who had been at the heart of the most violent exchanges, watched the retreating shadows with a hollow expression. The intensity of the battle moments ago now felt surreal.

“We should continue to the top.”

“Agreed.”

Supporting one another, Jong Mun and O Gwang made their way to the summit of the ridge, which was now firmly under the control of the Shandong contingent.

“And to whom do we owe the honor of meeting on this peak?”

A man of middle age, possessing a thick beard that resembled a tangled thicket, spoke up. His words were civil, yet his eyes betrayed a sharp, calculating suspicion.

“I am O Gwang, a protector of the Righteous Heaven Alliance.”

“And I am Jong Mun of the West Sword Clan House.”

Their responses were clipped, mirroring the stranger’s guarded attitude.

“Ah! The champions of the Alliance! Forgive me, I am Nok Chung, the leader of the White Dragon Gang. I suspected your identities after seeing your bravery against the cultist filth, but with their deception everywhere, I felt I had to be certain. Please, pardon my caution.”

Nok Chung offered a deep bow.

“Chief Nok. You mentioned deception?”

O Gwang inquired, his brow furrowing.

“The Blood Cult has been using our own uniforms to infiltrate and cause mayhem. We’ve suffered elsewhere because of it. We even lost brothers to killers masquerading as Alliance members on our way up.”

“So that explains the confusion…”

O Gwang and Jong Mun spoke in unison, understanding dawning on them.

“Precisely. But I was clearly wrong to doubt men who fought with such ferocity. My apologies.”

Nok Chung bowed once more, casting a glance at the trail of bodies leading up the slope.

“It’s no matter. Given their tactics, anyone would be on edge.”

“He’s right. Do not give it a second thought.”

“I am grateful for your understanding.”

Nok Chung gave a simple, disarming smile that seemed out of place on his rugged features.

“How is the situation on the other fronts? You began your ascent alongside us.”

O Gwang asked.

“The cleanup is going smoothly for the most part. No massive pitched battles until now. However, the traps and infiltration schemes have caused more deaths than we anticipated. This ridge was the most intense conflict I’ve witnessed—their resistance here was truly desperate.”

“Indeed. These fighters were of a different caliber than the ones below.”

“I’ve never seen foes so unwilling to surrender.”

“Perhaps you should take a moment to recover before we move together? Your men look exhausted. While time is short, we cannot simply abandon the dead. We can tend to the fallen while your people catch their breath.”

O Gwang and Jong Mun agreed instantly to Nok Chung’s proposal.

“That is a fair plan.”

“The scavengers are already gathering, drawn by the scent.”

Jong Mun gestured toward the black crows settling in the nearby trees.

As the survivors from the Alliance and the West Sword Clan began the grim task of identifying their dead, Nok Chung called out to his followers.

“Our banners may be different, but we bleed for the same cause today. Help these men honor their fallen.”

The members of the White Dragon Gang moved forward to assist.

“We appreciate the help.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

O Gwang and Jong Mun were genuinely touched by Nok Chung’s show of respect for their lost disciples.

In that moment, a second group of warriors appeared, charging up from the opposite flank.

As the two leaders tensed for a potential fight, Nok Chung signaled them to relax.

“Friends. Look at their colors.”

“We hit a pocket of Blood Cultists on the path. Is the fighting done here?”

“It is. The ones you saw were likely the ones we just drove off.”

“That explains it—they were running like dogs with their tails tucked. Ha ha ha!”

A man covered in drying blood let out a boisterous laugh.

“Come, introduce yourself. These are the brave men who cleared the ridge.”

“I am O Gwang.”

“Jong Mun of the West Sword Clan House.”

The boisterous man offered a humble bow as they took the initiative in greeting him.

“Ah! My mistake. I am Ak Bul Gon.”

Nok Chung stepped closer to the leaders and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“The man who just fought you.”

“What? Gah!”

O Gwang’s follow-up question was cut short by a choked cry.

He looked down in pure shock at the hilt of a blade protruding from his chest. He collapsed, the light fading from his eyes instantly.

“What is this madness?!”

Jong Mun narrowly parried a lethal strike from Ak Bul Gon, his face contorting in a mask of fury.

There was no need for an explanation.

Agonized screams erupted across the summit.

The Alliance and West Sword disciples, who had let their guard down to recover their dead, were being slaughtered by the White Dragon “allies” they had just thanked.

“It’s quite a phenomenon, isn’t it? If a man pretends to be suspicious and then apologizes, people almost always lower their shields—they never stop to think the entire act was a lie.”

