Zheeeong—!
Ma Gwang-ik’s breakthrough swept through the flank in a violent arc. The thunderous explosion of energy drowned out every other sound.
It was as if a mass of light had been transformed into artillery shells, detonating upon impact. The amassed ranks of the demonic sect’s martial army were torn apart, piece by piece.
Utter annihilation. The sounds of flesh being ripped and bones crushed resounded from all directions. The impact radius was immense.
“Graaagh!”
“Urgh!”
The charge itself was a surge of pure acceleration. Blurred silhouettes of arms swinging were faintly visible as they clashed with the enemy's exotic weaponry, causing waves of light to burst forth.
Even among the shattered fragments of blades, the glint of piercing eyes was chilling, instilling only fear.
Ma Gwang-ik at his full power had descended.
Three white-rank warriors and twenty-five blue-rank masters.
Bang! Crash—!
A horrendous noise accompanied the spray of flesh and blood. The ranks of the demonic sect fell into chaos in mere moments. The strikes of Gwang-ye-gyeol’s forces showed no mercy.
Fists and swords alike unleashed the same devastating energy waves, sweeping through the atmosphere with such force that the surrounding undergrowth was flattened. Weapons and corpses were sent flying, scattering across the battlefield.
Rumble, rumble!
The canyon quaked. The tremors spread far and wide, an aftershock of the relentless advance.
Having fully pierced through the enemy formation, they immediately turned around and launched another assault. Each movement flowed with seamless grace.
Legs wrapped in radiant light moved with the logic of Hwanikbo, their steps scattering dust as white energy surged between them like a tide.
The gleaming currents of light became nearly indistinguishable from a crashing wave.
Even those who attempted to flee were swept up.
The twenty-eight combatants’ assault was coordinated yet individual. They struck with precise follow-through, each blow carrying their full weight, leaving no one able to stand against them.
Through the torrents of radiant energy, their movements flickered like sporadic trajectories, painting chaotic paths.
At the points where swords and fists collided with their targets, explosive waves of energy erupted, embedding shattered fragments of the enemy's weapons into their chests.
Here, they were unmatched.
Their opponents were neither the Nine Great Noble Families nor the elite of the Thirteen Heavens. Against the power of Gwang-ye-gyeol, bolstered by Ma Gwang-ik’s innovative martial arts, they were butchered effortlessly. A single charge brought near-total annihilation.
The Great Moon Canyon—
In an instant, it transformed into a hellish landscape. Screams of agony and despair filled the air.
“Are they celestial beings?”
“What is that... what on earth is that?”
“Such people exist in this world?”
Those observing from the cliffs above the battlefield widened their eyes. Some were left slack-jawed.
It was only long after the radiant swords appeared that they began to react. And understandably so.
The scene unfolding before them defied belief. From the initial attack to the radiant charge, everything about it was surreal.
Most of the onlookers from the western region had come with the detached curiosity of spectators attending a public execution. Yet their expectations had been completely overturned, replaced by overwhelming shock.
“Save me—urk!”
“Gaaaah!”
The previously confident demonic sect warriors now screamed in terror. None could properly defend against the strikes of Gwang-ye-gyeol. This was the difference between the Daebang Sect and mid-tier martial clans.
The disparity was absolute.
One of the martial artists of the Sungyeojimun sect had their ribs shattered by a short, decisive punch from Shin So-bin, her braided black hair whipping around her.
Boom!
“You thought you were going to win, huh?!” she bellowed, even as she killed. Her exuberance reflected the spirit of an elite scion of a noble martial family.
She was naturally adept at both Gwang-ye-gyeol and the Shihwa Muguk Fist. The synergy between her martial techniques layered to devastating effect.
Her mastery of Gwang-ye-gyeol far surpassed that of her seniors. As a white rank, she reaped tremendous benefits.
It was no struggle for her to take the lead in one wing of the charging formation.
Such was the might of a white rank. The blue-rank masters fought with abandon, delivering ferocious, successive strikes as they overwhelmed numerous opponents.
A single slash of a sword severed three heads, while a strike of a fist obliterated weapons and flesh alike.
It was a massacre. Only the roles had been reversed. This was now an execution of the demonic sect warriors.
At the forefront of the enemy formation—
The patriarchs of the Seven Clans of the Western Region stood motionless. Despite being the highest-ranking martial artists in their forces, they made no move to protect their subordinates.
Their faces bore heavy expressions. Not one of them uttered a word.
