It was a low murmur, almost like he was talking to himself.
But to a supreme master, it was nothing of the sort. Their heightened senses transcended the comprehension of ordinary people.
The new Ma Gwang-ik Sovereign was no exception. If the Black Sovereign of Divine Extreme Blood, Jin Myeong-jo, had a junior capable of such feats, he would undoubtedly hear it.
And, of course, he did.
“My apologies, Senior Jin.”
The voice was calm, but it resonated with such clarity and energy that it hummed in the air. Jin Myeong-jo’s pale face turned even whiter.
It was as though the junior was speaking right beside him, though the speaker was far away. The sound was unnervingly vivid.
This level of precision could lead to the rarely seen Six Harmonies Resonance. A state where a voice, amplified by internal energy, would reverberate across all directions. Only the purest and most refined internal energy could accomplish such a feat—a testament to the junior’s profound mastery of cultivation techniques and mental discipline.
Jin Myeong-jo’s lips twitched slightly.
‘Damn...’
The voice carried with it an aura of formidable internal energy. It wasn’t just a sound but a force, laden with spiritual pressure.
The new Ma Gwang-ik Sovereign emerged from the faint light of dawn, casting an imposing shadow. Draped in a loose black cloak, each step he took seemed to ripple unseen waves across the air.
To Jin Myeong-jo, the energy was palpable—tangible, almost within reach.
‘Curse it.’
He inhaled sharply, regulating his breath with his cultivation technique to steady his body. The overwhelming rejection he felt from the waves of energy required a concerted effort to resist.
By the time his breathing had stabilized, the black-cloaked figure had descended before him, the hem of his long coat fluttering behind him.
His movements were fluid, his footsteps natural, reminiscent of the innate grace of the noble clans. It was clear that the Ma Gwang-ik Sovereign had advanced significantly in his studies since departing the fortress.
‘A monster of a man.’
Jin Myeong-jo’s thoughts turned grim as he fixed his gaze. From the moment he faced his junior, his sharp eyes had drawn a mental line, a projection of composure crafted by sheer force of will. His practiced expression radiated the aura of a dignified and commanding senior, befitting the noble power he wielded.
Tilting his head slightly, he regarded the approaching junior as one aristocrat might regard another.
“The Blade Specter Patriarch is staying at Imjo Province.”
He spoke before the junior could close the distance, a calculated move meant to gain the upper hand in their exchange.
The junior’s narrowed eyes briefly flickered with interest, and Jin Myeong-jo internally winced, knowing he had successfully drawn his attention to the Blade Specter Patriarch.
That fleeting moment of reprieve gave him some relief. He sighed inwardly.
The junior finally spoke.
“Imjo Province. The western edge of Shaanxi.”
“Yes. It is where the Blade Specter Sect resides. There’s been talk that the patriarch has entered seclusion. I’ve yet to see him emerge from beneath the sect’s plaque, but judging by his energy, it seems true. They say he’s obsessed with his sword.”
Jin Myeong-jo’s tone was measured, devoid of inflection.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded slightly.
“You’ve endured much in your travels. And for taking on such dangerous tasks...”
The task at hand was to monitor the lords of the Thirteen Heavens directly. Only someone like the Blood Sovereign, who had refined Yin energy to its utmost limits, could even approach such dangerous figures. It was among the most perilous reconnaissance missions.
Concealing one’s energy within the territory of a supreme master was a completely different skill compared to hiding from the lower ranks. For someone like Jeong Yeon-shin, who had yet to achieve the state of Three Flowers Converging at the Crown, such a mission was beyond reach.
“Your words are presumptuous,” Jin Myeong-jo said, lifting the corner of his lips in a faint, cold smile. “Regardless of your exceptional skill, you must understand this. The tasks of the Sovereign and the Blood Sovereign are equal in weight. Your concern is an insult to me. Keep that in mind.”
“...”
Jeong Yeon-shin raised his eyebrows. Even the slight lowering of his senior’s head felt imbued with profound meaning.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened slightly. Among the many mentors at the arena in Wonpyeong, none had carried themselves with such gravitas. He was deeply impressed.
Faithful to his duty, yet uplifting toward his juniors—Jin Myeong-jo’s demeanor was strikingly admirable.
‘I should emulate him,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought, his lips parting.
“There hasn’t been much movement on my end. I struck a key unorthodox base in the area, but there was no immediate retaliation. They were different from the typical unruly black factions. Instead, they proposed settling things three days later... their caution was remarkable.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s tone was measured as he conveyed the developments, an exchange of information meant to align their efforts. The heavenly land was vast, and messengers were few.
For supreme masters, their swift movement techniques served as the fastest means of sharing information, second only to divine messengers.
