As the dust slowly settled, beams of sunlight filtered through, shimmering faintly in the air.
The arrival had been nothing short of shocking.
The remnants of Sungyeojimun faltered, instinctively retreating a step.
“What... what is this...?”
One of them muttered under their breath, as if unable to comprehend the scene before them.
They were part of a powerful unorthodox faction that dominated parts of the sprawling city of Xi’an. Like seasoned vultures, they knew how to assess strength when faced with it. And the presence they now encountered was one they couldn’t hope to match.
A man with sharp eyes stepped forward, his gray martial robes rustling faintly.
“From which sect does this senior hail...?”
Perhaps it was because he had seen the newcomer deliver such a brutal blow to Jeong Jung-san upon arrival. His voice wavered between hope and unease, as though he was grasping at straws in a bid to survive.
This alley was beyond the reach of government or sect authority—a realm of pure survival where strength alone dictated the rules. They had handled Jeong Jung-san with impunity under those very principles.
Yet, even after recognizing Jeong Yeon-shin’s face, the man dared to refer to him as “senior,” assuming he was some elder martial artist of high standing, one whose wisdom could rival his martial prowess.
It was a grave misunderstanding.
There exists a martial technique known as Chugunggwahyeol—a method used to clear blocked qi points caused by internal injuries or lingering toxins. Typically, a master of internal energy meticulously manipulates a patient’s meridians to restore balance while preventing potential deviation.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s version, however, was anything but delicate.
He was the grandmaster of Jeong Ga-donggong, a martial art that gave him profound insight into the human body’s meridians. His mastery transcended the ordinary, reaching the level of a true virtuoso.
Gurgle—!
Some distance away, his second brother, sprawled on the ground, coughed up clotted blood.
The color returned to his face, a sign that Jeong Yeon-shin’s Chugunggwahyeol strike had been effective. No one could say where or how long Jeong Jung-san had suffered before this, but clearing his blocked qi points had required only a single kick.
That kick had been an artful combination of explosive strength and unparalleled technique, seamlessly woven together. While it may have carried some personal emotion, its results were undeniable—it left Jung-san’s body revitalized.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am of Sungyeojimun...”
The man who had stepped forward was attempting to tighten the collar of his gray robe when he froze.
“Get back here, you idiot!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me... Is that...?”
The other two, a man and a woman, called out to him, their scarred faces twisting in alarm. Their hands clenched tightly around the hilts of their swords, but their heels instinctively angled backward.
Their movements were deliberate, hinting that they were moments away from activating their Qinggong techniques to flee.
They had survived as outcasts in the unorthodox martial world. Their ability to read danger was near-supernatural. The man they now faced didn’t need to announce himself—his demeanor, otherworldly composure, and even the brief words he had exchanged with Jeong Jung-san all made his identity unmistakable.
“Ma Gwang-ik... It’s Ma Gwang-ik!”
“What?”
“Idiot... That’s Seomye! The commander of the Ipwang Fortress Divine Sword Corps!”
The Divine Sword Corps of Ipwang Fortress was comprised of seventeen units, each led by formidable commanders. Under the Corps Commander, these commanders roamed the martial world, their power and authority unrivaled.
Legends of their prowess were often told with a mix of awe and despair. Those who had faced the black-robed commanders of Ipwang Fortress often felt two conflicting realizations. First, how high the martial world truly stood above them. And second, how utterly damned they were.
Even the bravest among the unorthodox martial factions trembled when faced with these figures. And for those who encountered them by chance, it was nothing short of a disaster.
“What?”
The man who had stepped forward earlier froze mid-motion. He had kicked Jeong Jung-san and casually mocked Ma Gwang-ik, not knowing who he truly was. But now, his companions’ words rang in his ears, too vivid to ignore.
As he hesitated, his foot twitching but unable to retreat, Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.
“I’ll take just your right arms. I don’t know the full extent of your crimes, but I’ll leave it at that.”
His voice was calm, almost detached.
These people hadn’t joined the Daewolhyeop battle, nor had they come after him with killing intent. Beating Jeong Jung-san senseless wasn’t even significant enough to warrant a grudge when compared to memories of their youth.
But Ma Gwang-ik’s words were absolute.
The disciples of Sungyeojimun could only stare in despair, their faces shadowed with hopelessness.
And then the screams began.