None dared to rush into the battlefield. None even looked back.
They simply stood there, clutching their weapons, their high-quality robes fluttering in the wind. All seven of them.
Before them stood the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik of Ipwang Fortress.
“...”
Baek Mu-ryang, who had spoken of power before, was at a loss for words.
His lips, hidden behind a snow-white beard, had gone dry. The mouth that had once lectured Jeong Yeon-shin on the principles of the martial world now remained firmly shut.
Earlier, he had dismissed the notion of the black rank of Ipwang Fortress.
It had been a jest. Even if such a thing were possible, he hadn’t believed it. After all, the world was vast.
A person from Shaanxi wouldn’t prepare a straw hat simply because they heard hail was falling in Henan.
Even knowing that weather is impartial, it was still an unlikely response. Such is human nature.
He had briefly considered the possibility that the intruder might be a supreme master from an established sect, but there had been no alternative course of action.
There was nowhere left to retreat. Desperate resistance wasn’t exclusive to righteous factions; for the demonic sects, it was a necessity.
In times of famine, it was their strength and reputation that kept their rice bowls filled.
Those things came before life itself. They could not afford to show weakness. Such was the world of the demonic sects.
“Are they truly Ma Gwang-ik’s forces...? Their martial arts are unheard of...” muttered the Sword Demon Lord.
The man in yellow robes, his sharp eyes and slender jaw now beaded with sweat, spoke as if to himself. Yet, like any leader of a demonic sect, he remained composed, directing his words toward Jeong Yeon-shin as if to provoke him. In one hand, he casually gripped a radiant white sword.
“There aren’t many sects that would dare slander Ipwang Fortress. That’s why your identity hardly matters.”
“...There were rumors that the new Lord of Ma Gwang-ik was exceptionally young,” Baek Mu-ryang murmured.
This, even as their subordinates and disciples were dying around them.
The leaders prioritized survival.
They had been confronted with an unimaginable threat. Forcing themselves to speak aloud, they used their age and experience to maintain composure.
When facing a supreme master, the most critical virtue was maintaining clarity of mind.
One must sharpen their focus as if honing a blade. To fall into panic would be to guarantee a meaningless death.
The elderly leader of Shaanxi’s renowned families, who had ruled for decades, spoke again.
“Have we not been thrown into a net and delivered, Lord Wi?”
“...”
Chalma Sword Wi Il-hwa did not respond. She merely bit her lower lip.
“They are warriors with their own force,” Jeong Yeon-shin said quietly.
It was a statement that echoed Baek Mu-ryang’s earlier words.
—“Listen here. A duel between masters without their forces is... a very complicated affair, full of things to consider. It’s nothing like a one-on-one fight. There’s no romance in it. No one will criticize you for retreating now.”
Jeong Yeon-shin was throwing the demonic sect master’s own words back at him.
Baek Mu-ryang’s white eyebrows twitched.
“You insolent...”
“Things have simplified now. Stop talking and come at me.”
The Lord of Ma Gwang-ik assumed the stance for his martial art, Gwonjangbeop.
Swish.
He drew his right fist back to his waist.
His left foot slid forward, scraping against the ground, and as his left fist angled downward near his thigh, the surrounding foliage trembled.
Whooosh—
Even the smallest movement radiated energy. The countless fine muscle threads within his body brimmed with internal power.
A wave of invisible qi emanated from his entire body, scattering faint dust in every direction.
The black rank of Ipwang Fortress.
Before the rulers of the western region stood a master of martial perfection.
“Hmm.”
“Is he really...”
The patriarchs murmured under their breath.
Here was someone who could stifle their very breath with his stance alone. The Lord of Ma Gwang-ik stood as such a figure.
Even as their subordinates and disciples perished, they hesitated to intervene directly. This revealed the truth. The strikes of supreme masters were perilous.
Life and death were determined in an instant. To face such a master without fully understanding him would result in fatal wounds within two exchanges.
“Lord Wi, have you seen enough?” Baek Mu-ryang asked, his gaze fixed ahead.
The Sword Demon Lord, Wi Il-hwa, had mastered Amdong Wolshibeop, a technique of the Thirteen Heavens.
It was said to be an ancient art.
If mastered properly, it could allow one to fight equally with opponents of a higher tier.
“...It’s difficult, but I’m observing,” Wi Il-hwa answered quietly, calming her raging heart. Her years of accumulated prestige had been shattered by these invaders of unknown origin, who may or may not have been the seventeenth generation of Ipwang Fortress.
