Innate nature meant the temperament you were born with.

Yeon Hojeong clearly hadn’t been born good-natured—but it wasn’t accurate to say he’d been born with an utterly evil disposition, either.

He’d been born strong.

A bamboo-straight temperament that would break before it bent. That was how tough and upright his nature was.

But the world was far too harsh to survive on nothing but what you were born with.

As Yeon Hojeong lived through that world, he learned how to become flexible. How to deceive others, how not to be deceived, how to slip away like a snake—how to become servile, even.

But in the decisive moments, he was always strong and rigid.

And that was still true now.

If there was no absolute need, he didn’t become servile even at the crucial moment. He didn’t bow his head, and he didn’t act slick.

Strong and forthright, as always.

A head-on breakthrough—proud, direct, and without using petty tricks.

“Lord Yang...”

Yangcheon’s face visibly hardened. It looked like the kind of displeasure even a three-year-old could read.

“So it’s a first. Someone calling me with such a ridiculous title.”

“Is that so?”

What a tone.

After staring at Yeon Hojeong for a moment, Yangcheon burst into laughter without meaning to.

How long had he lived beneath the invincible name of the Thirteen Seats of the Sacred Heavens?

No one could hold their head high before him. No one could act arrogant in front of him, and no one would even dare try to deceive him—or test him.

Faced with a reaction that was almost unfamiliar, Yangcheon was surprised to find that what stirred in him was not anger, but interest.

“It seems unnecessary to ask, but you do know who I am, don’t you?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come.”

“You know who I am, and you still speak like that?”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“Well? Even if you were an emperor, if I came with a clear purpose, my manner of speech wouldn’t change.”

“What?”

“I didn’t come because of Fighting King Yangcheon’s prestige. I came because of his ability—and his future.”

“Hah!”

“This is a place where one person comes to learn another. If you were someone worth staking my life on, I’d bow my head as I should. But you still haven’t proven yourself to me.”

Yangcheon let out a small [N O V E L I G H T] laugh.

He hadn’t proven himself? That was an amusing line.

In the martial world, martial arts were power, and epithets were authority.

He was a king. A man who had proven himself as the highest authority in the martial world through martial arts alone.

And yet this boy was saying he still hadn’t proven anything.

Was it too unexpected? Again, Yangcheon felt interest rise stronger than anger.

“You mean I have to prove myself to you?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve got it backwards. There have been many times a lord chose his subordinates—but never in history has a subordinate chosen his lord.”

“It has happened. If you truly believe it hasn’t, then consider it your first experience.”

“Kahahaha!”

Yangcheon roared with laughter.

KUUUURRRRMMMM!

The entire Ink Dragon Hall shook, and stone dust rained down from the ceiling.

He hadn’t released Inner Qi on purpose. As his emotions surged, the Inner Qi he possessed burst out unconsciously.

And even so, this was the result.

With nothing but the shockwave of unconsciously vented Inner Qi, this massive stone hall trembled as if an earthquake had struck. Absolute Inner Qi that surpassed imagination itself.

It’s been a while.

Just the shockwave mixed into his laughter was enough to make Yeon Hojeong’s whole body creak.

But faced with that horrifying power, Yeon Hojeong felt himself growing steadily excited.

It’s been a while. Power like this.

The kind of transcendent force that could boil bone marrow and cook the organs.

When he saw his father, Yeon Wi, or when he saw Mo Yonggun or Dang Gwan, he couldn’t help but be stunned by the density of their power and the martial logic within it.

But when he faced Yangcheon’s power—power on a wholly different level—what he felt wasn’t surprise so much as familiarity and excitement.

Right. It was there.

Suddenly, Yeon Hojeong felt as if something dazzling had flared before his eyes.

I was there, too.

The king of the Dark Path who completed every divine art of the Four Spirit Arts and, on the foundation of Hongcheon Qi swollen to something close to infinity, wielded an axe that called wind and thunder and a steel chain.

The strongest duelist in the martial world, a man who had fought the world itself barehanded, had stood in that same position. No—one step higher than Yeon Hojeong.

Not someone who could confidently claim he was the strongest under heaven...

But a great name that had never been left out whenever “the strongest” was discussed.

The memory of the Dark Path’s Supreme Master, once called the king of black darkness, awakened every sense in his body.

But...

After briefly being intoxicated by the mirage of a past that had once been real, Yeon Hojeong suddenly felt something off.

What is this?

Yangcheon’s overwhelming wave of qi.

And yet, inside that invincible wave, Yeon Hojeong sensed a single streak of shadow.

It was something extremely difficult to describe.

Like a rolled clump of dust caught inside it. At the very least, it wasn’t the kind of residue a supreme master like Yangcheon would carry around without brushing away.

Something’s different. Come to think of it... was Yangcheon’s power this level?

Yeon Hojeong couldn’t shake the doubt.

It’s incredible, sure, but in my memory it was far more...

Yangcheon finally stopped laughing.

“A subordinate who wants to see whether I’m a lord worth serving. That’s amusing.”

“Is it?”

“If the head of some Orthodox sect came and said that, I’d crush his skull with a single palm.”

It was a threatening remark. Yeon Hojeong’s expression still didn’t change.

Perhaps he liked that firmness—Yangcheon’s smile returned.

“Even being generous, you don’t look like you’ve even reached twenty.”

“You’re younger than I expected.”

