"I have already learned from the Lord."
Jeong Yeon-shin responded calmly.
"Inherit my martial lineage." He doubted Shin Geom-danju was proposing a formal master-disciple relationship. The laws of Ipwang Fortress did not permit such ties between its own martial artists.
They feared it would create personal attachments that could interfere with their duties. Only the Fortress Lord was exempt from this rule, and Jeong Yeon-shin had already received instruction from her.
"There’s a loophole in the laws of our Fortress."
Shin Geom-danju smirked.
"You can learn whatever you want from whomever you wish, yet you remain no one’s disciple. That means you are free to learn from anyone. Your martial lineage will never overlap with another’s."
Jeong Yeon-shin did not answer. He merely stared at his direct superior with wide eyes.
Here stood a supreme swordmaster of the Purple Lords, discussing loopholes in their laws.
"Hmm? What's wrong?"
Shin Geom-danju stroked his sharp jawline, appearing somewhat uneasy.
Moonlight spilled over his elegant, scholar-like robes, giving him an air of refinement.
Back when his knees ached from training, such an impression had never crossed Jeong Yeon-shin's mind. But now, it felt different.
"If one lived like that, there would be no regrets."
The Swordmaster of Ipwang Fortress truly embodied freedom. No shackles bound him. He was unhindered—free of obstacles.
Studying Buddhist martial arts to refine his internal energy had made Jeong Yeon-shin aware of this principle. Could such unrestrained conduct be the key to reaching the pinnacle?
His niece Jeong Hye and the elders of the Fortress had imparted great lessons upon him—humility and freedom.
With these thoughts, Jeong Yeon-shin clasped his hands in a martial salute.
He composed himself. As the uncle of Hye-a, who had once shared a drink with the Lord, he should carry himself with the dignity of an elder.
"I am grateful for your offer, but I must decline. Modifying completed martial techniques to suit my body has little merit. The Moonlit Harmony Sutra from the Lord was the same."
"Huh?"
"To be truly mine, it must originate from my own hands. This junior is unfit to inherit a martial lineage. Even if I learned your techniques, I would pass them down in a different form."
Shin Geom-danju. The seventeen generations of the Shin Geom-dan masters.
They were deeply intertwined. They would have to see each other until their final breaths. There was no need to provoke unnecessary friction with the supreme swordmaster of their era.
A martial lineage was a tradition and an identity. No martial artist wished for their life's work to be inherited in a completely altered form.
Jeong Yeon-shin had already forged his own lineage. There was no place for Yonghwanmun in it.
"Hmph."
Shin Geom-danju tilted his head slightly.
Despite being the strongest swordmaster of Ipwang Fortress, he seemed unusually playful. But his demeanor was not entirely lighthearted.
"Your priorities are different from others'. Plenty would eagerly snatch up my teachings."
"I apologize."
"I see no one else worthy, but if I ever become truly desperate, I’ll come looking for you again."
Shin Geom-danju clicked his tongue, folding his arms behind his head as he lay back down.
"A shame, really. This body may one day collapse and die in some desolate wilderness without leaving behind a successor... Well, at least a fraction of my teachings lives on in your footwork. Knowing you, you’ll complete it in no time."
"Dying in the wild? Do supreme masters of the Purple Lords really die like that?"
"The elder of our Fortress’s Council nearly did, didn't he? When one supreme master meets two others, their death can be sudden and meaningless. The world does not allow a single person to reign supreme. This damn world is just too vast. Think of all the monsters in the cities and mountains—Lords of the Thirteen Heavens, Grandmasters of the Nine Schools, and countless others."
Lying flat on his back, he lazily kicked his foot in the air.
"You don’t even have to look at the leaders of the major sects. At the core of all human nature is resistance. Everyone seeks their own advantage by any means necessary. Even when facing a supreme master, no one willingly submits to tyranny. Tactical formations, joint attacks, assassin techniques, multiple Black-level warriors coordinating their strikes, long-range archery mixed with explosive strikes... Ma Gwang-ik, this world is vast, and you have yet to experience even half of it."
"Even plucking a bowstring can count as an explosive strike?"
