Chapter 13:
The Mysterious Blood-Robed Fighters
Whooosh!
Beyond the torrential downpour, a ravine came into view.
That place, where the two nations had fought for years, losing and regaining control countless times, had become a matter of pride for both sides—pride that neither was willing to surrender.
And for that pride, uncountable warriors had perished.
Rumble!
Craack!
As thunder and lightning intensified, the warriors of Zhao Kingdom kept watch toward the north, exchanging idle chatter.
“No way they’d come down on a day like this, right?”
“If it were me, this is exactly the day I’d come down. That’s why you can’t let your guard down for a second, you idiot.”
“Why would they come today when we’re not even at war? General Hwangho isn’t that reckless.”
“Still, stay sharp.”
“Stop whining like a dog that needs to shit and focus, dumbass.”
“There they go again… bickering like always. So damn annoying.”
Rain brings thoughts. The warriors of Zhao were no exception. After squabbling for a while, each fell into silent reflection.
“I miss my wife.”
“Me too.”
Boom!
Crackle!
Lightning stretched like spiderwebs in the near distance.
As a flash of lightning lit the area, it was suddenly replaced by a different streak of light.
Swish!
“Urgh!”
With a stifled groan, a warrior’s head fell to the ground.
“Wha—?!”
Flash!
Thud!
Two more warriors dropped without even a scream.
Emerging from beyond the shadows were warriors from the Hebei Peng Clan.
They used subtle hand signals and sharp glances to coordinate.
“There were only three here.”
“Go deeper in.”
Rustle!
Whooosh!
Beyond the fierce storm, warriors of Yan Kingdom waited for the order to attack.
Beneath a pine tree, Ihwan chewed calmly on jerky.
Just moments earlier, Peng Clan warriors had infiltrated the enemy lines. Their mission: neutralize the sentries.
Everyone waited in the downpour for their signal.
Ihwan gazed at Peng Muwi standing ahead. Compared to when they first met, his face and frame had clearly slimmed down. A smirk tugged at Ihwan’s lips.
Looks like the diarrhea really did a number on him.
He turned to Song Cheonmu.
Until just now, he’d shown no emotion. But now, standing before the enemy, his expression was tight with tension.
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“Slow and deep.”
“Yes, sir.”
At that moment, Jeongcheon approached. He couldn’t help but give a faint smile at Ihwan’s utterly relaxed expression.
To think a person can change this much…
He quickly returned to seriousness.
“When the attack begins, the Yongho unit should stay in the rear.”
“Understood.”
“Is there anything else we can do?”
“No.”
Jeongcheon left. Ihwan watched his retreating back and thought of Hwangho. When Ihwan had left the camp, Hwangho had stared at him with a deeply worried face.
Of course, the concern wasn’t for Ihwan himself—but for the aftermath if something were to happen to him.
What kind of life was that guy even hoping for?
Suddenly, Ihwan felt a pang of sympathy for the Fourth Prince, the original owner of his body.
“Damn it!”
Cha Jung-gyeong was irritated. His mask clung tightly to his face, even making it hard to breathe.
When their eyes met, Jung-gyeong pointed at his face as if asking, Can I take this off?
“Endure it. And keep that temper in check.”
“…”
Suddenly, a firework burst through the downpour and exploded in the air.
Pop!
Ihwan slowly stood up.
Song Cheonmu drew his sword first.
Clang!
Just a kid, after all.
Clap!
Ihwan placed a hand on Song Cheonmu’s shoulder.
“Remember, if your breathing breaks even for a second, your sword becomes useless. And don’t stray from my side.”
“Yes, sir.”
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Jeongcheon’s vanguard charged toward the enemy lines first, followed by Peng Muwi’s unit. The Yongho unit took the rear.
“Looks like it’s starting.”
“Keep your distance—about a hundred steps.”
“Yes.”
A man and a blue-robed figure followed the Yongho unit from about a hundred paces behind.
Both were dressed in Yan Kingdom’s uniforms. Their objective was to observe Ihwan from as close as possible once the battle began.
After a moment—
CRASH!
CLANG!
“Argh!”
“Gwah!”
The battle had begun.
The ambush using the rain was successful. In mere moments, Zhao’s first defensive line collapsed under Jeongcheon’s vanguard.
“That was too easy.”
“That’s not good…”
The man frowned. A chaotic melee would make it easier to approach Ihwan.
Just then—
“Enemy on the left!”
“Stop them!”
WAAAH!
CRACK!
“ARGH!”
“KRAAH!”
Zhao forces flanked the Yan army from the left side of the canyon.
“They expected us and prepared!”
