Saaaa—
From Ma Gwang-ik Lord Jeong Yeon-shin’s entire body, streams of light shimmered like heat waves before dispersing. The light broke apart like starlight above the hem of his black robe.
The sight starkly contrasted with the composed gaze of Seomye.
Every martial grandmaster exuded a distinct presence, and the aura surrounding the new Ma Gwang-ik Lord was both powerful and enigmatic. To those experienced in the martial world, it felt unpredictable and beyond comprehension.
Earlier, without a single exaggerated movement of his lips, Jeong Yeon-shin had sent out a transmitted message.
To onlookers, the Ma Gwang-ik Lord came across as a quiet and impenetrable black sentinel. His turbulent temperament, however, had only revealed itself to Do Jin and Hahoe Sangan.
"Watching a promotion ceremony as the Lord feels utterly meaningless. Did the Myeolseom Lord see me like this too?"
Jeong Yeon-shin reflected silently. Am I even needed here?
"It’d be better to get this over with and head to Shaanxi...."
His lips pressed together faintly, betraying his inner frustration. He had too many ties to the Zhongnan Sect. It wasn’t just his blood relatives, Jeong Hye and Jeong Jung-san. There were also others: Zhongnan Swordmaster Zhong Yeo-il, the elder Yeo Il-shin, and Wei Ji Myo-hwa, the Sword Dragon. Not to mention the disciples of Zhongnan who had fought alongside him against the Blade Specters. It felt like a weight pressing against his heart.
“Phew...”
At that moment, Do Jin’s typically relaxed wrists stiffened. Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been holding the blade between his fingers, casually flicked his index and middle fingers outward.
It was an effortless motion.
Thwoong— The sword resonated as it was knocked askew.
“...!”
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Do Jin nearly lost hold of his weapon and immediately realized the state he was in. The years of rigorous training under the prestigious sword school vanished from his mind in an instant.
A chilling sensation overtook his head. It was near panic—not just because his disastrous strike had been stopped so easily. Even if he attempted the same attack again, it was clear he wouldn’t succeed. His technique had been nullified as if it were nothing.
For a swordsman, it was a devastating blow. Still, he could only take some small solace in the fact that his opponent was a master of Jeong Yeon-shin’s caliber.
The new Ma Gwang-ik Lord, Seomye, had already become a familiar and revered figure within Ipwang Fortress.
“The rumors don’t lie...”
Do Jin couldn’t help but mutter inwardly. As a martial artist of the Yullyeong Unit, he’d taken an interest in the grandmaster who had broken through the Promotion Ceremony’s challenges with ease.
He’d simply set aside his curiosity momentarily, distracted by his own turmoil.
Hahoe Sangan, who had been crouched low, straightened herself. She quickly raised her hands in a respectful martial salute.
Hooo—
She let out a deep breath, the inner energy from her short-term preparations flowing out with faint ripples of qi.
Only now did she begin to breathe properly. After being astonished by Do Jin’s sword strike and experiencing Jeong Yeon-shin’s counter at such close range, she could finally comprehend her emotions.
Even by her own judgment, the display had been overwhelming.
"To think he caught it with bare hands..."
She had just witnessed a technique that was impossible to even attempt without a massive gap in skill. He had caught a swordsman’s strike with only two fingers.
He had completely grasped the path of the blade, dissipated the energy imbued in the strike with a single burst of his own, and then neutralized the sword’s momentum using just the strength in his fingers.
All of this had happened in the blink of an eye.
The Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s defensive energy was not as intricate as Hyeon Mo-ryeong’s Simbyeok Cheonbingpae. Instead, it was an unshakable confidence in his ability to succeed with such a daring move. Perhaps his boldness stemmed from his immense skill.
Regardless, it was enough to overawe most martial artists with even a shred of insight.
Hahoe Sangan’s lips twisted into an awkward smile.
“Ah... Thank you, Ma Gwang-ik Lord.”
Her noble status as a member of the Hahoe clan meant nothing before the black-robed figure. The age gap between them was irrelevant as well. The Ma Gwang-ik Lord’s rank far surpassed any comparison to noble bloodlines.
Even if she had been present to witness his Promotion Ceremony in Ipwang Fortress as a White Rank martial artist, she knew it would have been improper to act disrespectfully toward him.
He was so cute back then...
She wondered if her thoughts were written all over her face. Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curled slightly, forming an expression that looked part smirk, part grimace. He seemed faintly displeased.
“Focus on observing your opponent’s movements,” he said in a blunt tone. “Your target is important, but predicting the enemy’s trajectory is far more critical.”
The gratitude she’d expressed left him no room to send her away. Even as a Black Rank grandmaster, offering a brief word of advice seemed the proper thing to do. He figured she’d leave on her own now.
Hahoe Sangan lowered her head in thanks, her hands coming together in a formal gesture once more. For someone like her, interacting with the Ma Gwang-ik Lord was a rare opportunity, and she clearly cherished it.
Her lips curved into a soft smile.
“I’ve heard rumors, Lord Ma Gwang-ik, that you possess secret techniques even Seomye’s martial lineage hasn’t inherited. What you displayed just now... could that be one of them?”