Jeong Yeon-shin asked quietly.
The answer came without hesitation, as if it was obvious.
"Of course. Archery martial arts are nothing to underestimate. Since ancient times, the bow has been the mightiest weapon. The techniques of channeling internal energy into the bow and string have been refined for generations. And if such an archer stands at the center of a formation..."
He exaggeratedly shivered his shoulders.
"I don’t even know how I survived long enough to don these Purple Lord’s robes. I encountered such a formation once. Had my Yonghwan Sword not drawn itself instantly, I would’ve died. That was back in my Black-ranked days. I nearly lost my mind with frustration because I was out of range to counterattack. Now that I think about it, that must have been their second strike."
Yonghwan Sword.
It was likely the iridescent blade formed purely from internal energy. He had witnessed it firsthand when Shin Geom-danju clashed with the Head of the Namgung Clan in a life-or-death duel.
Jeong Yeon-shin parted his lips.
"They say my senior's younger brother was killed by Ten Mile Instant Kill."
"The younger brother of the Serene Crest Sword? Yeah, that was a well-known story. No one expected a killing technique that only targeted supreme masters to be used against a mere fledgling. I recall the entire region being in an uproar. You should be careful as well. Their arrows carry infused poison—so potent and fast that no one knows exactly where they'll strike."
"I will keep that in mind."
The current Ma Gwang-ik answered calmly.
***
Namgung’s Greatest Sword resides in the Mu-ryong Society. He is the uncle of Baek Kirin."
It was a quiet graveyard. Cheongmyeong's voice carried gently over the grass, which lay thick and lush beneath them.
Ma Gwang-ik and the foremost sword of Ma Gwang-ik stood side by side under the deep night sky, where even the full moon had withdrawn from view.
Only the endless sea of stars spread wide above them, glimmering faintly like dew settling in the dark.
"He once told me: 'Forget your younger brother if you want to master the sword.' He said I was shackled by my own desire for freedom. Then, he drove a sword straight into my chest."
"Sounds like nonsense. A swordsman just needs to use his hands properly."
Jeong Yeon-shin responded indifferently on purpose.
To him, Cheongmyeong was as enigmatic as Baek Mi-ryeo—one of Ma Gwang-ik’s most mysterious figures, someone whose true intentions were impossible to discern.
From their first meeting, he had been an unfathomable senior, offering trust and aid with an unshakable ease. Sentimentality didn’t suit him.
Cheongmyeong smirked, the back of his headscarf rising slightly under the pale light.
"You also need to use your body properly. A swordsman is still a martial artist."
Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent. Was he speaking of his younger brother, who had been unable to avoid Ten Mile Instant Kill?
Suddenly, Cheongmyeong laced his fingers behind his head. It was a posture often taken by Tae Yeom-ryong when gazing at the sky.
"You know stars hold energy, right? Sometimes, energy flows down from them."
"That’s true."
"And sometimes, that energy fades, leaving certain stars dim. In our clan, we call those dead stars. When the moon doesn’t shine, we name those dim stars after our fallen kin. Cheong-su is somewhere up there."
Cheongmyeong raised a finger and pointed to a distant spot.
The direction was impossible to pinpoint.
Jeong Yeon-shin could see deeply and clearly, but his eyes lacked the ability to perceive lightless stars.
That was a talent unique to the high masters of the Myeong Clan.
"Well, it was wartime, so I suppose it was a natural end. Martial artists can’t expect peaceful deaths. If we don’t die alone in some foreign land, that’s already a mercy. Cheong-su’s body... wasn’t in a state that could be properly recovered."
"I intend to do the same to them."
"Who knows? He died in a single strike—painlessly. The one who truly suffered was me. You’d best be careful, Daeju. If you die young, I’ll have to lead Ma Gwang-ik, and I have no desire to deal with these reckless fools."
Cheongmyeong’s enigmatic blue eyes shimmered under the starlight.
Jeong Yeon-shin looked at his senior—his subordinate—and simply nodded.
"I won’t die young."
That was all.
Then, the Ma Gwang-ik Lord sent a message to the leaders of Cheonjuji Gate.