***
On the way back.
Emerging from the back alleys, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped onto the main road. The wide, well-paved street bustled with people moving in all directions.
Some recognized him and whispered words like "Leader" in hushed, cautious tones.
The crowd instinctively parted around him, creating a clear path. Though they kept their distance, their curious eyes lingered on him, studying his every move as if trying to commit them to memory.
Xi’an, typically indifferent and impersonal, was no longer just a sprawling, apathetic city. Jeong Yeon-shin’s mere presence commanded attention, drawing whispers wherever he went.
“He’s the one who dealt with six sect leaders at once...”
“What? Seriously?”
“Doesn’t matter. When the elder council of Blade Specters shows up, things will be settled again. Who could stop Ye So-hyang, the Ghost of the Hundred Strikes? That demon flies through the air with her sword...”
“Keep your voice down! What if he overhears?”
“Then who are we supposed to pay the territory tax to now?”
“Are you stupid? Just bring it to Gwang-ye-gyeol first! Haven’t you done this for years? He’s the Leader, isn’t he?”
The murmurs flowed past, a raw and unfiltered reflection of Xi’an’s current state.
Throughout the walk, the two brothers exchanged no words.
Jeong Yeon-shin walked silently, a few steps ahead. Jeong Jung-san followed, glancing nervously at his younger brother. His clothes were worn and tattered, and a rough piece of gray cloth covered his lower face as a makeshift mask.
The disguise had been Jeong Yeon-shin’s idea. No one could afford to recognize a Zhongnan disciple like Jeong Jung-san in his current state.
Finally, they arrived at the inn where Jeong Yeon-shin was staying. As expected, it was devoid of guests. Jeong Yeon-shin briefly considered what reward to give the owner once his mission was over.
“For now, rest in one of the rooms. Somewhere quiet,” Jeong Yeon-shin instructed.
“Yeon-shin, about Hye...” Jeong Jung-san began, only to be cut off.
“There’s a trace of Sword Dragon in the annex. You’ll find more answers there. Jang Gi-il of Sobekmun mentioned you’ve been wandering and inquiring here and there, but it seems you haven’t found much.”
Sobekmun, one of Xi’an’s Seven Factions, was unlike the other unorthodox sects. It had secretly harbored and protected a few surviving Zhongnan disciples, despite its reputation for betrayal and opportunism.
Jeong Jung-san owed his current survival to their support.
When he hesitated to leave, Jeong Yeon-shin spoke calmly but pointedly.
“Does Jeong Jung-san, disciple of Zhongnan, have any information worth reporting to Ma Gwang-ik?”
Within the Jeong family, under the protection of Jeong Dae-myung, the brothers were all direct descendants, yet the hierarchy was stark. Jeong Yeon-shin had never dared look up to his older brothers.
Their positions had been worlds apart. Both the eldest, Jeong Nam-san, and the second-born, Jeong Jung-san, had treated their youngest sibling with disdain, bordering on contempt.
Now, the dynamic was entirely reversed. The difference between them was immeasurable.
Jeong Jung-san said nothing.
“Ah! So this is the elder brother of our Leader!”
Thud!
A tall, broad-shouldered young man suddenly leapt down the stairs, the heroic ribbon on his headband trailing dramatically behind him.
It was Hyeon Won-chang, in charge of Gwang-ye-gyeol’s Formation Unit. His exaggerated movements as he approached the entrance made it clear he intended to make a spectacle.
Jeong Jung-san was already familiar with Hyeon Won-chang. The two had met back when Jeong Yeon-shin was a mere White Rank warrior visiting Zhongnan Mountain.
It had been during the creation of Gwanghwa Sword Style and the fight against Blade Specters. At the time, Jeong Jung-san’s interactions with Ipwang’s warriors had been distant and superficial.
While the Jeong brothers’ relationship had been lukewarm at best, Hyeon Won-chang had yet to learn about the hidden history of the Jeong family back then. Only after some time had passed did members of Gwang-ye-gyeol, including Cheongmyeong and Baek Mi-ryeo, hear about Jeong Yeon-shin’s story.
Beaming brightly, Hyeon Won-chang strode forward.
“It’s so good to see you! I’ve been dying to meet you again!”
“Me?” Jeong Jung-san asked hesitantly.
