The Eldest Daughter of the Sichuan Tang Clan Protects Her Family

When the second throwing weapon flew, a huge shadow fell.
Swish.
Tang Hak threw the third dart and tried to draw the inner breath to his fingertips.
They said retrieving was similar to the principle of breathing. Like exhaling and filling the empty space in the lungs with outside air.
Empty your inner breath and draw external qi to your fingertips—that was the formula, but he could not grasp it at all.
'Please.'
Tang Hak focused on his dantian with desperate intent, but it was no use.
Because his stock was small, each dart’s single chance mattered.
He took out the fourth dart and threw with care.
Whip, swish.
Each time he moved his hand, the height of the shadows shifted. He had already fired seven darts, yet the wall the Blood Fiends formed was still packed tight. Even when the comrade beside them died, they did not waver.
To make matters worse, the incense must have burned out; the poison smoke was thinning. Sensing that time favored them, the enemies approached at leisure.
Tang Hak knew he had no chance of victory. Even so, he hurled throwing weapons at the ones that drew near without a word.
Thud, thud.
At some point he began to hear the sound of skin being pierced. Even though they were now only a few steps away, nothing in front of his eyes changed.
Tang Hak took a deep breath in helplessness.
His breathing faltered.
Tang Min had always stressed to him that everything with throwing weapons is decided in a single move. With swordsmanship, even if one form slips, there is another chance; with throwing weapons, one mistake and the weapon is gone.
Because there is an inherent limit, not a single strike can be allowed to waver.
But Tang Hak’s breathing would not settle.
Tang Min always said his problem was his mind. Because he scared easily and his heart scattered quickly, he should first practice finding calm.
“Please….”
The words slipped out of Tang Hak’s tight throat. But the fear only grew more intense. They were already within arm’s reach. He now had only eight throwing blades left.
Swish.
Because the distance had closed, Tang Hak threw a feather-needle. The randomly flying needle stuck in the face of the one charging. Because it was smeared in deadly poison, the Blood Cultist thrusting a jo toward Tang Hak collapsed. As the five warriors standing in front died in an instant, those in the back row faltered.
Whip.
Without delay, Tang Hak threw a dart. The Blood Cult bastard who had lunged drew back, then reached out again.
As if to drive them off, Tang Hak threw the dart crosswise to keep the interval. And at that moment he realized it.
At point-blank distance, composure is not important.
Far from throwing with care, he threw without setting a target to cut as many as possible, and every Blood Cultist in the front row had his skin wounded. Because the target area was wide, even a rough throw landed.
For the moment, there was still poison smoke; they could have held as is. But when the enemies reached out their arms again, he was overwhelmed by anxiety and wasted chances by throwing.
They had only scratches on their skin; this time, they did not retreat at all.
In that instant, his sister’s last words filled his head.
[Because I was still lacking, I couldn’t suppress my anxiety.]
Tang Hak came to his senses and hesitated with the dart gripped in his hand.
A jo rushed straight toward his eyes. Tang Hak pulled back the dart, drew a shuriken, and blocked the jo.
Clang.
Another jo burst from the side in the very next moment. Pressing the shuriken down hard, Tang Hak twisted his body. From the recoil, the Blood Cult bastard who had reached out slipped into the poison smoke.
“Grahk!”
Eyes bulging, the man collapsed.
At the same time, a dozen hands lunged through the smoke.
Thud. Thud.
Tang Hak grabbed the fallen Blood Cultist and used him like a shield to block the attacks.
“Raaagh!”
With a bestial shout, he shoved the Blood Cult bastards back by force. But because the enemy were so many, countless wounds opened just to secure a mere span of space.
Even so, Tang Hak did not feel pain. Lost in fear, he could not think at all.
It was not fear of death.
[Because I was afraid I might lose you, I couldn’t care about my face.]
It was fear of loss.
His sister had known—she had known the Blood Cult would come for her.
