The Murim Alliance's Founding Battle Tournament was held with great grandeur.
To secure provisions and rival Ipwang Fortress, prestige was essential—especially during times of severe famine.
As the world steadily descended into chaos, public sentiment and appearances were more critical than ever. The alliance aimed to establish its position as the supreme federation of the martial world.
The gates were opened.
The Murim Alliance's sheer scale rivaled even Ipwang Fortress. The banner of chivalry it raised was the impression it sought to leave.
Through the Founding Battle Tournament, it created a presence. Experts from the mysterious sects, inheritors of singular martial arts, knocked on the gates, while swordsmen from the Mount Hua Sect descended from the mountains.
Renowned masters of prestigious clans also made grand appearances.
A martial artist of the Eon Clan donned leather gauntlets. One by one, prominent experts with star-like reputations revealed themselves.
The alliance had spent significant time preparing for this moment.
The beggars of the Beggar Sect spread rumors in every marketplace and pasted notices everywhere. People couldn't help but take notice.
It was said to be a stage for the righteous martial artists of the White Path to display their prowess.
Crowds swarmed in.
The vast lands of Hanzhong had no villages left unvisited. Fires in the roadside inns and taverns lining the streets never went out.
“I’ve been blessed with a feast for my eyes. The Mo Yong Clan’s River-Severing Sword Style truly lives up to its name. I wonder how the Mount Hua Sect's Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Style will measure up. They say it’s the most dazzling sword art under heaven—I’m thrilled just thinking about it. Missing it would’ve been a lifelong regret.”
“I saw nothing myself. Your sect's martial arts must be more impressive than I thought—or is it just boasting?”
“Boasting? How could a low-tier practitioner grasp the vision of a master?”
Laughter and chatter mingled. The wide road leading to the gates was so packed that there was barely room to step.
On days when word spread of a well-known expert stepping into the ring, the streets transformed into bustling marketplaces.
Peasants sold flatbread and candy. Even the errand boys from rundown inns came out to pester passersby.
A sea of people.
It was an apt description of the crowds. Today was no exception.
“I never knew such pavilions existed in this world. Tall, grand, and elegant. It truly felt like another realm. Perhaps the Murim Alliance truly is the best under heaven.”
“The real otherworldly marvel was the Eon Clan’s Heaven-Defying Fist. Is it not a display of shaking heaven and earth with mere human strength? I now understand why noble clans act so loftily, like royalty. It’s as if they could singlehandedly defy an army.”
The focused attention was overwhelming. For ordinary people, getting a glimpse of the Murim Alliance’s main hall was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Even if they managed to enter, their movements would be heavily restricted, and their identities meticulously verified. Yet enduring such scrutiny was a price worth paying.
Peasants, merchants, minor sect martial artists, and bodyguards protecting traveling goods—
The tide of humanity was even a spectacle for the martial artists of the Murim Alliance themselves.
Opportunities to take in such vast crowds at a glance were rare. Even for the man and woman seated atop the seventh-story pavilion inside the alliance’s main hall.
It was a vantage point that overlooked the grand road leading to the gates.
“The Murim Alliance Leader is definitely not the Sword Saint. The Zhuge Clan Leader is deciding everything.”
The woman sprawled almost lazily against the roof beams said. She was none other than the Lady Ye of the Ye family.
Her eyes were covered with a soft, white cloth, but she glanced downward as if possessing clairvoyant powers.
“Why are there so many of them? They look like cockroaches.”
“In comparison to the noble bloodline, that is so,” replied the middle-aged man dressed neatly in pure white martial robes. He stood upright beneath Lady Ye.
Even as strong winds howled, his posture showed no sign of faltering. The presence of martial discipline was ingrained in him.
“The Zhuge Clan Leader’s dominance was inevitable. Establishing a legitimate federation in their ancestral lands—it’s the price for their years of underground toil. They now stand at the forefront of Murim’s governance.”
“At least the Sword Saint is on my side. That’s a relief.”
Lady Ye spoke as she gently adjusted her long, white blindfold with elegant fingers.
“I wasn’t sure it would work. I never imagined someone like that would fall for it. He has no clue. These so-called supreme masters—they’re all eccentric with their own flaws. Even the late Cult Leader was like that. Why do you think that is?”
“There are stages of enlightenment that are achieved only by relinquishing sanity. The absolute masters of this era likely embody such extremes. There is a saying that the realm of absolute mastery is one of madness. It was the Commander of the Ipwang Divine Swords who remarked this.”
“Hmm, but the Rogue Hero was slightly different. The method he used to burn the Cult Leader was something even the First Apostle should have witnessed. Perhaps it’s because he’s our Taesa’s grandfather, but he truly recognized and mastered those techniques? I was so envious.”
