Meanwhile, the number of spectators surrounding the massive canyon was swelling to an intimidating degree. The atmosphere buzzed with noise and commotion.
It seemed as if all the residents of Xi’an—a city steeped in a thousand years of history—were converging on the site.
From beggars clad in rags to merchants in opulent robes, people of every social class gathered on the surrounding peaks. Some arrived in carriages or sedan chairs, draped in silk, exuding an air of luxury.
It was a rare spectacle, the culmination of a grand conflict.
Among them were martial artists from the Jianghu, eager to observe. They stood with arms crossed on tree branches, balanced lightly, or perched against the rocky canyon walls, using their footwork techniques to cling to the vertical surfaces.
"The stakes in Shaanxi are firmly entrenched in this battle. Are the identities of those people still unknown?"
"That sword technique that emits light... Could it be from the Tianji Gate of the Thirteen Heavens? Or perhaps the elite disciples of that bloodline that only accepts purebloods..."
"Will the sect leaders actually die here? How long has it been since we’ve seen these monstrous demonic leaders gathered in one place? They’ve all got unique techniques for escaping death, after all."
Their voices were loud, a cacophony of speculation.
"Pointless," Wi Il-hwa murmured from a distance. She was watching Jeong Yeon-shin, who had placed his hand on one of Gisoseul’s Sage Sword threads.
It wasn’t a sneer. Her expression didn’t betray mockery.
"Did you think we wouldn’t anticipate a duel of life and death between the leaders? Beyond the display of martial strength, our goal was to demonstrate the power of the Seven Sect Leaders of Xi’an to the entire world. The sudden death of the Sword Demon Sect Leader is insignificant in comparison."
Her voice carried a faint note of satisfaction. Seeing the leader of the force that had once cast her into the depths of despair focus on something so trivial was pleasing to her.
The combined assault of the sect leaders had fully encircled the area, their formation complete. Wi Il-hwa’s smile deepened.
She deliberately smiled, determined to revel in the downfall of her adversary, no matter the form it took.
"You, outsider. Even in death, you won’t escape retribution."
In the demonic factions, a sect with its leader still alive would never crumble. The leader embodied the sect itself.
The Seven Sect Leaders of Xi’an would never relinquish their power.
Ssss—
The dense threads of the Sage Sword net woven by Gisoseul cut through the wind, brimming with the intent of the sect leaders.
The sharp web that surrounded Jeong Yeon-shin from above and below was as oppressive as the desperate obsession of starving demonic practitioners. It was meticulously arranged.
Bu Jowei and Baek Mu-ryang, positioned on either side, had already prepared their next strikes. Meanwhile, Gang Mu-jeong, stationed at the rear, had gathered her fists for the decisive technique of the Chukjin Thunderous Wave.
Their postures were resolute, their robes fluttering in the wind, exuding the dignity of sect leaders.
Even Jang Il-gi, the well-mannered leader of the Sobek Sect, stood casually with a strange expression, as if unconcerned.
So this is the might of the great Jianghu...
Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed the faces of the six sect leaders.
Confidence and certainty were etched into their expressions. Not one of them showed even a hint of hesitation or submission.
These were the powerhouses of the martial world, rulers who had established their reputations through raw strength in the unyielding Jianghu.
In times of scarcity, they relied on their martial prowess to dominate others and fill their bellies, suppressing all around them.
The rivers and lakes of Jianghu were like turbulent waters, their surface constantly rippling with even the smallest disturbances. Every movement of a powerful figure sent waves across the land, affecting everything around them. That was Jianghu.
The masters of martial arts stood like mountain gods, imposing their will from the heights they had climbed.
Even the Jeong family had been no exception.
It all began with the sidelong glance of the elder of the Blade Specters, who rode a sword. Her casual survey of a leyline had led to the destruction of the Jeong family, a great landowning household.
It was the place my mother chose.
Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself, recalling the swing he had never ridden during the Dragon Boat Festival, which he had grown fond of.
Slowly, he parted his lips.
"You’ve played the role of the strong until now."
"And we will continue to," Baek Mu-ryang responded with a hearty laugh, his tone antiquated.
Jeong Yeon-shin said no more.
Swish.
He fully grasped one of the Sage Sword’s threads with his left hand.
A sharp pain shot through his palm. It was unmistakable. He traced the thread woven by Gisoseul, running his hand along its straight, taut line.
It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, resembling a radiant web of swords. Each thread seemed imbued with an edge as sharp as a blade.
