Who is Ma Gwang-Ik of Ipwang Fortress?
This question had become one of the central topics of discussion among the Martial Alliance.
He was a prominent figure among the elite martial artists gathered for the upcoming Sect Inauguration Ceremony. A contender to claim dominance in the battles ahead.
Among the envoys from various sects and clans currently stationed at the Martial Alliance’s headquarters, Ma Gwang-Ik was one of the most influential individuals. His martial skills and character demanded close scrutiny.
“It might be worth speaking with the White Qilin,” someone suggested.
“Namgung Hwa-shin? His character is widely regarded as righteous, but now he’s aligned with Ipwang Fortress.”
“Aligned with the very person who killed his brother. Righteous character, noble brothers of the twin qilins... it’s all a façade. Anyone can maintain appearances at gatherings like Yongbong.”
“Or maybe he holds no grudges? I heard the duel between Seomye and the Azure Qilin was a fair life-and-death battle. Perhaps that’s why Namgung Hwa-shin now represents the ideals of the orthodox path...”
“You should focus on distinguishing allies from enemies first,” someone interjected sharply.
Mo Yong-myeongjun, Ak Ye-rim, and four others walked through the Martial Alliance headquarters.
All of them were young, their destination clear: the residence of a master who had captivated the minds of many martial artists in recent months.
Their goal? Lady Ye.
Lady Ye was the niece of the Ye Clan’s Swordmaster and the young mistress of the Ye Merchant Guild, a faction that had heavily financed the establishment of the Martial Alliance.
Her position was unique.
Her bold personality, striking appearance, and unparalleled martial prowess—even with her eyes covered—made her captivating.
Unlike wandering martial artists, those from noble clans often valued wealth above the blade. A person who combined martial strength and financial influence was a rare force to be reckoned with.
“I wonder what Lady Ye’s opinion of Seomye might be,” someone mused.
“The most intriguing thing is her name,” another said.
“They say it’s a unique family custom to reveal her name only to her betrothed. Are you trying to make a move on her?”
“I’m just curious. Why are you so sensitive about it?”
They strolled leisurely over the finely paved stone path, their conversation laced with lighthearted banter.
The term "Lady" was a title of respect, used to honor young women from noble families.
If prominent clans like the Mo Yong and Jegal clans addressed her with such reverence, it spoke volumes about her standing.
In the regions where these clans ruled like royalty, calling her “Lady Ye” was more than mere etiquette—it was a reflection of her influence.
“We’re here,” Mo Yong-myeongjun announced.
Before them stood an exceptionally ornate building, even by the Martial Alliance’s standards.
Its curved roof beams were elegant, descending gracefully to meet the intricately carved wooden supports.
It rivaled Unhyangwon, Ma Gwang-Ik’s current residence.
This meant that even the house provided by the Alliance’s leadership to draw attention wasn’t necessarily more impressive.
“I’ve sent word to Lady Ye,” Mo Yong-myeongjun said, addressing the man standing at the entrance.
The doorman had an imposing presence. His robust frame and disciplined qi were unusual for a mere attendant.
After a brief glance at the group, the attendant turned his head slightly.
“May we enter?”
“Yes.”
His voice was smooth, erasing any hint of irritation toward his role as a gatekeeper.
Despite the underlying dominance in his qi, it didn’t come across as abrasive. It was a peculiar aura.
“This isn’t the internal energy of the Ye Clan’s Sword Sect,” Mo Yong-myeongjun thought. She must have trained under a hidden master.
The attendant silently opened the door, allowing the group to pass.
Inside, the group was guided through a spacious hall and into a large office.
A curtain was drawn in front of the host’s seat, obscuring the view of both the guests and their host.
“I thought you weren’t shy in public,” Mo Yong-myeongjun joked, his smile betraying a hint of nervousness.
Through the curtain, the silhouette of Lady Ye could be seen lounging with her legs crossed, leaning back against the chair.
Her aura radiated waves of destructive qi that exuded a mesmerizing allure.
“Can we not meet face-to-face? This thin curtain is rather irksome.”
“I don’t feel like seeing your ugly faces, even in my own house,” Lady Ye replied flatly.
Her tone was brash, yet it perfectly matched her bold demeanor.
Even such scathing words seemed like playful banter coming from her.
Her striking beauty, profound martial aura, and noble lineage rendered her words far more palatable than they would otherwise be.
“Lady Ye, you won’t mind if I come in, will you? I’ve missed you!” Ak Ye-rim teased, tilting her head coyly.
“Just state your business,” Lady Ye replied indifferently.
Ak Ye-rim pouted, lowering her head.
