Jeong Yeon-shin sent out a white swallow, Baek Yeon, the moment he returned to the Gongya Manor, notifying the senior black-clad members of Ipwang Fortress about the situation. At the same time, he spread his qi perception wide, scanning the surroundings.
He had been exposed to Eon Ga-jeil-gwon. Assessing the repercussions of that came first.
Perhaps it was due to the progress in his martial arts. The force embedded in the Zhuge Clan Leader’s gaze felt even denser than before.
To be frank, he didn’t seem to be at a level attainable by humans. He was someone who had refined martial arts that Jeong Yeon-shin had never encountered to their absolute limit, becoming an unparalleled grandmaster.
He doesn’t seem to have revealed my identity.
Jeong Yeon-shin pondered.
The black-clad members of Ipwang Fortress stood at the very threshold of the martial world's apex.
They were met with deep wariness from every sect yet still accorded the respect due to their rank.
While the Lords of great factions were seen as distant figures, like mountaintops shrouded in clouds, the grandmasters just beneath them were a palpable threat.
It was the hierarchy that represented the great martial sects.
The prestige of Ma Gwang-ik in this era was no less than that of the Gongya Clan Leader or the Lord of the Gui Clan, both revered figures in Shanxi.
If his identity had been exposed, the uproar would have already begun. At the very least, some sign of suspicion should have emerged.
Eon Ga-jeil-gwon’s disposition seemed quite different. But it’s impossible to know for sure.
Kwon Martial Lord Eon Hwayeon.
A companion of the Zhuge Clan Leader.
The aura he revealed before Jeong Yeon-shin was peculiar. That alone wasn’t enough to trust him blindly, meaning he had to account for the possibility of the Zhuge Clan Leader appearing at the Gongya Manor.
Fortunately, the damned Sangdanjeon denied that possibility, at least for now.
His survival was on the line. Just thinking about the worst-case scenario sent cold sweat trickling down his back.
For the first time during this mission, he seriously feared dying by someone else’s hand. He had heard that many of his black-clad predecessors had perished in the field.
Crack.
How should one counter the martial techniques of a grandmaster?
Seated cross-legged on a polished wooden chair, Jeong Yeon-shin clasped his thumb within his palm, cracking the joints.
I need to utilize footwork, lightness techniques, and movement skills all at once. Somehow, I have to close the distance and land a single decisive strike on a vital point—whether it’s using Geomroe Seomreung-shik or Hwangang.
It wouldn’t be as simple as the thoughts forming in his mind. Even Ipwang Fortress, with its vast intelligence network, had only scraps of information regarding the Zhuge Clan Leader’s martial arts.
His techniques, stances, and defenses—none of them were well-documented. Unlike most absolute masters, he was insidiously secretive.
Howling Wind and Torrential Rain.
All that was known was that he could summon winds and rains akin to a natural disaster. Structuring a battle strategy meant assuming he would be fighting against nature itself.
Fortunately, he had an advantage—Cheongmyeong’s younger brother had drawn in a constellation’s lightness technique for him.
He had to integrate every technique he had devised so far into his Bosin-gyeong and carve out a winning chance.
Hoo—
As his thoughts deepened, so did his breathing.
His long inhales and exhales wove into a single rhythm, drawing his consciousness inward. This was Sim Sang Training, a meditation technique devised by wise monkeys.
The image of the Zhuge Clan Leader as he had been during their brief exchange at the Murim Alliance Meeting grew sharper in his mind.
Inhumanly cold eyes, an elegant fan, a stance so peculiar it seemed as if he existed alone in the world, and—most of all—the overwhelming gaze he had just felt moments ago.
The clearer the image became, the more massive it seemed. His chest tightened.
Sketching out hundreds of attack routes using Ten Ri Radiance, Si-hwa Muguk-gwon, and Geomroe Seomreung-shik, his heart pounded relentlessly.
It wasn’t because of his Sangdanjeon—it was the sheer realization that he might die.
Hmm?
In the midst of it all, a familiar ripple of energy entered his qi perception. He accepted it unconsciously, feeling a warmth settle in his chest.
It was only natural. The qi was rising like the first light of dawn, following the mnemonics he had painstakingly crafted while thinking of monkeys.
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His mind settled instantly.
Family had arrived. It was the presence of Gwang-ye-gyeol.
***
The Ma Gwang-ik members who hadn’t kept up with Ten Ri Radiance gathered belatedly. The quiet brown-walled chamber was soon filled with overwhelming qi presences.
Hyeon Won-chang, Shin So-bin, Tae Yeom-ryong, and Zhuge Cheong-ah all took seats around the square table along with their leader.
Since his identity had already been exposed to Eon Hwayeon, there was no need to be unnecessarily cautious.
As soon as he leaned back in his chair, Shin So-bin spoke up.
"Yang Guibi-senpai caused trouble again. I explicitly told her not to interfere, but she completely ignored me and barged in. This isn’t the first time either. Speaking of which, about that sedan chair procession last time—mph."
