In the heart of the Murim Alliance, a meeting took place between the most significant financial power of the Alliance and Jeong Yeon-shin, the Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress.
This encounter immediately captured the attention of those who had been cautiously avoiding the two figures.
“Lady Ye? Wasn’t she originally known for her red hair?”
“You’re behind on the news. It’s said she’s achieved mastery in her martial arts technique.”
“Mastery of the Tona Technique? That’s news to me.”
“Unmarried members of the Ye family don’t reveal their names. It’s said that their distinctive reddish-black hair, resembling the aura of blood arts, manifests in their descendants. Once their cultivation deepens, they regain their black hair. Apparently, this transformation occurred during the opening ceremony.”
“During the opening ceremony? Were there many witnesses?”
“There were plenty. Many heads of prominent clans and the Alliance Leader were present. Having proven her lineage, wealth, and martial prowess, she was appointed to the position of General Commander of the Alliance.”
“Is this something we can dismiss as merely coincidental? It’s far too similar, isn’t it?”
The man in yellow robes lowered his voice, prompting a swordsman to chuckle softly.
“It is said that enlightenment comes unexpectedly. A master cannot hide the aura that emerges when they break through their limits. It happened when Namgung Hwa-shin, the White Qilin, faced a crisis during a duel. Suddenly, her aura surged from the observation deck, washing away her red hair into jet black. Personally, I found it as impressive as the martial display by the Eon Clan’s warriors. It dispelled even the smallest doubts.”
“Namgung Hwa-shin! What happened to her? I heard she faced a seasoned master from Hongwon Sect?”
“Not just a seasoned master, but their leader. A veteran in his forties...”
Jeong Yeon-shin heard everything.
He had already picked up on the conversations before Ye Harin approached.
The Radiant Wheel Technique was the culmination of his inner cultivation. If it had stirred even for a moment, it was no trivial matter.
Thus, he remained still.
When she drew close enough, he briefly recalled the Seventh Apostle. Her cheerful tone seemed strangely detached from reality.
Had her voice been more similar, his suspicions might have deepened.
The angles of her jawbone and cheekbones were slightly broader than those of the Seventh Apostle. Her brow and the bridge of her nose were also marginally wider.
These features corresponded to points where neural and energy pathways intersected—areas impervious to even the most skilled disguise techniques.
Even so, he needed to be certain.
He did not react as she reached out. It was the same approach he used to instantly discern the martial energy of the Demonic Sect.
He intended to confirm her true essence through contact. Yet, the Radiant Wheel Technique—after pulsing once—remained unresponsive.
Even when her hand made full contact, it stayed still.
Unless she possessed an extraordinary treasure capable of perfectly concealing her aura, she was most likely a genuine martial artist of the orthodox path.
“Perhaps my technique reacted first.”
If she had purified her energy through advanced cultivation, it was possible. Mount Hua’s Yu Hyeon had achieved a similar result through the renowned Purple Radiance Divine Art.
Likewise, Wei Ji Myo-hwa, who cultivated the Taoist martial arts of the Zhongnan Sect, would exhibit similar traits.
As these thoughts settled in his mind, the boy remained composed.
“You seem bolder than you look. Despite your stoic demeanor, you strike me as someone with a gentle heart,” Ye Harin remarked, pulling back her hand with a faint smile.
Her fingers lingered briefly, the tips of her index and middle finger—those used in sword gestures—being the last to leave his hand.
Clearly, she was a martial artist who trained earnestly.
“If it feels like I’ve revealed too much, consider this: the name I just told you is my childhood name. The name I received upon coming of age is reserved for significant moments.”
“Relay the Sword Saint’s message properly,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied curtly.
Ye Harin’s smile deepened.
“That’s truly all there is to it. His suggestion was to delay if necessary. Whether to comply or not is up to you. Who in this place could claim the right to dictate the actions of Ipwang Fortress’ Black Lord?”
“Understood.”
Jeong Yeon-shin gave a short response, though he felt a faint tickling sensation deep in his energy core.
It was a concentrated display of goodwill, threading through his Baihui Point, which had been more open than usual of late.
It originated from Ye Harin, whose smiling face left an impression akin to candy melting in the mind. She was a profoundly intriguing individual.
The boy shook his head internally and began walking forward.
At that moment, Ye Harin clasped her fluttering white sleeves behind her.
“Namgung Hwa-shin stepped in for you in the opening tournament. She’s likely preparing for the next match.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“We’ll see each other often from now on. My duty is to ensure you’re treated with utmost respect. As an envoy of the Dae Bang Sect, not part of the Alliance, I must exercise exceptional care,” she added with a playful smile.
With that, she left a message discouraging unannounced visits but suggesting she wouldn’t turn him away.
Jeong Yeon-shin paused briefly before resuming his walk.
