The wind swept across the cliff, brushing through the sprawling bushes and creating a rustling sound as it passed.
The sound of the wind scraping against scattered rocks was unnaturally loud, emphasizing the silence that had descended. Everyone had fallen quiet, and for good reason.
The deaths of the sect leaders of the demonic factions.
The tightly woven order of the grand city had been utterly shattered. For anyone from Xi’an, this was a moment that evoked a strange and complex mix of emotions.
The peaks surrounding the canyon were crowded with countless onlookers.
Some were sprawled carelessly on the bushes below, others had climbed trees, while more sat regally in their silk robes atop palanquins.
The gathering stretched on endlessly, diverse yet somehow similar in the intensity of their gaze.
Soon, whispers began to ripple through the silence, breaking it.
"Who could possess such skill to step forward like that...?"
"A skilled master? Look at their face. They’re absurdly young."
"Who could they possibly be...?"
"Find out everything about the group of light-sword users. If they establish themselves in Xi’an, they must not be underestimated. They might be as formidable as the elites of the Nine Sects or the Thirteen Heavens. Investigate thoroughly and leave nothing unchecked."
"Do you think that’s enough? The balance of Xi’an is bound to change."
"I’m aware. Hm, the Beiming Inn used by the Sect Leader of Sungyeo will likely be vacated. We’ll take that. You, deliver a message to him... no, I’ll go myself in the palanquin."
People began to move. Carrier pigeons shot into the sky through the bushes, flapping their wings toward various destinations.
The reaction was swift. Many disappeared into the distance, kicking up dust with their light footwork.
Amid the commotion, under the brown pine needles that dotted the ground—
The Sword Dragon of Unjung, Wei Ji Myo-hwa, gazed down at Jeong Yeon-shin.
Her posture differed from that of the others.
She stood ready to leap forward at any moment, gripping her sword tightly. Her translucent blue veil covered her face, though it couldn’t conceal the noble bearing of a disciple from an illustrious sect.
The distinct presence of a remarkable swordsman always drew attention.
From her graceful jawline to her poised demeanor, she stood out among the crowd. Many nearby stole glances at her, unable to look away.
But she paid no mind to them.
‘Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin...’
No, at this point, it was hard to think of him as merely "Seomye." Who would dare to address the seventeenth master of the Divine Sword Sect so informally? Even with familiarity, the most one could call him was "Young Master."
A soft melancholy flickered in Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s eyes.
She remembered the young boy in blue who had struck down the sub-branch of the Hwangbo family and wandered the martial world. Those were fond memories. The nostalgia of those days brought a faint fragrance of bittersweetness.
Back then, for her, chivalry had meant everything. She had the support of her brothers and sisters from the Zhongnan Sect. Her master and elder instructors were still alive and well.
At first...
She and Jeong Yeon-shin had worked together to uncover the secrets of Gwanghwa Swordsmanship and the mysteries of the Guryang Ilshik techniques. Even the legendary sword master of the sect had joined them.
‘He fell into demonic madness.’
Seeing the boy effortlessly wield the radiant blade left her in despair. She had realized how insignificant her own supposedly unparalleled talent was.
But it had been fine. The elder sword master had glimpsed Jeong Yeon-shin’s limited lifespan and pulled her out of the abyss of madness. It hadn’t been petty relief—she had grown into compassion.
All those memories were tied to the Zhongnan Sect.
The green hills, the cliffs scarred by sword marks, the boy dancing with his sword bathed in light, Wei Ji Myo-hwa watching in a daze, the hearty laughter of the Zhongnan Sword Master... Zhongnan Mountain, the nostalgic scent of its grass.
Now, the Young Master of Ma Gwang-ik City stirred up memories of her old sect.
It was a strange sensation. Perhaps it was fate.
Her gratitude welled up within her, accompanied by swelling emotions.
Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip.
‘I’m sorry... truly, I’m sorry...’
She hadn’t been able to protect Jeong Hye. She had lost them to the Heavenly Net of two masters from the Thirteen Heavens. She had searched tirelessly but in vain.
She had despaired.
That was why she had come to Xi’an upon hearing rumors of a battle between the leaders of the Xi’an Seven and an unknown figure.
She hadn’t expected it to be Jeong Yeon-shin. Not even in her wildest dreams. And yet she still hadn’t found Jeong Hye.
"You seem to have much to say. Speak freely; I’ve blocked my hearing," said a swordsman standing beside her, staring intently at the canyon below.
