Hahoe Wi-jin's eyebrows remained raised, a dark stroke of ink frozen mid-air. His lips hung open even after his answer, leaving him looking somewhat dazed.
His response was plain and immediate, almost as if it slipped out unintentionally.
"I see... I never thought of that."
Hahoe Wi-jin repeated himself, his deep voice carrying a faint echo. The once-overpowering tone that bore down upon Jeong Yeon-shin shifted, now resembling a murmur of bewildered self-reflection.
It was an unexpected display from someone who had stormed into the halls of the Alliance, destroying sect pavilions to challenge three family leaders. The imposing aura of a peerless expert seemed momentarily scattered.
Whoosh.
Suddenly, a gust of wind surged from the massive figure clad in black robes. It lasted only a moment, but the force radiated outward in waves.
Beside them, the surface of the lake rippled under the twilight, its reflected sunlight breaking apart into circles spreading outward.
With a low step, Hahoe Wi-jin grounded himself as though preparing for an explosive advance.
Boom—
Dust rose under the weight of his step as his massive figure sprang upward with surprising agility. The sheer elasticity of the movement made it clear: this was the grace of the Mo Yong Clan.
The energy emanating from the Yong-cheon acupoint on his soles carried the refined sensation of true internal cultivation. The air currents swirling around him were taut, springy, and dynamic, a testament to his refined control.
Nearby, Jeong Yeon-shin’s dark hair was swept wildly by the force.
"He grasped it immediately. His comprehension is commendable," thought Jeong Yeon-shin, watching the subtle but drastic change. The heavy, deliberate movements Hahoe Wi-jin had shown during the Alliance were gone. In their place was a nimbleness unbound by his imposing physique.
The billowing sleeves of his black robe danced fluidly, rising and falling in opposition to his body’s motion.
"This is the skill of a true master of Samhwa Cheojeong. His refinement will come with further practice," Jeong Yeon-shin observed, his gaze following the senior master as he landed lightly.
Hahoe Wi-jin’s face was an open canvas of emotions—his jaw slightly slack, his broad forehead creased in astonishment and confusion. He made no effort to hide his surprise, a testament to his straightforward nature.
"How could such a method exist? You understand the human body better than I do. I never imagined the muscles and meridians of the body could yield such efficiency. This is... worthy of being called a secret technique. You have taught me something invaluable. This knowledge suits me perfectly," he said, his words coming out in a flurry of uncharacteristic rambling.
As Hahoe Wi-jin prepared to leap again, Jeong Yeon-shin cautiously intervened.
"You needn’t jump again..."
"Hm?"
"You spoke earlier about maintaining the dignity of the Ipwang Division’s masters. Should you continue such displays, merchants and officials passing by might see you as an eccentric recluse. It may be best to stop now."
“...”
The silence that followed was confirmation enough. Jeong Yeon-shin interpreted it as a positive sign. He had offered a practical suggestion alongside a valuable insight, catering to the senior master’s sense of decorum.
Hahoe Wi-jin blinked his large eyes several times before redirecting the conversation.
"My training has always been a trial of perseverance," he said. "My body is not like those of the Mo Yong Clan. Moving as they do yields little benefit to me, but abandoning my foundation was never an option. I had to rack my brain like a sect elder just to make it this far."
His tone carried the weight of years spent laboring through hardship, a heavy reflection of the path he had walked to reach the rank of Ipwang Division’s Black-Rank.
"The time I spent training without knowing what you’ve shown me... it feels like such a waste. Hollow, utterly hollow."
"I am relieved to have been of help," Jeong Yeon-shin replied evenly.
He found himself liking Hahoe Wi-jin. There was a comforting honesty in the senior’s words, a simplicity that reminded him of the clear, unblemished surface of the nearby lake. Someone who could take straightforward words at face value.
"That you didn’t know is understandable," Jeong Yeon-shin added, his tone detached.
It was a polite response, but the underlying dryness of his voice suggested something else. In truth, he didn’t entirely understand how someone of Hahoe Wi-jin’s caliber could miss such an insight.
Hahoe Wi-jin’s lips twitched slightly.
He felt a conflicted mix of awe and irritation. The young master’s astounding knowledge of the body was deeply humbling, even virtuous. Yet, his unflinching bluntness was grating, scratching at something within him.
"Is this my problem?"
The realization of his unjust feelings returned as shame. Hahoe Wi-jin reflected inwardly.
"Did I ever have the right to lecture him in the first place? Damn it."
“...Indeed, you’ve given me an incredible realization. Not just any insight but one that will reshape my martial foundation. Such generosity deserves reward, lest I be branded a disgraceful man. I will assign Hyo-su Sword Gang Chang-mu to your division. I believe he aligns with your needs,"* he declared.
The Ipwang Division’s Blue-Rank warriors were already well-known figures in the martial world. Jeong Yeon-shin had heard of Hyo-su Sword.