Tae Yeom-ryong, who had been surveying the Alliance’s martial artists, quickly followed. Walking alongside, he lowered his head slightly.
“She’s arrogant, but she doesn’t cross the line. When she touched your hand earlier, she even lightly relaxed her forearm muscles. She’s trained in orthodox martial arts, and her inner energy control is remarkable.”
“...”
“The famous Lady Ye herself. Among the younger generation here, few can resist admiring her. Even the White Path’s prim noblemen, raised to value refinement, are utterly captivated.”
Tae Yeom-ryong chuckled, his sly gaze glancing at his superior’s expression.
He understood the weight of the Great Return Pill, the prize of the tournament, for Jeong Yeon-shin.
The boy had gifted the Small Return Pill, obtained during the Sichuan mission, to his grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok.
The pill, presented as an award for distinguished service, had been left at his grandfather’s bedside.
Having nearly perished in his duel with the Bloodflame Cult Leader, Ma Yeon-jeok now frequently lost consciousness.
“The Small Return Pill isn’t enough.”
Jeong Yeon-shin clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword.
The Great Return Pill, renowned second only to the mythical fruit of the Heavenly Tree, might suffice.
He sought not the restoration of martial prowess but merely the freedom to move without restraint.
The image of his grandfather, blocking the Bloodflame Cult Leader amidst a storm of blue flames, remained vivid—a rare act of familial love seared into his memory.
“I’ll focus on the tournament for now,” Jeong Yeon-shin finally said.
Tae Yeom-ryong chuckled softly.
“I like it when the Lord’s determination is fully channeled into one thing. It makes things thrilling. But wasn’t the tournament already underway?”
“What of it?” Hyeon Won-chang interjected, his eyes gleaming faintly with inner energy as he turned to walk alongside them.
“These fools need a lesson in shame. All you need to do, Lord, is wield your sword.”
“That’s convenient,” muttered Tae Yeom-ryong as the Alliance’s martial artists receded behind them.
Even among the curious onlookers, none dared approach the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord and his companions.
As the boy and his entourage entered Yunhyangwon, the usual serene silence of the residence was absent.
A faint scent of blood lingered in the air.
The servants, startled by the sudden arrival of the boy and his group, stepped aside. Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze landed on Namgung Hwa-shin in the courtyard.
Bent over a small pond, she dipped her hands into the water. Her posture was unusually disheveled for a master of her caliber.
One foot rested on a rock, and she wiped blood from her lips with the back of her hand.
Realizing their presence, she straightened herself as if to conceal her condition but hesitated when she knew it was too late. A sheepish smile crossed her face.
“It’s a relief that you’re safe,” Namgung Hwa-shin said.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed her.
“You stepped into the ring on my behalf, I hear.”
“I was fortunate enough not to lose. I’m glad I didn’t encounter any post-generation prodigies. The martial artists I faced were seasoned veterans, offering excellent opportunities for study. From what I hear, most of the younger martial artists have been eliminated, leaving primarily middle-aged experts.”
Her tone was measured. Was this the same face her elder brother, Namgung Se-jin, often saw?
She smiled faintly, her weariness apparent despite her calm demeanor.
“....”
The autumn wind brushed against the boy’s face. Jeong Yeon-shin felt its translucent touch as silence lingered between them.
The ripples in the pond spread outward in waves.
The boy finally spoke. “Thank you.”
***
The Next Day
News of the return of the delegation from Ipwang Fortress received little attention.
Read latest chapters at freёweɓnovel.com Only.
The martial artists of the Murim Alliance who had witnessed their arrival near the main gate felt a pang of shame and chose to remain silent.
Even the leaders of the Murim Alliance refrained from widely publicizing the defeat of Simmuryun.
The festival days of the Murim Alliance's opening tournament were meant to uplift morale and public sentiment. This grand martial arts celebration unfolding in Hanzhong, Shaanxi, was nothing short of a monumental event.
“Radiant Zen Sword (휘선검), the Hero of Yeoju (여주일협)! Step forth and broaden the vision of your fellow martial artists!”
The powerful voice, imbued with martial energy, echoed across the grounds. It was none other than Zhuge Cheon, acting General Commander, clad in deep green martial robes, who personally stepped forward.
He stood atop the massive circular arena that symbolized the orthodoxy of the White Path martial world and the Murim Alliance. A tremendous roar from the crowd filled the air.
“WAAAAAAAH!”
Thousands of people surrounded the arena, their fervor turning the atmosphere into one reminiscent of midsummer.
Wooden watchtowers surrounding the grounds were packed with people, miraculously holding up under the weight.
A middle-aged man wearing yellow robes ascended the stage. He was Seop Un-cheol, known as the Radiant Zen Sword, a local martial artist born and raised in Hanzhong.
His sharp, deep-set eyes and darkly polished sword hinted at his extraordinary nature. He was also widely recognized as the brother-in-law of the Zhuge Clan Leader.
