Jeong Yeon-shin's thoughts raced like lightning. His long, flowing hair fluttered in the wind, yet his crown felt cool and clear.
The fully open Baekhwe Blood Point granted him countless thoughts in an instant.
Instinct told him: if the battle dragged on, it would end in certain defeat. His upper Dantian's sensitivity confirmed it.
The atmosphere surrounding the massive arena mirrored this sentiment. He had glanced at the expressions of the seasoned warriors and nobles watching from the stands as he stepped onto the stage.
The faces of the renowned masters of Jianghu, those who had witnessed countless duels, were calm—almost serene. It was as though they had already reached their verdict on Ma Gwang-ik Lord, Jeong Yeon-shin.
"I know better."
His opponent was a master swordsman, one of the most revered within Mount Hua Sect, renowned as a sanctuary of sword saints.
Jeong Yeon-shin wasn't optimistic because he was confident. Rather, his sense of inferiority pushed him to aim for a swift victory.
The nature of battles was as varied as the martial arts scattered across the world—some ended in a single strike, while others extended into hundreds of exchanges. Stories of duels lasting an entire night between those with both outer strength and abundant internal energy were not unheard of.
"The number of sword techniques this master has perfected must be staggering. Each of them honed as deeply as the years he's lived."
He had heard that Tian Zhu-jin, the Plum Blossom Swordmaster, was considered an equal to Ma Jin before Ma Jin lost his arm. This opponent wasn’t someone a newly minted black-clad warrior could fight for long.
The sheer number of years dedicated to mastering Mount Hua’s peerless swordsmanship set them apart.
As martial prowess grew, so did one’s perception of the world. The vastness of the Black-Clad Masters’ domain had become clearer to Jeong Yeon-shin after the roundtable discussions in Wonpyung's Grand Hall of Swords.
And in Tian Zhu-jin, he saw that vastness personified.
The middle-aged swordsman narrowed his sharp eyes. His figure seemed to grow larger, more imposing.
Jeong Yeon-shin gripped his sword tightly and closed the distance in a single leap, propelled by the Wind Spirit Step, his black cloak billowing behind him.
Whoosh!
A violent gust swept past his face. Suspended mid-air, time seemed to stretch.
Before his foot could touch the ground, Jeong Yeon-shin slashed downward. A brilliant arc of light trailed his blade.
It was the First Form of his nameless sword style—a swift and decisive technique, perfected through countless battles against the disciples of Sim Mu-ryeon.
It allowed him to strike any point first, regardless of the angle or distance. The oppressive aura of a king's blade surged forward, pressing down on the opponent.
Clang!
A violent spark erupted as their swords met. A jarring vibration coursed through Jeong Yeon-shin's arm, nearly forcing him to lose his grip.
Despite the blinding speed of his attack, Tian Zhu-jin had intercepted it, raising his sword horizontally just in time.
In that fleeting moment, the offensive motion of Mount Hua’s Plum Blossom Swordsmanship transitioned seamlessly into a defensive stance.
A translucent plum blossom, formed of pure energy, shattered between their blades. The display was a testament to the master’s extraordinary control.
Their clash became a contest of raw sword energy. Planting his foot firmly on the ground, Jeong Yeon-shin channeled power from the luminous wheel in his chest to his soles, pressing against the earth.
The arena floor beneath his feet began to crack and crumble.
With a soft swish, Tian Zhu-jin shifted his stance, his footwork barely perceptible. A faint cloud of dust rose beneath his silk shoes.
The movement exuded an unassuming yet profound energy, the hallmark of Mount Hua’s Heavenly Plum Blossom Steps.
The clashing blades tilted as the master redirected Jeong Yeon-shin’s force with minimal movement. His body spun gracefully, as if petals were scattering in the wind.
Their swords traced elegant arcs, glancing past each other’s robes. Sunlight danced along the steel edges as they moved in harmony, as if rehearsed.
It was the convergence of two refined swordsmen.
Though their movements appeared effortless, a surge of energy erupted at Tian Zhu-jin’s feet, as straight and upright as a plum tree trunk. The power coiled around his lower body, stabilizing his stance.