Jong Mun leaped backward instinctively to escape Nok Chung’s mocking grin.

“I will tear the life from you.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Nok Chung unsheathed his weapon with a frigid, predatory smile.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Woooooo!

The haunting cry of Black Fang rolled across the landscape, serving as both a beacon for his people and a grim announcement to his enemies.

“He has arrived.”

The expression on Ya Hul Jae’s face turned stony.

Even before the combatants were in sight, he had detected the essence of Sima Geon—and not merely through the sound of the howl. Having mastered the secrets of physical transformation and the restoration of youth, he had once believed himself to be without an equal in the world. To fail to recognize the presence of the one man who had handed him a defeat and forced him to taste the fear of death would be impossible.

“His appearance suggests our strategy has crumbled entirely. Is there still no message from Elder Lee?”

The composure he had maintained earlier was gone.

“Nothing.”

Ya Hul Hoon’s expression was just as strained as Ya Hul Jae’s.

“We must conclude he is dead. Either at Sima Geon’s hand, or perhaps the Sword Empress.”

Ya Hul Jae glanced at Gu Yang Kyung, the deputy leader who remained a silent, unwavering shadow behind him.

“It appears Elder Lee has been taken.”

“Yes.”

“He remained defiant to the end, despite what he promised me.”

“It was to be expected.”

“And why do you say that?”

“That was my father’s nature. It was his core law. Regardless of the opponent’s strength, he was not a man who would ever turn his back and run.”

Ya Hul Jae let out a heavy, weary breath at Gu Yang Kyung’s steady observation.

“How tragic!”

His frustration wasn’t aimed at Gu Yang Soon for ignoring his directives, but at himself for believing a simple order could override a man’s lifelong code of honor.

“Do not blame yourself, Lord. My father never truly believed he could be defeated.”

“His opponent was the Sword Empress. Or perhaps that leader of the Divine Demon Division.”

“My father was the Second Elder of the Blood Cult.”

Ya Hul Jae nodded slowly, acknowledging the pride in her voice.

“You are right. Your father was exactly that kind of warrior.”

After a moment of silent reflection toward the horizon, Ya Hul Jae turned.

“Elder Woo.”

“I am here, My Lord.”

Yi Geuk, who had remained quiet since detecting Sima Geon’s approach, spoke in a low tone.

“Do I have the strength to defeat him?”

“Without a doubt. You shall be the victor.”

“I haven’t changed much since our previous encounter.”

“Your internal reserves have grown significantly.”

“A mere decade of additional cultivation.”

“To a novice, ten years is but a moment. But to masters who have reached the pinnacle, like yourself and the Divine Demon Leader, that decade carries profound weight.”

“I suppose so.”

Ya Hul Jae nodded, though he did not mention the agonizing effort he had poured into refining his incomplete martial techniques.

“I never imagined the Great Lord of the Blood Cult would descend here himself. Were you aware?”

Neng So Hwa stared in disbelief at the young man standing at the head of the opposing force.

Sima Geon shook his head slowly in response to her query.

“No. I had no inkling.”

“When the reports came that the Blood Cult intended to seize the Sword Pavilion, I felt prepared. I knew the caliber of our fighters and I felt no fear. I see now how foolish I was. I never considered their Lord would lead the charge in person. If you hadn’t come, Young Master Sima, what hope would we have had?”

A shiver ran through Neng So Hwa as she realized her lack of foresight had nearly led the Sword Pavilion to total destruction.

“You would have found a way. You are formidable, and the disciples of the Sword Pavilion possess great spirit.”

Sima Geon placed a steadying hand on her trembling shoulder, gesturing toward the warriors who were now reforming their battle lines.

With the arrival of Sima Geon’s group, they had finished off the trainees under Gu Yang Soon and were now readying themselves for this new, greater threat.

Seeing their renewed courage, Neng So Hwa felt a pang of regret for her moment of doubt.

She closed her eyes, forcing her racing heart to find its center.

Inevitably, the memory of the legendary duel between Sima Geon and Ya Hul Jae flashed through her mind.

Since that historic day, she had replayed that fight in her mind thousands of times during her meditations, alternating between the perspectives of both masters. Though it was mental training, the wisdom she gained was beyond words. Even in her mind’s eye, she had never been able to claim victory against either of them.

Neng So Hwa opened her eyes, a strange, crystalline calm settling over her.

Sima Geon recognized that look of absolute resolve immediately.

“This time, the challenge is mine.”

He had known she would say it. And Sima Geon knew better than to try and sway her from her path.