The silky blue bedspread of Ma Gwang-iljo draped the room, the most extravagant and spacious chamber in the guesthouse annex.
A painting of the Ten Symbols of Longevity—depicting the sun, mountains, cranes, and turtles—hung elegantly, exuding a refined and antique charm. It had been placed there by Baek Mi-ryeo and Hyeon Won-chang.
They silently gazed at Jeong Yeon-shin, who lay sound asleep—a rare sight.
His face was peaceful.
His thick, neatly defined eyebrows were motionless. Unlike the graceful ridge of his nose, his lightly closed lips lacked color and were pale.
The boy’s sleeping face was remarkably beautiful, though it betrayed no trace of the commanding presence of Ma Gwang-ikju.
Only in unconsciousness did his youthful features align with his actual age. Such was the nature of a supreme martial artist.
Baek Mi-ryeo, her eyes sharp as blades, broke the silence.
“He overdid it.”
“Agreed,” replied Cheongmyeong, his expression unreadable.
Baek Mi-ryeo’s slender fingers swept back the hair behind her ear.
“The level of Gui Baek-shin-geom was far too high. It was extraordinary that a newly appointed Black Rank was able to defeat an elder of the Blade Specters. That alone is an achievement worth boasting about.”
“For a second mission as a Black Rank, it’s overkill. The rewards alone will be massive—assuming the news reaches the main base in Yangyang, of course. When it does, the entire fortress will be in uproar.”
Listening to their conversation, Hyeon Won-chang, who had been stroking the mark of a hero on his forehead, chimed in.
“He hasn’t even received the rewards from the last mission. I wonder what all this accumulated credit will amount to.”
“Why are we talking about this now? The commander is down,” came an entirely different tone. Tae Yeom-ryong, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, spat the words bluntly. The shadow under his eyes was particularly dark.
Ma Gwang-iljo didn’t respond. The troubling possibilities were weighing on their minds.
Their commander had once mentioned his lifespan. Could it have been miscalculated? It was a doubt they couldn’t help but harbor.
Even for a high-level martial artist, the aftereffects of an intense battle were unpredictable.
Seomye lived a life confined by significant limitations.
The heavens had endowed him with limitless potential at the expense of cutting his thread of life short. Tae Yeom-ryong’s circumstances were somewhat similar to Jeong Yeon-shin’s, but the scope and nature of their respective talents were worlds apart.
This wasn’t the sort of problem one could consult anyone about. Not that they had anyone who could provide answers.
“Better to speak of good things than sit here doing nothing. Who knows? He might regain consciousness sooner if he hears us,” Cheongmyeong said with a faint smile.
A brief silence followed. Outside, the chirping of a winter scops owl grew louder.
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Had it failed to fly south? It seemed to symbolize the current state of Ma Gwang-ik. The absence of their supreme master weighed heavily.
The once-dominant position had shifted to one surrounded by the territories of demonic factions.
Sunryong Zhuge Hyeon had already left before the arrival of the Zhifu Daein, saying he needed to report the situation to the Hanjung Martial Alliance promptly.
Meanwhile, the Sword Dragon Wei Ji Myo-hwa remained at Sobekmun, the sect of Zhongnan disciple Jang Gi-il.
They only had Ma Gwang-ik left.
Finally, Baek Mi-ryeo spoke, her lips barely moving.
“We’ll ensure the safety of the Zhongnan disciple, Jeong Hye.”
“Is that the right move? Just us? Shouldn’t we first figure out what to do with the commander? This isn’t a conflict with some mid-level sect; we’re up against the true Thirteen Heavens.”
Tae Yeom-ryong lazily asked, his hands interlocked behind his head. His gaze was heavy as he glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin’s face.
Cheongmyeong stood up from his seat.
“We don’t know when the commander will wake up. There’s no guarantee his nephew will remain confined in Shaanxi. We need to act. We can’t afford to throw away the clues we’ve worked so hard to get.”
