The growth of the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord had been anything but smooth. Hao Mun-ju’s conjectures continued to flow unabated.
Suddenly, silence descended around the pavilion where the two sat.
Baek Seo-goon, sitting upright with a commanding presence, seemed as if frost had settled upon her. Her very being exuded an aura that demanded silence, and even the faint breeze felt cold as it brushed past her pale gray hair, scattering its ends like brittle leaves before dissipating.
She had reached a level where her martial energy seamlessly harmonized with her body and mind. Without intention, the Sword Sovereign of Hanam Province revealed her overwhelming presence.
“What did you say?” she asked softly.
The faint smile that had graced her lips was gone.
Her mind wandered to the time she had faced Jeong Ban-ak’s son at the Seven Hero Gathering. What exactly had she said then?
“I said that as the son of a great clan leader, his upbringing seems to have been anything but smooth. I didn’t hear much more than that...” Hao Mun-ju replied, pulling at his collar as he continued.
“If a third-rate martial family owned large tracts of land, they’d have had to balance their authority with the goodwill of the people. Hosting feasts to encourage hard work and prosperity—it’s the way of things, isn’t it? The Jeong family head frequently held banquets, I hear. Jeong Dae-myeong, or perhaps Jeong Ban-ak, would have used those feasts to display their influence.”
Jeong Dae-myeong, the so-called noble gentleman, had always been a man consumed by an almost superstitious belief: that ruling over people without reward invited misfortune. Baek Seo-goon, who had once served as a maid in the Jeong household, had herself benefited from this philosophy. She assumed the external affairs of the household would not have been much different.
“And?” she asked, her lips parting slightly.
Hao Mun-ju showed no sign of being intimidated. After all, he was the head of a sect known for its rugged resilience, someone whose temperament was unique under heaven.
With an air of nonchalance, he continued, the faint glimmer of a hero’s boldness in his demeanor.
“Well, while Ban-ak’s first and second sons strutted about as if they owned the whole of Shinya County, the third son was never present. Not even once in his short life, it seems. On rare occasions, he could be seen wandering the village alone, timid and withdrawn, unlike his siblings. But even that stopped after a while; he became a recluse, never leaving the house.”
“...”
“Jeong Ban-ak doted on his infant granddaughter but never once mentioned his third son. All the testimonies from Shinya’s commoners are consistent. When villagers attending banquets asked about the third son, Ban-ak would dismiss them, claiming their questions disrupted propriety, and then he’d expel them. After that, no one dared inquire about Jeong Yeon-shin.”
“...Are you sure you’re not mistaken? The Jeong family may be a third-rate martial household, but they’re not without lineage. In Shinya County, they held authority akin to that of the magistrate. How could mere commoners know the intimate details of such a family?”
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“Do I have your permission to speak bluntly?” Hao Mun-ju asked, his tone suddenly casual, almost insolent.
Baek Seo-goon looked up, her gaze sharpening. “What?”
“I mean, does being the Sword Sovereign give you the right to question everything I say?” he replied, drawing out his words slowly.
The Hao Sect was a haven for the lower strata of society, a protector of the downtrodden and the voiceless. Hao Mun-ju, even when addressing a Sword Sovereign, spoke with an unfiltered frankness.
“The fact that we don’t know everything is natural,” he continued. “You’re not wrong. The inner workings of a family with influence are rarely exposed to the outside. But when it comes to gathering and refining rumors scattered across the world, the Hao Sect’s expertise surpasses even the Beggars’ Sect—at least, so long as it’s not within the domain of the Nine Great Sects. Are you doubting the capabilities of my sect?”
“...”
The sound of silk brushing wood broke the tense silence.
Baek Seo-goon stood up without a word, her white sleeve gliding past the table. Hao Mun-ju looked up at her, his curiosity piqued.
“You haven’t touched your drink. Where are you off to?” he asked.
“I’m going to see for myself. You mentioned there were surviving direct descendants, didn’t you?”
Her tone was calm, almost monotone.
Hao Mun-ju nodded readily. “Jeong Ban-ak’s second son and granddaughter have entered Zhongnan Sect. The family steward has established a prominent merchant guild in Kaifeng... but the other workers wouldn’t interest you.”
