It was a truly mystical sight—visually stunning and overwhelming.
The young swordsman, draped in the black cloak of Ipwang Fortress, stood amidst the aftermath.
Surrounded by the crimson pools of Sunmaren warriors, his voice carried an authority that left no room for defiance.
“...”
Jeong Yeon-shin dominated the battlefield. The imposing presence of the black cloak was undeniable.
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The mood among the onlookers shifted entirely.
Those who had mocked his words, those who had folded their arms in detached observation, and even those who had watched with mere curiosity now fell silent.
Thud!
The sound of a master falling from a high balcony reverberated—a warrior who had been perched using Wall Climbing Art lost their footing in shock.
No one turned to look.
Even the wind seemed subdued, brushing past the swirling Full Sky Flower Rain with reverence.
The steel petals clashed with each other, producing sharp, gritty echoes as they settled into the silence.
In this moment, Jeong Yeon-shin etched his image into the martial world of Sichuan. He had taken another step into the grander arena of the world.
“... His martial strength...”
The Fierce Sword Gal Saryang finally broke the silence, his voice heavy with contemplation.
“...is beyond extraordinary.”
He muttered the words and then fell silent again, his half-closed eyes gleaming with the sharp focus of a seasoned master.
The unique gleam in his gaze betrayed his inner turmoil—a discomfort anyone in his position would feel.
Gal Saryang’s thoughts churned:
We had aimed to strike a devastating blow to a weakened Ipwang Fortress.
A strike that would have crippled their reputation and military strength alike.
Yet they had been stopped—by a single individual.
And that individual wasn’t even of age. Who could have anticipated this?
Neither the Ten Front Sect Leader nor the Sunmaren Chief would have foreseen such a development.
The immediate problem lay with Sunmaren.
In facing the Black Rank swordsman of Ipwang Fortress, they had already lost two of their most skilled warriors. Unless their sect leader intervened, they had no one left to match his strength.
The truth was clear: Ipwang Fortress was holding its ground against the martial world.
Even among the great sects—the Thirteen Heavens, the Nine Schools, and others—a sect boasting two warriors of Black Rank was considered extraordinary.
The leader of the Plum Blossom Sword Sect is often compared to Ma Gwang-ik.
Gal Saryang weighed his options.
Should we retreat, or should we ensure this youngest Black Rank swordsman is eliminated at all costs?
If the Tang Clan intervened, retreat would become inevitable.
Yet the latter option posed a significant threat. This boy, this Jeong Yeon-shin, at such a young age, had already reached Black Rank. The term “monstrous” didn’t even begin to describe him. His potential for growth was boundless.
After a moment of deliberation, Gal Saryang slowly spoke:
“What is your name?”
“Jeong Yeon-shin.”
The boy answered tersely.
The name was not unfamiliar to Gal Saryang, a man who paid close attention to the affairs of the martial world.
The duel between Ipwang Fortress and the Namgung Clan had been a matter of great interest, and Jeong Yeon-shin had emerged victorious against the Blue Qilin Namgung Se-jin.
If this was the same youth, then his name and reputation were well-deserved.
“Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin... Such extraordinary martial arts. It is both astonishing and mysterious. To think the flower rain of the Tang Clan would bloom from the hands of a master of Ipwang Fortress...”
Gal Saryang spoke slowly, perhaps to buy time and assess the situation further. Jeong Yeon-shin simply observed him before turning his gaze slightly to the side.
He then spoke softly, almost as if murmuring to himself:
“The heavens are silent and desolate, never ceasing in their eternal motion. Though night and day alternate in their chaos, the light remains unchanging, steadfast as the immutable laws of nature. It is said this reflects the virtue of a noble man.”
His calm voice carried across the battlefield.
“This was advice given to me through a verse from Chaegeundam. Hiding is not the answer.”
The words were meant for one person—the head of the Tang Clan.
The Poison Sovereign Tang Un-hwang, the exiled clan leader, had once uttered them.
His wife, murdered by the Thirteen Heavens, had driven him to seek vengeance, but the Elder Patriarch had opposed his actions, forcing Tang Un-hwang to sever ties with the clan and leave his home.
“Rash techniques lack endurance. When at leisure, maintain readiness amidst stillness. When urgency strikes, preserve calm amidst movement. This applies to both swords and hidden weapons.”
These words had been shared with Jeong Yeon-shin in the Famous Craftsman Island and had profoundly influenced his creation of the Lightwheel of Discipline.