Then, without warning, the master’s sword lashed out, cutting across with ruthless speed. The force rising from his footwork amplified the strike.
Whoosh—!
The motion of the Plum Blossom Butterfly Dance tore through the air like a gale. Jeong Yeon-shin instinctively dropped backward, his body bending as if he were about to lie down.
The blade’s arc flashed above him, cutting so close that it severed strands of his black hair.
"There’s an opening."
The master’s exposed flank was within reach. Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes gleamed sharply as he twisted his spine, channeling energy from his luminous wheel into the hypothetical Intention Blood Point along his back.
The power surged through his erector muscles, enabling a rapid recovery. Rising instantly, his left fist surged forward, imbued with the third form of his Polar Flower Fist: Blossoming Fist.
Whoosh!
Invisible energy radiated from his punch like blooming petals, advancing in clusters.
Boom!
Tian Zhu-jin met the strike with his open palm. The impact scattered the blossoming energy like a descending flower pattern.
Shockwaves rippled through the air, rustling his sleeve as bone-deep vibrations echoed. It was Mount Hua’s Falling Blossom Palm Technique, dismantling each wave of Jeong Yeon-shin’s fist.
The master’s seamless control over his inner energy allowed him to counter faster than Jeong Yeon-shin could strike. The remnants of his attack dissolved entirely.
Pain flared in Jeong Yeon-shin’s wrist. The disparity was clear—the Falling Blossom Palm executed by a grandmaster carried unmatched precision and weight.
“That technique... I remember it,” Tian Zhu-jin remarked, his voice calm yet edged with intrigue. “It resembles our sect’s lineage.”
With that, he reinforced his stance, delivering a final strike.
Boom!
Jeong Yeon-shin’s figure slid backward from the impact. His black hair and robe billowed in the aftershock.
The two swordsmen stood apart once more, dust rising faintly around their feet.
Gasps erupted from the audience as the reality of the exchange sank in.
“...The energy waves reached this far, slicing the very air.”
“Are they even human?”
“Their skill has transcended humanity... These are masters of the highest caliber!”
The crowd watching the clash in the Ascension Realm could not hide their astonishment.
A fight of this caliber was a rare spectacle, one that even a lifetime of wandering the martial world might not afford. Yet, the eyes of the young Ma Gwang-Ikju remained calm, settled in a frigid stillness.
"Four exchanges so far."
For the first time, the boy had failed to resolve a duel in a swift, decisive strike. His opponent, the Hwasan Sword Hermit, was a complete martial artist, a master forged through years of unrelenting dedication.
The barrier posed by the Nine Great Sects was as lofty as their famed chivalric spirit. They referred to their blend of martial skill and philosophical ideals as the union of Mu (武) and Do (道)—a martial path of unparalleled depth and texture, distinct from that of the aristocratic clans.
From the moment Jeong Yeon-shin stepped onto the dueling platform, he had sensed it. The posture of the Hwasan Sword Hermit as he gripped his sword, the dense and ceaseless fluctuations of his energy—they all spoke volumes.
In terms of raw martial ability, Jeong Yeon-shin was no match for one of the top swordsmen of the Nine Great Sects. Not yet.
And that was no surprise. The Hwasan Sword Hermit was the acknowledged pinnacle of his craft, revered for centuries as the face of the Hwasan Sect. In the current martial world, his prowess rivaled that of Ma Jin, the legendary Nallaksal.
A swordsman of Three Flowers Converging at the Crown, a transcendent realm.
The disparity in age alone was significant. Unlike the boy, the Hwasan Sword Hermit had harmonized his body, inner energy, and spiritual essence into a singular, cohesive force. It was a realm where thought seamlessly translated into the movement of qi—a stage achieved only by the majority of Ipwang Fortress’s Black Ranks.
But Jeong Yeon-shin was unique, his enormous energy at the sangdanjeon—the upper energy core—exceeding the norm. It was only through his mastery of the Radiant Wheel Technique (능법광륜기) that the boy had reached such heights.
