“What is this...? Have you mastered the inner cultivation technique of the Wudang Sect?”
Ma Se-in muttered in astonishment. Even the elders, who had been standing in a dignified line, were visibly shaken.
Their expressions changed drastically. They no longer seemed like the composed figures who had radiated an imposing aura.
They appeared as if they wanted to speak immediately.
“It’s closer to Shaolin than Wudang. However, even Shaolin wouldn’t condense and suppress energy in such a manner.”
Tae Yeom-ryong whispered to himself, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.
“You’re Tae Yeom-ryong, are you not? They wouldn’t? Wrong. It’s not that they wouldn’t—it’s that they can’t. Even compression requires talent.”
The only one nodding with a faint smile was Ma Yeon-jeok.
Amid this tense atmosphere, a chilling voice rang out.
“Are you asserting rights and demands on your own?”
Ju Yeon-jeong’s tone was cold and severe, a stark contrast to her son, Ma Se-in.
Her gaze faltered only for a moment before fixing on Jeong Yeon-shin, firm and piercing.
Even with a transcendent martial artist of unparalleled skill by her side, she did not appear intimidated.
Surely, she was aware of Ma Yeon-jeok’s fondness for Jeong Yeon-shin.
And indeed, Ma Yeon-jeok erupted with fury.
“Who do you think you’re questioning? Stand down!”
“Seomye, that boy spoke of family, asserting rights and making demands. This is a matter of the Ma Clan. Are you truly planning to hand over everything to this Ma Gwang-ik Blue-Rank warrior, driven by mere sentiment?”
“What did you just say?”
“Master of the Clan, please calm your anger and forgive my boldness.”
An argument broke out between Ma Yeon-jeok and Ju Yeon-jeong. The latter remained impassive, not even twitching an eyebrow.
Ma Yeon-jeok’s face, on the other hand, flushed red with anger.
Ju Yeon-jeong’s standing seemed stronger than anticipated.
The elders, with grave expressions, remained silent, refraining from interjecting.
Though the Ma Clan’s structure was said to be no different from the political intrigue of Beijing’s Forbidden City, Ma Yeon-jeok’s position made this a puzzling scene.
Even with his diminished martial abilities, he was a former Sword Corps Commander.
—Has your mother revealed even the family’s secret martial arts? This doesn’t make sense.
Jeong Yeon-shin transmitted his question directly to Ma Se-in, his distant relative. The response came quickly.
—You’re quite sharp.
Ma Se-in’s expression turned bitter, his reply tinged with complex emotions.
The Ma Clan’s martial arts were no longer entirely their own.
In recent years, Ma Yeon-jeok’s decline had become increasingly apparent.
Within the Ipwang Ma Clan, there had been reconsideration of the family’s foundational martial arts.
For prominent martial families, their rise and fall were invariably tied to the quality and nature of their techniques.
In this context, Ju Yeon-jeong had introduced the Imperial Martial Art, Golden Immortal Eight Steps (금선팔법).
When Ma Se-in was appointed as the heir, she had managed to secure royal permission to partially disclose the martial art’s core principles.
This earned her the favor of the Ma Clan’s retainers and solidified her support base.
Now, Ma Se-in’s position was no longer subject to the whims of Ma Yeon-jeok.
—So that’s how it is.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded inwardly.
The oddness of Ju Yeon-jeong summoning him while bypassing Ma Yeon-jeok now made sense.
The Ipwang Ma Clan was a martial household.
A noble family’s power stemmed from their martial prowess and reputation.
If their foundational martial arts were exposed, the family would inevitably falter.
But that’s not my concern right now.
For now, the most urgent matter was the crisis in Sichuan, where a member of this family’s direct line was facing danger.
Jeong Yeon-shin had already secured raw intelligence from the Supreme Commander’s office. He spoke without hesitation.
“Ma Gwang-ik’s leader, Ma Jin.”
He ignored the ongoing argument between Ma Yeon-jeok and Ju Yeon-jeong and interjected directly.
After demonstrating the evaporation of the Boryeong Jade in front of everyone, Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice carried undeniable weight.
“Uncle Ma’s whereabouts are unknown. The same goes for Ma Gwang-ik. The Supreme Commander’s office has deemed them as effectively lost.”
“What...?”
One of the Ma Clan elders was the first to react, his response almost instinctive. Jeong Yeon-shin continued without pause.
“The information just arrived at the Supreme Commander’s office. I heard it firsthand. We need the force capable of finding and retrieving the entirety of Ma Gwang-ik.”
