Under the sky where a sacred creature with white wings gracefully glided, bridging the present Lord of Ma Gwang-ik and Jeong Sim-an Jegal Cheong-ah, there lay an estate composed of over a dozen grand pavilions.
The Gongya Family.
Once a name of great prestige, it had fallen from grace within the noble society of Shanxi’s ruling clans.
The wandering swordsman, Geom Un-bi, was the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik in Ipwang Fortress.
For extending him hospitality as an esteemed guest, the Gongya Family became a target of scorn among Kangho’s Eastern Path.
The once-revered Gongya Lord was no longer invited to the banquets of sect leaders, and the eldest daughter of the clan, who once bore the dual honorary titles of Heroic Dragon and Sword Phoenix at the Yongbong Gathering in Shanxi, found herself ridiculed by the younger generation.
A family that turned its back on Kangho.
Traitors who brought Ipwang Fortress into their affairs.
Pleading ignorance was meaningless. The knowledgeable had known the truth from the beginning.
All they needed was an excuse to pull the Gongya Family down.
In a land where powerful sects, as landlords, divided up Shanxi among themselves, the fertile lands controlled by the Gongya Lord became the object of insatiable greed.
They were given a seat merely for show.
The Gongya estate had long been used as the venue for an ongoing martial tournament. They had to be content with that much.
If they completely withdrew from the gatherings where the mighty noble clans forged their alliances, the Gongya Family would be reduced from a member of the wolf pack to a mere piece of meat.
"You should be grateful! After your betrayal, you were still given a place among us!"
Step.
A burly man, his face flushed red, shouted while gripping a wine jug in his hand. His large, staggering steps wove haphazardly through the estate’s spacious alleys.
Completely drunk, he roamed the Gongya estate as if it were his own.
"The wine tastes foul! Is it because a traitor brewed it? Their hands must be filthy!"
With every shout, the winter shrubs trembled in the cold air. Even the dust settled atop the walls occasionally swirled into the night.
"What a fine voice. He does take after his bloodline."
"Wasn’t his father that fugitive lord? I heard he fled the front lines with his wealth when he was once a great general."
"He must have devoured spirit tonics like daily meals."
"At least his internal energy is being put to proper use. A truly heartwarming sight."
Not a single noble guest wandering the estate tried to stop Gui Il-tae.
Some watched with amusement from a distance, while others merely passed by without a word.
The Gongya estate was a beehive filled with honey. Why stop a mad hound from ripping apart its brittle shell when it saved them the trouble?
"The Lord of Ma Gwang-ik, who was under the protection of that mongrel Salhyeop! Call him out! The Gongya Family, who sheltered the traitor, must not ignore the command of this young master! Bring in the hounds of Oweol Daesalmun! Ma Gwang-ik! Ma Gwang-ik is the key!"
His drunken fury poured into the cycle of grievances.
The certainty that Jegal Lord would never dare reveal himself here, the fear stirred by Ma Gwang-ik’s status and martial prowess, and the anger toward a terror unbefitting of noble blood—all of it mixed like alcohol poured into a blazing forge.
The Gongya Family could not stop Gui Il-tae’s rampage.
Whenever someone attempted to intervene, the noble guests, with imposing yet gentle persuasion, dissuaded them.
"His father was lost. If we do not let him vent his rage, who knows what he might do in the villages?"
"You know his lineage, don’t you?"
It was a cycle repeated for days. For every insult suffered, the Gongya Lord had sect leaders at his side.
Even the rarest of martial elites could fall to joint attacks—how could the Gongya Family, already infested with nobles, hope to maintain order?
Hoo—
On the roof of a pavilion, overlooking Gui Il-tae’s drunken brawl.
A swordswoman in crimson silk robes let out a faint breath.
Her blade-like eyes and her attire suited each other perfectly, but the hand gripping her sword’s hilt revealed deep blue veins, trembling but never unsheathing.
She was no longer afraid to show herself before the world. Instead, she now longed to step onto the tournament stage and draw her blade.
The natural law of Kangho—where the strong devoured the weak—was stripping the Gongya Family of its legacy as a noble clan.
The young mistress of the family, Gongya Jeong.
Beside her, Jegal Cheong-ah casually brushed her long, lusterless hair behind her neck.
Since the death of Jegal Hyeon, she had been staying here at Jeong Yeon-shin’s request, overseeing the Gongya estate.
She had formed an acquaintance with Gongya Jeong because she saw her older brother in her. For now, she remained hidden, her identity as the last heir of the Jegal Clan undisclosed.
