A sealed chamber surrounded by solid stone walls.
It was spacious and bright, large enough to accommodate more than a dozen people living comfortably. The ceiling was high, with rows of lanterns illuminating the entire area.
“The commotion seems pretty loud. Judging by the echoes, something’s happening. Should we check it out?”
“Stay put. Our job is to hold this position.”
The shadows of four figures flickered intermittently under the lantern light.
These were swordsmen clad in green robes, standing guard over a young girl asleep on an elevated platform resembling an altar. Their stance was more that of attendants than vigilant guardians.
“Maybe we’re overthinking things. You're right—meddling unnecessarily would just be defiance of orders.”
“They’re probably just a bunch of riffraff. Maybe some bandits thinking they can loot a caravan.”
“They must think they’re the strongest around these mountains, unaware they've stumbled into the Infernal Abyss.”
The conversation among the swordsmen was devoid of urgency, their tones even and steady.
“I doubt that’s the case. Anyone who’s found the secret refuge of the main branch wouldn’t be mere nobodies...”
“Isn't the First Demon Lord still here? The child being here means he wouldn’t have left.”
“True.”
Despite their relaxed demeanor, it was understandable. This was a top-secret sanctuary, and their mission was straightforward: protect the young child. This place lay deep within the underground caverns of the estate, a location concealed by layers of thick stone walls. Detecting any signs of life within would be nearly impossible, even for someone with extraordinary senses.
Even if intruders made it past the estate’s gates, they’d never breach the fortress defenses led by Yeoryeong’s warriors. The meticulous planning of the Daebang Sect was not easily overcome. Finding the entrance alone would take an eternity.
What’s more, Wi Geuk-sang, one of the sect’s most formidable martial artists, was stationed as the branch head. Even the grandmasters of the Seven Gates of Xi’an would hesitate to cross this threshold.
“Judging by her appearance, anyone would believe she’s of royal blood,” one of the women in green robes said, glancing sideways at the sleeping girl.
The woman placed her hand on her sword in a casual, almost prayer-like manner. Her presence exuded a composed authority typical of Daebang Sect warriors—a quiet confidence befitting the strong.
“Isn’t she the disciple of the Sword Hermit who went mad? Surely, her talents would rival those of Zhongnan’s top inner disciples.”
“They say there’s no scarcity of noble blood among handsome offspring. She might truly carry the blood of an illustrious lineage.”
“Well, if she's said to be Ma Gwang-ik's bloodline, that’s no surprise.”
“You’re talking about Seomye, right? Even after reading the reports, I found it hard to believe she existed. The world may be vast, but...”
“Remember how even the exploits of the Holy Lord of the Bright Sect were initially met with disbelief. Just think of her as another enigma of the martial world.”
Their muted conversation echoed faintly in the chamber.
While Yeoryeong’s guardians exchanged trivial remarks, a soft voice arose from the platform.
“Ah...”
A faint sound emanated from the young girl resting on the elevated bedding. She had awakened.
The girl stirred slightly before rising. The lantern light cast shadows on her delicate nose, accentuating her youthful features—her petite, well-defined face was a masterpiece in miniature.
The elite guardians of Yeoryeong stole quick glances at her, their expressions akin to those beholding a rare porcelain treasure.
“She’s awake.”
“She’ll probably drift back to sleep in about an hour. How much longer are we supposed to babysit her?”
“Until her vital energy stabilizes.”
This was Seomye, the disciple brought in by Wi Geuk-sang, the top martial artist of Shanxi. The sect was conducting a grand ritual to transform her Zhongnan inner energy into the pure essence of their Heavenly Demon Astral Energy.
Rare elixirs like century-old he shou wu had been given to her, and her inner energy had undergone significant circulation. Every precaution was taken to ensure no harm came to her body. This was all part of training her to become a supreme martial artist under Yeoryeong’s care.
It was no surprise that she often fell into long, deep sleeps after such preparations. The Heavenly Demon Astral Energy was among the sect's most revered arts.
One of the swordsmen chuckled and asked, “Isn’t it about time for a snack? Anything you’re craving?”
“On Mount Zhongnan...”
The girl’s soft lips parted hesitantly, her voice drowsy but clear.
The swordsman turned toward the door across the room.
“Still obsessed with soft tofu, huh? She really loves it. I’ll tell the servants to prepare it properly.”
“I’ll handle it. It’s a good excuse to check the surroundings.”
The swordsmen’s tone was casual as they conversed. A faint glimmer of tears appeared in the girl’s eyes, but no one paid it much attention. One of the men walked toward the heavy stone door.
Bang!
It all happened in an instant.
A deafening roar erupted as the stone door was violently forced inward. A surge of energy, impossibly strong, raged from beyond the door like a whirlwind.
The swordsman closest to the door instinctively reacted, slamming his palm against the stone to counter the force.
The reflexes of a high-level warrior from the Thirteen Heavens were razor-sharp.