A transparent shimmer rippled through the air, and her lips froze shut. Her Speech Acupoint had been sealed.
Beside her, Tae Yeom-ryong's fingertips flickered with faint heat. He had dispersed a burst of energy on impulse.
A common sight. Ma Gwang-ik was notorious for its combative nature.
Jeong Yeon-shin, seated at the head of the table, tilted his head slightly.
"A sedan chair procession?"
"It was a grand event. Hardly something a leader should concern himself with. Just a bit of amusement for the subordinates after completing a mission."
Tae Yeom-ryong blew on his fingers to dissipate the residual warmth.
He looked more serious than usual, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well lately—his eyes were slightly more shadowed than before.
Jeong Yeon-shin let it go. There were already enough unresolved issues.
"You don’t look well, Ipwang Daehyeop. Did something happen?"
He asked as a leader.
Hyeon Won-chang, seated to the side, offered a faint smile. A bit more subdued than usual, which was unusual for him. But it was Tae Yeom-ryong who answered.
"His face was pale even before we set out. Well, if something's wrong, I'm sure he'll let us know eventually—probably while making a big fuss about it."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Only after Jeong Yeon-shin asked again did Hyeon Won-chang speak.
"There’s no need for concern, Leader. I just don’t have fond memories of my homeland."
"What a shame. So the great Daeseol Sword and this noble young master have something in common."
No one reacted to Tae Yeom-ryong’s lazy quip. Even when he chuckled to himself and glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin with an ah, right expression.
With a group made up mostly of younger warriors, the conversation quickly shifted.
"I exchanged blows with Eon Ga-jeil-gwon. The Zhuge Clan Leader wasn’t present."
Jeong Yeon-shin stated.
Shin So-bin and Tae Yeom-ryong reacted immediately.
"Kwon Martial Lord Eon Hwayeon saw you? Everything’s ruined now. And on top of that, because of Yang Guibi-senpai...!"
"I’m nothing compared to this. Looks like our Leader’s in a far bigger mess. So, how did it go? Did you take off an arm at least? Maybe he's already handed his fare to the Ferryman of the Three Paths."
Instead of answering, Jeong Yeon-shin looked at Zhuge Cheong-ah.
Before departing the capital, he had spoken to her about his mission. Yet he hadn’t received a proper response.
"...My condolences."
He ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ spoke.
Zhuge Cheong-ah’s long lashes lowered.
Sweeping her black hair, tied with white silk, behind her neck, she inclined her head toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
Jeong Sim-an Zhuge Cheong-ah.
The younger sister of Seonryong Zhuge Hyeon. A prodigy of An-bup, she had played a major role in helping Jeong Yeon-shin perfect his Si-cheon Technique.
"This should have happened at the Alliance Meeting."
She lifted her head, her voice quiet but firm.
"When I was young, he had already walked the path of the demonic. Countless collateral relatives were sacrificed. He used my eyes to observe the results as he implanted new qi circulation paths into their bodies for sorcery. Over a hundred perished as he freely experimented with the Life Gate and Death Gate of formations. All of them were consumed in the pursuit of perfecting his martial arts."
Zhuge Cheong-ah spoke with difficulty.
“...I’ve seen living bodies torn apart more times than I can count. Compared to that, dissecting corpses to extract the flaws of martial techniques was almost easy. My brother learned formations amidst piles of bodies.”
"So that Seonryong bastard didn’t grow up pampered after all."
Tae Yeom-ryong yawned, stretching languidly. The way he tilted his head suggested he had witnessed something similar in the Hwangbo Clan.
He had once said that noble martial families could hardly be called righteous sects.
The heavy atmosphere lingered for a moment before the conversation shifted.
"I heard you knocked out the Shanxi noble clans. Is it bad enough to restrict your movements?"
"A big brute flipped his eyes back as if he recognized my face, but so what? You think those lowly mongrels could dare commit my noble visage to memory? Even you, Leader, wouldn’t bother with appearance concealment, would you?"
“...Find a safe house and lay low. It’s dangerous here. This isn’t a place where you can roam around carelessly, not even under Gwang-ye-gyeol. I’ll call for you if you’re needed."
"Just make sure to bring some liquor. I've got plenty of herbs."
"Herbs, my ass."
***
Two days later.
Was it fate? They said the affairs of Murim flowed like the great currents of the Yangtze, indifferent and relentless. Jeong Yeon-shin felt the pull of cruel fortune.
Corpses hung in a row in the marketplace north of Pyeongan Prefecture, where the Gongya family had settled.
Dark rumors trickled in. Among those tied to the stakes, there was talk of a supreme prodigy wielding a fan, his lifeless body strung up for all to see.
The Zhifu Daein of Pyeongan Prefecture remained silent.
Had he been bribed with wealth too tempting to refuse in times of famine? Or had his fate been seized by the hands of peerless martial artists? Either seemed plausible.
The Murim Alliance.
Paegeomjong, Yeoryeong, and the newly established Wolseongmun.
The power struggle between the great factions had surfaced.