"Justice in Kangho is fading."
"I don’t understand what you mean."
Gongya Jeong answered politely. Despite the state of her family due to their association with Ipwang Fortress, she did not slight Jegal Cheong-ah.
She endured all the humiliation for one reason: she had learned the sword from Jeong Yeon-shin.
It was the steadfastness of a true martial artist.
Jegal Cheong-ah, in turn, chose to speak to her with respect.
"The old divisions of Kangho are dissolving under the weight of famine. Seizing wealth through force is becoming the norm. I realized that while traveling with Jeong Gongja. Most martial artists are trash."
She had, in truth, known this from childhood.
Since the days her father led her by the hand, showing her the cuts left on corpses, reading them like texts of martial philosophy.
Ssshh.
Jegal Cheong-ah rubbed the roof tiles with the white silk lining of her leather shoes.
"If you decide to step forward, I can help. The Lord would permit it."
"...The gathering is full of giants. The High Pavilion Sword Sect, the Water Moon Sect, the Azure Sky Chamber... They’re behaving like the Eight Great Families or the Thirteen Heavens of other regions. Before we even draw our swords, we must consider death. Their lawlessness is one thing; survival is another."
Gongya Jeong slowly withdrew her hand from the sword’s grip. Her long fingers, the kind only gifted swordsmen possessed, brushed against {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} the guard as they slipped away.
"I know that you are a high master of Ma Gwang-ik, but I cannot drag you into a meaningless death. The High Pavilion Sword Sect and the Azure Sky Chamber have practically brought their entire sects. They mean to strip our granaries bare... We simply don’t have enough warriors to match them."
"I don’t care what happens to me."
Jegal Cheong-ah’s clear gaze turned to the distant mountains.
Her brother’s resting place was barren of grass, wrapped in nothing but the last remnants of winter’s snow. The season had to pass before spring could come.
"May I ask about your Lord?"
The eldest daughter of the Gongya Family asked suddenly.
Jegal Cheong-ah’s small head nodded.
"I can answer what I’m allowed to."
"Are you truly planning to fight the Jegal Lord? The one called the Reborn Dragon among the greatest masters of Kangho?"
"...Yes."
"But he was expelled from the Martial Alliance, and yet he left unscathed. The Alliance was founded to destroy Ipwang Fortress, yet his secrets were exposed by an Ipwang master. Even if those beholden to him now act as his shield... it defies all logic. Expelled disciples are punished severely. Why do you think that is?"
"Because he is incomprehensibly powerful. Powerful enough to make use of that shield."
"You are correct. No matter how strong Ma Gwang-ik’s Lord is, he has no chance of victory... I believe he is of a similar age to my younger brother. His opponent is the head of one of the Eight Great Families."
If Jegal Lord were to truly die, the situation of the Gongya Family would change drastically.
The influence of Ipwang Fortress would spread across Shanxi, which was largely barren of the Daebang Sect’s power.
Even without stationing martial artists there, the death of an absolute being alone would be enough.
That was the nature of Kangho’s martial world.
And then, the Gongya Family would rise again. It was because of their ties to Ma Gwang-ik that they now suffered such disgrace.
"......"
Jegal Cheong-ah remained silent for a moment. She pressed her foot firmly against the roof tiles, grinding them slightly before suddenly raising her hand and pointing into the distance below.
"You were speaking about your younger brother."
"Hm?"
"There he is."
The grand estates of the noble clans were built like palaces.
Along the straight wall leading to the banquet hall, a young noble with sharp eyes, much like the eldest daughter of the Gongya Family, stood in Gui Il-tae’s path. It was the second son of the Gongya Family—Gongya Su.
"Stop using Ma Gwang-ik and Salhyeop as excuses for your debauchery. It’s disgraceful and makes you look utterly pathetic. We weren’t the ones who exiled your father!"
Gongya Su’s crimson martial robes trembled with barely contained fury. He continued, his voice filled with outrage.
"You wouldn’t dare utter a single word if Ma Gwang-ik was in front of you, you damned thug!"
"Hahahahahaha—!"
Gui Il-tae burst into laughter.
"Gongya Su, you little brat! I never expected your liver to have grown this big!"
His deep voice rumbled, spreading like an echo through a cavernous space, brimming with unrestrained mirth.
He had already drawn the attention of the guests, but now the potential for a real fight had excited the spectators. Those eager for a spectacle quickly climbed over the walls or perched atop the courtyard fences with agile steps, ready to witness whatever came next.
A grand feast unraveling into pure chaos under the law of the strong devouring the weak.
