"Sim Mu-ryeon, Baek Seo-goon," announced a woman with hair cascading down her nape like the mane of a lion, her strands a rich, natural shade of red. A luxurious brilliance emanated from her orange silk long robe, as though it had absorbed the glow of the setting sun.
She carried only one sword and a delicately decorated satchel embroidered with orchid patterns. Her appearance was as simple and concise as her introduction.
From the time the Youngcheon Sword Demon routed the Twin Frost Demons to her confrontation with Wei Ji Myo-hwa, several days had passed. The delay stemmed from Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s calculated efforts not to miss the window amidst the clash of unorthodox sects. In this scenario, the old adage, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
The situation wasn’t just about Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s life; it also involved the young Jeong Hye’s survival. Turning to the second-in-command of the Dae Bang Sect for aid was far from a simple decision.
And so, seven long nights passed.
Apart from the Twin Frost Demons, numerous pursuers trailed them. Yeo Ryeong and the Blade Specters cooperated, ensuring no shortage of manpower. It was a veritable net of heaven and earth.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa had hidden Jeong Hye in a mountain cave and led the enemies away, drawing attention with bursts of chaotic internal energy. It was the best she could do under such circumstances.
She had been driven to her absolute limit. Even when Baek Seo-goon appeared and dispatched twenty-two enemies in a single stroke with a move from Yi Gi Yu Geom, the pressure hadn’t let up.
"You’re a clever one, constantly evading. Even I had trouble pinpointing your movements," Baek Seo-goon remarked.
"..."
The Jinyeong Mountains stretched out like an ink painting, the dense mist obscuring their peaks and valleys.
The Sim Mu-ryeon headquarters wasn’t far from the Zhongnan Sect. Baek Seo-goon recognized Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s identity at a glance.
With the exceptional memory honed by her Ming ancestry’s divine arts, she recalled the face of the Zhongnan Sect’s head disciple.
The Cloud Dragon of Zhongnan, Wei Ji Myo-hwa, was widely known as one of the foremost talents of her generation. Her martial skills, appearance, and status were all extraordinary.
To someone like Baek Seo-goon, Wei Ji Myo-hwa embodied the same remarkable attributes.
"Youngcheon Sword Demon," Wei Ji Myo-hwa murmured, her lips barely parting.
Even as she spoke, her hand never left her sword hilt. She was the heir of a prestigious martial clan that had been tragically wiped out. Her vigilance was at its peak. Even her typically almond-shaped eyes were slightly narrowed with tension.
Her attire was far from pristine—her once-clean clothes were soiled with dust and bloodstains. Internal injuries had left bloodstreaks on her lips. The once-noble air of a Zhongnan swordswoman had morphed into a tenacious spirit more akin to a wounded beast.
A flicker of intrigue crossed Baek Seo-goon’s eyes.
"So, she has a connection with Seomye," she mused, observing Wei Ji Myo-hwa. Her sharp features and clear, striking eyes left a lasting impression.
But what stood out even more was the aura that cloaked her entire body. It was as if she had donned a garment woven from cutting winds.
"She maintains the state of unity with the sword at all times... A finely honed blade indeed," Baek Seo-goon thought.
Cloud Dragon Wei Ji Myo-hwa.
Even the unusual feathered ornament in her jet-black hair was distinctive. Her waist also drew attention. A white sword hung from a jade-decorated belt—not exactly what one might expect from a Daoist disciple, yet it suited her perfectly.
"You took a child from Jeong’s family, didn’t you?"
Her tone left no room for argument. Baek Seo-goon wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
The response was swift.
With a whoosh, an invisible surge of energy radiated from Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s body. The formless power pulsed outward without a hint of color, carrying a keen, razor-sharp intent. Her tattered robes, dulled to a pale blue from dirt and dust, grew taut with internal energy.
"A senior warrior of Sim Mu-ryeon," Wei Ji Myo-hwa spoke, her internal energy swirling around her. Her voice was steady, but her resolve to draw her blade at the slightest provocation was unmistakable. Her eyes, deep pools of black and white, were exceptionally clear.
It wasn’t recklessness but rather indomitable determination. Even if her life was on the line, she wouldn’t divulge Jeong Hye’s location.
Baek Seo-goon’s lips curled into a faint smile.
"Your spirit is impressive. But you’re unworthy of hearing my story. Be satisfied with realizing that I’m your ally.
Haven’t I already rid you of the leeches trailing you? Whether Blade Specters or Yeo Ryeong, it wasn’t an easy feat for me either."