“We’ll have to strike and retreat, no matter what,” Hyeon Won-chang muttered under his breath.
***
Behind the vast manor stood a massive mountain range.
The plaque on the front gate displayed the bold inscription "Jungmyeong Escort Bureau", written in an energetic, dragon-like stroke.
A steady flow of people and goods moved through the area.
The activity was bustling.
The sounds of cart wheels clattering over stone, the creaking of wooden spokes, and the steps of hundreds of martial artists and laborers wearing finely crafted leather shoes filled the air. The scene was so lively that even a year of famine seemed a distant worry.
Yet, there was no sound of voices. Everyone worked in complete silence.
This unnatural quiet created an oddly oppressive atmosphere. People carried cargo, recorded inventories, entered the manor, and exited without even stepping on the threshold.
This was the Shaanxi branch of "Yeoryeong," disguised as the Jungmyeong Escort Bureau.
It was known to handle the most information among the Thirteen Heavens. Many considered it comparable in power to the Daebang Sect, renowned for its intelligence network and combat strength.
In this silence, they illuminated the depths of the martial world, exposing its truths and manipulating the power dynamics of Murim to their will.
There were even rumors that the leader of Yeoryeong had instigated the Blade Specters to destroy the Zhongnan Sect.
Only a select few within the Jungmyeong Escort Bureau had the privilege of speaking freely.
Among them were the head of the Shaanxi branch, who also served as the escort bureau master, and a handful of trusted subordinates.
In a brightly lit room—despite being deep within the bureau, as if under direct sunlight—five people sat around a map. Each one radiated an indistinct but sharp martial aura.
These were masters trained in secret arts, capable of wielding silent sword energy even in fierce battles. They were the elite of Yeoryeong.
“A rumor from the coastal area of Honghwa Prefecture in Fujian Province suggests a dragon has ascended,” one subordinate, clad in black, reported.
“Do the accounts from the martial world say the same?” asked another.
“Yes, though they describe it as an event too extraordinary to believe. They claim it looked like some kind of explosive energy release—almost as if supernatural forces were at play.”
“Think back to the founding myths of the Ming Dynasty. The leader once said that the Daming Gangmok contains no great exaggerations. Anything is possible under heaven.”
“It appears the imperial forces are controlling the docks there, as if they’re waiting for someone...”
“It’s likely an expert from Ipwang Fortress. The royal family’s absolute masters rarely involve themselves in such matters. For something of this scale, it would have to be someone of Violet Rank. But... the only Violet Rank left in Ipwang Fortress is the Sword Corps Captain, and he’s currently... hmm. Regardless, the branch over there should be looking into it.”
An elderly man in a yellow robe, resembling a merchant, muttered these words. Despite his seemingly incoherent speech, no one laughed at him. Instead, the tension in the room grew thicker.
This was none other than Shaanxi’s Greatest Demon, Wi Geuk-sang.
He was the head of Yeoryeong’s Shaanxi branch.
Years ago, after massacring hundreds of farmers who had left their villages in search of arable land, he earned the title of the greatest demon in the region.
Thanks to his bizarre martial arts, even the pursuit teams from Ipwang Fortress had failed to catch him.
He had mastered a Central Plains demonic art entirely different from the magical arts of Ming Cult’s Mu-maek. His entire body seemed to flicker with a colorless, blazing aura, proving his overwhelming power—a force that Jungmyeong Escort Bureau allowed to roam free within its walls, as if to showcase his near-divine strength.
“By the way,” he said, breaking the silence.
“There are whispers that the Blade Specters’ lackeys have been causing trouble over something trivial.”
At this, the woman sitting beside him let out a faint laugh. Like Wi Geuk-sang, she wore a green sword at her waist.
“Are you talking about the boy you took in? He’s quite the looker for someone so young. But why bring him up?”
“He has extraordinary potential and lineage. That’s why I accepted him as my disciple.”
At Shaanxi’s Greatest Demon’s response, the woman nodded.
