The massacre by the group of radiant swordsmen had come to an end.
The shoulders of the twenty-eight individuals standing on the flatland rose and fell slowly. It had been a massive and brutal battle, leaving hundreds of demonic martial artists either in ruins or as lifeless corpses.
Even after demonstrating an overwhelming burst of light-footed combat, their heavy breaths didn’t seem out of place.
The sleeves of the martial masters practicing fist techniques had turned pitch black, and from the tips of the swords tightly gripped by the swordsmen, blood continuously dripped, splattering onto the ground.
The Gwangye Art was a technique with stark advantages and disadvantages. Its overwhelming power came at a cost.
Such was the nature of the world. Only by consuming immense amounts of internal energy could miraculous feats be achieved.
Yet its effectiveness was undeniable.
The devastation of the life-and-death battle of the sect leaders on this battlefield stood as undeniable proof.
“Hah....”
“Ugh, ah....”
The underbrush and soil were stained dark crimson. The scent of blood carried by the cold wind spread in all directions.
Flesh shattered by kicks, fragments scattered by palm strikes, bodies cleaved in two by single, decisive strikes, and those still gasping painfully for breath, clinging to the faint vitality granted by their internal techniques...
“Is this... hah... am I dreaming?”
“My chest feels... unbelievably clear.”
“Strong, are they...”
Even the famously resilient people of Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, could not stomach the sight. Many turned their heads away, even those with considerable nerve.
Luckily, there was a spectacle to focus on. After all, the true highlight of the life-and-death battle was said to be the duel between the sect leaders.
Here, on the plains of Daeweol Gorge, it was no different.
“Only the sect leaders remain!”
“Hah, what’s going to happen here....”
“Did the Sword Demon Sect Leader really fall? Xi’an’s entire balance will shift!”
“A duel between sect leaders is on another level. It’s not strength we can even comprehend.”
“They’ve brought heavenly experts of such caliber. Surely, they’ll show something extraordinary, even against the Three Great Masters.”
The onlookers, outnumbering even the slain demonic martial artists, craned their necks to watch. Most of them were starved and weary.
Yet a peculiar energy bloomed on their gaunt faces. It was a sadistic thrill.
“Please... please...”
Some even prayed, bowing as if before a shrine. They begged for the death of the demonic sect leaders as if the Maitreya had manifested.
Eyes and heads turned toward a boyish swordsman clad in a blood-stained windbreaker.
The Seven Sect Leaders of Xi’an faced off against an enigmatic grandmaster.
As hundreds of gazes locked on them, the cliffs surrounding the gorge fell into an eerie silence.
The mountains stretching out to the horizon, almost touching the plains of Guan Jung, shimmered with a vibrant green, their slopes bathed in a pale, descending sunlight.
The verdant glow was dreamlike, serene. It felt entirely out of place amid the carnage and the looming standoff.
This lent the scene an odd atmosphere.
Until a man among the Seven Sect Leaders, with a great blade strapped to his back, finally spoke.
“You claim you won’t last more than ten breaths?”
His appearance was audacious, to say the least.
His bare upper body was fully exposed, as if flaunting his external martial prowess. Scars rose from his abdomen, crossed his neck, and reached his cheek, their presence bold and jarring.
They were horrifying sword scars. How was he even alive? The searing heat radiating from his body was almost paradoxical, as if mocking his injuries.
This was Bu Jowei, the Great Wind Blade Monster.
The master of the Zhongtian Blade Sect.
Renowned as Xi’an’s strongest blade master, his fame extended across both righteous and demonic sects. It was said his blade techniques rivaled even the elegance of the Zhongnan Sect’s swordsmanship. He was a master of the Zhongtian Blade.
He was also infamous for his boast that the Immortals of the Nine Clans didn’t scare him. Having witnessed the fall of the Sword Demon Sect Leader, the fiery determination in his angular face burned ever brighter.
“No matter how much...”
He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.
At that moment, the current master of Ma Gwang-ik took a step forward. A blade of grass was crushed beneath his foot, and a gust of wind arose from where his sole pressed the ground. It spread outward from the Yongcheon Acupoint, igniting into a brilliant surge of energy that blasted forward.
Boom!
The ground cracked as his heel dug in. Despite holding back most of his energy, the resulting wind still burst outward without hindrance.
His internal energy control had grown more refined with time. The vast expansion of his upper danjeon lent power to his movements.
Huaah!
Jeong Yeon-shin narrowed his eyes. A fierce backlash rippled through the air. The fierce winds brushing against his hair and robes could even be felt between his fingers.
He did not hesitate as he entered the domain of the six remaining sect leaders. Bu Jowei’s twisted smirk quickly grew larger.
