The preparations were proceeding with impressive efficiency.
At the center of Ipwang Fortress’s main martial arena, massive tents were being set up in a circular arrangement. This space, while primarily a training ground, was also used for ceremonies such as promotion events.
Hundreds of spectators could comfortably sit around the central area.
“Shift it a little more to the left!”
“On my count—two, lift!”
“We’re missing one stone pillar! Bring a medium-sized one!”
Dozens of servants, nameless disciples, and white-clad martial artists worked together, moving stone blocks and setting up an enormous platform draped with fine cloth.
In a fortress where wood was rarely used, every piece of the setup was crafted from stone and fabric. The decision was clearly influenced by the Fortress Lord, a figure of the Ming noble lineage. Constructing entirely from stone and cloth was no easy task, yet the disciples and martial artists demonstrated extraordinary strength, raising the stone pillars with practiced efficiency.
The scale and precision of their cooperation were nothing short of extraordinary, surpassing even the labor-intensive efforts of regular officials in local administrations.
Among the workers was Tae Yeom-ryong, grumbling as he carried a massive stone pillar effortlessly.
“This kind of menial work reminds me of the military. Back when I was my family’s biggest headache, I couldn’t have imagined doing something like this. Amusing? No, not amusing at all.”
Despite his complaints, he handled the weight of the stone as though it were nothing, carrying more than what three white-clad martial artists could manage together. His relaxed gait and casual demeanor belied the effortlessness with which he maintained balance.
Hyeon Won-chang glanced at him, noting the peculiar way Tae Yeom-ryong’s steps seemed calculated yet unhurried. “You’re using an unusual method to practice your footwork,” he commented dryly.
Tae Yeom-ryong smirked, his face faintly dusted with dirt from his work. The faint sheen of sweat and the smudges on his hero’s bandana were evidence of the effort he had put in, despite his nonchalant attitude.
Standing nearby, Shin So-bin chuckled softly as she carried a heavy slab of stone with equal ease, her neatly braided hair swaying as she moved. Unlike Hyeon Won-chang, her expression was composed and unbothered, a testament to her skill in energy-preservation techniques.
“Not bad, Hyeon Senior. You’re still sharp enough to notice such details.”
“Shin Junior, you’re quite composed yourself,” he replied, his gaze momentarily shifting to her unruffled appearance.
“We all have our limits,” she teased, setting down the slab with a practiced motion. “Even so, I could carry more if I had to. I’ve heard stories about you being the top martial prodigy in Jinan, but...”
As the three youngest members of Ma Gwang Division, they had been assigned this labor due to their relative inexperience and rank.
Tae Yeom-ryong, not missing an opportunity to spar verbally, retorted with his usual wit. “A person should only take on as much work as their rank dictates. It’s like how a head of a branch sect is judged by both martial skill and leadership, but you wouldn’t expect a newly initiated disciple to master perfect stances. For a nameless one like me to pull my weight to this degree—well, it’s praiseworthy, isn’t it?”
“Are you mocking us now?” Hyeon Won-chang’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t take it that way, Senior. Just some friendly advice. Let’s not let our factions stagnate like a still pond. You know, my family fell apart for similar reasons. I warned them not to overwork the common folk with forced labor, but I was treated like a stray dog for speaking out. Disregard like that—well, it’s maddening.”
“Friendly advice, you say?”
“Quite gentle advice, wouldn’t you agree?” Tae Yeom-ryong replied, his smirk widening.
With a resonant thud, Tae Yeom-ryong planted his stone pillar firmly into the ground, the force sending a slight tremor through the area.
“Anyway, it’s funny, isn’t it? For all the talk of upholding martial virtues, we’re here moving materials without complaint. Quite the curious sight.”
His tone, deliberate and slow, carried the airs of a scion from a fallen noble house. Shin So-bin shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Of course. It’s a promotion ceremony for the Black Rank. No matter the outcome, this event alone is monumental,” she explained.
Tae Yeom-ryong tilted his head. “I suppose that’s just how things work around here. A promotion like this is a grand affair, then?”
“It’s only natural. Imagine the leader of the Eighteen Arhats of Shaolin or the master of the Plum Blossom Sword from Mount Hua being chosen. This is even bigger. A promotion to Black Rank isn’t just a milestone—it’s a celebration. Even major sects outside the fortress are watching closely.”
Tae Yeom-ryong cast a glance toward the elevated seat reserved for the Fortress Lord, a striking white stone throne atop a marble platform overlooking the entire arena. The preparations for the promotion ceremony were shaping up like a grand banquet for the elite.
“Has the Yullyeong Grandmaster ever lost in one of these matches?” Tae Yeom-ryong asked suddenly, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.
The question lingered briefly as Shin So-bin considered her answer. “Once,” she said finally. “The current Singeom Leader defeated her. Aside from that, she’s undefeated. Even Suncheon Ikju and Cheongcheon Grandmaster needed considerable time before they could challenge anyone else after losing to her.”
“She must be quite the master, then,” Tae Yeom-ryong mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve seen Cheongcheon Grandmaster’s swordplay—he’s an extraordinary swordsman, no question about it.”
