It was the stillest spot on the battlefield.
Many eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding in the gorge. The number of spectators who had come to witness this spectacle outnumbered the members of the demonic sect factions.
This had been orchestrated by the Seven Great Sects of Xi’an. They sought to solidify their dominance.
Wi Il-hwa could not respond.
Her enemy had struck a nerve with unnerving precision. Her sensory martial art, a famed technique in the Xi’an region, was faltering. As the Sword Demon Lord had fallen, her gaze had been locked on him, assessing every move.
Now, the sun had drifted further west, casting a heavy winter light. The bushes lining the gorge quivered, following the anguished cries of disciples being slaughtered further down the battlefield.
The dry gorge radiated a desolate energy. The ridges leading from Daewol Gorge to the Guanzhong Plains gleamed like the edges of blades.
The strike I just saw.
That overwhelming cascade of phantom images.
It had nothing to do with his cultivated energy.
The man’s very sense of movement was on a different level.
Amdong Wolshibeop had acknowledged this. Somehow, with a body honed to perfection, he had stabilized countless positions with ease. It was a gift—a realm of talent untouched by effort alone.
The term "prodigy" felt inadequate. He was cheongo somu, the kind of existence seen once in a millennium—if ever.
It made her feel unworthy even to harbor envy. What sort of world could such a man experience with such extraordinary senses?
And so, Wi Il-hwa, the Lord of Sungyeojimun, conceded the truth about her enemy.
This man was truly the leader of the Divine Sword Corps.
The martial arts tournament in Hanzhong had introduced the world to the alias Seomye (Silent Elegance). The headquarters of the Murim Alliance was based in Hanzhong, and news of the event had traveled to the ears of the sect leaders in Xi’an.
Among the unbelievable rumors was a detail about his age. They said the current Lord of Ma Gwang-ik was extraordinarily young.
Even now, many found it hard to believe. The world was vast, and information was often unreliable.
But if it were true—
If he had truly ascended to the rank of Black Rank within Ipwang Fortress at such a young age, his talent would be extraordinary. It wouldn’t matter how noble his lineage was. He would be a mystery of the martial world.
The man before her fit the description. His natural aptitude for movement alone was enough to bypass Amdong Wolshibeop. His handsome features still bore a faint trace of youth.
The radiant swords that had materialized alongside him were undoubtedly the elite warriors of Ipwang Fortress.
If it wasn’t him, no one else could possibly be the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik.
A half-hearted martial artist had ruined her life. A gray-area figure straddling the line between official authority and the martial world had meddled in the affairs of the Seven Great Sects of Xi’an.
He had dared to interfere with their dominion.
“You...”
Wi Il-hwa’s eyebrows shot upward in a sudden burst of anger. Her fury overcame her earlier panic. Her weathered expression twisted into something ghastly, resembling that of a specter.
“You didn’t see this coming? After you’ve ruined so many lives?”
Jeong Yeon-shin, the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik, asked calmly.
There was anger in him as well.
But it wasn’t directed at these pests. He was here because it was his duty. Originally, he had hoped they would bring the Council Elder of the Blade Specters.
Gwi Baek-shin, also known as Ye So-hyang. She was said to be the ultimate authority among the demonic sects’ Blade Specters.
If she were here, she would know the whereabouts of the missing Zhongnan disciples.
Even if she pretended to be indifferent, playing the role of an immortal untouched by the mundane world, her followers’ destruction would force her to appear.
The one who probed the lineage of the Jeong Clan.
Her connection to him ran deep, steeped in old enmities.
At this moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind was preoccupied with Gwi Baek-shin. The martial art he was perfecting now was designed solely to obliterate her.
The Council Elder of the Blade Specters, the caretaker of their sect master.
The Seven Great Sects of Xi’an were nothing more than stepping stones to reach her. He had long since seen through their ploy to use him as a sacrificial lamb to solidify their control over the region.
These people treated the lives of commoners as inconsequential. This would end here. He would ensure Gwi Baek-shin came looking for him.
Clink.
He lightly kicked a fragment of the Sword Demon Lord’s shattered blade. The sunlight glinting off the golden sand scattered in all directions.
In that moment, Wi Il-hwa shouted instinctively, her voice trembling with desperation.
“This cannot stand! How dare an outsider...”
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“This has gone on long enough.”
Jeong Yeon-shin cut her off, drawing his sword as he spoke.
Xi’an, Shaanxi—a city that had been the capital of countless dynasties. It was the kind of place where high-ranking missions were naturally assigned. The Seven Great Sects of Xi’an were also renowned martial factions.
The scale of this incident had grown absurdly large, and the mission was taking too long to resolve.
This wouldn’t do. For Jeong Yeon-shin, the key to survival had always been decisive, short battles.
Swish.
Amidst the countless onlookers in the vast city of Xi’an, he raised his sword toward the sky. The white blade of the Northern Bright Sword pointed upward, brushing past the hair near his temple.
The energy radiating from his body swept away the thin dust in all directions.
The Geomroe Seomreung-shik. A supreme sword stance. The technique that embodied the majesty of the Simgeuk Kirin.
