"The duty must be done."
That was what Jeong Yeon-shin thought as he recalled his seniors.
Jin Myeong-jo, the Blood Demon of Divine Senses, was already tracking Zhuge Gaju’s location with his distinctively vast sensory perception. His stealth techniques, which even the Blade Sect’s Master had failed to detect, were in play.
They couldn’t afford to assume that the absolute master of sorcery and martial arts wouldn’t descend upon this battlefield.
For now, only Ak Su-rim and Jin Myeong-jo could keep Zhuge Gaju in check.
‘They may have already clashed by now.’
Jeong Yeon-shin had seen Zhuge Gaju reveal his martial prowess at the Gathering. He also knew how formidable both Ak Su-rim and Jin Myeong-jo were.
When the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Black Spear of Ipwang and the Blood Demon of Divine Senses joined forces, they did not die.
It was said that, in the harshest wilderness, they could always guarantee their survival. No matter how they conducted themselves under the heavens, no one dared to criticize them.
The two seniors were known for their stern discipline, even among the high lords of Ipwang Fortress. If their lineage's honor was tarnished here, they would be the first to reprimand their youngest.
‘I cannot be an embarrassment to Senior Jin.’
As he moved forward, no one else stirred.
Swish.
Only the occasional whisper of his tattered black robe brushing against itself could be heard.
Even when he reached into Eon Hwayeon’s robes, retrieving the martial manual, and gently closed her eyes before lifting her body—no one spoke.
“...Hah...”
It was only when Ma Gwang-ikju approached the shaded canopy where the noble clans were seated that the silence broke.
"The Black Blade of the imperial court... truly lives up to its name."
"They said there were only seventeen of them in all of Ipwang Fortress... Now I understand how he became a grandmaster at such an age."
"Let’s go. We’ve seen all we need to."
"From this moment, enforce the rules strictly. Make sure no one moves in or out carelessly. We must focus on sealing our sects."
"The Absolute Fist of Zhuge Gaju has been broken... I can’t even begin to predict what will happen to Shanxi now."
More voices began to rise. Some of the noble families were already moving, preparing for the inevitable fallout.
A duel of life and death had concluded—a duel that would shake the entire martial world.
The Lord of Ipwang Fortress had slain one of the Eight Great Clans’ supreme masters. Those in power now had to brace for the repercussions.
Many left the scene with darkened expressions.
"She should be buried properly."
Jeong Yeon-shin paid no attention to the murmurs around him.
Swish.
He handed over Eon Hwayeon's body to a tall woman—Gongya Jeong, known in the martial world as The Iron Blossom Sword Phoenix.
The Grand Princess of the Gongya Family lowered her gaze slightly.
"You are the Black Master of Ipwang Fortress, are you not? There is no need for such formalities. If our house has ever wronged you..."
Her voice remained soft, its tone as level as ever—befitting the daughter of a family bound by strict traditions.
Even as she raised her calloused hands to receive the body, the rustling of her sleeves was measured and composed.
"You deserve respect."
Jeong Yeon-shin replied without betraying the cold sweat forming at the back of his neck.
Every time he faced her, he felt the vastness of time itself.
It was her stone-like presence, her unyielding nature, that made it so.
Even the way she spoke of a decade was different from him. In comparison, he felt like nothing more than an ephemeral insect—a mayfly.
Seeing her always made him feel inferior. It was almost preferable to wander through a forest full of sword-wielding monkeys.
At least their antics, though incomprehensible, were amusing.
"Where will you be headed?" she asked, looking at him from eye level.
She was nearly as tall as he was, despite how much his limbs had lengthened.
"I must walk north."
Jeong Yeon-shin gave a vague answer. The movements of the Black Masters of Ipwang were always kept strictly confidential.
"You are always welcome to return. Sua will be waiting for you."
Her pitch-black eyes carried a steady composure, befitting the heir of a noble martial clan.
To Jeong Yeon-shin, she was a stone—her eyes, like obsidian.
Perhaps it was due to the presence of Gongya Gaju, the patriarch, standing quietly behind her.
Among the noble families of Shanxi, only those two remained unshaken.
Everyone else avoided meeting the Lord of Ipwang Fortress’s gaze.
They couldn’t fully suppress the horror and unease on their faces.
"Y-you... you must come back..."
Gongya Su, the second son of the family, peeked out from behind their patriarch’s back.
Unlike before, his usual brazenness was gone.
It wasn’t fear of Ipwang Fortress’s Black Master—it was more like he was embarrassed to speak up.
It didn’t match his fierce, slanted eyes.
"We’ll meet again soon."
Jeong Yeon-shin casually waved a hand and turned away.
If he couldn’t find Zhuge Gaju, he would have to investigate the Gongya Clan. By duty and logic, it was the correct course of action.
His companions from Ipwang Fortress would handle the aftermath.
Now that he had spent a brief moment here, doubts about his seniors’ whereabouts were beginning to grow.
