With the sound of grinding stone, the gate opened wide. Jeong Yeon-shin calmly lowered his hand from the groove.
He had already extracted traces of the relic’s profound energy pathways from the threshold of Chunryeok. Using that, he had crafted a key of qi—just as he did now.
"Three-tenths, you say?"
Hyeon Won-chang abruptly asked, directing his words toward the man who had been speaking about the pathways of the treasure relic.
The veteran warrior of Ipwang Fortress bore a bold, mocking smile on his lips.
In terms of internal energy manipulation, he had never doubted Jeong Yeon-shin’s capabilities.
Even without witnessing the opening of Chunryeok’s stone gate, his confidence in the boy remained unshaken.
"W-What... what?"
The man, who had been speaking with composure earlier, now stammered.
He hurriedly examined Jeong Yeon-shin’s body, searching for some sign of the treasure relic. Yet anyone could see the boy’s hands were empty—bare, without a single item held.
"What kind of technique is this?!"
His voice rose in panic, clearly unable to comprehend Jeong Yeon-shin’s methods.
"Should we just kill them all and move on?"
Tang Leryeo stepped forward and asked, her gaze fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin as she absentmindedly adjusted her sleeve.
Jeong Yeon-shin noticed the hidden weapon concealed within her cuff. She was a daughter of the Tang Clan, a noble lady who seemed reserved in his presence yet held no hesitation in drawing her concealed weapons.
"Wait! I am Seo Gwon-il, son of a sub-prefect of the Bureau of Peace and the founder of Shinjumun! Show me the courtesy I deserve, and I will not forget your grace!"
A man with a refined beard trembled as he shouted, though his body remained immobile.
Tae Yeom-ryong’s rough grip had sealed his pressure points, rendering him incapable of movement.
"A founder?"
"To claim the title of a founder... he must indeed be of the Bureau’s lineage."
Several warriors of the Hwanikdae murmured.
All of them were connected to the Ipwang faction and now served Jeong Yeon-shin as their temporary commander.
Founding a sect symbolized the creation of an entire martial lineage—a weighty claim.
The warriors of the Hwanikdae couldn’t dismiss such a declaration lightly, as the title of founder was reserved for grandmasters who established new martial doctrines.
"Courtesy? Are you begging for your life?"
Jeong Yeon-shin asked, turning his head slightly to glance at him.
Seo Gwon-il’s beard twitched, his lips trembling as he bit them.
"The warriors of Ipwang Fortress are said to lack the ways of the martial world. It seems the rumors are true. I am not begging for my life. I am offering you a chance to show grace. Are you not the sword of the imperial court?"
Perhaps it was his upbringing as the son of a high-ranking official that made him cling to his pride even in such dire circumstances.
The martial world of the central plains was vast, a place where countless people lived by wildly different norms.
Seo Gwon-il was no exception. His perspective was not something Jeong Yeon-shin felt compelled to understand.
The boy fully turned his body, taking a single step toward the wide-open gate without issuing any further commands.
Behind him, the sharp surge of Hong Jugeom’s qi-infused sword strike could be felt.
"Urgh...!"
It was a death cry. Seo Gwon-il collapsed to the ground.
He had enslaved innocent artisans, forcing them to labor. Such crimes were more than enough reason for his demise.
"To be honest, calling these artisans mere commoners isn’t quite accurate," Tae Yeom-ryong said with a faint smile. His lazy tone struck a sharp nerve as he added, "They’ve been living in hiding, evading their tribute to the Ming dynasty. Are they really citizens worth Ipwang Fortress’s protection?"
Jang Jong-myung, the village chief of Chunryeok, trembled slightly at the remark.
Hyeon Won-chang, however, raised his voice in response.
"Even if they aren’t part of the Ming dynasty’s tax system, they are still breathing the air of the central plains. If they find themselves in innocent peril, it is right to protect them. And now that Myeonggondo has been exposed to the world, I trust its people will contribute to the livelihood of the central plains moving forward."
"......"
Jang Jong-myung and the Iron Clan members remained silent.
This was the principle of Ipwang Fortress. They did not blindly shelter others.
Hyeon Won-chang’s beliefs, as one who claimed the title of Ipwang Knight, were neither naive nor easily exploited. His definition of justice was not one that could be manipulated for convenience.
The concept of chivalry in the martial world was as varied as the people who walked its paths.