“Of course. He was taken in by the Zhongnan Sword Sage in his final years. That fearsome old man wouldn’t have distributed his knowledge so haphazardly. The boy’s talent must be exceptional. As long as you don’t devour him, he could grow into a formidable master someday. Isn’t that why you carried him through the Plum Blossom Sword Formation in the first place?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What else?”
“His uncle. There’s an existence in Ipwang Fortress that defies reason. Even after hearing the reports from the main branch, I doubted it. But then, the man appeared openly in Hanjung City and won the Sect Alliance’s grand martial tournament. And he’s not even of age.”
The woman shook her head in disbelief.
“If you’re talking about Ma Gwang-ikju, I’m tired of hearing about him. He’s been the talk of Shaanxi for ages.”
“He’s not like Ming Cult’s young master. Normally, such a thing would be impossible. There must be something in that bloodline. Even I can’t ignore the possibility. After all, Hunan’s Jeong family used to be nothing more than a third-rate clan. No wonder the Blade Specters are now trying to claim ownership. Before he’s my disciple, he’s still a prisoner, isn’t he?”
“Well, being in Shaanxi’s Greatest Demon’s care should be enough, shouldn’t it? There are few places safer in the world.”
“You’re right.”
Suddenly, the yellow-robed demon drew his sword. The orange glow of the lanterns reflected off the blade before it surged upward, crushing the ceiling with a burst of sword energy.
Bang!
A young man leapt through the collapsing ceiling. His steps, as he used the remnants of the sword energy as footholds, were anything but ordinary.
The graceful movements revealed traces of a refined martial lineage, suggesting he was trained in the arts of a prestigious clan.
“Yejo Cheonwangbo... The Heavenly King’s Steps of the Hwangbo Clan,” muttered Wi Geuk-sang.
“So it’s the brat of the Hwangbo Clan, skulking around like a rat.”
Instantly, the subordinates and the woman scattered through the shattered walls. They had anticipated the shockwave that would ripple out from where Wi Geuk-sang stood.
He calmly raised his foot and brought it down.
Dark currents of energy surged out from beneath his leather shoes, spreading in tendrils.
Heavenly Tomb Demonic Formation: Dominion Seal.
When his foot touched the ground, the surroundings turned pitch black.
There was no explosive sound. Instead, the structures around them crumbled to ash, collapsing into a massive pile of debris. The area affected was incomprehensibly vast.
Amidst the swirling gray dust, the mountain range outside came into view. The sheer power was akin to divine wrath.
Wi Geuk-sang looked upward.
Standing in the open sky, fully exposed, was Tae Yeom-ryong.
The plan, devised with Ma Gwang-ik’s companions, was to distract the enemy’s top master, even if only for a moment, so the others—quick-footed warriors like Cheongmyeong and Hyeon Won-chang—could locate Jeong Hye.
They had deliberately revealed themselves after spotting an ally in the distance. If Wi Geuk-sang wasn’t held back, everything would be over.
“An intruder! At least twenty of them!”
“They’re strong! Don’t engage recklessly!”
Other Ma Gwang-ik elite fighters rushed in. The manor walls collapsed, and the clashing of blades and metal filled the air as the assault began.
“You fools dared to trespass into a place you shouldn’t have,” Wi Geuk-sang said as he raised his sword.
“Die.”
***
As soon as Jeong Yeon-shin regained consciousness, he understood the situation.
He had collapsed due to overexertion while forcefully opening his upper danjeon. The Baihui acupoint on the crown of his head was directly linked to the blood flow in his brain.
Without fully adapting to the newly developed mental technique, he had pushed himself to observe every movement of the seasoned master Gui Baek-shin-geom, an elder with unmatched experience. The strain on his mind had been immense.
‘Losing consciousness even once in Murim makes everything move faster.’
The memory of being carried by the Lord of Ipwang Fortress from the headquarters of the Bloodflame Cult resurfaced.
Jeong Yeon-shin got up belatedly and stepped outside.