“Are you interested in my martial arts?”
“I was, at one point. They’re hard to master. Well, no... technically, the cultivation was manageable, but they’re difficult to apply in real combat. Of course, you teach them to your subordinates, but I imagine learning directly from you would feel different, wouldn’t it?”
Her tone carried an air of curiosity, and her dark eyes sparkled as she studied him. It felt as if she were probing for something she knew she couldn’t have.
Hahoe Sangan was from a prestigious martial family and a member of the powerful Myeolseom Unit. It was clear she wasn’t serious about switching allegiances, so her question likely came from some fleeting regret or idle curiosity.
“Not worth dwelling on.”
Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t answer immediately, simply observing her in silence. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice calm but firm.
“The gates of Ma Gwang-ik do not open so freely. What you’ve seen is enough. There’s nothing more you need.”
“Ah...”
She let out a small sigh, her expression tinged with faint disappointment.
Meanwhile, Do Jin, who had been clutching his lowered sword awkwardly, spoke up.
“Thank you, Ma Gwang-ik Lord...”
“I said to leave.”
“Yes.”
His response was as sharp as his earlier strike had been. Both he and Hahoe Sangan quickly saluted before stepping off the dueling stage.
Traditionally, the stars of the Promotion Ceremony were meant to be those advancing in rank. However, the sheer mystique surrounding the new Ma Gwang-ik Lord had stolen the attention of nearly every onlooker.
Very few eyes remained on the notable swordsman Whirlwind Blade Do Jin.
Rustle.
Jeong Yeon-shin adjusted the hem of his robe, his movements now exuding a cold, imposing aura. The sharp black edges of his attire matched his indifferent expression perfectly.
“Next.”
His voice carried an undeniable weight, and the atmosphere shifted. A small ripple of unease spread through the crowd.
The grandmasters who had been unable to join the collective mission due to solo endeavors ascended the stage with heavy steps.
“I am Suncheon Ik’s Seon Shiryung,” one announced.
“And I am Jong Hui of the Mugeuk Unit,” the other added.
***
The overwhelming spectacle delivered earlier by the Ma Gwang-ik Lord had left a significant impression.
Ipwang Fortress's Promotion Ceremony began to progress at an unprecedented speed.
This wasn't Jeong Yeon-shin's intention, yet duel after duel resolved in single, decisive strikes. Skilled martial artists demonstrated their prowess with their full strength and then stepped off the stage. Each clash brought with it a suffocating tension, as if the very air was being held still.
“The Lord doesn’t seem to be in a pleasant mood,” someone observed.
“Indeed. His expression is rigid. I’ve never seen him like this, even for a moment,” another replied.
In the middle of the spectators' seating, Tae Yeom-ryong and Zhuge Cheong-ah exchanged quiet words.
They were both members of the Eight Noble Clans, sharing a background rooted in the provinces' aristocracy. Both had witnessed Jeong Yeon-shin's ascension as the Ma Gwang-ik Lord.
“He seems to be troubled by something, though it’s not my place to ask.”
“Typical of someone from the Zhuge Clan—always cautious. You’re right, though. It’s best not to overstep. I, too, have lived humbly enough, trampled by nameless disciples.”
Tae Yeom-ryong appeared unconcerned about the Lord’s well-being, perhaps placing faith in his abilities. His relaxed demeanor was apparent as he absentmindedly chewed on an opium poppy and glanced lazily in the direction of the Ma Gwang-ik Hall.
“Such little upstarts with so much life ahead of them...”
“......”
Zhuge Cheong-ah lowered her gaze slightly. Her black hair, tied in sky-blue silk, was brushed aside as she stared blankly at Jeong Yeon-shin standing on the stage. She wore simple gray robes of an unnamed disciple, despite being qualified to wear the white robes of a guest warrior recognized by the fortress lord.
She had refused the honor outright to avoid standing out. To draw closer to the foundation of the group, she had started where everyone else did, deliberately requesting the robes of an unnamed disciple.
Her humility, combined with her illustrious background as a direct member of the Zhuge Clan, quickly won the hearts of the other disciples. Unlike someone like Tae Yeom-ryong, she didn’t flaunt her status.
“Even the very presence of Lord Hwangbo seems to strengthen the group. Lord Jeong’s silent approval of him is significant, too...”
In truth, she already held a stable position within Ma Gwang-ik, even while the Lord himself remained preoccupied. Her role was clear. As a master of inner energy techniques, Zhuge Cheong-ah would undoubtedly contribute to the group's strength. The dangers posed by mechanical traps seemed to have been greatly reduced under her supervision.
As an unnamed disciple, Zhuge Cheong-ah thought cautiously to herself. Ma Gwang-ik has already achieved the strength of a well-established mid-tier martial sect.
“With my presence as an eye of the Zhuge Clan and Wi Ye-ryeong from the Azure Moon Palace balancing field dynamics in skirmishes, even the Blue Rank warriors are firmly established. Numbers are no longer an issue. And with Gwang-ye-gyeol added into the mix...”