Jeong Yeon-shin continued walking in silence, pushing the face of Namgung Se-jin—the Azure Qilin—out of his thoughts.
"How to live... That’s something to think about after surviving first," he muttered inwardly.
The rhythmic sound of footsteps followed as the elite warriors of the Hwanikdae trailed behind their young commander.
The captured enemies exhaled their final breaths. It was the Tang Clan’s warriors who had ended them, seemingly following instructions given by the Tang siblings.
Perhaps they had been ordered to support Jeong Yeon-shin’s movements.
The boy, holding the introductory skills of the Tang Clan’s Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain, paid them no mind as he walked forward.
Behind him, the eyes of Hugae and the elite Beggar Sect warriors lingered. There was something about this scene—something uncanny.
***
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.
The group effortlessly broke through each sector of Myeonggondo.
With Jeong Yeon-shin leading the charge, there was no one who could stop their advance through the artisan city.
The elite warriors of Hwanikdae moved forward without hesitation, relentless in their progress.
It took less than half a day.
They secured Hayeok and decimated the martial artists of the unorthodox sects and rogue factions stationed in Chuyeok.
Most of the elite forces of the Thirteen Heavens seemed concentrated in Dongryeok, while those remaining in the other three sectors consisted largely of martial artists from smaller rogue factions.
Occasionally, a high-level practitioner from Sunmaren or Simmuryun appeared, but none could stand against Namgung Hwa-shin or Tae Yeom-ryong.
Finally, they arrived at the entrance to Dongryeok—the last sector of Myeonggondo.
Jeong Yeon-shin stood before the stone gate.
He placed his hand on the groove meant for the treasure relic, and his ability to trace qi patterns had grown significantly faster than before.
Standing to one side, the Tang siblings—Tang Yuhwa and Tang Leryeo—watched Jeong Yeon-shin intently.
Their gazes never wavered, as if they were perpetually astonished by him.
“Let’s hope... let’s hope he remains unharmed,” murmured Hyeon Won-chang.
Standing next to him, Hugae finally spoke.
“A futile hope. Forgive me for speaking bluntly.”
“What did you say?”
“If you’ve broken away from Ma Gwang-ik’s forces, you should already know this. The martial skill level of the elites from Sunmaren and Simmuryun rivals Ma Gwang-ik’s, and both groups are equally formidable. Simply put, their combined strength is double his forces.”
“......”
“A proper confrontation would naturally lead to annihilation. That’s why Ma Gwang-ik’s forces were so easily overwhelmed—they’re all seasoned warriors, after all. The fact that they’re holding on at all is surprising in itself.”
Hugae’s calm remarks left Hyeon Won-chang silent.
“The units under the Ipwang Sword Corps were originally created to counter the elites of the Thirteen Heavens and the Nine Sects,” Hugae continued, his tone steady. “By contrast, one elite faction of Daebang Sect could easily match one of the Sword Corps units. From an outsider’s perspective, that’s how it looks. I point this out because I don’t want to see your forces wiped out for nothing.”
“......”
There was no point in debating the facts. Hyeon Won-chang clamped his mouth shut, realizing there was little to gain from arguing further.
“The boy from the Beggar Sect is right. Those men are indeed exceptionally strong. The Thirteen Heavens have always been that way,” came a voice from above.
Jeong Yeon-shin quickly raised his gaze, realizing that until the man spoke, he hadn’t even sensed his presence.
“Your martial talent shines brightly. You, you, and you—it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such potential.”
A man stood upside down on the cavern’s high ceiling, his feet adhered to the surface with extraordinary skill.
His eyes flicked to Tae Yeom-ryong, Namgung Hwa-shin, and finally Jeong Yeon-shin.
“Could it be...!”
The sheer weight of the man’s overwhelming qi crashed down upon them like a tidal wave. His small stature seemed utterly inconsequential in the face of his presence.
Jeong Yeon-shin instinctively deduced the man’s identity.
If there was anyone in Sichuan who matched the appearance of an artisan and carried such a powerful aura, there was only one person who came to mind.
“I am Tang Un-hwang (唐雲晃),” the man said.
The Poison Lord Tang Un-hwang—his name was widely known. His fame extended even to the distant lands of Yangyang.
“The Tang Patriarch...!”
Hyeon Won-chang gasped, recognizing the man.
Tang Un-hwang, who had been standing upside down, gracefully descended, righting himself midair with the precision of the legendary Tang Clan technique, Heavenly Stride of Nine Skies.
