“Hmm?”
Suddenly, Zhuge Hyeon let out a puzzled exclamation, his eyes glimmering as he observed the Sim Mu-ryeon forces.
“The barracks... they’re all empty. Judging by the stockpiles of wall-breaking elixirs and dried meat, it doesn’t seem like they’ve completely left. It’s the kind of boldness you’d expect from the Thirteen Heavens of Evil—leaving only a handful of guards behind, about five of them.”
“There’s even the scent of liquor in the air. They’ve been drinking, it seems,” Jeong Yeon-shin remarked.
The boy lightly touched the hilt of his sword. The details Zhuge Hyeon described could also be observed and sensed with sharp eyes and intuition.
The ability granted by Anbup usually enhanced dynamic vision, but what Jeong Yeon-shin needed now was practical knowledge to refine and develop his swordsmanship further.
‘If I were to create a new Anbup, it would have to come from the realm of advanced techniques, like the Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi.’
However, inspiration didn’t come so easily. It was nothing compared to swordsmanship honed with the foundations of Gwanghwa Sword Style and the Sword Saint’s teachings.
Anbup was a much more subtle and enigmatic discipline.
He had yet to reach the stage of infusing it with martial spirit by birthing its essence alone. Not yet.
‘It’s boring. I’ve never felt lacking in perception anyway.’
To Jeong Yeon-shin, martial arts had a special meaning.
It was both a pastime to erase loneliness and a means to extend his precarious life.
For someone living on borrowed time, he couldn’t afford to cling to things that wouldn’t work. His interest waned, and his tone grew distant.
“Let’s go and wait.”
His voice was indifferent. Zhuge Hyeon and Ak Ye-rim quickly turned their heads.
“Leader, what did you say...?”
“Did you just say we should go wait there?” Ak Ye-rim’s tone was sharp, almost incredulous. Anyone would have reacted the same way.
This was the temporary stronghold of the Thirteen Heavens’ Daebang Sect. It wasn’t a place to casually throw around as if it were a mere stroll destination.
The boy known as the Black-Robed Young Lord of Ipwang Fortress, Jeong Yeon-shin, carried a demeanor far more mature than his appearance suggested.
For those who had never walked the martial world with him, there was much left to imagine.
Ak Ye-rim’s face betrayed disbelief, suspicion surfacing as if questioning whether he was an inexperienced or reckless youth.
Step.
By then, the boy had already started walking. From the perspective of the young lord, Ak Ye-rim was the one trapped in the well.
How could the sheltered flower of a prestigious family, rooted in Shandong, possibly understand?
The broad horizons Jeong Yeon-shin had gained from traversing the martial world gifted even a seventeen-year-old boy with insight beyond his years.
‘More than a hundred martial artists have fortified their encampment.’
He pondered.
Martial artists of the Jianghu typically disliked clutter and operated independently. Even if they formed groups, it was often for the sake of their own romantic ideals of wandering the martial world.
Moreover, martial artists associated with the Thirteen Heavens wouldn’t be the type to gather for raiding commoners indiscriminately.
It didn’t fit their nature, nor was it efficient.
Traveling in masses and returning in masses? That was the behavior of conscripted soldiers with mediocre martial skills.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly parted his lips. Behind him, he could feel Ak Ye-rim’s uncertain presence.
“You’re like a fledgling in the martial world.”
“What did you say...?”
Hearing herself called a fledgling by someone much younger, Ak Ye-rim’s eyebrows shot up.
Unbothered, Jeong Yeon-shin continued.
“The real problem begins after they’ve returned in full force. Were you planning to wait until then to fight? I didn’t think you were such a coward. Didn’t you train in Ak Clan Sword Techniques? Senior Ak from the Divine Sword Corps wasn’t like you.”
If anything, he was too bold and gave people headaches. Jeong Yeon-shin swallowed those last words.
He had been referring to Ak Su-rim of Ipwang Fortress. Ak Ye-rim’s expression flinched, betraying her astonishment.
“You sound like one of the elders from my family...”
She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.
To the tempestuous young prodigy, her words held no significance.
“This is a mission doomed from the start. It’s like an egg hitting a rock. It’s all thanks to the blunders of the Alliance’s petty politics. The idea of facing the martial forces of the Thirteen Heavens with this manpower is absurd.”
For once, Jeong Yeon-shin thought his words had gone on too long. Such meaningless talk—it wasn’t even about martial arts.
“Stop right there!”
By then, their group had been discovered. Warriors clad in leather armor came rushing toward them from a distance of ten jang.
Their sprint was impressively swift, as if horse hooves were pounding the earth. Dust clouds rose behind the five men.
“Don’t kill them by mistake,” Jeong Yeon-shin commanded the martial artists of Ipwang Fortress. He didn’t wait for a response.
Thud.
The young lord stepped forward, activating the revolving wheel of energy within his heart.
The Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi surged through all his meridians like a wind enveloping his body.
The black fabric of his robe fluttered lightly. Without attacking, his body emitted a powerful burst of energy.
“Gasp...!”
Before even clashing, the enemies faltered. The same could be said for his allies.
Zhuge Hyeon took a small, sharp breath, like witnessing an artful fan performance, while Ak Ye-rim froze in place, as though encountering a strange beast.
With a forceful kick, Jeong Yeon-shin propelled himself forward, leaving a dark afterimage.
He deliberately drew his sword, immediately channeling the principles of Gwanghwa Sword Style. This was an opportunity to reflect on his swordsmanship in real combat against the Daebang Sect warriors.
The blade of Shin Geom Bukmyeong glowed faintly as it slashed horizontally.
Swish!
The weight of his steps fully carried into his strike.
The right arm of the leading enemy flashed with a streak of light before it vanished.
It was clearly cut, yet there was no resistance felt from the blade.
The faint glow of his sword ended the encounter with the enemy’s arm and weapon falling to the ground, lifeless.
“It’s the Young Lord of Ipwang!” the man shouted as he retreated. His quick wit was remarkable.
The ability to assess the situation, rumors, and his opponent’s appearance in an instant—it was impressive.
No wonder the Thirteen Heavens were called the Daebang Sect. It was something worth noting.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.
“Subdue them,” Jeong Yeon-shin instructed Ak Ye-rim and Zhuge Hyeon, who had caught up with him.
The boy’s steps didn’t halt. Four enemies remained.
Sim Mu-ryeon.
They called themselves a martial force.
When their numbers swelled, the quality of their martial artists naturally diminished. They were equivalent to the White Rank of Ipwang Fortress.
Perhaps they could pass as invincible warriors in the markets of wanderers.
If gathered in the hundreds, their power would indeed multiply significantly.
But in this moment, they were a small group, and their foe was the Black-Robed Young Lord of Ipwang Fortress.
Woong!
The wind brushing past their sleeves carried the sword’s glow. Another arm fell, followed by the hamstrings of two others being severed. It all happened in a single breath.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s overwhelming skill and decisive hand rendered the enemies powerless.
Meanwhile, one man’s reaction stood out. He evaded Bukmyeong’s sword by deflecting it, drawing a half-circle trajectory.
The white blade grazed the tip of his nose as he leaned back and returned to its original position.
Following Hyeon Won-chang’s advice, Jeong Yeon-shin had tempered his strike with only seventy percent of his strength, yet it was still an impressive feat.
“I’ve seen someone use a similar sword technique before,” the man growled in a rough voice.
His disheveled hair framed his face. It seemed he was referring to a martial artist from the Seomye lineage, who had refined Gwanghwa Sword Style.
The warriors of Ipwang Fortress often traveled to the central plains on missions.
For a martial artist of the Thirteen Heavens, it wasn’t uncommon to cross paths with them.
“There must be others like you,” the boy said.
Even for a Daebang Sect warrior, standing against the black rank of Ipwang Fortress was no different from being a mere wanderer.
Perhaps these martial artists had studied the techniques together after encountering similar foes. It was hard to think otherwise.
Such occurrences weren’t rare.
The martial arts of prestigious families were always subjects of counter-strategy. Their lofty reputation naturally attracted many enemies.
Renowned martial techniques often found countermeasures devised against them through approaches quite different from Jeong Yeon-shin’s. Their variability was vast, and their secret manuals were thick with diverse options.
Typically, dozens of techniques were employed to counter them.
Clang!
Jeong Yeon-shin pondered this as he exchanged blows with his opponent.
“The techniques of distinguished families are subtle, intricate, and offer numerous tactical choices.”
Such refinement was absent in the newer martial lineages. This was precisely why groups like the Daebang Sect maintained their standing for so long.
By analyzing and dismantling their opponent’s techniques, they recorded useful derivative movements into their own secret manuals.
It was a predicament often faced by martial artists of the Seomye lineage.
Even the Martial Alliance treated Jeong Yeon-shin this way.
Being on the receiving end, he found it oddly satisfying. It was more meticulous than what the Yullyeong Division Leader had managed—though that was because her martial prowess was so overwhelming.
Instead of understanding the structure of Gwanghwa Sword Style, they had been content to sever its fundamental threads.
However, this Sim Mu-ryeon martial artist wasn’t taking the easy way out, which pleased him.
“I need to craft a new form based on the principles of Gwanghwa Sword Style.”
The original form had been created when he was still a novice at the White Rank.
It drew significant inspiration from sword marks engraved on the cliffs of Zhongnan Mountain, but he hadn’t made major revisions since then.
There was much room for improvement.
Twisting his wrist, he prepared to launch another horizontal strike. The man reacted instantly, adjusting his sword to stand vertically, opposite Jeong Yeon-shin’s movement.
