The Legend of Red Cloud - Chapter 13

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 13. Speed and Trust
As I’ve mentioned before, Ryu’s cherished blade, the Yumyeong, is a grotesque weapon.
It has the form of a long sword blade as if two separate blades were attached to either side, with a grip set in the middle.
Because of this unusual shape, when one grasps the hilt and holds it horizontally, the blades jut out on both sides of the grip like teeth.
The method of use is as complicated as the weapon’s peculiar form.
Since it has blades on both sides, it must be wielded by grasping the center and swinging it—movements that are fundamentally slashing in nature.
The fact that while one blade cuts the enemy, the opposite blade gleams wickedly sharp on the other side, requiring the wielder to be careful lest they wound themselves—this too is one of the reasons the weapon is so difficult to master.
Yet when swung with relentless force, it commands an attack range so broad and dense that enemies find it nearly impossible to close in—this was its greatest advantage.
Especially when two targets stood separated within the reach of the Yumyeong’s dual blades; Ryu could simply hold it horizontally and rush through the gap between them, severing both their lives with a single pass.
Just as the two Mil-gwi were doing now, their heads tumbling to the ground as their bodies collapsed.
Before their severed heads could even strike earth, the Yumyeong burrowed through the ranks of the Mil-gwi, gleaming with terrible brilliance.
As three more Mil-gwi fell, their chests laid open, the Yumyeong’s blade thrust skyward once more.
Only then did the Mil-gwi realize they were under attack and begin to respond.
But before half of them could even draw their swords, two more necks rose into the air.
Ryu moved with such detached expression, following the crimson arc painted by the Yumyeong’s dual blades, which seemed to strike merely in the pattern of the character for “cross.”
From his hand, the Yumyeong flashed like two fangs, cleaving the very air.
Shluck.
The Mil-gwi watched as a long blade thrust through his chest was withdrawn—watched it being pulled back out before his vision dimmed.
He saw the opposite edge of the Yumyeong scythe through his charging comrade’s sword and the arm wielding it in a single sweep.
And Ryu, who held that grotesque weapon of death.
The Musim slayer, the red wolf of Sajapyeong.
“Sal… rang!”
With a sound like a dying gasp, the Mil-gwi collapsed, and Ryu vaulted over the corpse.
In the same instant, the Yumyeong thrust toward yet another death, its fangs bared.
Another Mil-gwi, who had leaped skyward using his dying comrade as a springboard and was bringing his sword down like an axe, saw surprise flicker across his face—but it was only a moment.
He had realized that his upward trajectory would carry him higher than his opponent’s.
It meant Ryu would land back on the ground before the Mil-gwi’s sword could reach him.
With his center of gravity compromised, the Mil-gwi’s own blade would come crashing down upon Ryu’s undefended head.
So thought the airborne Mil-gwi.
Or so he believed.
But in that very instant, the opposing blade seemed to suddenly extend, thrusting upward to meet him.
The difference in their jumping distance collapsed in a heartbeat.
And as though he himself had charged onto that blade, the airborne Mil-gwi’s chest was pierced clean through.
Shluck.
As life drained from the Mil-gwi’s eyes, he saw the hilt of the Yumyeong—not at the center, but pushed down toward the opposite blade’s point.
‘How?’
The thought of the Mil-gwi, impaled like meat on a skewer, ended there.
Ryu’s form rotated swiftly as he shook off the lifeless corpse merely by tilting the Yumyeong at an angle.
The hilt of the Yumyeong moves along the blade itself according to the precise application of internal force.
By gripping one end of the hilt firmly and swinging the Yumyeong, the attack’s reach expanded by the length of the extended blade.
Measuring distance against an opponent is the most basic foundation of combat.
The opponent’s reach, and one’s own.
Maintaining that distance often becomes the deciding factor between victory and defeat.
Thus, by breaking an opponent’s distance, victory lies within reach.
Conversely, if one’s own distance collapses, death’s fingers draw close enough to touch the back of the neck.
