Jeong Yeon-shin stood face to face with So Cheonmujuk.

Her silver mask twisted subtly at the lips. At a glance, it looked like a scowl—yet to Jeong Yeon-shin, it also seemed faintly like a smile. He alone could see it.

Her lips moved slightly.

―You've gone mad. Truly, utterly mad.

―Why the soundless transmission? Afraid of being stabbed in the back by the Northern Kings?

Jeong Yeon-shin's reply was calm.

He had already deactivated the Southern Radiant Tai Chi upon entering the Black Blade Palace. It was to strip her of the demonic energy she had been wielding and draw it into the two sheets of Pagoda Yellow Paper.

This place was crawling with threatening figures.

Even leaving aside the other Northern Kings, it was wise to keep So Cheonmujuk, the Southern Emperor, and Bukdo all within view.

Now, Jeong Yeon-shin stood like a Divine Sword that suppressed his foes simply by existing.

Still, the memory of Qingguangping returned unbidden—a battle where he had been overwhelmingly outnumbered. That day had been brutal beyond belief.

And yet...

Despite the precarious situation, his mind remained calm, like a mirror reflecting clear water.

The silence burned.

It was the hush drawn forth by three figures in violet robes. Still as the frozen sea in the northern reaches, yet within it pulsed a terrifying intensity.

The roof of the palace was open.

The dusky air of the Black Blade Palace had been swept away by sunlight, and the remnants drifted faintly like clouds beneath the feet of the martial masters.

Everyone was standing upon a sea of clouds—as if they were truly beings who lived above the sky.

A gathering of living natural disasters.

“......”

None of the Northern Kings dared speak carelessly.

Even a stray word could tilt the outcome of a great battle. When all present had elevated their divine field beyond the summit, such caution was natural.

But there was one who did not follow suit.

Yong Hui-myeong, seated on the stone throne, looked around casually—then spoke with ease.

“So many monsters here today, aren't there?”

Jeong Yeon-shin had no real reply. It was Yeom Jeong, holding her massive crescent blade, who finally opened her mouth.

“...That movement was something only Shin Tu could perform. If such motion was possible, then that first exchange with the God of War must’ve been intentional.”

“Wasn’t that a favor to me?”

Jeong Yeon-shin quietly answered. There had been no need to resist, not when he had been flicked away to avoid being caught in a joint assault.

It had also helped lure the rulers of Whirling Wind Hollow into fully activating the formation.

This was the result.

Yeom Jeong slowly closed her mouth.

Whoooooosh!

A scarlet spear began to rotate in her grasp on its own.

At first it was slow, but with each exhale it gained speed, drawing wide circles. The fractured ground below boomed endlessly with each impact.

The pressure from the wind was tremendous.

This was Yeom Jeong’s Sacred Technique, the Ten Knots of Flowing Scarlet. A pure brute-force martial art that surpassed even Hwangang’s palm techniques.

At this moment, the shockwaves of her stomps had transcended natural amplification—but no one gave it a second glance.

The Northern Kings fixed their gaze only on the three men cloaked in dim shadows. The three in violet focused solely on the Kings.

The only noise was the howling wind from Yeom Jeong’s spiraling strikes and the smoke rolling like storm clouds across the floor.

On the other side of the radiant altar, the High Priest let out a loud, guttural laugh. He looked straight at Yong Hui-myeong.

“A face that matches the portrait exactly. That is a fallen sword. A funeral of light is being held in the black blade, and we shall fall as well.”

The old monk rolled up the sleeve of his orange robes to his elbow. His thin arm rippled with thick, trembling veins. Around each joint, the air shimmered with faint iridescence.

Simultaneously activating the Secret Sect Great Hand Seal and the Five Thunder Divine Palm.

The absolute of the Western Podarap Palace had not mastered the twin-mind technique of the Cult of Duality, but through sheer skill, he had reached the realm where he could fuse two supreme arts into one.

With overwhelming qi reserves and internal energy that faced no counter.

Meanwhile, Yong Hui-myeong’s eyes curved slyly as they landed on Bukdo’s warhorse.

The beast, monstrous in size, stamped and neighed as its mane flew wildly. Yong Hui-myeong didn’t even glance at Jeong Yeon-shin as he asked:

“You dueled the cripple?”

“Yes, just... a single palm’s worth.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s brief answer brought a lopsided smirk to Yong Hui-myeong’s face.

“Still breathing fine after that? I thought your heartbeat sounded like mine—now I see it’s a different man every time I look. You do live hard.”

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t bother mentioning that his halo’s pulse felt a bit younger. There were three Divine Sword Sect Masters. No need to compare.

All this while, Ma Yeon-jeok had said nothing.

“......”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s youthful maternal grandfather swept his sharp eyes across the hall without a single flicker of light in his gaze.

Yet occasionally, his eyes lingered on Jeong Yeon-shin’s bloodied shoulder—the spot struck by Bukdo’s axe earlier.

There was no outward fury.

But something in the atmosphere pressed down on the entire hall. Beyond Yeom Jeong’s spinning gusts, a strange pressure had begun to form.

It wasn’t real—yet it stepped upon the skin. Only those with a highly developed upper dantian could feel it.

The Southern Emperor’s gaze locked onto Ma Yeon-jeok at that moment.

Clad in dark clouds, the founding emperor of Qing. His voice, possessed of monstrous might, rumbled in battle stance. And within it, a subtle note of astonishment.

[Violet robes... the qi pulse of the Jeong Household... You must be in close alliance with the Northern Emperor. And to appear through the portal beyond that door... You are Ma Yeon-jeok, the one who reversed aging and returned.]

The conclusion came instantly. It was the insight of the one true Emperor who stood above all in the demon realm. Only then did the Peerless Scoundrel Ma Yeon-jeok finally speak.

