It happened the moment Bong Gong closed his eyes.
From the edge of the snow-covered peak, a pale shockwave rippled outward in a long, sweeping arc.
Fwaaang—!
A line of snow burst into a frenzied spiral, trailing behind the force of an aerial step. Bong Gong’s subordinates, still maintaining their formation, reacted instantly.
“Cross formation! First squad, draw swords! Second squad, nock arrows!”
“Attack! Don’t die in vain!”
Ten warriors simultaneously unsheathed their swords and raised their bows.
The elongated, ashen-white hands slicing through the air let out a fierce sound.
Though visibly shaken by the unprecedented speed of the aerial assault, the warriors’ auras carried a chilling sharpness, befitting martial artists of the Thirteen Heavens.
They were from Amya Battlefront, warriors trained in an archery technique capable of dominating even close-range combat.
Swish.
Jeong Yeon-shin turned without bothering to draw his sword.
Perhaps it was because he had reached a level beyond the grasp of even warriors trained in the greatest sects. Drawing his blade again felt unnecessary.
How much longer will the Danju need to recuperate?
His body was nearly in perfect condition now. He had never felt so light and free before.
The lake’s mysterious power had accelerated his recovery. The Moon Spirit Harmony Technique of Ipwang Fortress’s Lord had harmonized with it.
It had melted into his Radiant Wheel Technique more than he had expected. Thanks to Cheongmyeong’s guidance, he had even managed to develop a new aerial technique.
It was something to be grateful for. Thinking of the fortress lord made his heart itch.
It’s been a while since I last saw him.
That was when—
Above his head.
“What’s this? What’s this? What was that just now—?”
A graceful shadow descended, pushing aside the starlight.
Even in the night air, the crimson hem of her robe flared like the beating wings of a bat. Her perfectly balanced form, honed to the pinnacle of mastery, radiated an eerie yet captivating energy.
The arrival of the Seventh Apostle was as natural as the wind.
Hwaaaak!
A reddish energy formed in her left hand, assembling itself with an intricate motion.
It folded into itself, coiling and snapping like a spring wound tight, before exploding into a cascade of rigid, precise force. The air split apart. It sounded almost like a scream.
In an instant—
She landed in the center of the peak, her feet touching down one after the other.
Step. Step.
Then, as if shaking off an insignificant insect, she flicked her left hand outward. Red curtains of energy unfurled in every direction.
It was a staggering release of internal energy. The sheer force of her aura swept outward like a robe woven from blades.
Shaaaargh—!
Blood sprayed everywhere. Ten bodies, sliced clean through the bone, collapsed in dismembered heaps.
“These worthless insects were getting noisy.”
The splattered blood spread over the snowy ground like a rose petal stain.
Standing upon that white-and-red battlefield, the Seventh Apostle curled her lips into a smile.
Her gaze never left Jeong Yeon-shin. Not even in the moment she unleashed her strike.
“That aerial step—what was it? I almost moved to help, but then I hesitated. Even the Apostles hesitate against Ten Ri One Kill, you know.”
Jeong Yeon-shin watched her in silence for a moment. He had grown used to being shadowed by the Seventh Apostle.
At this point, such encounters were nothing special. What intrigued him was something else.
The way she had moved.
The refinement in her energy shockwaves stood out first. Even the density of her power had increased significantly.
It meant that her martial arts had become even stronger.
What kind of battle did she experience while I wasn’t watching? Perhaps she truly had slaughtered part of the Bloodflame Cult’s inner circle, leading to the collapse of the Dual Blood Spirit Array in Shanxi.
The way she carried herself was like someone who had honed her body under the best possible conditions—like a maniac completely obsessed with martial prowess.
Still... I think I could beat her now. In a direct confrontation.
That was his thought.
With each technique perfected, Jeong Yeon-shin was forging himself into an undeniable force.
The need to worry about survival in a one-on-one fight had grown increasingly rare.
Unless a peerless grandmaster descended upon him or a major sect orchestrated some elaborate scheme, nothing posed much of a threat anymore. Even in a world as vast and dangerous as this one.
It was the same now.
Even though he was facing an Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult, there was no tension.
All he saw was the Seventh Apostle in her entirety. Strong, beautiful, utterly deranged.
“Hmm?”
She tilted her head slightly, studying Jeong Yeon-shin with an odd expression.
“In any case... A martial art that traces constellations in the sky. That aerial step of yours—it’s something that should belong to my eyes alone.”
“You came at the right time.”
Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been quietly watching her, finally spoke.
“I told you I’d repay my debt. Don’t run.”
“Don’t run?”
For a moment, the Seventh Apostle’s body trembled. The curve of her lips brightened into a gleam.
Jeong Yeon-shin narrowed his eyes.
“No. Just while I’m repaying you.”
At that moment, the expression vanished from the Seventh Apostle’s face.