The Mil-gwi attacking from behind while coordinating with his airborne ally was certainly maintaining such a distance.
A distance where his opponent’s blade would never reach.
Yet from that same distance, his own sword would surely find its mark.
But that distance shattered in an instant.
The blade tore through the distance he had trusted as safe, burrowing through to rip open his entire flank.
Ryu’s hand released the Yumyeong as he passed the Mil-gwi, whose waist was half severed as he fell.
The Yumyeong, having crossed the empty air.
Thunk!
It buried itself deep in the back of the one-armed Mil-gwi who had been fleeing.
The Mil-gwi’s breath stopped; he was pulled roughly to the ground by the Yumyeong’s force.
And so the eleventh Mil-gwi joined the nine already fallen, stepping into the land of death.
Squelch.
Blood sprayed from where the Yumyeong was withdrawn, painting a crimson arc across the empty air.
Ryu gazed at it without emotion, then turned his eyes forward.
As a gust of wind pushed away the scent of blood, Ryu’s figure vanished as though it had never been there at all.
***
Among the Jeoksajo, Dong Pil possessed the greatest speed.
Jwa Ryang’s blade art was swift as well, but that pertained only to weaponry; in terms of footwork and the rhythm of reading an opponent’s moves and responding, Dong Pil held the edge.
Of course, there existed one of superior skill, but to the members of the Jeoksajo, he was beyond comparison.
As Jwa Ryang had once said, gods and mortals were not meant to be measured against one another.
In any case, Dong Pil’s twin blades—fastest among the Jeoksajo’s mere humans—traced dozens of sword shadows through the air.
If the Piercing Spear of Sajapyeong, now depleted, or the Bungwang of Jongnam represented the supreme swift blades of Jungyeon, then the foremost swift blade of what was called Haedong, or Goryeo, was being born in Dong Pil’s hands—the Seungyong Ssangcheon.
The technique had been created after witnessing two dragons ascending to heaven and splitting the light itself, and its speed admitted no peer.
Swift enough to cleave light asunder.
That was why the Seungyong Ssangcheon bore another name: Bungwang. Yes, the same Bungwang as Jongnam’s.
For Jongnam’s Bungwang likewise moved swift enough to part the light.
As if to prove its reputation utterly, Dong Pil’s twin blades drove forward in relentless chaos, and three Mil Ghosts found themselves helplessly pushed back.
Slipping through that gap came Yi Song’s Cheonggang-geom, flowing as quietly as running water.
Shrrk!
Though but a single keen edge sang out, two Mil Ghosts collapsed, spraying blood from their waists.
The third fell to Dong Pil’s blade, which cut up and across like a flash of lightning.
Having severed all three without so much as a backward glance, Yi Song and Dong Pil bolted straight into the forest.
The surviving Mil Ghosts, belatedly aware of their comrades’ fate, cried out and rushed into the woods after them.
But then—
Shrrk!
A chilling edge sang out, and blood ran in long trails between the trees.
Three Mil Ghosts, their necks severed by the Eunjamsa strung between the trees, lay sprawled upon the ground.
The four surviving Mil Ghosts managed to arrest their forward momentum just before the Eunjamsa.
They could not know how many traps lay hidden in the forest, nor risk the danger of advancing swiftly through such terrain.
One of the four standing Mil Ghosts widened his eyes.
In that widened gaze was reflected the sight of his three comrades’ heads flying off simultaneously.
And before that shock could fade, searing agony tore through his chest.
The one who had severed the four remaining Mil Ghosts in the forest passed through like an errant breeze.
Were one to ask what mattered most in a Jeoksajo engagement, the answer would be absolute faith in one another.
The unwavering certainty that if you destroyed what lay before you, your comrades would protect your back!
Speed came second to that faith.
Speed to overwhelm the enemy relentlessly, speed to safeguard a comrade’s flank.
The one most constrained by that demand for speed was, without question, Yi Song.
