"That’s worth learning... truly, a monster," thought Tae Yeom-ryong.
The young master of Ma Gwang-Ik had engaged in three duels over the past three days. Including the present one, this made four.
The uninvited challengers all behaved in a similar fashion. They would knock on the gate unexpectedly and say something along the lines of:
"I admire Ma Gwang-Ik's reputation; I request to cross swords with you."
Was it born from competitiveness, hostility, or perhaps orders from another?
It was impossible to discern. The depths of human intention are more inscrutable than any labyrinth.
"Not that it matters. When I have the rarest delicacy right before me."
Tae Yeom-ryong's eyes remained fixed on the young master, who was exchanging blows with six skilled warriors from Cheong Il-mun.
The trail of the sword, a gleaming streak of white, spread through the air like blossoming flowers in full bloom.
It devoured the orthodox techniques of the Baekdo righteous sects, flourishing radiantly.
"Impressive, in its own way," Tae Yeom-ryong mused.
But Jeong Yeon-shin’s true strength was not in swordsmanship.
It was in the Shihwa Muguk Su, a martial art that abandoned the sword in favor of devastatingly powerful strikes delivered with both hands. It always served as the decisive factor in battle.
The most outstanding move among them was Hwangang, an ultimate technique of incredible ferocity, which he had unleashed to obliterate Geomgalma Dokgo Gwang on Myunggong Island.
It was a form of palm art, unmatched even by the Hwangbo Clan's techniques.
"And yet now, he seeks to refine his swordsmanship?"
The young master was cunning.
There was no other reason for him to welcome the challenges from orthodox martial artists so readily. It wasn’t out of principle but out of necessity.
When a sect with its name listed in the Martial Alliance's ledger issues a challenge, it is evidence of their mastery of a unique and advanced technique.
This was the hallmark of any martial lineage. The young master’s swordsmanship evolved every time he encountered such renowned methods.
Tae Yeom-ryong, having witnessed it firsthand over time, could distinguish the subtle changes.
Jeong Yeon-shin absorbed, deconstructed, and subtly incorporated their techniques into his own swordplay—all in an instant.
The process happened so quickly that the altered sword technique reverted to its original form before anyone could notice.
No one realized he was crafting a deadly new weapon.
"Ma Gwang-Ik's swordsmanship has begun to transcend."
The esteemed commander of the Yullyeong Unit would be flustered, to say the least. Tae Yeom-ryong admitted that the young master’s talent far surpassed his own.
Such a prodigy, placed within a perfect environment, was reshaping martial techniques. The outcome was impossible to predict.
If, by chance, this led to a groundbreaking revelation, Jeong Yeon-shin’s swordsmanship might transform completely.
Tae Yeom-ryong hoped that transformation would come before Jeong Yeon-shin faced the Sword Sage, the Martial Alliance leader.
It would be unthinkable for the young master to flaunt his palm arts against a celestial swordsman.
As things stood, Jeong Yeon-shin’s Hoshin Ganggi would not withstand even a single blow from the supreme sword techniques of such a master.
What good would it do to gain enlightenment only after suffering a humiliating defeat? To uphold the title of Ma Gwang-Ik, proficiency in weapon arts was essential.
"Though, seeing this, I feel hopeful..."
Tae Yeom-ryong muttered as he perched atop a rock formation.
Suddenly—
Clang!
The garden’s grass erupted into chaos, as though struck by a massive cannonball. The force of the sword aura had exceeded its limit.
The blurry light of Jeong Yeon-shin's Gwanghwa Geomryu twisted the very sun.
As five disciples of Cheong Il-mun fell, Jeong Yeon-shin faced their leader. He unleashed his final move.
A technique reminiscent of his earlier days—a sword strike, yet not entirely swordsmanship. It fused the striking force of palm techniques into his swordplay.
Jeong Yeon-shin shifted the ball of his foot slightly, channeling rotational power through every muscle in his body.
While observing the Hwaram Sword Technique, he postponed exploring its intricacies of layered shockwaves.
Shihwa Muguk Su: Spiral.
With a sharp motion, dust swirled violently around Jeong Yeon-shin's sword-wielding hand, as though the space itself was bending.
Though the force he wielded wasn’t overwhelming, the resulting vortex created a terrifying martial spectacle.
Jeong Yeon-shin slightly twisted the blade of the Shin Geom Bukmyeong, tilting it so the flat of the blade faced upward.
He met the Cheong Il-mun leader’s defensive sword head-on.
Clang!
