Chapter 111

Chapter 111
## Chapter 111: Yangtze Blood Battle (3)

“Kahahaha!”

Cheol Woo, finally liberated from his restraints, reveled in the chaos.

With every heavy swing of his arms, the outlaws collapsed like ruptured sacks of crimson grain, and the sturdy vessel of the raiders crumbled into splinters as if pounded by heavy artillery.

“You absolute monster!”

Goryong, the master of Wushan Stronghold, shed tears of agony as he hurled himself toward the titan known as Cheol Woo.

For Goryong, who had brought his followers from a nearby aquatic outpost—not even a primary base of the Yangtze Waterway Alliance—simply to gain favor with the grand leader, this disaster was beyond endurance.

He had been certain that Wushan Stronghold would ascend to become a premier power within the Yangtze Waterway Alliance. Instead, his three sons, the center of his world, had perished without a sound under Cheol Woo’s casual strikes. While the bodies of his older sons remained on deck, the youngest had been knocked into the churning river, leaving no trace behind.

As the blood-drenched Goryong lunged in desperation, the trembling captains of Wushan Stronghold broke their paralysis and surged forward in a synchronized strike.

Though they were merely river pirates, they were the commanders of a faction, and their martial prowess was substantial. Furthermore, decades of shared combat made their collective assault both sharp and predatory.

Heavy sabers carved through the air from both flanks, targeting his skull and ribs.

A piercing whistle echoed from his rear.

Directly ahead, Goryong—shattered by the loss of his heirs—charged with a suicidal lack of self-preservation.

Yet Cheol Woo, the focus of this lethal web, remained perfectly composed.

The sharp aura of execution washing over him actually pulled a grin from his lips, as if he found the danger refreshing.

The moment the Wushan captains’ weapons converged on Cheol Woo, the giant—who had stood frozen until that heartbeat—tilted his frame in a sharp, diagonal pivot.

The blades coming from his left and right only brushed his garments, while the trio of daggers whistling from behind lost their mark entirely, biting into nothingness.

Only Goryong, refusing to be deceived by Cheol Woo’s misdirection, managed to track his path.

“Go to hell!”

The final secret of the Opening Heaven Fist—the very technique that had pulled Goryong from the gutter to the rank of chieftain—slammed toward Cheol Woo’s chest.

Bam!

With a heavy, sickening thud, it was Goryong, rather than Cheol Woo, who recoiled.

Goryong looked down in horror at his mangled hand. The flesh was torn away, and the skeletal structure was crushed into dust.

“For a river rat, that was a decent hit.”

Cheol Woo, who had countered Goryong’s ultimate strike with a casual jab, commented with genuine interest. It was meant as a compliment, but to the broken man, it felt like a jagged insult.

“But your form is messy. This is how you throw a punch.”

Fixing his eyes on Goryong before stepping into his space, Cheol Woo launched a strike toward the gathering captains.

The Overlord Sixteen Fists that had previously annihilated the White Pig Legion.

In a heartbeat, Cheol Woo’s strikes claimed the surrounding air, tearing through the pirate leaders.

It was a catastrophic display of force that even legendary masters would have found difficult to parry.

The bandits had no hope of survival.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The commander on the left collapsed into the deck.

Hit square in the lungs, he vomited a torrent of blood and went cold. The man beside him took a crushing blow to the abdomen and was launched over the side of the ship.

Even the assassin who had been throwing daggers fell in a heap of agony, every bone in his frame reduced to shards.

In the blink of an eye, Cheol Woo had wiped out the leadership. He concluded the slaughter with a savage kick to Goryong’s skull, the man now kneeling in a state of hollow shock.

Goryong smashed into the very spot where his children had perished. With that, Cheol Woo paused. Most of the bandits were already corpses, and those who remained had cast themselves into the Yangtze to escape his reach.

“Fine, who is next?”

Scanning the area for a fresh opponent, Cheol Woo’s face still betrayed a restless hunger.

—

Thud!

His heel hit the wood of the railing.

There was no more room to back away.

He had initiated the duel, striking first with a relentless flurry. So why was he the one being driven back, covered in wounds?

“Why!”

Deungcheol could not handle the mounting pressure or the hopelessness, screaming out in fury. Neung Sohwa looked at him with a cold, almost pitying expression.

“If your limbs were whole, would you have been more formidable?”