With Paegyeomjong and Yeoryeong drawing their swords to drive out the Murim Alliance from the edges of Shaanxi, Zhuge Gaju’s Wolseongmun had finally risen in defiance.
To any observer, they were a unified front, embroiled in their own battle.
Many had seen the placard hanging above the bodies.
—The so-called Murim Alliance shall not interfere in the affairs of Wolseongmun. Who dares claim the rightful succession of Zhuge Mu-maek other than I? And who else but Kwon Mu-gong Ak Hwa-ryeon has inherited the true legacy of Eongeokwon?
The warning was inscribed in bold, soaring calligraphy.
It was said that Zhuge Gaju himself had written it midair, stepping across the sky as though removed from the mortal realm.
There was an addendum.
—Wolseongmun has now firmly established its roots. Those with outstanding talent shall be welcomed as disciples. I shall observe the Shanxi Martial Competition.
The Murim Alliance’s Chusaldae, dispatched to investigate Wolseongmun’s emergence, had instead been annihilated by Zhuge Gaju.
Among them was his own son, Seonryong Zhuge Hyeon.
His corpse was quietly retrieved under the cover of night by his sister and her comrades.
To a secluded residence in the Gongya estate, where Hyeoncheonmunju Geom Un-bi resided.
“They had no choice but to send the Chusaldae. Even if they knew it was hopeless.”
The flat tone in Tae Yeom-ryong’s voice held no emotion. Of the three who had formed bonds with Cheonggirin Namgung Se-jin, only two remained.
“What a ridiculous fate I have. The same scholars who once prattled on about The Four Books and Five Classics with their healthy bodies now joke about my short life.”
Shff.
Zhuge Cheong-ah's trembling fingers slowly unraveled the cloth covering the body.
His pale face was striking, his sculpted features untouched by decay.
Zhuge Gaju had preserved his son’s corpse through a supreme sealing technique.
A display of Wolseongmun’s power.
And so, Seonryong still appeared immaculate, his hand gripping a fan stained with blood, fingers as strong as they had been in life.
It was upon that fan that the Murim Alliance’s elder from Paegyeomjong had met his end.
—"I’m glad to have been of help. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory, but the way fate twists is truly strange."
That was the farewell Zhuge Hyeon had offered, recalling the first time they had shared a moment with their fans.
The deaths of warriors in Murim were always so hollow.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s face emptied of expression as he gazed down at the fallen man.
"It has been a long time, indeed. I did not expect you to personally grace us, Gwigaju."
"The successor of my lineage has met such a fate. It is only right that I come in person. I do not hold the Gongya Gaju responsible."
It was a night bathed in soundless moonlight.
Two supreme martial artists, their years reflected in their formidable presence, strode through the luminous air.
Two towering figures.
The dim blue atmosphere wavered beneath their steady, unhesitating steps.
“I hear you have taken in a new guest?”
“A blessing for my household. He appears no older than my son, yet wields the sword like a master.”
“I have heard. Hyeoncheonmunju Geom Un-bi. He has crossed paths with Eongeokwon, has he not? If he possesses such talent, it is no wonder he could knock my son unconscious with a single strike. I intend to meet him personally.”
“That will not be possible. I can guess why you have come, Gwigaju. You use your son as an excuse, but you mean to seize my guest—”
“Gongya Gaju, I do not care for your insinuations. I am here to execute judgment. Even if I must bring the full force of Sanseo Gwigaju upon him.”
“Preposterous! This is not a general’s barracks, nor a bandit’s stronghold. And let us not pretend Gui Il-tae’s character is anything but rotted shell-deep. If you intend to recklessly draw a blade against a rising genius of this world, I will not stand idly by.”
"How amusing. Do you still believe the Gongya family holds the supreme legacy of Shanxi? Even after witnessing Wolseongmun’s rise?"
Though their words were low, the weight of their confrontation carried the air of noble houses.
The high-quality silk of their robes scattered moonlight in delicate refractions, and the poise of their cultivated movements attested to their status among Shanxi’s leading patriarchs.
Rumble.
Suddenly, the wooden threshold of a nearby pavilion quivered.
Gu-gung!
A tremor erupted, spreading with astonishing speed.
From the threshold to the beams, and then the very tiles of the roof, until even the ridgepole swayed as though struck by a mighty gale.
“What is this?! Have you set a trap?!”
“Don’t be absurd! Over there! The secluded quarters!”
Gongya Gaju pointed into the distant sky.
At that exact moment—
Hwaaaaah!
Pale mist surged upward, twisting into dozens of spiraling currents.
A surge of energy, vast and divine, burst forth without restraint.
The unmistakable force of an exalted supreme technique.
A luminous white glow swirled in great arcs, slicing through the air, the energy intensifying with every pulse until the radiance reached its peak.
Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi.
Gwang-ye-gyeol—Yeomgang.
"H-heuuhk...!"
"What is happening?! What is this?!"
Throughout the Gongya estate, warriors jolted awake, their bodies seized by the overpowering waves of energy.
The force did not simply radiate—it commanded.
Ma Gwang-ikju no longer concealed his power.