Without Tang Un-hwang’s guidance, the Lightwheel would never have reached its current form.
Jeong Yeon-shin knew Tang Un-hwang was nearby.
The Lightwheel, embedded in his heart, never forgot the energy of someone it had once encountered.
Even the former master of Black Rank, now reduced to Purple Rank, could not evade its detection.
“Clan Leader.”
“...”
“Have you made the necessary preparations for movement within stillness?”
The question was quiet, but no answer came.
The Elder Patriarch’s faction still held sway over the Tang Clan. Perhaps Tang Un-hwang lacked the courage to openly return to the fold.
Then—
Tap.
Golden robes fluttered as a gaunt elder strode boldly into the clearing.
He moved as if leaping over the crowd, his sudden appearance radiating confidence.
“Do not waste your breath on rabble. You must discuss absolute techniques with me.”
His entrance was not a surprise—it was clear he had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment.
Wrinkled yet regal, his face bore a mix of shock and delight.
So this is him...
Jeong Yeon-shin regarded the elder.
His shriveled, tree-like frame was adorned with resplendent golden robes, an aura of innate majesty surrounding him.
“Tang Tae-duk,” Gal Saryang muttered under his breath.
The Grand Elder of the Tang Clan. Known also as the Patriarch, he was not the man Jeong Yeon-shin had sought.
“Whether they belong to the Ten Front Sect or Sunmaren, I will burn them all. Ipwang Fortress shall become our ally, and I shall regard you as a benefactor.”
The words dripped with venomous arrogance.
It was clear his priorities had shifted.
Jeong Yeon-shin, even in his youth, could discern the elder’s motives.
With the forces of the Thirteen Heavens weakened by recent events, Tang Tae-duk was making a play for dominance over the martial world of Sichuan.
By claiming the Full Sky Flower Rain and wiping out potential rivals, he sought to consolidate the Tang Clan’s supremacy.
The elder’s grin stretched unnaturally wide, his face resembling a mask of twisted delight.
The obsession of a master who stood on the cusp of fulfilling a lifelong ambition.
“Bring it to me.”
Tang Tae-duk slightly tilted his head back as he gave an order.
Despite his arrogant demeanor, his body, with hands clasped behind him, trembled faintly.
A man in green martial robes approached, kneeling before the elder and offering something with both hands.
It was a single rolled sheet of paper, its back adorned with an overlay of azure silk for ornate decoration.
Tang Tae-duk grasped the document and stepped closer to Jeong Yeon-shin.
The boy looked into the elder's eyes and thought: for his age, this man exuded an unusual vigor.
“I was uncertain after hearing the reports from my grandchildren,” Tang Tae-duk said with a long smile.
“I could not, in my position, personally step into Ipwang Fortress. So, I waited for you to emerge. No matter how urgent, losing propriety is out of the question, and sending a letter to summon you would be equally inappropriate. Jeong Yeon-shin of Seomye. I know you. Oh, I know you very well.”
“......”
“I’ve kept my ears open about you for a long time. Now I know everything. The Sword Sect, the Hwangbo Clan, the Blood Flame Cult, the Namgung Clan... In such a short time, you’ve crossed so many infernos. You must need a haven, so consider making Sichuan your home. If you wish, I could arrange a marriage with Ryeo-ah.”
He meant Dokbong Tang Ryeo-ryeo.
From the wall behind, there was a faint reaction—a startled tremor of movement.
Perhaps because of the reverence commanded by the Supreme Patriarch’s words, Tang Yeo-hwa and Tang Ryeo-ryeo said nothing to counter him.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed the wrinkled face of Tang Tae-duk.
“So, the Tang Clan’s authority and power... are as remarkable as the rumors suggest,” he thought.
Far off, Gal Saryang, Geukwolgeom, and the rest of the Ten Sects’ martial artists remained still.
Gal Saryang’s expression, in particular, appeared complex. It was not a situation where he could rashly act.
As for Sunmaryeon, they seemed paralyzed for another reason. Of the ten members present, four had fallen to Jeong Yeon-shin’s techniques.
The remaining six stood silently, radiating fierce energy as they glared at the Mancheon Hwawu still filling the air.
“Read it, exceptional prodigy,” Tang Tae-duk commanded.
He handed over the document, a scroll tied with a red string.
Jeong Yeon-shin used the energy in his palm to sever the string and unfurled the letter.
