Upon hearing Jeong Yeon-shin’s provocative remark, the Knife and Fist Demon and the gathered warriors of the Thirteen Heavens either chuckled dryly or maintained impassive expressions.
The boy’s words were utterly shocking.
No one in the vast lands of Sichuan would dare utter such words to the Knife and Fist Demon.
Even among the innumerable martial artists of the region, it would be nearly impossible to find someone who would dare provoke him with talk of corpses.
It was the kind of remark that only those within Sunmaren itself might dare to make among themselves.
The murmuring in the crowd—a mix of merchants well-versed in martial matters and local martial artists—reflected the atmosphere.
"He has an impressive bearing, but his words are excessive."
"Of course, this is Ipwang Fortress. Even Sichuan’s sky must look low here."
The remarks were laced with sarcasm, a characteristic of the isolated martial circles of Sichuan.
Sichuan’s martial world was notorious for its exclusivity and pride, often looking down on the central plains’ martial artists beyond the Chongqing Path.
Jeong Yeon-shin thought, So what?
At that moment:
"Excessive words, you say? And yet how much evil have these Thirteen Heavens vermin brought upon the world?"
"Did you lose your parents to their Soul-Draining Demon Art? No, that can't be it. If you had, you wouldn’t have the composure to utter such nonsense—unable even to distinguish heaven from earth."
The voices belonged to a boy and a girl—siblings from the Tang Clan, perched atop the walls of the Ipwang Fortress Command Branch.
It seemed they had come to witness Jeong Yeon-shin’s fight and couldn’t bear to watch the townspeople defend the Thirteen Heavens.
These were none other than the famous Twin Poisons of the Dragon and Phoenix, prodigies of the Tang Clan who had recently made a name for themselves.
Anyone living closely within Sichuan’s martial world was sure to memorize the distinct appearances of the Tang Clan’s direct line—like studying the terrain to avoid landslides or earthquakes.
Naturally, there were those in the crowd who recognized them.
"The Twin Poisons of the Dragon and Phoenix...?"
"That’s right. I’ve seen them before."
"What are these esteemed young masters doing at Ipwang Fortress?"
The murmurs spread.
Though the Tang Clan was a fearsome sect, they were still part of the Eight Great Families, and their righteous reputation was well-established.
The presence of Tang Clan members had a way of making people reassess a situation.
The atmosphere noticeably shifted after the siblings’ outcry.
The crowd, once filled with animosity, now leaned toward quiet observation.
In fact, curiosity began to bloom among them.
What could that boy accomplish?
How far could his boldness take him?
Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t bother looking back.
He faintly sensed the siblings sighing behind him, but his focus remained on calculating the distances between himself and the grandmasters before him.
Two targets.
He counted the ones he needed to kill.
The Fierce Sword Gal Saryang of the Ten Front Sect and the Knife and Fist Demon of Sunmaren.
These were men of lofty status and skill, the type of masters who would never stoop to a dishonorable combined assault amidst such an audience.
For martial masters, honor sometimes outweighed practicality.
In this world, a martial artist’s title was synonymous with their reputation.
Now that Jeong Yeon-shin had stepped forward, radiating his presence, neither of these men could bypass him without first defeating him.
It was a perfect opportunity.
The Martial Alliance, the Eight Families, famine, the Thirteen Heavens...
He recalled the forces that sought to undermine Ipwang Fortress.
If he could slay these vanguards of the Ten Front Sect and Sunmaren, it would deal an almost irreparable blow to their enemies.
Jeong Yeon-shin had reached a point where such feats were now within his reach.
"A young swordsman building his own battlefield. How amusing—you remind me of Zhang Fei at Changban."
The voice was lighthearted, coming from the left.
It was Crescent Moon Sword, a young warrior assisting the Fierce Sword Gal Saryang.
With a crescent blade strapped to his back and a sword at his waist, he carried himself with the same calm composure as his master.
Such individuals were often the most dangerous.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at him briefly before looking away, his expression indifferent, as though dismissing something insignificant.
His attention returned entirely to the Knife and Fist Demon, who stood with his arms lowered.
Jeong Yeon-shin studied him intently.
The Knife and Fist Demon. Compared to Ipwang Fortress, he’s certainly Black Rank. I’ve heard he’s one of Sunmaren’s top masters.
His gaze was inscrutable.
Perhaps the Knife and Fist Demon had sensed the Lightwheel of Discipline, the faint halo of energy radiating from Jeong Yeon-shin.
Regardless, Jeong Yeon-shin was unconcerned.
He stepped forward, unbothered by the grandmaster’s reaction.
The light emanating from his heart was warm, spinning as if alive.
Step.
The ground gave a faint sound beneath his steady footfall, scattering grains of sand.
The air quivered as the energy spread outward, rippling from his Yongcheon Point and creating waves of pressure.