The opposing sword shot upward as if yanked by an invisible hand, and the leader with it.
Jeong Yeon-shin, using his Pungsin Footwork, leapt to an even higher position.
As their figures hovered briefly in midair, Jeong Yeon-shin’s left hand moved, as if flowing along a separate axis of time.
Calloused knuckles struck the Cheong Il-mun leader's back. From an outside perspective, it looked like a cannonball smashing into him.
An explosive shockwave rippled through the air, peeling back Jeong Yeon-shin’s sleeve.
Boom!
The leader’s Hoshin Ganggi shattered into fragments.
His body slammed into the ground with a dull thud, coughing up blood as he sprawled face-down.
"No talent like his comes without a price..."
Tae Yeom-ryong muttered as he witnessed Jeong Yeon-shin’s sword aura subtly distort just before the vortex's creation.
He deduced that the boy had grasped yet another fundamental truth of martial arts.
A nascent swordsmanship was quietly germinating, like the calm before a typhoon.
"I wonder... will he burn out, like me?"
The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Yet, detached from such musings, the young master approached the fallen leader.
Lifting him gently, Jeong Yeon-shin struck his back to release the stagnant blood in his meridians.
His words, as always, were composed and eloquent:
"I was forced to use my full skill. Such is the brilliance of your martial art, Master."
The Cheong Il-mun leader, coughing blood, managed a faint smile.
"I am the one who must commend you, young master. Your ability and generosity are truly extraordinary. Should I retreat to my sect for a few years of reflection, I might gain enlightenment—thanks to you."
"Your praise is too generous. Take care to recover well."
Jeong Yeon-shin offered a respectful fist salute, to which the leader and his disciples responded in kind, even as they staggered away.
Watching them leave, Jeong Yeon-shin returned to his quarters and sat in the hall.
He unfurled his writing tools and began scribbling down insights:
The essence of the martial arts he had just faced, potential counters, energy-flow techniques to avoid errors...
The motives behind the challenges of these Baekdo masters, their goals, or the schemes orchestrated by the Martial Alliance's proxies remained unclear.
But it didn’t matter. Scheming wasn’t their sole domain.
Jeong Yeon-shin and his senior, Hyeon Won-chang, had lured the Baekdo martial artists deliberately. Their goal was to experience and dissect as many techniques as possible.
It wasn’t enough to complete their assigned mission. They sought greater achievements and glory, aiming to climb to Black Rank in record time.
And perhaps even higher.
"Two birds with one stone. This helps refine my swordsmanship, after all."
Day by day, their trove of knowledge grew. Alongside it, countless strategies for countering the techniques they had faced.
Jeong Yeon-shin intended to compile these countermeasures into volumes—perhaps dozens.
He even had a title ready:
Pa-Baek Chongram (The Complete Guide to Breaking Baekdo).
If the Martial Alliance turned against him completely, this book might pave his path to the Purple Rank.
"The next guest... I wonder when they’ll arrive."
Focused on his calligraphy, Jeong Yeon-shin's expression remained calm as ever.
From a distance, Hyeon Won-chang and Tae Yeom-ryong exchanged glances and whispered:
"He seems excited, doesn’t he?"
***
“It’s the Cheong Il-mun sect this time,” someone said.
“I heard three of them couldn’t even stand afterward. They looked utterly battered.”
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“Yet, they were all smiling—even the sect master himself.”
“Again?”
The voices belonged to the young martial artists of the Alliance gathered in an open pavilion near a lakeside. The structure, open on all sides, exuded a heavy presence of martial energy.
The true strength of orthodox martial arts lies in the principle of delayed maturation—steady growth over time. Though orthodox sects in the mundane world developed slower than the unorthodox or demonic paths, access to rare elixirs often allowed prestigious clans to overcome such natural limitations.
“How many times has this happened now?”
“This would be the fourth. His reputation grows ever more impressive. It’s said he even teaches those who challenge him out of hostility, and people are already calling him a virtuous knight. ‘If he’s not a noble hero, then who is?’”
“Who said that?”
“Yu Hyeon Dojang of the Mount Hua Sect, also known as the ‘Hidden Dragon of Mount Hua.’”
“...”
“At this point, one can’t help but wonder—what’s his true intention?”
The pavilion held an eclectic mix of martial geniuses. Some sat in meditative poses, others lounged idly, while one woman casually flicked her fingers, playing with flames of Sammae Jinwha like a musician tuning an instrument. Nearby, a pair of young disciples reclined lazily on the pavilion roof.