A swordsman famed for his precise phantom blade techniques, Gang Chang-mu was said to have decapitated the infamous Nam-ak Monster under the glow of dawn.
"He has since joined the ranks of the Gwanghwa Sword Sect, reaching the eighth level of mastery," Jeong Yeon-shin recalled, thinking back to stories he had overheard during the journey to the Ipwang fortress.
A Blue-Rank swordsman of such skill was a tremendous addition. Though not quite at the level of Cheong-an Twin Swords Cheong Myeong, Gang Chang-mu was a combatant worth strategizing with.
Jeong Yeon-shin performed a respectful bow toward Hahoe Wi-jin.
"I deeply appreciate your decision, Senior."
"This is merely a repayment of my debt," Hahoe Wi-jin replied with an awkward smile.
At that moment, Ak Su-rim, who had been silently watching with an amused smile, stepped forward, her dark hair swaying behind her.
"Just one Blue-Rank warrior? I’ve heard Mo Gwang-ik already has two White-Rank warriors under its banner. Isn’t this too meager for such groundbreaking advice?"
"What?"
"Do you know how much blood has been shed for a single page of a scroll detailing the meridian pathways? That’s why these techniques are called secrets. They’re not just casually passed down unless they’re family legacies."
“...”
"Would you have ever discovered such a method on your own? If you want to repay the debt properly, don’t hold back. Otherwise, you’ll tarnish my name as well," she added with a grin.
Her words suggested adding two more White-Rank warriors to the deal—a force capable of dominating a region without a major sect’s influence.
“...There is truth in what you say," Hahoe Wi-jin agreed, his tone antiquated yet sincere.
Accepting her argument, he listed the names and titles of the two warriors under his command:
Steel-Severing Blade Ho Un-cheol and Deep Chivalry Fist Gongya Mi-ryeong.
Jeong Yeon-shin left with the promise of their eventual transfer to Mo Gwang-ik and clear instructions for how to proceed with the formalities.
"Leave the paperwork to the bulky one here," Ak Su-rim quipped, smiling mischievously. "You should focus on preparing for the welcome banquet and figuring out how to train your subordinates. Teaching will test your patience more than anything."
With her words lingering under the crimson sky, they parted ways, promising to reunite at the master’s gathering in Wonpyeong One Sword Hall.
As Jeong Yeon-shin made his way toward the Mo Gwang-ik pavilion, a warmth rose within him at the thought of meeting his subordinates.
"Who will I see first?"
The faces of his seniors and soon-to-be comrades passed through his mind, filling his chest with a quiet but profound sense of comfort.
***
The twilight calm before the grand training ground of Ma Gwang-ik was shattered, replaced by a cacophony of voices and energy.
A vibrant wave of overlapping internal forces and enthusiastic greetings swept through the space, brighter than the fading light of the setting sun.
“Leader! I’ve finally reached the seventh stage of Shihwa Mu-geuk Fist! Now I can seamlessly merge Jinbyeok and Fist Flames!”
“I’ve been waiting to see you ever since I heard that Hwangbo the Scoundrel mentioned you!”
“Our heroic leader of Ipwang went straight to their quarters upon returning from their arduous journey....”
“Brother Seomye, no, Lord Leader...!”
“Tell us a tale of your exploits! We heard you turned the Justice Alliance upside down!”
All manner of disciples, from Blue-Ranks and White-Ranks to young nameless initiates, came running to greet Jeong Yeon-shin.
They clung to his legs, their faces brimming with unrestrained joy as they welcomed their leader home.
Off to the side, Hwangbo the Scoundrel chewed a poppy stem, leaning lazily on one leg. He glanced at a young, unnamed disciple standing nearby and asked,
“Hey, when’s the next promotion ceremony?”
“I’ll answer if you show me proper respect. I may be younger, but I’m still your senior. And finish chewing before asking—that’s just good manners.”
“....”
“That’s so cool....”
A ten-year-old boy in plain novice attire murmured as he stared at the new Black-Rank leader, completely ignoring Hwangbo the Scoundrel. His daring attitude was nothing unusual in Ma Gwang-ik.
Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.
Then, a commanding voice cut through the noise.
“Everyone, step back and return to your quarters.”
A woman clad in a flowing blue robe stepped forward. Her sharp gaze and the glinting blade at her side left an impression colder than her chilling demeanor.
Her aura weighed heavy in the air like an oppressive fog.
It was none other than Baek Mi-ryeo, the One-Lotus Sword, a renowned master praised equally for her skill with the blade and her striking beauty.
‘Senior Baek.’
A flicker of warmth passed through Jeong Yeon-shin’s expression as he recognized her.
Baek Mi-ryeo’s steely gaze softened the moment their eyes met.
“The leader’s mission was long and arduous. Let him rest first. You’ve all heard the tales of what transpired at the Martial Alliance meeting countless times, haven’t you? Stop pestering him and clear the area. Save your chatter for tomorrow.”
Her voice rang out clearly, resonating with the unique cadence of the One-Lotus Sword. It was a tone Jeong Yeon-shin knew well.
