A hearty laugh spread across Namgung Se-jin’s face, his eyes softening as he looked at Jeong Yeon-shin.
“Truly bold. I admit my defeat this time.”
“You have shown me the momentum of the Emperor Sword Form. I, too, have gained something from this,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied calmly, implying that the clash was not about determining a winner or loser.
The Emperor Sword Form was a divine technique unlike anything he had encountered before. Had they faced each other directly during the duel, Jeong Yeon-shin might have been forced to concede a step.
“You’ve gained something? I’m curious to see how you’ll unravel it,” Namgung Se-jin said, his grin widening.
Jeong Yeon-shin saw in his expression the competitive spirit of a true martial artist—a hallmark of those who walked the path of martial arts.
It reminded him of the disciples from the Nine Great Sects: a man of many faces.
“By the way, about Simmuryun...”
Namgung Hwa-shin, now standing beside Jeong Yeon-shin, broke the silence.
“Despite its name, it’s said to be structured more like a military organization than a sect. I heard it’s become akin to a private army under the protection of the feudal lord of Henan Province, Ban-wang. It’s a large organization.”
“More like a military...” Jeong Yeon-shin murmured, and Namgung Hwa-shin nodded.
“The man who called himself a Captain of One Hundred may not be the cream of the crop. There are even stronger martial artists within Simmuryun. These fallen ones were likely scouts. It’s safe to assume that higher-level opponents will target you next, Jeong So-hyeop...”
Namgung Hwa-shin trailed off, his refined features clouded with concern—not for himself, but for Jeong Yeon-shin.
“I know a little about Simmuryun’s great duke,” Namgung Se-jin said, approaching with his sword still drawn, blood dripping from the blade.
“They call him a general type—a man skilled at crafting strategies. If he becomes your enemy, he’ll be a troublesome one.”
“So, his martial skill isn’t what’s most important,” Jeong Yeon-shin observed.
“Exactly. He’s a master of using sheer numbers to his advantage. He’s clashed with my clan several times before. Be cautious. If you sense anything unusual in a village where you plan to spend the night, leave immediately. If you can, that is.”
“...I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied briefly, falling silent as Namgung Se-jin’s words left an odd impression.
Though they were destined to fight a duel to the death, the young master’s tone was soft, almost as if he were speaking to a younger sibling.
It was an interaction more fitting for senior and junior martial artists, with nothing out of the ordinary in their conversation.
‘Blue Qilin Namgung Se-jin... What a peculiar man.’
Even during this short journey, Jeong Yeon-shin knew he had to stay on guard. Though he had forged camaraderie with Namgung Hwa-shin, there was a budding sense that something similar might form with Namgung Se-jin, despite their fate as adversaries in a duel to the death.
He deliberately cleared his mind, bending down to pick up the fallen Ipwang Sword and turning his body.
Perhaps the echoes of his technique had scattered the birds, for the forest path was quieter than before.
“Burying the bodies would take time. It’s best to keep moving now,” Jeong Yeon-shin said.
Namgung Hwa-shin approached, his stoic expression unchanged as he had been silently observing the interaction between his older brother and Jeong Yeon-shin.
“No internal injuries?” Namgung Hwa-shin asked bluntly.
“I’m fine,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, and Namgung Hwa-shin nodded silently.
From behind, Namgung Mi bit her lip, staring at Jeong Yeon-shin with a complicated expression.
“Let’s go,” Jeong Yeon-shin said.
The group, each having sheathed their swords, resumed their journey.
The ambush by Simmuryun was no small event, but it was not something that could delay their progress. Such was the way of the martial world. Warriors stepped over corpses to achieve their glory.
Ah, Jeong Yeon-shin thought as he walked.
He suddenly realized how desensitized he had become to killing.
He felt no emotion at all. He had cut down his enemies, and that was all there was to it.
When he had killed a Blade Specter warrior at Jeong Ga-jang, it had been different. He had to force himself to look away back then.
Was it because he was pressed for time, knowing his days were numbered?
Or was it his desire to live, even if it meant stepping over the corpses of his foes?
Drip, drip.
Raindrops began to fall, announcing the arrival of summer.
The rain fell in fine, meticulous intervals, as if shedding tears for the fallen warriors of Simmuryun.
The indifference of the one who had killed them made the heavens seem to mourn in their stead. Jeong Yeon-shin found some comfort in that. After all, who knew when he would meet the same fate?
The clear sound of rain striking leaves filled the air, only interrupted by Namgung Mi’s irritated groan.
Jeong Yeon-shin continued to walk in silence, letting the summer rain soak him.
He was acutely aware of what it meant to be a martial artist.
The raindrops striking his shoulders felt cold.
***
The sound of the summer rain continued relentlessly, its steady drumming drowning out even the faintest murmurs of the forest.
