Jeong Ga-donggong.
A small booklet, barely larger than an adult's palm, was in his hands. The well-worn pages turned slowly, one by one.
Before long.
Ma Jin placed the secret manual back onto the table. He hadn't even finished reading it.
The pages quivered slightly, but Ma Yeon-jeok did not blame his son. He remained still.
It was hard to tell whether it was him trembling or his son. And frankly, he didn't want to know.
"...This is the martial art of Sang-ah (商兒)," he murmured.
The short name scratched against his tongue. It rolled awkwardly out of his mouth—a childhood nickname that had long gone unused.
Ma Yeon-sang (馬演商).
The name belonged to his daughter. A face he had painstakingly buried in his memory resurfaced.
Her large, vivid eyes, ever distinct since she was young, had been passed down to her son, Jeong Yeon-shin.
Perhaps it was the countless throats of lawless martial artists he had cut down in his time.
As the Singeom Danju (신검단주), the Commander of the Divine Sword Corps, Ma Yeon-jeok had been too preoccupied galloping across the vast lands of Zhongyuan. He had always regarded his daughter's nature as docile and obedient.
He only worried about the life she would lead after becoming the matron of their family.
A meaningless worry, as it turned out.
The daughter he had not seen grow into adulthood was anything but docile.
She had been swept away by a profligate nobleman with a penchant for ostentation and drunken revelry.
So thoroughly enamored was she that she outright rejected the marriage arranged by their family's tradition.
Ma Yeon-jeok was appalled.
He reprimanded the elders of the Ma Clan for allowing her to travel as far as Henan Province, and immediately demanded that the head of the Jeong Clan, the scoundrel who dared lay claim to her, be brought before him.
He could scarcely believe it. Could the precious jewel of Ipwang Ma Clan, his beloved daughter, truly have fallen for such a vagabond?
—"He goes by the name Jeong Pan-ak (鄭潘岳)."
When they finally met, his appearance was at least acceptable.
The man had strikingly handsome features and carried himself with a peculiar rural nonchalance.
Even the nickname he boasted of—Pan-ak—reeked of arrogance. According to reports from the Ma Clan's covert intelligence network and the Beggars' Sect, he was a man skilled at charming women.
As the heir of the local landowner in Shinya County, he was known by such nicknames as "The Gentleman of Elegance" or "The Flower Prince."
—"A turtle-like rascal!"
Even as he endured scathing insults, the man silently bowed his head.
Ma Yeon-jeok had been a hair's breadth away from striking him dead on the spot. His palm, brimming with internal energy, had nearly unleashed a killing blow.
—"Father...!"
Only when he caught sight of his daughter's tearful face did he force himself to suppress his qi.
That day, he sank into a pit of despair. Both as a father and as the head of the family.
The memory was seared into his mind. His trembling lips uttered the words again.
"A Ma's destiny, bestowed by heaven, is singular."
"To assist the Sovereign Lord in establishing order for the people of the world... I have heard it drilled into my head since childhood. It’s clearer in my mind than even the mnemonic rhymes of our family’s martial arts."
Ma Jin solemnly accepted his father’s lament.
Ma Yeon-jeok nodded.
That noble and exalted purpose, he had upheld as faithfully as a treasured sword. He had lived his life that way.
Martial artists were, by nature, an unruly breed.
They accumulated power beyond the reach of ordinary people, wielding their petty convictions under the guise of martial arts and chivalry.
Unchecked martial strength was like a venomous insect, capable of destroying nations
if left unrestrained. It had to be crushed. But the vastness of the world and the strength of its inhabitants made it a monumental task. The political strategies of the Ipwang Fortress martial families had been a necessary measure.
He had pleaded with his daughter for a long time.
—"That man’s physique is lacking, Sang-ah. His aptitude for martial arts is unimpressive. He exudes the stubbornness and ignorance typical of uncultured men. How could you bring such a man into our family? Must it truly be him?"
Ma Yeon-sang had answered resolutely that it must be.
Those words had severed their ties.
The bloodline of a prestigious martial family like the Ma Clan could not be joined with just anyone.
Marriages within the family were arranged to ensure the lineage of skilled martial artists who could maintain the balance of the martial world.
A Ma who ate the food of their house was obligated to abide by these principles, for the sake of raising defenders of the common people.
Swallowing his sorrow and disappointment, Ma Yeon-jeok had made his decision.
—"Leave. Do not return. The traditions of this family are inviolable. A single irregular stone can bring down a fortress painstakingly built. The only way I can wish you happiness is by severing our ties. The food, clothes, halls, and beds of the Ma Clan are granted in exchange for safeguarding the people. You have cast aside that duty, so how can I regard you as kin under the same roof where our ancestors’ memorial tablets rest?"
—"Father..."
The dignity of a noble family stemmed from its unwavering adherence to duty and reward.
Ma Yeon-sang’s love was an intolerable deviation.
He could not bring himself to kill the man his daughter loved. Nor could he forcibly separate them—that, too, seemed cruel beyond measure.
And so, he let her go. He severed their ties completely.
