With Dokgun Tang Unhwang's words, a cascade of white blossoms surged upward, defying gravity.
As his wrist flicked, the air itself seemed to split apart. The brilliance of the stars revealed in the blue sky carried a piercing sharpness. The sheer force of his sideward sweep was overwhelming.
Crack, crack, crack!
Groans filled the air.
They belonged to the martial artists of Sunmaryeon who had been lingering near Jeong Yeon-shin.
As if struck by successive cannon blasts, six figures convulsed and stumbled. It was a truly terrifying sight.
With one move, just a single strike, the masters of Sunmaryeon were shredded.
Their lifeless bodies collapsed, creating another pool of blood.
Murmurs erupted from the surroundings, marveling at the prowess of the Tang Clan leader.
"No, that's not it," thought Jeong Yeon-shin.
In an instant, he noticed Tang Unhwang's throat trembling. He had exerted his full strength.
Killing masters of the Thirteen Heavens while already internally injured? It was impossible unless he had overexerted himself to display his dominance in this critical moment.
"Leader!"
"Boundless gratitude!"
Martial artists clad in green robes emerged from every corner of the avenue.
They were unmistakably experts of the Tang Clan.
Those who had harbored doubts about their leader’s position changed their stance the moment they witnessed the Mancheon Hwawu in person.
The elder patriarch said nothing.
He simply stood still, gazing at the Mancheon Hwawu—the culmination of a lifetime of effort—and his estranged son with silent resignation.
"...How can we possibly fight against that?"
A hollow laugh escaped the lips of Gal Saryang, the Fiendish Sword.
The tension, compressed to its limit, suddenly released, and the once solemn avenue devolved into chaos.
An extraordinary scene, rare even in the martial world, had unfolded yet again. Now, most of the crowd seemed to have lost interest in the battle’s outcome.
The murmurs in the air shifted.
"What a picturesque sight."
"Seniors and juniors exchanging supreme techniques... This is a once-in-a-lifetime scene. I’m glad I came out today."
"If the Tang Clan is revitalized, the Bureau of Discipline will be in turmoil for some time. The patriarch might remain passive, but even so... against the Mancheon Hwawu....”
"Ipwang Fortress’s Seomye. I vaguely remember the name. Who would’ve thought he was such a formidable expert in black attire?"
"It’s truly unbelievable."
The biting winter wind that had once swept through the avenue dissipated.
Now, with the mingling voices of the crowd, it felt as though the oppressive cold had given way to the chaotic, humid breeze of summer.
People couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacle before them.
A youth had manifested the Mancheon Hwawu, a technique symbolic of Sichuan's martial world.
Though the geography of the basin region had bred an exclusivity among its inhabitants, those who saw Jeong Yeon-shin now were desperate to brush even the hem of his garment.
The martial artists of Sipjeonmun felt it acutely.
"Hey, Seomye."
Gal Saryang abruptly called out. When Jeong Yeon-shin turned his head, the corners of the Fiendish Sword’s mouth formed a faint curve.
"Would you let us leave?"
"..."
It was, in effect, a declaration of surrender. The Extreme Moon Sword beside him looked back in disbelief.
There had never been a precedent of groups like the Thirteen Heavens or great factions such as the Eight Noble Clans raising a white flag.
The only time some aristocratic families had surrendered was during the Mongol invasions, during the transition of the Yuan Dynasty.
Even then, they faced ridicule for retaining their forces but failing to match the martial power of the righteous sects.
This, too, was a matter confined to the upper echelons of the martial world. Sipjeonmun, however, was undoubtedly part of that sphere.
"Lord Bonggong! You must reconsider!"
**"The Tang Clan leader and Seomye alone are already difficult to handle. Though Dokgun has been diminished, he remains the leader of one of the Eight Noble Clans.
Even if I could hold back Tang Unhwang, how would we stop Seomye? Even setting aside the Mancheon Hwawu, it’s no simple task.
Looking at it now, it seems even the Sunmaryeon Beast was slaughtered by him. Is there any chance of victory in a place that includes the Tang Clan?"**
Gal Saryang responded in an archaic tone, throwing the question back.
His words silenced the group.
The Extreme Moon Sword closed his mouth, fixing his gaze on Jeong Yeon-shin.
A display of incomprehensible power, combined with the ability to draw the Tang Clan leader to his side.
For Tang Unhwang, a leader among the Eight Noble Clans, to call someone master? It was unthinkable.
"An anomaly... truly an unprecedented event. Something out of this world," thought the Extreme Moon Sword.
He had misjudged his earlier comments comparing Jeong Yeon-shin to Zhang Fei.
This Seomye was summoning reinforcements akin to a mighty Zhang Fei on the battlefield, yet his own martial power alone sufficed to warrant such comparison.
A youth, calmly standing beside the Tang Clan leader who had just demonstrated the Mancheon Hwawu.
The black robe fluttering in the waves of residual energy made him stand out all the more.