Swish.
When his feet touched the ground, they made barely a sound. With unhurried steps, he approached Jeong Yeon-shin, ignoring the astonished faces of his own children, Tang Yuhwa and Tang Leryeo.
“Ma Gwang-ik mentioned waiting for reinforcements. I didn’t expect someone so promising to arrive, but it seems he was right,” Tang Un-hwang said.
“It is an honor to meet the Tang Patriarch,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, clasping his fists in greeting. He took care not to appear condescending.
Recently, Jeong Yeon-shin’s height had been growing rapidly—ever since the Yongbong Gathering mission. His entire body was maturing toward adulthood, and he now stood tall enough that Tang Un-hwang’s head barely reached his waist.
The Poison Lord’s lips curved slightly in amusement.
Then, cough.
Tang Un-hwang suddenly coughed up blood, the dark red liquid staining his beard.
“...Pay it no mind. It’s simply proof of how severe my father’s methods were,” he said, wiping the remaining blood away.
The Tang Patriarch had lost his wife to Sunmaren and Simmuryun.
He had poured the might of the Tang Clan into his quest for revenge, only for the Supreme Patriarch to oppose him. Tang Un-hwang had severed ties and left the clan behind.
“So it didn’t end with mere arguments,” Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
It was unclear whether they had fought directly or if the Supreme Patriarch had laid a trap. Either way, the results were clear: Tang Un-hwang had failed to heal his internal injuries.
For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin saw the image of his grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok, overlap with the Poison Lord.
Both men bore the burden of physical decline as they pursued their goals.
“There’s no time for lengthy explanations. I will aid you. I’ll lend my strength to wipe out the enemies in Dongryeok. I didn’t plan to intervene in such a hopeless battle, but now it seems worth a try,” Tang Un-hwang declared.
When the Tang siblings hesitantly approached, he brushed them off with a single comment.
“The timing isn’t right. Finishing the matter of Myeonggondo takes priority.”
“......”
And with that, the mission to rescue Ma Gwang-ik gained momentum.
Tang Un-hwang provided detailed information about the elites of Sunmaren and Simmuryun—their numbers, martial skills, and identities.
“Do you not need the treasure relic? It seems you’ve inherited an extraordinary capacity for internal energy. I’m curious to see how you’ll use it in battle,” he remarked, watching as Jeong Yeon-shin once again placed his hand on the groove of the stone gate.
The boy closed his eyes.
“When this gate opens, the final battle begins.”
He focused on the qi pathways, breaking them down in his mind.
At the same time, he revisited the nearly perfected flow of his cultivation technique, which he had been refining since the Ipwang Fortress Lord had taught him the Moon Spirit Harmony Technique.
“I must change the nature of my qi all at once. Can I achieve it in combat?”
He reflected on the principles of the Diamond Sutra, Moon Spirit Harmony Technique, Demon-Destroying Azure Unyielding Palm, Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique, and the foundational arts of the Jeong family.
Meanwhile, snippets of conversation between Hyeon Won-chang and Tang Un-hwang reached his ears.
“Are you after the treasure in Dongryeok as well, Patriarch? They say Bodhidharma’s energy fragment grants divine properties,” Hyeon Won-chang asked.
“I have no need for it. I can create such things myself. When one hammers with soul and spirit, even lifeless weapons gain a divine essence,” Tang Un-hwang replied.
“Create? What exactly is this essence?”
“It’s an extremely subtle energy, imperceptible to most people but distinct from internal energy. Only artisans of the highest caliber can handle it.”
“Are you boasting?”
“Think of a damaged blade that repairs itself. Creating such divine weapons is akin to creating life itself—an act reminiscent of Pangu crafting the world in myth.”
Tang Un-hwang seemed more affable than expected. He struck an easy rapport with Hyeon Won-chang, a stark contrast to how he treated his children.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s thoughts drifted.
“If essence can imbue weapons with divinity... could it be applied to martial techniques as well?”
The Ipwang Fortress Lord’s guidance echoed in his mind, resonating with Tang Un-hwang’s words.
"Infuse your crafted flow with intent. When you breathe through divine skill, the sword ascends to new heights."
Suddenly, a rumble resounded.
The gate before them began to open, revealing a faint, murky light.
The warriors who revered Jeong Yeon-shin’s mastery drew their swords in unison.
The final sector of Myeonggondo—Dongryeok—lay ahead, the ultimate confrontation about to commence.