Jeong Yeon-shin's team was traveling with a small group, with only four members from Ipwang Fortress.
Leading the way was Jeong Yeon-shin, followed by the powerful Tae Yeom-ryong on the right, and the strategist Hyeon Won-chang on the left. At the rear was Namgung Hwa-shin, whose calm temperament and mastery of stable sword techniques made him well-suited for the position.
“Every day feels like an eye-opening experience. It seems that in Ipwang Fortress, face and martial ability are treated as equals,” said Tae Yeom-ryong, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation. His words went unchallenged.
The martial art styles of Jeong Yeon-shin’s group and the famous sword arts of the Sect were still awkwardly distant. The others were companions in the journey but not yet comrades.
“I was told that another black-clad figure would join us. I wonder if it’s Senior Ak,” Jeong Yeon-shin mused inwardly.
The martial world was like a tiger's den. Despite the extraordinary prowess of the three from Ipwang Fortress, it was still a dangerous world. In terms of size and influence, the Ipwang Fortress faction might outmatch the martial league they were about to enter.
This mission, although of a diplomatic nature, meant they couldn’t rely on a large force of martial experts, but it was clear that the Fortress wouldn’t simply leave a promising new leader unsupported.
He had heard there would be assistance following him at a distance.
“Ma Gwang-ik’s absence was expected. There aren’t many uninjured seniors left.”
Jeong Yeon-shin remembered the conversation before their departure. Qingmyeong had been chosen as Ma Gwang-ik’s substitute, his condition significantly improved after the earlier ordeal.
“It feels like just yesterday when I lent you my cloak. Either way, Ma Gwang-ik needs to recover. Though the mission is for only a few people, once it’s over, we’ll need to pull some forces together from other martial groups.”
The voice had carried a light-hearted tone.
It was a private conversation, and Jeong Yeon-shin had listened carefully to his senior's advice.
“Seomye Martial System has spread across many martial groups. Reputation is already earned, but next comes fame. The more prominent the Grand Lord’s name is in the martial world, the more others will acknowledge it.”
The conversation was blunt, and even a bit cynical at times.
“The martial artists who have been known as ‘the Black-clad for decades’ are your opponents. Even Suncheon Ik-ju is called the ‘Monster of the Mareshang Gorge.’ They’ve all wielded the power of the black realm for many years and built their reputations from it. Trust and time have stacked upon their names.”
Suncheon Ik-ju was someone who knew how to differentiate work and personal matters, and he had fully recognized Jeong Yeon-shin's merits.
However, he remained adamantly opposed to any changes regarding Namgung Hwa-shin’s affiliation.
Qingmyeong had likely mentioned these aspects.
“Among those with some renown in the martial world, who wouldn’t recognize the name of our former Grand Lord? The influence of the Lords of Ipwang Fortress in the martial world is immense. Their deeds and accomplishments are legendary.”
The words seemed to unravel Jeong Yeon-shin’s path in the martial world.
“Normally, catching up would be impossible, but the mission you’ve received might help bridge the gap. It’s up to you, but it could become a significant opportunity.”
The faction war within the martial league was presented as a golden chance.
“It’s a coalition of all the righteous factions. One heroic act here could have double the effect of your normal feats...”
The sound of the autumn breeze suddenly brushed against his face.
The fleeting thoughts were swept away by the wind. Jeong Yeon-shin, grasping the reins, urged his steed forward.
The group continued to ride.
Though there was a relay station in Hanjo, the route from Yangyang, where Ipwang Fortress was based, to Hanjo didn’t have a proper relay route.
This meant their journey would not be a straight line.
Three days, four days, five days... They had no choice but to take a long detour.
They passed through abandoned villages multiple times.
“This place is also lost.”
“So many in need of help...”
“Senior Baek, if you give out more silver, there won’t be any left for the month. Dealing with the people sticking around is a task on its own.”
Indeed, it was a time of chaos. A famine that led to rampant looting had made food scarce.
Jeong Yeon-shin hadn’t fully felt this in his past. He had grown up in the prestigious Jeong family, where his concerns had never been about food. Even after joining Ipwang Fortress, food was never something he had to worry about.
The effects of famine had not yet reached the level of a major disaster, even within the top factions of the martial world.
For now, food could still be bought with money—though at a steep price.
Moreover, the places Jeong Yeon-shin and the Ipwang warriors passed through were few and far between.
They either stopped at decent inns and official residences, or the journey took them through completely deserted plains and forests.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s own experiences had been the same. Lodging in a humble inn, staying in Ipwang’s sub-branch, or in the Sichuan Tang Clan's headquarters... Places they had passed through hadn’t been significantly affected by the famine. The basin-like Sichuan had been isolated from the rest of the world.
It was one of the most fertile lands in the world, after all. And Jeong Yeon-shin’s battles had drawn a large crowd of spectators.
However, as they headed west again, things seemed different.
Bandits were rampant, and rumors said that martial factions were acting like warlords in many places. Jeong Yeon-shin saw this firsthand as he rode through the desolate scene.
