Chapter 222

Chapter 222
Chapter 222
Chapter Title: One Fist Blood River

The three great demonic cults had sparked this wave of demonic unrest, and of them all, the Reverse Heaven Divine Cult stood unrivalled in strength. Within its ranks served five subordinates of the Heavenly Demon—figures who left carnage and slaughter in their wake wherever they appeared. The common folk spoke of them with trembling dread, bestowing upon them the title of the Five Great Divine Generals. And among those five was One Fist Blood River, a man whose name matched his nature perfectly: a monstrous warrior whose domineering fist technique could carve rivers from spilled blood with but a single strike. Most unexpectedly of all, this same One Fist Blood River currently held the position of an elder within the Zhejiang Black Clan.

“Chudal, tell me once more about the Zhejiang Black Clan.”

Though Chudal had already recounted the details two or three times before, he saw the gravity etched across Yang-hwi’s face and obliged without a word of complaint.

“The Zhejiang Black Clan. Just as the name suggests, this martial family is based in Zhejiang and counted among the Three Supreme and Six Great Sects that guide the realm. Their signature art, the True One Divine Fist, stretches back hundreds of years—forged by their founding ancestor when he reigned as the supreme under heaven. That enduring legacy has sustained them through every generation right to the present day.”

“And tell me about their First Elder as well.”

That First Elder was none other than the man destined to become One Fist Blood River. Yang-hwi had heard it all before, yet he listened again as Chudal spoke, letting the familiar account organize his own thoughts, before pressing forward with new questions.

“Have you uncovered anything else regarding the Zhejiang Black Clan?”

“I’ve thrown our entire intelligence network into the search, yet nothing unusual has surfaced. They appear entirely ordinary—I cannot fathom why you have suddenly taken such a keen interest, brother.”

Yang-hwi could well believe it. Even when he extended his own qi sense to probe deeper, he found absolutely nothing. His senses were second to none under heaven, and he remained certain of one thing: the First Elder was employing some specialized method to veil his demonic aura. Or perhaps… he had not yet bound himself to the Reverse Heaven Divine Cult at this point in time. Yang-hwi scrubbed a hand vigorously through his hair.

“The lures we’ve set have drawn no bites, and now this—something entirely new has surfaced from nowhere.”

He had even dispatched the Slaughter Blood Lord to provoke the Blood Cult, yet thus far there had been no meaningful response at all. Leads were so thin he had entertained the thought of patrolling alongside the Moon Chasing Unit, sweeping through Muhan as one might hunt down vermin. He quickly dismissed the idea as unworkable. Muhan ranked among the largest cities in the known world. To scour every alley and corner on foot while straining his senses to detect the faintest trace of demonic qi would be akin to kneeling by a riverbank and sifting the waters in search of a single specific grain of sand. Not even the Ten Supreme Martial Sages could accomplish such a task lightly… or perhaps they could? Perhaps they truly were monsters among men.

“Brother—what if we dangled some bait before the Zhejiang Black Clan?”

Yang-hwi considered the suggestion for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“No. We cannot afford to act rashly and frighten the prey away. For now, continue your investigations. When the moment is right, I shall cast the net myself.”

Still, this development confirmed it: he had caught the scent of a trail belonging to the Reverse Heaven Divine Cult—an organization that had taken great pains to remain hidden. Yet another concern lingered: the Blood Cult. Their silence felt deeply unsettling. Of the three great demonic cults, the Reverse Heaven Divine Cult might be the strongest, but the Blood Cult was by far the most troublesome. Their power grew in direct proportion to the vast quantities of blood they consumed, and that made them uniquely dangerous. Even in this life alone, they had revealed themselves time and again, and Yang-hwi had stood face to face with one of their bishops. Reports had confirmed that the Blood Cult Lord himself had made an appearance at the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly—a gathering of unparalleled magnitude. For them to fall so quiet immediately afterward was anything but reassuring.

“Brother, would it not be preferable if all remained peaceful and free from calamity?”

