The sun broke apart in translucent splinters.
The snowy ridgeline shimmered silently, yet with an unspoken roar. Dawn-like radiance rippled across the expanse, emanating from the sword planted before Ma Gwang-ik, illuminating the surroundings with an ethereal glow.
The golden mist climbing from the embroidered Hwang character on Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder glimmered faintly, exuding an aura of divinity. The silence among the martial artists nearby was anything but peaceful. Emotions seeped into the atmosphere like fog, visible on their faces.
Some stood frozen, their mouths shut tight, while others raised their eyebrows or gaped slack-jawed. Yet, none displayed hostility. The air was filled with confusion. Whispers of awe and disbelief began to spill out.
“Ma Gwang-ik of Ipwang Fortress...!”
“The victor of the Martial Alliance’s Open Tournament?”
“What in the world... such a prominent figure, appearing here...”
The young man reclining lazily in his palanquin was no longer the focus of attention. That was inevitable.
A peerless master from the gates of Ipwang Fortress had revealed himself. One of the seventeen sacred swords of legend now stood before everyone, gleaming in the winter sun. The Black Overlord of Ipwang Fortress—a figure whom even high-ranking masters in blue were hesitant to confront—was present.
“The black coat... Is it truly him? But his age...”
“The Sub-Sect Leader of the Dark Sect survived a tour of the Thirteen Heavens at about that age.”
“Enough. The rumors about Ma Gwang-ik are no less impressive than that.”
“True. He defeated the top masters of Sichuan and the Thirteen Heavens in a single year, even felling the Celestial Lord of the Sword Heaven.”
“Perhaps we need not worry too much. They say he’s never harmed innocents...”
“Disciples! Compose yourselves! We’re facing a black lord of Ipwang Fortress! Step back! Retreat!”
The initial panic began to subside, giving way to clarity. Reactions varied wildly depending on the martial sects and lineages of those present.
Orthodox martial artists, while shocked, mostly displayed a reserved demeanor, not moving far beyond mild unease. Unorthodox factions and rogue martial sects, however, showed a starkly different reaction.
Whether feigning calm or nearly trembling with fear, they all retreated, step by step. Snow crunched under the boots of over a hundred martial artists. The number of steps mattered little—it was far from comical. These were seasoned warriors, each capable of discerning the authenticity of Jeong Yeon-shin’s identity.
To believe at once was to admit their sharp perception and heightened awareness.
These were individuals with reason to fear the retribution of Ipwang Fortress. To them, a black lord’s presence meant their lives were already forfeit, their judgment rendered before the tribunal of the martial underworld’s grim reaper.
“A bountiful harvest of merits,” Jeong Yeon-shin muttered nonchalantly.
Whenever an assignment was given to a black lord, detailed intelligence about the area’s martial artists would be provided by the Ipwang Fortress’ Central Bureau. These reports—thoroughly detailed and destroyed after a single read—contained information on appearances, martial affiliations, techniques, and known associates.
The details were never exhaustive, only as much as a local native might know. Yet, even this was enough to fuel the fortress’ fearsome reputation.
Among the unorthodox sects and rogue factions, the notion of an all-seeing judge and executioner extended an invisible blade over their heads.
“I... I’m leaving the mountain.”
“Quietly... together.”
The ominous tension enveloping the crowd dissolved as many of those who had gathered began to retreat, one by one. Choosing survival over the elusive Thousand-Year Rejuvenating Root, they abandoned the confrontation. What had seemed like an impenetrable encirclement now crumbled entirely.
Those who remained numbered just over a hundred—martial artists unaffiliated with unorthodox factions and members of the Thirteen Heavens. Though their glances toward Ma Gwang-ik were brief, tension rippled in their every move. The isolated ridgeline of Mount Taebaek entered a new phase.
Jeong Yeon-shin paid no attention to the fleeing cowards. Capturing insignificant figures in a situation devoid of Ma Gwang-ik’s authority would be meaningless. His priorities as a black lord demanded focus on the most critical task.
“Does anyone have something to say to me?”