"How...?"
How had someone so young achieved such mastery?
He was beyond merely dominating his peers; he had reached a realm capable of subduing the world with martial power alone.
Even heirs of noble families who consumed rare elixirs like meals could not reach this level.
The seamless execution of his internal energy and the perfection of his techniques were issues entirely separate from his training resources.
The Extreme Moon Sword’s thoughts converged on one point:
Talent. It was talent.
He possessed something irrational, inexplicable. Even the term unparalleled martial prodigy seemed insufficient.
The word monstrous felt more appropriate.
Suddenly, he felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest—his middle energy center.
His heart pounded uncontrollably.
Was it envy?
The young prodigy of Sipjeonmun asked himself, and the answer came immediately.
Yes, it was envy. It coiled within him like a serpent.
The Extreme Moon Sword’s aura surged, responding like a true practitioner of the Thirteen Heavens’ demonic lineage.
"Manjong Honwon Gong" (The Chaos of Ten Thousand Essence Arts)—the pinnacle martial art of Sipjeonmun.
This technique allowed mastery of all eighteen types of weaponry, emphasizing fluid internal energy control over brute accumulation.
As the heir apparent to Sipjeonmun, the Extreme Moon Sword had the necessary cultivation to master it, thanks to copious rare elixirs.
His martial prowess rivaled even Gal Saryang’s.
Step.
As Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent in response to Gal Saryang’s proposal, the sound of a deliberate step echoed.
The Extreme Moon Sword, So Jinrang, advanced, his movement accompanied by a ripple of energy.
The ground beneath him squelched as though it had turned to mud.
"Jinrang. What are you doing?" Gal Saryang asked, addressing his back.
"I cannot abide by surrender, Lord Bonggong. I would rather die with honor. At least once, I must test my skills against this boy. He seems to have mastered some divine martial arts, so I will compete with him purely in technique, without the use of internal energy."
"..."
"If we’re to surrender anyway, there’s nothing to lose in defeat. But if I win, I’ll at least salvage some dignity."
So Jinrang’s tone was calm, his words spoken as he continued to advance, his steps pressing into the earth.
Gal Saryang did not stop him. His expression was calm, as if he had expected this.
If the Thirteen Heavens had been full of people who calculated pragmatically like this, they would not have been labeled demonic.
The martial world of the Thirteen Heavens thrived precisely because they defied conventional laws, indulging in whimsy as much as mastery.
And should their annihilation come, so be it.
The Fiendish Sword changed his perspective. He would approach this situation with the same madness as the Extreme Moon Sword.
Surprisingly, he felt at ease. He thought to himself: I was always meant to walk this path.
"Indeed..."
Seomye must die here. Gal Saryang narrowed his eyes.
"Do you accept?"
So Jinrang asked softly, now just five steps away from Jeong Yeon-shin.
Without hesitation, he had passed through the Mancheon Hwawu.
Tang Unhwang merely gestured for him to proceed, clearing the way.
The leader of the Eight Noble Clans watched Jeong Yeon-shin with a gaze as sharp as a thunderbolt.
"Even a trifling provocation is yours to decide, Master. Command me as you will," Tang Unhwang intoned.
His speech had shifted, his tone now deferential.
Jeong Yeon-shin felt a strange déjà vu.
First the Blood Flame Cult, then the Hwanik Corps, and now this.
The titles varied—Taesa, Master, Teacher—but the sentiment was the same.
Every time, it felt surreal.
"I haven’t even lived that long..."
He had merely made necessary adjustments and created what he needed. Receiving such reverence felt alien to him.
As the Taesa of the Blood Flame Cult, Jeong Yeon-shin had often felt his freedom stifled.
Had it not been for the Seventh Apostle, he might not have survived his time in the cult’s headquarters.
"Though it was the Seventh Apostle who brought me there in the first place," he mused.
Shaking off these thoughts, he took a step forward.
The elder patriarch’s eyes flashed for a moment, but Jeong Yeon-shin walked past the golden-robed old man without hesitation.
This was now Tang Unhwang’s responsibility.
Simultaneously, the rain of Mancheon Hwawu descended, signaling that Tang Unhwang had withdrawn his energy.
"Let’s settle this."
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke, facing So Jinrang amidst the falling steel petals.
"Sunmaryeon has been annihilated. Only you from Sipjeonmun remain. What do I gain by accepting your challenge?"
His voice was calm as he organized his thoughts.
If Sunmaryeon’s leader refused to yield, a full-scale battle was inevitable. That was fine.
With the Tang Clan’s assistance, he could wipe out the weakened Sunmaryeon.
The situation with Sipjeonmun, however, was different.
He had heard of the Extreme Moon Sword. Before coming to this unfamiliar land, he had studied Sichuan’s martial dynamics.
If he spared the sect leader’s son, Sipjeonmun’s master might hesitate to retaliate.
"If I exploit that delay..."