“Of course! How could I not? After I found out that the guy I met back then turned out to be such a lowlife, I’ve been itching to punch that smug face of yours!” Hyeon Won-chang declared, his words brimming with blunt honesty.
The other members of Ma Gwang-ik’s elite unit had dispersed across Xi’an to manage its security, leaving the inn occupied only by their inner circle. Taeyeom-ryong, Jegal Cheong-ah, and a few others were seated nearby, casually observing the scene.
Taeyeom-ryong raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“What’s he doing? Who’s that?”
For most of them, this was their first time meeting the Leader’s family. It had become something of an event.
“They don’t look alike. Thank the heavens for that,” Baek Mi-ryeo remarked, brushing back her jet-black hair. Her elegant features were set in a slightly sharp expression.
Usually tasked with maintaining discipline within Ma Gwang-ik, she now twirled her fingers gracefully, as if preparing to lend a hand. Her delicate, white fingers moved with a precision honed by her mastery of Minor Devil’s Hand, a branch of the Celestial Devil Art.
“That’s him?” Cheongmyeong said quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He watched dispassionately as Jeong Jung-san took a punch from Hyeon Won-chang’s heavy fist. His cold demeanor was enough to make Jegal Cheong-ah, standing beside him, instinctively step back.
She glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin, who had approached silently.
“Shouldn’t you stop him?” she asked.
“Sword Dragon is waiting,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied.
“Yes, he arrived just moments ago. It surprised us,” Jegal Cheong-ah said, her tone calm.
“Let’s go,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, his steps slow and deliberate as he headed toward the annex.
They won’t kill him, Jeong Yeon-shin thought. Still, a strange warmth settled in his chest, softening an old, hardened part of him.
***
In a quiet room of the annex, Jeong Yeon-shin sat across from Wei Ji Myo-hwa.
She remained as beautiful as ever. Her delicate features and piercing gaze were as sharp as he remembered. Although the feathered ornament in her ebony hair was slightly worn, her aura radiated an even stronger vitality than before. As one of Shanxi’s most famous prodigies, Wei Ji Myo-hwa was a swordswoman who seemed to grow endlessly in skill and presence.
Jeong Yeon-shin received her bow with a respectful nod.
Rustle.
The light blue hem of her robe brushed against the floor, a precise gesture reflecting proper etiquette.
“Jeong Gongja’s niece, my young sago, is lost. It is entirely my failing,” she said softly.
The term sago referred to a female elder akin to an aunt in the martial lineage. As the Zhongnan Swordmaster had taken Jeong Hye as her disciple in her later years, Wei Ji Myo-hwa, too, viewed Jeong Hye as a niece within their shared martial heritage.
“She is alive,” Jeong Yeon-shin said firmly, gently helping her to her feet.
Though internal energy cultivated through Buddhist teachings and Daoist methods diverged in nature, the purity of Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s cultivation technique was evident. Her touch felt soft and comforting, like a calming breeze.
“Hye-ah inherited the martial legacy of the Swordmaster. She’s also my blood. She has too much value, both in skill and status, to simply vanish. The factions of the Thirteen Heavens aren’t reckless—they wouldn’t discard a card capable of shaking Ipwang Fortress’s Black Sovereigns. No matter what I do, they’ll keep her close.”
“I agree,” Wei Ji Myo-hwa said.
A clear voice interjected from the side. Sitting calmly at the low table, Zhuge Hyeon offered a faint smile, nodding briefly toward his younger sister, Zhuge Cheong-ah.
Zhuge Hyeon, known as the Hidden Dragon, had taken up the vacant position of internal strategist within the faction, appointed by Ye Sojeo herself. His authority carried considerable weight.
He had also expressed his intent to train temporarily with Ma Gwang-ik in Xi’an, a proposal Jeong Yeon-shin had accepted.
“Perhaps we should sit and discuss further,” Zhuge Hyeon suggested.
Jeong Yeon-shin motioned for everyone to take a seat. Both Zhuge siblings and Wei Ji Myo-hwa joined him. It was an unusual sight—Ipwang Fortress collaborating with righteous sect members—but within this room, there was no awkwardness.
“One of the Tenets of Go says, ‘Be careful, do not act hastily.’ Let us first carefully consider the enemy,” Zhuge Hyeon said.
This chapter is updat𝓮d by freēwebnovel.com.