When facing someone like the Hwasan Sword Hermit, the difference in martial prowess was inevitable.
Even the leaders of the Menghui hesitated to cross the Nine Great Sects. However, they undoubtedly acknowledged the overwhelming power of the sects’ warriors.
This was evident in their strategic placement during the Grand Sect Tournament—stationing warriors capable of halting Ma Gwang-Ikju only at the very end.
Even the gamblers gathered in Hanzhong knew this: the strength accumulated through centuries of orthodox martial lineage was unshakable.
And yet, Jeong Yeon-shin felt a strange sense of imbalance. By all accounts, he should have been far more outmatched.
If the Hwasan Sword Hermit truly possessed the overwhelming might he exuded, he would have been an insurmountable foe for the boy to contend with.
Yet, the Falling Shadow Palm Technique failed to pierce through the Ultimate Polar Flower Fist (시화무극수) of the Radiant Wheel. Despite the Hermit’s apparent full force, the duel appeared faintly balanced.
“He must be injured,” the boy thought. It was the only plausible explanation. Jeong Yeon-shin had uncovered a fact unnoticed by anyone else.
This realization sparked a natural curiosity. Who could have inflicted such injuries on the Hwasan Sword Hermit?
As if reading his thoughts, the Hermit spoke.
"You and I are equals. Our conditions are the same. Only skill remains to determine the outcome."
“...”
These words were only comprehensible to someone like Ma Gwang-Ikju, who had exchanged direct blows with a true master.
Within the realm of Black Rank mastery:
Jeong Yeon-shin’s experience was shallow, while the Hwasan Sword Hermit bore internal wounds.
Thus, they were equals. That was what the Hermit declared.
The grip on his sword was firm, his demeanor resolute. The ethos of the Nine Great Sects was this unwaveringly noble.
The spectators surrounding the platform held their breath, watching the confrontation between two transcendent martial artists.
Among them were seasoned masters with profound insight, novice fighters with limited understanding, and even common folk ignorant of martial arts. To all, this was a once-in-a-lifetime sight. Only the elders of the aristocratic clans, their gazes steady and discerning, appeared unperturbed.
The head of the Zhuge Clan, his piercing eyes fixed on the duel, finally broke the silence.
"Ma Gwang-Ikju’s inner strength is more formidable than expected. I did not anticipate that he could match the internal energy of the Hwasan Sword Hermit, even without mastering the direct lineage technique, Zihashin Energy Art (자하신공).”
"It matters not," the head of the Mo Yong Clan replied, his gaze unwavering. "The Sword Hermit’s mastery is as peerless as his fame suggests. Ma Gwang-Ikju will not endure much longer."
The Zhuge Clan head nodded, agreeing with his counterpart.
"It will soon end. The ranking match will not reach the next challenger. Regardless, to display such martial prowess at such a young age has already achieved Ipwang Fortress’s goals. Even so, it remains a loss for our league."
"At least the Grand Rejuvenation Elixirs won’t fall into the hands of the imperial hounds."
Behind them, Zhuge Cheong-ah, sitting quietly, felt her breath catch.
Her long black hair, meticulously combed, trembled as her nervous hands twisted it.
"I am disappointed," Zhuge Gaju said coldly. "To have achieved nothing with such expertise in the hidden arts. If the duel had not unfolded as it has, you would have faced severe consequences. Foolish child."
"...My apologies," Cheong-ah whispered.
Elsewhere, Lady Ye, the enigmatic figure with white-blinded eyes, paid them no heed. Her fingers brushed against her pale cheek as she sent a quiet transmission to her father.
"How much would it cost to sabotage this?"
"It is not a matter of money."
"My Taesa was crafting a new sword technique. These dull proceedings are meaningless. Have you secured a hold on the Eon Clan?"
"Negotiations are ongoing, but progress is slow. Additional funding might be required—exceeding reasonable limits."
"Forget it. Just prepare the thick curtains. I’ll be standing beside Taesa soon enough."
As the crowd exchanged whispers, Jeong Yeon-shin and the Hwasan Sword Hermit continued their slow, deliberate dialogue while circling one another.