As the rolled end of the paper fell smoothly from its wooden base, lines of intricate writing emerged in succession.
“......”
The boy quietly scanned the words. Its contents were astounding.
The document detailed guarantees and obligations, extending endlessly. It outlined the privileges the Tang Clan would offer, the respect they would afford Jeong Yeon-shin, and their commitment to fully support Ipwang Fortress. It was, in essence, a solemn pledge.
“My apologies,” Jeong Yeon-shin finally said after reading through the document.
“I owe a debt to the Dokgun, the Tang Clan’s head. It seems only proper to repay that debt first. I’ve heard that the Tang Clan values a clear distinction between favors and grudges.”
The wrinkles around Tang Tae-duk’s mouth tightened.
“What did you say? This is not a martial art to be shared with an outcast who abandoned his clan! This is a technique equal to the Clan Master’s Command Martial Art. I am begging you!”
“Even in the midst of annihilating the Ten Sects and Sunmaryeon,” Jeong Yeon-shin said calmly, “I received Dokgun’s favor at Myeonggondo.”
“You insolent brat!”
“The Mancheon Hwawu belongs to Dokgun, as it should to the Twin Venoms. Furthermore, the opportunity to suppress two factions of the Thirteen Sects in Sichuan was also created by Dokgun.”
It was at this moment that Jeong Yeon-shin’s sense of righteousness began to take shape. He thought of himself as a small-minded individual.
With a life so short, he had little time to spread his ideals widely.
Unlike Namgung Se-jin, the Blue Kirin, he did not pursue something noble.
In that case, he resolved to conduct himself as a warrior of Jianghu.
“To clearly distinguish grace from grievance and uphold every commitment with unerring clarity,” he thought.
A spark ignited.
The scroll in his hand caught fire. The flames of Sammae Jinwha began consuming the pledge, glowing with a translucent crimson hue.
Fwoosh!
At some point, Dokgun Tang Unhwang had appeared beside him, dressed incongruously as a merchant.
Tang Unhwang, the Tang Clan head, ignored his father, the Supreme Patriarch, and instead focused his gaze on the boy warrior who shared his vendetta against the Ten Sects.
As Tang Tae-duk’s angry outburst was about to erupt, Jeong Yeon-shin silently extended his hand toward Tang Unhwang.
At the same time, the swirling shards of the Mancheon Hwawu lost their force and fell to the ground.
Jeong Yeon-shin paid them no mind.
Srrk.
The palms of the diminutive clan head and the young prodigy met, aligning their Laogong and Shaofu pressure points.
In that instant, the techniques of absorption and release were seamlessly transmitted. Tang Unhwang received it with startling clarity.
“This intent... is the formula what I think it is?” Tang Unhwang asked quietly.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded. “It’s from the Chaegeundam.”
An expression of awe crossed the stony face of Tang Unhwang.
This was a man who had lived as a vengeful spirit, striving toward an unattainable lifelong aspiration.
The words that had sustained him in his wife’s stead now swirled on the tip of his tongue, only to be returned to the young warrior.
“Heaven and Earth remain still and unmoving...”
“And yet their energy never ceases or rests,” Jeong Yeon-shin responded evenly.
Tang Unhwang’s lips curved upward.
Speaking once more, he fixed his gaze on the boy who embodied destiny itself.
“Though day and night alternate in noisy succession...”
“The petals remain unchanged through all eternity,” Jeong Yeon-shin concluded, altering the final line. It now referred to the transcendent martial art.
The Tang Clan’s secret technique, Mancheon Hwawu.
The crowd watched in breathless silence. It was an extraordinary moment of connection between the exiled Tang Clan head and the boy prodigy.
As the two released hands, the fallen shards of iron rose again, following Tang Unhwang’s gesture.
A legend of Jianghu had been resurrected.
At some point, the Tang siblings leapt down from the wall, their faces a mixture of shock as they looked between their father and Jeong Yeon-shin.
Meanwhile, Tang Unhwang scanned the dismayed Supreme Patriarch and the crowd with composed eyes.
“By the authority of the Tang Clan’s leader, to those who have received the Mancheon Hwawu...”
The small yet imposing figure of Dokgun Tang Unhwang, standing beside the young warrior, spoke with measured clarity.
“From this moment on, the Tang Clan will follow my commands, and we shall rightfully honor Jeong Yeon-shin as our master.”
The three-way battle was over.
Surrender or annihilation.
The Ten Sects and Sunmaryeon now had to make their choice.