Ma Gwang-Ik's hand moved gracefully, his fingertips tracing arcs of elegance in the air.
Before the six sword strikes of the Geomgyeok martial artists could rip through his robes, Jeong Yeon-shin's movements unleashed a rain of steel flowers.
His five fingers alternated between concealing and revealing his palm, balancing the absorption and release of energy. Sword fragments infused with brilliance spread out dreamily to either side.
Thud, thud, thud!
A dull sound echoed, as if his fingers were plucking a string of gold. Blood burst at the tips of those artistically moving fingers.
The bodies of the six elite warriors from the Hyuncheon Corps shuddered briefly. Their swords froze mid-thrust, and their motion ceased.
“Urgh.”
“Hmm...”
Each staggered, their bloodshot eyes wavering.
They were not killed instantly. These were not opponents weak enough to be swept away by a wide-range technique in a single stroke.
Despite the orthodox martial arts foundation they relied on, their combat-oriented discipline as a distinguished house had forged a robust protective energy barrier over their bodies.
The hastily deployed Mancheon Hwawu (Flowers of Steel Rain) had not been enough to kill them.
Instead, what unfolded before the eyes of the Menghui martial artists was astonishing.
Among the crowd that had followed Zhuge Cheong-ah into this audacious incursion into the territory of a noble house, gasps broke out.
For Ma Gwang-Ik, however, the outcome was predictable. Thanks to Ak Su-rim’s intervention, their most secret techniques had been preemptively disrupted.
Without their core techniques, they were far from invincible.
"When it comes to priorities..."
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly lowered his right hand and announced with calm authority:
"Today, the information I’ve received takes precedence over everything else. If my judgment proves wrong, I will formally apologize upon my return. But for now, do not obstruct me. I am showing restraint for Seonryong's sake."
He said this with Zhuge Hyeon in mind, whose martial philosophy left a lasting impression on him.
Taking a step forward, Jeong Yeon-shin resumed his stride. Zhuge Cheong-ah, following him hesitantly, spoke cautiously as they left behind the martial artists, still dazed and unable to steady themselves.
“What about their condition...?”
“Their protective energy even envelops their blood vessels. These are trained martial artists. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh.”
The indifferent response elicited a soft, astonished sound. Zhuge Cheong-ah couldn’t fully grasp the depth of martial arts she had just witnessed.
It was far beyond what could be discerned from observing injuries alone. Ma Gwang-Ik operated on an entirely different level.
‘The Hyuncheon Corps is a force that could rival even Ma Gwang-Ik himself,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
The elite of Dae Bang Pa were precisely that formidable.
While the methods of martial prowess differed depending on one’s lineage, the martial arts accumulated by these distinguished families over generations often surpassed even the strength of some of the Thirteen Heavens.
Had they properly executed their sword formations, Jeong Yeon-shin might have struggled to withstand them. Ak Su-rim's advice had proven invaluable.
But now, time was of the essence.
Ahead stood more martial artists, these ones newly arranged in a defensive formation after their comrades had been felled by the True Wall and Flowers of Steel Rain.
Six individuals. Their sword stances exuded a readiness that suggested a tactical change.
Jeong Yeon-shin remained unfazed.
Boom!
With both hands, he unleashed the Shihwa Muguk Su (Ultimate Polar Flower Fist), shattering multiple weapons. He charged forward relentlessly.
His Hwanikibo footwork was the bane of the Hyuncheon Corps’ martial techniques. Against such overwhelming compatibility, even the Zhuge Clan’s elite had no hope of showcasing their full potential.
This being Menghui, a special case in itself, also played a part. Even if the martial alliance regarded this as a key stronghold, they would not have deployed the full force of their main family.
Martial prowess, especially for those who honed mystical techniques, often reached its peak effectiveness within their home grounds.
For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin thought of the White Qilin waiting at the destination and the three years of life he had left.
Disillusionment stirred within him.
A fundamental question etched itself into his mind.
―Am I truly angry for Namgung Se-jin’s sake right now?
Half-true. Half of his anger was for the sake of merit.
The vast expanse of the black domain weighed heavily on him.
To compete with esteemed grandmasters, where finding a rival was a rarity, even stalwarts like Ak Su-rim and the Chief of the Myeolseom Corps had yet to reach the violet stage.
