The red-robed man's mocking words made everyone tense.
Both Min-jun and Baek Sang understood the same terrifying truth — there was no way out of here without fighting.
Min-jun clenched his sword and shouted,
"Carve a path for the young master! Today, we'll show our loyalty to the Baek family! Let them see that Baek warriors do not go down without a fight!"
"Yes, Captain!" the guards roared back.
With battle cries that echoed through the silent village, the Baek warriors leapt from their carriages and charged toward the red-cloaked figures.
From the other side, the cult leader's voice rang out cold and sharp:
"capture them all."
Blades clashed instantly. Sparks burst through the dark as steel met steel. Screams and battle shouts filled the air.
Min-jun moved like a raging beast, passing throu two of the red-robed attackers before locking eyes with their leader. He knew — this one was the strongest. If he didn't stop him, no one would leave this place alive.
With a roar, Min-jun launched forward.
"Five Tiger Claws!"
In an instant, his qi burst forth, roaring like a feral beast. Energy surged through his arm, forming five blazing trails shaped like a tiger's claws. The air cracked as he slashed forward — each claw carrying the strength to tear stone apart.
His hand glowed with golden energy, his strike tearing through the air. But the cult leader countered effortlessly — his blade gleaming with a crimson hue.
"Seven Blood Blades," the man whispered.
A red qi burst forth, forming seven blazing trails that cut through the air like whips of fire. They converged at a single point, fusing into a devastating surge of power.
When their attacks collided, a thunderous crack split the battlefield — the shockwave rippled outward, tearing into the ground. Both men staggered back, boots grinding into the dirt, eyes locked in unbroken focus. One blink, one falter — and death would claim them.
But soon, it became clear — they weren't equals.
Min-jun fought with all his might, every strike fierce and desperate. Yet his enemy deflected everything with terrifying ease, his movements fluid, almost lazy.
The gap between them was absolute.
Min-jun was only a Second-Grade in Martial Artist Gate realm, while the man in red was at least Body Realm — a chasm no amount of courage could bridge.
The cult leader sighed.
"This is getting boring."
He swung his sword once more, this time imbued with full power Internal Qi .
Min-jun barely managed to harden his body with qi, blocking the first strike. But the second blow came faster — too fast.
Blood splattered the ground as his left arm was severed.
Min-jun staggered back, gasping, his vision spinning. Around him, all his comrades had already fallen — unconscious, their bodies motionless but still breathing.
He blinked in confusion.
Why… why didn't they finish us off?
His knees gave way, his sword slipping from his hand.
The last thing he saw was the red-robed leader walking toward him, his blade dripping with blood.
Then, everything went dark.
After a while, Jun slowly opened his eyes, his mind struggling to process what had happened before he lost consciousness. His head throbbed, and the air smelled faintly of blood and smoke.
He tried to move — but his body wouldn't respond. His arms hung downward, his vision tilted strangely. It took him a few seconds to realize he was hanging upside down.
Panic jolted through him.
"Y–Young Master…?" he whispered weakly, trying to look around.
Then he saw it — Bak Sang, his young master, was hanging upside down beside him. Below them loomed a massive iron cauldron, its surface blackened by old blood and smoke.
"Sang!" Jun gasped, his voice hoarse.
Bak Sang turned his head slightly, fear trembling in his eyes. "Jun… what's happening? Get me out of here!" he cried. Despite his calm, mature face, he was still only eighteen — and fear, for any human, was only natural.
Jun's heart pounded as he looked around. All his companions were there too
A door creaked open.
Footsteps echoed.
The same red-cloaked man who had cut him earlier entered the chamber, carrying a curved dagger that glistened wetly in the torchlight. His voice was calm, almost amused.
"So, you're awake," he said. "Good. I was hoping you'd open your eyes before I start."
He smiled faintly. "But you, … I see potential in you. A warrior's spirit. You could join us — walk the path of immortality at my side. If not…" His voice turned cold. "Then I have no other choice."
He raised his hand and gave a subtle signal.
A moment later, two figures stepped forward.
Then — screams.
The men began cutting the hands of everyone hanging around Jun. Blood splattered onto the cauldron below, hissing as it met the heat.
"NO! No, stop!" Bak Sang shouted, thrashing in panic. "Please, don't—!"
But they didn't listen. One of them grabbed his wrist and sliced clean through.
The cavern filled with the echoes of agony — "Ahhh! Help me, Jun! Jun!"
Jun trembled, his vision blurring. He could do nothing. He could only watch as his companions drew their final breaths, one by one.
Tears streamed down his face. Then, through the chaos, Bak Sang looked at him one last time.
With blood dripping from his arm and a fading smile, he whispered, "It's not your fault… it's all mine. I should've listened to your advice."
And with that — he went still.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood was falling from his master's wrists… directly into the cauldron.
Jun's stomach twisted in horror. His body trembled, every muscle screaming as he tried to break free — but the ropes wouldn't budge.
For a long moment, Jun said nothing. His lips trembled, but his eyes burned with fury.
Finally, he spat out the words, voice hoarse and full of defiance:
"I will never join inhuman monsters like you."
Before the man could react, Jun bit down hard on his tongue — deep enough to crush it. Blood filled his mouth, and he forced himself to swallow it, cutting off his breath.
The red-cloaked leader stepped back, startled. Jun's body convulsed once, then went still.
For a moment, silence filled the chamber. Then the leader exhaled slowly, voice cold again.
"…Such resolve."
He turned to his subordinates.
"Collect his blood as well. Bring it to the third blood room."
Sometime later, two red-robed figures carried large containers filled with blood through a dimly lit corridor. The smell of blood hung thick in the air.
"Careful," one of them muttered. "The Third Blood is waiting."
They stopped before a heavy wooden door, marked with strange runes that pulsed faintly red. Outside, the same cult leader — Dong-ha — stood waiting.
"Put them down and leave," he ordered coldly.
The two bowed and hurried away. Dong-ha lifted one of the containers himself and entered the room.
Inside was a massive chamber dimly lit by crimson lanterns. At its center sat a huge wooden bath, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe and twist when looked at too long. The tub was filled halfway with dark liquid — thick, red, and still steaming.
A man sat within it, his body pale as wax, his long hair clinging to his face. As Dong-ha approached, the man's eyes opened — glowing faintly crimson.
"So," the man murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You've come with the materials… Dong-ha."
Dong-ha immediately bowed.
"Yes, Third Blood."
He lifted the container and poured its contents into the bath. The blood rippled violently, and the man within began to absorb it. Within an hour, the tub was completely empty — not a single drop remained.
The man leaned back, eyes half-closed, power pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
"Good," he said. "Is there any word from the Cult Leader?"
Dong-ha shook his head.
"No, sir. But there will be soon. All Five Bloods are ready. Once the order is given… we will move. Murim Alliance and the Empire will both fall before us."
The Third Blood's lips curved into a faint, cruel smile.
"Then let them prepare for war. The age of Blood has begun."