He conveyed his intentions, only to meet fierce opposition.
"This is unacceptable."
"The enemy is on the verge of pinpointing our location. They’ve surely been tracing the earth’s veins, just as they did when they infiltrated. Ma Gwang-ik's movements cannot be unrestricted."
"The elders seem to be in unanimous opposition. Should we not at least hear them out?"
"This is not just a matter of permission—it’s a matter of our survival. How many of our young have already died?"
The assassin’s remains at Thousand-Year Tree Lake were the issue.
It was unanimously agreed that the released powder had to be Ten Mile Instant Kill's tracking scent. The moment they stepped beyond the formation, they might be struck down by an inescapable arrow.
They also warned that once the village was discovered, it would be as good as erased.
"The dead don’t speak."
Jeong Yeon-shin muttered to himself as he stepped forward, his hand cloaked in the divine power of Demon-Slaying Clear Rivers.
Chaos erupted behind him, but he didn’t concern himself with it.
He was an adult.
***
[You’ve finally emerged.]
Laughter-laced words echoed from all directions, humming as if they surrounded him completely. It was a voice that carried the full chill of winter’s wind against his skin.
Six Harmonies Transmission Voice.
Locating the speaker was impossible. It was a technique reserved for supreme masters.
[I am Bong-gong of Am-ya-jeon. My name is Go Hwi-il.]
"Go Hwi-il. The one who killed Cheong-su."
Stepping beyond the village’s formation, Jeong Yeon-shin murmured.
Bong-gong.
In Buddhist tradition, it aligned with dedicated service, selfless sacrifice, and defending the Dharma.
In martial society, it referred to a title within a sect.
One who forsook personal gain for the benefit of their order, holding absolute authority second only to the Sect Leader.
[I have no personal grudge against you... but you are the direct disciple of the woman who betrayed our clan. That alone makes you deserving of death.]
He dared to utter the name of Ipwang Fortress’s Lord.
There seemed to be deep enmity even among the Myeong Clan, but Jeong Yeon-shin only took note of what truly mattered.
This man had insulted the Lord.
[The current imperial family and Ipwang Fortress have thrown the world into turmoil.
This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
[Even within a mere ten miles, disorder runs rampant. Even the moon that symbolizes our clan has been tainted.]
"Cowards always talk too much."
[Ten Miles of Turbulence, One Arrow to Wash the Moon. This is our sacred technique. Know this before you die—one arrow will wipe out your kind.]
The arrogant voice rang once more through Six Harmonies Transmission Voice.
Jeong Yeon-shin closed his eyes.
Through the sensitivity of his skin, he analyzed the reverberations, systematically tracing them backward to their origin.
He followed the echoes step by step.
His senses sprinted through the distortions and barriers formed by various energies, tracing the tangled waves of sound like a stream splitting across countless branches.
And finally—
"I found him."
His perception snapped wide open upon reaching a distant rocky peak.
Amidst a ten-man formation stood a single archer, fingers releasing the bowstring.
His upper body was unnaturally solid—his muscles coiled with an incredible density of energy.
At that moment, an immense force erupted from his body.
Ten Mile Instant Kill had been unleashed.
The very air shattered around his fingers as the released energy rippled outward like a storm.
The sheer impact fractured the ground beneath him, sending splintering cracks racing toward nearby rock walls. Swirling waves of kinetic force shredded through the mountain’s stone.
Even the aftershock was devastating.
It was a force beyond even artillery bombardment.
"It’s coming."
The arrow shaft—was it made entirely of metal? In an instant, the chilling texture of the projectile carved through the shockwave, tearing toward him with monstrous speed.
Even with his upper danjeon burning white-hot, the sheer velocity felt overwhelming. That wasn’t something one could block.
A direct hit would mean instant death. If he tried to parry it with his sword, both his blade and his body would be obliterated.
The blinding arc of light seared itself into his mind.
His danjeon had been glowing white for some time now. As expected of the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik, Jeong Yeon-shin manipulated the speed of thought itself, his perception stretching out into slow motion.
Ten Mile Instant Kill was said to carry the mysteries of sword control over arrows. Guiding the arrow with qi. He had to move before it reached the point where variation was impossible.