The bonds between the Thirteen Heavens factions were tangled and chaotic.
These unorthodox sects, unpredictable in their actions, would at times strike the righteous sects or engage in factional wars among themselves. Unlike the harmonious alliances of the orthodox martial world, the unorthodox sects were anything but friendly with one another.
Despite this, rumors frequently circulated that if the Thirteen Heavens formed a unified alliance, the balance of the martial world would shift, drastically altering the power dynamics.
"Even so, I cannot trust a warrior of Sim Mu-ryeon," Wei Ji Myo-hwa said, her gaze unwavering.
Her only priority was protecting Jeong Hye. Even in hypothetical scenarios, she meticulously calculated every possibility as if crossing a stone bridge step by step. If death were the outcome, so be it.
Her resolve was admirable. It was the face of someone Seomye had once referred to as a great hero.
Baek Seo-goon’s smile deepened as she silently observed her.
"A noble child indeed. With such spirit, you could hold dominion over the world. No wonder Seomye chose to form ties with you," she said.
"Seomye...?" Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s eyes widened slightly.
Baek Seo-goon continued, her tone composed.
"I’ve heard rumors—of your ties with Ma Gwang-ik. I share that connection. Mine runs just as deep as yours, if not deeper. It’s a bond passed down through generations, forged in the language of swords."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever shared a drink with him? As the most outstanding talent in Shaanxi, your memory must be as sharp as if those years were only yesterday."
Baek Seo-goon’s abrupt question left Wei Ji Myo-hwa momentarily speechless. But the swordswoman, with her ash-gray bob, pressed on without pause.
"Whether it was wine or tea, it didn’t matter. If you mastered the etiquette of the righteous sects, you’d recognize Seomye’s habits. He always glanced at his companion before lifting his cup. Every single time, without fail.
He’d run his fingertips along the rim of his cup until his companion raised theirs. Only then would he raise his. It was almost instinctive, like a habit ingrained from childhood. You’d think a child of wealth would have learned proper tea etiquette young."
"...!"
"I always wondered whether it was because he distrusted the person before him, or because he grew up in a household where it was necessary to be cautious. If it was only with me, it’d have been the former. But judging from your reaction... It’s the latter."
Baek Seo-goon’s voice was steeped in an unusual warmth, tinged with bitterness.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s eyebrows shot up, surprise and doubt flashing across her face.
"As I thought," Baek Seo-goon murmured, her long lashes lowering.
"Jeong Ban-ak... That vile man brought shame to me endlessly. He must’ve treated his child the same way. If only I had been there, things would’ve been different..."
Her soliloquy was raw with emotion. Shame and anger mingled naturally, as if her words weren’t meant for anyone else but herself.
Even the slight curl of her lips carried an unfamiliar vulnerability, something Wei Ji Myo-hwa hadn’t expected from the Sword Sovereign of Hunan.
Shaanxi and Hunan were neighboring regions. Wei Ji Myo-hwa had long heard of the Youngcheon Sword Demon’s illustrious reputation.
Sword Sovereign Baek Seo-goon. An unrivaled figure with no need to feign emotions. Her claim of having shared drinks with Jeong Yeon-shin wasn’t mere boastfulness.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa recalled the many times she had shared tea with Seomye when he resided at Mount Zhongnan. She even remembered the subtler habits Baek Seo-goon hadn’t mentioned.
"Seomye’s half-brother," she thought.
Was he truly unable to live comfortably in his own family? Despite his noble bearing?
"I’ll draw my sword," she said aloud. "Permit me the distance to guide you, Senior."
Her meaning was clear: she was accepting the Sword Sovereign’s assistance under the condition that she could strike her blade at him should the need arise.
It was a bold proposal for someone in dire need of help.
"His protective Qi is likely impenetrable. At most, I’d be able to wound him," Wei Ji Myo-hwa calculated.
His reaction speed would also far surpass hers. Yet there was no alternative. She’d already left Jeong Hye alone for nearly three days, and the Thirteen Heavens duo’s net was closing tighter by the minute.
Even now, the sharp whistling of an arrow designed like a reed flute echoed in the distance. Wei Ji Myo-hwa had no other choice.
Baek Seo-goon showed no displeasure. He simply nodded slowly.
"Then move quickly."
From then on, they didn’t exchange another word.
The two moved like the wind, descending the unnamed gorge of the Jinyeong Mountains with practiced precision.
When they reached the floor, they slipped into a narrow cave.
