"Isn't he going to take the rank promotion test later?"
Tae Yeom-ryong muttered indifferently.
From the moment the sparring match began, he had been lounging around lazily.
He chewed on a poppy pod, drawing sharp glances from the masters of Cheonjuji Gate, but he only smacked his lips nonchalantly, as if it was none of his concern.
His shadowed eyes alternated between Jeong Yeon-shin's condition and Shin So-bin’s techniques.
"This is a duel with the lord's health on the line. If he loses here, he'll be buried underground—just like Ma Gwang-ik tradition dictates."
Tae Yeom-ryong murmured in a tone of disgust.
Standing next to him, Hyeon Won-chang couldn't hide his surprise.
"Shihwa Muguk Fist! That junior from the Shin family has honed his blade through rigorous training! The precision of his Stonewall Form... the speed at which he refines and extends his energy waves is leaps and bounds beyond what it used to be."
"Ma Gwang-ik only takes on missions involving the upper echelons of Jianghu, but among the swordsmen of the world, even those in Ipwang Fortress’s White Rank rarely find an equal."
"That much...?"
"This land is vast, filled with lowly bandits and martial artists whose achievements barely scratch the surface. The warriors of Ipwang Fortress, sent on assassination missions to meet only select targets, can hardly grasp the true scale of it. Meanwhile, Jianghu wanderers gallop through the renowned scenic sites on horses rented from waystations."
Tae Yeom-ryong spoke with an apathetic tone.
Ever since donning his blue long robe, he had stopped addressing most of his comrades with honorifics.
No one of the same rank imposed etiquette upon a young master swordsman gradually approaching death.
The widely known Grand Prince of the Solar Divine Veins.
Whenever he teetered on the brink of rampaging in a drunken or opium-induced haze, even the senior Blue Rank members took a step back first.
Hyeon Won-chang glanced down at him before speaking.
"The opponent isn't some minor sect. This is Cheonjuji Gate, a prestigious school possessing one of the Five Great Jianghu Arts. Surely the Hwangbo Clan has done their research on Bowol Heavenly Technique."
"The problem isn't the martial art, but the martial artists. This backwater sect shuns outside influences—how much real combat have they experienced? Meanwhile, the White Qilin painted Shaanxi red with blood, all while chanting ‘Our Lord, Our Lord,’ as he went."
"Lower your voice! There are plenty of people here with sharp ears...!"
Hyeon Won-chang tightened his grip on Tae Yeom-ryong’s collar, warily eyeing their surroundings.
At this moment, Cheongmyeong's disciple had been bested by the White Qilin, Shin So-bin.
Yet, the energy waves silently coiling through the valley remained undisturbed.
Dozens of men and women perched elegantly on towering ancient trees, radiating their transparent internal energy without a change in expression.
Cheonjuji Gate’s signature energy waves swayed like a gentle breeze, rustling the forest leaves into a soft, rhythmic dance.
The dignified masters of this noble lineage exchanged glances or moved their lips slightly, seemingly discussing the martial arts they had just witnessed through transmitted speech.
Meanwhile, the warriors from Cheonjuji Gate carried away the unconscious Jeong Nan-song.
Soon after, their sect leader, Cheong Bohwa, spoke, her gaze shifting to Tae Yeom-ryong past Shin So-bin’s relaxed stance.
"You were right. Nan-song has never faced a life-or-death match."
"Hmm."
"Since Cheong-su’s ascension, we forbade all excursions beyond these mountains. The night warriors entrenched in this Tianzhu Mountain were so elusive that even the top warriors of Ipwang Fortress struggled against them. If a transcendent-level martial master in violet robes ever approached, they would vanish without a trace. We had no other choice.
Regardless... this must have been an eye-opening experience for Nan-song."
Cheong Bohwa turned her eyes toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
"You have found an excellent successor. Living in a different era than our clan, he shines all the more brightly."
"For her, that time must have felt endless."
Ma Gwang-ik's lord responded calmly.
With her back still turned, Shin So-bin exaggeratedly shrugged her shoulders.
Cheong Bohwa chuckled.
"Watching just one technique has expanded my horizons. That was a rare display of refined martial arts. The precise utilization of the body's entire musculature, the boldness of the advancing footwork, the way he gathered and released the energy waves in a single straight-line punch...