He brushed off the attempts by Shin So-bin and Gang Chang-mu, who had been sitting by his bedside as if nursing him, to stop him. After listening to their account, he urged them with a sharp glance to disclose the destination.
And then, he bolted out.
Whoosh—!
A powerful gust of wind coiled around his thighs. The colorless shockwaves of the Pungsin technique roared more fiercely than ever.
Though he had not yet perfected a complete lightness skill, the immense propulsion from his movements turned his steps into a blur. His body instinctively shifted, turning his footwork into an improvised running technique.
Thud!
The ground beneath his feet pushed back firmly. Ignoring the mounting pain throughout his body, Jeong Yeon-shin sprinted relentlessly.
Even as his entire body began to convulse, his pace didn’t falter as he climbed the mountain. The pale light of dawn steadily brightened as he pressed on.
It was the famed Hwiryeong Mountain in Bong-sang Province. As a Black Rank warrior of Ipwang Fortress, Jeong Yeon-shin had memorized every detail of the surrounding geography.
‘There.’
His vision cleared as the mountain ridge opened up.
Smoke rose in multiple streams from a manor built deep within the mountain.
It matched the description of Yeoryeong’s safehouse. Unfamiliar martial artists were locked in fierce combat with his comrades, each fighting for their lives. The intensity of the clashes was evident even from afar.
Bang! Boom!
The air trembled. It was the collision of shockwaves from palm strikes. The battle was on par with a large-scale factional war. Blasts of white energy surged and exploded in every direction.
The battlefield was already raging. The first priority was distinguishing friend from foe.
Jeong Yeon-shin focused on the most overwhelming martial aura.
A swordsman in yellow robes was relentlessly overpowering the martial artists of Ma Gwang-ik.
The man was over six feet tall, his jet-black eyes brimming with arrogance.
As if toying with his opponents, he swung his sword, his yellow sleeves fluttering mockingly. The compressed shockwaves from his swordplay gouged deep trenches into the ground, like a miniature hurricane.
Despite a coordinated wheel formation involving Baek Mi-ryeo, Cheongmyeong, and over a dozen elite Blue Rank warriors, they were being pushed back. The ground reverberated like it was struck by an earthquake.
Nearby, Tae Yeom-ryong lay unconscious at the feet of two white-clad warriors. One of them was Zhuge Cheong-ah.
The moment Jeong Yeon-shin took in the sight:
Step.
He was standing at Tae Yeom-ryong’s side, enduring the sharp internal and external injuries that gripped his entire body.
He extended his left hand toward the fallen Tae Yeom-ryong. In an instant, his arm blurred. With the precision of a supreme martial artist, he snatched a bundle of poppy flowers from Tae Yeom-ryong’s chest and brought it back.
Zhuge Cheong-ah, standing nearby, looked genuinely startled.
“Commander...?”
Jeong Yeon-shin did not respond.
Holding the bright red poppies, he bit into them. The crimson petals were crushed between his lips.
While glaring at the enemies now approaching him, he slowly chewed the stem.
He used his internal energy to stimulate his stomach, allowing the effects of the flowers to spread rapidly throughout his body. The power of Radiant Wheel Qi amplified the effects almost instantly. A sensation of being shrouded in clouds swept over him, dangerously addictive in its intensity.
Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself: So this is what it feels like.
“Spread out to the sides. Once I break through the center, widen the penetration path. Leave Tae Yeom-ryong where he is.”
His voice, spoken through clenched teeth, was steady as he gave orders. The trembling in the hand holding his sword gradually subsided.
In contrast, the black robes he wore began to ripple violently, carried by the shockwaves of his Pungsin technique, which now encased his entire body.
The shockwaves spilling from him twisted and coiled like blade-like currents, creating a continuous vortex of energy.
“One step to him.”
The atmosphere around him rippled. Enemies who had been charging toward him hesitated.
Jeong Yeon-shin placed another red poppy petal between his lips. The surroundings grew still.
It was a completely otherworldly sight. His overwhelming combat stance silenced the battlefield, spreading a sense of awe.