The commotion filling the wide mountain slopes ceased abruptly. Only the ominous turbulence of unseen auras from below remained.
A premature sunset glowed faintly as a dull thud echoed from the opposite hill. Heat emanated from the bifurcated corpse that had fallen, gradually staining the snowy ground crimson. A misty steam rose from the blood of the fallen noble of the Blood Flame Sect, casting an eerie atmosphere over the scene. Yet, the Mountain Blossom Sword Saint of Mount Hua, who had delivered the devastating strike, seemed unaffected.
Standing silently behind Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder, her presence radiated calm. Despite having effortlessly split the Fourth Apostle of the Blood Flame Sect in a single strike, her breathing remained steady—an awe-inspiring testament to her prowess.
Seonghwa Sword Saint Yulha Nangnang.
Her title, meaning a divine maiden of Taoist legend, now seemed wholly justified. An aura of supreme transcendence pressed down, as though celestial flower petals brushed against the skin, leaving no room for resistance.
Jeong Yeon-shin stood motionless, merely sensing the presence of the Mount Hua sect master. The sheer majesty of her aura made it clear who held the power of life and death here.
The apostle’s final words echoed faintly in his mind: Jaha Divine Arts. A martial art of legendary Taoist sages, whispered about even among the most prestigious schools. Even Jeong Yeon-shin, who had long been acquainted with Yu Hyeon, a Taoist practitioner of the Jaha lineage, had only ever heard rumors of this technique. To witness it now, in its full splendor, was staggering.
A faint azure light flickered in Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes.
“It resembled the Resonance Aura technique but was executed differently,” he thought. It wasn’t a clash of opposing forces. Instead, it was a seamless integration of opposites, creating a radiant union like the meeting of sky and earth at the horizon.
Unlike the Resonance Aura or the Limit Thunder Art, which taxed the practitioner’s body, this technique seemed to harmonize with nature itself. The inherent mysticism of Taoist arts felt vastly different from the martial disciplines that relied on sheer dominance.
“This could be worth studying,” Jeong Yeon-shin mused. “I can’t afford to be caught off guard once the Limit Thunder Art is exhausted.”
Then, her voice broke his train of thought.
“How?”
Yulha Nangnang had spoken, her tone calm but probing. It was evident she had been examining the floating tomes hovering in the air, their pages fluttering as though caught in an unseen wind. The Extinction of Demonic Arts Compendium, held aloft by Jeong Yeon-shin’s Myriad Petals Technique, must have caught her eye.
“Did you see something?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked cautiously.
“It’s unnamed, but this is the Chungdan Paradox Sword Technique,” she said, her tone resolute. “The described sword forms are identical. It’s a technique reserved for the highest echelons of the Broken Sword Sect, a school that rarely accepts outsiders.”
“It was wielded by someone said to be the Broken Sword Sect Leader’s nanny,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied.
“The large sweeping strike is called Fragmented Thunder, while the refined kinetic method of honing sword energy is Gazing Petals. Together, they form a technique responsible for countless deaths—a tyrant’s sword style,” she continued. “And yet, these later sections... they differ. The breathing patterns for deflecting slashes, the method for dismantling sword energy with precise vibrations... this is genuinely innovative.”
Her words trailed off as her breathing deepened, an almost imperceptible gesture that carried an ocean’s depth.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned to face her slowly. The Sword Saint of Mount Hua remained unchanged—her pink robe flowed gracefully, its long train blending seamlessly with her white socks. Her translucent aura shimmered like an ethereal veil of petals.
“Sword-breaking techniques like this one wouldn’t even be found in the Broken Sword Sect’s main texts,” she said, her gaze sharp as she finally looked Jeong Yeon-shin in the eye. “It says here the author is Seomye. Did you write this?”
“Yes,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied plainly.
“I can hardly believe it. Even seeing it, I find it difficult to comprehend.”
“When observing an opponent’s techniques closely, isn’t it possible for anyone to deduce such things? One only needs sharp eyes. However, because martial artists value the purity of duels, they rarely explore counter-methods,” he explained, almost muttering.
“I fail to grasp your reasoning,” she replied.
“In my family, only the judicial enforcers study counter-techniques. I simply swallowed my pride to achieve results and intended to use these to defeat my enemies. So please, don’t judge me too harshly,” Jeong Yeon-shin said with a touch of self-consciousness.
“Even if the world doesn’t act this way, I must.”
He thought back to his companions, whose support had made such studies possible. None had rebuked him when he compiled the White Breaker Compendium. Even the stoic Mount Hua elites had welcomed his efforts, seeing them as pragmatic tools for survival.
“Young Master of Mount Hua,” Yulha Nangnang finally spoke, her voice calm yet tinged with an indiscernible weight. “This compendium is impressive. But attaching your name to it will inevitably force you to bear the burden of the entire martial world.”
Understanding the significance of her words, Jeong Yeon-shin conceded. “I see your point.”
With a flick of his finger, he summoned a spark that charred the title Seomye’s Work from the compendium’s cover.
Satisfied, Yulha Nangnang smiled, her noble and untainted demeanor shining through.