This was the aura of the Lightwheel of Discipline, now fully manifest.
Jeong Yeon-shin had already taken stock of everything—the muscle movements, stances, and auras of the Knife and Fist Demon and the Fierce Sword.
In his mind, their every motion was mapped out, their forms etched into his consciousness.
The fused harmony of his dying Danjun and the Lightwheel of Discipline produced unparalleled clarity.
"Fall back."
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.
The command came suddenly from the Knife and Fist Demon, directed at his subordinates.
Whoosh!
In an instant, Jeong Yeon-shin closed the distance.
His footwork, honed during the fury of the Myeonggondo battle, now propelled him like a blade unleashed.
The whirlwind of his approach seemed almost tangible.
"...!"
A metallic hum resounded as Jeong Yeon-shin drew the Ipwang Sword from its scabbard, its blade gleaming as it slashed upward in a diagonal arc.
Clang!
The Knife and Fist Demon slammed his elbow down onto the blade, deflecting it.
The tip of the sword grazed his abdomen, leaving a line of blood.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes sharpened.
Strong.
He had heard the tales.
They called him the Knife Demon because of his mastery with blades and the Fist Demon because of his unrivaled hand-to-hand combat.
His dual titles weren’t for show; he was a cornerstone of Sunmaren, renowned across the martial world.
But Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t falter.
Wearing the Black Cloak, he had stepped into the martial world to claim victory, not defeat.
Step.
He planted his rear foot forward, maintaining his momentum as wind roared past his ears.
Closing the gap even further, his movements naturally transitioned into an advance strike.
His mastery of Shihwa Infinite Hands guided him as the light from his heart spun like a wheel.
Crack!
The direct power of his fist shattered through the Knife and Fist Demon’s inner armor, breaking ribs and leaving his side exposed.
The Knife and Fist Demon faltered for a brief moment, his breath disrupted by shock.
Seizing the opportunity, Jeong Yeon-shin reversed his grip on the Ipwang Sword and thrust upward.
The blade caught the man’s left arm, severing it cleanly in a burst of blood.
The demon retaliated with a powerful punch, but the pale barrier of the Lightwheel of Discipline absorbed the impact, leaving Jeong Yeon-shin unharmed.
The Knife and Fist Demon’s eyes widened in disbelief, his body momentarily frozen.
In that fleeting instant, Jeong Yeon-shin adjusted his grip on the sword and delivered a swift, horizontal slash to the man’s neck.
Shhhk!
A bright white arc trailed the blade, and blood sprayed into the air as the Knife and Fist Demon’s head fell.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned away, his sword dripping with blood.
Behind him, the massive body of the Knife and Fist Demon collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
"..."
Silence engulfed the battlefield.
Even the previously taunting Crescent Moon Sword trembled, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The Knife and Fist Demon—one of Sunmaren’s most formidable warriors—had failed to draw his blade before meeting his end.
For Jeong Yeon-shin, it was the expected outcome.
Good. One leader down.
He thought as he flicked the blood off his sword.
By eliminating Sunmaren’s vanguard, he had delivered a decisive blow to their forces.
Annihilation is the best outcome.
These were the outlaws of the martial world.
For the future of Ipwang Fortress, severing the hands and feet of the enemy was the only path forward.
The leaders of the Thirteen Heavens, who had already lost their elite in the battle at Myeonggondo, would now be severely crippled.
And Jeong Yeon-shin knew: This was only the beginning.
Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly grasped the true weight of the Black Rank of Ipwang Fortress—its symbolism and role.
To face and even deliver a fatal blow against the leader of the elite forces of the great sects—this was the task of a martial master destined for decisive battles.
It meant directly influencing the massive entities that ruled like feudal lords across the land.
“What...?”
“Monstrous... it’s unthinkable.”
“The Knife and Fist Demon was defeated in a single exchange...!”
The exchange of moves between grandmasters often appeared as a single technique to the untrained eye.
In the crowded space, where a single breath felt stretched into hundreds, the perception of Jeong Yeon-shin had fundamentally shifted.
The gazes on him now were mixed with fear and reverence, the air itself seemingly transformed.
Meanwhile, the remaining warriors of Sunmaren exuded a menacing, abyssal aura.
The laughter had vanished from their faces, replaced by a cold and unified sense of menace.
Slowly, they began advancing toward Jeong Yeon-shin, step by measured step, their combined presence oppressive and unrelenting.
They embodied the very essence of demons, as if an invisible wall had risen in the air around them.
“He’s the one destined to become the Divine Sword of Ipwang Fortress. As you’ve seen, do not regard him as a mere boy. Someone was right: this is no child but a monstrous prodigy.”
The Fierce Sword Gal Saryang of the Ten Front Sect murmured, while the Crescent Moon Sword beside him remained silent.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze alternated between the warriors of Sunmaren and the Ten Front Sect.