“....”
A brief silence was broken by a sudden surge of qi.
The one whose violet robes billowed like a storm was Ma Yeon-jeok.
“Do you understand how chaotic the martial world has become lately? The famine has lasted too long. Countless people have risen up, making it impossible to distinguish martial artists from commoners. Many vagabonds, emboldened by a few tricks, are behaving like kings all across the Central Plains. The fortress has no resources to spare. Ma Gwang-ik must prove their survival on their own.”
His presence and words were cutting. Even in his fury, Ma Yeon-jeok maintained razor-sharp composure.
Despite addressing his difficult-to-approach grandson, he drew a clear line between personal and professional matters.
The former Sword Corps Commander’s demeanor was chilling, his decades-hardened principles unyielding.
For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin did not see his grandfather as human.
Was this the same face he had shown when he abandoned his daughter?
The fortress blade now turned its words toward the boy.
“I assume the Supreme Commander’s office told you the same thing. Is that correct?”
“...Yes. That’s why I sought the assistance of the Ma Clan.”
Jeong Yeon-shin responded.
“...The family’s forces are also out in the world, aiding in the alleviation of the famine. The fortress lord has decreed it. With the Eight Clans and Thirteen Heavens running rampant, the fortress’s active forces number less than fifty.”
“Would it not be possible for Grandfather to act personally?”
Jeong Yeon-shin finally voiced the question that had lingered in his mind.
The person who answered was Ju Yeon-jeong. Her crimson lips curled subtly.
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“A high-ranking martial artist without a formal position must remain on standby at all times. That is the law of the fortress.”
Everyone spoke of the law. They were all bound by it.
Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin felt an impulse—to shatter the unseen chains binding them.
What should I do?
He needed a force capable of confronting the crisis in Sichuan. And he needed it soon.
Ma Gwang-ik’s whereabouts were already uncertain.
The longer they delayed, the more likely it was that even their bodies would be lost.
Should I accept the Ma Clan’s martial techniques and modify them? Even if it takes time.
No. That wouldn’t work.
How long had the martial art’s principles been refined over generations? It wasn’t something that could be completed in a short period.
It would be faster to reject the clan’s tradition entirely and create something new.
But who in this room would agree to such a thing?
“Ah...”
His chest felt tight, as though bound. There was no clear way forward.
For the first time since learning of his limited lifespan, Jeong Yeon-shin felt despair.
Perhaps it was because the matter did not directly involve him in Sichuan.
“I have cultivated a private force. If you make a single promise, I will gladly lend them to you.”
Ju Yeon-jeong’s icy voice reached his ears alone. As a collateral royal, she was as cunning as a snake, capable of making any demand.
If he failed to secure a force before nightfall, it might be a proposal worth revisiting.
“Good luck.”
Tae Yeom-ryong offered an awkward word of encouragement as they walked away.
The members of the Ipwang Ma Clan saw him off in silence.
Their expressions seemed frozen in contemplation, as though each was trying to steady their own heart. Most of them wore such faces.
It was as if they were all saying the same thing: There’s nothing we can do.
Step.
Jeong Yeon-shin had not given up yet.
By any means necessary.
He had already mentally selected the people he would call upon. Himself and Tae Yeom-ryong, for starters. He also planned to appeal to Namgung Hwa-shin.
Let’s start by securing three Blue-Rank warriors.
However, as soon as they entered Sichuan, reconnaissance and inquiry would be the priority. He lacked enough hands for the task.
As he calculated alone, he suddenly stopped walking and raised his head.
He sensed presences gathering at a distance.
Outside the gates of the Ipwang Ma Clan, he felt the quiet, subdued waves of qi.
There were more than a few. From those without formal ranks in the fortress hierarchy to those whose strength could easily extend into the Blue-Rank domain.
“Yeon-shin, they appear to be guests seeking you.”
It seemed Ma Yeon-jeok had noticed them first. His tone was peculiar.
Rumble!
The figures outside must have sensed Jeong Yeon-shin as well. The grand gates began to open slowly.
A group approached. Their destination was clear—Jeong Yeon-shin.
“They’re from all different affiliations...?”
Ma Se-in’s voice echoed, carrying a note of disbelief. He was the heir to the Ipwang Ma Clan, familiar with the faces of the Divine Sword Corps warriors who frequented the fortress.
The vanguard is made up entirely of formally recognized warriors.
Jeong Yeon-shin thought as he observed the group. There were about thirty of them, and behind them stood a considerable number of unnamed disciples.