“Thank you for understanding,” she said. “Now, let us see if your techniques can be tested further.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s expression darkened. Below, an ominous wave of energy surged upward, heralding the arrival of something immense.
“The Broken Sword Sect Leader is approaching,” he said gravely, turning to Yulha Nangnang. “Please, stop him.”
Ma Gwang-ik extended an unavoidable request to the Mount Hua Sect's master, Yulha Nangnang. Her crimson-drenched brows, faintly tinted by the setting sun, arched ever so slightly.
"I would like you to test the countermeasure technique," Jeong Yeon-shin calmly requested.
***
The vast ridges of Mount Taebaek stretched out wide, its snow-covered expanse shimmering under the pale light. As the highest peak of the Jinryeong mountain range, its connected ridges extended endlessly, weaving into countless paths leading to Chilnyeobong.
This also meant that the passageways where the Two Flames Blood Spirit Formation (Iyeom Hyeolryeongjin) had been set up were numerous. The translucent ripples scattered across the snowy landscape were evidence of the massive formation that once shielded the Blood Flame Sect’s stronghold. Its scale was overwhelming, supported by rare artifacts and powerful sorcerer-warriors. This formation was made possible because the Blood Flame Sect’s Second Apostle had accepted Yeoryeong’s proposal.
— Eliminate Ma Gwang-ik of Ipwang Fortress.
The Second Apostle had no reason to refuse.
Apostles of the Blood Flame Sect, who revered blood and flames, lived freely under their broader doctrines. Their positions were revered, each wielding independent authority over their branches. Thus, assisting the Young Lord of Yeoryeong was entirely within the Second Apostle’s discretion.
“Pagyeom Sect Leader has entered!”
“Seal the formation now. We must not let Ma Gwang-ik escape.”
The Second Apostle was a strikingly slender figure, with pitch-black hair cascading down his back. His thin arms emanated an unsettling, irregular aura that seemed to ripple visibly, glowing faintly. Floating half a foot above the ground, his body lacked any reliance on physical strength. The Pureblood Robes draped over him fit him as well as they did the Seventh Apostle standing nearby.
“So,” he began slowly, his voice calm yet biting. “You were compelled, against your will, by the First Apostle?”
New n𝙤vel chapters are published on freewebnovel.cσ๓.
“I have other interests,” the Seventh Apostle replied tersely, adjusting the eyepatch over her left eye.
The corners of the Second Apostle’s mouth curved upward.
“Then why not regenerate it? Could it be because you harbor sinister thoughts?”
“Sinister thoughts?”
“A mind tainted by treachery,” the Second Apostle continued. “Perhaps you revere Ma Gwang-ik, the so-called ‘Torch of Ipwang,’ more than our blood and flames. Otherwise, why would you abandon the First Apostle’s side to come to me? Losing Nangwang so pitifully doesn’t add up either. You’d best explain yourself here and now.”
A hush fell over the area.
It was a grim and eerie silence, broken only by the faint rustle of movement beneath the mountain. The ground was littered with bodies—corpses of martial artists and commoners alike—felled by the Blood Flame Sect’s masters. Hundreds of red-clad warriors, their faces partially obscured by masks, stood watching, their eerie stares fixated on the Seventh Apostle.
Unbothered, she finally spoke.
“Tae-sa was formidable. He even mastered sacred arts.”
“Polar-opposite internal energies only matter if they land a blow. Do you mean to say that the martial arts of the Blood Flame Sect’s Seventh Apostle are so shallow? Such a flimsy excuse. If you’re planning to spin lies, you’d be better off submitting to me.”
The Second Apostle’s words dripped with derision.
For a moment, silence reigned once more. It was a tense stillness, brimming with an odd mix of cold and heat. The distinct fervor of their cult began to permeate the lower slopes of Taebaek Mountain. Perhaps prepared in advance, numerous warriors gripped their weapons tightly, their eyes gleaming with a murderous glint.
The encirclement seemed endless. The Blood Flame Sect, notorious for its overwhelming numbers, had turned the snowy expanse into a sea of crimson.
“Seventh Apostle, it is I who is most fit to claim the seat of the Sect Leader,” the Second Apostle declared with an unsettling smile.
Crossing his arms, he leisurely drifted back, as if waiting for the Seventh Apostle’s strength to falter, ready to claim her blood energy. With the Two Flames Blood Spirit Formation spanning such a vast area, they would detect Ma Gwang-ik breaking through the barriers immediately. Furthermore, the communication network of the Blood Flame Sect’s spirit beasts connected their movements.
Death seemed inevitable. This was a trap meticulously laid out by the Twelve Heavens of Shaanxi.
The Seventh Apostle took a step forward, muttering under her breath, her words carrying a sharp edge. “A centuries-old relic, quick to scheme and slow to act.”
Crunch.
Her footsteps overlapped with the soft sound of leather boots.
A resounding voice—rich, calm, and absolute—followed closely behind her.
— Do not show yourself so carelessly. As long as you lead the blood demons, you and I cannot coexist. It’s only natural.
A flicker of madness crossed the Seventh Apostle’s lips.