A daunting hoenyeongi (heroic aura) filled the air.
The proclamation of a duel against the Murim Alliance had just been made—a declaration that one would single-handedly take on the entire Alliance.
Jeong Yeon-shin deliberately smiled. He had taken Hyeon Won-chang’s advice to heart.
Even the faintest smile, he had said, would be a near-irresistible provocation.
Though Jeong didn’t entirely understand why, Hyeon Won-chang’s insights into handling tense situations had proven their worth on numerous occasions.
Disrupting the grand structure of the event through such a sudden intrusion was unlikely to go smoothly, but that wasn’t the point.
“Keep pressing them relentlessly,” Hyeon had said.
“...”
A chilling silence descended upon the crowd.
The fluttering white flag cast back every ray of sunlight. Beneath it stood Jeong Yeon-shin, calmly looking down on the Murim Alliance warriors.
It was as if the grandeur of the Ipwang Fortress was on full display at the opening tournament. This was the presence of the Ma Gwang-ik Lord, who had returned victorious from his heroic journey.
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“Is that young lord truly the Ma Gwang-ik Lord?”
“He defeated Simmuryun...?”
Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd, especially among those less familiar with the inner workings of Murim.
Their temples bore shallow indentations at the taiyang acupoints, and their attire was more mercantile than martial, distinguishing them as onlookers from outside the martial world.
If what the loud youth earlier had said was true—if the martial forces of Simmuryun had truly been repelled—then this was no ordinary occasion for the common folk of Hanzhong.
Trade routes had been paralyzed, and livelihoods had suffered as a result.
“If more people are entering the city safely these days...”
“Then perhaps the masters of Ipwang Fortress have shown mercy...!”
“Go confirm this at once!”
A flurry of movement erupted. Dust rose as people scattered in all directions.
Ordinary citizens, monks, small-scale merchants, and even guards associated with trade caravans—all reacted differently.
Expressions ranging from confusion to admiration spread across their faces.
The mention of Simmuryun’s name alone stirred a mixture of awe and unease.
For many martial sects, the Thirteen Heavens of the Unorthodox Path were an unassailable monolith, their sheer presence suffocating any opposition.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s exploits had earned him the title of the “Dark King of Huazhong” for his role in the affairs of the Thirteen Heavens in Sichuan.
Defeating one of their major factions was an event that resonated far and wide.
“...”
The warriors of the Murim Alliance remained silent. Some sat or stood in a daze, their gazes locked onto the faint smirk of the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord.
And then, from one corner of the observation stands, a bold voice rang out.
“The Lord of Ipwang Fortress speaks no falsehoods. He does not barter with his sense of honor. In reverence to the noble Lord of Ipwang Fortress, whose martial path is righteous and whose heroism is steadfast, let it be known that Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s deeds are true. His vow to commemorate this opening tournament alone is no empty boast. Not a single word is without weight.”
It was a proclamation worthy of a hero, spoken in praise of his lord.
This was a declaration of war. The warriors of Ipwang Fortress had challenged the Murim Alliance.
A flag from another faction had been planted amidst the territory of a righteous sect, yet there was nothing crass or vulgar about it. On the contrary, it was a strikingly dignified act of provocation.
Some in the crowd couldn’t help but admire it.
“What eloquence. His words are like a blade.”
“Anyone from the western provinces would recognize that young man. That’s Hyeon Won-chang of Ipwang Fortress, the hero who defended the people from the Blood Demons. I never thought I’d see him here, but it seems he serves the Ma Gwang-ik Lord.”
The opening tournament was meant to showcase martial prowess and resolve, a gathering of forces under a common banner of righteous ideals.
Hyeon Won-chang’s words had struck a powerful chord, embodying the very spirit of the event. This was no mere disruption.
“Truly audacious. No—magnificent.”
“A duel between the Murim Alliance and Ipwang Fortress...”
The crowd’s attention split into three distinct directions: the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord, the observation stand of the Murim Alliance leaders, and the arena where Zhuge Cheon, acting as the General Commander’s proxy, still stood.
An unspoken expectation filled the air. People wanted the challenge to be accepted.
Though no one dared to voice it outright, the weight of their collective gaze made it clear.
“...”
Zhuge Cheon remained silent.
As the acting General Commander, his lips were pressed tightly together, betraying no emotion. Speaking prematurely might reveal uncertainty, which he could not afford.
After all, the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord, though an invited guest, had now become an uninvited provocateur.
As a representative of the Murim Alliance, Zhuge Cheon could not afford to appear weak.
“This is a dilemma.”
It was a significant matter. Accepting the challenge lightly would be reckless, but rejecting it outright would deal a severe blow to the Alliance’s honor.
Zhuge Cheon glanced toward the canopy where the leaders sat. The decision needed to come from them; it was not his to make.