With nearly twenty gifted individuals present, the air rippled with overlapping waves of martial energy. Unlike the chaotic aura of unorthodox sects, their presence felt refined and composed.
Among them was Mo Yong-myeongjun, a famed prodigy who had once suggested they visit Ipwang Fortress to witness Seomye, Jeong Yeon-shin.
This was a gathering of the best and brightest, where the traditions of orthodox martial arts and the philosophy of chivalry were shared and debated. Even after Jeong Yeon-shin had humiliated Jeongal Hyeon in a public duel, the mood remained calm—until a woman with long braided hair broke the silence.
“It’s certainly not out of goodwill,” said Ak Ye-rim, stroking the sleeve of her white robe. “There’s undoubtedly something sinister behind his actions.”
She was the cherished niece of Ak Su-rim, the Divine Spear of Ipwang. A treasured jewel of the Ak Clan in Shandong, Ye-rim had once been considered a prospective match for Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin of the Namgung Clan.
That was before Namgung Se-jin fell in a duel against Jeong Yeon-shin.
“...”
A brief silence followed. The Azure Qilin had been renowned for his flawless character, striking appearance, and unparalleled swordsmanship. Mastering the Jeong Wang Geomhyeong (Imperial Sword Form), he had earned a reputation as a rare hero capable of erasing the Namgung Clan’s shadows of dishonor.
Even those who had never met him admired him deeply through rumors alone.
“It was said to be a duel of equals, a life-and-death battle. Mercy likely wasn’t an option,” someone offered cautiously.
“Well, I didn’t witness it myself, so I can’t say for sure,” Ak Ye-rim replied nonchalantly. “But let’s not pretend that the Ipwang Fortress hasn’t been excessively aggressive in their methods for years.”
“Miss Ak’s suspicions aren’t baseless,” another added. “Namgung Se-jin was the target of both admiration and envy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Seomye deliberately overdid it—or perhaps he needed a significant achievement.”
“I caught a glimpse of him recently,” chimed in a clear voice from the roof. It was one of the youths lying there. “Handsome fellow. Looked like someone from a noble clan.”
The speaker was a boy who had previously seen Jeong Yeon-shin when escorting Jeongal Hyeon to Ma Gwang-Ik.
“Considering he’s a disciple of the Fortress Lord and the grandson of a former leader of the Shin Geom Squad, his lineage is impeccable. Wearing that black coat already? He doesn’t have much to envy. Sure, he’s not like us who are heirs to great clans, but if he becomes the Shin Geom Danju, that’ll change.”
“You always think too kindly of people, Gongson,” said another voice. “Visit the Huangbo Clan’s domain in Jinan sometime, and you’ll see things differently. Ipwang Fortress is like a beast wrapped in a cloak of civility. If he’s at the rank of a Fortress Master, he’s nothing short of a man-eating predator.”
The group quietly nodded in agreement. These individuals were the crème de la crème of young orthodox martial artists, many of whom had personal ties to Namgung Se-jin.
Among them were women who had secretly admired him, rivals who had considered him their equal, and others who had respected him from afar. Even those who had never met him harbored feelings of admiration or envy.
“If you’re so curious, why don’t you just ask him yourself? Ask him what he thought of the Azure Qilin,” Gongson muttered, a hint of petulance in his tone. This drew soft chuckles from the group.
Yet the undercurrent of hostility toward Ma Gwang-Ik persisted. Though no one voiced outright dissent, the room seemed to absorb their growing resentment, like waves building before a storm.
“It’s a shame Lady Ye isn’t here,” someone remarked wistfully. “She would have come up with a bold plan to put us at ease.”
A ripple of reactions followed, immediate and varied.
“Lately, she hasn’t been leaving her quarters much. I wonder if she’s unwell... now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Jeongal Hyeon either.”
“Isn’t that because of Ma Gwang-Ik?”
“I miss her. Seeing her demolish that demon was exhilarating. She’s definitely mastered an exceptional technique.”
“She took down the Blood Flame Sect’s assassin with a smile. Chillingly beautiful. The ripple of her palm force was like the hem of a celestial maiden’s robe.”
“And she fought blindfolded! How could she be so strong?”
As the chatter continued, Ak Ye-rim abruptly stood up, rolling up her sleeves as if preparing for action.
“The Alliance’s primary objective right now is clearly to humiliate Ma Gwang-Ik, isn’t it? I’ll visit Lady Ye myself and seek her counsel. If anyone can devise a brilliant solution, it’s her.”