[If the Tang Clan’s calamity were only you, that would not be fortune enough for the Tang Clan.]
He recalled the moment the smile vanished from his sister’s face. Erasing the ill-fitting smile, she spoke coldly.
[And we should make it so.]
She had known the Blood Cult were aiming at the Tang Clan, and that he might die.
'But I only whined that my dignity was ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) hurt….'
Thinking that his last self had been nothing but that pathetic attitude drove him mad.
He could not know with what heart she had soothed him, with what thought she had entrusted the pledge-token to Father, asking him to wait for the day he grew.
Just then, three or four Blood Cult bastards thrust their hands out at once.
Snap.
Blocking one hand with the shuriken, Tang Hak hurriedly threw a dart to guard the flank.
Thud.
“Urk!”
But from the left he could not block, a jo stabbed his side.
Worse, he had only four darts left now.

Rustle—sshh.
He heard leaves scuffing behind him.
With his back to the tree, Tang Hak did not look back. He wanted to believe Zhuge Cheonyu had not abandoned him and fled.
They likely had not fled. If a gap had opened in the smoke, the Blood Fiends’ line would have collapsed, but they still held a circle.
So that his heart would not scatter, Tang Hak trusted them and focused.
He took out all his darts. Four darts wedged between his fingers.
Once he threw all of these throwing weapons, he was fated to be butchered by the Blood Cult’s sharp jo.
Even so, Tang Hak did not fear them.
He realized there is a hierarchy in fear.
A greater fear crushes a lesser one.
He feared returning empty-handed—leaving his sister behind.
'How weak must I be, that she worried about me even as she left, unable to confide in me. No….'
Heat burned at the corners of Tang Hak’s eyes.
'Even if she had confided, I would not have been any help.'
His sister was a clever person. She must have known he could not save her. So she shut her mouth and walked with her own feet into this awful place.
Would even that iron-willed sister not have been afraid to walk this path alone?
Tears of rage flowed down his cheeks, washing away the blood.
In that moment, he understood the sister who had done something so reckless.
'Even if I die here, at least I want to hold these bastards back.'
Tang Hak recklessly gathered inner breath and threw. He had no time to think about control of strength or direction. He dragged up every bit of power and hurled wildly.
Carried by the wind unleashed with his inner breath, the dart flew. At that tremendous speed, the shoulder and belly of the Blood Cultist in front were pierced in succession.
“Guh!”
“Urk!”
At once, his hands were empty.
Tang Hak squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
[How many times must I teach you—ride it on the wind?!]
He had, a few times, drawn inner breath to his dantian and twisted the wind as the Black Heaven Dark Ghost taught him. But not once had he ever caught a throwing weapon as it traced its distorted path back.
Because he was always afraid. Afraid the returning weapon would harm him.
Once it leaves the hand, there is nothing you can do—so Tang Hak had not taken the risk. But now he could not care. Even if his fingers were cut, so long as the keen blades returned and let him kill more Blood Fiends—he wished only for that.
'Please!'
Tang Hak gathered inner breath to his dantian without thinking.
Whoooosh.
Then, by inertia, the wind was sucked into his fingertips. Feeling the air current, Tang Hak’s eyes flew open.
“Uoek!”
The returning dart pierced through the layered bodies of Blood Cultists, and the one thrusting a jo at Tang Hak twisted aside in shock.
The dart, slowed by friction, was snatched from the air by Tang Hak; he stabbed the bastard charging him, then hurled it again.
Swish.
“Aaagh!”
The drain on his inner power was great. He kept dragging up every bit of inner breath and releasing it, over and over. With neither speed nor direction under control, the throwing weapons flew in a wild scatter, then returned, then flew again.
Unable to control the wind, Tang Hak moved, correcting the crooked trajectories as they came.
In a way, he was lucky.
One recovered weapon clearly came back aimed at Tang Hak’s heart, but because of the massed Blood Cult bastards, its speed slowed. The dart that tore a Blood Fiend’s back lost force and fluttered down like a fallen leaf.
