The new rising star, Jeong Yeon-shin, had ascended to the rank of Ma Gwang-ik (Black Rank).
Rumors spread like wildfire. They carried the whisper that he had barely crossed into adulthood.
No one had ever heard of such an extraordinary feat.
Even within the mystifying and unpredictable world of the martial arts, this was unprecedented. His talent, achievements, and martial prowess were astonishingly unique.
The news stirred the bustling city center of Yangyang Province, surrounding the Ipwang Fortress. It was only natural.
A top-tier master had emerged, one comparable to the heads of the martial sects.
The implications stretched far beyond Hoguang Province, capturing the attention of great factions across the Central Plains.
The Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress was such an individual.
“Hmm.”
Jeong Yeon-shin felt the shift in the world around him. It was palpable in the delicate touches inspecting his body.
A middle-aged man draped in a sapphire silk robe appeared to be weaving energy through his hands, meticulously measuring the boy’s form.
“Please extend your arm this way,” the man requested politely.
Though his face was rugged and harsh, his words and demeanor were as deferential as a servant’s before a master.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently raised his right arm. At a small gesture, the man knelt slightly to measure its length.
The artisan placed a braided silk cord from the boy’s shoulder to his wrist with remarkable precision.
His movements were meticulous, almost reverent in their care.
“You seem well-practiced at this,” commented Chief Commander Im Jin-myeong, his thick black beard lifting slightly as he smiled.
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Jeong Yeon-shin did not respond. There was nothing for him to say. He had come upon the Chief Commander’s summons.
After his achievements were tallied at the main building of the Command Bureau, he had been led to this annex.
The annex’s office, usually adorned with the faint scent of cedarwood, was different today. A tailor from Yangyang’s finest fabric shop was waiting.
Normally, merchants dealing in cloth would only buy and sell fabric, but Yangyang Province’s advanced logistics and lifestyle standards were exceptional.
This was due in no small part to the colossal Ipwang Fortress.
Even the salaries of the fortress’s White-Rank warriors were paid in silver, fostering a thriving city economy.
“Now that I think of it, I heard the Lord was born into a prominent landowner family. That must be why...”
“I am merely feigning detachment,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied quietly.
The Chief Commander’s casual mention of his family, the Jeong Household, didn’t bother him.
If anything, it made the boy feel at ease. The seasoned leader of the Command Bureau was adept at disarming the young prodigy.
His tone and choice of words had a calming effect on the formidable but youthful martial artist.
It was enough to prompt the boy to share a light concern.
“Recently, I’ve felt that my cultivation has plateaued, which has been bothering me a little.”
The Chief Commander chuckled, still seated.
“At your age, such feelings are natural. It is the spring of your life—a time when even reasonable truths may feel dissatisfying. And in a martial world filled with haughty masters, it’s no wonder. Around your age, many ambitious juniors fall prey to their dreams, often meeting untimely ends.”
“Untimely ends?”
Jeong Yeon-shin echoed the phrase.
“That has been my experience,” the older man continued, his smile deepening as he fixed his gaze on the boy.
“But such concerns are more fitting for your peers. Your martial prowess is so advanced that your age scarcely matters. Your status is unmatched as well.”
“It’s too early to call my skills ‘advanced,’” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, recalling the other Lords of Ipwang Fortress.
The Chief Commander shook his head.
“In the vast martial world, a Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress resides in its upper echelons. Even at the Grand Martial Alliance, you would not sit among ordinary juniors. That should suffice. Surely, you wouldn’t speak arrogantly to the leaders of the Nine Great Sects or the Thirteen Heavens, would you?”
“...”
The remark gave Jeong Yeon-shin pause.
“All done.”
The middle-aged tailor stepped back, his task complete.
“To craft a robe from Celestial Silk would usually take a full month. But since you are pressed for time, I’ll reduce it to seven days. If I set everything else aside, it should be possible.”
He was said to be a rare artisan. Every black battle robe in Ipwang Fortress came from his hands.
These garments, impervious to ordinary weapons, were highly prized.
The tailor only adopted such a humble demeanor before the Chief Commander and the Ma Gwang-ik Lord. Among Yangyang’s common folk, he was an unparalleled artisan and a wealthy figure.
