Hyeon Won-chang's words carried a playful wit, a rarity in Hanzhong.
The crowd gathered around the martial arena let out subdued chuckles. They dared not laugh too loudly.
After all, the opponent was a revered swordsman from the Mo Yong Clan. Open ridicule could provoke trouble, especially under the watchful eyes of the Murim Alliance. Only someone like the Ipwang Hero could get away with it.
“...Let me give you some advice. You should manage your subordinates better,” said the Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader. His neck was precariously pressed against the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord's exceptional blade.
“That brat is like a fish flopping out of water, stretching his legs without knowing his place. Ma Gwang-ik, mark my words—he’ll drag you down someday. He’s made countless enemies, especially with the Daebang Sect. His end will be anything but peaceful, and as a martial artist, he’ll never know tranquility.”
He spat the words out with venom.
Ipwang Hero Hyeon Won-chang had become a figure of interest among Ma Gwang-ik’s entourage—second only to Jeong Yeon-shin himself. This was no surprise; from the moment he contributed to Ma Gwang-ik’s participation in the Gepa Daetjeon, his cunning had been evident. Backed by the Ipwang Fortress delegation’s might, he had skillfully swayed public opinion.
A man who could brandish a blade over even the smallest pretext—he was especially lethal to the righteous martial world.
The Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader narrowed his eyes.
“A martial artist entrusted with the command of a force should take responsibility for their subordinates' conduct. Your downfall might be closer than you think. The honorable swordsmen of the Daebang Sect will not tolerate such insolence.”
Feigning concern, he spoke with a patronizing tone.
The young swordsman, still pointing his blade, tilted his head slightly.
“Didn’t you just lose in a single move? Your tongue wags too long.”
“......”
“How vulgar. Get off the stage.”
Jeong Yeon-shin applied force to the Northern Bright Sword, bending its blade. With a graceful motion, he pushed the Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader’s neck with the flat of the sword and lowered the blade, seamlessly sheathing it with precision.
The middle-aged swordsman stepped back, biting his lip. A humiliation anyone would find hard to swallow.
‘Only someone like that would resort to such moves,’ thought the young man.
Jeong Yeon-shin marveled once again at the utility of Hocheo, the evasion technique bestowed by the Ipwang Fortress Lord. Constantly refining it alongside other sword techniques, he had reached a level where he could claim thirty percent success even against those of equal skill. For anyone less skilled, its use would almost certainly result in death.
‘A densely executed Hocheo robs the opponent of their breath.’
Jeong Yeon-shin's repertoire of techniques grew daily. Like the legendary figures of the martial world with their myriad eccentric methods, the young swordsman too was stepping into the realm of the extraordinary.
It was a process of maturing into the complete black swordsmanship of Ipwang Fortress.
The Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader stormed off, his light-pink attire whipping the air. Before the black cloak of Ma Gwang-ik’s long coat, even the Mo Yong Clan’s signature colors paled.
“...The victory goes to Martial Master Seomye.”
At the edge of the stage, Zhuge Cheon, acting as the arbiter, declared the result.
At last, cheers erupted from various parts of the stands. While the crowd hesitated to openly humiliate the Murim Alliance martial artists, few held back their enthusiasm for the prowess of the Ipwang Fortress’s champion.
Here and there, the young swordsman’s gaze caught jubilant exclamations, regardless of age or gender.
“Over here! Look this way! How can someone look that perfect? Like a celestial being!”
“The Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader is one of the Mo Yong Clan’s finest swordsmen, and yet...”
“This is a revelation! Little Seven, pack our goods for departure in two days and keep your eyes glued to the main gate. We’ll follow them back to Yangyang—it’ll be the safest route.”
“We must align ourselves with the new Ma Gwang-ik Lord. There’s no time to waste!”
Jeong Yeon-shin ignored the chatter behind him, adjusting the collar of his flowing black coat as he walked away.
It was the second day of the intrusion. The last opponent of today’s duels had been the Heaven’s Ridge Sword Unit Leader.
Once again, Jeong Yeon-shin had defeated every challenger. A flawless record.
In two more days and nights, his mission would come to an end—whatever the outcome.
“How’s the sword wound inflicted by the Sword Demon?” Tae Yeom-ryong asked, sidling up to Jeong Yeon-shin with ghostly agility.
They were on a narrow path behind the martial arena, shielded from the throngs of people. The path was reserved for Gepa Daetjeon participants returning to the Murim Alliance Hall.
The martial artists standing guard on either side barely glanced at the two, save for a few respectful nods directed at the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord.