“What?”

“I am asking if it would have changed anything.”

“Of course it would have…”

Deungcheol, ready to bellow his response like a storm, lost his voice halfway through.

He certainly would have been more powerful. But whether that power would have bridged the gap was unlikely.

Gradually, the rage clouding his mind began to recede.

His desire for blood had not faded, but he could now view the battlefield with chilling clarity.

Finally, he truly saw her: the terrifying capability of the woman standing before him, who looked barely twenty years old.

It wasn’t just raw power—it was the suffocating weight of standing before a monolith. He had never experienced such a sensation, even from Yuak.

‘Wait, I have felt this before.’

A dim memory from his younger days sparked in the back of his mind.

Deungcheol’s shaking eyes moved to the silk veil covering Neung Sohwa’s face.

Three beautifully stitched plum blossoms.

Her sleeves carried the exact same motif.

The cloudy recollection hit him like a thunderclap.

The lethal grace of the woman who had once decimated his mentor and his brothers with impossible strength played out in his mind once again.

Her blade and her silk had carried that very same insignia.

“Sword Empress…”

A spark of recognition flickered in Neung Sohwa’s steady gaze.

“So you are familiar with me—or rather, my teacher. Even that man we encountered previously seemed to know who I was.”

At her revelation, intense suspicion flooded Deungcheol’s eyes.

‘The man they met before? Someone who knew the mark of the Sword Empress?’

A sudden realization struck him.

“Before you crossed paths with Biwoong Stronghold, did you happen to meet another river faction?”

Deungcheol asked the question with sudden, trembling respect. His voice had become entirely subservient.

“Black Bone Stronghold, I believe? Yes, we crossed their path. But there was no conflict.”

“Black Bone Stronghold.”

Deungcheol’s eyes grew sharp and dark.

“Then the person who identified you as the Sword Empress was their leader?”

“I am not certain he actually knew. It was merely an intuition.”

“No. He knew. There is no doubt.”

Deungcheol ground his teeth together.

He thought back to the intelligence Gahyu had provided upon joining the main strength of the Yangtze Waterway Alliance.

Using a mole within the Bloodhound Hall, they had secretly reached out to members of Biwoong Stronghold who had been captured by the law. They had verified a few things: the conflict hadn’t started randomly; most importantly, the pass provided by Black Bone Stronghold was a forgery, which is what triggered the tax argument.

‘Yukseung, who recognized the symbol of the Sword Empress, handed over a fake token. There is no way our men would let a strange trade ship go after seeing that. It was a plot to use another’s blade to do his killing.’

Deungcheol immediately pieced together Yukseung’s deception. He would have orchestrated the same play if given the chance.

Understanding the full scope of the betrayal, fire burned in Deungcheol’s eyes.

They had walked right into Yukseung’s snare because they had been greedy for Biwoong Stronghold’s land.

He, his two boys, and the men of Biwoong had been nothing more than chess pieces on Yukseung’s calculated board.

Gazing blankly at the dark sky, lost in his thoughts for a long moment, Deungcheol slowly bent his body in a bow toward Neung Sohwa.

“If we cease this now, will you permit us to walk away?”

It was a pathetic sight, begging for his life from the person who had killed his kin, but Deungcheol had no other path.

Neung Sohwa had indeed killed his sons, but the architect of their ruin was Yukseung.

The perfect outcome would be killing them both, but that was impossible. At the very least, he craved a bloody settling of scores with Yukseung.

Deungcheol waited for Neung Sohwa’s response with a racing heart.

“I do not run from a challenge, but I do not hunt those who wish to leave the field.”

“Thank… you.”

With a shaking voice, Deungcheol bowed once more, gripping his hatchet with eyes full of blood, swearing an oath of vengeance—

“However, there are exceptions.”

Neung Sohwa’s tone cut through the air like a blade of ice.

“Wh-what… Agh!”

A broken gasp left Deungcheol’s throat.

Crimson flowers of blood erupted across his chest.

That was the final vision Deungcheol saw before the end.

—

Catching sight of the commander of the Red Righteousness Clan, Sima Geon launched the Heaven-Shattering Nine Wall Fist toward Yuak and Chosu.

Taken by surprise by the sudden, lightning-fast strike, Yuak and Chosu’s reflexes were delayed by a fraction of a second. However, as the elite vanguard of the Yangtze Waterway Alliance, they responded with professional calm, coming out of the exchange unharmed.

