The First Fist of the Eon Clan, Eon Hwayeon
During the Martial Alliance Conference’s Sect War, she was the second strongest opponent, just beneath Heavenly Master of Mount Hua.
It was said that the Zhuge Clan had stolen the corpse of Azure Qilin, unearthing the secrets of Seomye Martial Arts. That knowledge had been passed down to Eon Hwayeon, the beloved of the Zhuge Patriarch.
In truth, Ma Guangyi Lord had struggled immensely against her in that duel. Even Huangang, the pinnacle of internal force techniques, had been effortlessly unraveled.
Yet now, Jeong Yeon-shin stood before her, facing her with absolute composure.
Only a few months had passed, yet for him, it had been decades.
The time he had experienced, and the progress of his martial arts, were both akin to the accumulation of a lifetime.
The Depth of Her Gaze
Eon Hwayeon did not answer.
After knocking Gui Il-tae unconscious, she no longer displayed any trace of the wrath she had just unleashed.
A mirror-still lake—that was the tranquility of an absolute master.
Her eyes were deep, swallowing sunlight into the abyss of her pitch-black pupils.
She had activated Jinju Eon Clan’s Eye Technique through sheer internal energy, heightening her perception.
Her internal power had already surpassed Jeong Yeon-shin’s. The density of her Qi, evenly honed throughout her entire body, suggested that she could unleash devastating techniques at any moment.
And yet, the way she studied him—it was as if something about him unsettled her.
Had she, as a warrior at the peak of her craft, sensed an unfathomable technique?
“Your Martial Arts Have Improved...?”
She echoed Ma Guangyi Lord’s words.
Her long eyebrows lifted, but she did not seem displeased.
Instead, she looked as if she had suddenly realized something significant.
Rather than harboring hostility, she seemed to be reaching back into old memories.
A Collision of Titans
The air grew even brighter.
The radiance of the sun intensified, refracted by the gentle wind gliding across the crystal-clear lake.
The Qi of these two martial titans was overwhelming—it dwarfed even the natural forces surrounding them.
The young nobles watching from the pavilion whispered among themselves.
“The Heaven-Piercing Light Blade of the Gwi Clan... was taken out in a single move. That was just... a wine bottle, wasn’t it? They say true masters can sever a hundred necks with a single reed.”
“She truly lives up to her name. But who is that man...?”
“I heard he’s a guest of the Gongya Clan. He played a crucial role in slaughtering the Blood Demons a few nights ago.”
“Yes, that much I know. What I mean is... why is the First Fist of the Eon Clan treating him like this?”
Indeed, Eon Hwayeon’s behavior was unusual.
It was clear that she knew Geom Un-bi, Lord of Hyeoncheon Sect.
But it was nearly unheard of for a noble of the Eight Great Clans to openly acknowledge a wanderer.
Their worlds were simply too different.
And then—she spoke again.
"The way you speak is strange.”
Her voice was measured.
"Because you once did this to my arm, do you think you will win every battle? You are young, yet you have climbed without defeat. Arrogance suits you.”
“But you should know that against true masters who can strike at your blind spots... your confidence is mere foolishness.”
"You don't take praise well," Jeong Yeon-shin mused.
He traced his fingers along the hilt of his sword, feigning a sense of ease.
Behind him, Gongya Jeong inhaled sharply, while Gongya Su gasped audibly, utterly enthralled.
But Jeong Yeon-shin focused his Qi Perception outward.
‘She knows my martial arts.’
It made sense.
She had agreed to form a new sect with the Zhuge Patriarch.
If she was here, scouting potential talents, then Jeong Yeon-shin was an unforeseen variable—a factor too great to ignore.
Yet, he could not afford to waste his final technique on her.
‘I must save Thunderclap End for Zhuge.’
The Ma Guangyi Sect’s numbers were thinning.
Even Ak Su-rim, who had been guarding the inner fortress, had been deployed on a mission—evidence of how dire their situation had become.
The Thirteen Heavens and the Eight Great Clans were stirring.
The Purple Colors had vanished.
