The world is overrun by swords and daggers.
The area before the grand gates of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch was always bustling with activity. A wide variety of visitors frequented it.
Merchants seeking to trade goods with martial masters, commoners bringing their grievances to Ipwang Fortress instead of government officials, and wanderers hoping to learn even a scrap of martial wisdom—all could be found here.
The wide avenues stretching on either side and straight ahead had rarely been quiet.
It was the same now, though the nature of the crowd had changed.
The usual passersby had retreated to the sides, watching the unfamiliar arrivals with faces filled with worry and excitement.
"That group over there... it’s the Ten Front Sect," someone in the crowd muttered.
The speaker was a merchant with a composed demeanor, dressed in yellow silk—a man of good taste and experience.
Merchants with such refined appearance and age often kept up with the latest martial news, as sects served as the lifeblood for the movement of goods.
Weapons, armor, food supplies, and other resources weren’t just necessities; they were constantly consumed by sects—either through cooperation or through force.
In difficult times like these, merchants had no choice but to stay attuned to martial affairs.
"The one at the front... what an overwhelming presence. That must be the Fierce Sword himself. Dressed in pale green light armor, with dual blades and a thin gauntlet... Even his chiseled features give him away. It must be him."
"You mean the brother of the Sword Scorpion Devil, right?" someone beside him asked.
The merchant nodded.
"Indeed. They’re sworn brothers, not blood-related. Yet it’s said their swordsmanship is indistinguishable."
"That’s high praise indeed."
"Of course, Sword Scorpion Devil likely exaggerated to elevate his sworn brother’s reputation..."
"Still, isn’t the Fierce Sword second only to the Sword Scorpion Devil? He’s still famous, isn’t he? Wasn’t there that story about him using the Ten Front Sect’s Blade Art to cut a wine glass in half right before the masters of the Qingcheng Sect and the Emei Sect?"
"Ah, that was just for show, performed before younger masters. Against the mid-tier warriors of the Tang Clan, it wouldn’t have been enough."
"Do you have some connection to the Tang Clan, merchant?" the other man asked playfully.
The merchant didn’t respond, simply watching the approaching group across the way.
Walking in a straight line, they passed right beside the gates of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch.
A young man’s voice carried over the murmurs.
"Judging from the circumstances, caution seems warranted. Think about the masters from Myeonggondo, Ten Front Sect, and Sunmaren..."
It was the western street leading to the Command Branch.
Around twenty people approached, armed with swords, cudgels, and whips.
The townspeople on either side scattered with frightened faces, their expressions as familiar as the measured, steady strides of the approaching group.
Even their footsteps radiated calm but unyielding determination. Every single one of them carried that air.
The young man spoke again. Carrying a crescent blade on his back and a sword at his waist, his appearance exuded ease.
"Sword Scorpion Devil and Pure Devil Divine Beast were among them. If Myeonggondo lacked substantial reinforcements from the Ipwang Fortress, they wouldn’t have escaped unscathed. They must have someone on par with Ma Gwang-ik to have gotten out alive. We should assume the presence of an unknown master."
"..."
The man addressed as Bonggong didn’t reply. His calmness was like a suit of armor.
He was a middle-aged warrior with impressive, muscular arms left bare by his sleeveless, pale green robe.
At his sides hung dual swords, while three dagger hilts protruded from the back of his belt.
Despite his heavily armed appearance, his demeanor was composed and focused.
"I will not underestimate them," Bonggong, the Fierce Sword Gal Saryang, said slowly, his lips parting deliberately.
"My task is simple: fulfill my duties. The sect master has entrusted me with full authority, and I have honed my inner strength to repay that trust. It is enough to demonstrate my skill in combat."
Just then, a brash, booming voice echoed through the air, vibrating like the roar of a lion.
"Hey—!"
The sheer force behind the cry shook the atmosphere.
Directly across from them came another group, numbering barely a dozen.
Unlike the Ten Front Sect, this group’s presence was overwhelming.
If there were a wall in their way, they wouldn’t have gone around it; they would have shattered it. Their auras alone seemed to pummel the air with their brazen ferocity.
This was Sunmaren.
At the forefront stood a man whose presence was unmistakable.
His disheveled hair resembled a lion’s mane, and he wore no undershirt, only a black shoulder mantle, carelessly draped over his scarred torso.
His body, built like a stone sculpture, was enormous—easily over eight feet tall.
Behind him, strapped to his back, was a massive blade so large it resembled a pillar.
This was a man who had clearly mastered both internal and external martial arts: Knife and Fist Demon of the Thirteen Heavens.
Like many of Sunmaren, his blue eyes sparkled with menace, and his light brown hair gave him the appearance of a foreigner.
"So, you’re the dog of the Ten Front Sect, huh?"
The Knife and Fist Demon smiled broadly, his words dripping with scorn.
His taunt twisted the name Ten Front Sect—a title symbolizing perfection—into something derisive.
It was an insult no ordinary master would dare utter.
The Fierce Sword Gal Saryang gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.