Blood welled from his hand. He didn’t need to look to know. The defensive energy around him strained to withstand the sheer intensity of his grip.
Simultaneously, the sharp thread began to quiver violently. It pressed against the maximum suppressed power of his Hwangang, transmitting its tremendous vibrations directly through his palm.
Solid.
It showed no sign of breaking. How it was fixed in place was a mystery. It must have been the unique sorcery of the demonic sects, known for their unorthodox methods.
Though it was clearly a blend of martial arts and mystical technique, its execution was fluid. The threads sliced through the air like fishing lines, constantly shifting.
This was Gisoseul, the Sharp Thread Phantom.
As their eyes met, she faintly curved her thin lips into a delicate arc. Before her miraculous opportunity, she had been a musician who worked with gold. Her movements retained the elegance of an artisan.
Her posture, as she stretched her hands to manipulate the near-divine threads, exuded grace. She even seemed relaxed.
So one can attain such strength in this way, too.
As one’s martial prowess and status rose, so did the scope of their world and the breadth of their experiences. Once again, Jeong Yeon-shin’s Jianghu had expanded.
The new Master of Ma Gwang-ik was a supreme master but not yet a seasoned one. As a rising star whose growth was only beginning, he could turn every experience into nourishment.
And this moment was no exception.
"That one’s sense of touch is monstrous! Don’t let him act on his intentions!" Wi Il-hwa shouted from across the battlefield.
Though she likely felt they had secured victory, she didn’t let her guard down. Her vigilance against a supreme master was meticulous.
Her caution spoke volumes about her experience. The sect leaders mirrored her sentiments, initiating simultaneous assaults from both flanks.
"Is there even a need for the Chukjin Thunderous Wave? This is a combined assault. We’ve already discarded our dignity—kill him quickly," Bu Jowei growled through his thick lips.
At the same time, he lifted his massive foot, and the threads below him parted. Without hesitation, he stomped down.
Boom—!
As his foot struck the ground, Bu Jowei’s upper body surged forward. With both hands, he raised his enormous blade high above his head and brought it down in a powerful arc.
The Sage Sword threads scattered in all directions, as if alive, while the underbrush around him flattened under the shockwave.
Jeong Yeon-shin adjusted his grip on the Northern Bright Sword, which had been caught by the threads below.
In a swift motion, he flipped the blade’s grip and thrust upward as if to fling the threads aside. There was no formality in the strike.
One who had meticulously prepared a blade technique and one who improvised a defensive strike on the spot clashed in an instant.
The moment the air turned blindingly white from the sword’s edge—
Claaang—!
A tremendous shock struck. From between his thumb and forefinger, the force reverberated fiercely. The energy fixed in the Crooked Pond Acupoint in his arm held firm.
The recoil shot through his forearm, causing the muscles honed by the Jeong Family Dynamic Gong to flex and tighten sharply.
The instant his grip on the sword handle fully engaged, the energy coursed into him, uniting with his blade, and erupted as overwhelming sword force.
Boom!
It was merely a thrust, but the sound reverberated like thunder. The tip of the Northern Bright Sword grazed the edge of Bu Jowei’s blade, scattering colorless ripples through the air.
The genius born of heavenly talent displayed its brilliance, even in the realm of sheer power. The balance of energy, muscle, and form was in a realm entirely different from that of lesser fighters.
It was starkly apparent when he fought the unrefined.
Bu Jowei failed to find a way to compensate for the disparity in natural talent.
Fwooosh—!
Bu Jowei’s body twisted midair, momentarily suspended. Jeong Yeon-shin, still holding his sword, glanced up at him.
Between them, the swirling wind rippled endlessly through the underbrush, making it seem as though the spectators were dancing in rhythm to the clash of blades.
"What kind of swordsmanship is this?" Bu Jowei shouted, his voice racing through the air with the speed of Gusun Arts.
Though the words were addressed to Ma Gwang-ik’s master, they were meant for the other sect leaders to hear—a call for follow-up attacks. His tone was tinged with urgency.
This man was indeed Ma Gwang-ik’s master. He couldn’t handle him alone.
Jeong Yeon-shin grasped the situation clearly. So, too, did the other sect leaders.
Flap—!
The sound of fluttering robes was fierce on the left. The vanguard consisted of two fighters.
Alongside Bu Jowei, Baek Mu-ryang of the Huiwol Sect blocked the path to Gisoseul, Wi Il-hwa, and Gang Mu-jeong.
An experienced veteran, Baek Mu-ryang, had consistently responded excellently, working to guard the threads, defensive techniques, and decisive strikes from the rear.