"You claimed Ma Jin faced no trouble. But after crossing swords, I see otherwise. There is resentment buried deep in your grip, hidden in your fingers. Yet, I cannot yield," the Hermit said.
“...”
"The Nine Great Sects cannot be absent from the alliance. The righteous path must not be blindly pursued. Thus, the sect master sent me."
To check the aristocratic clans.
The Hwasan Sword Hermit bore the weight of this grand purpose.
If the alliance of the martial world was inevitable, then its strength had to be guided wisely.
And that required the Nine Great Sects to win this duel under the gaze of all.
"I will honor you by giving my all. I will not falter."
The Hermit’s clear voice rang out, defying his middle-aged appearance. Such clarity signified immense refinement of inner energy.
With a graceful motion, the Hermit reversed his longsword and halted.
A series of invisible energy ripples gathered along the blade, like flower buds forming. The polished flow of his energy seemed endless.
The prelude to his swordsmanship was breathtaking, almost magical in its artistry.
"Silent Blossom in the Wind (암향부동화)!"
Someone in the Menghui leadership unconsciously exclaimed the name of the technique, clearly recognizing it.
It was an illustrious move—one Jeong Yeon-shin had heard of before. The pinnacle of the Plum Blossom Sword Style, capable of piercing through all its mysteries.
As the Hermit took his stance, Jeong Yeon-shin silently watched. The Hermit’s execution of inner energy was staggering.
There had been no chance to interrupt. The moment the momentum arose, the technique was already complete.
"Step forward. This is the duel of the orthodox."
The Hermit’s words were steady.
The world was unforgiving. As the youngest Black Rank martial artist, Jeong Yeon-shin felt the weight of these circumstances.
Everyone had their own principles to uphold. This was a battle of righteous causes.
Even so, the grandson who cared for his ailing grandfather could not abandon his path.
His heart, untouched by familial bonds for so long, was as pure as theirs.
"I just want to live happily."
Jeong Yeon-shin faced the Sword Hermit, his spirit attuned to the world. The sangdanjeon in his mind resonated with the vastness of nature.
A thread of impartial providence pierced through his crown, forcing him to reexamine the turbulent martial world.
The heavens.
They had taken his lifespan but had thrown him talent in return, as though bestowing alms. When he tried to reclaim his life, they demanded the arm of his uncle. They even sought to claim his grandfather’s life. Such was the nature of the world.
Even the righteous warriors of the Nine Great Sects, wielding their swords with chivalry, stood in his path. The intertwined interests of the martial world left no one unscathed.
The tempestuous young man hated the turbulent life he had been thrust into. There were moments when the weight of the world he fought against felt unbearable.
That was why he had named his technique Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi. To make life a little easier, to survive just a little longer.
Wooong.
The energy coursing through his hands at that moment was no different. A single, sharpened will guided it.
His pure intent resonated through his body, vibrating through every qi channel.
Even if the immutable laws of the universe pressed upon him, he would surpass them.
The boy muttered to himself, his gaze aimed at the heavens with the arrogant certainty of someone who had never known limits in their pursuit of martial arts.
"Do not stand in my way."
The words echoed in his mind as he remembered his grandfather, cloaked in azure flames.
That whisper.
It bloomed in his mind, a radiant bud of light.
Just as the Sword Hermit sensed Jeong Yeon-shin’s intent, the boy also perceived the bitter trials reflected in the Sword Hermit’s Plum Blossom Swordsmanship.
Beyond that, he saw a flicker of his grandfather’s life-burning Azure Flame.
Srrrk.
Jeong Yeon-shin gripped the Northern Bright Sword in both hands, holding it before him. A long exhale flowed along the blade, leaving a faint white mist.
The faint glow of the Radiant Wheel Technique seeped from his breath.
The boy moved his lips silently. May my steps in this martial world never cease.
It was the moment the young Grand Master poured his hopes into a single blade.
Wooong!
A flower of light blossomed in his mind. A radiant trajectory emerged in his sangdanjeon.
