A wide vortex unfolded around Jeong Yeon-shin at the center.
Fragments of stone and leaves scraped along the training ground floor, blending with the clamor of hammering sounds from the distant forge where the divine sword was being forged.
"Goodness, that's some flashy qi circulation you've got there," said Tae Yeom-ryong.
Standing nearby, he struck the ground lightly with his foot, his posture exuding nonchalance. His qi sense was fully extended, his shadowed eyes darting back and forth, maintaining vigilance in his uniquely relaxed manner.
It was indeed strange how the martial world worked. Here he was, entrusting his life to Hwangbo So-ga-ju, someone who had once been his enemy. Yet neither Jeong Yeon-shin nor Tae Yeom-ryong seemed to dwell on it. Both had dulled sensitivities to such ironies.
Jeong Yeon-shin felt a certain kinship with this opium-addicted warrior who was racing against his short lifespan, while Tae Yeom-ryong saw the boy's exceptional martial talent as a refreshing challenge.
A peculiar yet balanced relationship between a young leader and his jaded subordinate.
"Let's run away," Tae Yeom-ryong suddenly suggested. Though his expression was uncharacteristically serious, the suggestion lost weight as he casually bit into a poppy petal.
Despite the levity of his actions, his words carried on. "This isn’t something we can handle right now. I’ve given it plenty of thought, and the result doesn’t change."
Tae Yeom-ryong's innate senses were unparalleled, and he likely had already envisioned their confrontation with the Thirteen Celestial Sovereigns. He must have imagined the grim sight of utter defeat, just as Jeong Yeon-shin had.
He likely visualized himself, Jeong Yeon-shin, Tang Unhwang, and the elite Tang clan warriors going all out.
"This doesn't make sense. Isn't the Eternal Citadel supposed to prioritize the greater good over loyalty to small factions? The lives you'll save in the future surely outweigh this. Staying here only brings us closer to doom—and worse, it’ll speed up my own untimely death," Tae Yeom-ryong lamented, shaking his head.
His words reflected the grim reality. Facing the Sovereigns was a nightmare scenario, especially considering they might encounter two at once: the Lord of Mortal Flame and the Bloodfire Cult Master.
The power disparity between the two sides was immense.
"Hwangbo-ga-ju was slain by the likes of the Winged Demon Lord and the Void Destruction Sovereign, all high-level Sovereigns," Tae Yeom-ryong murmured. "Even the Thirteen Celestial Sovereigns wouldn’t emerge unscathed from such a battle."
"They’re like mythical monsters you might only meet once in a lifetime. How can we, mere mortals, possibly contend with them?" Tae Yeom-ryong mused, sighing as he chewed the petal.
“Of course, the Interim Leader's achievements are unprecedented for someone his age... but still—"
“It’s too late,” Jeong Yeon-shin interrupted.
He had already sensed the formidable qi heading straight for Tang Manor’s front gates. The powerful, rhythmic stomping of their approach reverberated through the ground.
Tae Yeom-ryong’s brows furrowed. His expansive qi sense must have detected the same threat.
Before he could respond, Jeong Yeon-shin continued, “We need a plan for battle chaos.”
“Battle chaos?”
“When it starts, you and the Tang warriors hold off the Sovereign. It seems there’s only one for now.”
“Are you serious...?”
“I’ll take down the weaker ones quickly and regroup. I’m not suggesting we fight them all; we’ll overwhelm one of their top fighters to break their momentum.”
“This sounds reckless... Did you swear allegiance to the former Celestial Sword Leader? That fiery temperament of yours—"
“Swore allegiance?” Jeong Yeon-shin shot him a sideways glance.
“Lately, there’s been talk about these strange Nine Bowing Rites performed all at once. It’s some newfangled sect tradition to assert authority," Tae Yeom-ryong rambled, waving his hand dismissively.
"If you’re going to keep rambling nonsense, shut up already, poppy addict.”