The eerie sound of wind howled like wailing ghosts.
A strange, hollow breeze brushed against their collars, and the dimly lit rock walls abruptly fell silent.
"Ah..." Wei Ji Myo-hwa let out a low sound.
The cave was empty.
Weak rays of sunlight seeped through a crack in the ceiling. The crushed foliage where the child had once huddled basked quietly in the light.
All around, fragments of shattered swords were scattered in disarray.
***
Xi'an, Shaanxi
Stretching across the vast expanse of land surrounding Mount Zhongnan, the city of Xi’an was a sprawling complex of pavilions and halls. Unlike the other regions of Shaanxi Province, its scale and liveliness were unparalleled. The streets teemed with people.
Merchants folded their stalls while chatting away, innkeepers hung lanterns above their entrances late into the night, and wanderers roamed the alleyways searching for a place to rest.
It was truly immense.
Even during years of poor harvests, massive caravans carried supplies through merchant guilds and escort bureaus, ensuring a steady flow of goods.
As one of the most prosperous cities, with a history predating the founding of the nation, Xi’an was home to a diverse mix of social classes, all hustling to survive. Even after sunset, the city buzzed with various energies.
The same energy accompanied the swift, decisive actions of Gal Do-jin, the "Heroic Sword of Xi’an" (Xian Hyupgeom).
Bang!
With a single motion, he grabbed a man’s head by the back and slammed it down onto a table. A ripple of force surged outward like a gust of wind, shaking the air around them.
Cracks spread from the man’s forehead across the table’s surface before the wooden structure shattered into splinters, sending the man sprawling facedown on the ground alongside the broken pieces.
“This one’s carrying nothing of value. Drag him out,” Gal Do-jin ordered coldly, his sharp eyes glinting as he adjusted his ornate silk robe.
The tavern was illuminated by a string of orange lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
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This was an establishment under the management of the Sungyeoji Gate, a subordinate faction loyal to the Thirteen Heavens and specifically to Yeo Ryeong.
Gal Do-jin held the title of the First Protector of Sungyeoji Gate. His alias, "Heroic Sword," was a moniker used more among his unorthodox peers when boasting about themselves.
The patrons, meanwhile, kept their conversations hushed as they quietly continued their meals. Repeated years of bad harvests had eroded the protection once provided by the Great Zhongnan Sect.
Those dining in such a place were unlikely to be ordinary folk. At the very least, they weren’t the type to be distracted by every skirmish that occurred around them.
One of Gal Do-jin’s robust subordinates immediately complied, dragging the unconscious man out by his legs.
A boy standing beside Gal Do-jin let out a smirk. He wore a striking blue headband over his black-and-white eyes, exuding the charisma of a promising talent in the dark martial world.
The boy, So Yu-rang, was Gal Do-jin’s sworn younger brother in private.
“Hasn’t dine-and-dash become more common these days?” So Yu-rang asked with a grin.
“Phrase it correctly. It’s just that there are more freeloaders. Shameless parasites,” Gal Do-jin replied with an indifferent expression.
So Yu-rang chuckled. “Why let him go alive? That beggar dared to enjoy the delicacies of Xi’an’s finest inn without a single coin to his name. You should’ve at least broken his arms and legs... Want me to go finish the job? I wouldn’t mind sharpening my sword a little.”
“I told you to kill him outside. We can’t have our esteemed guests losing their appetite,” Gal Do-jin said, his tone as calm as ever.
“Must you go that far...?”
“Do you have any idea how many crybabies there are who get queasy at the sight of blood? Cleaning up costs money, and time is money.”
“Ah, I see. My thoughts were too shallow. I’ve been too immersed in Zhongnan martial arts lately.”
“Focus on your training. The Gate Lord has been merciful with you.”
“You’ve repeated that so often I might grow deaf to it.”
“You fool. The Guhyang Ilshik you were gifted is a supreme martial art mastered by Zhongnan’s Sword Dragon herself. If not for recent events, you wouldn’t have even dreamed of glimpsing such a divine technique. So quit messing around and focus on improving yourself.”
“Stop talking like a scholar. People might mistake you for a retired academic,” So Yu-rang quipped.
“You little—”
Gal Do-jin smirked at the banter.
Even the unorthodox martial artists of Shaanxi spoke in reverent whispers about the remnants of the Sword Sect, which Ipwang Fortress’s Seomye and the Zhongnan Sword Saint had worked to restore.