“Now.”
Jeong Yeon-shin parted his lips slowly, his voice clear and calm.
“This won’t take more than ten breaths.”
***
The Hall of Radiance in Yangyang.
The turbulent upheaval within the Ipwang Fortress was far from over.
Joo Yeon-jeong, who had wielded power by holding the royal martial art Golden Thread Eight Techniques hostage, had been completely ousted. It was a downfall so total that even the term "disgrace" felt inadequate.
The status of being a collateral royal family member was now meaningless. This was all due to the unassailable authority of the Grand Elder of the Ipwang Family, who had restored order as though turning back time itself.
No one could have foreseen what happened next.
The Pale Tiger, Ma Yeon-jeok, had returned. The peerless master who once reigned in his prime, now seemingly unchanged, had reappeared—a figure as unyielding as steel.
"What is this... truly happening?"
"Unbelievable. It’s true?"
"So, what I witnessed wasn’t a hallucination!"
"But how? How can this be?"
"You fools clearly don’t know the full story. It was thanks to the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik..."
"Silence! Do not utter his name so carelessly!"
The ancient sword had been reforged, now imbued with unparalleled strength. His return had been carried out in utmost secrecy. For now, the world must remain ignorant of his revival.
If revealed prematurely, Ma Yeon-jeok’s martial prowess would inevitably reshape the entire martial world.
He was destined to become the deadliest shadow blade in the world. In a time when the Ipwang Fortress teetered on the edge of disadvantage, his immense power was an immeasurable gain.
Only the closest confidants of the Ma Family knew of Ma Yeon-jeok’s miraculous rebirth.
Even those who had sided with Joo Yeon-jeong had their meridians sealed with a single command from the Grand Elder. There was no need to fear betrayal. Silence was absolute.
Meanwhile, Ma Jin, the current Lord of the Ma Family, faced a critical decision.
He pondered deeply, even as he walked, his loose black sleeve swaying with each step. The promotion ceremony had concluded, and the remaining martial forces were now being dispatched to their respective missions.
The now desolate pathways of the family’s stronghold mirrored the emptiness in Ma Jin’s heart.
Jeong Ga Donggong.
The book in his right hand felt unbearably heavy. It was a degraded version of the martial art his nephew, Jeong Yeon-shin, had newly devised.
It wasn’t the original manual that mapped every vein and acupoint of the human body. This version merely outlined the core framework of the technique—a significantly simplified edition.
This version existed because both Ma Jin and the Grand Elder were hesitant to introduce Jeong Yeon-shin’s full martial art to the family. Jeong Yeon-shin had offered this version to them as a compromise.
"Perhaps this is for the best," the nephew had written in a steady hand accompanying the manual. "It is simple to learn. I assure you, even a monkey could master it."
The letter had arrived just a day before Jeong Yeon-shin served as the examiner for his promotion ceremony as the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik.
Cheong Myeong, the radiant swordsman known for his sharp, yet jovial demeanor, had personally delivered it.
The vibrant and enigmatic swordsman had worn an odd expression—a mix of a smile and a grimace, as though embodying contradictions.
Ma Jin, accustomed to the inscrutability of Cheong Myeong as a former Lord, hadn’t thought much of it. He had exchanged a few pleasantries before parting ways.
Now, he regretted it deeply.
He should have taken the time to see his nephew, to speak with him.
The endless responsibilities had consumed him. The process of dismantling Joo Yeon-jeong’s faction and holding them accountable had taken much of his time.
Restoring the family’s dignity had been a monumental task. Only now had a sliver of leisure emerged.
Tap.
He entered the now silent inner sanctum of the stronghold. The sight before him was radiant. The walls of polished white marble surrounded him on all sides, bathing the space in light.
He arrived at the Lord’s chambers, the quietest place within Ipwang Fortress.
Swish.
Six silent guards bowed in respect as he approached. They offered him wordless salutes.
He responded with a simple nod. Ma Jin, the indomitable high master known as Naraksal, was a man of innate arrogance. It was only in the presence of his nephew that he ever faltered.
The guards, familiar with his mannerisms, lowered their hands without hesitation.
Ma Jin paused for a moment.
"Could it be... did Yeon-shin inherit this from me? I heard people saying he resembles the Ma family more than expected..."
With such idle thoughts, he ascended the spiraling staircase. At its summit lay an enormous stone gate. It was fashioned from the finest black marble, once reserved solely for the now-extinct Royal Dan Clan. Its jet-black hue harmonized eerily with the silence of the inner sanctum.
The Lord’s study.
The gate opened with a deep, resonant sound. Its seamless movement defied explanation. Even Ma Jin, who had once dared to challenge Ak Su-rim, felt a twinge of reverence.
"It has been a while since I’ve been here."
He adjusted his empty sleeve and stepped through the threshold.
The faint aroma of foliage filled the air. Before him, gnarled trees twisted like dragons, dominating the view.
Though winter had set in, their verdant leaves stretched outward, exuding vitality. The fragrance of the forest was rich, yet not overpowering—pleasant and refreshing.
To his left and right sat figures he knew well.
