Ak Su-rim smiled brightly.
"I'm going to cut off the head of the Zhuge Clan Leader."
The gray stone walls of Wonpyeong Ilgeomjang trembled with an eerie echo.
Her cheerful voice carried the weight of thunder. A supreme master known as the Reborn Hidden Dragon. He had been exiled, but he was still one of the Eight Clan Leaders.
As an absolute force of the martial world, his name had resounded for decades.
Jeong Yeon-shin asked, almost reflexively.
"The Zhuge Clan Leader?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Seems like he's trying to establish a new sect. Quite the heresy. And far too discreet about it." She tilted her head slightly. "You've heard the rumors that Yeoryeong is trying to unify the Thirteen Heavens, haven't you? Looks like the Zhuge Clan Leader has one foot in that mess. A massive threat."
"How did you find out?"
"White-level intelligence from the Myeongryu Corps. They’re from a ruined noble house, so they've seen the highs and lows of the world." She tapped her temple. "There are no major sects worth keeping an eye on in Shanxi, so we had a lone agent stationed there under an assumed identity."
"Assumed identity?"
"A tutor from the Gongya Family. Currently teaching their eldest daughter as a part of a secondary objective."
"Gongya... There's one in Ma Gwang-ik too."
"You mean Gongya Mi-ryeong of the Deep Chivalrous Fist? Yeah, I know. They're sixth cousins. Not particularly relevant. The martial world is big enough to make you cough up blood, yet still small in strange ways. Even more so among the upper class."
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Ak Su-rim shook her head and continued.
"If you win at the Shanxi Martial Arts Tournament, you get recognized as a joint successor of both the Zhuge Clan Leader and the First Fist of the Eon Clan."
Jeong Yeon-shin frowned. "That's not something just anyone can claim."
"Exactly. The rumors are only circulating among a select few local landowners. But the Total Command Bureau has already cross-verified it through several sources. They say it's pretty reliable."
"I thought the intelligence network in Bonseong had fallen behind significantly."
"The Zhuge Clan Leader recently surfaced in Shanxi for a brief moment. We don’t know what he's scheming yet, but..."
Ak Su-rim stretched, letting out a low groan before flashing a crooked grin.
"This time, I'm coming along too. It's about time I reminded the world that Bonseong is still very much alive."
"Is there something you need to accomplish?"
"No, no!" She waved a slender hand dismissively. "It's just that every now and then, some fools forget Bonseong's strength and start running their mouths. Besides, the bastard did try to kill you, so we have all the justification we need. Honestly, I would've preferred to let the Martial Alliance deal with him."
She made a flicking motion with her wrist, as if shooing away a fly.
"In any case, get ready. Shanxi is quite a ways from here. Though, if you're traveling with me, you won't be bored."
"Just the two of us?"
"Jin Ga-ae, the Blood Protection Division Lord, will be coming too. No telling what variables might come up. It's... an odd place. And the Zhuge Clan Leader makes me uneasy."
"Senior Shinhyeolgeukma... That is reassuring."
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded placidly, lost in thought.
He couldn't shake his concern for Zhuge Cheong-ah.
She had been in Shaanxi all this time as an external martial guest of Ma Gwang-ik.
Would it be right to cut off her father’s head?
He was one of the ones who ousted the Zhuge Clan Leader alongside Seonryong...
He would have to talk to her.
***
The Yellow Plains
The barren land stretched endlessly, a wasteland where dust storms swept in fits and bursts.
The winter sun shone bright and cold, casting its indifferent light across the desolation.
Yet the emptiness of the wilds remained undisturbed, save for the faint echoes of clashing swords piercing the silence.
Clang! Thud!
The wind whipped violently against the colorful martial robes swirling in the fray, dozens of sword gleams flashing from every direction.
At the heart of the storm was a scholar, clad in pristine white, encircled by four opponents.
Each time the encirclement seemed ready to break, arrows would whistle through the air, locking down his movement.
"Ugh!"
A man, dressed in refined silk robes, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the battle unfold.
The golden embroidery on his ochre robes gleamed under the waning light, his sleek cuffs fluttering in the shockwaves of combat.
He observed from beneath a canopy, a deliberate display of leisure, while twenty armored guards flanked him.
A grand merchant’s attire.
His sharp features and luxurious garb exuded nobility, from the slender contours of his face to the golden threadwork woven into his coat.