Though remnants of the Zhongnan Sect remained scattered across Shaanxi, no one dared speak against them.
The collapse of Zhongnan had triggered a seismic shift in Xi’an’s dynamics.
The Blade Specters and Yeo Ryeong’s subordinates had quickly moved in, seizing control of everything from merchant guilds and escort bureaus to roadside shops and trade routes.
Even local officials, including the magistrates and village leaders, had been swayed by bribes. In a time when famine had rendered resources scarce, even the most upright officials couldn’t resist the lure of gold.
Thus, Xi’an’s order was swiftly restructured, becoming a new stronghold for the unorthodox sects.
The silent patrons now enjoying their meals were a testament to this transformation. Among the merchants and commoners were scattered martial artists, none of whom dared raise their heads.
The stillness persisted until the tavern’s door swung open once more, letting in a gust of winter wind.
Whoosh.
The newcomer’s steps carried an odd weight, as though his slight frame held an inexplicable density.
Thud.
A boy of considerable height entered, his long lashes casting faint shadows over his face. His sharp, sculpted features stood out starkly, radiating an eerie calm.
The door creaked shut behind him, and his dark overcoat fluttered dramatically, revealing a brief glimpse of plain white sleeves before they disappeared again.
“Welcome!” The innkeeper, dressed in a rough brown hemp robe despite the cold, stepped forward with a cheerful greeting. He’d been casually observing Gal Do-jin and So Yu-rang’s conversation moments earlier.
“Are you alone? It’s a harsh world to travel without companions,” the innkeeper asked in a tone laced with subtle intrigue.
The boy’s calm reply cut through the subdued atmosphere.
“Three more will join me. I’ve sent them to find lodging elsewhere since they said this place was unsuitable for sleeping.”
The innkeeper’s smile widened knowingly. “Ah, our humble tavern is currently hosting some of the esteemed heroes of Sungyeoji Gate. Thanks to their presence, we’ve maintained our reputation for serving the finest delicacies in the land.”
“Are there seats available?” the boy asked nonchalantly.
From across the room, So Yu-rang’s eyebrows twitched. Sungyeoji Gate, the regional enforcers of Yeo Ryeong’s faction within the Thirteen Heavens, commanded immense respect. For a wandering newcomer to disregard their authority bordered on insolence.
“A fledgling of the martial world,” So Yu-rang muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Gal Do-jin, sensing his sworn brother’s rising annoyance, said nothing. He simply observed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
So Yu-rang, who had mastered the Guhyang Ilshik technique, was widely regarded as the strongest of his age in Shaanxi. Yet he restrained himself, content to scrutinize the stranger in silence.
‘His appearance is surprisingly refined. His complexion is healthy, and he doesn’t look underfed. He’s clearly been living well,’ Gal Do-jin thought, noting the boy’s unusually polished demeanor.
This wasn’t an ordinary drifter. Perhaps he was a noble scion disguising himself for reasons unknown. If his purpose were trivial, his martial skills would likely be lacking. If it were significant, then both his identity and his martial prowess would be hidden.
Disciples dispatched on covert missions from major sects were often adept at concealing their abilities.
Thud.
At that moment, So Yu-rang began striding toward the stranger.
Unorthodox martial artists were more beast than human, adhering strictly to the law of the jungle. Their disdain for established codes of conduct branded them as outlaws, and their penchant for wielding their swords as extensions of their emotions marked them as demonic.
So Yu-rang’s nature was no different. He was peculiar in every sense.
With a grin plastered across his face, he approached the boy, who was casually sipping water, paying no attention to his surroundings.
In Xi’an, a guest who disregarded the authority of the unorthodox factions was not a guest but an unwelcome intruder. So Yu-rang’s upturned lips mimicked his sworn brother’s mannerisms.
“Your behavior and manners don’t align with the customs of Xi’an,” So Yu-rang said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Once you finish that drink, I’ll be sure to teach you some respect. Perhaps I should start by breaking your throat...”
Then, it happened.
From the lips of the uninvited guest, just as he raised the cup to his mouth—
Shhh—
The wooden cup began to crumble into powder.
Faint particles floated in the air, catching the orange glow of the lanterns like a dreamlike haze. The disintegration spread to his fingertips, the fine dust dispersing as naturally as twilight fading into dusk.
It was an otherworldly sight, unnervingly serene in its execution.
So Yu-rang froze mid-step.
“...What.”
The boy, Jeong Yeon-shin, uttered a single word as the cup dissolved in his hand.