“My thanks to you, Master Jang,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, bowing respectfully.
“It is my honor. I am well aware of your feats, cutting down countless demonic fiends. To have the privilege of crafting a robe for such a noble hero is a great honor indeed.”
Master Jang lowered his head with composed sincerity.
Jeong Yeon-shin found the praise mildly embarrassing but suppressed the feeling. He turned to the Chief Commander.
“My height and reach are changing daily. Even if I have a new robe tailored now, it will need replacing soon enough. Wouldn’t it be wasteful to repeat the process, especially with Celestial Silk?”
“As Ma Gwang-ik Lord, this is not a concern you should trouble yourself with,” the Chief Commander replied calmly.
“The wealth of this fortress comes from all corners of the world. With the Emperor on our side, what’s a few bolts of silk compared to that? It has always been this way. After all, our Lords do not fight battles without reason.”
The words resonated with the boy, prompting a small nod.
Having a new robe tailored reinforced his elevated status as Ma Gwang-ik Lord.
Jeong Yeon-shin expressed his gratitude to the Chief Commander and departed the Command Bureau. He had heard that the rewards from his exploits in Sichuan had already been delivered to his residence, guarded by the Yullyeong Corps.
Even so, his steps carried him in the opposite direction.
The sound of his steady footsteps filled the air.
As one of Ipwang Fortress’s Lords, his schedule was no longer entirely his own. Unlike his days as a Blue Rank warrior, his movements were now dictated by duty.
This time, he was headed to a Lords’ Assembly at the Wonpyeong Ilgeom Hall, deep within the fortress.
The location was where he had once clashed with the Suncheon Ik-ju, Ha Do-un.
“The mission has been decided. They said we’ll be discussing the finer details.”
Now that his face was known to every warrior in Ipwang Fortress, the gazes of passersby followed him as he walked.
Some whispered in awe, their faces alight with excitement. Even among the youthful swordsmen and seasoned masters, their reactions were no different.
Unlike his time as a Blue Rank warrior, no one dared to challenge him to a spar or approach him recklessly.
This newfound peace brought a faint satisfaction to Jeong Yeon-shin.
“At least no one’s being bothersome. This is nice.”
Such was the authority of a Ma Gwang-ik Lord.
***
The number of Black Rank lords currently stationed at Ipwang Fortress was unusual.
Typically, the Shingeom Corps’ subunits, subordinate to the Divine Sword Corps, would number three at most within the fortress.
Even for overseeing the vast expanse of the martial world, some argued this was more than sufficient.
It wasn’t uncommon for the fortress’s lords to go their entire tenure without ever meeting each other.
Yet, at present, seven Black Rank masters were gathered—a truly extraordinary occurrence.
The Divine Sword Corps Vice Lord, Yullyeong Lord, Ma Gwang-ik Lord, Changcheon Lord, Suncheon Ik-ju, and Myeolseom Lord.
Including the former Ma Gwang-ik Lord, there were seven Black Rank lords present. Combined with the fortress’s military power, this assembly represented a force unparalleled anywhere in the world.
The reason for the return of some lords previously deployed outside the fortress was clear: discussions regarding the Grand Martial Alliance.
The formation of the Alliance was justified by Ipwang Fortress’s demonstration of military might.
Amidst famine and the rapidly shifting balance of power in the martial world, leaving the seats of the Wonpyeong Ilgeom Hall sparsely occupied was not an option.
However, there was an uninvited guest. At least, that’s how Jeong Yeon-shin saw it.
“Jeomchang?”
The boy muttered under his breath.
At the round table surrounded by eighteen seats, one corner was occupied by a marble chair set slightly apart.
Sitting there was a senior disciple of the Jeomchang Sect, her beauty accentuated by the sunlight streaming in through the windows, casting a glow on her cheeks.
Her radiant smile was directed at Jeong Yeon-shin.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. That duel of yours was truly impressive,” she said with a seemingly innocent smile, waving her hand lightly.
This was So Geomhwi, the Small Sword Queen.
Having accompanied him during his return from Sichuan and attended his Black Rank promotion ceremony, she showed no signs of leaving.
Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t mind.
The Grand Martial Alliance was uncharted territory for him. It would undoubtedly be filled with unfamiliar and formidable martial artists from orthodox sects.
Having successfully guided the Purple-Robed Veterans back to the fortress, having an ally of her stature—a senior disciple of Jeomchang—could prove useful.
‘It’s enough if she supports me when necessary. As a representative of one of the Nine Great Sects, her voice will carry weight in the Alliance.’
Jeong Yeon-shin gave her a slight nod, prompting a mischievous smile from her.
Her expression was tinged with excitement. A peculiar individual.
While her inner thoughts were hard to discern, her overt display of fondness toward Jeong Yeon-shin was undeniable.
It reminded him of the Seventh Apostle.
‘...I won’t entrust my back to her. Nor will I rely on her unnecessarily.’
He had already received unexpected favors from those he considered enemies. Adding to his confusion was the last thing he needed.
Avoiding her gaze, he turned his head to see his uncle, Ma Jin, smiling at him.
“So Geomhwi of Jeomchang is here as a witness. Yeon-shin, take your seat,” Ma Jin said, patting the chair next to him.
Unlike her, his uncle’s gesture indicated that Jeong Yeon-shin was to occupy one of the main seats—a natural position as one of the fortress’s lords.
Jeong Yeon-shin took the seat beside his uncle.
“That robe suits you well.”
The voice belonged to a woman, her tone carrying a firmness that matched her deep cultivation.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned his head slightly, surprised by the comment.
It was Yullyeong Lord Yoon So-yu, her jet-black eyes fixed intently on him.
She had greeted him. Perhaps his previous interactions, carefully recalling Hyeon Won-chang as a reference, had borne fruit.
Once again, he became aware of his attire.
He wore a slightly tattered Black Robe with the lower portion of the left sleeve missing—a piece he had specifically requested from his uncle instead of borrowing a new one.
“It complements your unique aura. It’s not unsightly. It might even become a symbol alongside your signature techniques,” she remarked.
“My unique aura?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Dry and still. Like an elder who has lived their life to the fullest,” she replied succinctly before falling silent.
Looking around, Jeong Yeon-shin noticed that he seemed to be the only one not agreeing with her observation.
These days, his mind often felt like a stormy sea.
‘Again.’
Suddenly, a chill spread through his knees.
He furrowed his brow slightly. His cartilage, which had only hurt in childhood, was acting up again.
It wasn’t severe enough to affect his martial performance, but in the domain of absolute masters, even the smallest disruption could mean the difference between life and death.
He had to adapt quickly to the ever-changing length of his limbs and his shifting center of gravity.
This necessity had only grown stronger recently.
‘I also need to refine the Ma Gwang-kyeol stances. Growing legs may enhance vision and leg strength, but they require careful adjustment.’
He sighed internally.
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin,” a short-haired girl said, her gaze soft yet steady as it landed on Jeong Yeon-shin.
Among the seven Black Rank lords present, she was the most powerful.
This was Ipwang Divine Spear Ak Su-rim, her youthful appearance belying her immense strength.
With a mischievous grin, she spoke up.
“Isn’t it settled that we’re sending Seomye to cause trouble at the Grand Martial Alliance? Any objections?”
Her words carried the signature informality of the Divine Sword Corps, befitting someone poised to become their next leader.
Jeong Yeon-shin reflected on her statement. If she put it that way, then there truly wasn’t a need to focus solely on reconnaissance.
‘The looser the mission guidelines, the better. As long as I don’t cause too much trouble.’
A part of him, nicknamed Seomye, seemed to nod in agreement. It felt almost as if it wanted to dance with excitement. Jeong Yeon-shin deliberately ignored the thought.
“...”
Just as her question hung in the air without opposition, one man raised his hand.
It was Suncheon Ik-ju Ha Do-un, his fitted sleeves revealing the muscles beneath.
As the direct superior of Namgung Hwa-shin, Ha Do-un had often clashed with Jeong Yeon-shin, and his expression was unusually stern.
“Still no objections, I see? Seomye, do whatever you want! Meeting adjourned!”
With that, Ak Su-rim slammed her spear against the floor with a resounding thud.