“From what I see, your nature is strong and bold, and yet there’s none of a petty man’s impatience in those indifferent eyes of yours. I don’t know the origin of your martial arts, but you’ve already reached a realm where you could establish your own school and call it complete.”

“...”

“I like you.”

High praise. Praise as absolute as praise could get.

Yangcheon nodded.

“So that’s why.”

“...?”

“I received information about you after you entered Hunan. I couldn’t tell where you started, but it looked like you came in from Guizhou.”

Yeon Hojeong’s eyes glinted.

As expected, his intelligence network was superb. He hadn’t even united the entire Dark Path yet, and still—this much. Calling the Dark Path’s information network the best in the martial world wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

“One of your party seems to have come from the north, but the exact entry route was unclear. It looked like he moved ahead to get a feel for Hunan first.”

He meant Pae Yul. Sending him ahead to detour had been worth it.

Yangcheon continued.

“But that wasn’t the important part. I ordered them not to miss a single martial artist who looked suspicious while entering Hunan—yet I heard you killed our informants instead.”

“That’s right.”

“The Dark Path’s martial strength is inferior, but our information and infiltration abilities are the best. It’s a different breed.”

“It seemed that way.”

“In other words, you found and eliminated every eye of our informants—eyes no one should have been able to notice.”

Yangcheon’s eyes burned.

“It was you. Not the hidden-weapon expert in your party—your eyes were the sharp ones. That’s why you came alone as the Martial Ancestor Sect’s representative.”

It was a keen assessment.

A person’s temperament could change, but their abilities didn’t. Yangcheon’s eye was still as sharp as his martial arts.

Yeon Hojeong nodded.

“Correct. I’m the center of my party, and the Martial Ancestor Sect’s representative.”

“And who are you within the Martial Ancestor Sect?”

“I’ll tell you once things between us are more comfortable.”

For the first time, Yangcheon’s gaze turned sharp.

“You cover your whole body with this and that, and you want me to trust you?”

“Isn’t that true of you as well, Lord Yang?”

“What?”

A meaningful light swirled in Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

“To me, it looks like you’re wearing a rather thick coat, too.”

“...!”

“The season’s turning cold, sure—but with martial arts at your level, you don’t seem like you’d need something as cumbersome as a fur coat.”

Yangcheon’s eyes deepened.

Yeon Hojeong continued.

“Do you understand? I came here fully convinced that even you have secrets you wouldn’t readily show others.”

“...”

“Because you’re one of the strongest in the martial world? Of course not. If that were the reason, my tone wouldn’t be this stiff—and I wouldn’t have come to you in the first place. I’d have gone to Shaolin’s Fist God.”

In that instant, Yangcheon’s wave of qi surged harshly.

Shaolin’s Fist God referred to one of the Thirteen Seats of the Sacred Heavens—one of the Immortal Sovereign Kings.

Among the Thirteen Seats, where comparing superiority was difficult, he was the one said to stand closest to the title of “the strongest.”

Fist God Muheo.

“As I said, I didn’t come only because of your fame and skill.”

“...”

“I came to see whether you truly have the capacity to scheme for the world.”

Yangcheon stared at Yeon Hojeong with blade-sharp eyes—then, in an instant, he smiled coldly.

“So we don’t lay all our cards down, and instead persuade each other. Is that it?”

“You’re the only one who needs to persuade. I already chose.”

If he was worth following, he would follow. If he wasn’t, he would leave.

It wasn’t just firmness—there was a kind of conviction in the words.

Truth was always simple. That was why Yangcheon preferred people who spoke directly over people who tangled their words.

And now, Yeon Hojeong was becoming the exact sort of person Yangcheon liked—tempting him perfectly.

After studying Yeon Hojeong in silence, Yangcheon spoke.

“It’s heavy.”

It was sudden. Yeon Hojeong’s eyebrow twitched.

Yangcheon’s gaze, sharp beyond measure, gradually softened.

“Truly heavy. I don’t know whether sunlight has finally fallen on someone as lacking as me... or whether talent simply rolls in on its own to those who sit on a throne.”

It was indirect praise. That meant he believed great luck had come to him—and in turn, it meant he acknowledged Yeon Hojeong.

Yangcheon smiled and asked, “Do you like simple things?”

“It’s difficult to become simple.”

“Hahaha! You’re absolutely right. Absolutely right. Then tell me—how should I prove myself to you?”

Yeon Hojeong’s eyes flashed.

“Unexpected.”

“What is?”

“I thought you’d ask more. About my party. About my purpose.”

Yangcheon, uncharacteristically, put on a playful expression.

“Didn’t you say you like simple things? Let’s discuss that part after we’ve acknowledged each other enough.”

Done.

In that moment, Yeon Hojeong was certain. Yangcheon would no longer take interest in the other members of the party.

He’d made Yangcheon’s interest focus on him alone.

That was enough. Now, depending on what he did, the fate of the party that came with him would be decided.

And Yeon Hojeong could be confident.

Yangcheon would trust him. If Yangcheon could have him in hand, Yangcheon wouldn’t look at the others even once.

“For you to prove your value as my lord, it’s enough for you to tell me how far your dream reaches.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t seem to like long-winded talk, so let’s decide our future with a question that demands a clear answer.”

Yeon Hojeong’s eyes gleamed.

“How far does the world you draw belong?”

“...?”

“Does it end in the Central Plains? Or... does it extend all the way beyond the frontier?”

“...!!”