This mission was no exception.
Jeong Yeon-shin had traveled ten days from Huguang to strike at the heart of the region.
He knew that Sungyeojimun was a branch of the Yuryong faction. Among the Thirteen Heavens, Yuryong was renowned for its intelligence network and cunning. If there was any place to start unraveling the whereabouts of Jung Hye, this was it.
Jeong Yeon-shin had prioritized the mission, delaying others. With approval from Ipwang Fortress, he had exercised his considerable discretion as the seventeenth leader of the Singeom Squad.
The missions given to him were clear:
His killing intent seeped into the air.
As a member of the Singeom Squad, a supreme master’s thoughts directly influenced their aura. The energy permeating his entire being seemed to press against his surroundings.
Jin Myeong-jo’s foot slipped slightly on the thin ice beneath him. The water near his feet rippled but did not disturb his balance.
Was it his masterful body technique? Jeong Yeon-shin inwardly admired him. He must train relentlessly.
‘He’s as elegant as Wi Ye-ryeong of Suncheon.’
The thought of Wi Ye-ryeong, the blue-clad master archer who had inspired him with her profound movement techniques, crossed his mind. She was currently awaiting orders alongside other Ma Gwang-ik seniors.
“You’ll handle this alone,” Jin Myeong-jo said abruptly.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s expression flickered with surprise, prompting his senior to add another statement.
“Xi’an’s martial world.”
“Ah.”
“It’s a martial realm worthy of a Sovereign. The scale is different. If you succeed, you’ll undoubtedly ascend to the ranks of those who can discuss Jianghu as equals. Your reputation will spread across the northern regions of Zhongyuan, and you’ll only receive tasks befitting your name. Keep that in mind, and do your best.”
“...Yes.”
“I’ll inform you as soon as the Blade Specter Patriarch moves. Don’t let some random thug take your life.”
“Wishing you success as well, Senior Jin.”
As Jeong Yeon-shin prepared to bow, Jin Myeong-jo raised a hand to stop him.
Thud!
The senior kicked at the ice beneath him, launching himself into the air with a tremendous burst of energy. The sheer force of his internal energy propelled him upward.
His black robes billowed as he ascended vertically like a bat, leaving shattered sunlight scattered over the rippling water below.
‘Damn it, my skin’s burning. I can’t take this anymore. Time to retreat.’
That thought crossed Jin Myeong-jo’s mind as he murmured coldly, “I’ll wish you success.”
With a dramatic flourish, he turned mid-air, the sound of fabric snapping in the wind as he shifted direction. Like the graceful stroke of a bat’s wing, he disappeared into the sky, his movement technique nearly supernatural.
‘So that’s possible too,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought, his eyes gleaming with inspiration.
In that moment, he gained a profound insight. Senior Jin was indeed different, both in conduct and technique. There was nothing not to admire.
Once again, he felt he understood what direction his own martial arts should take. The pieces had fallen into place.
It was a great accomplishment.
‘Now, all I need is a catalyst, and I will...’
Become even stronger.
***
The news of the defeat of the Blade Master Gal Do-jin and the infamous swordswoman Seo Yu-rang had spread far and wide. Word had it that they had been utterly crushed by an outsider leader.
There had been too many witnesses. Among those present at the inn, no one had been harmed.
The humiliation of the Sungyeojimun was like wildfire, rapidly consuming all of Xi’an.
The city of Xi’an in Shaanxi Province was a vast, sprawling metropolis, even amidst its recent state of tension. Its size provided countless places for whispers to spread unchecked, far from the eyes of the unorthodox factions.
Not just one or two spots, but many. Those gathered to gossip away from the watchful eyes of the unorthodox sects whispered with intrigue.
“Can you believe it? The demonic soldier Seo Yu-rang was taken down in a single move!”
“I heard Gal Do-jin couldn’t even draw his sword properly?”
“That’s an exaggeration. Isn’t he supposed to be the infamous Blade of Terror? Apparently, he did draw it but ended up sheathing it again.”
“They say two were responsible, but now the rumor is that two more have joined them. Sounds like they’re a band of wandering experts. Probably drifted here looking for work.”
“With skills like that, they wouldn’t just be wandering aimlessly...”
“Well, that goes without saying.”
“There aren’t many of them, but at least they’ve given us some entertainment. They might last a while.”
Inside a private hall of a secluded manor, the murmurs continued. The room was vast and spacious.
The master of Sungyeojimun, Wi Il-hwa, sat on her deep crimson throne, listening to the reports.
She smirked, crossing her legs as she did so.
Cold sunlight streamed in from all sides, illuminating the motes of dust floating in the heavy air. For those trembling before her, the atmosphere must have felt suffocating.
