The annihilation of the Gate of the Wise Master was a major event, dominating conversations throughout Wuchang in recent days.
The influence of local martial sects, which held regional dominance, extended even to the lives of ordinary people. The impact of the evil factions was even greater.
Sects based in cities often imposed burdens on the populace, multiplying tribute demands three or fourfold. Under the pretense of maintaining security, they collected protection fees—not only in coins and silver but also in essential goods, and sometimes even people.
Years of famine had severely weakened the authority of local governments, creating this precarious situation.
It would take an extraordinary event to shift the public focus in Wuchang's streets, and this destruction was precisely that.
“A specter, you say?”
“Keep your voice down! And not just any specter—it’s said they wiped out the Namgung Clan’s warriors in an instant...”
“You heard right. Rumors suggest they’re a noble of the Bloodflame Cult. With martial prowess like that, it’s believable. Watch your necks; you never know when you might end up as fuel for their blood art.”
Small groups of four or five gathered in the marketplace, whispering anxiously.
“Seems the nights will be quieter now. We’d best stay home after sunset.”
“Looks like we’ll have to, for a while.”
“Quiet...!”
A middle-aged man gasped, his face pale with surprise. His alarmed whisper drew attention to the growing stillness in the area.
Three figures approached, walking through the marketplace.
Among them, the woman in the center caught everyone's eye.
Her complexion was as pale as white jade, and her deep blue martial attire accentuated her ethereal beauty. She looked like an immortal descended from the heavens.
Everyone present recognized her. She was Namgung Mi, the Master of Chang Ryeong, praised recently for her beauty, martial prowess, and achievements.
“Then, those must be...”
Someone muttered quietly.
Rumors had already spread like wildfire.
Stories about Namgung Mi, who, after losing her guards to a noble of the Bloodflame Cult, had been reduced to traveling alone.
Tales of White Qilin Namgung Hwa-shin and Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin, who had taken it upon themselves to protect their duel opponent, had also begun circulating.
The martial artists of Wuchang had been impressed by their boldness.
The rising stars of Ipwang Fortress.
It was inevitable that they drew attention. If they avoided an untimely death, they were destined to become top-ranking martial artists in the world.
The strange alliance of those who would soon risk their lives in battle was becoming increasingly well-known.
“Your title is Seomye, isn’t it?”
Namgung Mi suddenly spoke, her tone indifferent, as if looking down on him.
She no longer seemed to care about the eyes watching her. Perhaps she had accepted that she had no way out of this situation.
It was not the voice she used in public.
Jeong Yeon-shin did not answer.
He had already clashed with her in combat. The boy was not so shameless as to reply as if nothing had happened, even though she had not seen his face.
Moreover, she was as good as dead. There was no reason to engage in conversation.
“Since when did such trivialities irritate me so much?”
Namgung Mi smirked, her lips curling. Her steps, graceful and relaxed, radiated confidence.
The flowing blue hem of her martial attire resembled a noblewoman’s court dress.
Although she was ostensibly under protection, she knew she was more of a prisoner of Ipwang Fortress.
“...”
Jeong Yeon-shin merely glanced at her briefly.
It seemed innate—she carried herself like royalty from Nanjili.
Born of the Namgung Clan’s direct lineage, she had built an unshakable world of her own.
Even after experiencing great misfortune, her attitude toward the world remained unchanged.
She didn’t know that the specter behind the Pureblood Robe was Jeong Yeon-shin. Even most martial artists of Ipwang Fortress wouldn’t suspect such a thing.
“Pathetic.”
Jeong Yeon-shin thought. How would someone as innately arrogant as Namgung Mi view him?
Judging from her demeanor and past behavior, she likely saw him as nothing more than a nuisance that had triggered the life-and-death duel between Ipwang and Namgung.
“There’s no need to reveal myself. This identity could prove useful in future missions.”
Jeong Yeon-shin maintained a calm expression. He did not treat Namgung Mi as a person.
Only Namgung Hwa-shin’s noticeably uncomfortable face betrayed his feelings toward his half-sister’s behavior.