If such luminaries hadn’t managed to solve the challenges they faced, then no ordinary conflict could have been their match.
Jeong Yeon-shin couldn't even estimate how much merit he would need to accumulate. Each time he felt the expansion of his Baihui Point, it struck him anew with a sense of daunting immensity.
At this moment, Jeong Yeon-shin was angry simply to survive.
To bury his guilt over using Namgung Se-jin for his gain, he wrapped his hands in rage and pressed on.
By delivering severe damage to the Zhuge Clan, a pivotal faction within Menghui, he aimed to secure additional merit.
Silently, he repeated to himself:
I am truly sorry for not acting out of pure intentions.
This was his opportunity, Zhuge Cheong-ah had said. His Danjon confirmed the truth of this statement. He couldn’t let it slip away.
"Confirm the trigrams! Secure your formation properly!"
"Control the energy flows at your will! Prepare for attacks beyond expectations!"
"Draw your swords!"
More than a dozen men and women clad in green martial robes unleashed powerful energy currents. Their determination to prevent any further breaches was palpable.
The situation grew more precarious, even for Zhuge Cheong-ah.
Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t handle all angles alone. From above, swords imbued with light descended, their wielders unconcerned with self-preservation, aiming only to deliver a decisive blow.
Blades distorted the sunlight as they charged toward him, packed with immense inner energy.
The combined intent of the family’s skilled swordsmen closed in like an impenetrable wall.
Zhuge Cheong-ah’s eyes widened as the murmurs of the onlookers vanished from her senses.
Swoosh.
The boy’s black cloak fluttered gently.
In a single step, Ma Gwang-Ik’s form blurred as if he had dissolved into the wind.
He passed through every attack, reacting faster than any of their strikes.
As the Hyuncheon Corps’ experts stumbled into each other, colliding and dodging amid the chaos, Jeong Yeon-shin leaped forward again.
Swoosh.
Without looking back, he extended his right hand toward the rear.
The fourth form of the Shihwa Muguk Su had no flaws that could be exploited by inferior opponents. For such foes, its execution time posed no issue.
The mystical intricacies of the spell array blossomed in his palm, weaving together the two threads of energy within his Luminous Method Wheel Qi.
Boom!
The collision of blood energy and spiritual power erupted like lightning. The blast tore through the ground, sending clouds of dirt into the air and shaking the nearby pavilions.
Pursuers were caught in the shockwave, scattering like skipping stones.
The deafening explosion turned the alleys upside down, its echoes lingering long after.
It was divine. A terrifying display of supreme skill. The perfect union of evasion techniques and offensive forms transformed him into an incomprehensible master.
Zhuge Cheong-ah followed, her eyelashes trembling. What had seemed like a seventy percent chance of victory now felt like ninety.
She thought to herself:
How can someone my age be this powerful? Does it have something to do with the desperation I felt from the White Qilin’s wounds?
The boy's dark figure advanced indifferently. Whenever Zhuge Clan warriors appeared, he broke through as if possessed by a god.
His movements mirrored the wind, his attacks thunderous.
The sight left even the most seasoned spectators speechless. True martial mastery shone brightest in battles of one against many.
“There!” Zhuge Cheong-ah suddenly shouted, pointing with her pale finger.
A modest pavilion came into view. Three Zhuge Clan warriors sprinted toward it, clearly aiming for its interior.
They were closer than the pair of them. Their intent was obvious, as if they were racing Jeong Yeon-shin to the target.
If they opened that door—
They would see Namgung Se-jin lying there, like an experimental subject of the Tang Clan.
This could not be allowed. It must not be desecrated.
Jeong Yeon-shin channeled Luminous Method Wheel Qi into the veins of his right hand.
His palm grew hot as the energy coalesced in a straight line along the three key points of his palm, alternating between absorption and release.
A soft exclamation escaped Zhuge Cheong-ah’s lips as Jeong Yeon-shin, without touching her, snatched her sheathed sword and hurled it with a flick of his hand.
Dust kicked up as the Mancheon Hwawu’s dispersing energy scraped against the ground.
Swoosh!
The radiant energy imbued in the throw burst forth, a white sheath hurtling like a ray of light.