Shaa-aaah—
“This is getting tiresome,” Namgung Mi muttered with a hint of boredom in her voice. The cascading rain quickly swallowed up her complaint.
It seemed like the rain was pouring across the entire region, soaking the group as they trudged along the muddy path. They had entered the southern border of Namjili, nearing the Namgung Clan’s main estate in Huizhou.
“The roads are unusually quiet,” Namgung Hwa-shin observed, walking beside Jeong Yeon-shin, despite being accompanied by his kin. It seemed he intentionally chose to remain near the young boy, signaling his allegiance.
Namgung Mi glanced at them with obvious distaste, her expression sour.
From ahead, Namgung Se-jin, wearing a jukrip (a traditional Korean bamboo hat), replied as he walked on the muddy ground.
“The rain may be heavy, but it won’t be enough to make a significant difference for the crops.”
“A poor harvest, then?”
“You’re right, Hwa-shin. It’s becoming a serious issue lately. Even if the common folk manage to grow something, it often gets taken by those with power—strong men and martial artists alike. The strong preying on the weak is no rarity in these times. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the common folk or the warriors of the martial world; everyone needs to eat.”
“A bad harvest reaching all the way to Namjili...”
“Rogues and sects in the unorthodox factions don’t care about the lives of commoners. Many wreak havoc wherever they go. The people’s hearts are restless, so if you plan to travel through the martial world, make sure to carry plenty of dried provisions.”
Jeong Yeon-shin silently watched Namgung Se-jin as he conversed with Namgung Hwa-shin. He had been observing him closely for the entirety of their journey.
Every now and then, Namgung Se-jin revealed glimpses of his incredible martial aura, deep breathing techniques, and disciplined footwork that seemed like part of his daily practice.
He was a complete martial artist—an opponent Jeong Yeon-shin doubted he could defeat.
“If there were ever a flawless Taeyeomryong, it would be him.”
Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself, seeing in Namgung Se-jin the image of a genius who trained rigorously without letting talent lead to complacency.
Could he sever this man’s head?
“What is it?” Namgung Se-jin asked, sensing Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze through his sharp intuition.
The boy simply shook his head.
At that moment, Namgung Mi, who had been glaring coldly at Jeong Yeon-shin, approached him with deliberate steps.
“We’ll soon reach the main estate. I hope you’ve enjoyed what might be your final journey through the martial world.”
“Is pointless small talk a hobby of yours? It’s a shallow amusement,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied flatly.
Namgung Mi sneered at his response.
As a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan, she had mastered the family’s secret martial arts and had the eye to perceive flaws in techniques.
She had noticed the same in Jeong Yeon-shin’s martial arts. Despite their raw power, his techniques had clear signs of incompletion. The precursors to his strikes and their precision lacked the refinement necessary to stand against a true master.
Unfinished. Only their power is impressive.
“A boy doomed to die soon, yet there’s something strangely unsettling about him,” Namgung Mi thought.
From the moment she first met him, something about him had felt off—a sense of dissonance in his words and actions.
Such feelings were rare for her. It wasn’t the kind of impression one usually got from someone they had just met.
Of her contemporaries, only her brother Namgung Se-jin had earned her respect.
Hwangbo Taeyeomryong had been too decadent, and Namgung Hwa-shin, though formidable, bore the stain of an assassin’s bloodline. A martial artist with extraordinary skill, character, and lineage was rare in the world, even among the Nine Phoenixes of the martial world’s younger generation.
Namgung Mi prided herself on being unmatched among them, her talent and achievements unrivaled by her peers.
She had never truly acknowledged any of them. No one had left a lasting impression on her, not even Wei Ji Myo-hwa of the Zhongnan Sect, whose reputation as the Dragon of Wisdom she found grating simply because they had never met.
As a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan, the greatest noble family in Namjili, Namgung Mi had never faced the kind of survival struggles others might. Her perspective was shaped by the privilege of a life where even rogue warriors would call her worldview extravagant.
“Jeong Yeon-shin, the Seomye of Ipwang Fortress.”
The information gathered by her family had only described him as a promising young martial artist—a minor obstacle.
The boy had simply been the excuse Ipwang Fortress needed to challenge the Namgung Clan. That was all. He wasn’t someone capable of shaking the world. His youth made that obvious.
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So why did he unsettle her so much?
Her honed instincts as a practitioner of internal energy refused to let the mystery go.
Namgung Mi had pondered this all the way to Huizhou, and finally, a ridiculous possibility came to her mind—a thought so absurd she hadn’t considered it earlier.
There had only been one time when she was forced to look up at someone out of sheer terror.
The memory was vivid. It still lingered in the corners of her mind.
The face of a masked figure with cruel, cold eyes and hands hardened by countless battles. A man who had grabbed her throat with terrifying force, his crimson robes emanating a sinister and destructive aura.
“You.”
Namgung Mi’s lips moved.