As Jeong Yeon-shin swung Bukmyeong outward from within his guard, the man extended his sword hand toward him.
Simultaneously, the man tilted the blade slightly toward his own head, creating a sloped pathway. From the fist gripping his sword emanated a burst of energy, aimed at Jeong Yeon-shin’s trajectory.
Clang!
Bukmyeong’s blade clashed against the man’s sword, leaving a mark while sparks ignited along its surface. At the same time, the man twisted his body to escape Jeong Yeon-shin’s sword path.
He had grasped the linear trajectory of Gwanghwa Sword Style and adapted accordingly. A faint smile crossed the man’s lips.
It was undoubtedly a moment of pride. He was holding his ground against the Black Rank techniques of Ipwang Fortress.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed the man, never halting his strikes.
Upon closer inspection, this man seemed to hold a reasonably high position within their formation.
“Thank you,” Jeong Yeon-shin muttered.
His opponent flinched at the unexpected words.
Woong.
The energy wheel spun within Jeong Yeon-shin’s palm as he gripped the sword.
Instead of drawing more energy, he altered his sword form. The diagonal trajectory of his blade curved into an arc.
Even the sword energy surrounding the blade followed this new trajectory, brushing past the man’s raised defense.
The man’s defensive posture was utterly mocked, leaving an open path for Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade.
“All I did was switch to a curved path.”
The intrigue that had briefly flickered across Jeong Yeon-shin’s face vanished. What had this man been so proud of?
“...!”
The man’s eyes widened. That was the end.
Thud!
Without hesitation, Jeong Yeon-shin cleaved through the man’s upper body. The impact reverberated through his grip on Bukmyeong.
His blade tore through the man’s protective qi and into his ribs, ensuring no potential threats would remain.
Should this man somehow survive by sheer luck, the martial artists of the Seomye lineage might face significant danger.
Splash!
As Jeong Yeon-shin withdrew his sword, a spray of blood arced through the air.
The open autumn forest stretched vividly before him, and the blood pooling beneath his feet painted the ground with stark clarity.
The red streaks on the ochre soil were like brushstrokes from an artist who spared no paint, vivid and deliberate.
It symbolized the precision of his strike, with no wasted energy or unnecessary violence. The man’s life had been ended without inflicting internal injuries.
The lifeless body collapsed at Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet with a dull thud.
Whoosh!
The boy in black robes flicked the blood from his sword before lowering it. He inclined his head slightly, as if entering a meditative state after a moment of realization.
With his refined features and closed eyes, he exuded a serene and enigmatic aura. His long eyelashes cast faint shadows, reminiscent of the young swordsmen often depicted in landscape paintings.
His quiet gaze and near-perfect swordsmanship lent him an air of mystery.
Despite his ruthless actions and blunt words, there was a sense of transcendence about him, akin to a Taoist master approaching enlightenment.
“It’s as if he knows his days are numbered...”
Ak Ye-rim, who had been staring at Jeong Yeon-shin as if entranced, suddenly snapped out of it. She bit her lower lip and brushed aside her long, braided hair, chastising herself for her momentary lapse.
She forced herself to speak.
“...The Young Lord of Ipwang Fortress is a cruel man. That power—you weren’t even using your full strength. You toyed with him before killing him.”
“Cruel? It might actually be the opposite,” Zhuge Hyeon responded immediately, his iron fan tucked at his waist.
“To cross swords without restraint with a master—it’s a matter of perspective. It’s too early to judge the Young Lord’s character.”
“....”
“For now, let’s focus on extracting information.”
There were four enemies left alive, subdued but not killed.
Taking care not to disturb Jeong Yeon-shin’s meditation, Zhuge Hyeon began interrogating the prisoners.
He asked many questions.
How many of them had scattered? What was their return schedule? Where was their leader, the Youngcheon Sword Demon?
Yet none of the prisoners spoke. Their lips were like vaults without keys.
As expected of warriors from the Daebang Sect of the Thirteen Heavens. The man who had previously spoken in front of Jeong Yeon-shin was an anomaly.
“It’s fine.”
Jeong Yeon-shin broke his meditation and spoke.
The group had now positioned themselves at the heart of the enemy encampment. This bold decision had been the Young Lord’s.
“Who goes there? What sect are you from?”
“Ipwang Fortress...!” one of the returning enemies exclaimed.
The looters had come back in groups of ten and eight.
Each time they rushed in with drawn weapons, they were countered and killed without exception.
The blood staining Jeong Yeon-shin’s Bukmyeong Sword deepened into the hue of sunset.
Despite Zhuge Hyeon and Ak Ye-rim’s intentions to assist, Jeong Yeon-shin stopped them, using this as an opportunity to refine his swordsmanship alone.
Earlier, the man who had confessed spoke of one hundred fifty enemies.
It wasn’t a lie.
Two days passed. The encampment was filled with corpses. Every single one bore the marks of his sword.