“Zhongnan Mountain, then. It’s close enough from Shaanxi to check on the young lord,” she murmured.
Hao Mun-ju’s lips twitched. “Did you just call the new Ma Gwang-ik Lord a ‘young lord’? The Sword Sovereign of Hanam herself...”
Baek Seo-goon didn’t answer. Her expression, though composed, held a faint tremor beneath her brows.
She had a bond with him. Jeong Ban-ak had taught her, guiding her past years of struggle and ignorance. And when Ma Gwang-ik Lord Seomye faced her Yi Gi Yu Geom, he had responded with a blade that reaped the fruits of his inheritance.
Baek Seo-goon acknowledged Jeong Yeon-shin on both bloodline and martial grounds. As a forgotten maid now elevated, she had embraced her past.
But what if the boy had been denied the love he deserved in his own home?
“I... My words...”
The things she had boasted to Jeong Ban-ak’s son now echoed mockingly in her mind. The clarity of her once-unwavering convictions blurred.
Something gnawed bluntly at the edges of her thoughts. Baek Seo-goon realized, this was madness.
Hao Mun-ju’s voice suddenly cut through her reverie.
“Zhongnan Mountain? You’re about to spark a major incident. Do you have any idea how significant a presence the Sword Demon of Sim Mu-ryeon holds among the Nine Great Sects? Don’t tell me you plan on starting a sect war...”
“Snatching a few insignificant pawns is child’s play for me. Don’t overreact,” she replied, her voice low.
Baek Seo-goon set out that very day. She dismissed her attendants and carried only a single sword at her waist.
On a deserted road, her mastery of movement techniques came alive. The figure of the Sword Sovereign blurred and vanished, leaving only the faintest ripple in the air.
***
When Eon Hwayeon spoke of the Radiant Lord of the Abyss (Ma Gwang-Ikju), her voice carried clearly across the field. She did not lower her tone, ensuring that her words—each laced with subtle disparagement—reached the young Radiant Lord directly.
She critiqued his martial skills, feigned concern for his potential as the newly appointed lord of Ipwang Fortress, and offered advice as though she were a seasoned senior. But in truth, her words were thinly veiled provocations aimed at undermining his reputation.
The directives may have come from the leaders of the Wulin Alliance themselves, already facing an inevitable downfall. Forty-five elite masters had fallen in succession to the young lord. The Alliance's grand Gathering Tournament had already ended in disgrace; the only way to salvage any pride was to ensure that at least one member triumphed over him.
Unlike the Radiant Lord, who had revealed the absolute techniques of the Flowing Light Infinite Forms, Eon Hwayeon had merely responded to his moves. Only during the fifth exchange did her response deviate.
Those skilled in energy techniques or perceptive enough to discern martial intricacies could see it clearly—Jeong Yeon-shin, the Radiant Lord, had taken a calculated loss.
Expressions of realization and contemplation filled the faces of the gathered warriors.
“Change your approach? The glint in your eyes intrigues me. Come closer,” Eon Hwayeon declared. Her authoritative tone shifted the balance of the confrontation, even as the deep, resonant voice of Ipwang’s grand elder, Hyeon Won-chang, cut through the air.
"The masters of the Alliance truly live up to their name. This Heon Won can only marvel,” he remarked. His voice carried a refined strength, effortlessly reaching every corner of the arena. Even Eon Hwayeon, despite herself, glanced briefly at him.
Feigning nonchalance, Hyeon Won-chang continued, addressing a companion who had earlier expressed admiration for Eon Hwayeon.
“Isn’t it truly impressive? A veteran in their forties, exuding such vigor against a youth barely past the age of learning. This level of egalitarian respect is surely unique to the noble Wulin Alliance. Their transparent virtues and remarkable conduct are unparalleled. Don’t you agree?”
“Y-yes, indeed...” stammered the middle-aged man next to him, who quickly realized the sarcastic undertone of Hyeon Won-chang’s words. Chuckling lightly, Heon Won patted his companion on the shoulder, his actions a subtle rebuke to those who had unthinkingly cheered for Eon Hwayeon.