Only the demonic sect’s characteristic malice remained. No matter what, she would find a way to tear this enemy apart, to obliterate them. A blood feud had been formed upon their first meeting.
Amdong Wolshibeop—
A transcendent art. Said to have been created by an ancient master of the Thirteen Heavens, it had been refined over generations.
Wuuung.
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A hazy vision formed in Wi Il-hwa’s eyes. She could see the outline of her enemy at the center, surrounded by countless potential movements shimmering like illusions.
The remnants of Ma Gwang-ik's forms enveloped him in layers, each projection shifting slightly, hinting at where his strikes might land.
The phantom movements swayed briefly, even before he acted. It was as if she could predict his every move in advance. Her unparalleled sensory martial art, Amdong Wolshibeop, was in full effect.
She could perceive even the most minute changes in breath, energy flow, and muscle tension. This was an art of absolute mastery.
She could see the enemy’s movements before they unfolded. And now, she saw them. The malicious technique of her enemy was laid bare to her eyes.
She spoke, almost unconsciously.
“There are too many paths... too many... I’ve never seen anything like it.”
At first, she saw six layers of phantoms.
Even that was suffocating.
Amdong Wolshibeop was not an art for the faint-hearted. It filtered out unnecessary possibilities from its calculations, focusing only on what truly mattered.
The technique’s intricate weave of thought and energy allowed the number of phantom images to match the opponent’s energy flow and combat ability.
It meant the technique reduced the overwhelming possibilities to manageable levels. For its practitioners and their disciples, it was an unrivaled secret art.
Until now, Wi Il-hwa had never seen anyone in the martial world of Xi’an with more than five phantoms. Even Baek Mu-ryang, the leader of the Huiwol family, displayed only four.
That was why his Huiwolpaegong was particularly noteworthy. It had aged him prematurely, making him look elderly despite being in his forties. It was an inevitable result of his rapid progress.
For most martial artists, having three viable attack options for an optimal strike was enough to earn the title of a clan leader among mid-tier sects.
In terms of martial skill alone, Baek Mu-ryang was the strongest among the Seven Clans of the Western Region.
But now—
“Fifteen, twenty... thirty-two, no... several times that?”
The power of Amdong Wolshibeop ignited around Wi Il-hwa’s eyes. Even her Chanjuk Point burned white-hot, as if her brow were on fire.
As her Tongziliao Points overheated with energy, the number of phantoms multiplied. The weave of energy in the technique became almost suspiciously intricate. Her mental strength swelled.
What kind of body could move like this?
At this level, predictions became meaningless. The enemy’s very existence seemed to counteract Amdong Wolshibeop itself.
Was he using his entire body to unleash energy? If that were true, even the term “prodigy” would be insufficient.
This was unlike any foe she had faced before.
Was this reality?
“Madness...” she muttered in a daze.
As Wi Il-hwa floundered in her panic, the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik furrowed his brow.
“I granted you mercy on your way here.”
At first glance, his words seemed nonsensical. But to the sect leaders of the demonic factions, the meaning was clear. It was an intuitive statement.
He was offering them a chance to preserve their dignity. By making the first move, they might at least look respectable.
Before dying like dogs, that is.
“You bastard!” roared the Sword Demon Lord.
His voice was laced with fury as he strode forward alone, his presence overwhelming.
His patience had reached its limit. The man who summoned the radiant swords was truly despicable, taunting them with terrifying provocations that rivaled even the most sinister members of the demonic sects.
At this point, maintaining composure was pointless. There was no room to debate martial prowess.
Action came first. The Sword Demon Lord stomped his foot.
Thud!
The power behind his step was immense. Dust rose from the crushed undergrowth.
Immediately, he unleashed his sword. A brilliant white blade extended, sunlight glinting off its length as it stretched upward. The mid-afternoon sun seemed to coil around it.
He swung it outward from his waist, the arc of his sword faint and nearly imperceptible as it sliced forward with terrifying speed.
Whoosh—
The exhalation that accompanied his strike was heavy. It signified deep mastery of internal energy.
He had earned his title as the ruler of Xi’an.
The Sword Demon Sect of Shaanxi was renowned for its Wigoseunghagum-style, a technique of extreme lethality. It was not merely an assassin’s art but a sinister quick-sword technique designed to dazzle the eyes and tear the body apart.
Behind him, Wi Il-hwa adjusted her grip on her sword, observing the impending clash between the two figures.