Both of them began moving in unison, their steps fluid and calculated. Despite his earlier hesitation, Tae Yeom-ryong followed Jeong Yeon-shin without question, another poppy petal between his teeth.
“I should’ve said something sooner.”
“If we abandoned the Tang clan now, the Citadel wouldn’t look kindly on it. Besides, that would be out of character for you.”
“True, though I doubt the Citadel would be thrilled to see one of its promising young talents in such peril either.”
The two figures, cloaked in black and gray, streaked through the air. Their destination: the main gates of Tang Manor. The qi of Tang warriors gathering from all directions signaled they, too, sensed the approaching enemy.
A blast of wind roared in their ears as they closed in. The ground seemed to recede beneath their feet with every leap.
Even amid the rising tension, Tae Yeom-ryong tried to lighten the mood.
“You know, I heard the former Celestial Sword Leader was a tyrant in his prime. Your strategy reminds me of him. Are you sure you didn’t inherit your prowess from some other lineage?”
"Enough idle talk.”
They landed near the Outer Yard, just beyond the grand gate. Rows of neatly trimmed greenery flanked the area, their quiet rustling now ominous in the tense atmosphere.
At the center of the yard stood Tang warriors, clad in green uniforms and armed with concealed weapons. At their head were Tang Unhwang and the Twin Poison Dragons, Tang Lyeoryeo and Tang Yohwa.
Their sharp qi radiated hostility, a far cry from the magnanimity shown earlier.
Jeong Yeon-shin descended beside Tae Yeom-ryong, his black cloak billowing.
Thud.
“Master,” Tang warriors bowed in unison. The Tang siblings and Tang Unhwang followed suit. Even in the face of imminent battle, they showed their gratitude to their benefactor.
“I’ll take the lead,” Jeong Yeon-shin declared.
It was a pragmatic decision. Tang martial arts were best suited for support roles, excelling in ambushes and ranged attacks using poison and concealed weapons.
Tang Unhwang clasped his hands in reverence.
“We shall follow your guidance. We owe you more than words can express. Thank you, Master.”
Jeong Yeon-shin acknowledged their thanks with a subtle bow and stepped forward, his voice steady.
“Are they from Ten Thousand Demons Sect?”
“Yes,” Tang Unhwang confirmed grimly.
Their presence was unmistakable now, just beyond the gate. Among them was an especially overwhelming force—an aura so fierce it seemed inhuman.
Finally.
This was his first encounter with a Celestial Sovereign since stepping into the black realm. Jeong Yeon-shin’s martial path was expanding rapidly.
As he positioned himself at the forefront, his expression remained composed. Rational determination and the unyielding spirit instilled by his mentor, Qing Kirin, radiated from him.
“Be free,” he had said.
Jeong Yeon-shin never imagined the issue with Tang Tae-duk would resolve so swiftly. He owed Tang Unhwang for his integrity. Now it was his turn to repay that trust.
The Tang warriors watched the young black-cloaked swordsman standing at their vanguard. Faces filled with awe and reverence met his back.
Even the Twin Poison Dragons gazed at him with open admiration.
“Better pick up that sword.”
Tae Yeom-ryong clicked his tongue and tapped the ground.
And then—
BOOM!
Tang Manor’s grand gates exploded in a deafening blast.
Wooden splinters and dust filled the air, and from the haze emerged a group of figures.
Their movements seemed leisurely, yet they covered ground with startling speed.
At the forefront was a woman wielding a spear. She swung it once, and the gust it generated cleared the dust in a single sweep.
“Is the fiend who killed Sword Fiend and Moonlit Blade here?”
Her voice was coarse, but her presence was unforgettable.
The spear in her hand was forged from a single piece of steel, from shaft to blade. Despite its massive weight, she held it effortlessly, like a bamboo stick.
She wore armor of a metallic hue, akin to a war general’s, which suited her perfectly. Her disheveled hair resembled a lion’s mane.