“Underestimating the Sword Saint is unwise. The moment even a trace of our sect’s martial techniques becomes apparent in his conduct, it would spell catastrophe. As your humble servant, I have repeatedly counseled caution, but more vigilance is always required.”
“Is this unreliable?”
Lady Ye brushed her fingers lightly across the edges of her blindfold, causing a glimmer to flash in the middle-aged man’s eyes.
“That is undoubtedly a sacred relic of our sect. It is a magical artifact passed down through generations of Cult Leaders, designed to protect the direct lineage from the lowly masses. The noble bloodline has always been a target, even without practicing blood arts.”
“So this really is the object that sustained our lineage?”
“When a noble descendent veils their eyes with it, none can identify them. Within the realm of sorcery, it distorts perception. As long as no blood arts are displayed, the illusion remains intact. Its limitations are minimal, making it truly a divine relic.”
“But didn’t you say not to let my guard down?”
“Even if one’s disposition, voice, and appearance are concealed, behavior is another matter.”
“That’s a line I’ve heard too often. I’m feeling a bit anxious. Our Taesa will be here soon. He is a divine being who has developed purifying techniques using inner strength. What if we’re discovered?”
Her fingers, which had been fidgeting with her blindfold, moved down to toy with the ends of her obsidian-black hair, twisting it slightly.
The middle-aged man, standing with a blank expression as if blind to her actions, responded calmly.
“You have erased all traces of your original habits. You possess qualities surpassing even the previous Cult Leader. With the deepest respect, I advise you to focus solely on your conduct. That is the hardest task of all.”
“Well, fine. Either way, I can’t wait. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to stay this close.”
“...The sacred relic is unparalleled in the world. Treasure it deeply.”
“There’s only one thing precious to me.”
Lady Ye’s lips curved into a smooth smile. It was flawless.
***
Jeong Yeon-shin, accompanied by his party, stepped inside the main hall of the Murim Alliance.
The energy exuding from the countless people inside was almost overwhelming, stimulating his Baihui Point relentlessly.
At the same time, a subtle sense of incongruity nagged at him.
"Golden silk robes... What an ostentatious outfit for such a young noble."
"Wait a moment. At that age, wearing the Hwang (荒) character and a black longcoat... Could that be none other than the Seomye of Ipwang Fortress, Ma Gwang-ik Lord?"
"What? He’s real?!"
"Stop acting like a bumpkin from Guangdong. You’ll only get on his nerves. Let’s just quietly pass by."
It was different from before. There were no gazes of challenge or hostility mingled with curiosity.
Those unaffiliated with the Murim Alliance stared at Jeong Yeon-shin and his party with interest, while the Alliance’s martial artists deliberately averted their eyes and let them pass.
“They must be aware of their shame. Inviting an envoy and then starting the opening ceremony without them?”
Hуeon Won-chang’s sarcasm was blatant, but no response came. Gongsun Min and So Geomhwi, walking alongside them, wore awkward expressions, a rare sight.
"Could this be some kind of misunderstanding?"
The young scion of the Gong Sun family spoke. Despite his youth, he was the heir of a great noble family, and his pitch-black eyes sparked with ebony flames—the manifestation of his clan's unique internal power.
He had recently witnessed Ma Gwang-ik Lord resolve a duel with the Sword Sovereign of Hanam Province.
Gongsun Min’s face displayed a mix of shame and inner turmoil.
“For an organization claiming to be righteous, this is shameful. Even if noble clans chase worldly fame, my family would never agree to this. It’s a disgrace to the principles of pure martial arts.”
“Well, reports say Simmuryun has retreated. There must be more than a few beggars of the Beggar Sect roaming Hanzhong. If someone from a noble family had achieved what Lord Jeong has, they would have been out here greeting him ages ago.”
So Geomhwi of the Small Sword Queen raised her drowsy-looking brows with some effort as she spoke. Both she and Gongsun Min glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin, betraying their unease.
This was unlike her usual detached demeanor, a sign that the matter was no trivial affair.
Jeong Yeon-shin gave them a calm glance.
“Rest for now.”
It was a brief statement from the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik, the black-clad expert who had resolved the Alliance’s dilemma singlehandedly.
Gongsun Min widened his eyes and murmured something unintelligible, thinking he should retrieve his sword from Mo Yong-myeongjun.
The group split up.
Jeong Yeon-shin had no intention of reporting his progress to the Sword Saint. His priority was to check on Namgung Hwa-shin, who had been left behind.
If the Alliance had hastily launched the opening ceremony for the tournament, Namgung Hwa-shin—given his temperament—would not have remained idle.
Among the vast crowd, Jeong Yeon-shin noticed people scattering in all directions. Upon seeing him, they began to move.
It appeared that martial artists from various factions within the Alliance were heading off to report to their superiors.