“Repay me? You’re not just throwing me a token gesture, are you? Trying to rid yourself of guilt? No, no, that’s not enough. If your heart isn’t in it, it doesn’t count. There’s something more important to me now than Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique.”
“The debt I owe for saving my uncle, Ma Gwang-ik, and Hwanik Corps cannot be repaid with mere gestures. You even saved my life. I want to bring this old debt to an end.”
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke plainly, but inwardly, he swallowed his shock. His oral formula had been outright rejected.
For a brief moment, he found himself repeating the thought that Final Thunder would have been preferable to Dull Refining Meditation.
“I don’t believe it. When you weren’t Lady Ye, all you ever did was push me away.”
The Seventh Apostle spoke in a flat tone.
Her pale face took on the same cold, pristine texture as the snow covering the ridgeline, reflecting her enigmatic nature.
“If you’re not just putting up a front, then prove it.”
Step.
The snow beneath her feet let out a hushed sound. She took a step forward.
Then another. Slowly, deliberately.
The sound of her footfalls pressing into the snow echoed softly through the night.
A martial artist of lethal expertise was closing the distance. No skilled warrior would welcome such a thing.
Jeong Yeon-shin stood still, gauging the space between them.
And in that moment, he thought.
How do I make sure I don’t become like my father?
Not just blood ties, but even the bonds formed through martial brotherhood needed to be honored. He had to remain unshaken in the debts and enmities entwined with those bonds.
Step. Step.
The distance between him and the Seventh Apostle shrank. The black robes of Ipwang Fortress and the Pureblood Robe of the Bloodflame Cult drew closer.
Five steps. Seven steps... The soft sound of snow being pressed filled the night air. Her eyes, gleaming like crimson jewels, grew impossibly large in his vision. Jeong Yeon-shin did not move.
Her pale face. The heat of an expert’s gaze, searing through her irises. He could see it all.
And before he realized it—
Rustle.
The wind carried a faint friction.
Their garments brushed against each other.
Too close. Close enough that he could feel the pulse beating in her throat. Jeong Yeon-shin barely managed to stop himself from drawing his sword.
He couldn’t be like his father. The Seventh Apostle had never truly meant him harm. Looking back, that had always been the case.
You don’t turn away your benefactor. You embrace them—like Mother would have.
Jeong Family Dynamic Gong was the foundation of Ma Gwang-ik’s martial principles. If he rejected the core philosophy now, he knew he would be thrown into contradiction when it came time to break through to the next realm.
Even if it meant an early death, it was an issue of greater importance.
He had to be able to say, at any time, that his life had been lived with dignity.
That one day, his story could be one he told his mother.
That was when it happened.
A faint tickle brushed against his ear. A breath laced with an eerie, amused whisper.
At the same time.
Four sharp teeth.
And a soft, foreign sensation.
Cool yet warm.
The Seventh Apostle had bitten into the nape of his neck.
A delicate breath scattered against the fine hairs of his skin. Along with the sensation of lips, slightly parted.
How does she endure the divine energy embedded in my Radiant Wheel Technique?
What the hell is she doing?
Jeong Yeon-shin barely had time to process it before a surge of powerful energy roiled in his palm.
The Hwanik Force, ever primed for detonation, coiled within him, ready to explode at a moment’s notice.
Step.
At the same time, the Seventh Apostle stepped back.
Her lips curled into a crimson smile.
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“You meant it, huh? My precious Taesa.”
Jeong Yeon-shin furrowed his brow.
“Was that meant to be a provocation? A martial technique that targets the throat? If you tried draining me, you’d only burn yourself against my divine energy.”
“I don’t use Star-Absorbing Techniques. I was simply born with highly refined essence—just like you. You should have guessed, just by sensing my accumulated reserves. I’m at least on par with those Hwangbo mongrels you keep as subordinates.”
“Don’t call them mongrels.”
He warned her. Only Ma Gwang-ik had the right to speak in such a manner.
But the Seventh Apostle seemed unaffected by the rebuke. She simply ran her fingers through the cascade of her midnight-black hair.
“Your life, your talent, your very nature—it’s like a comet. So noble, so brilliant. You can’t even hide it.”
She spoke.
“This mission is about wrapped up, isn’t it? I’m going to start following you.”
A statement hard to believe.
The arrival of such a tremendous force was now imminent. It was not something to be taken lightly. If she wasn’t assassinated by his superiors, that alone would be a miracle. Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head.
“The Sword Corps Commander will be recovering soon. If you don’t want to die, stay away.”
“Then I’ll wait in Yangyang.”
“You—are you a drifter?”
“No. No matter where I go, there’s always work to be done. Just wait a little while.”
The Seventh Apostle whispered. A smooth smile curved her lips, laced with madness. A glint of something colder, sharper, flickered beneath.
Now that he thought about it—Bloodflame Cult had branches spread all across the continent. Far more than the number of Apostles.
Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly. Surely not.
“And also.”
Her lips parted once more.