His grandfather’s whereabouts were unknown.
Even the Divine Sword Commander, having barely recovered from internal injuries, had only appeared in fleeting rumors.
There would be no reinforcements.
Survival meant completing the mission.
“Come.”
Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.
He was already locked in a standoff. His only option was to project absolute strength.
If Eon Hwayeon stood beside Zhuge, then he had to make it seem like reinforcements from the Divine Sword Hall were on their way.
Flash!
In an instant, Eon Hwayeon’s figure blurred—then reappeared directly before him.
The ground beneath her feet trembled violently, the shockwave reaching his own stance.
She was terrifyingly fast.
A master of gap-closing footwork, she moved like an executioner, treating distance as a matter of life and death.
At the same time, Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand sliced through the air.
A deep resonant hum rang out.
His innate technique distorted the very fabric of space.
He had reached a level where he could replicate the same state as Sanhwa Chwijung when executing single-strike techniques.
Eon Hwayeon’s palm caught his forearm from below—and she gasped.
Huangang.
BOOOOM!
The air detonated over her shoulder.
The sheer force of the internal energy surge rattled even her ironclad body.
Her loose hair whipped in the opposite direction.
‘She’s still the same.’
Her movements were short, but her arm strength was monstrous.
Jeong Yeon-shin coldly considered his next move.
His elbow was caught.
Eon Hwayeon’s calloused hand had already maneuvered above his forearm, neutralizing the blow.
Her mastery over timing and Qi infiltration—a testament to why she was First Fist of the Eon Clan.
Her protective energy, layered over years of conditioning, had only grown stronger.
It didn’t matter.
A few more strikes, and he would shatter her defenses.
The second Huangang was still brewing in his other palm.
Slick.
He casually reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“Chilling.”
She exhaled softly.
“If you are unprepared, do not press this further. He will take notice.”
Her tone was old-fashioned.
At this distance, her gaze was locked onto his.
‘What is this?’
Jeong Yeon-shin could feel it.
Her demeanor had shifted.
She no longer focused on him.
Her free hand was now opening and closing idly, moving as though guided by pure martial instinct.
Had she reverted to who she once was—before Zhuge corrupted her?
Even now, she must have realized his true identity.
And yet, she said nothing.
She had merely tensed when he mentioned his martial arts had improved.
What had happened between her and Zhuge?
She murmured.
“I do not wish to fight you. Not yet. I have not left my mark on this world.”
“Save that nonsense for the afterlife.”
Jeong Yeon-shin tightened his grip.
BOOOOM!
The second Huangang ignited—a deep, resonant thunderclap.
It nearly tore through her protective Qi shield.
A divine technique beyond comprehension.
Her detached, distant gaze suddenly shimmered with admiration.
And then—
Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly let go.
Whiiish—
The remnants of his technique dissipated as they grazed her wrist.
The watching Shanxi nobles gasped.
Jeong Yeon-shin wasn’t paying attention.
He had sensed something massive.
A gaze.
‘Zhuge.’
The presence of an absolute sovereign.
Just outside his peripheral vision.
An immeasurable ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ fortress was collapsing upon him.
Eon Hwayeon spoke.
“Release me. Our battle is soon.”
A step backward.
The stunned Gongya siblings hesitated before following Jeong Yeon-shin.
***
Some of the noble families of Shanxi held regular gatherings.
At the center of these meetings stood Gui Il-tae, the Heaven-Piercing Light Blade, the acting patriarch of the Gui Clan.
He was the strongest contender for victory in the upcoming Martial Arts Tournament, making him the natural leader of the group.
The incident with Eon Hwayeon had not tarnished his reputation.
After regaining consciousness, he had even been praised by her for his endurance, drinking with her in mutual acknowledgment. Being knocked unconscious by an absolute master of the Eight Great Clans was hardly something to be ashamed of.
‘I just need to focus on the tournament. The First Fist of the Eon Clan has Zhuge’s support. If I win the tournament, everything will fall into place.’
The Eight Patriarchs were not ordinary humans.