Paak!
As his foot struck the ground, his movement skill, Ten Mile Glimmering Steps, created a pale ripple in the air.
***
At the still-bustling dueling grounds.
The Black Master of Ipwang Fortress had already vanished.
In the time it took for the onlookers to blink, he had become a distant black dot.
His retreating figure carried the aura of a warrior streaking across the vast wilderness.
As he grew older, his sharp features only became more distinct.
Even the gusts left in his wake felt divine to some of the commoners.
"The Black Masters of Ipwang Fortress really do use a movement technique like teleportation..."
"I still can’t believe what I just saw."
"Hey, did you see his face? He must be an immortal!"
"Quick! Pray for our family’s longevity! Think of the Ten Longevity Symbols! The Ten Longevity Symbols!"
Some spectators even bowed as if they were in the presence of a mountain god.
A few noble families looked on with disgust.
But none dared to act recklessly within this domain. They hesitated, fearing the presence of Ma Gwang-ikju’s subordinates.
Then, it happened.
"Hmm... it seems this has no owner.
I suppose I should take it upon myself to return it to the rightful clan... while enjoying a little tour of the martial world."
A middle-aged man stepped forward with a light cough.
The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
His eyes were locked on the artifact that Eon Hwayeon had thrown—the small pebble that had been flung far from the battlefield in the aftermath of the duel.
It had rolled to a stop near his feet, kicking up a faint cloud of dust.
He made no effort to hide his greed.
His presence alone was extraordinary—his movements cut through the crowd like a blade.
Even his silken robes, shimmering with a faint azure hue, hinted at nobility.
Yet, as he subtly glanced toward the distant mountains, he was cautious.
His gaze followed the direction Ma Gwang-ikju had disappeared.
Step, step.
Artifacts—treasures of the martial world—often had mysterious properties.
Some were said to choose their own masters.
Others followed the simple rule: whoever picks it up first, owns it.
With Eon Hwayeon dead, it was fair game for anyone.
Fwoosh!
Suddenly, warriors from Ma Gwang-ikju’s forces surged forward.
Their bodily movement techniques were absurdly fast.
"You wretched fool! Do you have no shame?!"
"Disgusting. You should drown in filth for this."
"HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE! DO YOU HAVE NO LIMITS?!"
Their voices—two men and one woman—rang out clearly.
A sign of their mastery over internal energy.
"What’s with these young ones’ martial skills...?"
"What... what’s happening?!"
"Move! They’re coming from behind!"
The crowd scattered in terror.
Their movement was so fast that even the winter air distorted like a summer heatwave.
Bright flashes of white energy streaked forward in violent waves.
The ownership of the artifact wasn’t the issue.
The problem was that a daylight thief was about to disgrace Jeong Yeon-shin’s duel.
And among the three pursuing warriors—
Taiyeomryong was the fastest.
Hwooong!
With each step, he pulled ahead of Hyeon Won-chang and Shin So-bin.
Now, he was just about to reach the thief.
The scorching energy of his movement skill left behind faint traces of white smoke.
"Them...?"
The nobleman flinched as he saw something from afar and instinctively bent down.
His large hand reached out toward the pebble, his fingers subtly shimmering with intangible energy. He was, after all, a renowned martial master in Shanxi.
"There is no honor in famine. Righteousness and chivalry are dead. The ones who can’t secure what’s theirs are the ones who die in Jianghu."
He smirked.
The approaching warriors were formidable, but he didn't recognize their faces. They were still a considerable distance away.
Meanwhile, this place—where Ma Gwang-ikju had departed—was firmly under the dominion of Shanxi's noble clans.
The surrounding martial masters were all on his side. He had no reason to hesitate in claiming the artifact.
"I’ll take this to Zhuge Gaju. No matter how fearsome Ipwang Fortress’s Black Master is, he won’t be able to withstand Zhuge Gaju’s wrath. My decision is the correct one."
He extended his hand toward the pebble, convinced of his reasoning.
Anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of the world knew that Ipwang Fortress was vastly outnumbered. With Zhuge Gaju's protection, there was nothing to fear.
If Ipwang’s warriors had pursued unbridled tyranny like the old Ming Cult, the situation might have been different. But in this era of chaos, finding a warrior who didn't run rampant was nearly impossible.
"Your movement skills are impressive, but luck is not on your side," he sneered as he reached for the treasure.
Or so he thought.
The moment he felt a cold sensation in his palm—
Puuuk.
As his eyes blinked open, he saw something unfamiliar. A dagger handle—no, a dark blade of energy—embedded deep in his hand.
In that brief instant, the dagger had pierced clean through his palm. The force of its unsheathing sent a chilling gust through the air.
"GAHHHHH!"
The nobleman threw his head back and screamed.
It felt as if dozens of needles had sprouted from his flesh. The pain was overwhelming, an unbearable agony coursing through his veins.
Was it the intricate flow of true energy within the blade? Was it poison? He had no way of knowing.