He gauged his options carefully.
One of the two groups would be manageable.
Even if Gal Saryang remained standing, he might prevail if he fought with the resolve to die. He was wearing the Black Cloak bestowed upon him by Ma Jin.
But both at once? That was impossible. Jeong Yeon-shin’s mastery of Black Rank was still in its foundational stage.
Fending off a combined assault was beyond him.
The warriors of the Ten Front Sect exuded an aura as sharp as blades.
Just like Sunmaren, they seemed poised to strike. To them, Jeong Yeon-shin was no longer merely a youth but a true adversary.
They had clearly abandoned any notions of decorum.
It was possible that the wounded senior warriors of Ipwang Fortress, bedridden and recuperating, might rise and attempt to join the fray.
That cannot happen.
The condition of Ma Gwang-ik was beyond repair, and the overall forces had been halved. It was imperative that the remaining seniors focus entirely on their recovery.
Thus, Jeong Yeon-shin needed to seek another way.
Thud!
A heavy sound echoed as vibrations from the clash of swords and movements rippled through the air, brushing against his robes.
Jeong Yeon-shin swiftly turned, scanning his surroundings.
With a single deliberate movement, his sharp gaze flared white, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Lines of light formed within his vision—paths for his sword to follow.
The warriors of Sunmaren, clutching their weapons, had lost all sense of discipline.
They had devolved into vengeful spirits after watching their master—the Knife and Fist Demon, a former mentor or leader—fall before their eyes.
One strike.
Jeong Yeon-shin steadied his grip on the Ipwang Sword, focusing his mind as he poured his consciousness into the blade.
His intent flowed into the sword, merging with the essence of the Lightwheel of Discipline, which had blossomed with his martial mastery.
Planting his feet firmly, he spun half a turn and swung the blade in a sweeping arc.
A dazzling white streak of light carved through the air in a perfect crescent.
Clang!
The weapons in the hands of the Sunmaren warriors shattered simultaneously.
Their swords, spears, and halberds, launched in a desperate attack, crumbled to pieces under the devastating arc of his swordsmanship.
The crescent-shaped slash seemed to ripple with luminous power, leaving the shattered remains of weapons scattered on the ground.
Jeong Yeon-shin could feel the sharp intakes of breath, their shock palpable.
As he turned with the Ipwang Sword, he extended his left hand, prepared to execute his next move.
Humm!
A deep resonance emanated from within, the Lightwheel of Discipline spinning fiercely at his core.
With precision, he activated specific pressure points—Shaofu and Lao Gong—on his left palm, employing the techniques of absorption and expulsion.
The swirling energy surged through the channels of his hand, releasing a burst of power.
His arm tingled with an almost painful intensity as the overwhelming force radiated outward.
It worked.
The fragments of the shattered weapons were caught in the vortex created by his gestures.
The shards of steel ascended into the sky, forming an intricate pattern that gleamed like a galaxy.
Sharp, cold petals bloomed in the heavens, scattering like constellations in daylight.
The sunlight refracted through the web of fragmented metal, creating dazzling streams of light.
This was Mancheon Hwawu (Full Sky Flower Rain).
No secret manual had taught him this.
Through sheer intuition and memory of its legends, Jeong Yeon-shin had brought the mythical technique to life.
The pinnacle of complex martial artistry had transformed into pure, breathtaking beauty.
The onlookers, who had been murmuring moments earlier, now fell silent.
A reverent stillness overtook the crowd, their awe-struck gazes fixed on the scene.
Within this hushed spectacle, the fragments rained down like protective petals, shielding Jeong Yeon-shin at the center.
Cries of pain broke the silence as the shards pierced those standing near him.
Foreheads, shoulders, noses, and arms were struck, their blood staining the ground.
In the midst of it all, Jeong Yeon-shin stood, calm and composed.
The Tang Clan...
He thought of the cunning observers.
Though they had arrived at the Command Branch, they had concealed themselves with their Hidden Presence Art, merely watching from the shadows.
Perhaps they had only half-trusted the letter sent by the Tang siblings. If so, it was time to prove his worth before their eyes.
Thus, he acted.
And the response was immediate. From the north, east, and west, powerful presences revealed themselves.
Figures who had been faintly concealed moments ago were now impossible to miss.
“The Tang Clan. I know you’re here,” Jeong Yeon-shin said softly.
He now understood the value of his Black Rank. It wasn’t just a title; it carried weight in every word and action.
“As righteous martial artists, it would be wise for you to curb the beasts of the Ten Front Sect.”
He spoke deliberately, his voice steady within the swirling storm of metallic flowers.
Draped in his fluttering Black Cloak, Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice resonated clearly.
“Let Sunmaren come to me.”
His quiet words rang out, unmistakably commanding.