“Peace like this is no peace at all. It simply means something is festering out of sight—and that is far more terrifying.” He scowled, then added, “I would much rather they stage some brazen, foolish scheme that I can see and understand. This invisible uncertainty is unbearable.”

“I cannot fault you for feeling that way.”

At that moment, Yang-hwi had no inkling how profoundly those words would return to haunt him.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Night had fallen, and the full moon blazed bright against a sky like polished obsidian. Chudal came bursting into Yang-hwi’s quarters, breathless.

“Brother! We are under attack!”

Yang-hwi had been deep in meditation; he opened his eyes slowly.

“An attack?”

“Five separate strikes took place last night. Every assailant radiated a vicious, blood-choked aura—they were fiends, every last one.”

Blood Cult agents, beyond any doubt.

“And the outcome?”

“They sowed chaos with their blades and fled. All have since been hunted down and dealt with.”

Relief washed over him—no catastrophe had befallen them. That only made the timing of these raids all the more suspicious.

“Gather every detail for me—the names of the victims, the identities of the attackers, anything and everything that might prove significant.”

“Consider it done!”

Chudal moved quickly and returned before sunset that same day with a full account. Yang-hwi pored over every word, then clicked his tongue in frustration.

“There is no discernible motive. Why strike now of all times?”

“Could this be the delayed effect of sending out the Slaughter Blood Lord?”

“I doubt it.” The Blood Cult was no gathering of slow-witted grubs; they would never have risen to lead a demonic upheaval if they were. Examination of the bodies revealed no evidence that blood or life force had been their objective either. “If anything strikes me as strange, it is the paths they chose to flee.” They had struck targets across Muhan, then melted away—yet every escape route converged toward the very heart of the city. What game were they playing? “The Dragon-Phoenix Assembly is in full swing, and the preliminaries for the Dragon-Phoenix Contest are underway. The main rounds begin in just a few days. Why launch coordinated attacks now?”

“And how have the major orthodox powers responded?”

“Furious. Wudang has been quietly pressing its agenda behind the scenes during discussions to form a Martial Alliance.”

Were they rallying the sects of the righteous path to advance their own goals? No—that was stretching coincidence too thin. The idea of Wudang conspiring with the Blood Cult was unthinkable. He would stake his life on it. If these attacks had achieved some clear, tangible purpose, the matter would be far simpler to unravel. Why did these shadow-dwellers persist in weaving schemes that left no thread he could grasp?

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Whatever Yang-hwi’s misgivings, time flowed onward like water.

“Did you hear the results from yesterday’s preliminaries?”

“The Zhejiang Cooperative Sword pulled off a stunning upset—they have advanced to the main rounds!”

“Their final opponent was an absolute powerhouse! The gamblers must have cleaned up on those odds, hah!”

“The main rounds are nearly upon us. Care to place a wager?”

“On what?”

“Who will be the first to fall!”

“That hardly requires guessing, does it? Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon, of course!”

“Keep your voice down! This is Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon’s very own inn—do you want us to be heard?”

Yang-hwi caught fragments of this conversation as he descended to the common room for breakfast, and similar chatter filled the air everywhere he turned. Jeong Seol-ha sat beside him, her expression darkening.

“Brother—does none of this anger you?”

She spoke in response to his apparent indifference.

“Anger me over what?”

“The things people are saying about you.”

“Seol-ha, mind your speech. A lady of quality ought not to speak so coarsely.”

“You are the fool, not me.”

He blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“It angers me deeply.”

He understood her sentiment, yet he felt something else entirely: anticipation, akin to standing before a harvest he had tended with his own hands.

“Once the main rounds begin, I shall turn every one of those words on its head. Let them speak while they may—that is not what truly matters.”

His thoughts returned to the far greater threat: the three great demonic cults. If only they would show their faces openly, as the Ming Cult had once done. He switched to voice transmission, guarding against unwanted listeners. “The Ming Cult crept through the Southern Seas in secret until you exposed them, brother.”

“True enough, yet I still find myself wishing the same of these others.”