He directed his question past Wei Se-hyuk, the Suwang Sect Leader, toward the young nobleman slouched in the palanquin. The man’s lips curved upward faintly, as if watching the most entertaining scene of a grand drama.
The source of the sorcery. The mastermind behind the schemes targeting Jeong Yeon-shin.
Jeong Yeon-shin had pieced it together quickly. The Insight Technique had pierced through the spiritual fog woven by the sorcerers, capturing even their fleeting lip movements. No speed of deception could evade the Eyes That Survey Lives.
“Ah, a sapling.”
The nobleman mouthed the words silently.
“It seems we’re looking at the sprout of the World Tree. How intriguing.”
Finishing his remark, he leaned back against the palanquin, draping one hand lazily over its armrest. The gesture was deliberately careless, designed to provoke.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips parted slowly.
“Such a posture... bad for your lumbar spine. With such manners, you’ll never reach ascension. A lowly martial artist ought to cultivate properly.”
“...”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s tone remained calm. Though young, he was no stranger to fierce battles. Provocations, especially those aimed at rousing anger, rarely fazed him anymore.
It was then.
“You there.”
A thick voice rumbled, resonating from the figure standing right before him.
It was Wei Se-hyuk, the Suwang Sect Leader. His entire body exuded a powerful aura, his brows furrowed as if he carried the weight of the Thirteen Heavens’ scheme on his shoulders.
As if declaring to the world: exceptional figures don’t only come from the Southern Martial Sect.
“You overestimate yourself, Ma Gwang-ik. Who do you think you’re addressing?”
“Step back.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice cut like steel, directed at the figures behind him—Jang Sun-il and the Bukgung twins.
Unlike the trembling presence of Jang Sun-il, the Bukgung twins maintained a tranquil composure. Perhaps their upbringing in the frozen palace of the northern tundra explained it. They surely knew of Ipwang Fortress, yet their demeanor spoke of a detached confidence befitting noble scions.
Bukgung Rin’s soft voice whispered in Jeong Yeon-shin’s ear.
“We’ll look after the guide.”
“Focus on your martial path,” Bukgung Hu added. “We won’t turn our backs on you. It seems perilous, but we trust you.”
Their values differed from those of the central plains. Trust built around a simple campfire had become a bond stronger than Jeong Yeon-shin had expected. Perhaps their camaraderie was as valuable as the Thousand-Year Rejuvenating Root.
The noble twins of the Frozen Palace guided Jang Sun-il away, retreating slowly.
“Thank you.”
Jeong Yeon-shin, who had briefly expressed his gratitude, took a single step forward.
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At the same time, Suwang Sect Leader Wei Se-hyuk swept his arms wide. A burst of orange aura spread from his sleeves, unleashing a surge of neutral energy waves that shattered the stillness around them.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s blue-tinged eyes carefully analyzed him.
‘His internal energy isn’t skewed toward any particular attribute. It’s fundamentally deep and well-rounded. His physique and muscle conditioning suggest he’s suited for prolonged combat.’
The conclusion was clear: a robust master with no exploitable weaknesses in energy alignment. The opponent had been handpicked to counter Jeong Yeon-shin, known for his swift, overwhelming victories. He wasn’t someone who would falter against energy-based techniques or divine arts—a meticulously calculated choice.
‘But I will win.’
The real issue lay elsewhere. This wasn’t a simple duel to the death. Wei Se-hyuk’s allies wouldn’t have set up a trap just to insist on a fair fight.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly raised the Northern Star Sword planted in the ground, gripping its hilt firmly.
“Come.”
The word had barely left his lips when—
Boom!
Wei Se-hyuk wasn’t the only one who charged.
“Attack!”
“Kill him here!”
A well-coordinated battle formation had sprung into action. There wasn’t even a sliver of complacency in how they engaged Ma Gwang-ik. Dozens of warriors, consisting of elites from sects like the Blood Flame Cult, the Bladed Demonic Sect, and Yeoryeong, closed in on him in unison.