The group had accompanied Lady Ye on an excursion before.
During a famine caused by the Thirteen Heavens’ Dae Bang Factions, Ak Ye-rim had nearly been killed by a Blood Flame Sect assassin, only to be saved by Lady Ye.
The assassin’s head had been crushed with a single strike from the back of her hand—a terrifying display of power.
Ak Ye-rim, a member of the venerable Ak Clan, had not forgotten this debt.
But Lady Ye kept people at arm’s length, maintaining an invisible barrier even with those who wished to repay her.
“You’ve come for my wisdom?” Lady Ye finally said.
Mo Yong-myeongjun’s lips curved into a smile.
“Yes. Those of us here are warriors, not strategists. We need something bold, something we wouldn’t think of ourselves.”
“Wisdom?” Lady Ye’s voice carried a faint trace of amusement.
Mo Yong-myeongjun pressed on.
“The envoy from Ipwang Fortress, the newly appointed Ma Gwang-Ik, is here. Surely, you’ve heard of him.”
“...”
“He’s a real headache. Since the Alliance’s very existence is rooted in opposing Ipwang Fortress, we can’t let him leave unscathed. Yet, he’s gaining a reputation instead—offering lessons to those who visit him. Truly, a remarkable talent.”
“Do you want to die?”
“Hmm? You mean Ma Gwang-Ik?” Mo Yong-myeongjun asked with a faint chuckle.
No response came.
The translucent curtain rippled slightly as if disturbed by an unseen breeze.
“Lady Ye, your wit never ceases to amaze me. But we can’t kill an envoy. A Black Rank master won’t go down easily, and if he decides to escape, it won’t be simple to catch him. Humiliation will suffice.”
“Lady Ye, he killed my betrothed,” Ak Ye-rim interjected. “I told you before—Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin. He fell to Ipwang Fortress’s ruthless hand. We can’t just let it go. He must be a truly heinous person.”
“Namgung Se-jin?” Lady Ye repeated, her tone tinged with an odd curiosity.
“Yes, that’s right. He fell to Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin...”
“Meaningless,” Lady Ye cut her off, her voice carrying a strange ripple of excitement.
“Sixteen. That’s how old Ma Gwang-Ik was when he dueled Namgung Se-jin. At that age, everything feels monumental. And according to my... sources, the young Ma Gwang-Ik is captivatingly cruel and chillingly arrogant. If you wish to bring up the Azure Qilin, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”
“Like the Blood Flame Sect, you mean?” Ak Ye-rim asked. “Your sources must be exceptional—are they as skilled as the Beggars’ Sect spies? But... what do you mean you won’t?”
“It means you can leave now. I have things to contemplate while lying down.”
***
“I am Ak Ye-rim of the Ak Clan in Shandong,” she said.
Her words were directed at Ma Gwang-Ik, whose youthful face was sharp yet composed. But inside, Ak Ye-rim's heart beat with bitterness and resentment.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
She had spent her life in love with a man who had been taken from her—Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin, now dead at the hands of this boy. Upon hearing of Se-jin's death, she had wasted away in grief, abandoning food and training for months.
What brought her back to her martial path, paradoxically, was the desire to meet Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin once again.
“Ma Gwang-Ik, Jeong Yeon-shin.”
The boy responded calmly.
She knew him well. Too well. She had memorized his features from sketches and descriptions long before this moment. His face had haunted her dreams.
This boy—this rising star—was the one who had slain Namgung Se-jin.
She had long expected to meet him, though she had hoped it would be under different circumstances. Not here, where wielding her sword against him was impossible. Not when he had ascended to a position where attacking him outright would be suicide.
She resented the heavens for this cruel twist of fate. If only the Martial Alliance had declared war on Ipwang Fortress the moment it was founded, her clan could have avenged her beloved by now.
“I heard you witnessed the final moments of the Azure Qilin. Did you know that I was his betrothed?”
Ak Ye-rim’s voice was slow and deliberate, tinged with venom.
Her gaze rested on the boy, who sat with an unshakable composure, his every movement a reflection of discipline and power.
Do you even know the value of the man you killed? she thought bitterly. His noble character, his unmatched talent—he could have been the symbol of the orthodox martial world.
“You probably don’t even remember how he wept when he bid farewell to his brother, Namgung Hwa-shin. His tears fell onto my shoulder, and the touch of his sorrow still lingers in my memory,” she thought to herself, her heart aching with the recollection.
“The man I knew was a hypocrite,” she said aloud. “His so-called righteous character was just a façade to cover his family’s disgrace.”
Her words were sharp, meant to provoke.