The man reacted swiftly, unsheathing the great blade strapped to his back and bringing it down in a powerful arc.
The air split as blades of grass bent sideways. The slash tore through the underbrush and shattered the earth as it surged forward.
Boom!
To execute such a large-scale technique, reaction speed rivaling that of a quick sword was necessary. As a master of heavy weaponry, it seemed Bu Jowei had heavily honed his sensory skills.
The scorching slash reached Jeong Yeon-shin in an instant, the sheer force of the blade’s wind sharp enough to tear through bricks.
He’s no pushover, Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
The nature of demonic martial arts practitioners felt palpable to him.
How many sect leaders would willingly share precious supplements, rare medicines, or secret techniques with their disciples? The answer was clear—very few.
For a sect like the Seven of Xi’an, the authority of the leader was nearly absolute. This structure meant the leader had to be overwhelmingly strong.
Anyone even moderately versed in the ways of the world knew this. It was evident from the sheer intensity of the strike aimed at him.
The attack came in a razor-sharp arc, carving through space with ferocity.
Swish!
Jeong Yeon-shin felt his bangs shift as the attack distorted the air before his eyes. Staring straight ahead, he raised his left hand.
The radiant energy condensed around his elbow split into two beams, shooting upward like brilliant threads of light. As he stretched his hand to meet the slash, streaks of wind split apart between his fingers.
The recoil was immense. Despite encasing his hand in energy, he could still feel his skin being pushed back.
It was enough to aid in weaving opposing energy flows. He adjusted his movements instinctively.
Should I try a different variation of Hwangang?
Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips tightened slightly.
Bu Jowei’s eyes widened.
The advance of Ma Gwang-ik’s master did not falter. He surged forward from his initial leap, blade held low, using his free hand to cut through the remnants of the slash’s force.
Through the flickering beams of sunlight bending from the clash of energy, the elegant but expressionless face of Jeong Yeon-shin became intermittently visible. It was a chilling sight.
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“Gisoseul!” (Radiant Resonance!)
Bu Jowei shouted urgently—a name belonging to the master of the Chanjeolgak, known for honing peculiar and deadly weapons. She, too, was one of the Seven Sect Leaders of Xi’an.
Ki-iing!
In an instant, sharp beams of light flared from the front. It was as if a sudden downpour had erupted, shredding the air between the underbrush and the heavens, filling the space with gleaming strands.
It was a web, expanding as if a giant spider had spun it. Its metallic texture blocked every path forward, halting Ma Gwang-ik's master's relentless advance.
Though the strands pierced downward from above, their angles twisted in all directions, creating an unyielding barrier. It resembled an enormous spider web made of metal threads.
The move itself was a masterpiece of technique. Could it be a blend of martial arts and mystical craft?
Jeong Yeon-shin came to a halt, narrowly avoiding a strand that nearly grazed his throat.
He slightly tilted his head, his gaze shifting to Bu Jowei’s side. A woman clad in a sky-blue silk combat garment stood there, her arms outstretched.
From within the wide sleeves of her robe, radiant threads glimmered as they extended in countless strands—dozens at a glance.
This was the infamous Sage Sword she wielded. It was said that special iron was drawn into threads and used as a weapon.
I’ve heard of it.
This was Gisoseul, the Sharp Thread Phantom. A former artisan who once worked with gold and discovered a miraculous opportunity that led her to form her sect.
Like Bu Jowei, she was from the demonic faction. Every brothel in Xi’an was under her thumb. She was notorious for abducting commoners from inns while they slept, forcing them into servitude to repay fabricated debts.
She was also infamous for indulging in debauchery alongside Bu Jowei, master of the Zhongtian Blade Sect.
Their eyes met.
Though she was elegantly dressed, her presence exuded a ghostly malice. Even the twist of her lips into a smile radiated eerie energy. Her silent grin carried an unmistakable menace.
This is the martial world.
Do all the renowned figures of the demonic factions carry such distinct presences?
“That man’s defensive energy is his weakness,” came a voice from behind Bu Jowei.
“It’s not as potent as his other techniques. Its framework is shallow. Well, not truly shallow—but compared to his other skills, it lacks depth. It doesn’t suit him.”
This was Wi Il-hwa, the leader of the Sungyeojimun. Her piercing gaze seemed to carry the sharpness of a blade.
She appeared intent on maximizing the efficacy of her technique, which she had received from Ye Ryeongju.
“You could tell by how he hesitated at Gisoseul’s Phantom Threads. I once speculated that, given the adaptability of his techniques, he might be capable of creating a martial art uniquely suited to himself. His defensive energy technique is still incomplete. His focus has likely been on refining his other, exclusive martial arts. If we’re going to kill him, now is the time.”