Facing both factions of the Thirteen Heavens simultaneously was a heavy burden.
He needed to minimize the sacrifices of Hwanikdae and Ma Gwang-ik.
From today onward, Jeong Yeon-shin intended to roam Sichuan’s martial world alone.
Sparing the Extreme Moon Sword was the right move.
The Fiendish Sword behind him seemed to grasp Jeong Yeon-shin’s intent, his expression subtly reflective.
But the Extreme Moon Sword, So Jinrang, was different. As the heir of Sipjeonmun, his thoughts revolved entirely around personal gain.
He frowned, as if the situation was absurd.
Jeong Yeon-shin could almost hear the gears turning in his mind.
"I asked why I should fight someone beneath me."
The youth’s voice cut through the foreign air.
The festive atmosphere on the main avenue now felt surreal. The air against his skin was stiflingly warm.
Amidst the crowd, all eager to approach him, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped forward.
The commoners flinched, as did the local martial artists. No one could guess his intentions.
At that moment:
"...I’ll offer you the Jangbo Blade and the Poisoned Sovereign Orb."
So Jinrang spoke through clenched teeth.
"The Jangbo Blade?"
"A treasure Sunmaryeon coveted. They said it came from an unnamed sect leader’s tomb. A Heavenly Demon, no less."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Was this his gambit?
The situation grew complicated, filled with potential peril.
Jeong Yeon-shin accepted the jade-green gem from So Jinrang.
Ssssshh.
Placing it on an aged paper, he made no outward display of tension.
Simultaneously, a wisp of smoke rose from his fingertips. It was the flame of Sammae Purification.
Like a tiny wildfire, it consumed the Jangbo Blade. Jeong Yeon-shin amplified his energy, ensuring everyone could see.
Fwooosh!
Oh—what a waste!
Gasps of dismay echoed around him. So Jinrang’s expression was priceless.
"What a petty trick."
Burning the paper, Jeong Yeon-shin muttered to himself.
The tone resembled that of Hyeon Won-chang or Tae Yeom-ryong, though he consciously avoided acknowledging it.
The martial world’s denizens were known to commit any act in pursuit of supreme techniques.
Accepting the Jangbo Blade publicly? It would make him a target.
Instead, Jeong Yeon-shin etched the map’s fleeting image into his memory.
Thanks to his ever-burning upper energy center, the image was engraved perfectly.
He spoke slowly:
"Let’s begin."
"Without internal energy, only with technique. I’ll prove that our martial arts are no less refined than Ipwang Fortress’s."
So Jinrang, having quickly composed himself, responded.
Did he think he could win? Jeong Yeon-shin gave a faint nod.
***
One Hour Later
His breaths were ragged. The pounding of his heart was louder than the sound of his exhalation.
The once yielding soil of Sichuan now felt unyielding, harder than ever. An oppressive unease filled the air.
So Jinrang was fleeing, shamefully, entirely alone.
How had it come to this? How had everything gone so catastrophically wrong?
A monster had come from Ipwang Fortress in Yangyang.
Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin was sharper and more obstructive than the branches that now clawed at So Jinrang's entire body.
He had never imagined such a scenario.
"I'm afraid."
The Extreme Moon Sword acknowledged his emotions.
At the same time, he made up his mind. He would spread the word to all the great factions of the Thirteen Heavens about this boy expert, Seomye.
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"He possesses the aura of Demonslaying Insight, making him the nemesis of demonic sects. He’s a black-clad master capable of commanding an entire division of Ipwang Fortress, and he even has the support of the Tang Clan."
As he pieced it together, the gravity of the situation became clear. This was not someone who could be left unchecked.
Recently, he had heard that some righteous factions, including a portion of the Eight Noble Clans, were forming an alliance under the Martial Union.
The destruction of the Hwangbo Clan by Ipwang Fortress and the slaughter of the Namgung Clan's direct lineage were likely the cause. Yet, the Martial Union would hardly be friendly toward the demonic sects.
This was not a time for the Thirteen Heavens to remain scattered and isolated.
So Jinrang resolved to report everything to his father in detail and insist on immediate action.
The sun was setting now, casting a dim twilight over the rugged mountain.
A treetop came into view—no, it wasn’t a casual glance.
It was as if an overwhelming presence had forcibly drawn his gaze upward.
"I don’t like the look in your eyes."
A smooth, almost silken voice rang out. It came from high above, so high that he had to crane his neck to its limits to see.
A woman stood on a thin tree branch, her jet-black hair fluttering in the mountain breeze.
Her snow-white face was unnervingly beautiful, almost supernatural.
She wore a black eyepatch embroidered with golden threads over one eye, while the other gleamed a deep crimson, like a bloodstone.
So Jinrang stammered in disbelief.
"An Apostle...?"
The lips of the Seventh Apostle curved into a crescent. Her smile was a striking, vivid red.
"You’ve been harboring some nasty thoughts, haven’t you?"