"The warriors of Ipwang Fortress truly are the hounds of the martial world. Look at him—holding his own against my experts, all while dressed as a mere scholar."
He chuckled softly.
A servant beside him bowed his head.
"He won’t last much longer, sir. If you so much as lift a finger, his head will roll."
The merchant smirked.
He was right.
In times of turmoil, wealthy merchants held both power and martial prowess. A mere flick of their fingers could command dozens of blades, each one deadly in its own right.
It was a time of famine and strife. Warriors of formidable skill had no choice but to gather under those who could provide them with extravagant feasts and lavish lodgings.
The merchant spoke with idle amusement.
"This too is entertainment. Where else would I find the pleasure of watching the royal hounds of Ipwang Fortress perform their tricks?" He scoffed. "Ipwang warriors are a rare and valuable commodity. Even in the black markets of underground fighting pits, they’re hard to come by."
"My apologies if I interrupted your enjoyment, sir."
The servant bowed again. The merchant’s lips curled slightly.
"Now then, can any of you guess where this scholar's swordsmanship originates from?"
It was a game to them.
They relished in capturing esteemed martial artists and reducing them to mere playthings.
Among those who wielded transcendent power, few dared defy the Great Ming Code or challenge Ipwang Fortress outright.
In an era where grandmasters roamed freely and the strong ruled over the weak, those who had amassed unparalleled might wished only to sit above all others.
Two swordsmen stepped forward.
"His scholar’s disguise made me think he was using Suncheon Ik's White Wall Radiant Sword Form. But the traces of his movements are too small for that. He favors precision over brute force."
"His wild swings are erratic, aren’t they? Could be Ma Gwang-ik's Ma Gwang-gyeol. That one’s all about instinct-driven combat."
The merchant did not answer.
He merely crossed his arms and continued watching the struggle unfold.
To those who sought power, the Shin Geom Division of Ipwang Fortress was an object of both admiration and loathing.
In regions where martial sects ran rampant, people sought the imperial sword’s protection.
But in places like Shanxi, where no great sects held sway, they were resented.
This was local martial law.
A land where self-governance reigned supreme.
For generations, Shanxi had been a stronghold of state officials and military power. Here, an Ipwang warrior was afforded more respect than any bureaucrat.
Those with power—local magnates and merchant lords alike—had learned to bow their heads before them.
But now, a hidden dragon had extended his hand.
He sought to reshape the order of the land.
The Reborn Hidden Dragon, Zhuge Clan Leader.
The merchant had eagerly clasped his offered hand.
And he was not the only one.
For some time now, the vast lands of Shanxi had been silently answering his call.
They were ready.
They had poured silver into bribing officials, recruited only the most promising martial talents, and meticulously filtered out any foreign eyes.
And fortune had smiled upon them.
He had been enjoying a leisurely tour of the mountain peaks with his subordinates when he witnessed a peculiar sight.
A well-regarded scholar stood at the foot of the mountain, releasing two homing pigeons into the sky.
The man was a guest residing with the Gongya Family, a learned individual without deep ties in the region, currently serving as the eldest daughter’s tutor.
His scholarly credentials had been officially recognized by the county magistrate, who had vouched for him as a retired academic. Word was that he had passed the imperial exam and held the rank of Jinsa.
It was an era where those with power could do whatever they pleased.
—A man with no connections... I had my eye on him as well.
The merchant, having taken a stroll outside, casually ordered one of his subordinates to shoot down one of the pigeons with an arrow.
It was pure fortune. The timing was perfect, and the message tied to the bird’s leg hinted at the scholar’s true identity.
Even the official warriors of Ipwang Fortress were, in the end, merely human. Against elite swordsmen and a relentless hail of arrows, he had no chance of holding out alone.
He was driven beyond the city walls, pushed further and further into the open fields.
The Damgeuk Trading Guild masterfully guided the battle’s trajectory, maneuvering it into a desolate wasteland where no witnesses would interfere.
—The city is full of wolves. Do not send word. This kill is mine. The Zhuge Clan Leader will be pleased.
The merchant’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
It was an age where power dictated status. Wealth had elevated him to the ranks of the strong.
He had become so enamored with bloodshed that he frequented the underground Black Market arenas to watch gladiatorial combat.
And now, with a mere flick of his hand, he was toying with a prized warrior of Ipwang Fortress.
