A man and a woman each held petal-shaped iron fragments in their hands.
The jet-black iron fragments, anything but ordinary, were gripped between their fingers as they adjusted their stances. Every shift in their posture caused a surge in their martial aura, a ripple of power that seemed to reshape the very air around them.
“How about this?”
“No, a bit lower. To the right.”
“Ah, I see. It’s slightly tilted. To make the trajectory pierce downward, we need to account for the follow-up shot...”
Their faces bore many similarities, with delicate, symmetrical features. Their bodies matched as well—small, agile frames clad in lightweight green silk armor. The two siblings, seemingly inseparable, exchanged ideas about their hidden weapon techniques with an unmistakable sense of joy.
In the distance, an elderly man watched them with a satisfied smile. He was frail and bent, his body resembling an old, gnarled tree. Draped over his form was a magnificent golden robe, glinting in the light.
This was Tang Tae-duk, the Taesang Gaju of the Sichuan Tang Clan, also referred to as the Elder Patriarch.
“They are geniuses—truly unparalleled geniuses.”
His grandchildren’s talents, refined and shining brilliantly, had skipped a generation. Tang Tae-duk thought back to his own estranged son, who paled in comparison.
The trade had been worth it. The Bloodflame Cult Leader had spared no expense.
The materials provided had been extraordinary: the body of the Blood Swordmaster, the regenerating abilities of the Bloodflame Cult warriors, and even one of the Ipwang Fortress’s elder overseers.
“Even if they collaborated with the Blade Specter Sect, it was an achievement that left me speechless.”
Tang Tae-duk had also given everything. The clan’s precious medicinal herbs, their finest ingredients, and even their poison stocks—everything had been funneled into the Gae Hyeol Dae Beop (Blood Modification Art).
He left only enough to sustain the clan’s foundation and poured the rest into his grand experiment.
As a result, his grandchildren were reborn with unparalleled potential.
“They can complete the Mancheonhwa-u (Full Bloom of Heavenly Petals). With their instincts, it is within reach.”
The anatomical diagrams provided by the Seventh Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult had been invaluable.
The structural map of Ipwang Fortress’s Seomye—Jeong Yeon-shin’s body—had been key to unlocking the secrets of the Gae Hyeol Dae Beop.
This fusion of Tang Clan’s martial arts, medicine, and poison expertise with the Bloodflame Cult’s dark techniques had resulted in a groundbreaking method of physical transformation.
The siblings’ bodies had already been exceptional, with rare, robust physiques.
This allowed them to fully absorb the Blood Modification Art.
Following the procedure, the Tang siblings’ fame skyrocketed.
Their mastery of hidden weapon techniques reached unprecedented heights, capable of adapting to any challenge with perfect precision.
Their use of internal energy was equally extraordinary.
Though they had not yet reached the supreme state of Three Flowers Converging at the Crown, their control over energy was astonishing, exceeding that of most intermediate masters.
No peer could rival their dazzling martial prowess.
In the martial society of Sichuan, it was said that only the elites of the Nine Great Sects or Thirteen Heavens could face the Toxic Dragon and Toxic Phoenix twins head-on.
“They do not even understand the value of these children.”
Tang Tae-duk smirked inwardly.
The Tang Clan’s hopes did not rest solely on the martial prowess of the Dragon-Phoenix Twin Poisons.
Their talents were indeed extraordinary, surpassing even the best of Sichuan and worthy of global renown.
But Tang Tae-duk’s ambitions lay elsewhere.
Mancheonhwa-u—the Heavenly Petals.
This ultimate secret art, long symbolic of the Tang Clan, had become a lost relic, existing only in written form.
None had succeeded in mastering it since the main line had failed to inherit its methods generations ago.
Though the Tang Clan’s reputation persisted, the true essence of the Mancheonhwa-u remained buried.
The martial world still associated the Tang Clan with its image—an indomitable rain of flower-like blades filling the skies.
For centuries, this had been the essence of the Tang Clan’s lore.
“My ninety years of life have been devoted to this pursuit.”
Tang Tae-duk reflected.
What had begun as a duty to restore the lost art had grown into an obsession, consuming him entirely.
If his mind lacked the brilliance to overcome the technique’s complexity, or if his body’s meridians failed to match the energy requirements described in the manual, then he would rewrite the rules.
Open the Baihui Point. Restructure the entire network of blood vessels and energy channels.
Tang Tae-duk had devoted his soul to defying nature, starting from his youth as the Tang Clan’s heir.
Even after ascending to the position of Clan Head and later stepping down as Elder Patriarch, he had never ceased his research.
And recently, it had borne fruit.