Gui Il-tae cast his gaze around as if welcoming the growing crowd before turning his attention back to Gongya Su.
"So, tell me—where is your esteemed Ma Gwang-ik now?"
"......"
"Let me guess."
Gui Il-tae's thick lips twisted into a sneer. Then, suddenly, he spread his arms wide.
"I wager my finest Soheungju that the so-called Ma Gwang-ik has run away, too afraid to face Jegal Lord! He’s no supreme master of violet hues—just a coward!"
"Waahahahahahah!"
"A pathetic speaker, but his voice might just be the loudest in all of Shanxi!"
Entertainment was rare in this world.
A bearded middle-aged man within the crowd clapped his hands. He was none other than the lord of the Azure Sky Chamber, a noble power in his own right.
As he moved, a profound energy stirred around him, a mist-like essence seeping from between his fingers. The people nearby, seeing him clap, followed suit.
And then—
The spot where the Azure Sky Chamber Lord had been standing.
Hwaaak—
A column of opaque light connected the sky and earth.
No discernible movement. No warning. A thick, overwhelming force simply appeared and then vanished like a mirage.
What was left were dismembered hands and feet strewn carelessly upon the ground.
"Ah...?"
"What... What just happened?"
The martial artists within the estate stood frozen, their expressions blank with disbelief. It was a scene too incomprehensible to accept as the work of a human hand.
From a distance, Gongya Jeong and Jegal Cheong-ah, who had been dashing across rooftops, came to an abrupt halt.
[The noble clans must not be frivolous.]
A voice, resonant and melodious as though weaving through the air like a song, rang out.
And then—
Wuuung—
Something descended, breaking through the clouds.
A flowing white robe billowed grandly, reminiscent of a noble crane spreading its wings.
[So this is where you were. A gathering of bats, weighing their options between Wolseong Gate and Ipwang Fortress.]
Suspended in the air, the figure remained still, his robes rippling ceaselessly in the wind.
He was an unparalleled beauty. His features alone warranted the title of a transcendent being.
An aura of supremacy surrounded him.
A wide, black hat sat atop his head, and from its brim, a semi-transparent veil cascaded down like the ceremonial headdress of a monarch.
His jawline was sharp, his presence exuding a chilling dignity.
"...Nung Gong-heo?"
"It's Jegal Lord!"
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A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd like rippling water.
As the commotion grew, several figures stepped forward from beside the frozen Gui Il-tae.
"We pay our respects to Lord Reborn Dragon of Wolseong Gate. I am the master of High Pavilion Sword Sect."
"Jegal Lord, why have you not made your way to the Water Moon Sect instead?"
A man and a woman—middle-aged, their robes of crimson and gold trailing long across the floor—spoke. They were the masters of the High Pavilion Sword Sect and the Water Moon Sect, figures of equal standing to the host of this estate, and rulers among Shanxi’s noble clans.
The very ends of their robes, gleaming red and gold, declared their status—acknowledged and unchallenged wherever they went.
Wuuuuung—
A pulse of internal energy rose from their bodies, creating countless undulating patterns in the air, resisting the overwhelming presence of Jegal Lord.
A faint chuckle.
Jegal Lord scoffed.
[Kneel.]
***
The winter sky was thick with smoke, an unusually deep shade of ashen gray.
The Gongya family estate had become a ruin.
All the while, as Gui Il-tae's drunken rampage continued, more and more spectators had gathered.
Martial artists who had not witnessed the Azure Sky Chamber Lord’s demise dared to challenge the name of the Reborn Dragon.
It was right after they had seen their masters, elders, senior sisters, and senior brothers kneeling with their heads bowed.
The so-called noble martial clans were rulers in their own provinces, acting like royalty.
They had never truly grasped the breadth of the world. That was why they dismissed the austere techniques of wandering swordsmen as mere trickery.
Many leaped toward Jegal Lord at once—only to have their heads severed as they met the incoming gale, one as vast and violent as a tidal wave.
Some were cleaved clean in half.
No martial artist could remain still after watching their disciples' blood spray like a crimson mist.
The heads of the Shanxi martial clans, who had been suppressing their boiling fury beneath their powerful martial wills, finally drew their weapons.
And now—
Zeeeeeng—! Kwaaang!
The master of the Water Moon Sect, clad in flowing crimson robes, crashed through two pavilions, sent flying.
The sheer force of the backlash tore through the ground, raking the earth with an earsplitting howl.
Shards of shattered white energy from her protective technique rained down, mixing with the blood she coughed up.