Approaching from the opposite side was So Jun, the Hero of Yeoju, whose aura was equally remarkable.
The moment So Jun stepped onto the arena, the spectators in the watchtowers swayed.
Such was the strength of the energy emanating from his movements.
The presence of these seasoned masters was distinctly different from the prodigies of the younger generation.
These were the true contenders for supremacy in the opening tournament.
“There are so many dragons and tigers here. Was it really necessary to rush the schedule?”
“Precautions had to be taken.”
“And what of public perception?”
“Hanzhong already belongs to the Alliance. Under the banner of righteousness, any shame is diluted.”
“You’re right, General Commander. After all... it’s not as if there are no masters below the rank of Elder who could stand against Ma Gwang-ik Lord. Even the heads of various sects are in their prime, thriving in their middle age. The Mount Hua Sword Sage has also descended from the mountains, has he not?”
“That’s a topic best avoided. Sending a young prodigy barely past his youth against them was Ipwang Fortress’s ploy. For us, a loss would have been a disgrace, and a victory would hardly have been complete.”
This conversation took place in the observation pavilion reserved for the leaders of the Murim Alliance. Beneath an opulent canopy, they exchanged low whispers in the shade.
A sense of victory, cultivated over a lifetime, flowed gracefully among them.
These were the noble families of the martial world, living their lives according to their own rules.
In one corner, a middle-aged swordsman in Mount Hua Sect robes furrowed his brow, his arms crossed as he sat with his eyes closed, exuding discomfort.
Similarly, So Geomhwi, a Small Sword Queen and representative of Jeomchang Sect, sat with a dazed expression, her unease barely concealed.
For sects that honed their arts in the mountains, the Murim Alliance’s opening tournament represented an unstoppable current signaling a new era.
“Radiant Zen Sword versus the Hero of Yeoju. Who’s your bet on?”
“I’ve already wagered half of my remaining fortune on the Mount Hua Sword Sage and the Eon Clan’s Master, but just witnessing this duel is enlightening. I think Radiant Zen Sword’s techniques might be sharper. He was once hailed as the greatest prodigy in Hanzhong.”
“Those near Yeoju might disagree.”
As the crowd chattered excitedly, Seop Un-cheol and So Jun faced off in the arena.
The excitement reached a fever pitch, the cheers growing deafening.
On the fourth day of this unparalleled festival, yet another grand match was about to commence.
But then—
BOOM!
A flag struck the center of the arena at an angle, embedding itself into the ground with immense force.
A shockwave spread from the impact, sending dust spiraling outward in concentric circles. A surge of energy rippled through the ground.
The white flag tied to the steel pole flapped violently, revealing a bold Hwang (荒) character embroidered on its surface.
“Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress! I, Jeong Yeon-shin, the Seomye who pities the common folk of Hanzhong, have arrived!”
A young voice roared across the grounds, amplified with powerful martial energy.
The aura emanating from the flag mirrored the resonance of his voice, as if it carried the might of a lion’s roar.
“I have vanquished the Youngcheon Sword Demon and the forces of Simmuryun!”
The thunderous declaration seemed to shake the very air.
A sudden commotion erupted. Such a brazen display was nearly unthinkable in the White Path martial world.
Though reckless, the scene stirred the ambition of all who witnessed it. A tidal wave of murmurs spread in all directions.
In the blink of an eye, as hundreds of martial artists processed what they had seen, a boy clad in black stood beneath the white flag of Ipwang Fortress. His presence was electrifying.
A gale whipped through the arena, delayed by his staggering footwork.
His black coat and hair billowed together as the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord slowly parted his lips.
“As an envoy, I intended to participate, but I was delayed by my own shortcomings. Wasn’t this Alliance formed to stand against Ipwang Fortress? What meaning is there without me? Is it not so?”
His demeanor radiated arrogance, his tone dripping with audacity.
The young supreme master stood proudly between Seop Un-cheol and So Jun, his posture exuding authority.
Tilting his smooth chin slightly, he gazed down at the crowd below.
“Ma Gwang-ik Lord?”
“That presence...!”
The boy ignored the two seasoned masters entirely.
With one hand clasped behind his back, he gripped the flagpole with the other and raised it effortlessly before speaking.
“Ipwang Fortress does not shy from challenges.”
With that, he drove the flagpole back into the ground.
THUD!
A heavy vibration reverberated through the arena, sending waves of energy outward in a circular pattern, mingled with a faint breeze.
The flagpole stood perfectly upright, the Hwang character on the flag rippling proudly.
“I take full responsibility for my tardiness. From this moment forward, I shall face every match alone.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curled into a smirk.
“You need not worry about the shame of a rotation battle.”
“...”
The world seemed to freeze, suspended in a few breaths of stunned silence.