“The leader of Ten Thousand Demons Sect is a woman? That’s new,” Tae Yeom-ryong muttered.
“No,” Tang Yohwa corrected, shaking her head. “That’s Lu Zhuhua, the Spear of Moonlight. She’s a renowned spear master, the most famous in Sichuan. I heard she was in seclusion, but with her sect taking such heavy losses, she must have emerged.”
“She was the lover of the late Sword Scorpion Devil, Dokgo Gwang.”
Tang Leryeo added with a measured tone.
Even without her words, Jeong Yeon-shin had already been observing Yeo Juha over her shoulder.
About forty individuals had stormed in after breaking through the gate.
Among them were a considerable number of highly skilled martial artists, many of whom had fallen on the Main Road of Myeonggondo and in the Grand Pavilion's conflicts.
It seemed that these were warriors carefully chosen and mobilized for this fight, likely from among the combatants who had survived the Great Sect Wars.
And among them was one man.
A lone figure, distinct from the rest.
His presence was palpable.
He seemed to compress his energy the moment he stepped in. At a glance, one might not even think he had learned martial arts.
And that made him all the more terrifying. It was the hallmark of one who had mastered techniques like Three Flowers Converging at the Crown or Five Energies Supporting the Origin.
“Lord of the Tenfold Gate...”
The man stood still, tilting his head slightly as if to indicate that this matter wasn’t his to intervene in.
At the same time, Yeo Juha of the Mangwol Gwanggeuk stepped forward to obscure him.
“I ask again! Is the fiend here?”
She spoke with the authority of a field commander. It seemed she had a personal grudge, and the Lord of the Tenfold Gate had permitted her to settle it herself.
In the world of martial arts, such matters were often addressed personally. By doing so, she upheld one of the highest principles of the martial community: repaying enmity with one’s own hands.
“Or perhaps I don’t need to ask. It must be you.”
Yeo Juha’s spear pointed directly at Jeong Yeon-shin. The confrontation between vanguard and vanguard was clear.
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At that moment, the tactics Jeong had discussed with Tae Yeom-ryong became meaningless.
The atmosphere naturally shifted into a one-on-one duel to the death.
“Yes, it was me.”
Jeong Yeon-shin responded slowly.
Though he found it odd to hear her mention the life and death of So Jinrang, there was no doubt about Dokgo Gwang’s fate. It had been Jeong’s hand that ended him.
Now that the Lord of the Tenfold Gate had revealed himself, there was no need to waste words on justification.
Yeo Juha’s eyes burned with internal energy, a fiery light reflecting her resolve.
“They say your martial talents are extraordinary. Then face me in a duel to the death. Show me how Jinrang died. Show me how Gwang-rang met his end.”
She spat out the term "Gwang-rang" with the affectionate suffix for a lover. Her tone was aggressive, as though seeking vengeance.
Saaaa—
Her aura surged outward, fiery and relentless, like a blazing conflagration. Jeong Yeon-shin’s black long coat fluttered violently in response.
“This isn’t just a blue-tier martial artist.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes darkened.
It was said that no single faction—aside from the Blood Flame Cult—boasted more than two black-tier masters. But seeing her in person, the reality seemed different.
Had she been hiding her strength all along?
If every one of the Thirteen Heavens was like this, then Ipwang Fortress could be on the brink of an unprecedented crisis.
For now, this was fine. If he could shatter Yeo Juha’s spear and crush the Mangwol Gwanggeuk, the Tenfold Gate would collapse beyond recovery. That alone would suffice.
“Say no more! I’ll question you with martial skill!”
Yeo Juha’s cry reverberated, her voice charged with potent internal energy.
The warriors of the Tenfold Gate behind her let out a resounding cheer in response, showcasing their unity and discipline. Their energy was reminiscent of the martial artists from Simuryun, whom the Blue Qilin had once eradicated.
Yeo Juha of the Mangwol Gwanggeuk. A name synonymous with valor.
