The Singeom Danju's piercing gaze scrutinized Jeong Yeon-shin.
His tone was even, but his eyes carried the weight of a lightning strike, sending faint shivers down Jeong Yeon-shin's spine.
Jeong Yeon-shin immediately realized that the Singeom Danju’s words were not superficial. He had truly seen through him.
The way the Danju casually mentioned his condition left no doubt—he had completely discerned Jeong Yeon-shin’s unique constitution and short life expectancy.
"..."
Seomye is destined for a short life. The Singeom Danju had uncovered this fact.
‘It was bound to happen.’
Jeong Yeon-shin had never doubted that the Singeom Danju’s internal cultivation might surpass even that of the Sword Saint of Zhongnan, who had once instantly grasped Jeong Yeon-shin’s condition.
The Sword Saint had touched the Baihui Point on Jeong Yeon-shin’s head and spoken of his fate. Now, the Singeom Danju had done the same, effortlessly identifying his predicament.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at his grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok, who had previously hinted at his own diminishing martial prowess.
In his later years, Ma Yeon-jeok’s skills had waned due to the clear peak-and-decline pattern of the Ipwang Magia, the divine martial arts he had cultivated as the former Singeom Danju.
Burdened by the karma of his past deeds, Ma Yeon-jeok dared not lay a hand on his grandson. Even the Lord of Ipwang Fortress had kept silent about Jeong Yeon-shin’s constitution, ensuring no one could know of his short lifespan.
“The young dragon's words aren’t entirely wrong. You must take care of yourself,” Ma Yeon-jeok said, meeting Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze.
‘So the Danju’s surname is Yong (Dragon),’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
It struck him how little was known about the Singeom Danju’s real name, despite his fame. It was peculiar.
As Jeong Yeon-shin mulled this over, Ma Yeon-jeok gave a satisfied smile, as if affirming the Singeom Danju’s words. His white mustache curved upward.
“Yeon-shin, you are truly a treasure of Ipwang Fortress. Young talents like you, just stepping into the world and already achieving such renown, are the future of our martial world.”
“Grandfather, surely you don’t mean to imply that old age is catching up with you...” the Singeom Danju interjected, his brows furrowing.
Jeong Yeon-shin watched their interaction in silence, as if witnessing a dramatic play. The conversation between the Singeom Danju and his grandfather seemed to veer in entirely different directions.
Wearing the purple cloak of Ipwang Fortress, Ma Yeon-jeok’s eyes widened as he continued.
“Even if one cannot avoid life-and-death duels as a martial artist, life must still come first. This has nothing to do with Yeon-shin being my grandson. Consider the worth of Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye! Regardless of the mission, Ipwang Fortress must ensure he stands on the winning side—”
“So you are speaking like an old man now. How unfortunate. Once, my goal was to catch up to you,” the Singeom Danju said, shaking his head.
“Enough nonsense, you thunderstruck fool,” Ma Yeon-jeok snapped.
The Singeom Danju turned his head, his eyes flashing with a faint silver light, as if to ask what on earth was going on.
Jeong Yeon-shin met his gaze silently, then lowered his head slightly. The gesture might have appeared like a nod. The Singeom Danju clicked his tongue like an old man and shook his head.
This content is taken from freёwebnovel.com.
“My, my. How much karma has our old man accumulated...?”
Ma Yeon-jeok, unaware, simply laughed it off. Perhaps his diminished skills had kept him from noticing.
If he ever learned of Jeong Yeon-shin’s constitution, it was unclear how he would react.
Would his attitude change dramatically? Or would he go to great lengths to save his grandson?
‘The Lord of Ipwang Fortress already gifted me a shard of the Heavenly Tree’s fruit. There’s no need for more.’
Jeong Yeon-shin thought calmly.
There was no reason to stir up unnecessary trouble. Martial progression could not rely on the achievements of others. Moreover, ascending the ranks of martial arts was a deeply personal endeavor.
“You’re the grandson of that Ma elder? I hadn’t heard of someone like you in the Ipwang Magia Clan,” Ak Su-rim said, stepping closer with a frown.
Jeong Yeon-shin simply nodded silently. Ak Su-rim, however, shook her head with disappointment.
“I had a good impression of you, but you’ve got that wretched bloodline. What a shame. The Ma Clan has too many unsavory characters.”
She completely ignored Ma Yeon-jeok’s fierce glare. Her cheerful demeanor as she dismissed the former Singeom Danju seemed perfectly natural.
Her unrestrained personality, combined with her status as one of Ipwang Fortress’s strongest warriors, gave her a unique charm.
As Jeong Yeon-shin found himself recalling Ju Yeon-jeong, his collateral imperial relative, Ak Su-rim spoke again.