It was clear he intended to end the fight quickly. Such desperation.
Or rather, knowing your temperament, I imagine it was more a display of courtesy to the opponent."
Shin So-bin had fought the match, but the words were directed at Jeong Yeon-shin.
It was inevitable—he was the founder of the martial art.
"I heard the poppy-chewing brat call it Shihwa Muguk Fist. Is that right?"
Cheong Bohwa asked.
Her deep, lake-like eyes were striking.
Shrouded in tranquil internal energy, her gaze was the embodiment of her noble lineage’s perceptive insight, piercing through all things.
The answer came from the shortest person standing between them.
"It's the second form, Stonewall."
Shin So-bin blocked their view with her small frame.
She squared her shoulders, and her jet-black hair, loosened by the force of her own energy waves, cascaded down.
Her movements were measured and waste-free.
The unique essence of Seomye martial lineage permeated her very being, showcasing an unparalleled understanding of martial arts.
Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent as he watched her back.
A strange feeling arose within him.
He had just witnessed something that would persist even after he was gone.
Something beyond mere connections or gravestones.
This was an immensely significant moment.
For the first time, he truly grasped the weight of what he was leaving behind through Shin So-bin.
'Will the martial arts I create continue to be passed down like this?'
Created techniques are inherited through various means.
Those recorded in books become secret manuals, while those imbued with the founder’s spirit are passed down orally.
The martial lineage.
A bond even deeper than blood, shared through the founder’s intent.
He could see it clearly.
The disciples studying the texts he hastily scribbled in his mind.
The growing number of people training in its principles.
The mere thought filled him with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.
Seomye—the name should endure longer than anyone else’s in the world.
‘Wait... but Jeong Family Dynamic Gong was just my journal, wasn’t it...?’
Just as Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened in realization—
"Stonewall. I see."
Cheong Bohwa's wrinkled gaze narrowed slightly.
"I understand the profound meaning behind its force dispersal. A technique designed to end the match in the shortest exchange. Jeong Lord, you must be a master of short decisive battles."
"He’s not just limited to short battles, you know?"
Shin So-bin retorted, raising her tone slightly, her hands resting on her hips.
Cheong Bohwa smiled kindly.
"Either way, there’s no need to argue over the level of completion in that technique. Clearly, we have lost this round.
However... the next one will be different.
We have a disciple who has honed her blade through years of battles against the night warriors."
At that moment—
Swoosh.
A female swordsman clad in white martial robes stepped forward from the Cheonjuji Gate's ranks.
Her senses were honed like a divine blade, and she appeared to be in her early thirties.
"I am Gi Geom-hyang. A member of this village.
I have trained in Cheonjuji Gate’s Heavenly Image Sword."
Her face was slightly flushed, a sign of her robust internal energy.
Her sharp, glimmering eyes distorted the very air around her.
Unlike Jeong Nan-song, even her energy waves were on a different level.
Tae Yeom-ryong whistled.
"So, they won’t let us through that easily, huh?"
The lake of Cheonjuji Gate was said to be a sacred byproduct of the Ten Thousand Heavenly Trees that they revered.
It was regarded as highly as their secret martial arts, and those who wished to immerse themselves in its waters were not granted entry so easily.
Even though their opponent was Ipwang Fortress, the sect did not extend any special hospitality.
Jeong Yeon-shin recalled Ak Su-rim’s words—how their isolationism far exceeded even that of the rural sects steeped in local folk traditions.
"Broaden your horizons through martial arts unseen before..."
One victory out of three.
As he deliberated on who should take the next match, his gaze unexpectedly met Hyeon Won-chang’s.
The oldest of his peers.
The moment their eyes locked, they understood each other’s intent.
Swish.
The Ipwang Divine Swordsman rose from his seat.
"Ipwang Fortress, Ma Gwang-ik! I, Hyeon Won-chang, shall be your opponent."
The hero’s headband wrapped around his forehead fluttered in the breeze.
The exchange was set.
Shin So-bin stepped back.
As she returned, she lightly smacked Hyeon Won-chang and Jeong Yeon-shin on the shoulder in turn.
A silent declaration of pride in fulfilling her role.