Sima Geon did not follow up immediately. The strike hadn’t been intended to kill them—it was a distraction to give Yuhan some breathing room.

“Intercept him!”

At the command from Yu Wol, the Ink Scale Squad moved as one.

Sa Ilgong, the captain of the Ink Scale and a close ally of Yu Wol, had not ignored the warning. He had been poised for action since Sima Geon first arrived, allowing for a near-instant reaction.

Sima Geon continued his advance, driving his fist forward.

The Ten Directions Thunder form of the Heaven-Shattering Nine Wall Fist.

With a single impact, Sima Geon shattered the chests of six members of the Ink Scale. As they fell, a silver gleam flashed from the shadows.

A blade darted out like a snake, aiming for Sima Geon’s shoulder.

Sima Geon snapped his wrist, parrying the steel with his Thunderclap Palm.

“Damn it, he reacted in that split second.”

Sa Ilgong, who had been willing to sacrifice his men to take Sima Geon’s limb, pulled back while cursing. The parried blade now sought his own forehead.

As their captain retreated, the remaining Ink Scale Squad swarmed in.

Sima Geon reached out toward the crowd, and a brilliant light erupted from the Heavenly Demon Ring on his arm.

The radiance became a blinding wave, washing over the deck.

Slash!

With a series of wet sounds, seven more Ink Scale soldiers collapsed. Fine red gashes appeared on their necks.

Seeing half of his elite unit wiped out in a heartbeat, Sa Ilgong felt his blood turn to fire.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

The light mist began to turn into a heavy downpour.

Yu Wol stepped in to halt Sima Geon’s relentless drive.

The Heavenly Demon Sword flashed toward Yu Wol.

The peak move of the Thunderbolt Blood Sword, known as Mad Flash, was too rapid for the human eye to track—exceeding even the Extreme Swift Light of the Single Heaven Nine Forms in sheer velocity.

Feeling a lethal presence approaching, Yu Wol moved his blade by instinct alone.

That instinct saved his life.

Knocked aside by Yu Wol’s steel, the Heavenly Demon Sword only managed to carve a line through his shoulder.

White-hot pain radiated from the gash, but Yu Wol did not waver. The enemy’s offensive was far from over, and if he collapsed, Yuhan’s life behind him was forfeit.

As Sima Geon prepared to strike once more—

“You are a reckless child.”

Yuak’s massive blade, Dragon Fang, roared in with a voice full of heavy pity.

There were no fancy tricks, no impossible speeds.

Yet Sima Geon was forced to pull back the Heavenly Demon Sword that had been inches from Yu Wol.

Boom!

A titanic collision sent both Sima Geon and Yuak skidding back five paces.

After just one exchange, Sima Geon understood Yuak’s true strength.

Even during his campaign against the dark sects, he had rarely found masters of this level. He was easily on the same tier as the North Heaven Sword Demon.

But the shock Yuak felt was much greater than Sima Geon’s.

Five paces back for each seemed like an equal trade. However, while Yuak had struck with everything he had, Sima Geon had clearly been holding something back.

‘He is a freak of nature.’

Yuak steeled his nerves, recognizing the true danger of the man he was fighting.

He lunged forward again, swinging Dragon Fang in a tight arc at point-blank range.

Suddenly, a hidden sword darted toward Sima Geon’s side.

Living up to his title as the Yangtze Flying Tiger, the movements were incredibly swift, and the sword’s weight was terrifying.

Before the metal arrived, a suffocating killing intent hit Sima Geon first.

Chosu, who had intended to stay out of the fight, frowned as the hidden sword interfered. But he offered no protest. His warrior’s soul demanded he intervene. Sima Geon’s presence was simply too threatening.

“We have to take him down before the other one arrives.”

Chosu focused his mind, glancing at Cheol Woo, who was still wreaking havoc on the other boat.

He peeled off his constant leather gauntlets.

Twisted, bony hands were revealed—damaged by years of incorrect training techniques.

However, Chosu’s relentless obsession had turned those ruined hands into tools harder than forged iron.

“You have spent a long time tempering your external body, haven’t you?”

Shocked by the sudden voice at his ear, Chosu spun around.

Neung Sohwa stood there in total silence, her blade resting against her chest, having moved across the water without a sound.