The Grand Training Ground of Ma Gwang-ik.
A space vast enough to hold five hundred people, lined with an array of diverse weapons displayed on marble stands.
The expansive floor was polished to a hardened sheen, a testament to the countless powerful stances it had endured.
Swish! Bang!
Martial artists swung their weapons with force. Amid the chaotic formations, sharp waves of energy erupted repeatedly.
Men and women alike showcased overwhelming power. There were no novices here—only seasoned experts.
“I heard there’s chaos over at Wonpyeong One-Sword Hall.”
“They say a bolt of lightning struck in broad daylight. Makes you worry about our faction leader.”
“Enough. Who worries about someone of Black Rank?”
“The mid-ranking lords will handle it. Black-Ranked warriors have protective qi strong enough to endure a heavenly calamity. Even if my inner energy cultivation isn’t at their level, it’s still enough to raise a defensive barrier instantly.”
“Our faction leader may have seemed unsteady at times, but with their instincts, they’d have managed. Plus, the senior leaders are present. Besides, doesn’t Wonpyeong One-Sword Hall have the protective formation of the noble families?”
“What if it wasn’t lightning but an intruder?”
“Then they’re out of luck. There are six faction lords at the hall right now. Including the Grand Commandant, who has reached the pinnacle of cultivation, you might as well count it as seven. This is one of the most dangerous places in the world.”
“If it were truly a major issue, the Fortress Lord would’ve intervened.”
“No alarms were raised. Focus back on your training.”
The atmosphere was relaxed yet disciplined. Even the attire of the nameless and Blue-Ranked warriors was immaculate.
Their robes fluttered gracefully, perfectly pressed, a stark contrast to the typical rugged attire of martial artists. Servants tended to their appearances, a reflection of Ipwang Fortress’s prestige.
“You should retreat to the rear in that formation.”
“Why not switch tactics? Your energy waves are strong but lack the speed for an opening strike.”
Many worked on synchronized movements for group battles, honing their techniques in close formations.
Some perched on rooftops with their arms crossed, while others sat casually in meditation, circulating their inner energy. No one worried about internal injuries—they trusted their peers to remain vigilant.
“Ma Gwang-ik’s style is certainly liberating,” said a woman wearing a sleeveless Blue-Rank robe.
Her sharp, pointed ears gave her an almost predatory look. Arms crossed calmly, she exuded an air of poise.
Her shoulders, toned from years of archery, formed elegant curves beneath her neck. This was Wi Ye-ryeong of the April Bow Division, a master archer who had supported Seonmok Lord Cheon So-so in the past. After Cheon’s defeat in a duel, her allegiance had shifted.
Beside her, Baek Mi-ryeo ran her fingers roughly through her jet-black hair, brushing it back.
“The temperament of a martial unit depends on its leader. This disarray stems from not yet completing a mission under our new lord. With a junior as their superior, neither side knows how to adjust. Order will come soon enough.”
“It seems the famed One Lotus Swordmaster holds our young lord in high regard.”
Wi Ye-ryeong smiled faintly, her lips curving like a thin crescent moon.
Baek Mi-ryeo glanced at her briefly before turning away, her voice detached.
“You’ve got it backward. It’s the lord who values me. And besides...”
Her lips dipped into a slight frown.
“Young lord? Let me not hear those words again. It’s a disrespectful label. That bow of yours—it’s made of rare ebony, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be a shame if it snapped?”
“I misspoke.”
Wi Ye-ryeong’s smile deepened.
That was the end of it.
Wi Ye-ryeong did not falter in the clash of words. As a Blue-Ranked noble, she bore the same lofty heritage.
Even if One Lotus Swordmaster Baek Mi-ryeo was considered among the strongest Blues alongside the likes of the Cheongan Divine Sword, the difference wasn’t insurmountable.
The elite warriors of Ipwang Fortress were a class apart.
They were Blue-Ranked experts who had risen on the vast stage of Ipwang Fortress. It was a status that meant they had few true rivals in the world.