“Could it be that they’re on par with the Master of Sungyeojimun...?”
“Impossible... You don’t know the Bewitching Demon Sword well enough... Maybe they could scratch her pride, but...”
The sunlight filtering through the windows landed on the faces of over a dozen people kneeling before her. Their trembling voices repeated the words they had spoken just before being captured, their expressions contorted with fear.
Wi Il-hwa’s lips curved upward.
“Continue. Keep talking.”
She savored their faces and voices, a peculiar indulgence of hers. Her mind marinated in their terror like sweet syrup, a sensation more intoxicating than opium or honeyed pastries.
It was a strange quirk of hers—to drive people to their breaking point. Among the eccentricities of the unorthodox sect leaders, hers was considered one of the milder ones.
The leader of the So Baek Sect, Jang Il-gi, had once slowly decapitated ten peasants in front of the Blade Specter’s Noble God-Sword. Compared to that, Wi Il-hwa’s peculiarities were tame.
‘Compared to that lunatic...’
Wi Il-hwa parted her lips.
“The reputation of Sungyeojimun has been gravely tarnished.”
“...”
Silence swept through the room. Even her disciples, who stood beyond the kneeling captives, held their breaths.
The actions of the so-called “leader” had utterly disgraced the sect. In the unorthodox factions, respect stemmed from fear of their conduct and martial strength. This was akin to tossing all that respect into a garbage pit.
Such incidents were not uncommon in Jianghu, but this was a major affront. If left unresolved, it would hinder Sungyeojimun’s ability to establish itself as a rising power.
An alliance would be preferable. In the unorthodox martial world, reputation and strength were equally crucial.
“This letter will be sent to that so-called leader in three days. Inform the So Baek Sect’s Master Jang Il-gi and that traitor from Zhongnan as well. Tell them that I, the Master of Sungyeojimun, may consider summoning the First Demon of Shaanxi. They should prepare to relay word to the Blade Specter’s Noble God-Sword, just in case. Tell everyone to keep their heads down.”
Wi Il-hwa responded with the full cunning of the unorthodox way, crafting schemes to dismantle the powerful outsider who had entered Xi’an and use them to fertilize the foundation of her sect.
“A swordsman who controls a single blade with mastery isn’t the only kind of expert. If someone can command a thousand blades, they, too, are a supreme master. Just like me.”
She left several orders for her subordinates.
Then, she retreated to her private sanctuary.
Every unorthodox sect leader had a place of retreat. For Wi Il-hwa, this was a secluded mountain villa, harmoniously built into the natural surroundings.
For now, she avoided direct confrontation. She wasn’t confident she could survive should the mysterious master make an appearance.
There was no need to overextend. The unorthodox world had its own laws. Crushing the intruder with cunning and overwhelming pressure was sufficient.
Swish.
Her fingers lightly grazed the armrest of her throne.
How many wandering swordsmen akin to sword saints could exist in the world? Most would die before reaching the level of a supreme master. That was the reality.
“It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”
Her amused muttering was swallowed by the cries of the mountain birds.
***
Three days later.
As Jeongal Hyeon, disguised as a merchant, stepped into Xi’an, he immediately sensed something unusual. The city seemed to be alive, as if it were shifting in response to an unseen force.
Something was amiss.
The merchants had folded their stalls. Street vendors, who normally bustled along the main roads calling out to passersby, had disappeared.
Shops and inns had closed their doors, and there was no sign of anyone stepping out.
In a corner of an alley, two posters hung side by side.
[To the wandering group occupying Gwaun: Come to Daewol Gorge by noon during the minor snow and face the judgment of our brothers.
We, adherents of righteousness, have united in this decision. If you have any sense of shame, retreat now. We have resolved to harshly expel the insolent outsiders, and the majestic swords of Xi’an now stand poised against you.
―Wi Il-hwa, Master of Sungyeojimun, the Bewitching Demon Blade]
[Utter nonsense.
―Jin Hyeong, Deputy Leader of the Gwangyechae]
Beneath the posters, stray pine needles, blown down from nearby trees, scattered and tumbled across the ground.
Yellowed and dry, they gave off an air of lifelessness as they were carried by the cold, low wind.
The once-busy city had grown eerily silent, united by an atmosphere of fear.
“This is... strange.”
Jeongal Hyeon, a strikingly handsome man with the demeanor of a scholar, adjusted the sleeves of his robe.
This was Seonryong Jeongal Hyeon.
“When the Zhongnan Sect was here, the city was always bustling.”
“Master, you mustn’t speak that name so casually. Xi’an is now called a devil’s den... a term of disdain.”
The man walking beside Seonryong advised him in a low voice. Like Hyeon, he wore a simple yellow cotton robe, hands tucked into his sleeves, perfectly blending into the guise of a merchant.