It was exhilarating.
He was, without a doubt, one of the strong.
"Slowly. Subdue him carefully. Do not kill him."
At his command—
Clang!
The formation of four swordsmen tightened.
Arrows streaked between them, further restricting the scholar’s movements.
Thin trails of blood splattered across his skin. His once-white robes were now stained red, his swordplay growing increasingly desperate.
He had realized their intent.
They were wearing him down. Draining his energy and stamina, bit by bit.
"Judging by your skill, you're clearly a White-Rank warrior. But our guild’s martial strength is far beyond that of some petty Sohbang Sect. If we are to navigate this turbulent world, we must at least be capable of subduing a single White-Rank swordsman."
The merchant spoke as if reciting poetry.
"If you wish to protect the people, then fatten our purses first. Your outdated ideals are an inconvenience. You buy the labor of the common folk, yet you scorn those of us who ensure they receive generous grain and salt rations. The moment martial arts interfere with profit, you lot always think of punishment first. My uncle in Hanam suffered greatly at your hands."
He muttered to himself.
—Not that this is a conversation worth having with a mere White-Rank warrior.
"You speak as if this were an era of peace... You think stacking gold bars earns you a place in the martial world!?"
The scholar shouted, his voice laced with anger.
His fury had disrupted his own combat rhythm.
The merchant smirked.
"Ah, now that's more like it. Finally, you look the part of a plaything." His voice lowered. "A fine toy indeed... The one who will grant my son a place under the Zhuge Clan Leader's tutelage."
The battle raged on until dusk.
The setting sun cast a soft orange glow along the horizon.
The light unfurled in silken waves, stretching across the cooling air, as the once-clashing blades began to falter.
Then, suddenly—
The scholar’s sword hesitated.
It was a fleeting moment.
Whoooosh—! BOOM!
Someone landed behind the encirclement.
The impact was immense, as if they had leaped from a distant ridgeline.
The ground trembled violently, sending a radiant shockwave rolling outward.
It was as if starlight had washed away the lingering hues of sunset—
The sight was so surreal, it barely felt real.
"What in the...?"
The merchant and his guards murmured in unease.
They had yet to fully comprehend what had happened.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two more figures crashed down on either side, like meteors.
A savage explosion erupted from the impact, splintering the earth in every direction.
Thick dust billowed upward, obscuring their forms.
As the haze settled, the silhouettes of two figures emerged—
One was a girl wielding a long spear.
The other was a man, his aura heavy with an unmistakable air of dominance.
The sheer force radiating from them was staggering, as if the entire world had momentarily been filled with their presence.
"Who... who are you?"
The merchant forced his expression into one of feigned composure.
The first to arrive raised his arm.
His hair, still tousled from his landing, had not yet settled.
A powerful suction force rippled from his palm, warping the air around it.
In the next instant, a devastating pull and an explosive release collided in a violent shockwave—
And the four swordsmen’s blades—along with the scholar’s—were wrenched from their hands.
The sudden eruption of sword light was blinding.
Schlaaash—!
The sound of flesh and bone being cleaved apart echoed sharply.
Thin, ghostly white lines marked the throats of the four encircling swordsmen.
Thud!
Four heads hit the ground with a dull thump.
Four bloodstained swords floated midair, along with a single pristine one—
The latter belonged to the scholar.
It remained suspended, solitary and dignified, as if swimming through the sky.
The overwhelming burst of internal energy had been monstrous.
The headless bodies, still upright, swayed as though puppeted by the lingering force of the impact.
Within that eerie stillness—
The scholar, his eyes stark in their contrast of black and white, parted his lips.
"...I have been stationed here for quite some time, and thus, do not know your esteemed name."
He addressed the man with jonham—a formal honorific for one of superior status.
There was a faint rustling as the one who had reached out let his dark hair fall, cascading over his shoulders.
The ink-black strands framed a jawline sharp with an almost sacred presence.
An unmistakable air of dominance radiated from him.
Even as he opened his lips, that same aura lingered.
"White-Rank warrior."
The scholar gathered his hands together in a respectful bow.
His posture was pristine.
"I greet the Black-Rank of Bonseong."
The man’s gaze remained steady.
"You belong to the Myeongryu Corps, I presume?"
"...Yes, that is correct."
"I am the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik."
He spoke.