The oppressive energy radiating from their combined assault pressed against Jeong Yeon-shin’s skin.
Bang!
The first strike came from Wei Se-hyuk, a thunderous punch aimed directly at him. Jeong Yeon-shin deflected it with the back of his hand. A heavy shockwave erupted on impact.
Wei Se-hyuk’s eyes briefly widened. He hadn’t expected his initial strike, imbued with the force of his mighty energy wheel, to be so easily neutralized. The Suwang Sect Leader instinctively stepped back, revealing his momentary loss in the exchange.
Swoosh!
Simultaneously, attacks from eight directions converged. The strikes of the coordinated warriors—blades, staves, and other weapons—rushed in to prevent Jeong Yeon-shin from following up on his advantage. The air quivered with a chorus of shrieking steel and whistling wind.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s black coat flared out sharply. He pulled the Northern Star Sword inward and held it horizontally.
The next moment, a gale of force erupted from his entire body, scattering the incoming strikes. His movements embodied the Supreme Storm Monarch, exuding the overwhelming presence of both wind and a sovereign.
“Stand back!” Wei Se-hyuk roared, planting a foot firmly behind him.
But Jeong Yeon-shin’s blade shimmered like a silver streak through a whirlwind. His figure blurred, leaving faint afterimages in its wake. It was too fast for the surrounding warriors to keep up.
Clang, clang, crack!
Weapons shattered one after another under his superior swordplay. Those who gripped their broken weapons tightly let out pained cries as they coughed up blood.
Six of the eight attackers fell instantly, struck down by the shockwaves of Jeong Yeon-shin’s footwork. He extended his left hand, and the fragments of shattered weapons halted midair.
The air grew heavy with a storm of suspended steel—an omen of Ten Thousand Petals of Steel Rain.
“Reform the lines!” Wei Se-hyuk bellowed.
The second wave moved in immediately. The formation resembled a disciplined phalanx of spearmen and shield-bearers, their auras more tightly woven than before. Beneath their robes, they wore thin but sturdy armor, prepared for the likes of wide-area assaults.
Jeong Yeon-shin gave a subtle motion, and the fragments of steel scattered violently.
Crash, crash, crash!
Dull thuds echoed as the shrapnel struck their targets. Though their defenses absorbed much of the impact, the fighters staggered under the force, leaving faint trails of blood on their faces.
For a brief moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze darkened.
‘They know my style.’
The Thirteen Heavens had come prepared. These weren’t reckless attackers; they were meticulously trained to counter him.
Whoosh!
Wei Se-hyuk’s hand sliced through the air, descending from above in a powerful chop. The warriors in the front and back lines held their positions, giving him room to launch his attack. His energy radiated in an unyielding arc of pale brilliance.
The Suwang Phoenix Body Technique described in the Ipwang Central Bureau’s dossier seemed far stronger than anticipated. Of course, that was expected—the Thirteen Heavens wouldn’t send weaklings as their vanguard.
Boom!
A dull shockwave burst outward, scattering in every direction. Jeong Yeon-shin countered the incoming chop by striking upward with his palm. The force of the clash twisted Wei Se-hyuk’s hand inward, fracturing the bones beneath.
“Gah!” Wei Se-hyuk grimaced in pain.
But no reprieve was given. Spears and blades surged forward again as the elites of the Thirteen Heavens closed in.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s glowing blue eyes darted left and right, catching every movement. His black coat rippled like a dancing shadow as he shifted seamlessly through their attacks. The Wind Sovereign's Footwork carried him in graceful rotations, evading the thrusts of spears and smashing them aside with his left hand.
In one fluid motion, he turned and cleaved through the chests of two warriors with a single sweep of his sword.
Slash!
The silver streak of his blade left a brilliant afterimage, the residual energy of his technique painting a long arc through the air. The blow carried the concentrated essence of his Radiant Ring Energy.
‘Uncle will be there soon.’
Within the path of his sword, Jeong Yeon-shin’s thoughts turned briefly to his niece, Jeong Hye.