The man was one of the martial masters of Jeongal Hyeon’s family, an expert in concealing his energy.
The eldest son of the Jeongal family himself had come in person, employing advanced techniques like the Bone Shrinking Skill to soften the angular structure of his face.
The martial veins of the Jeongal heirs were filled with mysterious and wondrous martial arts.
“I heard all kinds of unorthodox sects are moving. All this, just to capture a wandering expert suspected of being a supreme master.”
“It’s created ample opportunities for covert infiltration. Gathering intelligence has become easier. It’s like a typhoon centered around a single inn.”
Speaking almost in whispers, they moved quickly through the streets.
“What’s the name of this place?”
“They call it the Gwaun Inn.”
The Zhongnan faction, much like the Shaanxi Martial Alliance, had once been rooted in Xi’an. Hearing of this turmoil, they had no choice but to investigate.
Rumors of the vagabond group that had humiliated the Sungyeojimun had already reached their ears.
“It’s worth observing. If we’re to plan for the future, we need to gauge their level of martial skill.”
“We’re almost there. I heard not even an ant dares approach now.”
At that moment—
“I’ll pay double.”
“Forgive me. I’ve committed a grave offense...”
“No, I said I’d buy it! I’ll pay in silver!”
“I’m deeply sorry. Truly, I am...”
In the middle of a street that had grown nearly deserted, a poorly dressed merchant in a shabby yellow robe was arguing with someone.
It was in front of a stall displaying dried grains. Perhaps the merchant hadn’t closed up shop due to pressing needs.
He seemed desperate to avoid dealing with the man, who stood like a rogue with one leg cocked, exuding the unmistakable aura of an unorthodox martial artist.
Jeongal Hyeon frowned in bewilderment.
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“What is he doing here?”
“That man... isn’t he Tae Yeom-ryong...?”
The aide trailing behind Seonryong fell silent, fixing his gaze ahead.
There, crouched in front of the stall, was none other than Tae Yeom-ryong of the Hwangbo family. From every angle, he looked like a rogue from the unorthodox sects.
The way he absentmindedly chewed on nothing, as if savoring an opium flower, only added to the impression.
“Did someone order this? Told them not to sell us food? Who could it be? Those Sungyeojimun scoundrels? I didn’t think Xi’an’s territorialism was this bad. The moral fabric of Jianghu has truly fallen.”
“Hero, please... this isn’t the way...!”
“There’s a kid in my group who’s still growing, you know. Their limbs are worth a fortune. If they don’t grow properly, are you going to take responsibility? I’m offering you silver, but you still refuse? The end times, I tell you!”
The merchant’s face had turned as pale as paper. They were moments away from a heated confrontation.
Jeongal Hyeon approached the two.
“What’s all this commotion in broad daylight?”
“If you don’t know, stay quiet—huh?”
Tae Yeom-ryong turned his head, his brow lifting in surprise as he recognized the new arrival.
Seonryong Jeongal Hyeon, Cheonggirin Namgung Se-jin, and Tae Yeom-ryong were all considered prodigies among the aristocratic families.
Their paths often crossed under Namgung Se-jin’s auspices. Despite Hyeon’s disguise, with his Bone Shrinking Skill altering his face, it wasn’t enough to fool an acquaintance like Tae Yeom-ryong.
“This is unexpected,” Tae Yeom-ryong remarked with a smirk.
“Get down! Get down now!”
The merchant, out of habit, glanced at the sky and clutched his neck in terror.
Wooooooong!
A low, resonant hum echoed from high above, near the clouds.
Both Tae Yeom-ryong and Jeongal Hyeon instinctively looked up, their eyes widening.
Far in the distant sky, a lone old woman balanced atop the tip of a sword.
She was a one-armed swordswoman with sharp, blade-like ears. Her presence was overwhelming, even from this immeasurable distance.
A faint blue aura streaked across the sky, trailing from the sword she stood upon. At the very tip of the blade’s ripple, a long blue ribbon fluttered alongside her empty sleeve.
Ethereal ripples of energy radiated continuously as she moved, hinting at some esoteric technique replicating the legendary art of sword-flight.
She didn’t even glance downward, as if the mortal realm held no interest to her. Her demeanor was otherworldly.
Jeongal Hyeon murmured under his breath, “Sword-flight... Gui Baek-shin Sword...”
“A supreme master of the Thirteen Heavens in Xi’an’s unorthodox sects.”
Tae Yeom-ryong’s voice was low as he furrowed his brow.
For a long time, they stood motionless. On the desolate street, they remained silent alongside the merchant.
The only sound was the dry whistle of winter wind brushing through the pine needles.