“That aerial step of yours. You know, our sect—no, the Bloodflame Cult’s Rakshasa Shrinking Earth Technique—it’s already close to being classified as divine-level footwork. Your stride was perfect, but if you retract your rear foot a fraction of a second faster, you’ll be able to sustain the movement longer. That’s what I came to tell you. You’ll be able to do it immediately.”
It was an incredibly valuable insight. The Apostles of the world were renowned for their peerless, battle-refined senses.
The thoughts and intricacies that Jeong Yeon-shin had not yet uncovered had already been molded by time and experience.
This was advice worthy of polishing his newly forged aerial technique beneath the winter starlight.
Feigning disinterest, he shook his head.
“You overstep your bounds. Leave, Seventh Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult.”
“I’ll leave in a bit. Want to stargaze together? Maybe your aerial steps will become even faster.”
“In Shanxi, you mentioned the hidden meridian formula of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique. You called it Preserve Blood, Warm Essence. But when guiding energy through the Conception Vessel, the inner perception should be kept cool. Unlike the formula for—”
“Aaaaah! Stop—!”
The Seventh Apostle clamped her hands over her ears and screamed.
“You said you’d kill me! You said you would, but you’re not!”
Her crimson robes billowed wildly, as if echoing her incoherent words.
Rakshasa Shrinking Earth Technique.
A chilling force scattered the falling snow in every direction. A faint, bloody shimmer flickered around her legs.
Energy surged through her body, amplifying her movements, and with a forceful push against the ground, she shot into the sky like a crimson meteor.
Fwoooosh—!
Her figure blended into the void between the stars and disappeared. The world looked different after creating a new body movement technique.
She had told him to retract his rear foot more quickly to properly channel the impact into the ground.
“It’s nothing special.”
Jeong Yeon-shin murmured like a monk exorcising a demon. And now she says she’s going to keep following me?
His brow lifted slightly.
A sudden thought surfaced—the words of the Mount Hua Sect’s master.
The Youngcheon Sword Demon from Simmu-ryeon had been tailing him.
The same person who had created the flaw in Gui Baek-shin-geom’s sword technique.
Back when I was refining Thunder Island Ridge Form...
Had she harbored resentment after losing the bet? Was she determined to finish things with her own hands by challenging him once more?
That was how most warriors thought.
At this very moment, three branches of the Thirteen Heavens had coordinated their efforts to assassinate him. The eyes watching Ma Gwang-ik only continued to increase.
The leader of the Night Warfare Division, who had been severely wounded by the Sword Corps Commander, would not overlook him either.
There was also the Young Lord of Simmu-ryeon, who had lost his betrothed to the current Ma Gwang-ik.
And the junior master of Daebang Sect, said to command a formidable martial force.
This isn’t the end. There must be more.
Jeong Yeon-shin cast a glance at the scattered corpses before turning away.
Crunch.
The snow beneath his leather boots compacted softly. There was something strangely tangible about the sensation beneath his feet.
Like a thunderbolt of enmity, ready to explode at any given moment.
He steadily advanced toward the heart of Jianghu.
***
Upon his return to Heavenly Pillar Gate, he found himself met with peculiar gazes.
The moment he stepped past the formation, a warm air enveloped his body—along with the weight of numerous, lingering stares, like dew clinging to the foliage of a village grove.
“We never expected the Ten-Mile One Kill Technique to be dismantled so decisively. Ma Gwang-ik, we are endlessly grateful.”
“The village’s terror has been lifted. We don’t know how to repay you...”
High-ranking martial artists of noble lineage descended from towering trees.
The detached, scrutinizing gazes they had once cast upon the Ipwang Fortress delegation had all but vanished.
Now, a crowd gathered around him, encircling their benefactor.
But Jeong Yeon-shin first looked to his companions.
Pushing through the throng, Cheongmyeong, who had once been treated with wary distance at Heavenly Pillar Gate, now approached him with an expression of deep sentiment.
“It feels like just yesterday that I was teaching you the movements of my clan, and yet now... you’ve mastered all three aspects of body movement techniques. Step techniques, mobility techniques, aerial techniques.”
“I named it Ten-Mile Light Depth.”
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke as a leader.
His subordinate, Cheongmyeong, let his lips part slightly, then curved them into a faint smile.
“The Gate Master appears to be preparing a rather grand gesture of gratitude... I, too, feel compelled to offer you something.”
“The Main Bureau of Bengcheng has also prepared a reward for your contributions in Shanxi. We return as soon as the Sword Corps Commander recovers.”
Ma Gwang-ik gave his orders.
There was now a peculiar weight creeping into his voice.
A weight unique to those who walked alone atop Jianghu.
A sudden breeze brushed against the grass, lifting the hem of his black robe ever so slightly.
Saaaaah—
Back during his ascension ceremony, his robes had dragged against the ground.
Now, they fluttered at his ankles.
The black fabric had darkened.