Though his aging body could not withstand the Blood Modification Art, he had turned to his grandchildren—children steeped in Tang martial arts since birth.
They bore the clan’s bloodline more purely than anyone.
They could endure the art’s effects.
The results had been exactly as he envisioned.
The Mancheonhwa-u would be fully revived through the talents of the Dragon-Phoenix Twin Poisons.
To achieve this, he had accepted the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s offer.
“Their lives may be shortened, but if they can manifest the Heavenly Petals and perish afterward, what does it matter? The succession can be resolved by adopting a cadet branch heir.”
A smile split Tang Tae-duk’s face as he watched the twins laughing and chatting.
They were blissfully unaware of their fate, their joy in perfecting the Heavenly Petals radiant and genuine.
They were the pride of the Tang Clan, embodying its legacy.
Beautiful creatures. You will be the final bloom that gives meaning to my life.
Tang Tae-duk’s gaze held both madness and satisfaction.
The siblings, Toxic Dragon and Toxic Phoenix, saw only warmth in his expression.
“Toxic Phoenix” waved her hand toward her grandfather.
“Look at this! We’ve almost perfected it!”
She turned to her twin brother, Toxic Dragon, her snow-white fingers flexing gracefully.
Years of poison training had rendered her hands devoid of wrinkles, as pristine as ivory.
In an instant, the iron petal fragment slipped from her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, it vanished.
Tang Tae-duk’s trained eyes caught everything.
It was a technique infused with internal energy. The iron petal streaked toward Toxic Dragon.
As it flew, the fragment split into eight pieces, each racing toward a different target.
Smiling faintly, Toxic Dragon’s left hand blurred.
His pale hand traced a curve through the air.
Taking a step back, he caught all the incoming fragments in a single fluid motion.
The execution was flawless.
“Exceptional.”
Tang Tae-duk’s voice was filled with approval.
The exchange of flower darts was a time-honored tradition in the Tang Clan.
It was a method of training hidden weapon techniques and hand skills while evaluating individual potential.
To call it “exceptional” was high praise.
The response to an incoming dart tested reaction speed, energy control, precision, and aim.
By retreating a single step and catching every fragment, Toxic Dragon had proven himself the finest talent in the Tang Clan’s history.
Toxic Phoenix was no less skilled.
Her face lit with a charming smile.
“I think I’ve honed my senses enough.”
“Agreed. We’ve rested enough. Grandfather, we’re heading back to train more! The usual place—it feels inspiring, like anything is possible there.”
Toxic Dragon’s youthful confidence mirrored his sister’s.
These were the poise and spirit of young martial masters on the verge of greatness.
Their burgeoning talent filled them with boundless elation.
They had stepped into an entirely new realm.
Tang Tae-duk nodded approvingly.
“Go on.”
These embers would burn brightly and then fade, illuminating the Tang Clan’s future.
—Protect them completely.
Tang Tae-duk sent a silent command to the elite guards assigned to the Tang Clan’s direct descendants.
***
There is a saying, "The Hundred Thousand Paths of Beggars." It is both a metaphor and a literal reference to the number of beggars associated with the Beggar Sect.
While the number may not entirely represent their operational strength, their influence is said to span all of the Central Plains.
The Successor of the Beggar Sect.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed the man sprawled at Tae Yeom-ryong's feet.
This was no ordinary beggar—he was the heir apparent to the leadership of the Beggar Sect, a future lord of the faction that wielded unparalleled influence in martial society.
"Even if you combined the Thirteen Heavens and the Nine Great Sects, they wouldn't match the Beggar Sect's sheer manpower," said one of the Seomye martial artists in the white uniform. Their expression was calm and matter-of-fact.
"Indeed," another replied. "In terms of both manpower and intelligence, they truly live up to their reputation as the ultimate grand faction. They're bound to know much."
The conversation between the Seomye warriors was unperturbed.
"Hey, hey! Who do you think you're messing with, you royal dogs?!"
"Let go! Let go, or do you want to be beaten with a rice bowl?!"
The minions of the fallen heir, brimming with indignation, began to surge forward.
Yet the white-clad warriors stood firm, blocking their advance with practiced efficiency.
Forming a line, they halted the beggars' approach entirely, some resting hands on their sword hilts while others casually toyed with hidden weapons. The threatening display made the beggars flinch.
"You were the ones who provoked us first, talking about 'the royal dogs' of the Ipwang Fortress," one of the white-clad warriors retorted.
"Relax. No one will die... unless, of course, you have something to hide," another said with a cold smile.
Though Tae Yeom-ryong had just assaulted the heir to the Beggar Sect, there was no sign of unease among the Seomye warriors.