The Blood Cult’s recent raids gnawed at him. Pointless in execution, baffling in design—like an itch he could not scratch without aggravating a wound.

“You overthink these matters, brother. Have patience, and all that lies beneath the surface will reveal itself.”

“…Did that wisdom come from being descended from Zhuge Liang?”

“My father is known as the Lu Bu of the Zhuge clan, after all.”

He conceded the point immediately—no further argument needed. “Very well. Continue managing the Moon Chasing Unit as you have been. Maintaining discipline among the younger generation is critical.”

“I am this close to losing my patience. Should I simply unleash chaos and be done with it?”

“…Hold fast. I ask this of you.”

“Very well, brother—if you insist.”

After breakfast they parted ways. Yang-hwi spent the remainder of the day within his room, alternating between cultivation and restless reflection. What was the Blood Cult plotting? Had their lord truly slipped undetected into Muhan? The sun began to sink toward the horizon as these questions circled endlessly in his mind.

“Brother.”

Chudal appeared at his door, holding a letter.

“What is this?”

“It was brought by someone named Ok-cheong, from Mount Hua Sect. He instructed me to place it directly in your hands.”

Yang-hwi’s eyes widened instantly.

“Is something amiss, brother? I have never seen you react like this before.”

“No. I know who this is.” How could he not? Ok-cheong—possessed of a voice that carried like thunder, renowned as peerless under heaven. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter at once.

*Come to me immediately.*

That was all—a summons to a meeting place in the mountains beyond the city.

“I must go.”

“Now? Just like that?”

He offered no further explanation, launching himself into the air. Joy surged within him, unbidden and overwhelming. *Ok-bro… to see you again in this life at last.* In his previous existence, orphaned and alone, Yang-hwi had sworn brotherhood with three souls he trusted above all others: Hundred Li Pursuer, the wandering swordsman; Tang Gun, young heir to the Tang Clan; and Ok-cheong, supreme sword of Mount Hua. He had planned for this reunion, biding his time and preparing every detail—yet he could not refuse a summons, least of all from Ok-cheong. Their bond differed from what he shared with Chudal or Tang Gun. In his past life, Yang-hwi had never formally taken a master… yet in every way that truly mattered, Ok-cheong had filled that role.

*He has not yet fully mastered the Plum Blossom Twenty-Four Forms.* Mount Hua Sect had once stood preeminent among the nine great sects, only to fall into ruin decades ago during the Sword King’s Great Bloodshed. The most devastating loss of all: every master who held the latter half of the Plum Blossom Twenty-Four Forms had perished. Restoring the complete technique had become Ok-cheong’s life’s work. *I had hoped to build our bond gradually… yet this is hardly an ill beginning.* Lost in thought, he reached the appointed clearing. There, perched atop a great weathered boulder, sat Ok-cheong, his sword resting at his side. He stood slowly as Yang-hwi approached.

“You are Baek Yang-hwi! I am Ok-cheong of Mount Hua Sect! I have summoned you on a matter of the utmost urgency!”

His voice rang out exactly as Yang-hwi remembered—strong, resonant, impossible to mistake. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, warm and aching.

“I am indeed Baek Yang-hwi, Ok-bro.”

Ok-cheong raised an eyebrow at the familiar form of address.

“I welcome your cordiality! Yet I cannot accept such familiarity—not until I have settled this matter first! I must be certain!”

Yang-hwi frowned. “Certain of what?”

“I shall speak plainly! Baek Yang-hwi of the Heaven-Covering Hundred Clan… are you the Blood Cult Lord?!”

The question struck him dumb. He stared blankly, utterly stunned. *Setting aside how Ok-bro even knows of the Blood Cult… he suspects me of being their leader?*

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You deny it? Then I shall discover the truth for myself!”

Ok-cheong drew his blade, and as he did so, spectral plum blossoms bloomed upon the air. His sword intent was sharp, deadly, and utterly without compromise.

“Wait—put up your sword! Let us speak first!”

“There will be no words. Only action!”