Step.
A footstep landed beside him.
A melodious voice rang out in the air, accompanying the crisp footfall.
"The lotus reflecting sword light shines bright,
"Yet the dust of Jianghu still lingers thickly."
The song both exalted the names of Ma Gwang-ikju and Eon Hwayeon while utterly mocking the fallen nobleman.
And beside him, standing casually—was a man.
He wore a translucent black sakkat, with his lower face wrapped in jet-black silk.
His nose was sharp and prominent, his eyes lively and free-spirited.
From afar, Hyeon Won-chang, who had been rushing in, abruptly halted.
"A Salhyup?! A Salhyup from the Five-Month Execution Sect?!"
"Young Master! Please, just look this way!"
"Sir! Are you unable to move? I’ll come to you immediately!"
"You wretched scoundrel! How dare you execute such a vile technique so recklessly! Again, you act without restraint!"
The scene erupted into chaos.
It was as if a rare celebrity had appeared in the middle of the battlefield.
Some spectators broke into wide grins, while others gazed at him in awe. Meanwhile, the noble clansmen scowled in open disgust, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons.
But Salhyup showed no sign of stopping his laughter.
"Master Guan, you have ruined my elegance today. I was merely applauding the sublime duel I just witnessed, but this fellow behaved far too disrespectfully."
"That is not for you to decide!"
"The dueling tournament must continue, must it not? And yet, Master Gi still fails to distinguish between filth and virtue."
His tone was exaggeratedly polite, but it was clear that he was openly ridiculing the noble clans.
Their gathered auras surged, their anger reaching a boiling point.
"You will stay right where you are!"
"Do not think we tolerated your actions out of fear of the Five-Month Execution Sect!"
The gale of their combined auras swept through the area. Dozens of warriors began advancing—slowly but with deadly intent.
They weren’t merely seeking to punish an arrogant young warrior.
They were after the pebble at his feet.
"Idiots."
Salhyup muttered disinterestedly, tapping the hilt of his sword with his index finger. Even this simple gesture carried an elegant flair.
By then, the elite warriors of Ma Gwang-ik had already taken up their positions on one side of the dueling grounds.
Taiyeomryong stared at Salhyup.
"Who is that? He looks... familiar."
"......."
Hyeon Won-chang didn’t answer.
Instead, he glanced at Salhyup with an unusually tense expression.
It was so unlike him that Shin So-bin, who stood confidently with her arms crossed, tilted her head in curiosity.
"He looks older. Is he Senior Daeseolgeom’s older brother?"
"...Something like that."
Hyeon Won-chang mumbled under his breath.
Taiyeomryong shook his head. "Never mind. We should deal with these noble bastards first. That guy isn’t even making a move for the artifact."
Salhyup and the Shanxi noble clans stood at a razor’s edge.
Even when the Gongya Family and a few other noble houses tried to mediate, they refused to back down.
It was as if a thunderbolt was about to strike.
Everywhere, the overlapping shockwaves of martial energy rumbled through the ruined dueling stage.
Kuuung—Kuugung—
"This won’t be easy..."
Shin So-bin murmured as she cracked her knuckles.
At that moment—
[Reveal the whereabouts of Ma Gwang-ikju.]
The command rang from above.
It was a woman’s voice—slightly hoarse, yet imbued with overwhelming power.
The sunlight dimmed as if an eclipse had suddenly occurred.
But it wasn't an eclipse.
A woman stood above them—balancing on the edge of her sword.
The flowing gray sleeves of her robes swayed with lofty grace, her silver-white hair cascading just past her neck.
Her presence exuded dense, pure power—so thick that it coiled around her ash-colored robes in visible strands.
"Sword-flight."
The warriors of Ma Gwang-ik widened their eyes in shock.
"Sword Master Baek Seo-gun...!"
Hyeon Won-chang muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Among the Thirteen Heavens, martial artists of her level were regarded as living monsters.
If she was also the second-in-command of Shim Mu-ryeon—
Then she was truly beyond human.
The noble clans’ auras immediately dissipated.
Salhyup, however, did not flinch.
His pitch-black eyes locked onto Baek Seo-gun.
They gleamed with a dark lightning-like radiance—the gaze of an assassin honed through thousands of silent kills.
In that brief moment, he read every subtle shift in her expression.
From the slight downturn of her eyebrows to the faint tension in her gaze—nothing escaped his perception.
Until, at last, she turned to face the warriors of Ma Gwang-ik.
At that moment—
Salhyup’s lips curved into a faint smile.
"They have departed in that direction," he said smoothly.
"As for this artifact—it now belongs to Ma Gwang-ikju."
He gestured with a tilt of his head toward the pebble lying at his feet.
And with a dramatic flourish, he lifted one of his remarkably long fingers—
Pointing it toward the path Jeong Yeon-shin had taken.
His voice took on an antiquated formality.
Mocking the noble clans just a little more.