The sound of air splitting accompanied its trajectory as it struck two heads and smashed into the back of the third.
Thud!
The dull impact was resounding. Even with protective energy, the attack had been so forceful that it caused physical damage.
The three fell in a heap, leaving a path clear. Zhuge Clan’s defenses had been caught off guard by the sudden ambush of such a master.
It was the dominance of a supreme martial artist—a strategic weapon in the grand battles of the martial world.
“Let’s go,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, his voice tinged with a faint melancholy.
Zhuge Cheong-ah instinctively pursed her lips, pressing them together as dry saliva clung to their surface.
The spectacle was unbelievable, her heart swelling with emotion.
Finally, she could break free of her father’s oppressive authority. Overthrow the tyrannical weight and transform the family according to her and her brother’s ideals.
Even as a noble house, the Zhuge family was a part of the righteous path. The strength of rightful cause was the mightiest blade.
That was her belief.
Suddenly, the sky darkened.
Nightfall had come early, casting shadows over the land.
Low-hanging clouds drifted closer, drawn by an unseen force.
Was this reality? The slowly fading sunlight seemed to herald the manifestation of an absolute presence.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned his gaze to the side. The pavilion’s highest rooftop came into view, its blue tiles sloping gracefully upward.
Atop the roof stood a man clad in a flowing white robe.
“Young beast, they say you have dared to set foot in the tiger’s den more than once.”
His gaze fell on Zhuge Cheong-ah as he spoke, a faint smile gracing his lips.
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In his left hand, he held a white crane fan adorned with dark blue tassels.
The pristine robes complemented his pale skin and slender features, framed by strikingly dark brows.
Though he exuded the demeanor of a scholar, his presence was anything but fragile. A strange aura of transcendence enveloped him.
From the moment he entered view, the world seemed filled by his existence alone. Even the freely blowing wind slowed, as if bound to his will.
“Clan Leader!”
Among the Zhuge Clan masters who had been pursuing them, one let out a cry, his voice trembling with fear, as if terrified of the consequences.
The one who stood before them was none other than the absolute ruler who debated the state of the world through martial strength—the patriarch of the Zhuge Clan. He approached with an air of inevitability.
The current patriarch of the Zhuge Clan was known by the epithet "The Reincarnated Hidden Dragon" (복룡환생).
It wasn’t merely because of his exceptional strategy that he was likened to the great Zhuge Liang of old. Rather than possessing transcendent wit, his sharp intuition stood out.
This made him a figure worthy of being compared to Zhuge Liang of Shu, possessing not only the appearance and dignity but also the legendary sorcery and martial arts techniques that could stir the winds and summon rain, "The Art of Controlling Winds and Rain" (호풍환우).
His keen gaze had been fixed on the strange movements of Zhuge Cheong-ah.
With the caution befitting a patriarch, he considered the ripple effects that the death of Cheonggirin (청기린) would bring. Even with pressing matters at hand, he never took his attention off the Menghui Alliance.
This diligence had brought him here, at this time and place. With a defense technique unparalleled under the heavens, he caught the young warriors completely off guard.
His gaze slowly shifted toward Jeong Yeon-shin. It felt as though a great mountain was moving.
“You must pay the price,” the absolute figure with the fan said.
“You could have accepted the Great Elixir and retreated—that should have been enough.”
“...”
“Your greed has shortened your life.”
Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent for a moment, momentarily at a loss for words. What would Hyeon Won-chang or Tae Yeom-ryong have said in this situation?
Feeling the faint sense of despair rising from his sangdanjeon (상단전, energy core), the young Ma Gwang-ik slowly parted his lips.
“...You ought to feel shame. For someone who claims to be the patriarch of a noble clan.”
“These are not words that should come from a lawless intruder.”
The patriarch’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile.
“I will send your head to the Lady of Ipwang Fortress. If she, in her rare fury, flies into action, the Murim Alliance will consolidate its forces all the faster. The justification lies with my clan, after all. With such circumstances, the power of the Menghui Alliance will surpass Ipwang Fortress.”
The calm declaration struck with chilling realism.
Suddenly, the patriarch’s fan moved.
Boom!