Her boldness was evident in her touch, yet when she reached the lord’s shoulder, her fingertips trembled ever so slightly.
Moments like these made Jeong Yeon-shin acutely aware of the status of those who created martial arts in Jianghu.
If only he could think just a little bit faster.
"You did well."
The Lord of Ma Gwang-ik commended his subordinate.
"Your execution was slightly off. The trajectory wasn’t completely straight to the extreme point. If you had fully extended it, you would have shattered his Qi Defense entirely. There was too much wasted energy in the dispersion."
Unknowingly, Jeong Yeon-shin had already begun assuming the mindset of a sect leader.
Shin So-bin, who had been smiling, narrowed her eyes.
"But I did do well, right?"
"Yes."
Jeong Yeon-shin turned his gaze forward.
Hyeon Won-chang and Gi Geom-hyang were drawing their swords.
"......."
For a moment, the atmosphere fell silent.
The mountain breeze that had been slipping through the thicket scattered in all directions around the two swordsmen.
Blades of grass bowed their heads in chaotic disarray. Even as they maintained the formalities of a duel, it felt as if they stood in the heart of a life-or-death battle.
Gi Geom-hyang spoke.
"I will say it again. Yeondo Cheonsang Sword."
"Gwang-ye-gyeol."
Hyeon Won-chang replied curtly.
The moment he drew his sword, his entire presence shifted.
His narrowed eyes, the sharp line of his brows—everything about his expression was as sharp as a blade. The veins bulging along the back of his sword hand pulsed with an eerie blue light, brimming with sword energy.
Shhhhhhh—
The auras coiling around their blades rode the wind, sweeping through their surroundings with a chilling touch. Blades of grass and dust particles scattered wildly.
"The Yeondo Cheonsang Sword of Cheonjuji Gate was said to have played a major role in the downfall of the old Ming Cult."
Tae Yeom-ryong suddenly spoke from behind, casually glancing up at his sect leader.
"It's famous that the previous gate leader’s sword shattered both the Sword Demon and the Dark Blade Divine General into pieces. They say that even without utilizing a distinct true energy manifestation, the transparent sword wind alone was enough to slice them apart like waves crashing over them.
Even now, there is debate—was it a swift sword that reached the absolute limits of speed, or was it a secret esoteric technique that carried some unknown profundity?"
"I heard that besides the sect itself, some of the major factions also participated in that battle. Yet no one managed to witness it clearly?"
The moment Jeong Yeon-shin voiced his question, Hyeon Won-chang and Gi Geom-hyang’s swords clashed.
Jjejejejejeong!
The surrounding thickets were instantly engulfed in a hazy glow of sword light.
The two swordsmen vanished behind the dozens of trajectories spiraling outward from their movements.
From Gi Geom-hyang’s side, streaks of white light began to flash intermittently. The energy wave of Gwang-ye-gyeol.
As the pristine white sword light grew denser and wove into a whirlwind, the aftermath of their sword strikes rippled outward toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
The impact struck his skin like tangled silk threads, brushing against him like the rustling of his collar.
"So damn flashy."
Tae Yeom-ryong leisurely stepped backward.
Then, leaning against the carriage wall of the Singeom Danju, he spoke again.
"They say the leaders of Cheonjuji Gate have always trained in both sorcery and martial arts. It wouldn’t be surprising if they carried around some formation techniques at all times.
For such a closed-off sect, would they really reveal their techniques so openly in the chaos of an all-out battlefield?
Either way, it’s no wonder their swordsmanship is compared to that of the Nine Great Sects.
Gwang-ye-gyeol is being tested today. The outcome of this duel will surely reach our main sect as well."
"That makes sense."
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded calmly.
On the opposite side, Cheong Bohwa was watching the duel with rapt attention.
She had claimed to expand her knowledge by witnessing martial arts never before seen in the Central Plains, and she did not overlook even the battles of lower-ranked disciples.
She seemed particularly intrigued as she observed the energy wave structures and sword trajectories that Ma Gwang-ik had developed.
Shuaaaak! Jjejejeong!
This was a duel between warriors at the level of Ipwang Fortress’s Blue Rank.
A level rarely encountered in Jianghu.
Dozens of exchanges had already passed in the blink of an eye.
For martial masters, time existed on a different scale.