“Well, the Danju and your grandfather are right. Looks like the old Ma elder really is a fool reaching the limits of his age.”
“...”
“And as for your winning streak, Seomye, you pushed yourself too far. How many young talents could possibly beat Cheonggirin in perfect condition? Martial prowess alone isn’t enough—you need fortune on your side, too. Martial artists have lucky days when things just seem to go their way. Today must have been yours.”
Like the Singeom Danju, Ak Su-rim had many sides. Her expression now was almost childlike in its innocence.
She even appeared younger than Yeon So-ha, who interrupted with a grin.
“I wasn’t too worried about the Danju. I once saw the leader of the Zhuge Clan in person, and he didn’t seem nearly as impressive as the rumors suggested. Honestly, I was more surprised that the Namgung Clan Head managed to push our Danju this far. The Eight Clan Heads are supposed to rank just below the heads of the Nine Great Sects, but I guess the Namgung Clan Head was an exception.”
“That Namgung leader is exceptional even among the Eight Clans. At the highest levels, the martial arts of the Eight Clans don’t fall far behind the Thirteen Heavens or the Nine Sects,” another member of the Shin Sword Corps remarked, and Yeon So-ha nodded in agreement.
“Except for places like Shaolin or Wudang... I was more worried when Seomye faced Cheonggirin. You never know how a fight will go in the martial world. No one could’ve predicted that outcome. There are just too many variables.”
“Your reputation will spread far and wide. Before long, you might be crossing cities in just a few steps,” Ak Su-rim said, tapping Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder with a smile. She now seemed to treat him like a prized possession.
She was a rejuvenated black-class grandmaster. An honor, perhaps. Jeong Yeon-shin stood quietly.
Yeon So-ha chuckled and nodded.
“Reputation, huh? Considering how many people watched that duel...”
“Exactly.”
As the masters of the Shin Sword Corps chatted lightly around Jeong Yeon-shin, the Singeom Danju wiped the blood from his lips and spoke.
“Seomye, come here. Let’s have a private word.”
Though his face was pale, he gestured toward Jeong Yeon-shin with a calm demeanor. As the other members of the Shin Sword Corps respectfully stepped back, Ma Yeon-jeok stepped forward with a displeased expression.
“Young dragon, surely you’re not about to make a reckless suggestion.”
“You really do sound like an old man now,” the Singeom Danju said with a faint smile.
“I imagine Ma Jin must value this boy highly. I wouldn’t want to risk upsetting that old eunuch...”
“What did you just say?”
“Thinking of assigning him to the Shin Sword Corps, aren’t you? But we don’t need Seomye right now. Your concerns are misplaced. Perhaps the Shin Sword Corps was weaker during your time as leader?”
“What?”
“Oh, you’re mad. Seomye, come on. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
The Singeom Danju gestured with an amused expression.
“Just the two of us,” he added, his tone suddenly heavy.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly nodded.
***
The chamber was lit by faintly glowing stones embedded in the ceiling, casting a light reminiscent of moonlight. The room was illuminated as if the moon itself had descended, thanks to the rare luminous pearls strung up like lamps.
Two visitors were present. A man draped in a purple silhouette led the way.
Step.
As he walked forward with a commanding stride, the nearest luminous pearl dimmed instantly, its radiance extinguished like a snuffed-out candle. It was as if nature’s treasures bowed to his presence. The man’s hair, illuminated briefly by the fading light, was stark white.
With every step he took, the same phenomenon repeated. Darkness spread like the breath of a great demon, consuming everything in its path.
Even the engraved characters on the nearby wall—“Sword Gate of Shu, Heavenly Path of Tang”—were swallowed by the silence of the advancing shadow.
"They add something new every time I come here. I should have it all removed," the man said in a calm, smooth voice.
"It’s especially irritating. The Tang clan seems to have a peculiar fondness for bright things. Perhaps it’s their way of compensating for their darkness," he added.
"..."
"Seventh Apostle, why so silent? You’ve been like this since I saved you," the man continued, his voice laced with amusement.
"I’ve been lost in thought," came the curt reply from a woman.
The man chuckled.
"Was it the shock of facing death?"
"..."
"Now that I think about it, you were born into nobility. You were nurtured with care, especially within our cult."
"Nurtured?" she scoffed.
"When else have you crossed paths with a supreme expert like the Violet Swordmaster of Ipwang Fortress? Not to mention the masters of the Thirteen Heavens or the Nine Great Sects. They are among the strongest in this world. Even I, the leader of the Bloodflame Cult, acknowledge their strength. Do not let it overwhelm you."