Her speech was rapid. This was a fight dictated by the principles of Gusun Arts—those skilled in it could speak and comprehend words faster than their own movements.
It was no different from the warriors of Ipwang Fortress, who could communicate swiftly during intense combat.
Jeong Yeon-shin paid no mind to the details of their conversation, focusing only on the information regarding Ye Ryeongju’s intelligence network.
His gaze expanded to encompass the battlefield ahead. Phantom Threads, as they were called—Gisoseul’s Sage Sword—encircled him on all sides.
The sharp killing intent radiating from the threads was palpable. No ordinary defensive energy technique could withstand it. His movements were severely restricted.
How do these people plan to attack?
The question had barely formed in his mind when—
Whoosh!
A white robe fluttered on his left flank, closing the distance as if its wearer had performed a celestial stride. It was Baek Mu-ryang, the head of the Huiwol Sect.
His long, white beard trailed behind him as he extended his palm. From the invisible energy gathering in his palm came an otherworldly sound.
It was a sound Jeong Yeon-shin had never heard before. It burrowed into his ears and seemed to bleach his thoughts white.
Kiiiing!
This was the essence of the Huiwol Sect’s Arts, a demonic technique designed to torment its foes in myriad ways. It was truly insidious.
Simultaneously, the Sage Sword’s web parted on both sides. The threads appeared to move of their own accord, creating a pathway for allies. It was clearly Gisoseul’s work.
The threads moved with incredible speed, expanding and contracting as if they were alive.
On the right, a storm erupted. Bu Jowei had swung his great blade once more.
As his enormous figure came into Jeong Yeon-shin’s view, the weighty Zhongtian Blade sliced through a gap in the web, its massive force tearing through the air.
The friction was deafening, making Jeong Yeon-shin’s robes billow fiercely before the blade even reached him.
Crash!
At the moment of the twin assaults—
Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze shifted to Wi Il-hwa, leader of Sungyeojimun, standing behind the assault.
She was an imposing woman, her massive frame rivaling Bu Jowei’s. Her large hands were clasped at her sides beneath the crimson sleeves of her robe.
The force swirling around her feet was staggering. It felt as if the very ground was being ground away.
Dust spiraled upward like a vortex, even causing faint tremors.
This was Gang Mu-jeong, master of the Shiri Crushing Mountain Fist. She was the leader of the Daeryeong Sect in Xi’an.
Her legend was well-known.
Born the child of a humble herbalist, she had consumed a millennia-aged He Shou Wu plant. Infused with the energy of the mythical herb, she had risen to become the strongest among the Seven Sect Leaders.
It was said her signature technique, Chukjin Thunderous Wave, could destroy small peaks with a single strike.
However, she was unable to ascend to the highest ranks of martial prowess because her technique lacked the versatility for one-on-one duels. Nevertheless, as a member of the demonic faction, she had received numerous offers to join the military.
They’ve laid their trap well.
In that fleeting moment, Jeong Yeon-shin assessed the situation.
Gang Mu-jeong, stationed at the rear, was preparing a decisive strike. Meanwhile, Wi Il-hwa used her technique from Ye Ryeongju to exploit vulnerabilities.
Gisoseul’s Phantom Threads blocked all movement, while Baek Mu-ryang and Bu Jowei struck from the flanks.
The entire sequence was designed to culminate in Gang Mu-jeong’s Chukjin Thunderous Wave.
The flow of their techniques and coordination unfolded before Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes. He deflected Baek Mu-ryang’s wrinkled palm to the side.
Originally, he had planned to crush Baek Mu-ryang’s wrist with a single strike, but the man had craftily reduced his strength.
The same was true of Bu Jowei’s blade. When Jeong Yeon-shin countered with the Simgeuk Kirin Sword, the slash shattered into futility.
Yet, the tip of his Northern Bright Sword became caught in the Sage Sword’s web. For a brief moment, it could not move.
From a distance, Gisoseul smiled smoothly.
“I had a few Iron Clan artisans extract iron from celestial silk and heavenly steel. Even a Sword Saint couldn’t cut through this.”
The Sword Demon Sect Leader had fallen without even trading a few blows.
But the sect leaders here had prepared meticulously. They moved with the assumption of cooperation.
Every strike was laced with the intent to exhaust and eventually overwhelm their opponent. Their formation was a textbook example of how the martial world dealt with supreme masters.
“Ah.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curled slightly upward. He subtly flicked the Northern Bright Sword, brushing one of the Sage Sword’s threads with the blade.
The gesture was almost playful, like the curiosity of a young boy.
“Seven moves left.”
He muttered slowly.
Then, with his left hand imbued with the Hwangang, he grabbed hold of one of the threads.