Just as Jeong Yeon-shin was about to deliver a series of attacks, Baek Mu-ryang exploited an opening in his breathing rhythm to launch a strike.
Right after Wi Il-hwa’s whistle pierced the air—a signal to act at the opportune moment.
Whip—! Boom!
Baek Mu-ryang’s palm struck downward, emitting a wave of force. The Huiwol Sect’s techniques were known for their versatility and ability to respond from all directions.
The direction of the attack changed quickly, a testament to its adaptability.
These people have profound energy reserves. A single strike won’t be enough.
As Jeong Yeon-shin raised his left hand, the threads surrounding him began to tighten.
The luminous strands converged, gleaming as they obstructed his vision. Advancing further would result in cuts—he had no choice but to hesitate.
At the same time, Baek Mu-ryang’s feet crossed twice on the ground. His movements became bizarre, as if he were unfolding an ethereal sword technique with his hands. The phantom-like shadows of his palm techniques grew.
He had accumulated force during the moment Jeong Yeon-shin clashed with Bu Jowei and now unleashed it all at once.
Shockwaves from the strikes echoed through the air, tickling the eardrums.
Boom—!
By now, Wi Il-hwa was striking her sword down from the front. Her crimson sleeve was raised sharply, mirroring the blade’s deadly precision.
It was a terrifyingly refined horizontal slash. The sound of air being torn apart was deafening, as was her expression, caught between a grin and a grimace, her mouth wide open.
From the right, Bu Jowei descended, gripping his enormous blade with both hands.
At some point, he had regained his stance. The thunderous noise of his powerful sword slash was an audible testament to his calculated timing, designed to exploit the delay.
The shift in their formation was lightning-fast.
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The tightening net of Sage Sword threads, the three devastating techniques erupting from the front in all directions, and even the woman at the rear, twisting her body as though ready to unleash the accumulated force of her technique.
They were strong. This was a combined attack unlike any Jeong Yeon-shin had ever witnessed.
They were on a completely different level than their subordinates. As the rumors claimed, the sect leaders kept the lion's share of their sects’ secret techniques and elixirs for themselves.
Their might was worthy of being recognized as part of the martial world’s demonic factions. These were leaders deserving of the title.
Kyaaahahahaha—!
From behind Baek Mu-ryang’s shoulder came an eerie burst of laughter. It was Gisoseul, laughing maniacally as she manipulated the Sage Sword threads.
The sound echoed strangely, amplified by the Gusun Arts. Was she mocking them, cursing them to carry their humiliation across the River of Three Paths in death?
Swish.
Jeong Yeon-shin calmly placed his left fingers on one of the Sage Sword threads closing in on his flesh. Suddenly, the sharp laughter emanating from Gisoseul came to an abrupt halt.
Wooong—!
A resonant hum accompanied the emergence of a translucent boundary along his hand.
Then, as if tearing through paper on a wooden doorframe, the thread traced a slow arc downward under his fingers, revealing shimmering rays of light through the gap.
Moments later, Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand breached the boundary between martial arts and sorcery, seizing the tangled thread woven by Gisoseul. He had felt it with his senses and grabbed hold of it.
Ma Gwang-ik’s master thought to himself.
"It looks interesting, so it’s naturally mine."
A flash of brilliance erupted in his mind, centered on the Baihui Acupoint atop his head. The energy he had already infused into the threads unraveled the Sage Sword’s techniques.
Where the threads bent, how they were fixed in place, and the angles needed to manipulate their energy—all became crystal clear.
His intuition, sharpened through countless battles, deciphered even the sorcery at its core. Any elements he couldn’t comprehend through study, he substituted with internal energy techniques.
The talent of living ten days in one burned like a flame in his consciousness, shattering the insurmountable wall between ordinary achievement and time, reducing it to ashes.
And so, suddenly—
The interpretation of the Sage Sword’s mechanism was complete. It was as intricate as a mechanical formation. Impeccably precise.
Seizing control of the sword threads proved simple. In terms of internal energy capacity, Jeong Yeon-shin had already far surpassed Gisoseul.
The radiant wheel of light spinning within his heart surged like waves, sending ripples of energy outward.
Simultaneously, Gisoseul’s energy was forced out of the threads, scattering into nothingness.
In the next instant—
The resilient threads exploded into radiant streaks of light, carving through the air in every direction. It was as if the space itself were being sliced into countless fragments.
Wooong!
The resonance of Hwangang, imbued into the threads, erupted. The metallic strands resonated with Jeong Yeon-shin’s fingers, unable to pierce the identical energy waves emanating from his fingertips. Instead, they seemed to serve a new master.