At that moment, Seop Un-cheol, the Radiant Zen Sword, spoke up.
He was one of the seasoned masters who had stepped forward to duel on the fourth day of the opening tournament, alongside So Jun, the Hero of Yeoju.
Beneath his refined brows, his eyes glinted with martial energy as he fixed his gaze on Jeong Yeon-shin.
“So, the Ipwang Fortress’s foremost virtue has changed. It seems eloquence has replaced martial prowess and chivalry as its mainstay.”
“Isn’t it your righteous sects that favor debates over swordplay?”
The young lord of Ipwang Fortress replied.
He stood by the white flag with the Hwang character, his posture calm and composed.
Clad in immaculate black robes, he carried himself with the dignity of the commander of Ipwang Fortress’s martial forces.
The boy supreme master did not even glance at the Radiant Zen Sword or the Hero of Yeoju.
“Enough chatter. Draw your blade.”
His words sent a ripple through the crowd. Such bluntness was rarely seen in the righteous path.
The flowing edges of his black coat remained serene amidst the tense atmosphere.
Despite the audacity of his words, the boy’s striking appearance gave him an air of nobility, lending a strange allure to his arrogance.
A gentle breeze swept across him, brushing against his garments with an almost ethereal clarity.
In a world where spectacles were rare, many had walked miles to witness such a sight.
A strikingly handsome martial hero, bold and unyielding in his demeanor, was an unforgettable sight—an extraordinary display that left many in awe.
“The gallantry is remarkable...”
“Are all the high-ranking warriors of Ipwang Fortress like this? He looks like he’s from a utopia.”
“I finally understand what they mean by throwing fruits to fill the cart. I’d have done the same if I had any to spare...”
The story of throwing fruits to fill the cart referred to an ancient tale from the Three Kingdoms period. A young man of exceptional beauty, Ban Ak, had been so admired that people filled his cart with fruits.
Both noble heirs like Gongsun Min and daughters of prestigious families openly displayed their admiration for Jeong Yeon-shin, heedless of the Murim Alliance’s disapproval.
To reject this challenge would be the ultimate humiliation.
“This is bad... What’s the true extent of Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s martial prowess? It’s said he overcame half of Simmuryun’s forces, including the Youngcheon Sword Demon, unscathed. While we have warriors who might stand a chance, for one so young to prevail...”
As Zhuge Cheon anxiously exchanged messages with the leaders under the canopy, Seop Un-cheol’s expression turned resolute.
A scion of the renowned martial Seop family of Hanzhong, he had long sought to cement his family’s legacy.
This opening tournament was his opportunity to display his family’s greatness to all who had gathered from far and wide.
To retreat now was unthinkable. Even if he lost, he had to fight.
The warriors of Ipwang Fortress had maneuvered him into a corner.
A cold gleam flickered in Seop Un-cheol’s eyes.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He stepped forward, his voice steady.
The pride of a seasoned master often disregarded reputational differences.
His years of painstaking cultivation were not merely techniques—they were his very life. They represented the pride of a master and the indelible marks of a lifetime.
Regardless of his opponent’s prowess, even if they were one of Ipwang Fortress’s most formidable warriors, he would not falter without a fight.
“Come.”
The Young Ma Gwang-ik Lord Speaks
Seop Un-cheol said nothing in reply. Instead, he silently raised his left hand, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
“Wait a moment!”
The voice came from the opposite side of the dueling platform. A middle-aged man stomped his foot heavily, causing the platform to tremble under the force.
It was So Jun, the Hero of Yeoju and Seop Un-cheol’s original opponent.
“You think to alter the structure of the opening tournament so hastily? I, So Jun, cannot consent to this!”
“Hero So, please step back. I, Seop Un-cheol, will safeguard the dignity of the Alliance.”
“This is not a decision to make so rashly! This is a matter of great consequence!”
So Jun’s sharp words reverberated as he turned his gaze to Jeong Yeon-shin.
“The Murim Alliance’s opening tournament still has four days remaining. By my count, more than forty masters of unparalleled skill have yet to showcase their craft. These are men and women renowned throughout the martial world, each capable of taking on a hundred foes. Their abilities are extraordinary.”
“...”
“Even if each duel lasts a mere twenty exchanges, that’s six hundred bouts. Six hundred breaths exchanged in a climactic battle. Young Lord, consider carefully. No matter how deep your cultivation, no one can endure such an ordeal unscathed. Should you retract your words, none would dare hold it against you.”
So Jun’s tone was calm, though his lips trembled ever so slightly.
The unexpected emergence of the Ma Gwang-ik Lord had thrown everything into disarray.
This could not be allowed to continue. The boy needed to be reminded of reality and promptly removed from the platform.
‘Let him falter a few times later on, but for now...’
If this debacle began here and now, everyone would be swept up in the Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s provocation.