In the briefest of moments, he split time into dozens of distinct intervals, measuring down to the smallest fraction.
Now.
He slightly inclined his upper body, already rotating the Wheel of Light at his heart.
The renewed vigor of his twelve meridians and every vital point in his body surged with Luminous Wheel Technique, coursing ceaselessly through his frame.
His cervical spine locked firmly into place, stabilizing the connection down to his thigh muscles, the biceps femoris along his knee, his popliteal points, and finally the Yongcheon acupoints beneath his feet—all of them gleamed like starlight.
His qi circulation was already mapped out to perfection. He knew precisely what intent to infuse into his movement.
The ultimate secret.
The rising technique’s defining imagery.
A dead star. A presence that lingers in every night air.
Step.
He moved his legs, breathing in the air of divine motion.
At that moment, an earthquake erupted beneath his feet. His entire field of vision flipped in an instant.
Below him, the devastating shockwave distorted, scattering into pale beams of light. His feet stepped upon the shadow of stars.
Haaah—!
Inside the formation, from far below, he could feel the gazes of Cheonjuji Gate and Ma Gwang-ik locked onto his rising figure.
He had soared along the mountain’s ridge.
A faint light clung to Jeong Yeon-shin’s toes as he ascended. It was Luminous Wheel Technique, infused into his movement.
Like delicate silk unraveling, the light spread from the hem of his clothes, casting a ghostly glow over ridges, ancient trees, and massive boulders.
The mountains, bathed in the night, blurred beneath the subtle gleam of his steps.
Each time he touched the earth, the effect repeated. He unfolded another burst of light.
His ascent streaked in a perfect straight line, like constellations aligning in the night sky.
BOOOOM—!
A colossal explosion erupted from the distance below. Ten Mile Instant Kill—it had failed to adjust its trajectory in time.
Jeong Yeon-shin ignored it.
He sprinted through the night, the air piling into storm-like layers before his vision.
His surroundings warped as the speed bent the light itself.
By the fifth step—
Step.
He had landed upon a rocky peak.
The dense, cold presence of enemy qi surrounded him. In the heart of a ten-man formation, a single figure stood, arrow notched and drawn.
The Bong-gong of Am-ya-jeon.
Moonlight seemed to soak into his pale skin, his sharp jawline defined under the dim glow. His gray robe draped loosely over his shoulders.
Their eyes met.
“...!”
The lackeys around him were shouting something, but Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t hear them.
This was the moment to strike. The enemy could launch a fatal blow at any time. He could not allow them even a breath.
He stepped forward again. At some point, Bukmyeong Sword had found its way into his grip, its blade whispering through the cold night air.
His movement itself was a sword technique.
Hooo—. A dry breeze coiled around his entire body as he passed through his opponent’s range.
Bong-gong Go Hwi-il flinched.
Behind him, a diagonal stroke of light flickered white-hot, engraving its mark into the void.
Srrrng.
Jeong Yeon-shin sheathed his sword without looking back.
The once billowing hem of his black cloak settled in quiet waves.
"That movement... how did..."
The voice, once cast through Six Harmonies Transmission, now wavered. The Bong-gong of Am-ya-jeon staggered, slumping to his knees.
His fatal wound was undeniable.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand rested on the sword at his waist. He glanced down at him.
"You called it Ten Miles of Turbulence, One Arrow to Wash the Moon... So what could your arrow possibly do against the turmoil of ten miles?"
"Ma Gwang-ik Lord...! Do not mock our sacred art. This... this was merely..."
"You asked about my movement. So I answered."
As he lay dying, Go Hwi-il fell silent.
The Lord of Ma Gwang-ik parted his lips.
A whisper. So faint it barely brushed the night air.
Yet, the Bong-gong’s elongated ears twitched in response.
And then—
"Heh... I see now... you are, indeed... Ipwang Fortress’s Seventeen Blades..."
With a breathless laugh, Go Hwi-il lost focus in his eyes.
Death crept over him.
His last thoughts echoing the words of the adversary who had struck him down.
Ten miles may be in chaos—
But the dead stars still shine.