Across the aisle, Tae Yeom-ryong smirked, clearly amused. The noisy crowd, swept up in heated discussions, fell silent for a moment.
Hyeon Won-chang, with his sly words, shifted the crowd’s perception of the duel. The repeated victories of the Radiant Lord had momentarily made his youth an afterthought. Yet, upon reflection, they realized the sheer rarity of what was happening—a prodigy barely in his teens defeating seasoned masters.
And now, Eon Hwayeon, a prime candidate to become the future head of the Eon Clan, stood to challenge this extraordinary young lord.
In truth, the Radiant Lord’s feats bolstered not only his own standing but also the prestige of Ipwang Fortress. Even if he lost here, the fortress had already cemented its dominance. Victory would only amplify the fortress's renown across the Central Plains, a ripple too vast for even the Alliance’s leadership to suppress.
“Enough chatter. Let the duel proceed,” Hyeon Won-chang said casually, adjusting his headpiece as if bored.
“You have a capable subordinate,” Eon Hwayeon remarked to Jeong Yeon-shin, her voice carrying an undercurrent of admiration. Unlike others who glanced uneasily at Hyeon Won-chang, she appeared undeterred, embodying the spirit of a true warrior—unbound by trivialities, focused solely on the battle at hand.
Narrowing her eyes, she spoke again. “Five exchanges will suffice. I’ll allow you the first move.”
It was the same face she wore while toying with her drink in the tavern. Her arm, clad in sleeveless orange robes, swung in a wide arc, her seemingly careless motion stirring the very air, distorting it with transparent waves of energy.
Her meridians visibly relaxed as her internal energy settled into perfect alignment. The prelude to unleashing her full strength was clear.
“Two moves,” the young lord responded slowly. His tone was calm, his words deliberate.
“You’ll lose within two techniques.”
“What?” Eon Hwayeon’s brows furrowed, sensing an unsettling weight behind his claim.
This was no idle boast. In their brief exchanges, seasoned masters could gauge each other’s intent through the smallest cues—breaths, heartbeats, the faintest shifts in stance.
She had been too complacent. Standing before the Radiant Lord, she had let her guard down without realizing it.
Jeong Yeon-shin did not say this aloud. Instead, he took a single step forward, his movements unhurried, his aura unwavering.
Rather than employ advanced footwork, he allowed the Radiant Wheel Qi to cycle continuously through the meridians around his face, focusing the energy into his eyes. As the qi passed through the acupuncture point near his temples, his pupils began to emit a faint white glow.
This was not Eye Arts—not yet. It was far from the level of mastery that would be recognized as a complete technique.
The method of ‘seeing’ was far more intricate than foundational breathing techniques, a rarity even among the ancient clans and sects predating the Huang Dynasty. The young lord had only gleaned a glimpse of its potential during his encounter with Zhuge Cheong-ah.
For now, he merely channeled his energy outward, letting it return to his vision, mimicking the dispersal and absorption patterns of Ten Thousand Blossoms Returning to Rain. The delicate maneuver, unique to Jeong Yeon-shin’s precision, carried an ephemeral texture akin to mist.
His goal was simple: to analyze Eon Hwayeon’s energy structure.
“Her defensive qi operates on a consistent rhythm.”
A quick glance at her solar plexus, abdomen, and shoulders sufficed. There was no need to scrutinize her entire form—just enough to pinpoint her vulnerabilities without alerting her.
Swoosh!
Eon Hwayeon closed the gap in a heartbeat, narrowing the three-step distance as Jeong Yeon-shin advanced. Her earlier composure seemed rattled by his words.
Feigning generosity, she spread her arms wide in a dramatic display, yet subtle waves of energy pulsed ominously from her palms. The moment he struck, her counterattack was ready, poised to lock his joints in place.
The air between them grew dense with tension.
Tap.
The boy’s index and middle fingers touched her solar plexus. The two were so close that their bodies were practically pressed together.
The left shoulder of the black robe with a missing sleeve allowed him to feel Un Hwayeon’s faint and deep breaths.
Perhaps because no overt flow of energy was present, she allowed Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand to graze her solar plexus. Her gaze, sharp as a blade, followed his hand as if slicing through the space.
And that was it.
Hwaak!