Tang Hak lightly retrieved the dart.
Remembering something, he pulled a poison vial from his sleeve.
Ssssh.
He poured poison thickly over the darts and his own hand, then hurled the weapons at once.
Even a grain or two of salt’s worth would convulse muscles and paralyze breathing in an instant. But to Tang Hak, who was still under the effect of the antidote, it was no different from plain water.
“Gkhuaaak!”
A mere graze at the nape, a slice on the forearm—and the Blood Cult bastards convulsed and toppled. This was why a life-and-death fight with the Sichuan Tang Clan was dangerous. Beyond martial level, they spared no means in killing; each individual’s killing power was high.
By now the poison smoke had become so faint as to be almost invisible. The circle the Blood Fiends had maintained had long since broken. As if a hole had opened before Tang Hak, the Blood Fiends vied to rush in; yet instead of ending the standoff, only the number of falling corpses grew.
Clang. Clang.
Only two darts remained, wandering here and there among the enemies, working hard. But there was a limit.
“Kh…!”
Tang Hak coughed up a surge of blood. He wiped the blood from his lips the moment he threw a recovered weapon again, but because his hands were trembling, the stain only spread wider.
His inner power was spent. If he drew on it any further, it would be dangerous. Even so, Tang Hak did not stop—he kept retrieving and hurling.
But the speed was nothing like before—far slower.
Ssssh.
Tang Hak poured the last poison in his sleeve over his own hand. Gripping the returning dart, he threw again.
“Urk!”
Each time the dart grazed them, the Blood Cult bastards let out death-cries and fell.
The enemies that had seemed endless dwindled; his field of view opened, little by little.
When even the last throwing weapon failed to return, Tang Hak’s trembling hand seized the shuriken stuck at his waist. The Blood Cult bastard who had been furthest back let out a savage scream and charged him.
“Raaagh!”
Without even a sound, Tang Hak blocked the jo with the shuriken.
Clang.
Now, even pressed together like this, the Blood Fiend could breathe. The poison smoke had vanished entirely.
Tang Hak could hardly clench his hand. He had not felt pain in a long while. The short blade merely lay atop his ragged hand. He was holding on by sheer will.
But it was the other side that lost their nerve.
“Y-you… you monster…”
The Blood Cultist stared at Tang Hak, his breath shaking.
Tang Hak frowned through blood-caked eyes.
[How many times have I told you—if you cower and tremble like that, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will rush you? A fight is about momentum!]
It was what the Black Heaven Dark Ghost would say each time he scolded Tang Hak for not living up to his size.
[If you seize the initiative, even a hundred won’t dare touch you. If fleeing is easy, then even if you’re scared, scowl and run with dignity!]
Tang Hak thought he must be dying. If a terrifying Grand Elder came to mind and he wanted to see him, then his mind was not sound.
A hollow laugh slipped from Tang Hak’s lips.
'You taught so much to a fool who couldn’t learn a thing….'
Unintended, his hollow laugh became momentum.
“Y-you’re laughing? W-why are you laughing? Why?”
Seeing the monster who had slaughtered his comrades alone give a faint laugh, the Cultist lost his will to fight. At last, the Blood Fiend turned his back and ran.
“D-don’t come! Aaaagh!”
Perhaps his legs gave out; running alone, he tripped over the heap of corpses.
Thud.
Unfortunate for him, he must have been stabbed on his dead comrade’s jo; he never rose again.
The forest with its fog cleared entered Tang Hak’s eyes. Lowering his trembling hand, he kept watch around him.
All was still.
It was over.
Relieved, Tang Hak let out his scant breath and turned his body back. But whether his legs had no strength, or the antidote’s effect had faded and his body was paralyzed, his feet would not move.
With difficulty, he took one step and looked up at the tree. The shocked faces of those standing above came into view.