For he bore responsibility for covering the others’ backs.
Not merely one assault group, but two—and he had to shield both.
Trusting in such a Yi Song, Jwa Ryang and Jang Min Soo descended upon the remaining Mil Ghosts.
Jwa Ryang’s forte, befitting one trained in the Dongjeongsibpalchae school, was the Gwisui-gong—a water skill of exceptional refinement.
Beyond that lay the Janyeong Sibisoo, a palm technique of unparalleled quality, and the blade art derived from it was equally superb.
He had transferred the swift palm movements wholesale into blade technique and given it the same name.
Janyeong Sibisoo.
He had altered only the final character—replacing the hand radical with the one used for blade.
The moment when Janyeong Sibisoo reached its apex was when twelve flying blades, the Sipibirа, connected by gossamer threads, blazed through space like rays of light.
Precisely as they did now.
“Ugh!”
Three Mil Ghosts collapsed with blades embedded in their necks, while Jang Min Soo, clad in ink-dark gauntlets, struck down those whose focus had been scattered by their efforts to evade or bat away the flying blades.
Thud!
In the sharp, brutal impact, one Mil Ghost’s shoulder shattered and chest caved in, and he fell.
Having dispatched four Mil Ghosts, Jwa Ryang and Jang Min Soo likewise fled into the forest without delay.
The instant the six surviving Mil Ghosts moved to pursue, one figure burst from the woods in the opposite direction.
Even a master, confronted with an unforeseen turn, suffers a moment’s rigidity.
In that fraction of an instant, the Yumyeong in Yi Song’s hand claimed four necks and pierced two hearts.
In an instant, Yi Song had swept away an entire group of Mil Ghosts; his form vanished like a storm wind.
***
By the time Geum Mil had halted and gathered the Mil Ghosts who had been pursuing Gwak Ki Ryang and Yun, sixty of them—six entire groups—had already fallen.
As a result, only thirty-four Mil Ghosts assembled around Geum Mil.
Faced with that staggering loss—more than half his force—Geum Mil stood in stunned silence until Un Mil ventured a careful question.
“Should we call back the one group that was tracking the large trail?”
“No. Leave them be.”
Un Mil bowed and withdrew, and Geum Mil continued.
“I underestimated him. That was my error. But I will not repeat the same mistake twice. From now on, we move together—no dispersing. And we will have him.”
At the end of those words, Geum Mil drew his blade and cast aside its scabbard.
He was making a statement: he would not return alive unless he killed his enemy.
At the sight of this, the Milgwis who had stirred uneasily a moment before all drew their blades and discarded their scabbards, following Geum Mil’s lead.
Watching his subordinates for a brief moment, Geum Mil called out in a low voice.
“Let’s go!”
The moment his command fell, the Milgwis resumed their pursuit.
This time, true to Geum Mil’s word, thirty-four Milgwis became one unified force with Geum Mil at the head, charging through the forest of Sajagwan.
The charge led by Geum Mil and his Milgwis came to a halt before half a moment had passed.
It was because they had encountered Ryu, who stood in a small clearing spread across the mountainside with Yumyeong unfurled before him.
The instant Geum Mil caught sight of him, he recognized his opponent’s identity.
“So it’s you, the Killing Wolf!”
Originally, the alias Maenguidan had given Ryu was the Crimson Scholar—a scholar stained with blood.
But the name by which the Blood Ghost Squad called him was the Killing Wolf—a predator drenched in the frenzy of slaughter.
Ryu, knowing this well, merely shrugged his shoulders with an expressionless face.
At that moment, Geum Mil’s command fell upon the Milgwis who had encircled him.
“Kill him!”
The instant the command fell, four Milgwis holding the cardinal points launched upward.
And following after them, eight Milgwis holding the eight directions swept the earth with a single breath’s interval between them.
The Thirty-Two Direction Formation—the combined technique of the Milgwis, created to face a single master of great power—had been activated.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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