His languid, almost hypnotic voice continued to resonate as they walked. Behind them, every luminous pearl had been extinguished, leaving only impenetrable darkness in their wake.
A swirling vortex of shadow coiled around the man like a silken cloak, creating a spectacle that seemed to transcend the mortal realm.
"If I had been in my prime, I would have claimed the head of that weary Singeom Danju. A truly regrettable missed opportunity. While it’s satisfying that the Blade Sect Master acted in accordance with my will, the problem is that it always ends after just one attempt. Such a pity."
"..."
"I hope the Namgung Clan Head at least took one of his arms. By now, the outcome should be clear," he mused.
"I’ll find out. You must tell me the result," the Seventh Apostle finally spoke, her tone sharp.
Perhaps her sudden outburst pleased him, for his response carried a hint of laughter.
"You care deeply for the young Taesa. Very well. He is indeed someone who must be brought into the fold one day."
With that, their conversation ceased, leaving only the sound of their footsteps echoing in the darkness. The movements of the leaders of the Bloodflame Cult were as varied as their influence.
The Cult Leader’s strides carried an enchanting, enigmatic quality, while the Seventh Apostle’s steps were light and brisk. Both, however, moved through the darkness as if it were their domain.
They reached the innermost recesses of the hall, a place cloaked in shadows, when a voice interrupted them.
"I’ve told you repeatedly not to disturb my training. I requested solitude."
The voice was aged and carried a hint of irritation.
The chamber they entered was a large stone room. Within it, a smaller stone enclosure had been constructed.
An elderly man holding a small dagger glared at the Bloodflame Cult Leader and the Seventh Apostle. His thin frame was draped in richly embroidered silk, golden threads shimmering faintly in the dim light.
The glow of the sole remaining luminous pearl reflected in his sharp eyes and on the blade of his dagger.
In the center of the room stood a high stone platform, also made of stone. A Blood Sect Enforcer, bound and glaring with blood-red eyes, lay upon the platform, his crimson hair tangled and disheveled. The tip of the elder’s blade rested against the enforcer’s chest.
"Disturb your training? How could I? I’m the one who promised you unconditional support," the Cult Leader said, dropping the person slung over his shoulder with a heavy thud.
"This is the Elder of the Ipwang Council," he declared.
"What... did you say?" The elder’s expression twisted with madness.
First, disbelief flickered across his face, but within two breaths, it was replaced by a growing euphoria.
The Cult Leader continued, his tone calm.
"A supreme expert from Ipwang Fortress. While not equal to the Singeom Danju, they are an exceptional subject for your research. I nearly died again—this time to the Lord of Ipwang Fortress. Had the Blade Sect Master not arrived in time, I would have perished. That man’s swordsmanship, having secluded himself after losing to the Zhongnan Sect, has become terrifyingly refined since his return."
"This one... will greatly accelerate my research," the elder muttered, paying no attention to the Cult Leader’s words. He crouched beside the Elder of the Ipwang Council, his focus entirely consumed.
"I’ve been eager to examine a body that has reached such extremes. It would be unthinkable to dissect your body, Cult Leader. The regenerative abilities of your Blood Demons have already advanced medical knowledge beyond words. This, however... this is perfection."
"Your impudent words amuse me. At least you understand my grace," the Cult Leader replied, his voice carrying faint amusement.
"The first to undergo the Grand Blood Ritual will be my descendants," the elder declared.
"How many can benefit from it?" the Cult Leader inquired.
"As I’ve already told you, five is the limit, even with all the medicinal ingredients you’ve provided. Three for your cult, two for us. That was the agreement, was it not?"
"Indeed," the Cult Leader said, his eyes glinting as they scanned the chamber.
His gaze lingered on a large diagram on the wall—a detailed illustration of the human body, depicting muscle structures, meridians, and energy channels. The Baihui Point at the crown of the head was prominently highlighted.
The elder’s lips curled into a twisted grin as he noticed the Cult Leader’s interest.
"The Seomye of Ipwang Fortress," the elder said, his voice tinged with madness.
"That body... it’s not of this world. It’s truly extraordinary. Even among your Bloodflame Clan and the so-called illustrious families, nothing compares. This ritual... this ritual will determine how closely we can replicate that body."
"Not of this world? What do you think, Seventh Apostle?" the Cult Leader asked in a sultry tone, his voice breaking the silence.
The Seventh Apostle, who had remained quiet since entering the chamber, finally spoke.
"With its unfathomable bloodline structure and mastery of techniques rivaling the pinnacle of martial arts..."
The elder’s breath grew heavier, his tone trembling with reverence and excitement.
"It’s akin to a divine beast masquerading as human."