“From Cheong Il-mun of Fujian, I have come to seek enlightenment,” announced the middle-aged man with a clear and refined demeanor, clasping his hands in a respectful bow. Five disciples stood behind him, their posture rigid with discipline.
“I have long heard of your illustrious name, known also as the ‘Dark Flame King’ in Huazhong. Today, I, Hyeon Mo, humbly request the honor of witnessing your renowned martial prowess to expand my horizons. May I ask for a demonstration of your supreme skills?”
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The man’s tone and actions were genial and seemingly sincere, his presence exuding a trustworthiness that made him hard to distrust. He carried himself with the composed air of a scholar, someone who had embraced martial arts later in life.
His demeanor hinted at a man deeply aware of his outward impression—a person whose carefully cultivated image made him formidable in ways beyond mere martial ability.
‘They said he’s exactly like that,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought, his gaze resting on Hyeon Mo.
He had heard from Hyeon Won-chang that the Martial Alliance was full of social operators who wielded their network like a sword. Some were more dangerous than even the strongest martial artists because of their cunning.
‘I didn’t plan on taking this lightly from the start,’ Jeong Yeon-shin mused, just as another voice interjected.
“That’s all a lie,” Tae Yeom-ryong remarked with a faint smirk, reclining lazily against a boulder in the corner of Unhyangwon, their temporary quarters.
Unhyangwon, allocated to Ma Gwang-ik’s party by the Martial Alliance, had a serene charm that was unexpectedly pleasing to the eye. For Tae Yeom-ryong and Hyeon Won-chang, it was also a perfect spot for drinking and making crude jokes.
Despite the increasing number of visitors frowning at his behavior, Tae Yeom-ryong looked utterly at ease, as if he were at home.
“Fujian is on the far eastern edge of the land,” he continued. “The nickname ‘Dark Flame King’ originated in Sichuan, way out west. How could someone from Fujian already know a nickname that’s only just started spreading there? There are two possibilities:
“First, the Alliance warriors—despite their supposed secrecy about Ipwang Fortress—are gossiping like fishwives behind closed doors.
“Or, second, our friend from Cheong Il-mun has personally dug into information about our dear Ma Gwang-ikju.”
Tae Yeom-ryong’s smirk deepened.
“Neither possibility is particularly pleasant, is it? So, Master Hyeon of Cheong Il-mun, let’s dispense with the pretense. Just admit it. You’re here to probe our lord’s reputation and standing. You’re not entirely convinced that a child from Ipwang Fortress deserves the fame you’ve heard of, are you?”
“...I came to converse with your superior,” Hyeon Mo replied calmly, though his tone hardened slightly.
“Well, isn’t this the perfect opportunity? We’re in the heart of the Martial Alliance, so you don’t have to worry about consequences if you hurt him, nor do you have to fear getting hurt yourself. It’s an ideal chance, isn’t it?
“If you manage to withstand just a few of his techniques, it’ll be a bragging point for the rest of your life. And if, by some miracle, you win, you’ll make your name here and now. Isn’t that why you’re really here?” Tae Yeom-ryong leaned further into the rock, his smirk now sharp and condescending.
“Frankly, you’re the fourth person to try this, so forgive me if I’m a little irritated.”
Though he spoke in a languid tone and lazily chewed on an opium poppy stem, Tae Yeom-ryong’s aura was like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking.
He had been like this when he beat Yu Hyeon at the Yongbong Meeting, his domineering energy rendering his opponents speechless.
Even Hyeon Won-chang had chosen to stay far off in the main hall, preoccupied with his calligraphy tools.
“Why don’t you go inside and rest?” Jeong Yeon-shin suggested.
Tae Yeom-ryong’s expression changed immediately.
“What? How could you say something so hurtful?”
He straightened up, clasping his hands together in mock humility, though his mischievous grin ruined the effect.