His loose chin strap barely held his hat in place, and gray hair spilled haphazardly from beneath it. He was Baek Seo-goon, the Sword Ghost of Yeongcheon.
Like Wei Ji Myo-hwa, his presence also drew attention.
His odd half-gray hair and disheveled appearance gave no hint of his identity as a sword master of Simmuryeon, one of the Thirteen Heavens.
Though he lived in a distant world of immense power, few dared speak his name.
Yet, like Wei Ji Myo-hwa, he commanded attention, his polished red sleeves glinting as they draped elegantly, his regal posture unmistakable.
Despite his lofty demeanor, his eyes were locked on the young prodigy below.
"That sense of his... it’s a treasure. He’s destined to leave a mark on martial history," Baek Seo-goon murmured.
"So he’s the descendant of Pacheop. It seems Jeong Ban-ak’s cursed lineage has borne fruit. That sly bastard’s unearthly features must have skipped a generation... to produce such a striking young man. What a sight, after looking at the likes of my unworthy son for so long."
"I can’t go down there," Wei Ji Myo-hwa whispered.
Baek Seo-goon chuckled dryly. "Is it your petty guilt? How pathetic. And arrogant, too. Do you actually believe you could have shattered the Heavenly Net of those two from the Thirteen Heavens? Your self-reproach is laughable. With his temperament, that kind boy would likely embrace you instead."
"Even you hesitate to approach him, senior. You’ve spoken of your connection to him, and yet..." Wei Ji Myo-hwa trailed off.
"..."
Baek Seo-goon fell silent.
—You must have been well-loved in my absence. Your complexion is so vibrant.
Her own voice echoed in her mind, a careless remark she had made to Jeong Ban-ak’s son in a rare moment of warmth.
For someone who had lived solely for the sword, the thoughtless words now churned in her mind, tearing through her usual calm.
What did the internal conflicts of a Zhongnan disciple matter? She didn’t care.
But for the first time, she felt regret and shame. She had been deluding herself all along.
‘He’s grown slimmer. His physique has become even more defined in such a short time. He changes day by day.’
Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin.
Though she gazed down at the face she had longed to see again, she couldn’t bring herself to step forward. Despite being Simmuryeon’s second most formidable sword master, she hesitated.
The distance between them could be crossed in a single step with her mastery of Bo Shin Gyeong. Yet, her heart lingered between the boy she once cared for and her role as an elite guardian of the Thirteen Heavens.
She hadn’t been worried about the Xi’an Seven. For all their strength, they were merely lesser figures among the Thirteen Heavens.
From Baek Seo-goon’s perspective, they weren’t capable of breaking the blade of Ma Gwang-ik City.
"He..."
Wei Ji Myo-hwa slowly parted her lips.
"He may set the world on fire. As a Grand Master of Ma Gwang-ik City, it’s his nature to command the world. All seventeen masters have walked the same path. Seomye will be no different. I’ll lend him my support when the time comes."
Her voice was refined and dignified, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
Her raised chin gave her an air of arrogance, though it didn’t reflect her true thoughts.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa didn’t call her out on it. There was no point.
—He doesn’t have much time left.
That was what the Zhongnan Sword Master had said upon seeing Jeong Yeon-shin.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa knew how short the boy’s life would be. Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye. His short existence burned intensely, even as the few remaining members of his family were abducted.
The thought only deepened her guilt.
The Sword Dragon of Zhongnan quietly moved her lips.
‘I’m sorry... truly, I’m sorry...’
Then, with a sharp resolve, her determined gaze began to cut through her inner turmoil.
Simultaneously, her fingers traced an intricate line along the sword at her waist, as if recalling something deeply etched in her memory.
***
“No, our boss took care of them all. They were fearsome fellows, but they still dared to call themselves leaders of the unorthodox factions,” Tae Yeom-ryong said with a smirk, stepping forward with Ma Gwang-ik’s senior members in tow.
The clearing at the bottom of the gorge was littered with bodies. Pools of dark, dried blood stained the ground. Amid the grim sight, Tae Yeom-ryong’s lighthearted demeanor seemed to lessen the overwhelming stench of blood.
In this bleak scene, only Ma Gwang-ik's warriors retained their vitality. Though slightly worn out, Hyeon Won-chang, Shin So-bin, and Jegal Cheong-ah stood with glowing complexions, their bloodlines evident in their radiant appearances.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced briefly at Tae Yeom-ryong, then shook his head.