They were human gods, beings who had shed the shell of mortality.
If Zhuge’s favor could be won, securing the Gui Clan’s territorial control in Shanxi would be effortless.
Once recognized as a martial prodigy, he would gain access to Zhuge’s sorcerous martial arts.
‘If my family enters Zhuge’s faction... if I join the new sect, Wolseong Gate...’
Gui Il-tae was the son of a disgraced war hero, one who had been forced into retirement.
He dreamed of a broader world.
And the first step toward that was to diminish Gongya’s influence.
The recent emergence of Geom Un-bi, the Wandering Swordsman, as a guest of the Gongya Clan had made this necessity even clearer.
Many were already investigating the origins of Hyeoncheon Sect, trying to uncover its lineage.
This was a matter of extreme importance.
The guest had revealed exceptional martial prowess, despite being younger than Gongya Su. If Gongya Jeong had been learning from him, then she would unveil new techniques at the tournament.
A disastrous possibility.
They had already analyzed all of Gongya’s martial arts. But now, this mysterious swordsman had upset their calculations.
"Our family couldn’t trace his origins. Based on his speech, he seems to be from Henan. But tracking anyone there is difficult—Shaolin’s influence makes infiltration impossible."
"And even if we could, the distance is too great. It’s not like we’re dealing with Beggar’s Sect, Yeo Ryeong, or Hao Gate."
"There simply isn’t enough time. Apologies, Heaven-Piercing Light Blade."
"It’s not your fault. Pay it no mind. Even I couldn’t find much."
Gui Il-tae and four others walked through the outer gardens of the Gongya estate.
The sound of their polished leather boots brushing against pristine silk robes echoed faintly, leaving a faint trail of footprints in the snow-covered earth.
Step. Step.
Their footfalls carried confidence.
They were noble warriors, raised from childhood in an elite lineage, trained in body-refining footwork that made each stride swift and assured.
They walked through an evergreen garden, untouched by winter—a world of their own.
"Gongya Jeong’s internal energy has changed slightly. She must have learned some new technique... something that allows for a different type of Qi manipulation."
"Even so, this tournament will be yours. Wanderers don’t rely on refined martial arts—they hone instinct and experience instead. Compared to a true noble’s teachings, such skills are ill-fitting garments."
"There’s a reason noble martial arts endure the passage of time. A technique forged through generations cannot be defeated by something cobbled together in the wilderness. In a prolonged battle, victory is guaranteed."
"But... are we certain he is a wanderer? How does someone with a connection to Eon Hwayeon...?"
"He must be. His arrogant mannerisms suggest as much, and Eon Hwayeon didn’t deny it when I asked her."
A cautious silence followed.
They were men of intelligence and insight, and thus knew to watch their words.
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Even after confirming that no one else was nearby, they spoke carefully.
"Perhaps I should test him myself. He seemed fixated on alcohol the other night—if we invite him to a banquet, we can observe his table manners. A mere wanderer would not have learned the proper etiquette of nobility. He will expose himself through crude behavior."
Gui Il-tae stated this calmly.
And then—
"Oh, oh?! Senior Yang Guibi, what are you doing?! Go around! Those guys are nothing! Focus on the mission! The mission! We can’t get involved here!"
A girl’s voice, hushed and desperate, echoed through the garden.
"...What was that?"
The noble warriors tensed—their eyes sharpened like drawn swords.
Their hands instinctively reached for their weapons, causing a massive surge of internal energy.
Gui Il-tae moved first.
And then—
"Say that again. I didn’t quite hear you."
A lazy voice drifted from the air.
No time for a reply.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A series of shockwaves detonated.
The air fractured—translucent bursts colliding into one another.
The force slammed into the backs of the five noble warriors, sending them sprawling onto the snow like frogs struck by lightning.
The explosion of sound was deafening.
Step.
A figure descended into their midst.
He planted one foot casually—his weight shifted onto one leg.
"Miserable little worms."
From beneath his feet, the snow melted.
A wisp of mist curled around his lips, rising like the smoke of a dying ember.