“Hah!”
With a sharp breath, the swordsman’s expression sharpened, his movements blurring with speed. Yet, the door’s trajectory shattered his palm’s arc, the sheer momentum grinding through his defense.
His arm folded back to his chest, the explosive force of the door tossing him backward. The man collided with the far wall, crushed entirely under the door’s weight. His body crumpled, lifeless, as a faint ripple of energy dissipated around the shattered stone. Instant death.
At the same time, a tattered leather shoe stepped over the threshold.
Thud.
The toe of the shoe swayed slightly, blood seeping from its sole.
“Prepare for battle!”
“I’ll take point!”
The remaining swordsmen reacted immediately, forming a triangular formation. This was the Heavenly Burial Spirit Sword Formation, a secret art of Yeoryeong.
Swords gripped tightly, the masters moved with eerie precision. A faint dust-filled wind swirled around their figures, their synchronized energy flows creating a deadly synergy.
Whoosh—
The three swordsmen leapt in unison, drawing their blades mid-air. Their movements were swift and precise, their combined sword energy streaking toward the intruder like beams of light.
As the figure stepped fully into the chamber, their appearance was revealed under the lanterns: disheveled hair absorbing the dim light, melancholic eyes, a youthful yet strikingly handsome face, and a bloodied torso.
“Vermin,” the figure muttered.
He held a pure white sword, exuding a menacing aura. The translucent energy around him shimmered erratically, yet his overwhelming presence was undeniable. The lantern flames wavered violently as if caught in a storm, and the advancing swordsmen’s shadows twisted and scattered.
As the three sword lights tore through the air toward the intruder, he calmly raised his left hand.
The subtle currents of dust distorted, heralding the release of an unstoppable force. Before the sword strikes could reach him, his palm unleashed an overwhelming burst of energy.
The swordsmen’s formation faltered instantly as they realized the impossible strength of their opponent.
‘A supreme master...!’
But it was too late. The unleashed storm of energy ripped through their formation, scattering their combined sword technique like fragile petals.
Two of the swordsmen fell where they stood, blood spurting from their bodies. Instant death. Only one remained, frozen in place, his face pale with terror.
In the chaos, muffled shouts erupted from outside the chamber.
“The leader’s gone missing again!”
“You idiot, keep a better eye on him!”
“How are we supposed to track someone using Wind God Steps? Anyway, it’s that way!”
The lone surviving swordsman stiffened, realization dawning as he recalled the girl’s earlier craving for tofu.
“...Ma Gwang-ik?”
The swordsman, who had been dismissing talk of impossible feats and supernatural beings as idle jest, now faced the embodiment of those very legends. Standing before the overwhelming force of inner energy surging toward him, he finally understood the enormity of what he was facing.
Through the suffocating waves of pressure, Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye was faintly visible, lowering his hand with an air of detachment.
‘How acute must his senses be to find his way here so easily...?’
The swordsman gave a hollow laugh. He had crossed paths with one of the martial world's greatest enigmas. Was this something to be grateful for?
Boom!
The devastating shockwave engulfed the swordsman, leaving no room for resistance. Amid the translucent gusts, bursts of blood scattered like fleeting stains on the lantern light.
Before his lifeless body could even hit the ground, the final echoes of the strike reverberated throughout the chamber, plunging it into silence.
Only one person held the right to break this oppressive stillness—Jeong Hye.
“Ah...?”
A soft, bewildered sound escaped her lips as she slightly parted them.
Despite her tender years, she was already revered as the disciple of the Sword Hermit of Zhongnan. She had consumed countless spiritual herbs, been taught the Daoist scriptures, and honed her innate brilliance into a sharp intellect.
Through trials with Yeoryeong and the Blade Specters’ webs of schemes, she had even developed a deep understanding of the Daebang Sect.
She knew how terrifyingly capable they were.
And yet, the scene before her eyes felt like a dream. Her uncle, who had always seemed like such a faint presence at home, now stood as one of the clearest and most imposing figures in the entire world. Could this really be reality?
“Hye-ah.”
The low, calm voice was soothing to hear, richer and deeper than she remembered.
The young girl’s anxious expression brightened as she held back tears.
“Uncle...!”
“So it’s really you, Hye-ah.”
At last, Jeong Yeon-shin allowed his tense body to relax. His limbs, still heavy from lingering effects of strain, struggled to move freely. The desperate use of his Piercing Fist Storm during the Azure Ascendant Test in the Heavenly Origin Sect had left him drained.
He had assumed the diminished version of the Hundred Step Divine Fist would suffice, but thankfully, the intruders’ martial achievements were mediocre enough for it to work effectively.
‘It’s a relief their skill was so pathetic,’ he thought, feeling a flicker of gratitude. He knelt on one knee, exhaustion evident in his posture.
“Uncle—!”