“When did that poppy-chaser manage to learn Gwang-ye-gyeol?”
The genius of the Sun Meridian, fated to a short life, had mastered Gwang-ye-gyeol remarkably quickly. He hadn't even bothered to ask questions, as though everything came naturally to him. Waving his hand a few times, as if savoring something exquisite, Tae Yeom-ryong gave a slight nod, clearly satisfied.
“That looks tempting. It seemed quite fun,” Tae Yeom-ryong said, gesturing toward Jeong Yeon-shin’s hands.
“Just clean up the mess,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied curtly, turning away as if it wasn’t worth a response.
Hidden beneath his black sleeves, the filaments of the thread swords were slowly retracting. His cuffs fluttered constantly, enhanced by the suction technique of Mancheon Hwawu. The thin, glowing threads were absorbed into his garment, disappearing without a trace.
Tae Yeom-ryong clicked his tongue. “You know, if you think about it, you’re greedier than I am, Leader.”
“Foolish words for someone who lacks the wit to keep treasures they can’t handle,” Jeong Yeon-shin shot back casually, his gaze shifting toward his subordinates.
Feigning indifference, he scanned Ma Gwang-ik's warriors. He hoped there weren’t any injuries, and fortunately, it seemed Gwang-ye-gyeol had served its purpose. The only sign of wear was the exhaustion evident in some warriors’ labored breaths, a symptom of depleted internal energy.
Reassured, he turned back, only to meet the gazes of Cheongmyeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, Hyeon Won-chang, and even Shin So-bin. They were all staring at his hands, which had just wielded the thread swords. The dried blood clinging to his fingers hadn’t gone unnoticed.
‘How peculiar...’
Jeong Yeon-shin pivoted gracefully, his steps measured and calm.
‘There are so many martial arts and techniques to combine with this. It could be quite entertaining.’
He tilted his neck slightly, mulling over the spoils of this encounter. He had intentionally held back, allowing the sect leaders to use their full power. In reality, the battle had lasted only a few moments, but limiting his own abilities had proved surprisingly challenging.
It didn’t matter.
He’d filled several pages of the Myeoljeol Sama Chongram. These techniques, once used to dominate the vast expanse of Western lands, now belonged to him. The life-and-death duel with the sect leader had been worth it. Even the restless murmuring of the crowd in the gorge quieted, their earlier clamor replaced by reluctant acknowledgment.
The ancient capital.
The great city of Xi’an now lay in the hands of Gwang-ye-gyeol, a fact none could dispute in this moment.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly parted his lips.
“Kang Hyo-su, go with Shin-myo to inspect the government’s local branch. It’s unacceptable that no reports were made while Xi’an fell to this state. Find out if it was due to unavoidable circumstances or if they were in league with the enemy. If it’s the latter, execute them immediately.”
He finished speaking as he secured the long black hem of his robe. The material differed from the fabrics of Ipwang Fortress but clung snugly to his skin. If he hadn’t entered the sect, he might have worn something like this as a matter of course.
“Yes, Leader.”
The massive swordsman clasped his hands together in a formal salute. This was Kang Chang-mu, a Blue Rank warrior from the Cheonrim Squad, nicknamed Hyo-su-geom. Jeong Yeon-shin referred to him simply as Kang Hyo-su, much like he casually called Shin So-bin Shin-myo.
Shin So-bin, however, didn’t seem pleased with the impromptu nickname. She shot Jeong Yeon-shin a sharp glare with her round eyes but, when their gazes met, she broke into a playful smile. Even after all the carnage, her audacity reflected her noble lineage.
“One still remains.”
Hyeon Won-chang, unusually impassive, pointed this out. As he wiped his blade clean of accumulated killing intent, the familiar sight of blood stains streaking his sword did little to faze his companions.
The thirty or so warriors of Ma Gwang-ik turned their eyes toward the lone man standing silently. It was Jang Gi-il, the leader of Sobekmun. His solid frame, clad in yellow robes, exuded strength. He stood near a tree trunk, staring blankly at the corpse of Sungyeojimun’s leader, then turned his gaze to Ma Gwang-ik’s leader.
“—Punish the unworthy under Ipwang Fortress’s justice.”
Jang Gi-il was the only sect leader who had survived those words.