Yet Ma Jin kept his gaze fixed forward as he knelt on one knee, cupping his hands together. It was the protocol of Ipwang Fortress.
“I pay my respects to the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.”
“Lord Ma.”
The voice that responded was clear and resounding.
It was the Lord of Ipwang Fortress herself.
She reclined diagonally upon the thick trunk of a tree. Her cascading green hair shimmered with an otherworldly luster, evoking an aura of unparalleled nobility.
Her eyes, deep green like the heart of a forest, carried the weight of universal truths. To behold them was to feel as though one were standing before the most exalted being in existence.
Ma Jin bowed his head even deeper.
“You’re here?”
A lively voice rang out from his left. He shifted his gaze slightly.
A young girl dressed in a black robe sat cross-legged, a long spear casually resting behind her.
She glanced at him with a smirk, the sunlight catching on her short, jet-black hair.
It was Ak Su-rim, the Divine Spear of Ipwang Fortress.
Ma Jin furrowed his brow.
“Why is the Sub-Commander of the Divine Sword Corps here?”
“Getting punished. Didn’t you hear?”
“For what?”
“For roughing up that girl from the Alliance. She was getting too close to Seomye, so I stepped in. I’ve been annoyed with her ever since she disrespected the Lord.”
Ak Su-rim shrugged as though it were a trivial matter.
Ma Jin’s frown deepened.
“Someone from the Alliance dared to target Yeon-shin?”
“It was ridiculous. If you’re going to play the uncle, at least fend off these pests properly. Even the Shin family sent matchmakers recently, saying something about marriage. You know no ordinary person will suffice, right? Do better. Of course, what Seomye wants is what truly matters.”
Her smile was teasing, her tone sharp. She was clearly enjoying herself.
From the other side, a deep, guttural sound akin to a tiger’s growl interrupted. Despite the interruption, Ak Su-rim kept her smirk, unbothered.
"She’s talking about herself," Ma Jin thought dryly.
He knew her antics all too well. She had been the same when she served under his father. Rebellious to the core, no matter the circumstances.
He sighed inwardly.
“Did you kill her?”
“No. Her martial arts were absurdly strong. If I had gone all out, I might’ve left her missing a limb or two, but I stopped midway. Not exactly intentional, though...”
Her voice trailed off, her gaze shifting forward. Sitting across from her, with the Lord of Ipwang Fortress in between, was Ma Jin’s father—Ma Yeon-jeok, now restored to his youthful prime.
His stern features radiated an unyielding intensity, as though his very presence defied the world.
It was clear his father had mediated the conflict. Likely with one of his bone-chilling commands.
"Who dares violate the law under my watch? I will see to your punishment myself."
Ma Jin didn’t need to hear the details. He already knew the kind of lecture his father would’ve delivered. It had always been this way.
"He’s the one who ought to be punished," Ma Jin thought, shaking his head internally.
For someone so rigid, how had his father ever managed to carry out state-critical missions?
The Ma family’s only truly competent individual seemed to be the current Lord. It was a disheartening realization.
“I’ve come to report,” Ma Jin finally said, turning his attention back to the Lord.
“We have introduced a new martial art to the family’s repertoire. As it is a matter of significance, I’ve come to inform you personally.”
The Lord of Ipwang Fortress was the Martial God. She oversaw all martial arts within the fortress.
She held the authority to review every technique under the fortress’s purview, whether it belonged to the Heavenly Treasure Pavilion, the Divine Sword Corps, or the families under her domain.
Any new martial art had to be submitted for her approval—a tradition that had been in place since the fortress’s founding, meant to consolidate its martial prowess.
Today, it was little more than a formality.
“The Ma family is fortunate,” she murmured, her voice serene.
“Tell me, what is it?”
“...It is Jeong Ga Donggong,” Ma Jin replied, bowing deeply.
The Lord’s long lashes briefly veiled her emerald eyes as she blinked slowly.
The light scattered through the leaves, casting soft shadows along her delicate features. Her pristine face exuded a beauty that seemed to affirm her mastery of the martial arts.
Her expression remained unreadable.
She parted her lips.
“Is it Seomye’s creation?”
“Yes. The Ma family has been graced with his generosity.”
“Indeed, it seems it would complement Hapwha Divine Art well.”
“I regret that I cannot stay longer to pay my respects. I wished only to submit this report before departing.”
For the most part, the approval process was a mere ritual. The Lord’s verdict was law, and once a martial art was submitted, that was the end of it.
In truth, she rarely reviewed the techniques herself. It was a matter of convenience for everyone involved. Her critiques could unnerve even the most seasoned masters.
Rustle.
Ma Jin rose, the manual still in his hand.
Even as a simplified version, it was still Jeong Ga Donggong. Its opening passages mirrored the original.
He and Ma Yeon-jeok had once read those same passages together in Sichuan. They contained fragments of Jeong Yeon-shin’s personal musings.
"The Ma family’s secrets may be exposed to the world, but the core insights of Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind... those must remain untouched. It’s like a diary."
The thought brought him some relief.
Until the Lord’s voice rang out, clear and commanding.
“Bring it here.”