Without a word, Jeong Yeon-shin unsheathed his Ipwang Sword. The Divine Sword Form of the Northern Light was still incomplete, but it would suffice.
Facing Yeo Juha reminded him of Ipwang Shin Spear Ak Su-rim.
The deputy leader of the Divine Sword Corps was said to have mastered spear techniques so profound that they reached the realm of the divine.
It was impossible not to compare her with the spear master now before him.
Swang—!
A sharp glint flashed. Her spear, infused with immense internal energy, thrust forward.
The air seemed to tear as though the spear was a blade slicing through the void.
Clang!
Jeong Yeon-shin intercepted it with the Ipwang Sword.
The impact resonated powerfully through his grip. The force carried by her strike was immense, reminding him of Dokgo Gwang’s prowess.
Beneath the rising spear, Yeo Juha’s lips curled into a savage grin.
Before he realized it, her free hand unleashed a blast of energy aimed to catch him off guard.
Woong.
Her clenched fist emitted a low, resonating hum. It was a technique of fist arts.
The oppressive force bore a striking resemblance to Dokgo Gwang’s power. It was a testament to her mastery over martial energy.
Even as she retracted her spear, she seamlessly transitioned into a barrage of punches, her movements destructive enough to shatter steel.
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
The ground quaked with her relentless advance. In an instant, she closed the gap, her blazing gaze fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin. Her fist seemed to draw the air in, creating a vacuum.
At the same moment, Jeong Yeon-shin countered with an open palm. His movement was fluid, almost serene.
Swoosh.
His palm intercepted her fist and swept downward, dissipating the force in one smooth motion.
For a fleeting instant, the formless waves of the Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi spread outward. His technique reached perfection in that moment.
The storm-like energy of her strikes unraveled, thread by thread.
It was a masterful nullification, a flawless dismantling of her technique.
No one who wielded techniques like Dokgo Gwang’s destructive fists could overwhelm him any longer.
Yeo Juha’s eyes trembled for an instant.
She realized that her meticulously honed fist arts had been rendered powerless. But it was too late.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand had already moved past her fist to firmly grip her wrist.
Her crowning strike had been neutralized, and her spear—angled for a follow-up attack—was still far out of reach.
At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin intentionally dropped the Ipwang Sword from his right hand.
This was no longer a battle of swords.
Hwangang.
KRRRRRRR!
His black sleeves whipped violently in the turbulent winds.
A storm surged from his palm, scattering the debris of the shattered gate in all directions.
“Guh...!”
Amid the violent whirlwind, Yeo Juha raised her knee for a strike. At the pinnacle of mastery, even a split second could feel eternal.
She aimed for the Achilles’ heel of his storm technique, driving a devastating knee strike into his defense.
Thud!
But Jeong Yeon-shin’s foot intercepted her calf, stopping her attack in its tracks.
The impact was heavy. His own palm strike dispersed her knee’s energy wave entirely.
She could not escape the flow of his dismantling technique.
In a fleeting instant, his Hwangang was complete. Before she could react, his right hand connected with her abdomen.
Yeo Juha’s eyes widened as she hastily conjured an invisible armor of internal energy.
But it was too late.
The concentrated storm of the Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi erupted in a violent explosion.
BOOM!
The ground quaked beneath them.
Jeong Yeon-shin felt the reverberation in his palm more acutely than the tremor in the earth.
The sensation of his storm shredding through her qi shield was vivid.
The recoil, greater than the force of a thunderbolt, surged from his palm through his arm.
He still held her wrist tightly with his left hand.
The weight of her limp body spoke volumes about the outcome of their duel.
Through the clearing dust, Yeo Juha’s lifeless eyes remained fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin’s face.
“You asked how the Sword Scorpion Devil died.”
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly, lifting his hand to close Yeo Juha’s eyes.
“He died in vain. Just like you.”
His voice, calm and unshaken, carried on the soft wind of the Tang Clan’s outer courtyard.