Jeong Yeon-shin had deliberately excluded him from the range of his techniques, and Jang Gi-il, in turn, had refrained from joining the battle.
“They said you betrayed your sect as a scion of Zhongnan. Prove your worth to me,” Ma Gwang-ik’s leader ordered.
“...Jeong Jung-san of Xin Ya-hyun.”
Jang Gi-il, who had been quietly observing Jeong Yeon-shin, finally spoke. The mention of Jeong Yeon-shin’s ties to Xin Ya-hyun, a region under Zhongnan’s domain, held weight.
“I know where that friend of yours is.”
***
The outskirts of Xi’an were a labyrinth.
The city’s long history as the capital of numerous dynasties had left behind a tangled web of paths and alleys. Over centuries, countless martial sects had established themselves in the area, further complicating its layout. The result was a mess of roads, some so chaotic they bordered on disarray.
A narrow alleyway shrouded in sharp shadows stretched ahead. The biting winter wind brushed against the weathered walls, weaving through cracks and seams with an eerie persistence. The chill carried an oppressive air, swirling against the alley’s long streaks of faded gold paint. In the distance, the faint hum of the bustling city leaked through, swallowed by the thick silence of the alley.
Footsteps echoed heavily, joined by the dull crunch of something breaking.
Thud!
“I finally got this bastard!”
“Look at him trying to block! Where’s that famed swordsmanship of Zhongnan Mountain, huh?”
“Is this guy really from one of the Nine Great Sects? Can’t be, right?”
Two men and a woman surrounded their prey. All three wore matching ash-gray robes, moving fluidly with mocking grins plastered across their youthful faces.
Thwack! Thud!
Curled up on the ground, a man in yellow robes bore the brunt of their relentless kicks and punches. Each strike landed with a resonating thud against his battered frame.
This was Jeong Jung-san’s worst day yet.
After parting ways with the fearsome Baek Seo-goon, he had wandered alone, scouring various places in search of Jeong Hye. Despite mastering the Tai'e Invisible Sword, he had made no progress. He had hoped his skills would be enough to extract information by striking and withdrawing quickly against minor unorthodox factions.
But it was all for nothing.
Every attempt ended like this. Only the Life-Saving Absolute Move had kept him from being captured and killed outright.
Dragging his battered body through back alleys, he had tried to fulfill his duty, both as Jeong Hye’s uncle and as a disciple of the Zhongnan Sect.
“Your big mouth gone silent, huh? You were so cocky back when Zhongnan was still intact!”
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“They say you’re Ma Gwang-ik’s elder brother? Why don’t you call him here? Not like a man with no sect could prove anything!”
“Not that it’d matter. You couldn’t handle the Ghost of the Hundred Strikes even if he did show up!”
The remaining disciples of Sungyeojimun were relishing their dominance. And why wouldn’t they? Zhongnan had fallen, and the world had shifted in their favor.
‘Karma,’ Jeong Jung-san thought bitterly.
Calling for his younger brother? How could he?
This was a grim reflection of his own past. In his reckless youth, he had acted as a petty gang leader in Xin Ya-hyun, bossing around peers his age. He had even taken his frustrations out on his foreboding younger brother, Jeong Yeon-shin.
Once, he had rejected a martial manual, Jeong Ga-donggong, offered by Yeon-shin’s small hands. Mocking his brother’s frail body, he had ordered the other children to bully him. Even in hindsight, it was vile behavior.
‘What right do I have now?’
Thwack!
“Guh!”
A blow to his solar plexus knocked the wind out of him. He was moments away from using the Life-Saving Absolute Move when—
Suddenly.
A shadow descended from above, black as pitch.
It was as though a lightning strike had split the night. The intruder’s presence hit the ground like divine judgment, sending a shockwave of dust spiraling skyward, as if the alley itself recoiled in awe. For a moment, the pressure was suffocating, as if every gust of wind in the world had converged on this single point.
Boom!
The overwhelming figure didn’t hesitate, driving a powerful kick into Jeong Jung-san’s abdomen. The force of the impact created a deafening shockwave, flinging Jeong like a lifeless leaf caught in a gale. The raw strength behind the strike was staggering.
And there, standing tall, the figure’s jet-black robes billowed dramatically. Ma Gwang-ik’s piercing eyes flashed with sharp intensity as he took in the scene.
“Infuriating,” he muttered.
Crunch.
His boots pressed into the dirt as he stepped forward, his voice low and filled with disdain.