"You seem as vigorous as ever, senior. Is it thanks to the passing of Pure Devil Divine Beast?"
"That’s a regrettable loss," the Knife and Fist Demon replied.
"Truly?"
"It’s satisfying to see a rival for the next sect leader’s seat fall, but I would have enjoyed the chance to personally break his Fourteen Misty Palms technique. Isn’t it disappointing to lose that opportunity? I wonder who in Ipwang Fortress managed to break the arms of Pure Devil Divine Beast. Was it Ma Gwang-ik?"
His voice was filled with energy. Gal Saryang shook his head.
"If you came to claim glory, you must know the odds. If you truly believed a master capable of standing against both our sects would remain unscathed, you wouldn’t be here."
"Your insight is amusing, yet oddly accurate," the Knife and Fist Demon said with a laugh.
"You know me quite well."
"It’s a simple deduction. If the master were a Purple Rank, they wouldn’t have had the energy to travel as far as Sichuan."
The conversation ended there, with Gal Saryang falling silent.
By then, the groups from Ten Front Sect and Sunmaren had met. The grand gates of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch loomed beside them.
They arrived almost simultaneously, as though prearranged, each group adjusting their distance carefully.
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"I see the Tang Clan is here as well. I wonder what their shadowy schemes entail," the Knife and Fist Demon mused with a sinister smile.
He could sense faint presences concealed along the path—hallmarks of the Tang Clan’s Stealth Techniques.
Though masterful, they were insufficient to deceive the senses of warriors like Gal Saryang and the Knife and Fist Demon, who reigned over Sichuan like warlords.
"Not particularly dangerous. The Tang Clan is already compromised. I hear they’ve begun licking the Blood Flame Cult Leader’s boots. If things turn south, they’ll likely side with us. The annihilation of Ipwang Fortress is in everyone’s interest, after all," Gal Saryang remarked.
"Unless we’re dealing with meddling monks from the Nine Great Schools," the young warrior beside him quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm and confidence.
The domineering aura of the Thirteen Heavens wasn’t limited to Sunmaren or the Blood Flame Cult. Their pride in their martial arts was unmatched.
Silence had settled over the crowd.
The commoners pressed against the walls, the wanderers perched atop rooftops, and the martial artists clinging to railings with Wall Climbing Techniques—all held their breath.
Only the masters of the Thirteen Heavens exuded an unshaken presence, their combined aura suffocating the onlookers.
Amid the oppressive silence, a heavy, black cloak fluttered through the air.
Emerging from the partially opened gates of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch was a single figure—a young swordsman clad in ebony robes.
The black cloak was torn at one sleeve, its asymmetry adding to the boy’s imposing aura.
Two swords hung at his waist, their arrangement oddly harmonious.
Jeong Yeon-shin opened his lips and spoke.
"You."
His gaze was fixed squarely on the Knife and Fist Demon, whose towering figure was impossible to miss.
The boy’s tone was calm as he continued.
"Your aura reeks of the same stench as the underlings I cut down. And then there was that Pure Devil Divine Beast. Are you here to avenge him?"
"Boy, do you even have the right to speak the Beast’s name?"
The Knife and Fist Demon smirked, but his stance shifted slightly, his right foot sliding forward into a poised position.
This was the instinct of a master—his body reacting to the faint but undeniable pressure emanating from the boy.
"The right?"
Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
It was, without a doubt, a provocation.
The Knife and Fist Demon’s grin widened.
"It seems Ipwang Fortress is desperate. You have some talent, boy—your aura is impressive for your age. But talent and qualifications are different matters. Do you truly believe you can stand alone and speak on behalf of your sect, wearing that ridiculous black cloak?"
His sharp eyes had already noted the worn Royal Insignia embroidered onto the black fabric.
It was absurd. While strange occurrences were common in the martial world, most still adhered to the framework of logic.
A youth bearing the Blue Rank would have been surprising enough. But Black Rank? It was laughable.
"Speak on behalf of my sect?" Jeong Yeon-shin replied quietly.
"I thought you came here for war."
Laughter erupted from the Sunmaren masters, their drunken amusement at odds with the mounting tension.
But the Knife and Fist Demon’s expression grew solemn.
The boy’s exhaled breaths carried an unmistakable clarity, each one rippling with inner energy that only a grandmaster could perceive.
This was the aura of divine martial arts.
"Do you mean to say that defeating you will make Sunmaren retreat?" Jeong Yeon-shin asked.
The Knife and Fist Demon chuckled faintly.
"Do you truly believe you’re qualified to discuss such matters? Is your sect truly so lacking in capable people?"
His words were a taunt, a challenge meant to provoke.
The dry wind swirled around them, hissing as it scraped the earth.
Even the onlookers, already silent, seemed to stop breathing altogether.
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke again, running his fingers along the hem of his torn cloak.
"I once said something to that Pure Devil Divine Beast of yours."
"Still daring to mention him, are you? Speak."
The boy’s voice was calm, steady.
"I told him the tongue of a corpse is too long."