If their connection remained under the Ma Clan’s name, it would create an exception to the law, shattering the foundation of discipline the family had built over centuries.
—"Patriarch! How can this decision align with reason? To send away a matchmaker from the Shin Clan and rebuff their proposal like this?"
A marriage had already been arranged. Yet, Ma Yeon-jeok, while granting his daughter her freedom, had endured the harsh rebukes of the Ma Clan’s elders.
It didn’t matter. He told himself it was fine. He believed it was the last gift he could give her as a father.
That was the end of it. He never sought his daughter again.
"To govern the world peacefully, one must first cultivate oneself and manage one’s family."
In this matter, severing ties with his daughter had been Ma Yeon-jeok’s way of managing his household.
To the warrior Ma Yeon-jeok, that was the meaning of family governance.
The elderly martial artist in his deep purple robes finally spoke again, his lips moving slowly.
"I have spent my life among noble masters... the most exalted and talented of clans throughout the ages. Talent is often born of lineage. It is unthinkable to stake a family’s destiny on a mere sliver of an exception. If one desires to defy convention, they must sever ties with their clan. A precedent had to be set."
That was why he had not sought out his grandson. There could be no exceptions.
Yet ironically, the decision had become meaningless and futile in the end.
Anyone who knew Jeong Yeon-shin would think so.
"People speak based on results," Ma Jin said with a trace of self-mockery in his voice.
In the end, he, too, had accepted Ma Yeon-jeok’s decision. He believed it was for the sake of his sister and the honor of their family’s banner.
"Indeed. Sixteen years have returned to us as karmic debt."
Ma Yeon-jeok’s lips trembled. The trembling intensified as they continued to turn the pages of the Jeong Ga-donggong manual.
The preface of the manual was a blade that pierced the heart of even the most seasoned master.
In the end, the affairs of the martial world were as fleeting and unpredictable as the thin wisps of smoke rising from the tea cups surrounding the manual.
The father and son of the Ma Clan, both masters who had reached the state where their inner energy blended with their thoughts, watched the delicate ripples of qi distorting the steam above the tea.
Few in the world could rival their martial prowess as they pored over the Jeong Ga-donggong text. Their gazes grew heavy.
Rustle.
The sound of a page turning was cautious this time. It was Ma Yeon-jeok’s turn.
His eyes lingered on the manual’s mnemonics. Regret lay thick on his fingertips.
At last.
The two had finished reading the Jeong Ga-donggong manual. The silence that followed felt different from when they had first opened it.
The air in the room was suffused with weight. Pure astonishment.
"This..."
The old man’s voice broke the silence, trembling slightly.
"This is truly divine martial art."
"...Even the mnemonics make that abundantly clear," Ma Jin agreed.
"This is not a martial art one can casually decide to pass down. Even if we master and refine it through Yeon-shin’s boundless grace, it is far too noble to be widely known. It is a martial art that must not be spread."
Ma Yeon-jeok rose slowly.
In the most luxurious room of the Ipwang Fortress branch, adorned with elegant carvings and priceless decorations, he walked unsteadily, indifferent to his surroundings.
Night had fallen.
Through the window, the soft glow of moonlight traced a faint curve across his aged lips. It was a self-deprecating smile.
"To think that this old man would gain enlightenment from a martial art manual."
His tone, uncharacteristically subdued, carried faint traces of lingering astonishment and sorrow.
With a serene laugh, as though he had grasped some profound truth, he exhaled.
***
Time Passed
Fifteen days had passed since they left Myeonggondo.
Ma Yeon-jeok’s internal energy had undergone remarkable transformation. Day by day, it grew stronger, his aura brighter.
The once-powerful force around him now surged like an unstoppable tide.
Jeong Yeon-shin could feel it clearly as he trained under the guidance of the seasoned masters clad in purple and black robes.
At times, it almost seemed as though the air around Ma Yeon-jeok shimmered with a heat reminiscent of the height of summer.
They said this was the realm where one could converse about martial arts with the grandmasters of the Nine Great Schools. A pinnacle of enlightenment.
Perhaps at this exalted level, even the profound secrets of foreign martial arts could be rapidly grasped. For the first time, the boy was astonished by someone else’s accomplishments.
Conversely, Ma Yeon-jeok could only marvel at the Donggong technique, praising its intuition and speed as superior even to Shaolin’s Muscle and Tendon Transformation Scripture.
"Uncle, it seems my achievements lag far behind yours," Jeong Yeon-shin quipped lightly.
Ma Jin chuckled and patted his nephew’s shoulder.
The empty left sleeve of his robe swayed gently with the motion.
Behind the towering gates of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch, a cool breeze whispered through the air, teasing the edges of Jeong Yeon-shin’s blue robe.
The hem, once reaching his ankles during his Blue Rank initiation, now barely brushed his knees.
"I’d like this to be over quickly," the boy muttered.
Perhaps it was because the pure qi of Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi now filled him completely, the flowing blue robe on his shoulders seemed to promise perfection, despite the bloodstains and tears that marred its fabric.
At his waist hung the Ipwang Sword and the Bukmyeong Sword, leaving no doubt that he was heading into battle.