Suddenly, a flame-like wave of energy erupted from her hands, distorting the surrounding air in an instant. Was she aiming for an overwhelming victory?
Her technique to ensnare Jeong Yeon-shin’s arms went beyond the scope of basic techniques.
As her bare arms brushed against the shredded black sleeve of his right arm, Jeong Yeon-shin plunged into the realm of extreme speed.
The world around him slowed. He could distinctly feel her forearm sliding up the coarse fabric of his robe.
It was accompanied by the peculiar sensation of the Jinju Un family’s signature defensive energy, an airy yet gripping touch. His thoughts raced like a whirlwind.
‘Ignorance. Overconfidence.’
As he took a single step, he had already unraveled her essence. The structure of the energy forming her defensive barrier was profound, flowing irregularly like intersecting trigrams. It was an impressively sturdy weave.
But that didn’t matter.
His upper Danjeon burned like white-hot iron, his mind fragmenting the moment into a hundred slices. His consciousness seemed to melt into the radiant white brilliance enveloping him.
Maintaining his touch on Un Hwayeon’s solar plexus, he subtly lowered his elbow, moving in a way that appeared to comply with her grasp.
Using his heightened perception, he analyzed the trigram structure of her energy barrier.
‘Post-Heaven Trigrams. Qian, Dui, Kun. Within a tenth of a breath, I need to strike here... Now.’
There was no need to destroy her defensive barrier’s energy structure. Un Hwayeon’s verbose taunts had granted him sufficient time.
By synchronizing his internal energy with the flow of her power, he could turn a single strand of its current into a vessel for his Weighted Internal Technique.
The young Ma Gwang Ikju brought the duel into the realm of sensory mastery.
Ssskk.
Just before her hands could fully clamp down on him, Jeong Yeon-shin rotated his Energy Wheel Technique through the northwest, southwest, and west directions.
At the exact moment their legs intertwined and their arms entwined, he applied force to the fingertips pressed against her solar plexus.
A sharp, refined wave of power seeped into her defensive barrier.
Huagai, Xuanji, Tiantu—intangible shockwaves severed the strands of energy threading through her acupoints and channels.
“What...!”
Her startled gasp brushed his ears. Jeong Yeon-shin could clearly feel the disruption in the flow of her internal energy.
Still in close proximity, with their bodies nearly entwined, the young Ma Gwang Ikju’s black robes shimmered faintly as the energy trembled along his form.
In silence, he amplified the Energy Wheel Technique coursing through his fingertips. Un Hwayeon’s entire body sagged under the weight of the disruption. Her muscles contracted and relaxed uncontrollably, with her tendons seemingly responding to his will.
It was the Weighted Internal Technique, and it had struck true.
Slowly, Jeong Yeon-shin laid her down on the floor. Un Hwayeon, now gasping for breath, widened her eyes in disbelief.
It was only then that she seemed to realize the technique that had overwhelmed her. The slight parting of her lips betrayed the shock of an unparalleled master.
Casting her a brief, indifferent glance, the boy turned and began to walk away.
Thud, thud.
As he strode toward Hyeon Won-chang’s banner, a faint sense of relief washed over him. Had he relied solely on his core martial skills, he might have lost.
It didn’t matter if the order for her provocative behavior had come from the desperate Menghui leadership or if the arrogance of Un Hwayeon’s skill had grown enough to challenge his ultimate techniques.
As long as they remained unaware of his limited lifespan and unique constitution, the outcome would repeat itself, over and over.
“Ipwang Fortress accepted the challenge. Thus, this Ma Gwang Ikju participated in your faction’s tournament.”
His voice carried across the battlefield as he walked.
“The results are clear, and the banner remains unbroken.”
Gripping the banner planted at one side of the dueling platform, he felt the cold touch of steel travel up his arm, a refreshing chill that seemed to cool even his upper Danjeon.
Hwaaaak!
A gust of wind erupted as the Energy Wind Technique surged through his body. Black robes billowed as the gale swept outward.
“This, I shall take back.”
Clang!
With forceful precision, he yanked the banner free.
Amid the heavy silence that had settled around the dueling platform, the white cloak bound to the banner pole fluttered wildly in the wind.