“Would you mind showing me your hand?”
***
Ipwang Fortress: The Celestial Gold Martial Library
A fortress-like structure of pristine white stone rose high, rivaling even the grandeur of Ipwang Fortress's inner citadel. This was the Celestial Gold Martial Library, a repository of Ipwang Fortress's treasured martial manuals.
The marble walls, elegant and majestic, were said to have been brought from the royal palace of the now-vanished Dali Kingdom—a kingdom destroyed by the hands of Ipwang's lord.
The guards stationed at the entrance were strict, their post surrounded by an air of solemnity. They were tasked with protecting the fortress’s most precious assets—the martial manuals.
These manuals contained the core techniques acquired from the imperial family, as well as the martial arts developed and recorded by the fortress’s own warriors.
This was the essence of Ipwang Fortress’s martial knowledge, gathered in one place.
“Was it somewhere around here...?”
The vast interior of the library spread out before her, the scent of old parchment filling the air.
In front of a row of ancient bookshelves stood a young girl clad in white martial robes, her delicate features framed by large, catlike eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the library.
She was Shin So-bin, the youngest among the warriors of Magwangik and a disciple of Jeong Yeon-shin. Nicknamed the White Cat of Magwangik, she had started to earn her reputation despite the ambiguity of her title.
“What are you looking for?”
“Ah!”
Startled by the low, steady voice beside her, Shin So-bin turned her head.
She had been so absorbed in her search that she hadn’t noticed another warrior’s approach.
“Senior Hong Joo-geum.”
The man was a seasoned warrior with the rugged air of someone who had survived countless battles. His gaze was strong, his aura unyielding, and the scars on his face and neck spoke of his many close encounters with death.
Nodding gravely, Hong Joo-geum studied her with interest.
“I remember you from the blue-rank promotion trials. A precious gem of a noble family, remembering even my nickname after all this time. I was thoroughly defeated by your senior, though.”
“It was an unforgettable match. And as for Senior Seomye... well, it’s hard for anyone to keep up with him.”
“Do they call you the White Cat of Magwangik?”
At this, Shin So-bin frowned slightly. She wasn’t fond of the nickname, which Hong Joo-geum noticed with an awkward chuckle before changing the subject.
“There aren’t many fortress warriors lingering in this area, but I recognized your face and thought I’d come over to offer some advice. There’s a lot of curiosity surrounding this place right now.”
“Curiosity?”
“Of course. It’s the techniques of Ipwang Fortress’s youngest blue-rank prodigy. Everyone wants a glimpse of the brilliance contained within. Most of the manuals are gone, borrowed by warriors practicing in the library’s rear training grounds, as they can’t be taken outside the library itself.”
“They won’t get far with just the manuals...”
“That’s why they’re working so hard. If Seomye returns victorious from his duel with the Namgung Clan, this place will become even more crowded. Who would’ve guessed? Right before his departure, he left behind his entire repertoire of techniques. There are countless people hoping for his success.”
“Ah... It seems I’m late again.”
Shin So-bin sighed, her twin braids falling slightly as her shoulders drooped.
“I even saw the black-rank division warriors here,” Hong Joo-geum offered in a consoling tone.
“Techniques like Si-geuk-gyeong, Hwan-ik-bo, Myeolma Cheonggangsu, Shi-hwa Muguk-gwon, and Gwanghwa Geomryu... All renowned martial arts worthy of discussion throughout the martial world. He truly gave everything away as if sweeping the board clean.”
“That’s been a hot topic within Magwangik as well. Many of us felt it was too much to give away.”
“I admit I was puzzled myself. Widely spreading martial arts inevitably leads to counter-techniques being developed. Even excluding the nearly unapproachable Myeolma Cheonggangsu, his contributions to the library included many of his core techniques. Even in dire need of merit, it’s hard to justify such generosity.”
“It’s also what Senior Seomye wanted.”
Shin So-bin lifted her chin with a faint smile.
“He once said he wanted to break down the counter-techniques to his own techniques to achieve further mastery. He’s the type who’d calmly pull out a fourth stance if I mastered the first three stances of Shi-hwa Muguk-gwon. But then again, it’s almost impossible to match the creator’s level of proficiency, isn’t it?”
“Breaking down a counter-technique... to break it again.”
Hong Joo-geum fell silent for a moment, as if unsure how to respond.
It was Shin So-bin who spoke first this time.
“I didn’t realize I’d have so much competition. Are fortress warriors flocking to learn Senior Seomye’s techniques? Even without formal discipleship bonds, it seems many people are starting to revere him. At this rate, he might as well be a founding master.”
“A sect leader or founder he may not be, but within the fortress, Seomye already has his own legacy forming—his lineage.”
Hong Joo-geum, the Red Noon Sword, spoke slowly.
“I’d say the term ‘Grandmaster’ fits him perfectly.”