"Can you really handle this alone?"
"You’ve asked that over a dozen times, Uncle."
It was a familiar exchange between uncle and nephew.
They had already annihilated two elite divisions of the Thirteen Heavens, led by the Daebang Sect.
An accomplishment far beyond the reach of Ma Gwang-ik and the Hwanik Corps alone. The cost had been immense.
Even Cheongmyeong and Baek Mi-ryeo bore sword wounds. There wasn’t a single senior warrior unscathed.
Few remained in fighting condition. The likes of the great masters Tae Yeom-ryong and Baek Girin were best left guarding the halls, for their enemies were not the type to approach solely through the front gate.
Thud—! Thud—!
The rhythmic pounding of hammers echoed faintly, emanating from a small forge within the compound.
The Iron-Blooded Artisans of Myeonggondo had gathered there, stoking the flames of a massive forge and hammering away at an anvil.
They were crafting unique weaponry and prosthetics, such as inner-powered arms and inner-powered legs, with techniques exclusive to their clan.
"There’s no need for you to reveal yourself in this state, Uncle."
"...Indeed. There’s no benefit in showing off Ma Gwang-ik’s missing arm."
"I’ll take my leave now."
Jeong Yeon-shin could feel an overwhelming presence approaching from the distance—many presences. The energy pressing in on the city from both sides was suffocating.
‘This was expected,’ he thought.
Two elite divisions sent by the Thirteen Heavens to Myeonggondo had vanished.
On the other hand, Ma Gwang-ik, who had been missing, had returned to the Command Branch.
Fifteen days was enough time for factions like Shisamcheon’s Ten Front Sect and Sunmaren to piece together the situation.
The Blood Flame Cult couldn’t be overlooked either, especially since the Seventh Apostle had revealed themselves in Myeonggondo.
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Three of the Thirteen Heavens were now involved.
The Tang Clan had also made their move. While they had sent only physicians without any clear message, their continued ambiguous stance wouldn’t last.
At this point, the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch had become the focal point of the martial world.
From now on, every event would dominate the conversations of martial artists across the land. That much had been clear from Hyeon Won-chang’s words.
‘A thorny situation.’
Though only Ma Jin had come to see him off, the faint sensations prickling Jeong Yeon-shin’s skin told him there were far more eyes watching.
These were the heightened senses of the Ipwang Fortress masters who remained vigilant.
Figures like Tae Yeom-ryong, Namgung Hwa-shin, Hyeon Won-chang, and Hong Ju-geom could spring into action at any moment.
And they would, should the need arise.
The reason Jeong Yeon-shin was heading out alone lay elsewhere.
It wasn’t just because his internal injuries had fully healed.
With Ma Yeon-jeok absent, having left to investigate reports of a massive, ominous presence, this was a calculated move to demonstrate that the Ipwang Fortress remained unshaken.
The situation in Sichuan was that precarious. It was like a wounded tiger surrounded by a pack of wolves, its fur bristling in defense.
This was not a fight to the death but a gambit to open channels for negotiation.
In the martial world, respect was earned through bold displays.
‘A show of martial prowess will suffice.’
Closing his eyes for a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin steeled himself.
"Reveal yourselves, imperial hounds!"
The booming voice carried an incredible weight of qi.
They were already at the gates. The torrent of energy gathering beyond the doors was immense.
It seemed Shisamcheon’s Ten Front Sect and Sunmaren were leading the charge. Their combined presence surged like a tidal wave.
Was it intimidating?
Jeong Yeon-shin asked himself.
He wasn’t sure. Not after slaying Sword Scorpion Devil and the Pure Devil Divine Beast. It didn’t feel as though the Thirteen Heavens’ Lords themselves had come.
He couldn’t predict how much he could handle alone.
But martial pride dictated that they wouldn’t immediately launch a group assault. One-on-one combat was the likely opening move.
Beyond the encircling forces, clusters of spectators gathered as far as the eye could see.
Jeong Yeon-shin could distinctly hear their murmurs and faint presences.
—"I can’t believe it. The sects are really going to clash on this scale!"
—"Will the Ipwang Fortress finally retreat from Sichuan?"
—"Do you think that’s where it’ll end? The warriors from their main stronghold in Yangyang will probably march south. That’ll be the bigger problem."
—"Either way, the Command Branch doesn’t seem to stand a chance."
They were common folk. Some seemed to be local martial artists.
All had come to witness a rare spectacle—a clash of titanic forces in the martial world. In a world with few distractions, many were willing to risk their lives for a front-row seat to the display of such legendary skills.
For them, the martial arts were heavenly techniques beyond mortal reach.
"You now represent the main stronghold," Ma Jin whispered from behind, his hand briefly resting on Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder.
"I’ll make sure the seniors don’t break free from their sickbeds," the boy replied calmly.
Rustle!
A cloak of pure black unfurled, draping dramatically over Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulders. Despite the torn hem of one sleeve, its design exuded a regal and imposing presence.
"I’ll be back."
When his hands emerged from the black sleeves, Jeong Yeon-shin was no longer someone who could be dismissed as an up-and-coming prodigy.