People with no trade, living off hunting, resorted to raiding for survival.
He could see with his own eyes how the effects of famine had spread across the land.
“This place is especially severe.”
Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin pulled the reins, halting his steed. His companions lined up behind him.
In front of them lay the western side of the Hwanggang area, the capital of Wuyang.
Thick smoke was rising from several villages nestled around a small lake. There were also cries of distress in the distance.
It was the most desolate place they had seen so far. Hanjo was close, but the area seemed worse than anything they had encountered before.
The oppressive silence lingered. It was the unmistakable trace of looting.
“....”
Clop, clop.
Jeong Yeon-shin urged his steed forward once again, making his way slowly toward the entrance of the village.
“I don’t know what the Wudang Sect has been doing. This should be their closest base.”
Tae Yeom-ryong commented, and Hyeon Won-chang followed with his own opinion.
“To speak of peace, but go to the martial factions first—it’s problematic. What’s the government doing here?”
Both of them shared the same displeased tone. It seemed that Hyeon Won-chang had always held a strange dislike for the Dae Bang faction.
Jeong Yeon-shin, though, silently wished he could one day hear more about the life of this older friend of his. Perhaps before his own time ended.
For a moment, only the sound of hooves filled the air. The group approached a broken wooden fence.
No one spoke, but Tae Yeom-ryong pointed to a spot on the ground.
“Those are signs of a gang’s work. That dent over there. It looks like it was done by martial artists.”
Perhaps trying to break the tension, Tae Yeom-ryong spoke in a somewhat playful tone.
Having roamed around as a mischievous figure from the Hwangbo family, such experiences were likely common for him.
Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t respond. He knew that the Wudang Sect and martial artists had been rampaging through nearby villages.
These weren’t the actions of ordinary martial artists; they were beyond the level of typical martial arts and tactics.
As they crossed the broken fence, a boy came running toward them. He was around Jeong Yeon-shin’s age.
Despite his tattered clothes, there was a certain resolve in his eyes as he rushed toward them, his gaze fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin.
“Senior! You’re the martial artist from Ipwang Fortress, right?!”
At this moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt a slight sense of accomplishment. The yellow emblem on his shoulder seemed to have worked its magic.
Now, anyone could recognize him, even from the front.
If there was no need to change into Ma Jin’s clothes, Hyeon Won-chang would likely never have to act again.
Hearing the murmurs behind him, Jeong Yeon-shin felt a small sense of satisfaction. This is my cloak.
“What happened here?”
Jeong Yeon-shin asked carefully. His tone was different from when he spoke to martial comrades; it was more open and understanding.
The sounds of the disciples from the Jeomchang Sect and Tae Yeom-ryong’s breathing grew louder. They were slightly surprised.
“...This world of martial arts, or even one’s nature, is truly unique.”
Tae Yeom-ryong muttered wryly.
“Had I been born as a commoner, I would have been taken care of by the young Grand Lord. What a miserable life, dying young and having my family wiped out.”
His tone was slightly teasing, almost self-deprecating, but it carried a certain elegance.
Jeong Yeon-shin ignored him and looked down at the boy.
The boy, despite his ragged appearance, stared at the black-clad youth atop the steed with an expression clearly filled with anger and sorrow.
There was no need to ask further. He had lost his family and wealth.
“Tell me about your enemy.”
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.
They were almost at their destination, Hanjo. With some time to spare, as the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, it was his duty to hear the grievances of the common folk.
The village was clearly ravaged by martial artists. This couldn’t be left as it was.
***
The disciple of the Mount Hua Sect thought of a particular insult. It was something used by the traveling performers of Haedong’s "Namsadang" troupe.
‘You got shafted.’
The words struck Yu Hyeon like a sudden realization. "Getting shafted" meant to be obstructed or betrayed.
Taking the phrase literally, he felt as if he had been thoroughly "shafted."
He had arrived early at the main headquarters of the Martial League.
Boredom was setting in as he remained in the assigned quarters.
Among his peers, those who had recently joined the martial league, none stood out enough to catch his interest.
The older members of the league were all focused on “Lady Soja,” a blind beauty who had earned a reputation, akin to the famed nine-tailed fox spirit from the Shan Hai Jing.
‘The clan members are revolting, and the disciples of the old factions are too slow to arrive.’
Yu Hyeon considered stepping outside the expected path.
He figured it would be better to roam around using his "Hoshinqi," instead of staying stuck in the endless formalities.
He decided to practice the "Dark Fragrance Flow" technique of the Mount Hua Sect, a meditation that required him to take a stroll accompanied by senior disciples. Eventually, they had reached the border of Shanxi.
There, they came across a village half in ruins.
It was the village boy's desperate plea that started the story. Tears streamed as he recounted his tale of being robbed.
A faction that had settled on an island by a lake had raided them.