The intertwining and unraveling trajectories of their sword strikes radiated an overwhelming wave of force.
One hundred thirty... one hundred fifty-four techniques...
Jeong Yeon-shin analyzed the Yeondo Cheonsang Sword unfolding before his eyes.
The sword path moved as if it were riding the currents of the wind itself.
Compared to the energy wave imbued in Gi Geom-hyang’s grip, her blade moved with an abnormally high speed.
From the moment she aimed for Hyeon Won-chang’s solar plexus, it had been so.
Her sword seamlessly sliced through the gaps in the white energy of Gwang-ye-gyeol surrounding his Ipwang Sword.
It was as if her sword had synchronized with the light-infused wind currents produced by Gwang-ye-gyeol.
Hyeon Won-chang swung his Ipwang Sword upward.
Jjeong! Pwaaak—!
Suddenly, a shockwave burst from his chest.
His robes billowed upward as blood sprayed along the edge of the sweeping sword wind.
For an instant, Jeong Yeon-shin caught a flash of blue light.
What the hell.
"If the energy wave of Gwang-ye-gyeol had been just a bit denser, he wouldn’t have been hit. His internal energy is losing ground."
Jeong Yeon-shin clenched his fist.
The veins on his exposed forearm bulged sharply.
The expressions of the masters on the Cheonjuji Gate’s side shifted ever so slightly.
Earlier, Ma Gwang-ik had offered a rare word of praise to his youngest disciple, Jeong Nan-song.
Seeing the sect leader visibly affected by his subordinate’s injury served as proof of his character.
A glint of interest flashed in Cheong Bohwa’s eyes.
"A gentle disposition, yet formidable martial skill... a humble nature... this is truly Sam-hwa Chwi-jeong."
At that moment—
Jjejeong!
A powerful shockwave slammed into the air.
At the center of the valley, Hyeon Won-chang staggered backward.
His hand gripping the Ipwang Sword trembled like the fluttering wings of a moth, struggling to suppress the overwhelming energy.
Meanwhile, Gi Geom-hyang, her sword lowered, remained composed and unshaken.
Hwaak.
The compressed air trapped within the vortex of energy waves was violently released.
The luminous trajectories that had blurred the clearing unraveled like loosened threads.
"Again... let’s go again."
A suppressed voice leaked through Hyeon Won-chang’s clenched teeth.
Gi Geom-hyang shook her head.
"Your sword force does not reach me. Even if we fought ten times, you’d be lucky to win twice. You already know this."
"I humbly ask again. Our Lord must bathe in those waters."
"Your sword path is sharp—so sharp it’s almost eerie. There is no doubt it is a sword technique I have never encountered before.
Regrettably, it is worthy of being compared to the Yeondo Cheonsang Sword. That is enough. The elders of our village have surely seen it as well."
Ipwang’s Grand Swordsman Hyeon Won-chang had lost.
In Jianghu, defeat was a common thing for martial artists.
But for Ma Gwang-ik, failure in their mission was another matter entirely.
This involved not just the fate of their sect, but also the safety of Singeom Danju and Ma Gwang-ik’s leader.
Hyeon Won-chang’s shoulders carried the weight of that realization.
The way his sword hand trembled now had a different meaning—one of frustration, one of swallowed rage.
Then—
"I am willing to continue the duel. Are you my next opponent?"
Gi Geom-hyang pointed the tip of her sword at Tae Yeom-ryong.
The elders of Cheonjuji Gate did not intervene.
It was a testament to the trust they had in Gi Geom-hyang’s skill and reputation.
A provocation unlike any Ma Gwang-ik had ever faced.
Tae Yeom-ryong’s lips twisted into a smirk.
"Hey, Daeseol Sword."
"......."
"You restricted seventy percent of your internal energy, didn’t you? You were so attuned to your natural flow that you couldn’t wield it properly."
Hyeon Won-chang did not respond.
He only bowed his head toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
My apologies, Lord.
Jeong Yeon-shin silently patted his shoulder.
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"All this over a damn bath."
Swish.
A tattered blue robe swept past them.
A strong, pungent scent of liquor hung in the air.
A lazy voice followed.
"Watch closely, Daeseol Sword. This is how you use Gwang-ye-gyeol."
His eyes flickered with fire.