“Keuk—! Guhhh...!”
Beside her lay a corpse, its lower half completely severed. It was the master of the High Pavilion Sword Sect, who had launched the attack alongside her.
[Water Moon Sect Master. You have reached the wall of unifying essence, spirit, and mind. At that level, one might call you the greatest in Shanxi. The strongest in Hoguang is the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, and the greatest in Henan is the abbot of Shaolin, so your standing is quite lofty indeed.]
Jegal Lord’s voice rang out from a distance, laced with mockery. It was a blatant display of disdain for Shanxi’s martial world.
His voice alone carried a terrifying resonance, as if the decree of an absolute celestial being.
“You killed my disciple and yet...”
[Swear fealty to Wolseong Gate. I shall make you the vanguard of an elite force that will reclaim the freedom of the martial world.]
“If you had tried to persuade me with kindness, I might have considered it...!”
[A mere brute cannot be a noble martial lord. Nor can those without resolve. Why should I show mercy to those who, even after hearing my cause, still waver in hesitation? We must soon face Ipwang Fortress.]
“You bastard!”
Shlaaak—
Suddenly, an invisible thread of energy sliced through her throat. The wrinkles at the corners of the Water Moon Sect Master’s lips twitched, and then the light faded from her eyes.
She fell exactly where she had stood moments ago.
"......."
A chilling silence blanketed the open courtyard where Gui Il-tae and Gongya Su had raised their voices moments before.
It was both cold and searing hot at once.
Hundreds of martial artists, all gathered for the dueling tournament, stood in stunned silence. Even the nobles who had arrived late to the estate could only watch in horror.
Though the winter breeze carried a crisp and transparent scent, the air around the ruined estate was thick with the scorched remains of stone and dust.
It was the aftermath of an overwhelming, absolute display of power.
[I am the answer to your prayers.]
Shlaak!
Floating in midair, Jegal Lord snapped open his folding fan. Behind him, the head of the Gongya family knelt, his crimson robes in tatters, his head bowed.
He had lost consciousness.
The eldest daughter and the second son of the family clutched their father’s body, their eyes red, channeling their inner energy to his meridians in vain.
No one in the crowd spoke.
The strongest figures of the Shanxi martial world were present, yet all had been conquered by a single man.
A translucent, dome-shaped barrier had enveloped the vast estate, making it undeniable—this was now Jegal Lord’s domain.
Sssraack—
"My lord, this lowly one has awaited you with great yearning."
Gui Il-tae, feigning elegance, bowed deeply.
Step.
The moment he prostrated himself, a black leather boot crushed the ground before his head. The rustling of the disturbed sand sounded sharp, menacing.
He looked up—and his vision was filled with a single character.
荒 (Wasteland).
"You insane—!"
Before he could finish, his skull was crushed beneath that same boot.
The sickening squelch of blood, the crack of bone—yet no one paid the corpse a second glance.
Three figures had appeared.
Jegal Lord’s energy was pushed back from three sides.
Three silhouettes, clad in flowing jet-black robes, etched stark outlines beneath the bright moonlight.
The boy among them, bathed in lunar radiance, seemed to drain the world of all color.
Ma Gwang-ik, Seom-ye. His hair swayed as he stepped forward, catching the moonlight like rippling waves.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s pitch-black sleeves fluttered.
Srrng.
The unsheathing of a blade, fluid and precise. Moonlight shattered upon its steel.
The eyes of those still standing widened.
Ma Gwang-ik’s blade—once pure white—had begun to glow blue.
A sacred energy writhed along its edge. Jegal Lord’s domain trembled, its very fabric quaking.
Kuuung—
The silence did not last long.
The three lords of the Divine Sword Division of Ipwang Fortress took a step forward.
Step.
Their footsteps rang sharply in the stillness. Dust coiled around their hems.
The sheer intensity of their inner energy sent unseen waves through the air, crushing the ground’s dust into nothingness.
[I have waited. Are you prepared?]
Jegal Lord’s fan masked his lips, but his low laughter was unmistakable.
Saaaah—
The air distorted as the commanders of the Divine Sword Division, the Blood Oath Division, and Ma Gwang-ik’s forces clashed in silent pressure.
Some who had begun to flee stopped in their tracks, hesitating, drawn back to witness history unfold.
The lords of the Eight Great Clans. The supreme leaders of Ipwang Fortress.
An encounter of earth-shattering significance.
"......."
The atmosphere grew unnervingly still. The dry wind brushed past the dark robes.
The Jianghu held its breath.