It must have been over half of a gak since the poison smoke had vanished, yet they had not left. Whether they had been unable to leave or had chosen to remain, Tang Hak felt grateful.
Whatever the case, the sand in Zhuge Cheonyu’s pouch had all run down.
'Thank goodness.'
“Ha.”
The eyes that had been dry and tight loosened softly.
As his tension eased with the knowledge that the retreat path had been held, Tang Hak collapsed.
Tap.
But the Young Clan Head did not fall flat to the ground; he was caught on someone’s arm. It was the Clan Head.
Tang Ji-ha at once set his hand on the Young Clan Head’s back and poured in qi. Quietly, he replenished the Young Clan Head’s depleted inner breath—when a shuffling sound came from behind.
“Hah, he’s already awakened it.”
Tang Min was walking among the corpses, picking up darts.
The two Tang family men must have been watching the fight; even at the Young Clan Head’s wrecked state, they did not panic.
Having picked up about ten darts, Tang Min straightened and asked,
“Come to think of it, Clan Head, didn’t you awaken retrieval past thirty?”
“Thirty.”
“Well, whether it’s past or not, it’s about the same.”
With a thin smile, Tang Min approached. As he was wiping the Young Clan Head’s darts with his sleeve, he suddenly knit his brows.
“Wait. I awakened retrieval at eighteen. Young Clan Head, aren’t you eighteen this year as well?”
The Clan Head nodded without a word.
At that, Tang Min let out a thoughtful hum.
“Mm. It’s a very old memory, but I recall back then an elder who’d been to the Duel Tournament came back and I listened to him cursing those Namgung bastards. After the Duel Tournament ended and the elder returned to Sichuan—that’s when I awakened retrieval….”
Tang Min’s mouth tilted at an angle.
“The Young Clan Head is two months earlier than me.”
The Black Heaven Dark Ghost showed a smile Tang Hak had never seen before.
“Clan Head!”
The others who had succeeded in escaping soon crossed the formation. Seeing the Clan Head holding the Young Clan Head, the Sword Sovereign spoke in a stunned voice.
“Ah… had I known the situation was like this, I would have let you go ahead sooner.”
The Taeguk Sword Sovereign looked back with eyes full of regret. A hundred-odd bodies were piled up. With no large slash wounds, it seemed they had fallen to throwing weapons. Not long had passed since the two men had gone ahead; judging by how many had been cut down, the Black Heaven Dark Ghost must have run wild alongside him.
“Thanks to you, their numbers were greatly reduced. You have worked hard.”
“Hm? That wasn’t me.”
Tang Min denied it in a stroke, though his voice brimmed with delight. Just as the Sword Sovereign frowned, Tang Min laughed loudly.
“Ah, when the Clan Head and I arrived, it was already like this. The Young Clan Head handled it all. Bear, look at that. He sent those weaker than himself up the tree to take refuge, then rampaged alone until he was like this, protecting the weak. Doesn’t it look just like me when I was young?”
Amazed, the Sword Sovereign frowned at the strange remark tacked on at the end.
“Have you gone senile? Do you not remember your youth?”
“Clan Head, I’ll carry him.”
When Han-won approached the Clan Head, the latter adjusted his hold on Tang Hak instead.
“You take care of those youngsters.”
At a glance from the Clan Head toward the tree, Han-won quickly moved there. The Zhuge youths, terrified, were frozen stiff.
The Hall Administrator of the Four Seasons, who had maintained an expression of constant indifference, spoke.
“We have no time to dawdle. Let us go.”
“Let’s. The Alliance Leader may be waiting.”
Han-won climbed up the tree and urged the rigid warriors.
“Come down, quickly.”
The Zhuge youths stared at the collapsed Young Clan Head as if seeing a ghost, then, faces blank, climbed down. Han-won followed behind them protectively.
Holding the Young Clan Head, the Clan Head crossed the formation first.
The others guarded the rear and left the formation after him, but no presences followed.