Thud.
The young Ma Gwang-ik Lord stepped forward slowly.
With every step, the crowd parted. Faces filled with unease and curiosity spread in all directions.
The reaction to the envoy from Ipwang Fortress became the focus of attention. Would the Founding Battle Tournament end in disaster?
Or would the festival energy that enveloped Hanzhong transform into a declaration of the Murim Alliance's power, spreading across Zhongyuan?
“The Murim Alliance is vast yet insular. What could have happened?”
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
The boy, flanked by Tae Yeom-ryong and Hуeon Won-chang, walked silently, his thoughts occupied with Namgung Hwa-shin, his most trusted ally and subordinate.
Namgung Hwa-shin would undoubtedly have raised objections.
In martial circles, discussions often led to physical confrontations. The difference between the demonic and righteous factions was merely one of justification.
When disagreements couldn’t be resolved, matters were typically decided by martial prowess. In such a world, the words of a master were law.
If Namgung Hwa-shin’s opposition had been silenced, Jeong Yeon-shin was prepared to use the Alliance's inner halls as a proving ground for his new swordsmanship.
“If they thought a righteous sect would hesitate to draw their swords, they were mistaken.”
Hуeon Won-chang would undoubtedly clarify the justification. The wounds inflicted by the Youngcheon Sword Demon could be settled by seizing the Poppy of the Red Demon.
Srrrk.
Almost unconsciously, Jeong Yeon-shin’s left hand moved to grasp the hilt of his sword, encasing the blade in the aura of the North Star Divine Sword Technique.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
The martial artists of the Alliance were stunned. Did they think they were about to witness a supreme master draw their sword without warning?
At that moment—
Step, step.
A soft and light sound of footsteps echoed. It was unusually distinct.
“Hm?”
The presence approached quickly, their footwork dreamy, as if walking on clouds.
Within a few steps, they were close enough for Jeong Yeon-shin to catch their scent.
The figure wore pure white robes, their wide sleeves flowing. The outfit straddled the line between martial attire and formal robes.
The woman walked directly toward Jeong Yeon-shin. Her eyes were covered with white silk, and a single strand of hair was tied elegantly behind her.
Her appearance was carefully groomed, but her confident stride was striking.
Was she blind, or a martial artist training in heightened senses?
“...”
The surroundings fell silent.
Perhaps it was her status. Or perhaps her appearance.
Sunlight filtering through the leaves cast dappled light on her elegant features, highlighting her fine nose and porcelain-white skin, which gleamed with a smooth radiance.
Her hair swayed delicately as she moved, exuding an air of mystery.
“She’s training both her mental technique and movement skill. Her perception is extraordinary.”
From the faintness of her breath and her movements, Jeong Yeon-shin could sense her energy.
Even the positioning of her big toe on her soft pink shoes subtly followed the principles of the Eight Trigrams.
Her lively steps seemed to ripple with faint energy.
It was as if the autumn breeze touched her alone, rendering her uniquely transparent. Her every movement carried an innate elegance.
She breathed as though embodying martial arts itself.
If one were to define beauty in the martial world, it might take this form.
Jeong Yeon-shin felt a strange sensation in his heart. The movement of the Radiant Wheel Technique was unmistakable.
For a brief moment, there was a pulse—somewhere between resistance and resonance. A portion of the energy within the Radiant Wheel Technique had stirred.
Why, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was due to the unique aura the woman carried.
“What is this?”
As Jeong Yeon-shin pondered, the woman approached and spoke.
Her demeanor suggested she paid no heed to the martial artists surrounding them.
“It doesn’t have to be now. That’s the Sword Saint’s message.”
“What?”
“Oh, can I speak casually? I know you’re the Lord of Ipwang Fortress. But I’m an envoy, representing the great merchants. Let’s drop the formalities. I even speak casually with the Supreme Commander.”
“State your name and status.”
The young Ma Gwang-ik Lord replied tersely.
At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt a peculiar sensation of eye contact, though no malice touched his Danjeon energy sense.
The feeling was akin to the night sky gazing upon him. A brief silence followed.
Then, the woman, now standing right before him, let a faint smile emerge—a bewitching expression.
“This is a secret, but since the great Lord of Ma Gwang-ik asked, I’ll tell you.”
She extended her elegant fingers, her crimson lips moving softly.
“Ye Clan Sword Sect, Ye Merchant Guild.”
Her pale fingertips rested on Jeong Yeon-shin’s clenched hand, which gripped the hilt of his sword. A faint, unfamiliar fragrance spread.
She gently layered her hand atop the stance of the Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s sword-drawing technique, then bowed her head slightly.
A soft exhale scattered near the boy’s collarbone.
“My name is Ye Harin,” she whispered.