“While it’s regrettable that she’s been taken, it’s a small relief that the likely culprits narrow to either the Blade Specters or Ye So-hyang. The Blade Specters are bold and aggressive, even among the Thirteen Heavens, but they don’t kill for pleasure outside of battle. Ye So-hyang, on the other hand, is patient and capable of matching even Mount Wudang or Shaolin in a contest of endurance. She’s simply... insidious.”
With a dramatic flourish, Zhuge Hyeon unfurled his fan, revealing the intricate design of a white crane on the slats.
“There’s little need to worry for Jeong Hye’s safety. So long as Jeong Du-ryeong lives, she’ll remain unharmed. Both the Blade Specters and Ye So-hyang’s histories show they meticulously exploit anything of value. My family’s archives are filled with documentation on their methods.”
Jeong Yeon-shin briefly glanced at Zhuge Hyeon’s fan. Having just returned from escorting his brother, Jeong Jung-san, the intricate patterns reminded him of the Jeong family’s own once-proud heritage.
It was a poignant association. One of the Blade Specters’ elders, Ye So-hyang, had played a significant role in the destruction of the Jeong family. Her legendary mastery of sword flight—effortlessly soaring through the skies on her blade—made her an awe-inspiring figure to many. In Shanxi, some even built shrines to honor her, seeing her as more than mortal.
Breaking the momentary silence, Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.
“We’ll focus on the next move. If Ye So-hyang and her ilk are involved, they’ll have information we need. Killing her would significantly stabilize Shanxi’s martial landscape.”
He tailored his tone to match Zhuge Hyeon’s rhetoric. The strategist’s smile deepened slightly.
“First, we need to disperse Gwang-ye-gyeol across Xi’an,” Zhuge Hyeon replied. “The two branches of Daebang Sect may be relatively quiet now, but if things escalate into a full-scale faction war, retreat will be our only option. We must prevent that at all costs. The key lies in achieving two things: Du-ryeong’s ability to face Ye So-hyang and ensuring the duel occurs as a one-on-one confrontation.”
Ye So-hyang, an elder among the Blade Specters, was a peculiar figure. Operating outside the sect leader’s direct command, she was notorious for her detachment and her transcendent martial prowess. Rumors abounded about her wielding celestial sword techniques, and her ability to fly on her blade only added to her mystique.
Wei Ji Myo-hwa, seated beside Jeong Yeon-shin, finally spoke.
“I urge caution and retreat. Gongja, you’ve done enough. Subjugating Xi’an’s Seven Factions is already a monumental achievement.”
Her concern was evident in her earnest gaze.
“Ye So-hyang possesses three absolute techniques, each capable of dominating even the greatest martial artists. She once nearly dueled the leader of Ipwang’s Divine Sword Corps.”
“And there’s another issue,” Zhuge Hyeon interjected. “In the martial world, one-on-one duels are surprisingly difficult to arrange, especially for someone like Ye So-hyang, who holds Daebang Sect as her backdrop. Unless Du-ryeong reveals his identity, she likely won’t even acknowledge him. Drawing her out is the first challenge.”
Jeong Yeon-shin offered no reply, his eyes drifting toward the inn’s main building, where Ipwang’s warriors awaited.
***
The following day, identical posters appeared across every street in Xi’an.
[To those well-versed in the Four Books and Five Classics, true filial piety lies in alleviating the hardships of the people.
Though famines plague the land, true heroes still act with compassion, striving to uplift the downtrodden.
This stems from lessons instilled by both teachers and parents. How pitiful, then, is the leader of the Blade Specters.
What wisdom can exist in a heart so preoccupied with showcasing refined martial arts? Surely, their lack of parents is to blame.
Indeed, it is tragic. Is there anything more futile than wielding great power without purpose? Were they properly taught, their strength might have bettered lives.
These truths are irrefutable, but should anyone wish to dispute them, I will gladly accept their challenge.
I will await for nine days at the majestic vistas of Daewol Gorge.
—Gwang-ye-gyeol, Leader of Gwang-ye-gyeol Formation, Jin-hyeong.]
Two sunsets later, as dawn’s faint light broke through the horizon, the air was filled with a haunting sound.
Wooo—!
A ghostly wail echoed from the sky, growing louder and more oppressive. It descended steadily, enveloping the heavens with a chilling resonance.