They remained focused on the urgency of their mission. Ma Gwang-ik was not only the leader of their task force but also their comrade from Ipwang Fortress.
"The so-called 'grand faction' is just a nest of ants," Tae Yeom-ryong said nonchalantly, chewing on his ever-present poppy.
He was sitting comfortably on the back of the fallen heir, his face brimming with ease.
"I've heard plenty about this so-called Beggar Sect successor," he continued. "Even tucked away in the corners of Jinan, the news still reached the Hwangbo Clan. Every time you beg for alms, the other factions serve you a feast, right? And you enjoy it, don’t you? I was waiting for you to show up at the Yongbong Assembly, but you never did."
"I heard Tae Yeom-ryong was a man with a foul temper. Looks like I made the right decision not to go," the heir retorted, his voice sharp despite his position.
His words were natural and biting, delivered without a trace of fear.
"I'll apologize for the provocation," the beggar said. "This humble one misjudged you. I didn’t expect to be humiliated like this. That said, what brought someone of your stature to be a pawn of Ipwang Fortress?"
"So the rumors reached you, huh? Then you must also know why we’re here," Tae Yeom-ryong said, brushing off the comment with his usual carefree tone.
His words, though seemingly casual, were precise, steering the conversation back to the point.
The heir grimaced slightly, his lips twisting in a wry smile.
"Ma Gwang-ik's annihilation is a significant event for us, too," the beggar admitted. "If your Divine Sword Squad joins forces in groups of two or three, it would spell disaster. After all, that's how the Hwangbo Clan fell. But Ipwang Fortress has always been fragmented, unable to consolidate its forces quickly enough."
"Talking about the Hwangbo Clan won't upset me. Keep going," Tae Yeom-ryong said, unfazed.
"...We were already investigating the Ma Gwang-ik incident," the heir continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. "The Tang Clan's twin prodigies, the Toxic Dragon and Toxic Phoenix, have been spotted frequently in this area. We intended to establish contact with them."
Tae Yeom-ryong rose from his position, dusting off his hands.
"Now it's up to the acting leader to handle this," he said, glancing at Jeong Yeon-shin. "No point in wasting more time. You know how it is with martial artists—they need to be subdued with power the first time you meet them. Especially those from the grand sects."
"You really have a way with words," the heir muttered under his breath as he pushed himself up, his hands pressing against the dirt.
With exaggerated movements, he twisted his body left and right, standing as if nothing had happened.
Then, turning his gaze to Jeong Yeon-shin, his eyes glinted with curiosity.
"So, you’re the famed Seomye? The prodigy of Ipwang Fortress, trained in martial arts by the fortress lord, who even slew Namgung Se-jin, the Blue Kirin? For a martial artist from the north of Ho Gwang Fortress to gain fame all the way here in Sichuan isn’t easy. If even half the rumors are true, it’s well deserved. Of course, I’m already familiar with the tale of how you outwitted the Eight Scars Nata Saber of the Blade Specter Sect."
The beggar's smooth talk was relentless, his demeanor somewhere between the audacious Tae Yeom-ryong and the clever Hyeon Won-chang.
"Your sect’s intelligence is said to be unrivaled. Share what you know, and I’ll repay the favor," Jeong Yeon-shin said, stepping forward.
Passing the beggars and their leader, he stopped at a section of the cliffside marred by countless marks.
This is it.
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It matched the descriptions in the report.
Dagger marks, shuriken impacts, and throwing knife indentations.
The sheer number of concealed weapons and the strength imbued in each were evident from the damage alone.
“This must be the traces of the Mancheonhwa-u (Full Bloom of Heavenly Petals),” Jeong Yeon-shin murmured.
The moment the words left his lips, there was a sharp swish.
He sensed it before he heard it—two blindingly fast concealed weapons streaking toward him.
Turning, he saw petal-like iron fragments rushing in, splitting into eight pieces each in mid-air.
Sixteen fragments now raced toward him, tearing through the space between them.
His mind burned as his upper dantian ignited instinctively.
There was no time to analyze the technique. The ambush was too swift, leaving no room to summon internal energy for defense.
His reaction came from pure instinct.
Thud.
His foot lightly tapped the ground. A small stone beneath his toe shot upward, a strand of his energy splitting it into sixteen shards mid-air.
The stone fragments intercepted the incoming petals, veering their trajectories off course.
Crack-crack-crack!
The flower-like projectiles shattered, their paths disrupted.
Amid the falling debris, Jeong Yeon-shin slowly raised his head.
Standing ahead were two figures clad in green armor, their faces frozen in shock as they stared at him.