“That’s obvious,” Shin So-bin replied. “Every Black Rank Grandmaster is an exceptional martial artist, but even among them, she stands out. And it’s not just her martial prowess that’s formidable.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Yullyeong Corps studies and dismantles every advanced technique practiced within the fortress. They have to—it’s their job to apprehend anyone who violates fortress law,” she explained.
“A place like my family’s old judicial court,” Tae Yeom-ryong remarked. “Terrifying in its own way.”
Shin So-bin’s voice softened, her tone carrying a touch of reverence. “The Yullyeong Grandmaster has it all—beauty, character, skill, and unparalleled knowledge. For women martial artists within the fortress, she’s an icon. Even Myreo Senior holds her in high regard.”
Her gaze drifted, a dreamy expression momentarily crossing her face. Tae Yeom-ryong shook his head slightly, amused by her admiration.
“And so, you don’t think our temporary Grandmaster stands much of a chance?”
“That’s hard to say,” she replied, her focus snapping back to him. “But there’s something else—something only I know.”
“Care to share?” Tae Yeom-ryong prompted.
Shin So-bin’s eyes gleamed. “Seomye once told me... he doesn’t reveal his techniques solely for merit or prestige. On the contrary, he wants them to be countered.”
“To be countered?” Tae Yeom-ryong echoed, intrigued. “Why?”
She smiled faintly but said nothing more. “That, I won’t tell you.”
Shin So-bin tilted her head playfully, her expression deliberately mischievous, her lips curving into a faint smirk.
Tae Yeom-ryong let out a dry chuckle, as if amused by her impudent attempt at acting like a boss.
Thud! Boom!
As they exchanged banter, time passed, and the promotion ceremony stage began to take shape.
Instead of using the dedicated platforms already prepared within the vast compound, they went through the laborious process of modifying the central martial arts arena.
This was to honor the immense significance of the Black Grandmasters.
The position symbolized the sword that protected the vast expanse of the martial world and bore the responsibility of leading one of the elite divisions of the great sects.
Given the circumstances—having recently lost two unparalleled masters dressed in purple—the administration had expedited preparations.
The grand ceremony was a strategic move, aimed not only to attract the attention of martial artists but also to boost morale, culminating in a spectacle of unprecedented scale.
Hundreds of people had already taken their seats, their presence amplifying the tension in the air. The atmosphere of the venue was electric, filled with excitement, curiosity, and nervous anticipation.
The grand circular tents erected around the arena resembled a royal court's magnificent celebration.
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The gathering included sharp-eyed martial artists, meticulously dressed attendants, artisans flaunting their work, and various honored guests—all adding to the lively buzz.
"Hup—! Hah—!"
At the center of the arena, a synchronized sword dance was underway, heating up the pre-ceremony atmosphere.
Around a dozen swordsmen moved in perfect unison, their blades tracing elegant arcs in the air.
Nearby, performers from the compound played zithers and sang verses praising the indomitable spirit of martial artists, their melodic notes blending seamlessly with the sword dance.
However, the true masters were too engrossed in their discussions to pay full attention.
A slender figure blocked the sun, its shadow gracefully spreading out as it descended.
The figure's movements defied common martial arts techniques, evoking the image of a Sky-Walking Immortal.
Swish!
The sound of a black cloak flapping accompanied the figure's elegant landing at the center of the arena.
The sword dance and the performers’ melodies came to an abrupt halt as an exquisite figure clad in black took their place on the marble stage.
Tap.
The long, jet-black cloak brushed the floor like a flowing curtain. The Leader of the Yullyeong Division had arrived.
As the crowd remained silent, their attention riveted on the Yullyeong Leader, another figure began to ascend.
Wearing a blue cloak that trailed behind him, Jeong Yeon-shin emerged, stepping lightly onto the stage.
The path cleared before him as the performers withdrew.
Jeong Yeon-shin, with two swords sheathed at his waist, adjusted his cuffs slightly, exuding an air of composed dignity.
Shin So-bin couldn’t help but mutter, "Wow."
Before Jeong Yeon-shin could speak, a voice, crystalline and commanding, broke the silence.
"There is no need for formalities," the voice said, echoing from the elevated platform.
It belonged to the Lord of Ipwang Castle, who reclined leisurely beneath the shade of a thick cypress tree. The sunlight filtering through the leaves gave her emerald-green eyes an ethereal glow.
"Think of courtesy when you wear the black cloak. For now, begin the duel," she instructed, her gaze as deep as an abyss.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned his focus back to the Yullyeong Leader. Without a word, she had already taken a knee in deference to the Lord, then risen.
Her gaze was cold, devoid of hostility, but also of interest—a reflection of her consummate discipline as a swordswoman.
The silence deepened as the two combatants faced each other, their presence alone stirring the air between them.
The ground began to tremble faintly, scratches appearing as if etched by the sheer force of their auras.
Suddenly, thud!
Jeong Yeon-shin stepped forward, drawing the Ipwang Sword in a single fluid motion. The white blade gleamed, bending sunlight with its radiance.
Before the light could fade, the Yullyeong Leader launched her attack.
Clang—!
In an instant, Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade shattered, fragments scattering into the air. The disparity in skill was stark.
Yet, Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t falter. As the shards fell, his hand moved swiftly, drawing upon his inner energy.
Light blossomed like petals scattering in the wind, enveloping the arena in a brilliant glow.
The crowd, filled with seasoned masters, gasped as many shot to their feet in astonishment.