Jeong Hye threw her small arms around him, wrapping herself tightly in his embrace.
With one arm circling her back, Ma Gwang-ik’s lips curved into a faint smile. Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself, Mother, I’ve protected the bloodline you and your companion left behind.
“It’s alright now. Everything will be fine,” he murmured softly, his words meant to reassure. Yet, his voice weakened toward the end, his eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. He gently stroked his niece’s small back as his vision began to blur.
Behind him, three figures approached at a rapid pace.
The sharp and precise movements of their steps, the deep yet comforting flow of energy surrounding them, and the soundless agility of their strides—these were the distinctive hallmarks of Cheongmyeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, and Hуeon Won-chang, forming Ma Gwang-ik’s elite unit, The Radiant Trio.
“Your uncle’s feeling a little sleepy...” he whispered quietly into Jeong Hye’s ear.
The thought of losing consciousness no longer frightened him. What worried him was leaving his niece unprotected.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
“Don’t be scared,” he said gently.
And with those final words, Jeong Yeon-shin lost consciousness.
***
The chaos gradually settled.
The Head of the Mount Hua Sect stood quietly with his hands clasped behind his back, observing the scene.
“...”
The Sage of the Sacred Flame, Yulha Nangnang.
The hem of her pink robe fluttered gracefully over her white stockings, its elegance at odds with the rugged dirt beneath her feet. And yet, the sight appeared utterly natural.
The title Nangnang was rarely used—it was a term typically reserved for Daoist deities.
“The shipment from the Zhongyang Trade Association has arrived.”
“Move it over there. The government troops will handle the rest.”
“Stay vigilant! Get moving now!”
Her presence as a peerless martial master was transcendent. She accomplished everything without lifting a finger.
The surviving enemies either took their own lives or surrendered, becoming manual laborers. After their spirits had already been shattered by the clash between Ma Gwang-ik’s forces and the First Demon Lord of Shanxi, they had little fight left in them.
Under the watchful eyes of the warriors from Ipwang Fortress, the remnants of Yeoryeong’s Shaanxi branch, disguised as a trading guild, were dismantled in mere moments.
“They were tangled up with the Sword Specters of Simmuryun.”
Yulha Nangnang’s lips moved slowly as she opened and closed the hand that had briefly been imbued with her martial energy.
“They live as fools and die in disgrace. Even the concept of Bin-do feels embarrassed to share space with them.”
In one corner of the camp, warriors of Ma Gwang-ik surrounded a figure lying atop layers of thick blankets.
Ma Gwang-ik himself, Seomye, lay unconscious on the improvised bedding. Yulha Nangnang’s gaze, as she studied his face, was one of genuine curiosity, as if beholding a rare treasure.
“More beautiful than any sword technique. Sharing a meal with this child could make even coarse provisions feel divine. Not a single bite would stick in my throat.”
“Master, please... maintain your dignity...”
A boy Daoist, who had been looking down at Jeong Yeon-shin with concern, muttered under his breath. This was Yu Hyeon, the Hidden Dragon of Mount Hua.
The elite warriors of Ma Gwang-ik, though silent, ceded space to her without objection. The martial circle of Ipwang Fortress had always been known for its unapproachable pride.
They directed all their focus on their master, speaking only in hushed tones.
“His internal injuries are severe. Moving him further is too dangerous. We must avoid qi deviation at all costs.”
“I don’t understand how he even managed to move. How could anyone perform at that level in such a state? It’s maddening.”
“Hmm...”
“...Someone already dug up the ground near that Hwangbo brat’s grave.”
“Let it be. He’ll have to face judgment once he rises. He must acknowledge his sins.”
“They say the Sword Specters and Bloodflame Cult are on the move. We should prioritize retreating first. But how...?”
The conversation was somber, weighed down by urgency.
It wasn’t until Yulha Nangnang opened her lips once more that the atmosphere shifted.
“It seems fitting to assign Ma Gwang-ik to someone with outstanding lightness techniques. As you’ve guessed, his internal injuries are grave. It will take a long recovery period for him to regain consciousness. Find him refuge in a safe haven. The sword teeth and blood demons plaguing Shaanxi were always meant to be handled by Mount Hua and Zhongnan.”
Her clear voice carried a sense of absoluteness. Words from the Head of Mount Hua carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored.
The warriors surrounding the bedding looked down at Jeong Yeon-shin silently.
His skin seemed to catch the sunlight more radiantly than others. His sharp nose, standing tall like a warrior’s spirit, and his long lashes, which cast subtle shadows, created an air of quiet repose.
Then it happened.
Without warning.
Ma Gwang-ik’s eyelids opened naturally.
His pitch-black pupils came into view, glinting with the power of Jeong Ga-donggong, the family’s signature martial technique.
“...”
His dark eyes captured the gazes of the dozen warriors around him.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly parted his lips.
“...What.”
A hoarse voice, rough and cracked, escaped.