“Namgung Mi, mind your words. Jeong So-hyeop is the direct disciple of our lord at Ipwang Fortress. His status is no less noble than yours.”
“Ah, dear Hwa-shin, your banter has improved more than your martial arts.”
Namgung Mi’s smirk deepened.
“The disciple of some ghostly monster is noble? Truly, the word ‘noble’ has lost its meaning.”
“What did you say?”
“How long will the lord of Ipwang stay above the clouds? The martial world’s great factions aren’t fools. The Hwangbo Clan, the Bloodflame Cult’s main branch, and even our own Namgung Clan—who’s next? Their actions are absurdly arrogant and excessive. Do you think the Nine Great Schools and the Thirteen Heavens will simply sit back and wait?”
“...”
Namgung Hwa-shin fell silent, his face heavy with thought.
To Jeong Yeon-shin, he seemed weak.
Perhaps it was because he had grown up as a leader of Ipwang Fortress’s martial order, subjected to loyalty indoctrination.
Even with his mother’s killer before him, he seemed defeated in a mere verbal exchange.
Namgung Mi turned her head slightly, giving Jeong Yeon-shin a disdainful glance.
“Boy, you’re no different. Do you think you’ve learned all there is to know about martial arts? Those tied to the imperial family never give away everything. How are you different from our Namgung Clan, where bloodlines are everything? You’re just a pitiful half-breed.”
“The term ‘Nine Great Schools’ feels strange.”
Jeong Yeon-shin replied flatly.
“What?”
“It’s now the ‘Eight Great Schools.’ No, ‘Seven’ might be more fitting. What do you think? These things tend to dwindle anyway.”
“Are you... mocking me?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, but before she could finish her retort, Jeong Yeon-shin calmly interrupted.
“Respect the meaning of a formal duel. Even if your Namgung lineage is base, we still show you courtesy because our martial honor depends on the dignity of our opponent. If one set to fight for life and death is unworthy, what a hollow battle it would be.”
“...”
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“If you don’t understand, feel free to continue rambling. It will simply reflect the limits of your character.”
Jeong Yeon-shin ended his words and turned away.
He briefly saw Namgung Mi’s face twist in indignation but felt the conversation had dragged on too long.
She wasn’t worth more than ten breaths of his time.
“A half-breed talking about limits?”
She scoffed once more but fell silent soon after.
Even if she was arrogant and shameless, Namgung Mi was still a daughter of a renowned martial family. She seemed to have nothing more to say after he spoke of honor.
From then on, her demeanor toward Jeong Yeon-shin shifted slightly.
Though she still carried herself with haughty pride, she occasionally seemed to study him, as though reevaluating her perception.
Namgung Mi, the Master of Chang Ryeong, had been affected somehow.
For a fleeting moment, Jeong Yeon-shin wondered if she had connected him to the specter mask but dismissed the thought. The Pureblood Robe’s noble and Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin were entirely different.
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
The boy then quietly apologized to Namgung Hwa-shin.
“What I said about Namgung...”
“No, it’s fine. In its way, it was satisfying.”
Namgung Hwa-shin waved his hand with a cheerful laugh. Both ignored Namgung Mi’s derisive scoff.
Thus, their unusual group took form.
A half-sibling pair from the Namgung Clan, Jeong Yeon-shin, and, from a distance, the watchful red-eyed Seventh Apostle.
Their fragile alliance would last only until the life-and-death duel with the Namgung Clan.
Both Namgung Mi and the Seventh Apostle had to die. But the winds of the martial world were cold and merciless. Perhaps not just two, but all four of them might fall.
“The Seventh Apostle. The White Qilin.”
Jeong Yeon-shin thought of his dual objectives. Above all, he hoped he and Namgung Hwa-shin could complete their mission safely.
***
To reach Huizhou in Nanjili, where the Namgung Clan was based, one had to pass through Hwangju.
The relay station routes left no other choice. It was the sole path from Hoguang Province’s Wuchang to Nanjili.
The group entered a sizable inn.
“We should stay here for the night and push forward with a forced march tomorrow. There are troubling rumors spreading,” Namgung Hwa-shin suggested.