In the martial world, factions like the Thirteen Heavens, Nine Great Sects, and Eight Noble Clans comprised only a fraction of its upper echelon.
For the elite of a dominant faction, a strong sense of individuality and pride was only natural.
Baek Mi-ryeo did not continue the conversation. It was a matter for the faction leader, Jeong Yeon-shin, to address.
Both Seonmok Lord Cheon So-so and Bo Bloodlord had brought promising newcomers to the martial unit, alongside veterans of Ma Gwang-ik’s faction. Order would eventually take root under Seomye's Northern Bright Sword. It was only a matter of time.
Everyone had their tasks, and Baek Mi-ryeo was no exception.
"Once Seomye can breathe a little easier... that might be the time to seriously consider the former faction lord’s words."
Her gaze softened as she sank into thought.
Meanwhile.
The collective might of Ma Gwang-ik’s techniques sparked discussion among the onlookers.
“Formidable. They say a properly trained Ma Gwang Technique is a force to be reckoned with.”
“It’s a pure combat art, close to perfection.”
“It’s hard to balance. Seomye’s martial arts and the Ma Gwang Technique are both apex styles. Trying to master both at once could lead to mediocrity in both.”
“That was expected. Seeing it in action just makes it clearer. No wonder switching martial units is viewed with caution.”
The elite martial artists, six of Blue Rank and two of White Rank, watched the Ma Gwang practitioners train. They had left their original techniques behind to adopt Seomye’s arts.
At first, it was tolerable. Even transitioning fully to a new main technique, despite the grueling effort, had seemed worthwhile. Seomye’s martial arts were superior to their previous styles, making training enjoyable.
But the Ma Gwang Technique posed a different problem.
It was a technique that turned Ma Gwang practitioners into living blades, perfectly suited for group combat. It synchronized with allies, reading enemy weaknesses in unison and striking in devastating coordination.
“If this doesn’t get resolved, there’ll be no point in absorbing so many Blue-Ranked warriors. Might as well stick to solo missions.”
Cheongmyeong leaned lazily against a section of the wall, his muttered words barely audible amid the lively chatter around him.
The commotion continued unabated. No one dared interrupt the Cheongan Divine Sword’s musings.
There was nothing particularly novel about his remarks. Nor could they be considered a challenge. They were, in essence, a simple truth.
“There’s nothing quite like the thrill of running across the wilds with your comrades. The joy of mowing down enemies together... You must’ve expected that might diminish here, didn’t you? I’d love some guidance, but the faction leader hardly shows himself.”
The words came from Hyo Su-geom Gang Chang-mu, who spoke with a disgruntled tone.
He was a swordsman from the Heavenly Forest Division. Much like the leader he once served, Heavenly Strength Dragon, Gang Chang-mu was a man of imposing stature. His enormous frame was complemented by a sword case strapped across his back.
Even without drawing his sword, the dense, overwhelming aura radiating from his body hinted at his incredible capacity for internal energy. The intensity of his ever-present qi was proof of his immense cultivation.
“Well, with your level of insight, that’s probably your limit anyway.”
A young man clad in hastily thrown-on training clothes passed by, his arms resting behind his head. A blade of grass hung from his lips, giving him the air of a carefree rogue.
“From the looks of it, you’ve dabbled clumsily in Radiant Sword Style. What a pity.”
“What did you just say?”
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“It may look flashy at first glance, but it’s an unforgiving and poorly balanced swordsmanship. My guess? You’ll probably hit a wall around the ninth form. Developing your swordsmanship beyond that requires exceptional talent, and, well, I don’t see it.”
The young man’s shaded eyes appeared drowsy, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath them. With a mere flick of his gaze, Tae Yeom-ryong motioned toward Wi Ye-ryeong without saying another word.
His pointed behavior extended to Na Il-cheon from the Bo Blood Unit, whose twitching brow betrayed his noble upbringing. His dignified demeanor screamed of his status as the young master of a powerful clan that ruled the Zhenan region.
