A slayer of the Thirteen Heavens had come to face the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.
The Amya Warband’s Immeasurable Squad was one of the most formidable assassination groups in the world. Their members were not mere tools but martial artists who stood at the pinnacle of assassination.
This meant they possessed an immense amount of information. The possibility that Ma Gwang-ik had entered Cheonju Gate, a place housing the lake infused with the essence of the World Tree, had already been considered.
“......”
Son Sang-myeong let out a silent breath to calm his disturbance and carefully observed the youthful figure before him.
A slayer’s initiation of combat varied depending on the opponent’s martial skills and presence. He needed certainty.
‘A level capable of walking on water, wearing black pants.’
Through the gaps of the roughly wrapped bandages, a tightly woven abdominal structure was visible. He had only loosely wrapped his upper body in bandages over black martial pants.
Moonlight, tinged with a faint blue hue, draped over his shoulders and arms. Each time his foot lifted off the surface of the lake, transparent ripples spread outward in perfect circles.
There was no doubt.
‘The facial features match the description.’
The paintings had failed to capture his exact appearance. However, it was unmistakably Ma Gwang-ik.
A martial artist with no peer in his generation except for the Young Lord of the Ming Cult and the monster of Bloodflame Cult.
Rumors suggested that, despite his young age, he might already surpass even the likes of Smiling Sky, Invincible or Seven Blades Dao.
It was even said that, in all aspects of combat, he was on a path to perfection as a martial artist of the orthodox school.
That was the dazzling strength of the current Ma Gwang-ik.
‘A man who accumulates stable power faster than any heretic.’
The overwhelming strength of orthodox martial arts at a certain level had been long established in the history of the martial world. Who could say how sharp his senses had become?
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Judging by how he was immersed in the lake, he must have sustained internal injuries during his expedition in Shanxi. But what was the best course of action?
“The Amya Warband, I assume.”
The leading figure of Ipwang Fortress asked quietly.
A chill ran down his spine.
Son Sang-myeong did not answer. He merely warmed the back of his neck with internal energy, pondering how to mark him with Pursuit Incense.
It was a fleeting thought. A slayer's decisions were made on instinct.
He opened his mouth.
“This is a clan matter.”
“......!”
The woman standing before Ma Gwang-ik flinched. Her reaction was sluggish.
The Amya Warband had long since refined themselves through bloodshed, surpassing the martial strength of Cheonju Gate.
By the time she twisted her waist and raised her left hand for a strike, Son Sang-myeong had already grasped her forearm and pressed a dagger to her nape.
A powerful surge of internal energy radiated from his cold, pallid grayish-white grip.
Fwoosh!
Their robes fluttered briefly. The forming energy waves dissipated without materializing.
The Moonlit Heaven Steps of Cheonju Gate hadn’t even had a chance to activate.
The subdued martial artist trembled.
“Your sloppy Threefold Tree Steps and shallow internal energy are too noticeable. That golden hair is a symbol of inbreeding within your clan. You must be Gi Geomhyang’s disciple.”
Son Sang-myeong moved only his lips as he spoke.
“Son Hye-hyang. I hear you’re my seventh cousin. My great-grandfather was your great-great-grandfather... yet your accomplishments are pathetic. If it were Azure Eye Sword, perhaps it would be a different story.”
“The Amya Warband... Son Sang-myeong...! Let go of me!”
“Your fierce words amuse me. Unlike your mouth, your body refuses to move an inch. Cheonju Gate is still nothing more than a decorative flower. You flail your arms in the name of training, unaware that annihilation is imminent.”
Son Sang-myeong then turned his gaze toward Ma Gwang-ik.
‘Six jang away, on the surface of the lake... I can’t reach him directly. Stepping on Water isn’t a technique that allows for rapid movement.’
His eyes met those of the young lord.
The reflection of himself in the pitch-black irises was unsettling. His own skin, ashen like it was dusted with ashes, appeared even darker than usual.
From within those mirror-like pupils, Son Sang-myeong could see himself wearing a vile, expressionless mask.
The face of a man prepared for death did not look as resolute as he had expected. At least, that was how it felt.
“If you don’t want to become the next target of Ten-Li Kill, I suggest you stay out of this. Many top-tier black-clad warriors have already perished. All of them were swordsmen renowned across the martial world.”
Son Sang-myeong whispered.
It was a provocation. There were no great masters in the martial world without pride.
He needed to draw this formidable prodigy closer. The distance was still too great to mark him with Pursuit Incense.
Splash.
Ma Gwang-ik took a step forward, parting his lips as he did.
“You’re talking about my predecessors?”
“I’ve lived a long life. I can still vividly recall their expressions of shock. Those who once reigned supreme with their reputation and martial skills, slowly lowering their gaze to the arrows lodged in their chests...”
Son Sang-myeong’s voice carried a dry, humorless laugh.
He continued.
“The Ten-Li Kill of our clan is an absolute technique. Since the early Ming dynasty, it was the first art to mar the untouchable names of martial world legends.”