“If this road takes us straight to Huizhou, that’s a good plan,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, exchanging brief words before finding a seat.
Namgung Mi and Namgung Hwa-shin followed closely behind.
The four of them sat at the same table, with Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Mi next to each other, and Namgung Hwa-shin seated across from them.
The seating arrangement was intentional. Jeong Yeon-shin trusted Namgung Hwa-shin’s eyes, honed through years of practicing the Namgung Clan’s advanced perception techniques.
The White Qilin’s sharp gaze watched his half-sister intently, ready to act at the slightest provocation.
Namgung Mi, however, seemed indifferent. After ordering food from the attendant, her gaze lingered on the Diamond Sutra book Jeong Yeon-shin had taken out.
“A Buddhist scripture? So, you’re a pious one, are you?”
As usual, Jeong Yeon-shin ignored her.
They were now close to Huizhou, firmly within the Namgung Clan’s sphere of influence.
The news of their duel had undoubtedly spread more widely here than anywhere else, meaning they had to be cautious of any unexpected developments.
Even in the inn, the atmosphere was lively.
“What a prosperous time! Martial artists from all over are gathering.”
“The duel between Ipwang Fortress and the Namgung Clan! When else will we witness the martial prowess of such esteemed warriors?”
“Do you think the Sword Corps Captain and the Namgung patriarch will truly cross blades? I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes.”
“The Namgung Clan better win. If Ipwang Fortress triumphs... well...”
“The local economy would be shaken. For the sake of our merchants, stability is best.”
The duel was already a routine topic of conversation.
There was no specific reason for anyone to loudly discuss it in the presence of Ipwang warriors. It was simply what people always talked about, and so the chatter reached Jeong Yeon-shin’s table.
Those who noticed Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Hwa-shin’s attire fell silent. But others, oblivious, continued their chatter.
“The Namgung young master hasn’t had his sword for long, has he? And his opponent is that prodigy, Seomye. Didn’t he achieve great feats during the Bloodflame Cult incident?”
“This is more than a simple duel. It’s a contest for the pinnacle of the martial world’s rising stars. Who will prove to be the true master of the next generation?”
“The young master is the young master! How could you compare him to a mere prodigy?”
Namgung Mi’s lips curled into a smooth smile as she listened.
Turning slightly, she glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin, her faint smile accompanied by a whisper-like laugh.
“They’re not entirely wrong. To your narrow eyes, our Namgung Clan might seem no different from a sinister sect. But to the common folk, we are the unparalleled righteous sect. When floods strike, we distribute food to the needy. When rogue factions wreak havoc, Namgung warriors rise to stop them.”
“...”
“No mere prodigy could withstand the Imperial Sword Form perfected by our clan’s direct lineage. And my brother? His mastery has reached unfathomable heights. Isn’t that reason enough for your inevitable defeat? And given how much our clan does for the people...”
Her faint, mocking smile deepened.
“You can rest easy beneath my brother’s sword.”
“Aren’t you tired of speaking such meaningless words?”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s indifferent retort only made her smile wider. The expression on her pale face was strange and unsettling.
“Or...”
“...”
“You could surrender now and pledge yourself to our clan. I might even let you polish my shoes. That’s a genuine offer.”
Polish my shoes.
It was the same mocking phrase Jeong Yeon-shin had used when posing as a Bloodflame Cult noble.
“Is she testing me?”
Or perhaps it was just another meaningless provocation.
As Jeong Yeon-shin pondered the hidden intent behind her words, a sudden gust swept through the inn.
Whoosh!
Dozens of sharp winds carried shadows resembling human forms—Black Winds—storming in.
Both Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Hwa-shin reacted instantly, activating their internal energy before drawing their swords.
The overwhelming energy of the attack seemed poised to tear them apart.
However, the intruders were not targeting them.
Crash!
Glossy black hair shimmered as it swung through the air.
A hand, striking with the precision of a master swordsman, grasped Namgung Mi’s cheeks from both sides.
The pale fingers that held her aloft were as white as hers.
The overwhelming presence radiated a sinister power.
“You.”
The Seventh Apostle’s crimson lips curved into a smile.
“What did you just say?”