“Am I not here to protect you as your loyal subordinate? You’ve nothing to worry about. This Tae Yeom-ryong knows all too well how to handle the hypocritical, backstabbing dealings of the White Path sects. My sword and my tongue are both at your service.”
He seemed both boisterous and cunning—like a shameless yet oddly endearing trickster.
‘If one more person shows up, he’s definitely going to make a scene,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought, his annoyance barely masked.
Tae Yeom-ryong wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity to stir the pot, especially if it meant entertaining himself in the process.
For all his apparent laziness, there was a reason for his behavior. Unlike Jeong Yeon-shin, who strove relentlessly toward a future he couldn’t see, Tae Yeom-ryong lived with the resignation of someone who knew his days were numbered.
His indulgence in life’s fleeting pleasures was his way of defying his mortality.
‘He’s so different from me,’ Jeong Yeon-shin mused. ‘But I can’t say I don’t understand.’
He glanced toward Tae Yeom-ryong, who was still badgering Hyeon Mo, clearly enjoying himself despite his irritation.
“Master Hyeon, why aren’t you speaking?” Tae Yeom-ryong asked, tilting his head mockingly.
Hyeon Mo remained silent, his mustache twitching slightly in what seemed to be barely restrained anger.
“Master Hwangbo! Your words are out of line!” one of Hyeon Mo’s disciples finally shouted, his face flushed with indignation.
All five disciples were dressed impeccably in scholar-like robes and carried swords at their waists.
Despite their refined appearance, their auras were intense, suggesting they were moments away from drawing their blades.
“You are the infamous scoundrel of a fallen noble clan, and yet...”
“Do you even understand the concept of rank? Step back and apologize to Ma Gwang-ikju!”
“How could such disrespect occur in the Martial Alliance...”
One of the disciples trailed off mid-sentence as Jeong Yeon-shin took a step forward.
Jeobeok.
The sound of his footfall echoed ominously, accompanied by a wave of energy that rippled outward, subtle yet overwhelming.
The oppressive force silenced the entire courtyard.
“Didn’t you come here to exchange techniques?” Jeong Yeon-shin spoke evenly, his voice carrying effortlessly.
“You have my apology. I will reveal the essence of my martial art to you.”
“...What do you mean?” one of the Cheong Il-mun disciples asked, visibly confused.
Hyeon Won-chang, observing from a distance, sighed and shook his head as he set down his brush.
“It means he’ll fight you with everything he has,” Hyeon Won-chang explained. “Even if all of you attack at once, he’s willing to accommodate.”
The disciple stared in stunned disbelief. “Did you just say... all of us?”
"To experience the esteemed martial arts of the Marquis of Radiant Light with only one person? That seems truly unfair. I offer to prevent any discord among you by intervening myself," Hyeon Won-chang said with remarkable nonchalance.
Holding his calligraphy tools and seated confidently, he appeared unflustered, even as the tension mounted. Jeong Yeon-shin inwardly commended him. Well done, my right hand.
"What an impudent suggestion...!"
"Impudent? How so? Is it impudent to fully engage one's abilities in a potentially hostile territory? You misunderstand the courtesy being offered. Do you not grasp the significance of Marquis of Radiant Light Jeong Yeon-shin unveiling his martial techniques before the world?"
There was a pause. Hyeon Won-chang’s reasoning was sound, not mere sophistry.
Indeed, the warriors of the Radiant Light Fortress were known for their reluctance to leave witnesses to their techniques. Their enemies abounded throughout the world, and even a brief glimpse of their martial forms could spawn countless strategies to counter them. No martial artist faces a horizontal slash with a horizontal slash of their own.
The establishment of the Martial Alliance itself was a defensive response of the orthodox sects against the Radiant Light Fortress. With incidents involving the Hwangbo and Namgung clans providing justification, the alliance's underlying motives were suspect. Hence, the techniques of a Radiant Light Fortress marquis held immense value.
If Jeong Yeon-shin's vertical strikes were revealed today, the multitude would surely prepare horizontal counters. Others might devise strategies to aim at his waist, cleaving through with a sweeping stroke.