“It’s improving,” the boy murmured, glancing sideways at Hyeon Won-chang, who had alighted as if flying.
“Ipwang Hero is worth ten Tae Yeom-ryongs,” Jeong Yeon-shin said in a calm tone.
The reply came immediately.
“Do not worry, Lord Ma Gwang-ik. I am but a bird that flaps its wings alongside yours, one body and soul. Every word from my lips is to serve your interests and elevate your status. Rest assured, I will never falter.”
Hyeon Won-chang grinned.
“If there were ten of you, we’d have to form a new command unit,” quipped Tae Yeom-ryong, who had recently resigned himself to being little more than Jeong Yeon-shin’s tagalong.
The group shared lighthearted banter as they reached Unhyangwon, their temporary residence provided by the Murim Alliance.
For two days, twenty-three Alliance martial artists had fallen in succession to Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade. His overwhelming presence had shaken the Gepa Daetjeon.
A knock resounded through the hall shortly after their arrival.
Jeong Yeon-shin sat in the main room overlooking the courtyard when a familiar voice reached his ears.
“Yeon-shin-ah!”
It was a boy’s voice, belonging to someone entirely unaffected by the day’s duels.
“Come in,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied calmly.
Before the attendants could approach, the door swung open on its own. The figure peeking in wasn’t Yu Hyeon from the Mount Hua Sect.
Instead, a woman with a faintly absent-minded expression and a mischievous smile stepped inside. It was Chui So-ok, the Small Sword Queen.
Her crimson silk armor swayed gently, and a dark sword dangled from her waist. In one hand, she held a jade-green gourd.
"I tried mimicking someone’s voice by moving my throat muscles with internal energy... I guess it worked pretty well," she said, brushing back the hair near her ear with an awkward laugh.
Her voice now was her own. Martial prodigies with innate control over their internal energy could manipulate parts of their bodies at will, much like Chui So-ok had just demonstrated.
The core principle of Jeong Yeon-shin’s newly created Wind God Technique also originated from such ideas. It involved full-body energy bursts, utilizing the transformations of acupoints and muscles throughout the body, although its execution was vastly more complex.
Sitting upright, Jeong Yeon-shin fixed his gaze on the Small Sword Queen.
"What brings you here?"
"I wanted to share a drink as a token of gratitude. This is rice wine," she said, giving the jade gourd a small shake to emphasize her point.
Chui So-ok had been captured alongside Tae Yeom-ryong by Sim Mu-ryeon’s forces under the control of the Youngcheon Sword Demon, who had occupied the Seven Layers Peak.
Even before her rescue, she had shown great interest in Seomye’s martial arts. Since Jeong Yeon-shin saved her, her demeanor had shifted to a familiar playfulness, reminiscent of Yu Hyeon’s casual attitude.
Following behind her, Gongsun Min appeared with a similar ease.
"Greetings, Lord Ma Gwang-ik. I trust the warriors of Ipwang Fortress are in good spirits today?" he said with a broad grin, his demeanor entirely relaxed.
He had boasted before about how he had successfully deflected Mo Yong-myeongjun's blade—a feat that had earned him no small amount of pride. It had been the same sword Jeong Yeon-shin had used when wielding Mancheon Hwawu, the Tang Clan’s legendary technique. Gongsun Min had recounted the story with no small amount of swagger.
Jeong Yeon-shin simply observed them, his expression unchanging, while the playful duo tried to make themselves comfortable.
The successor of the Gongsun family, a distinguished branch within the Murim Alliance, had been temporarily housed in the guest quarters.
“This is absurd. The next leader of the Jeomchang Sect mimicking Mount Hua Sect’s senior disciple?” Tae Yeom-ryong muttered in disbelief, sprawling lazily by the pondside table in the courtyard.
The oldest but most unremarkable of Ma Gwang-ik’s attendants, chewing on a poppy stalk, chimed in, “No drinking. Our Lord isn’t fully grown yet.”
It was an excuse, flimsy at best.
‘A clumsy attempt at concern,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought, fully aware of the reason behind the old subordinate’s behavior. It was due to the lingering sword wound inflicted by Baek Seo-goon, the Youngcheon Sword Demon.
The scar was carved by the Sword Saint of Hanam Province, renowned for his precision. The deep internal energy imbued in the sword strike meant that even a sip of alcohol could aggravate the wound.
A duel with the Plum Blossom Sword Masters of Mount Hua Sect loomed on the horizon, so the Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s attendants were focused on ensuring his peak condition. Even Namgung Hwa-shin had excused himself to use his connections to procure rare, efficacious remedies.