‘Ah.’
At last, he realized—he had returned home.
The upcoming public declaration of Pabaek Chongram, the rewards from the General Affairs Division, and even the duels planned with senior Black-Rank masters to fill the division’s gaps all faded from his thoughts.
A peculiar warmth welled up in him, as if he were already wrapped in the comfort of familiar bedding.
The crowd dispersed quickly, heeding Baek Mi-ryeo’s authoritative presence. They moved in unison, nodding their heads or tossing out parting words as they left.
“Looking forward to your lessons tomorrow. Frankly, you haven’t really done much as a leader yet, so it feels a bit awkward....”
“It’s enough that you returned unscathed. Just assign us missions from those documents tomorrow, please.”
“I want to hear about the duel with the Amhyang Budonghwa of the Hwasan Sword Sect! How did you counter that?”
“Leader, please approve my promotion request. I’m aiming straight for Blue-Rank if possible.”
Even Hwangbo the Scoundrel shuffled off with a carefree gait, hands laced behind his head.
As silence reclaimed the pavilion grounds and darkness crept in, the crescent moon began to cast a pale glow over the blackened expanse of Ma Gwang-ik.
The earlier commotion dissolved into the night, leaving only the sound of footsteps echoing softly. Jeong Yeon-shin and Baek Mi-ryeo walked side by side, their steps in quiet harmony.
“Cheong Myeong is waiting for you,” Baek Mi-ryeo said softly.
She, Cheong Myeong, Heon Won-chang, and Jeong Yeon-shin formed the core of Ma Gwang-iljo. Jeong Yeon-shin had confided in them during his most trying times, sharing both his struggles and his true nature.
This bond had formed during the oppressive trials of the Ipwang Magas. Even after ascending to Black-Rank, Jeong Yeon-shin had given them permission to speak freely as equals.
“It’s a relief to see you safe,” she continued. “I was worried, hearing that you faced the Sword Sect’s Amhyang Budonghwa, Eon Hwayeon, and even the Sword Saint in succession.”
Her voice carried the serenity of moonlight.
For Jeong Yeon-shin, Cheong Myeong was like an elder brother, and Baek Mi-ryeo, an older sister. He chose not to respond immediately, letting her sentiment wash over him instead.
They walked in silence past the grand training grounds, through familiar halls, and finally toward the leader’s office.
It was a silence full of meaning, one that didn’t need words.
Even without formal master-disciple relationships under the Ipwang laws, Ma Gwang-ik’s senior-junior bonds were as real as they came.
Crossing the threshold of the quiet pavilion, they stepped into Jeong Yeon-shin’s office.
The air was filled with a familiar scent—a mix of metal, oil, and the aged fragrance of parchment.
Decorative blades from the Ipwang Magas adorned the walls, more than ten of them in total. These relics of the Ma Jin path had been replaced by the treasured swords of the Ipwang family.
A man wearing a loose blue hood sat slouched at the central desk, nonchalantly skimming through documents. His sharp features and relaxed demeanor exuded an otherworldly charisma, with his flowing hood’s tassels swaying rhythmically.
“I didn’t skip the welcoming party out of arrogance,” Cheong Myeong said without looking up. “I hope our leader understands—it’s just that being the acting head of Ma Gwang-ik is no small task.”
“....”
“I have to sort missions for our troops, reject deployment requests from other divisions, handle the duels when those requests escalate, and tweak the ledgers to secure funding from the General Affairs Division. Oh, and this—here’s a request to temporarily transfer Shin So-bin. But she’s busy training the novice disciples, so we can’t let her go. I’ll have to phrase the rejection delicately, or the other side might send a duel challenge. If that happens, the General Affairs Division can’t really intervene because the request isn’t entirely unreasonable.”
“You’ve worked hard,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, carefully offering his gratitude.
At that, Cheong Myeong finally looked up, his jade-green eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled.
Despite his noble lineage and seemingly boundless stamina, there was a weariness in his words that belied his calm demeanor.
“We’re half-ruined,” Cheong Myeong said plainly. “Our division gets pushed around constantly. Ipwang might be a major sect, but Ma Gwang-ik is currently the weakest link. No one acts openly hostile, of course, but we’re always treading on eggshells, constantly shrinking in on ourselves.”
Baek Mi-ryeo gave a slight nod, affirming his words.
This reality had been clear to Jeong Yeon-shin even before his return. It was why he had prioritized replenishing their ranks with skilled warriors.
The competitive nature of the Ipwang Division’s seventeen groups was baked into its structure, with promotion serving as the clearest battleground.
In a sect as vast as Ipwang, the reputation of one’s division reflected directly on its members. The strength of the leader, the face of the group, mattered immensely.
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke with quiet resolve.
“Prepare duel challenges. Compile a list of Black-Rank seniors still stationed here.”
“...Hm?”
“I’ll send them invitations,” he said, brushing the hilt of the Northern Sword of the Ipwang he carried.