Profound intent transformed into something divine—a quality known as yeongseong, or spiritual transcendence.
It was the force that could transform a blunt chunk of metal into an unbreakable divine blade. It flowed from his mind, down his arm channels, and into the Lao Gong acupuncture points in his palms.
The auspicious spiritual energy overlapped with the flow of his qi.
"Hmm..."
The Hwasan Sword Hermit, who had been patiently waiting, let out a hum. Even from a distance, the brilliance of the boy’s sword intent was dazzling.
The waves of energy that brushed against his senses heralded the birth of a new sword technique.
The boy’s unique mastery. A mystery that belonged only to him.
The moment the technique sprouted, the Sword Hermit felt the peak of its momentum and made his move.
With a horizontal sweep accompanied by the hidden core of the Silent Blossom in the Wind, the Hermit attacked.
The explosive shockwave of qi burst silently from the Yongcheon Point on his soles, scattering the white fabric of the Hwasan Sect’s robes like a gentle fragrance forward.
Wooong!
The Sword Hermit’s blade tore through the air, translucent waves of qi surging like clouds.
Petal-like qi blooms appeared along the blade, blossoming in colorless brilliance. The essence of Hwasan Sect’s Plum Blossom Swordsmanship.
The distilled mastery of the Plum Blossom Sword Style unfolded in dozens of icy sword lights, hurtling toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
Kwahhh—!
The shockwave swallowed Jeong Yeon-shin’s upper body in an instant. Gasps erupted from the spectators.
Lady Ye shook off her family’s grasp and stood up, her gaze fixed on the duel.
At that moment, the boy transferred the trajectory blooming in his mind into his hands. It was a dual-sword stance.
The Northern Bright Sword, now dyed in a brilliant azure hue, moved.
Phantom-like layers of black sleeves seemed to ripple outward as if following his movements. Transparent energy swirled along his extended arms.
This was the third move of his unnamed sword art. A single streak of radiance carved through the Silent Blossom in the Wind. It sliced straight through.
Jjjjjing—!
The vibrations against his hands were immense, as though threatening to tear his grip apart. The ringing sword hum was deafening.
Yet, the boy remained unshaken, wielding his sword with precision. He deflected the sword energy, shattered the petals of qi, and crushed the following sword trajectories one by one.
The arc of the Northern Bright Sword moved seamlessly as it pressed forward. In a split second, the sword force of the Plum Blossom Swordsmanship wavered.
Finally, the Sword Hermit let out a faint sigh as the clash concluded.
A dull sensation transmitted through the Hermit’s blade. The boy immediately withdrew his strength.
The waves of sword energy that had enveloped their clash scattered like falling leaves.
Slowly, the petal-like clouds of the Silent Blossom in the Wind descended.
"Hah!"
A sharp exhale of astonishment broke the silence beyond the dueling stage.
The fight had ended.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s robe was deeply slashed, cut open down to his waist. His black coat and inner garments hung loose, exposing his torso.
Two thin sword marks marred his solid chest muscles. The cuts, shallow and clean, would likely heal quickly, but bright red blood streamed down his sharply defined abdomen.
The black trousers of his martial robe grew darker as the blood soaked through.
Meanwhile, the Hwasan Sword Hermit’s pristine white robes remained mostly intact, save for a split in the collar near his neck.
Yet above him, the boy’s sword rested against the base of his neck. He had been subdued. The precision of the boy’s swordsmanship left no doubt.
The Sword Hermit stared at Jeong Yeon-shin in silence before finally speaking, his deep eyes steady as an abyss.
"There was an unfamiliar brilliance in your delicate movements. I see now that you created that technique here on this stage. With a single strike, I understand Ma Jin’s resolution."
“...”
"What is the name of that form? If it has none yet..."
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
"Blue Flame Form One (청염일식)."
The young Ma Gwang-Ikju sheathed his sword and answered quietly.
"That is all it is."
“...”
As silence and wind swept through the arena, the boy Grand Master, bare-chested, closed his eyes.
Strands of his hair brushed against his exposed shoulders, tousled carelessly by the breeze.