She also noted the energy radiating from the other sect leaders, who were preparing their attacks. Their martial skills were primed and ready like cannons.
“I’ll see this clearly.”
She intended to analyze every movement, every strike, and dismember the man before her, down to his flesh.
Her malice surpassed the hundreds of phantoms in her vision. She would find a way to kill this man.
When the enemy began to move, his phantoms would surely diminish. After all, one cannot swing a sword and perform countless techniques simultaneously. The key to victory lay in exploiting the gaps.
With six other masters of similar rank, the diminishing phantoms would expose an opening they could exploit.
She would not be caught unprepared. If needed, she would shorten the time it took to wield Amdong Wolshibeop.
A joint attack from seven sect leaders would be more than enough. All they needed was a single decisive moment.
“This bastard... I’ll tear him apart.”
As she pushed the limits of her technique, Wi Il-hwa’s gaze locked onto her enemy.
His movement was strange. He reached out with one hand, touching the Sword Demon Lord’s blade. His actions were not especially fast.
In fact, they were unnervingly slow. For someone with such immense energy, even without mastering quick-sword techniques, he should have been capable of strikes as swift as light.
Simultaneously, his body emitted phantoms. Within her vision, Amdong Wolshibeop captured his movements.
The phantom of his left hand pressing against the blade followed the logic of her martial art, aligning perfectly with her mind.
And then, the man’s actual body overlapped with his phantom. He pressed down on the sword exactly as his phantom had indicated. The accuracy of her technique was undeniable.
“I’ve got you!”
In that fleeting moment, a smile crept onto Wi Il-hwa’s lips.
She had already predicted his next move. Victory was within her grasp.
As long as this wasn’t a direct one-on-one confrontation, with six other sect masters present, she could confidently lead the demonic sects to victory as the Sword Demon Lord of Sungyeojimun.
“His next move is...”
Energy radiated from his grip on the Sword Demon Lord’s blade. It seemed as though he was about to push the sword away entirely.
Afterward, he would strike.
This conclusion was consistent with what Amdong Wolshibeop conveyed. There was only one option from that position.
“His balance will falter briefly. I’ll stab at his lower body. If I explode my full energy with one strike, I might cut his throat more easily than expected.”
She prepared to relay her thoughts immediately, activating her internal energy through the meridians linking her tongue to her throat. In the world of martial masters, this allowed for rapid, concise communication.
It was then—
The enemy’s hair rippled, a long wave of glossy black. It gleamed oddly, almost beautifully.
He lowered his posture as though preparing to unleash an immense strike. His right foot, left foot, and the Sword Demon Lord’s position aligned in a straight line, a textbook horse-riding stance.
His head turned, locking eyes with the Sword Demon Lord.
The enemy—
His left hand pressed down on the blade, while his right hand opened wide and thrust forward.
In that instant, the enemy’s hands fractured within Wi Il-hwa’s vision, like the fluttering wings of a moth reflecting light. The sudden surge of phantoms danced erratically.
Had Amdong Wolshibeop malfunctioned? What she saw was something only visible when the body was completely relaxed before a strike—an entirely new possibility.
It meant stances were irrelevant. Any posture he assumed was as natural as standing.
As the energy radiated from his left hand pressing down on the blade—
Zheeeong—!
The Sword Demon Lord’s weapon shattered.
The radiant sunlight, once coiling around the blade, splintered into fragments. The enemy thrust his right hand forward, a vortex of explosive energy swirling at the center of his palm.
Kwaaa—!
The sound was short but devastating. The fragments of the shattered sword followed the force of his palm, rushing toward the Sword Demon Lord’s abdomen.
It was as if he controlled the sunlight with his palms. The sight was utterly chilling.
The enemy’s eyes gleamed as he extended his hand. Wi Il-hwa, too shocked, lost her concentration.
Kwa-kwak-kwak-kwak!
Every shard of the blade embedded itself into the Sword Demon Lord’s torso. His body convulsed violently under the immense force.
And then—
“Guh...”
He let out a single groan before collapsing. The dull thud of his fall echoed through the air.
Even amidst the cacophony of screams and energy explosions in the background, the sound was uniquely distinct. A late-rising cloud of dust enveloped the fallen Sword Demon Lord.
The sight silenced everyone.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at Wi Il-hwa, his gaze methodically scanning the acupoints on her face. In his piercing black-and-white eyes, a cold blue spark flickered, a precursor to something inevitable.
“You didn’t see this coming, did you?” the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik asked quietly.