“You claim to have lived long? Yet, your internal reserves don’t seem all that remarkable. I thought accumulation came with time. Guess that’s not the case. It’s the first time I’ve seen it for myself.”
Ma Gwang-ik tilted his head slightly as he continued walking forward.
“...Your warband’s leader attacked our Lord. That was a grave mistake. You’ve set into motion a long-delayed undertaking. The extermination of Cheonju Gate is the first step. We need the lake infused with the essence of the World Tree.”
With every word he spoke, the distance between them closed.
The closer he got, the colder Son Sang-myeong’s gaze became. An assassin’s sense of measuring distance was no less precise than that of a swordsman.
Each time Ma Gwang-ik’s bare foot parted the water, he felt the surge of turbulent energy rippling through the surface. The sheer density of his power was overwhelming.
It didn’t matter.
Victory was not his goal. This was a preordained mutual destruction. He had come fully prepared to die.
If the Amya Warband, already weakened by their leader’s grave injury, wanted to pierce the body of Ipwang Fortress’s Black Lord, this was the only way.
Silently.
Slowly, he gathered energy into his hands. The fine dust seeping through his sleeves coiled around his fingers.
Shaa—
As the wind that had been toying with the moonlight began to still—
Suddenly, Ma Gwang-ik’s footing blurred. A footwork technique had been activated in an instant. His step churned the water beneath him, sending a massive spray into the air.
Through that gap, a blade-sharp torrent of water surged forward, sweeping across the atmosphere with the speed of a firebolt unleashed.
The force of an absolute master’s energy-infused water strike was nearly indistinguishable from a sword slash.
Kwaaaa—!
“Kh...!”
At the same time, Son Sang-myeong flicked the fine dust above Son Hye-hyang’s head.
The cresting wave above blazed like a blue flame, then suddenly, like embers struck by lightning, it accelerated at terrifying speed.
The sound of the atmosphere being torn apart was deafening.
Son Sang-myeong realized, belatedly, the true profundity of Ten Thousand Heavens Rain.
But it was too late.
Chwak!
In a single instant, the elongated stream of water split his vision in half. Droplets, scattering through the air, caught the moonlight and flickered like dying embers.
The assassin of the Amya Warband had one final thought.
He could only hope that even a single speck of Pursuit Incense had landed.
***
The next lessons took place by the lakeside. Moist gusts of wind rustled through the gaps in the underbrush as dewdrops, glowing faintly in the moonlight, trickled down leaves and blades of grass.
A clear voice rang out.
"Since your movements already embody the fundamentals of the Myung Clan's lightness techniques, synchronizing the energy of your Yongcheon point with the water shouldn't be too difficult. Yes, for you, the current Ma Gwang-ik, walking on water has never been a challenge. The only difficulty is using Jin-gak atop the surface—something that’s the same for everyone."
Shin Geom-danju spoke, lying on his side with his back to the water.
Resting his head on one arm, he looked like a scholar lazily reading a book while reclining. Completely at ease.
To Jeong Yeon-shin, he seemed to have reached a state where neither his body nor mind was bound by anything.
Perfect harmony between body and spirit.
The highest-ranking figures of Ipwang Fortress carried themselves with such freedom. His maternal grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok, and the strongest of the Black Lords, Ak Su-rim, were the same. Shin Geom-danju simply had a different temperament.
From them, Jeong Yeon-shin had learned the dignity of the strong. The precious scions of Ipwang Fortress acted according to their own will under the banner of protecting the common people.
And they take good care of them too.
He reflected on that.
This was where he belonged—alongside his life's ambition. The representative of Ipwang Fortress's Purple Lords. Shin Geom-danju's very demeanor and energy were etching themselves into his perception.
With Si-cheon-beop turning his eyes an otherworldly blue, he observed every habitual movement of his direct superior, every shift in energy along his pressure points, and the precise composition of his muscles.
A realm capable of holding the fruit of the World Tree.
If he wanted to grasp the order of things—the natural cycle that guided a crescent moon to swell into a full moon—if he wanted to expand his Baekhwaehyeol as if it were his inevitable destiny, he needed to reach that man’s level.
"I understand you’re keeping still because there are a lot of eyes watching."
Shin Geom-danju turned slightly, casting a sidelong glance as he spoke.
"But your gaze is unbearably intense. Are all kids like this these days? Utterly shameless."
"My apologies."
"Don’t say what you don’t mean. Your eyes are practically shining."
Shin Geom-danju grimaced as if he found it unsettling. Was the boy really not picking up anything strange?
Such concerns didn’t register with the young Ma Gwang-ik. Jeong Yeon-shin merely gazed at Shin Geom-danju with innocent curiosity.
Swoosh.
Letting out a long sigh, Shin Geom-danju pushed himself up.
"I’d love to pass something down to such a remarkable junior."
"My vessel is completely empty, ready to be filled."