“You too, you too. Rotational Steps and Si-geuk Cultivation aren’t techniques just anyone can master. Someone like me might have a chance, but you?”
Tae Yeom-ryong’s words carried an unmistakable arrogance.
Among the disciples of Ma Gwang-ik, he seemed to court death. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from provoking those around him, especially when it concerned the martial arts tied to Ma Gwang-ik himself. Tae Yeom-ryong regarded the leader’s martial world as his final source of intrigue.
“These halfwits... They don’t even understand their place,” he thought with disdain.
“Ah, the infamous scoundrel of the Hwangbo Clan. I’ve heard about you.”
Gang Chang-mu’s disposition mirrored that of his former leader, Heavenly Strength Dragon. He didn’t bother to argue further.
In Ipwang Fortress, punishing insubordination was not against the law. With deliberate movements, he unstrapped the sword case from his back and drew his massive blade.
An incident had begun.
***
Jeong Yeon-shin left the Wonpyeong Sword Hall as if fleeing, refusing to glance back despite the desperate calls of his grandfather. His steps carried him swiftly through the wide thoroughfares of Ipwang Fortress, shame biting at his heels with every stride.
Before he realized it, he was crossing the threshold of the Ipwang Shin Clan’s estate. The imposing gray gates loomed large, almost matching the grandeur of the Ipwang Ma Clan’s entrance. Beyond the gates, meticulously groomed trees lined the paths, their beauty enhanced by the crimson petals of winter orchids catching the sunlight.
"M-Ma Gwang-ik-ju himself...!"
The gatekeepers were visibly startled.
Jeong Yeon-shin, now a prominent figure due to his achievements and his role as Ma Gwang-ik-ju, was no stranger to such reactions. His name and deeds were well-known throughout Ipwang Fortress, whether for his coming-of-age ceremony, his Blue Rank ascension, or his victorious duels, including the one against Sunmok Lingju.
"Please, just a moment!"
He was treated with utmost deference. Even a Blue-ranked warrior was dispatched to guide him—one Shin Baek, introduced as a cousin to Shin So-bin.
So-bin, a subordinate of Jeong Yeon-shin, was someone with exceptional talent despite her aristocratic lineage. She had officially pledged herself to the Ma Gwang-ik faction, and as such, her allegiance lay firmly under his leadership. This connection naturally demanded that the Shin Clan tread carefully around their guest.
“It’s only proper for So-bin to remain under my protection. As her commander, I’ll retrieve her. But more than that...”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s thoughts sank deeper, spiraling into a pit of unease. The embarrassment he felt over his earlier confrontation at the Wonpyeong Sword Hall weighed heavily. How could he face the other Black Rank seniors after such an incident?
Even as he silently wrestled with these thoughts, his voice came out calm and steady:
"Take me to the clan head."
The Shin Clan’s experts exchanged uneasy glances. None among them dared to challenge a Black Rank master, let alone the newly appointed Ma Gwang-ik-ju. They understood that their strongest fighters—those capable of facing his wrath—were absent. The elders had grown feeble, and Myulseom Da-ju was away on a mission.
Amidst the silence, Jeong Yeon-shin, with his empty left sleeve swaying lightly, strode purposefully into the clan’s main hall. Waiting for him in the seat of honor was Shin Seol-ha, the matriarch of the Shin Clan.
Her poise was immaculate. Seated upright, with an air of dignity radiating from her every movement, she epitomized the grace of a noblewoman.
"Please forgive my inability to greet you properly until now. The responsibilities of managing this household left me unable to host Ma Gwang-ik-ju earlier," she began.
"I’ve come to take custody of Shin So-bin," Jeong Yeon-shin replied, his tone as composed as his posture.
His manner was impeccable, befitting the rank of a Black Rank warrior of the Shin Geom Squad. No member of the Shin Clan, not even its head, could dismiss his authority.