The boy’s eyes swept over the figures. There was a distinct familiarity emanating from their physiques—a sense of recognition he felt only through his own body. It was the mark of tireless training.
The contours of their muscles, their gait, and the faint aura of energy from their cultivated techniques were unmistakable.
“Seomye? You’re even younger than I expected...”
“If you’re judging by appearances, start with that body of his.”
“It’s exceptionally well-honed. This trip wasn’t in vain.”
“Not in vain? Isn’t it more important to repay what was given? We received something incredible, didn’t we? Repayment should come first.”
Those approaching from the right side said these words. Their physiques indicated they had likely trained in power-building methods.
Their muscles, from the shoulders down, curved in smooth arcs. The shape was familiar.
This was a bodily change characteristic of early training in the Ultimate Polar Flower Fist (시화무극권). When cultivated alongside energy techniques, it produced such results.
Was Shin So-bin’s story true?
He could even deduce which techniques they had prioritized.
Four had focused on the first form, Spiral. Three had mastered the second form, Stonewall. The remaining five had thoroughly trained the third form, Flameflow.
The warriors of Ipwang Fortress were all martial prodigies. Jeong Yeon-shin had heard this countless times from Ma Gwang-ik’s seniors.
Each was regarded as a genius in their respective regions.
With such talent, it was no wonder they could achieve remarkable results even with limited time to specialize in a single form.
And then there’s...
Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze shifted.
“...”
Walking from the opposite direction of the power-building practitioners were swordsmen.
Even without looking at the Ipwang Swords at their waists, it was clear who they were.
Both the men and women had long limbs, and their overall presence carried a familiar quality.
It was an aura like the rays of the sun—sharp and radiant. They had clearly trained in several sword forms from the Radiant Sword Style (광화검류).
This isn’t all.
Some of them even carried the distinct liveliness characteristic of Sigukgyeong (시극경), a technique requiring a finely tuned sense for overlapping qi.
A few had steps that hinted at mastery of Circular Step (환익보), its intricate footwork evident in their movements.
His vision was filled with fragments of his own martial art. It was as if the principles of his unique techniques had come to life before his eyes.
Jeong Yeon-shin stood still, momentarily dazed.
“What’s wrong? You were sharp as a blade during your promotion test.”
A deep voice rang out, carrying the weight of a seasoned general from the northern army.
It belonged to the leader of those approaching.
The scarred face of a middle-aged warrior struck Jeong Yeon-shin as familiar.
His robes, however, were different. The last time they met, the warrior had worn white. Now, he was clad in the blue uniform of a higher rank.
It was Hong Joo-geum, a member of Ipwang Fortress’s Myeolseom Corps.
Jeong Yeon-shin had faced him during his Blue-Rank promotion test.
It seemed Hong Joo-geum had also advanced to the Blue-Rank.
“I’ve been closely tracking your movements since your return. And today, I heard you left Ma Gwang-ik’s pavilion.”
Hong Joo-geum stopped about ten steps in front of Jeong Yeon-shin and spoke.
Despite the brutal scars etched across his face, his expression was soft.
“I’ve been searching for you for quite some time.”
His tone was different now. It wasn’t the same as when he addressed Seomye during his days as a White-Rank warrior. There was no longer any hint of condescension.
The warriors accompanying Hong Joo-geum also came to a halt.
Each one of them, martial artists pursuing the pinnacle of their craft within Ipwang Fortress, fixed their gaze on the boy.
Strange, yet familiar.
Jeong Yeon-shin thought. That was how it felt.
They weren’t strangers. Such was the nature of martial artists. Techniques gave rise to schools, and martial arts forged bonds among people.
Out of this, something profound was born.
This was what the martial world called a sect—Mu (武) for martial arts and Maek (脈) for lineage.
At this moment, a lineage of martial arts was being established here as well.
The simple act of granting martial techniques, initially done to fulfill a duty, had returned as something remarkable.
“Let us pay our respects.”
Hong Joo-geum spoke.
In an instant, every warrior brought their hands together and raised them to their chests in a formal cupped-fist salute.
Their movements were disciplined, exuding genuine reverence that anyone could recognize.
The atmosphere was palpable. In Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind, the figures of Ju Yeon-jeong and the other members of the Ma Clan faded into the background.
Even though they were all witnessing this scene.
“The practitioners of one lineage.”
As if rehearsed, Hong Joo-geum began to speak, and the warriors behind him followed in unison.
"We humbly greet the patriarch."
Their voices, united as one, shattered the stillness of Ipwang Fortress’s night.