"Don’t say that so calmly. You already look so disciplined it makes me uneasy. Regardless, I was personally trained by the lone successor of the martial lineage of Yonghwanmun. I can’t just pass down whatever I please. Patriarch Pae Geom probably didn’t want to taint his precious grandson with the side effects of path-of-tyranny techniques. My reasoning is somewhat different."
"So, just one?"
"A uniquely unfinished lightness technique. Something that should be on par with your standards. Had it been completed, it was said to be capable of the greatest sprinting speed of its era... but much of the formula has been lost."
Brushing off the dust from his purple sleeves, Shin Geom-danju smirked.
"It’s an old story. Listen closely."
At the end of the Yuan dynasty, an iron-smithing clan that settled in the Central Plains alongside the Myung Clan sought the horn of a Hwang-ryong—a golden dragon.
The reason was lost to history. No one knew whether the dragon truly existed.
No one could tell if the smith had actually seen it or if he had simply been entranced by ancient legends.
The only certainty was that, as the noble clans descended from the north, all sorts of mystical creatures and enigmatic figures roamed the land.
The blacksmith wandered the martial world in search of the dragon. Along the way, he befriended countless warriors and swordsmen, refining his martial arts and lightness techniques.
If his lifelong ambition was to reach the dragon and shatter its horn, he needed impeccable skill.
Through these travels, he trained under both righteous swordsmen and wandering outlaws, carving away imperfections in his technique.
In time, he even associated with the Daoist Immortals of the Nine Schools and, at last, encountered Yongmyeong-jinin, a legendary expert of the Kunlun Sect known for his mastery of lightness skills that let him traverse the void.
It was an era when survival was the highest priority. If one’s heart aligned with another, martial arts were freely exchanged.
From this, the blacksmith wove together a new technique—melding the teachings of Yongmyeong-jinin, the Myung Clan’s footwork, and the powerful strides of the Iron Clan.
Thus, the Dragon’s Ascent Lightness Technique was born.
In his pursuit of great warriors and weapons, the blacksmith himself became a grandmaster.
He left, boasting that he would bring back the dragon’s horn.
He never returned.
No one knew if he had truly forged a divine weapon, nor how his story ended.
All that remained was the claim that Yongmyeong-jinin had safeguarded the incomplete scrolls of Dragon’s Ascent.
Over the years, the manual passed through many hands.
Eventually, the Ming Cult, who annihilated the Kunlun Sect, seized it.
From there, it ended up in the hands of the imperial family.
And then, finally, into the possession of the current Shin Geom-danju.
That was where his explanation ended.
Jeong Yeon-shin wore an odd expression.
"It’s a wandering martial art."
"The essence is lost. Only its insights on body mechanics remain. Is this what you were hoping for?"
"I like the story. Regardless of the outcome, that blacksmith must have gotten close to his goal. He never came back, after all."
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke softly.
Martial arts that only reached their full potential when completed were defensive techniques. This one could greatly extend the duration of Jong-guk-noe.
However, a defensive technique needed to encompass the entire body.
To master it in the realm of new techniques, he would have to weave it together, thread by thread. It would take years.
"You’ve already completed your basics with Deungpyeong-dosu, so I’ll recite the rest for you. But before that..."
Shin Geom-danju raised an eyebrow.
He was looking past Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder—toward the opposite side of the lake, where Son Hye-hyang was walking away after delivering her report.
Even when an assassin from the Amya Warband had attacked, Shin Geom-danju had remained relaxed.
"That Son girl seems interested in you. Any thoughts on pursuing her?"
"...Excuse me?"
"A martial artist’s rest should soothe both body and mind. A companion brings peace that not even gold can buy. It’s like preparing a bed in your head. Someone like you, who constantly runs forward, might need it even more."
"Have you ever married?"
"No. Who knows when I’ll die? No need to turn an innocent woman into a widow."
"What...?"
"A Purple Lord of this level has far too many enemies to count. The moment I announce my retirement, every rogue and villain in the world will swarm to take my head."
"I’ll become a Purple Lord as well. I plan to challenge you within two years."
Shin Geom-danju smirked.
"Two years is uncertain, but I could see you surpassing me someday—if you learn to loosen up. At that point, you could truly build a household of your own."
"Ah..."
Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips parted slightly.
Shin Geom-danju continued.
"Cooling your body in the lake isn’t enough. The fatigue in your mind can’t be eased with simple breathing techniques. That expression you just made was priceless. If you want to stand against Ten Mile Instant Kill, you’d best start relaxing both body and soul."
Martial arts were exchanged like ripples on water—smooth and natural.
And so, time passed.
The World Tree’s lake swallowed and released the full moon in an endless cycle. Over the course of seven such moons, Jeong Yeon-shin’s legs grew stronger, and he added yet another supreme technique to his arsenal.
Calmly walking atop the still waters.
Meanwhile, chaos was consuming Cheonju Gate.
Shin Geom-danju barely seemed concerned.
"Inherit my martial lineage," he said. "I’ll give you more than that old Ma bastard ever did."