“It wasn’t the sect of the Ancient Heavenly Venerable or the Buddha’s teachings,” the boy explained. “They built a manor on the island and periodically came to loot. Whenever our pigs, calves, or crops were about to harvest, they'd come and take it all. If we resisted, they’d beat us to death...”
“What did they look like?” Yu Hyeon’s disciple asked. The boy replied quickly.
“They called themselves 'Heroes of the Simmuryun.' Isn’t Simmuryun part of the Thirteen Heavens?”
“...Simmuryun has a base in Hunan, so why would they be this far?”
From that point, Yu Hyeon and his disciples discussed among themselves.
“They’re at the very edges, so the distance isn’t far.”
“But it’s still suspicious. After all, how could they be involved with the Martial League's internal divisions so easily?”
Despite their suspicions, they crossed the lake to the island. The sight of the village’s tragedy was so severe it couldn’t be ignored.
The role of a swordsman, or "hero," in the martial world was to avenge the wronged. As disciples of an old sect, they couldn’t turn a blind eye to this.
It also seemed that Simmuryun was linked to the Martial League, which raised even more concerns.
This situation promised to be more complicated than expected. The time to gather clues had come.
‘I was overconfident in my abilities.’
Yu Hyeon thought back to how he ended up in this predicament. His hands were tied behind him.
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They had entered a well-made manor—a beautiful training hall where Yu Hyeon and his three disciples were now sitting, backs against one another, waiting. Over twenty people surrounded them, looking down with mockery in their eyes.
Among them was a woman dressed in blue, and a large man wielding a sword—both stood out.
They were a married couple.
‘A powerful martial faction had joined forces with the island’s chief. How do we beat them? When both power and authority are corrupted...’
Yu Hyeon hadn’t realized the island’s chief was connected to the Wuyang District’s faction. The situation was dire.
The couple had been in charge of the looting, making them a very real threat.
"The situation is a tricky one," said the woman in the blue robes. She was the district leader of Wuyang, the most powerful figure on the island.
From the moment a person begins to cultivate martial arts, they break free from bodily constraints, including gender differences.
It wasn’t unusual for a female martial artist to slaughter a hundred men in one sweep. Martial potential, like martial arts, had no gender.
The leaders of the Thirteen Heavens were mostly women, and the head of the Emei Sect—an all-female sect—was revered by all.
The influence of the noble families was enormous. The women of noble birth could now take part in government, a shift that had been unimaginable in previous eras.
The founding empress of the Ming Dynasty had even changed the very idea of the role of women in society.
Women of noble martial clans had been granted positions in the government, breaking the long-standing tradition.
However, the woman at the head of this particular faction had a much different role to play.
It wasn’t that the fact that the district leader was a woman was of any significance—it was her position that mattered.
The woman continued speaking.
“You’re right, it’s a tough situation. If we hand over the prisoners to the Simmuryun, they’ll know about our involvement with the Mountain Hua Sect... and if we let them go, we’ll just look like fools.”
Her husband, who stood next to her, added, “Yes, it’s better to eliminate them. If someone starts searching for us, we can always claim it wasn’t us. Who would doubt the word of the district leader?”
The conversation was growing repetitive. Yu Hyeon, frustrated, commented on their approach.
"Same old line for days now,” he said dismissively.
Yu Hyeon’s extraordinary talent made him look down on everything—he wasn’t easily impressed.
“Aren’t you afraid of what might come next? If your wife weren’t a high-ranking official, would you still be alive?” he said, half-mocking. “If she were just a regular district leader, your head might already be pickled in plum sauce, don’t you think?”
The district leader silenced her husband, holding him back. Yu Hyeon’s casual insult wasn’t something she was going to let slide.
“That’s enough, Yu Hyeon. I spared you because of our past, but don’t cross the line,” she warned.
Yu Hyeon gave a small smirk, bowing slightly. His disregard for the corrupt official was clear.
“You should know that there’s no such thing as status in famine. But without officials and martial strength, the people will live wrongly. I understand your righteous anger, but those in power must be the ones who manage the country. Don’t bring your petty judgments here,” the district leader remarked.
Her words held weight. Both she and her husband were used to looking down on the common folk, and Yu Hyeon remained silent.
Another day passed.
As the martial energy dispersed in the air, Yu Hyeon felt a sense of heaviness weigh on his chest.
The once-pristine robes of the Mount Hua Sect now seemed diminished, and the once-vibrant plum blossom embroidery on his cloak looked tattered and worn.
Then, something happened.
A soft footstep echoed through the silence.
“Bad habit, huh? Even getting beat by Tae Yeom-ryong.”
A boy’s voice broke through the tension.
“...?”
“You’ve started walking around without the elders of the sect, haven’t you? Keep going like that, and you’ll end up dead.”
The voice was calm and deliberate.
“...!”
Yu Hyeon lifted his head in surprise.
Before him stood a figure he never expected to see—a shadow, barely believable in his current state.
A boy, holding a sword at his waist.
As the sunlight shone down from behind, his black robe billowed, creating a halo of light. The yellow emblem on his shoulder gleamed with a golden glow, drawing attention.