"Witnessing his explosive energy and aura firsthand is a privilege. There’s a reason martial artists are urged to keep some of their skills hidden. And yet here we are, with the Marquis generously offering a glimpse into his ultimate techniques. This is no trivial opportunity," Hyeon Won-chang added with deliberate gravity.
He turned to Jeong Yeon-shin. "Perhaps, Marquis, we should reconsider. The sect leaders will soon gather for the opening ceremony. It may be unnecessary to display your techniques once more..."
Hyeon Won-chang left it at that.
"We humbly accept the Marquis' teachings," the leader of the Cheongil Sect, Hyeon Mo, interjected abruptly.
His voice betrayed urgency, as if he were under unseen pressure. Tae Yeom-ryong’s gaze grew sharper as Jeong Yeon-shin and the Cheongil Sect warriors squared off, the sect leader hanging back, watching intently with gleaming eyes.
The glimmer in Hyeon Mo's gaze suggested he was employing a sophisticated visual technique—an advanced anbeop.
Why are they so fixated on observing? First Zhuge Hyeon, and now this?
Jeong Yeon-shin pondered as he unsheathed his treasured North Star Blade.
With a sharp shing, sunlight gleamed along the blade, accentuating the flowing wave-like patterns on its surface. Reforged after the Sichuan expedition, the North Star Blade bore the refinement of the Tang Sect's unparalleled forging techniques. Tang Un-hwang, the sect leader, had described it as embodying the pinnacle of their craft.
"Oh...!"
The Cheongil Sect warriors’ admiration was short-lived, for Jeong Yeon-shin had no intention of letting them bask in awe. He struck first.
I am the Marquis of Radiant Light. My role here is to leave an indelible mark on the Martial Alliance—through my skill or my character.
In a multi-opponent duel, showing leniency or restraint would undermine his purpose. In the very heart of the Martial Alliance, where rumors spread faster than the sharpest blades, there would be no room for ambiguity. While the Radiant Light Fortress itself inspired unease, Jeong Yeon-shin, as an individual, sought recognition—if not admiration.
"Come at me." Jeong Yeon-shin's calm command was the prelude to an extraordinary display.
The Cheongil Sect warriors charged in unison. Their blades glinted under the sun as their aura surged. Yet, Jeong Yeon-shin met them with a ferocity that belied his youth. His flowing black robes and the golden emblem of "Radiant" on his back made him an unmistakable figure.
The clash of steel resounded as the five warriors and Jeong Yeon-shin exchanged strikes. Blades shimmered, and the air seemed to ripple with each resounding impact. The combat was not merely physical but an intricate dance of skill and intent.
Seconds stretched into moments. The martial forms etched into the warriors' movements began to flow seamlessly under Jeong Yeon-shin’s influence. His strikes were not merely destructive; they were transformative. The Cheongil Sect warriors felt their techniques evolve mid-combat, guided subtly by the Marquis’ unparalleled skill.
The audience, both those directly involved and distant onlookers, watched in awe. Even those who had been vocal in their disdain for the Radiant Light Fortress found their perspective shifting.
"This... this isn’t the work of a mere prodigy. This is a fully realized master of the blade!" Hyeon Mo, the Cheongil Sect leader, was spellbound.
As the duel continued, Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade carved more than mere air—it etched respect into the hearts of his opponents. His techniques were not simply an exhibition; they were a lesson, an experience that elevated those who dared to face him.
Tae Yeom-ryong, watching from the side, noticed something others did not. Each swing of Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade subtly adjusted to the rhythm and nature of his opponents. It was as if the Marquis’ every movement refined and recalibrated his art, striving for perfection with each exchange.
The Cheongil Sect warriors, however, had no such insight. They were lost in the overwhelming tide of Jeong Yeon-shin’s mastery. The young Marquis had achieved his objective: he had left a mark that would linger long after the duel’s end.