“Just what we wanted.”
The man’s eyes gleamed as he watched Ihwan becoming entangled in the melee with the flanking enemies.
Exactly the chaos he needed.
First, I’ll test his martial arts.
Though the Fourth Prince had been an illegitimate child, he’d still received top-notch elixirs and martial arts training befitting his royal status.
But lacking talent, he’d never fully mastered them.
The current Ihwan, however, was a different story.
These guys? The palace arts are more than enough.
His sword cut through the air—an enemy dropped, blood spraying.
Though Ihwan had never formally trained in the imperial martial arts, he perfectly reconstructed them from memory.
The same technique could vary drastically in power depending on the user. In fact, Ihwan had to suppress his strength.
Tsk. Matching their level is more annoying than I expected.
Having never had to restrain his strength before, Ihwan found it tedious.
But to avoid harming his body like before, it was a necessary discipline.
He scanned the battlefield.
That one.
A clearly powerful foe caught his eye—a man in blood-red armor, wielding a massive saber and mowing down allies.
One of the Yongho officers, considered skilled, was cut in half—man and weapon alike.
He’s first.
Suddenly—
Whoosh!
Two enemies came at Ihwan from both sides.
He stepped forward, used his sword and free hand to strike their waists—
Thwack!
“Urgh!”
“Gah!”
“Your Grace! Don’t go in too deep!”
Songhoe shouted desperately.
Ignoring him, Ihwan charged at his target. The enemy general, fresh from killing two warriors, bared his fangs upon seeing him.
“You. The so-called worthless Fourth Prince of Yan.”
“That’s me.”
“Haha. Bravado like that? You’ll die for it.”
Flash!
SWOOSH!
The saber slashed through the air.
CLANG!
Their blades collided, sending rain flying in all directions.
Ziiing!
The shock traveled up Ihwan’s arm—slow, but powerful.
“Not bad, scarecrow prince!”
The enemy recognized him. Another slash came.
Ihwan blocked it again.
Clang!
Third, fourth—he blocked them all. His robes tore from the force, revealing bare skin.
The enemy general was shocked.
Not just from surviving—but from still standing firm.
Was it all lies…?
Tingle…
Ihwan’s whole body ached. Pain flared in his wrist.
So hard to control my strength like this…
For regular people, it came naturally. But for Ihwan, with all his past-life knowledge, exerting just enough inner force felt as hard as performing advanced techniques.
“Your Grace! Fall back!”
Songhoe rushed in.
“Move.”
Ihwan pulled him aside and stepped forward again.
To master power control, he needed more practice.
“Hey, big guy. Ready for round two?”
FWOOSH!
“You bastard…!”
As the battle turned chaotic, the man and blue-robed figure jumped in.
The man approached Ihwan’s location.
[Minimal interference.]
[Understood.]
The man closely observed Ihwan’s duel.
Clang!
After a few exchanges, disappointment grew in his eyes.
Is he not the one I’m looking for?
To him, the Zhao general’s attacks were slow despite their power.
But Ihwan didn’t dodge—he was barely managing to block, even being pushed back with torn robes.
Slash!
No way someone descended from them is this weak. And he’s not even using their techniques. Is he from a different line?
Disappointed, the man remained cautious.
I’ll watch a little longer before deciding.
Suddenly—
SWOOSH!
A killing intent flew from the left. The man leaned back and struck the attacker’s solar plexus.
Thump!
“Urk!”
Another enemy’s head was sliced clean off.
[Focus! You’ll die to a stray sword!]
The blue-robed figure stuck close, parrying enemy strikes.
Ignoring the chaos, the man turned his attention back to Ihwan.
Just then, Ihwan stepped forward again.
“Hey, big guy. Let’s go again.”
His eyes sharpened.
The Zhao general flared with killing intent.
“I’ll crush your skull!”
Shrrrip!
His saber emitted a crimson aura.
But then—others appeared behind him. All clad in blood-red robes, wide bamboo hats pulled low.
One of them spoke with an emotionless voice:
“Leave the Fourth Prince of Yan to us. Go elsewhere.”
“What?! You arrogant bastards—”
The general’s brows twisted.
“Orders from the Chief Commander.”
“…!”
At the mention of the Chief Commander, he stepped aside. The blood-robed men moved toward Ihwan.
He narrowed his eyes at the sinister aura they gave off.
Dark sect martial artists?
They felt entirely different from army elites.
What was strange was their timing—appearing just when Ihwan seemed overwhelmed.
Anyone would think I was losing badly. And yet they insist on taking over?
Suspicion was inevitable.
That’s enough for today.