All eyes, including those of Zhuge Cheon, So Jun, and numerous other martial artists and heroes, turned toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
“The Ma Gwang-ik Lord,” the boy began, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword, “is one of the seventeen bastions of the Ipwang Fortress. I am the wall you must overcome to challenge my stronghold.”
“...”
“As a delegate of the fortress, I extend my respect to your alliance. Tomorrow, the day after, and until the tournament concludes, I shall remain under this banner to exchange blows. You may use me as your proving ground, to measure the sharpness and resilience of your skills. Consider me the opening gift of this tournament, from the Ipwang Fortress to your alliance.”
Jeong Yeon-shin withdrew his hand from the banner and his sword hilt, clasping them behind his back. His black cloak and ebony hair swayed with a quiet dignity.
The air grew heavy with tension—his words were a direct challenge to battle.
Boom!
Seop Un-cheol stomped down, unable to bear the insult any longer. No martial artist could tolerate such blatant provocation.
The Ma Gwang-ik Lord had challenged the entirety of the Murim Alliance. He had pierced through the ceremonial facade of the opening tournament and thrown it open wide.
There was no turning back now. This was full participation.
“Let’s see if your sword is as strong as your words!”
Drawing his blade, Seop Un-cheol charged. His left-handed grip wielded the blade with exceptional control, exuding a sharp aura before the strike had even landed.
Dust kicked up under his feet, only to be shredded into fine particles by the cutting force radiating from his blade.
The duel had begun.
The spectators held their breath as the dynamics of the opening tournament shifted dramatically.
It was now a duel between the Murim Alliance and the Ipwang Fortress.
How far could this boy, the Ma Gwang-ik Lord, possibly hold out? Seop Un-cheol was renowned as Hanzhong’s greatest sword prodigy.
Even if he somehow managed to triumph, what of the next match? And the one after that?
A Left-handed Sword.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned to face his charging opponent, who was already closing the gap.
The Radiant Zen Sword bore its title with pride. His stance was impeccable, his posture firm as he extended his blade.
The sword and its wielder moved as one. The cutting wind generated by the blade swept outward, sharp enough to sting the skin with its intensity.
Though rare, left-handed swordsmen often leveraged their unorthodox approach, refining techniques designed to exploit their opponents' unfamiliarity.
Seop Un-cheol was no exception, his sword tip oscillating ever so slightly while maintaining incredible precision.
‘The stance alone reveals much. A master of the Seop family in Hanzhong. Worth adding to the Paebaekchongram (White Book of Swords).’
Jeong Yeon-shin observed him calmly, his left hand gripping the scabbard at his waist.
With his right, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt, channeling energy through his palm from the qi welling up in his heart.
The Luminous Method Wheel Qi swirled gently in his grasp, emanating a faint warmth.
“Hup!”
Seop Un-cheol exhaled sharply as he lunged from five paces away, lowering his upper body as his blade aimed for Jeong Yeon-shin’s side.
A burst of energy erupted from the yongcheon (bubbling spring) acupoint on the sole of his rear foot, propelling him forward.
The platform trembled violently, fragments of stone erupting into the air.
Boom! Crack!
Amidst the deafening noise, Jeong Yeon-shin finally drew his sword.
The blade of the Northern Bright Sword gleamed brilliantly as it rose, sunlight cascading down its edge.
The radiance seemed to flow from the blade itself, though only briefly, as the weapon soon vanished into the void.
Whoosh!
A hazy streak of light rippled outward. In a flash, a luminous trail like a feathered cloud traced across the air.
The incoming attack from Seop Un-cheol was deflected cleanly, his blade’s energy scattering into fragments.
It was an extraordinary display of skill. The Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s technique did not merely neutralize the blow; it surged forward like a tempest.
“...!”
Seop Un-cheol’s eyes widened as he hastily threw himself backward. Even so, strands of his hair, cut neatly at the sides of his neck, fluttered to the ground.
A chilling wind swept past his nape.
Boom!
A thunderous crash echoed in the air, the residual shockwaves from the exchange filling the silence with their roar.
Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Jeong Yeon-shin stood still, his Northern Bright Sword extended toward Seop Un-cheol’s brow.
The boy’s left hand remained clasped behind his back, as if delivering a lesson to a lesser student.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced briefly at So Jun, his tone calm as he finally spoke.
“You mentioned forty?”
His voice carried effortlessly across the platform.
The veins in his exposed arm bulged as he lowered his blade and gave it a slight flick.
A faint, silvery glow shimmered along the length of the sword, dissipating the lingering energy of the strike.
The boy moved with purpose, returning the blade to its scabbard with a fluid motion.
The sound of it locking into place was crisp and resonant.
Click.
“Forty exchanges will suffice,” declared the Ma Gwang-ik Lord.