Despite this, there was a natural ease in his demeanor, a quiet confidence that even Shin Seol-ha found striking.
"Straight to the point, I see," she said with a faint smile. "So this is the nature of the martial path of your faction. I’d hoped to serve you tea—crafted from rare leaves we’ve carefully preserved—but it seems that’s no longer necessary."
"This is no occasion for tea. Had you truly respected me, you would not have taken one of my subordinates without my permission. That act alone is grounds for discipline, perhaps even punishment."
Jeong Yeon-shin’s calm words carried an undeniable weight. Shin Seol-ha’s brow twitched slightly.
"I have always respected you," she replied, her voice steady but with an undertone of strain. "Your deeds alone demand it. However, as So-bin’s mother, I ask that you hear me out."
"Speak."
"Her martial path is the issue. She is far too enamored with the techniques of your faction—Seomye Martial Principles. Our clan boasts the illustrious Jecheonmu-gyeong, a foundational art crafted for our bloodline."
She adjusted the orange-hued sleeve of her robe, her composed tone reminding Jeong Yeon-shin of So-bin’s own mannerisms.
"Even if a crow sharpens its talons like a raptor, it cannot truly become an eagle. While your talents are extraordinary, Ma Gwang-ik-ju, the Seomye techniques are tailored to you and you alone. Jecheonmu-gyeong is designed for the Shin bloodline, and So-bin has a duty—to elevate our family name as its scion."
"You underestimate your daughter. So-bin is no crow; she’s a raptor."
"Then that only strengthens my point," Shin Seol-ha countered, her expression firm. "Even as a raptor, she would ascend to Black Rank with Jecheonmu-gyeong. Your techniques do not resonate with our lineage."
Her tone left no room for doubt—she had come to this meeting prepared to hold her ground. The clash of family duty and martial authority hung thick in the air.
Jeong Yeon-shin briefly recalled his first meeting with Ma Gwang-ik and the similar clash of principles it had entailed.
Suddenly, a deafening crash shattered the hall’s tense silence.
Chaos Descends
The ceiling exploded into fragments, and before anyone could react, a pink bolt of lightning tore through the air, streaking toward Shin Seol-ha with terrifying speed. The roar of its passage was deafening, its intensity overwhelming.
The protective aura around Shin Seol-ha barely had time to materialize before it was obliterated, scattering like shards of a mirror. In the blink of an eye, the force flung her backward, leaving her unconscious on the ground.
"Pathetic," a cold voice declared.
Standing tall and imperious amidst the debris was a man in his thirties, his expression as unyielding as granite. Pink sleeves billowed faintly as he casually dusted off fragments of plaster.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s patience reached its breaking point.
"Grandfather!"
The intruder turned sharply, his head tilting in mild curiosity.
"Grandfather?" he repeated, his tone slower, as if testing the word.
Realizing his error, Jeong Yeon-shin steadied his breathing and spoke with forced calm:
"Your interruptions while I act as faction leader are damaging to my authority. I refrained from mentioning it after your interference at the Wonpyeong Sword Hall, but I must insist it not happen again."
The man—Ma Yeon-jeok, his grandfather—paused. Then, surprisingly, he nodded.
"You’re right, of course. That was my mistake."
He smiled faintly, his earlier severity replaced by a surprisingly amiable expression.
"This old man’s temper got the better of him again. I was thoughtless. Your clarity shames me, child. Rest assured, I will not repeat this."
With those words, Ma Yeon-jeok’s figure flickered and vanished, his voice lingering briefly in the air like a distant echo.
Jeong Yeon-shin sighed and turned his attention to the unconscious Shin Seol-ha. Outside, the startled sounds of the Shin clan’s retainers grew louder, but none dared enter. The oppressive weight of Black Rank authority kept them at bay for now.
In the chilling winter breeze creeping through the shattered hall, Jeong Yeon-shin made his decision.
"I’ll take responsibility for this incident myself."
The Ma Gwang-ik was resolute.