The cooperative brilliance of Ma Gwang-ik’s techniques and Seomye’s martial lineage stood out as extraordinary, even to someone as discerning as Zhuge Cheong-ah, a direct member of one of the Eight Noble Clans.
The martial formation Gwang-ye-gyeol, created by Ma Gwang-ik Lord Jeong Yeon-shin, had drastically reduced the time required for cultivation. Though it was limited to those already proficient in either Ma Gwang-ik’s techniques or Seomye’s martial lineage, many within the group had already mastered one or the other. Their transformation was visible day by day, advancing at an almost terrifying pace.
It wasn’t just Jeong Yeon-shin’s personal achievements that inspired awe—it was the change he was driving in those around him. The world at large was still unaware, but the time would come when the collective might of Ma Gwang-ik would make its debut. How would Kangho react then?
“Lord Jeong once mentioned he’d never been on a collective mission before...”
Zhuge Cheong-ah put her thoughts aside and spoke softly. “Lord Hwangbo seems untroubled, even though he needs to cross two ranks.”
“Me?”
Tae Yeom-ryong chuckled and gestured with his chin.
“I’m not the one you should worry about. Look—it's that guy going up now. The one with that irritatingly smug attitude.”
A tall young man walked onto the stage with an easy grin. The sword strapped to his waist was anything but ordinary, and the blue silk tied around his head gleamed. At the center of the silk headband, a golden dragon shimmered brightly, its gaudy shine unmistakable. It was the same heroic headband that the self-proclaimed Ipwang Hero had boasted about wearing during his first encounter with Seomye.
On the vast central stage, Hyeon Won-chang climbed up alongside his opponent. The Promotion Ceremony had been ongoing for over an hour—a full shichen. This was the first time someone from Ma Gwang-ik had stepped forward.
“From Ma Gwang-ik, I am Hyeon Won-chang.”
Offering Jeong Yeon-shin a polite bow, he turned to his opponent.
“I am Kang Un-chan, from the General Administration Division. I’ve had the honor of seeing Lord Jeong from afar a few times,” his opponent introduced himself.
The man carried himself with calm poise, his black-sheathed sword hanging at his side. Though dressed in white robes resembling those of a scholar, his appearance was deceptively subdued. His deep-set brows and honed physique exuded a primal vitality, contradicting his tranquil demeanor.
For a brief moment, one might think of the phrase master of both pen and sword. The weight of his martial energy was palpable.
“This won’t be easy,” Jeong Yeon-shin thought but maintained a neutral expression, as befitting his position.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined disrupting Kang Un-chan’s balance with an invisible gust of force. Perhaps it was due to the lingering pain in his elongated limbs and the recent surge of intrusive thoughts.
“I’m not my grandfather,” he chastised himself inwardly.
He had always prided himself on his even temper. Recklessness was a trait far removed from his nature. Remaining humble and composed was a guiding principle he’d upheld since childhood.
With a few steps back, he curtly instructed, “Begin.”
“My thanks for the opportunity,” Kang Un-chan said, bowing deeply toward the Ma Gwang-ik Lord. He then turned to Hyeon Won-chang, their gazes meeting.
“I’ve always envied you. I doubt I’m alone in that sentiment,” Kang Un-chan said.
“What do you mean by that?” Hyeon Won-chang asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You had the fortune to meet the right people. To take part in the Ipwang Promotion Ceremony alongside the current Ma Gwang-ik Lord and to join the same martial group. Luck is undeniably a martial artist’s skill. Hyeon Won, you are truly exceptional.”
There was no sarcasm or bitterness in Kang Un-chan’s tone—just genuine acknowledgment. In a world where fate and destiny were frequently invoked, it seemed he truly believed what he said.
Hyeon Won-chang wasn’t particularly moved. This match was an opportunity to test the Gwang-ye-gyeol technique that Jeong Yeon-shin himself had taught him. With hundreds of eyes watching, failure was not an option.
“My senses are razor-sharp. Perfect.”
Letting Kang Un-chan’s words wash over him, he prepared himself mentally. The man seemed overly talkative—a trait perhaps reflective of his background in the General Administration Division.
“Even enduring envy is a martial artist’s duty,” Kang Un-chan continued, his voice calm. “I used to think how much stronger I could’ve been if I had been in your place—if I had the chance to learn what you learned, to stand where you stood. Such thoughts lingered in my mind, but in the end, they’re meaningless. Your place is yours alone.”
It was then that it happened.
Thud—
Suddenly, Kang Un-chan’s neck snapped downward as an invisible wave of energy struck the back of his head. The force was heavy and precise, hitting the exact point on the back of his skull. His posture faltered as though an unseen ceiling had collapsed over him, nearly forcing him to his knees.
Whooong—
The residual energy swept across the stage like a faint breeze, scattering a thin layer of dust in its wake and deepening the silence in the arena.
Hyeon Won-chang turned his gaze to his lord.
“......”
The Ma Gwang-ik Lord stood with his arms crossed, his eyes lowered slightly. His serene and dignified appearance remained unshaken, as if nothing had happened.