The threads whispered to him, urging him to pluck and play them lightly, like strings of an instrument, guiding his energy deftly.
The sensation surged from his grip to his mind. It was incredibly vivid.
"Like this."
Following the sensation, he delicately ran his fingers along the threads, like a musician tuning a stringed instrument. One by one, the Sage Sword threads emitted soft metallic hums. The reverberation was profound.
At the same time—
Fwaaaaash!
The golden threads erupted in a spectacular burst of light. In the stillness of his upper dantian, his blazing perception seemed to halt time itself, executing his moves with blinding speed.
The golden threads spiraled upward in an instant, wrapping around Wi Il-hwa, Bu Jowei, Baek Mu-ryang, and even the dozens of sycamore trees surrounding them.
The leaders of the demonic factions were bound in the blink of an eye, their bodies pinned to the trunks of the trees, while the glowing threads shimmered in the indifferent sunlight.
"Gisoseul! What are you doing?!"
"No, this is... insane...!"
"Aaaaaargh! Mine! Give it back!" Bu Jowei screamed frantically, while Wi Il-hwa’s eyes widened in shock, and Gisoseul collapsed to the ground, shrieking like a madwoman.
Only Baek Mu-ryang, whose beard was now shredded into strands, managed to gather his bloodstained body to muster a final wave of energy.
From a distance—
Hooop—
Gang Mu-jeong drew a long, deliberate breath, her inhalation dissolving into her very soul. She sealed the energy within her body, amplifying her strength to its peak.
In that moment, the surrounding air shifted. The winds that had been surging outward suddenly reversed, drawn inward like a tidal wave.
Fwooooosh!
The Chukjin Thunderous Wave was finally charged.
With explosive force, Gang Mu-jeong’s presence burst forth, her scarlet robes blazing as her figure leaned boldly forward, thrusting her fist.
It was a decisive strike, her entire being concentrated into the punch. Her form was flawless.
The formless impact of her strike resembled the Baekbo Divine Fist of Shaolin Temple, its sheer force roaring forward like an unstoppable cannon.
KWA-AAAAAA—!
At that very moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s black sleeve fluttered.
Step.
He stood atop one of the Sage Sword threads.
The massive golden web shifted in its entirety, interposing itself between him and Gang Mu-jeong.
He had reverse-engineered the Chukjin Thunderous Wave’s structure, rooted in the 64 trigrams, to construct a defensive web between himself and Gang Mu-jeong.
Woooong!
At the midpoint, the colorless shockwave rippled like water. The golden web absorbed the force of the strike, breaking it apart like foam on a shore. It was a surreal sight.
For the first time, an expression of shock flickered across Gang Mu-jeong’s previously composed face. The golden threads spiraled upward, wrapping diagonally around her body.
"It’s too light. This wouldn’t work against a true supreme master," Jeong Yeon-shin murmured from atop the golden threads, his hands clasped behind his back. His sharp eyes gleamed with cold determination.
"Wait... if you kill us like this, the balance of Xi’an will—"
"I am the head of the Huiwol Sect. I can offer you much."
"Give it back! Give me back my Light Web!"
From their positions pinned to the trees, Wi Il-hwa, Baek Mu-ryang, and Gisoseul each uttered fragmented pleas. Bu Jowei, meanwhile, simply moved his lips in a muttered call for death.
In an instant, the tide of power had shifted. The precarious balance of life and death among masters of the martial world had tilted dramatically.
"My sect’s first principle isn’t capture," Jeong Yeon-shin declared.
It was no different from the Jeong family’s annihilation at the hands of the Blade Specters. Ipwang-seong, a shadowy figure straddling orthodoxy and heresy, operated with similar ruthlessness. Unlike the officials, they understood Jianghu’s brutal laws.
The martial world was a savage place governed by survival of the fittest. To eliminate future threats was to ensure the well-being of the people. That was the logic of Ipwang-seong and the nation.
"You’ve enjoyed yourselves enough. Now, die."
Step.
As Ma Gwang-ik’s master stepped onto another thread, the sect leaders had no time to reflect on regret, despair, or even relief.
The laughter Gisoseul had once directed toward Jeong Yeon-shin returned to her tenfold, her intended malice rebounding against her and her allies. The only expression they carried to their deaths was one of utter despair.
Fwoosh!
With an eruption of blood spraying in all directions, dried winter leaves scattered across the ground.
At the same time—
The canyon fell silent.