The leader of Mount Hua’s Plum Blossom Sword Masters was a formidable foe, considered one of the strongest under the grand elder tier. Facing such an opponent at less than full strength was unthinkable.
But Chui So-ok, oblivious to these concerns, tilted her gaze upward, clearly puzzled by the conversation.
“Didn’t you spar with the Youngcheon Sword Demon before...?”
“This noble lord advised against it,” Tae Yeom-ryong replied, his bright eyes meeting hers.
Chui So-ok’s face froze in bewilderment.
“And who is this young lady?” asked Hyeon Won-chang, who stood near Jeong Yeon-shin with arms crossed, his tone light but his expression sharp.
Tae Yeom-ryong smirked in approval, nodding subtly as if to commend Hyeon Won-chang’s timing. Gongsun Min, standing nearby, chuckled softly and introduced the newcomer.
“She’s the younger sister of Seonryong.”
“Zhuge Cheong-ah,” she said softly, offering a small bow with a composed gesture. Her dark eyes rested on the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord, observing him with peculiar intensity.
Her gaze was far from ordinary. Within her jet-black pupils, a faint glimmer, like that of a leaf caught in sunlight, hinted at mastery over advanced ocular techniques.
‘An exceptional refinement of a rare skill,’ Jeong Yeon-shin noted, his expression betraying faint interest.
“Prepare a seat. She will join us,” Jeong Yeon-shin said.
“My Lord?”
“I’m not drinking,” he added flatly, brushing Tae Yeom-ryong aside as he took a seat at the courtyard table.
Gongsun Min’s face lit up with delight, while Chui So-ok twirled the wine bottle with an exaggerated pout.
“I was curious about the sword paths inspired by intoxication,” she lamented.
The servants of Unhyangwon moved briskly, constantly ferrying dishes between the kitchen and the courtyard. It was clear they had received instructions from the Murim Alliance leadership to treat the Ipwang Fortress delegation with the utmost hospitality.
The impeccable service left no room for complaints, as if to distance the Alliance from any perception of favoritism during the Gepa Daetjeon.
“It’s better than what they served us in the main hall... Are they biased against the Nine Great Sects?” Chui So-ok muttered, now seated beside Jeong Yeon-shin.
Over the swiftly arranged spread, the skies cleared, revealing a bright, sunny day.
From his position at the head of the table, Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at Zhuge Cheong-ah, who appeared to be about his age.
“State your purpose,” he said.
“...”
The girl’s calm demeanor matched her unchanging expression. Her jet-black hair, tied in a single braid, draped over the collar of her sky-blue robe, glinting like polished ebony.
Even under the scrutiny of the renowned Ma Gwang-ik Lord, her serene face remained as still as freshly fallen snow, her posture impeccable.
Zhuge Cheong-ah finally opened her mouth.
“I came to request a spar, having heard of your exceptional martial arts.”
“Not simply a vagrant swordsman hosting a noble novice. Zhuge Cheong-ah possesses profound knowledge of martial philosophy. She’s my betrothed’s close friend, so I can vouch for her merits. Lord Ma Gwang-ik, you’ll find her insights worth engaging with,” Gongsun Min interjected, his excitement clearly directed at Jeong Yeon-shin rather than Zhuge Cheong-ah.
“A spar,” Jeong Yeon-shin repeated, his young voice carrying weight.
“So that’s what it’s about.”
“What do you mean?” Zhuge Cheong-ah asked, her calm eyes fixed on his.
“Taeyang Acupoint.”
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“...”
“Tongziliao, Sibai, Zanzhu, Yintang,” Jeong Yeon-shin continued, listing the names of facial acupuncture points.
“You’re employing ocular techniques. The internal energy ripple is distinct. You might even channel it through your palms. I can’t discern the depth of your cultivation without the Zhuge Clan’s secret manual, but if you refine its form and imbue it into a fan, you’d create the Windbound Infinite Fan Technique. A truly peculiar art. One of your family’s unique methods, no doubt.”
Pa-Baek Chongram, the Zhuge Clan’s signature techniques.
A faint smile tugged at Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips.
“You’re interesting. Fine, share your insights with me. I’ll respond.”
“...”
For a moment, silence settled.
The crisp autumn air brushed against the young martial artists’ skin. Sunlight scattered across the rippling pond near their feet, while a gentle breeze carried leaves aloft like brushstrokes in a landscape painting.
It was a stillness summoned by the Ma Gwang-ik Lord himself.
The silence was an unspoken command: disable your ocular techniques and speak plainly.