Out of nowhere, a typhoon erupted. The wind carried the sharpness of blades, as though imbued with the spirit of a divine sword. Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t unsheathe his weapon in time.
He was too slow. Desperately, he wrapped Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi (능법광륜기) around both hands, crossing them in front of him to withstand the cutting wind.
There was no time to observe the patriarch’s movements. His energy control was terrifyingly fast.
In the blurred vision, Yeon-shin felt pain in his forearms. Blood vessels burst in various places, and streaks of crimson seeped out.
To withstand such martial techniques, even protective qi (호신기) had to be at the level of divine mastery.
The defensive layers of internal energy he had now were too weak. He realized this instinctively as he took the blow:
Approaching him was impossible.
It would take at least two or three more of himself to land a decisive counterattack. Without that, he would die here.
Boom!
A sharp, ripping sound echoed like a long fabric being torn apart. The black-clad boy’s figure was flung backward.
Even so, he managed to regain his balance with a twisting motion midair. It was astonishing to witness.
What kind of footwork was that? What was that sense? The patriarch’s eyes gleamed with an eerie white light.
“As expected.”
The man folded his fan with an elegant gesture and spoke.
“You are someone who must not be allowed to live.”
It was the same thought he’d had upon seeing the young master of Ming Sect from afar. To think he would encounter someone equally dangerous.
As a figure who discussed the fate of the world’s martial realms, the potential in that boy was too dangerous to overlook. Who knew what kind of path he would carve in the future?
Why wasn’t someone like him born into the Zhuge Clan?
The boundless possibilities etched a sense of caution even into an absolute master.
He had to be killed here. Another Sword Corps Commander, or worse, another Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress, must not arise.
Swish.
The patriarch’s fan began to draw transcendent afterimages.
Whoosh—!
From a distance. From a very far distance, a rumbling sound grew louder with each passing moment.
As soon as he recognized the direction from behind, something dark and ominous pierced through all the magical barriers and flew straight in.
A sonic projectile, like a beam of light, landed beside Jeong Yeon-shin.
Boom!
Amid the terrifying vibrations, someone landed. The ground shook violently, resonating like an earthquake. There was no way to guess how far they had leapt from.
Black robes fluttered in the gale-like energy waves that surged like a tidal wave. But it wasn’t Jeong Yeon-shin. The figure who had just landed was a girl in a long black cloak.
Her silhouette was familiar.
Jet-black bobbed hair defying conventions and formalities. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, while energy sparkled like lightning around her.
Her sharp nose, as if carved from ivory, was unmistakable. It was as if she had been born wearing the black cloak of Ipwang Fortress, overflowing with unrestrained power.
The billowing sleeves of her robe were as flowing as the garments of a celestial maiden.
It was Ipwang Divine Spear, Ak Su-rim.
Turning her head slightly toward Jeong Yeon-shin, she gave a sly smile.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
There was more. From the sides.
Crash—!
One by one, the pavilion walls crumbled. Massive figures burst through the walls, unleashing waves of overwhelming force.
A towering black-clad man with sharp, leaf-like ears smashed through walls, shattering and pulverizing them as he charged forward.
Each step left charred marks on the ground, smoke rising with every footfall. The ferocious motion of his qi even ignited flames.
“Haa—aaah—aaah!”
A roar erupted, shaking the surroundings like a lion’s roar.
The explosive voice was powerful enough to suggest years of concentrated cultivation. The force within his shout swept the area like a thunderclap.
The doorframes shattered to pieces on their own.
“The enemy has breached!”
“They’re from Ipwang Fortress!”
“This is urgent! Deploy the sword formation!”
Distant cries echoed faintly from afar. There were more beyond the girl and the man. Had others who lacked supreme perception also breached the front gate?
Even so, they seemed far from ordinary. The warriors of the Menghui Alliance, capable of holding their own anywhere in the martial world, were visibly shaken.
It was clear that these invaders were not opponents that could be handled with ordinary preparation.
Ipwang Fortress.
They had unleashed their near-unmatched champions from the start, prepared for the worst. Their transcendent post-mortem capabilities would not be compromised.
“This isn’t just a small skirmish, is it?”
Though relieved to have narrowly escaped death, Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t hide his astonishment. It didn’t show on his face, but the thought crossed his mind.
Were they declaring war?