What did he think of Namgung Se-jin? Did he feel anything after killing him? Was it simply another victory for Ipwang Fortress to celebrate? How satisfied were you after taking his life?
“I’m curious, how did you feel about him?” she pressed, her voice softening into a whisper.
Will you admit it was just a duel? Will you dismiss him as nothing more than an opponent you defeated?
Her plan was clear: to drag this boy down, to tarnish his reputation in front of the Martial Alliance’s elite. This was the powerless vengeance of a noble family—beginning not with swords, but with words meant to erode honor and dignity.
But Ak Ye-rim underestimated her adversary.
“You.”
The boy’s voice cut through the room like steel.
“You speak of the Azure Qilin too casually. You’re tarnishing his legacy.”
The weight of his words silenced the murmurs in the hall.
Ak Ye-rim froze. Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze bore into her, his sharp brows drawn into an expression of unmistakable anger.
“The petty schemes of lesser minds do not interest me,” he continued, rising from his seat.
The surge of power radiating from him was palpable, sharper than any blade. He hadn’t drawn his sword, yet the room felt as though it were filled with the slash of invisible steel.
“I see why I was invited here now. It amuses you to watch. But compared to the Azure Qilin, all of this is trivial.”
His black cloak billowed as if moved by an unseen force.
“Even if I ascend to the Violet Rank, he and I will remain equals. Let this be known.”
The energy in the room shifted, heavy with his unyielding authority. The black robe of an Ipwang Fortress Master wasn’t just a garment—it was a declaration.
“From this moment on,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, his voice cold, “those of lesser rank will not speak to me. It’s beneath me.”
At that moment, Ak Ye-rim saw it—a sword, impossibly close, descending directly toward her.
She didn’t even see when he had drawn it.
The blade consumed her vision, its sharpness distorting the colors of the world around her.
Her heart thundered in her chest. Every fiber of her being screamed that it was real—the cold wind brushing against her skin felt as though it came from the edge of the blade.
Was he going to kill her? Here? Now?
Whoosh!
Ak Ye-rim collapsed to her knees, overwhelmed.
It was the worst possible reaction for a martial artist—proof of how completely she had been subdued.
But nothing happened.
The only thing that stirred in the hall was a faint breeze slipping through a nearby window, brushing against the silence that had taken hold.
She looked up, dazed, to find Jeong Yeon-shin standing calmly, his hands clasped behind his back. His sword hadn’t been drawn at all.
His posture was regal, his demeanor so composed that Ak Ye-rim finally understood something that had eluded her until now:
He was captivatingly cruel and chillingly arrogant, just as Lady Ye’s spies had described.
“The Azure Qilin stood tall,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, his voice quieter now.
He released his clasped hands, brushing his sleeve as if lost in thought. Was he reminiscing about the Azure Qilin? Or was he reflecting on the move he had just executed?
Ak Ye-rim’s eyes widened.
That was... an empty slash?
It wasn’t just her. Around the hall, others were reacting as well.
Even Mo Yong-myeongjun had instinctively half-drawn his sword, lowering his stance as if preparing to defend himself.
He had reacted later than Ak Ye-rim, his perception slower than hers in the moment.
“What...?” someone whispered.
“How many of us did he catch? Was that... a Heart Sword technique?”
The banquet hall was abuzz.
Ma Gwang-Ik had defied expectations again—both by speaking in defense of the Azure Qilin and by demonstrating a technique that left even seasoned martial artists bewildered.
To the orthodox sects’ young prodigies, it was an unsettling reality.
Suddenly, the hall doors opened once more.
“Master.”
Namgung Hwa-shin entered, exuding a dignified aura.
Ignoring the presence of old acquaintances in the room, he strode directly toward Jeong Yeon-shin and knelt on one knee.
“Namgung Hwa-shin?” someone murmured.
“His resemblance to the Azure Qilin is uncanny.”
“More than that, his flawless etiquette... could the White Qilin really be Ma Gwang-Ik’s sword?”
Namgung Hwa-shin spoke, his voice steady:
“I waited for the right moment.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, his stern expression softening.
The difference in his demeanor was striking. With Namgung Hwa-shin, he was almost warm—a far cry from how he had addressed Tae Yeom-ryong or the other guests.
“The Sword Saint has requested a meeting,” Namgung Hwa-shin said.
“The Sword Saint... you mean the Martial Alliance Leader?”
“Yes.”
Before Jeong Yeon-shin could respond, Hyeon Won-chang suddenly stood.
He dusted off the embroidered Hwang character on Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder before glancing at Ak Ye-rim and Mo Yong-myeongjun.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said with a smile.