“...You see rightly.”

[Utterly absurd. The heavens truly do favor Gunreung.]

“A worthless axe stroke landed upon a most noble shoulder. What a travesty. That shoulder upholds a nation.”

Before the power of a single nation.

He kept his eyes on Jeong Yeon-shin, speaking solely of his own thoughts. His words grew heavier.

“You people know nothing. You’ve no idea what kind of years forged that shoulder.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

[I was told you didn’t raise him.]

Ma Yeon-jeok did not answer.

As Emperor of the Demon Realm, the Southern Emperor received all intelligence. He understood better than anyone the danger of a rejuvenated Peerless Scoundrel.

It was only natural he had not allowed the Divine Sword Sect Masters to strike first.

[So be it. Let the lifeline of Ming end here.]

As soon as his command to strike fell, Aisin Gioro Heukhwan moved.

The only one among the Southern Emperor’s children to be a Northern King. A being exalted enough to be seen as the second ancestor of the Qing Empire. He was bound to history itself.

CRACKLE-CRACKLE!

His entire body sparked with streaks of black lightning. He activated the Sensory Path to push his reaction speed to its utmost via Thunder Energy Skill. As expected, he hesitated not in clashing with anyone.

In an instant, he closed the distance to ten paces from Ma Yeon-jeok’s flank.

The floor of the palace shattered in a line behind his heels. Thunder roared from within the flying stone debris.

Then Heukhwan shot forward like a thrown spear, and with his massive shoulder, slammed toward Ma Yeon-jeok’s head.

K-KA-RAAAAAAANG!

A dense shockwave erupted from Jeong Yeon-shin’s temple. For a split second, black lightning flickered between the concentric ripples. The shattered floor of the palace was scorched pitch-black.

The body-leverage shockwave had landed cleanly.

All Ma Yeon-jeok had done was slightly incline his head into Heukhwan’s shoulder.

And even that was enough for Heukhwan to be flung backward, naturally and powerfully, scattering the shockwave he himself had triggered.

KWA-A-A-AANG!

He slammed into the wall of one of the few remaining intact sections of the palace—like someone who had just taken a full-force counter from his opponent. Ma Yeon-jeok remained standing, arms crossed, never once sparing Heukhwan a glance.

“......”

Even now, the former Divine Sword Sect Master’s gaze moved slowly between the Southern Emperor and Bukdo.

The moment he moved toward either of them, it was clear—he would break a neck, even at the cost of sustaining serious injury. That brief clash had done nothing to affect his bearing.

His mere presence was enough to seal off both the Southern Emperor and Bukdo.

Had the two joined forces, a different outcome might have followed—but people, for all their power, instinctively value their own lives.

The Southern Emperor—for his people and his empire. Bukdo—for the belief that he alone carried the hopes of his clan. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Meanwhile—

THUD!

Heukhwan dropped from the wall.

His shoulder was webbed with fractures, like cracked glass. Blood trickled from torn skin.

His translucent divine-grade armor had not only caved in entirely, but was driven so deep it pierced his upper arm bone—his own body attacked by his own armor.

It was as if Heukhwan’s armor had turned against him. Sheer, overwhelming force—that alone had acted as an intricate, devastating technique. Power that needed no thought, only presence.

“...Monster...”

At a loss for words, Heukhwan slammed his shoulder back into place with a sickening crack.

By then, the High Priest and Heavenly Patriarch Noban had stepped closer to Yong Hui-myeong. Still seated lazily on the stone throne, Yong Hui-myeong only smiled.

“This is delightful. It’s been a while since I’ve fought someone human.”

“Do we still look human to you?”

The former Emperor of Yuan. Unlike the Northern Kings of the Yozoku, Heavenly Patriarch Noban’s face was still intact—his features regal, untouched. A faint smile formed.

At the same time, he plucked a single feather from the wide brim of his hat.

“Then that is fortunate.”

With that quiet murmur, the pale blue feather swelled in size. Sword Aura. A dense corona of inner energy wrapped the feather, inflating it like a star.

No sound accompanied it.

This monster, a cursed spirit whose grudge at the fall of his nation had carried him through not one, but two reversals of aging—his manipulation of tremendous energy felt natural.

The Sword Aura of the Yuan Dynasty, paired with their divine horsemanship, had created an empire. It was no wonder that such martial arts carried immense pride.

Yet Noban did not rebuke Yong Hui-myeong’s careless posture, and Yong Hui-myeong showed no sign of stepping down from the stone throne.

WOOOOOOOOM!!

Unlike Noban, Yong Hui-myeong’s hand erupted in a loud resonant hum as he suddenly drew forth a rainbow-colored sword from a fractured pocket of space.

A massive pressure crashed down upon the hall.

The shattered pieces of stone scattered across the floor were crushed into dust. The only thing left untouched was the dark cloud that hovered low around the Southern Emperor’s feet.

With a smile laced in amusement, Yong Hui-myeong asked:

“Three Divine Sword Sect Masters in one place. Does anyone know what that means?”

[Do not weigh them individually just because they are high-level enemies. Move as if in true battle. From here on, no one else must die.]

Before the Southern Emperor’s words had even finished, Noban had soared up to loom over Yong Hui-myeong’s throne.

The oversized feather, now a blade of condensed sword energy, fell vertically. Still seated, Yong Hui-myeong flicked his fingers across his dragon-ringed sword like a zither.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG—!

Fragments of the rainbow sword scattered in all directions, rippling out in dozens of overlapping waves.

Faint shockwaves smashed into Noban’s sword aura, and the High Priest, charging in from behind, had to deflect every flying shard with both hands.

Each clash sent tremors surging through the entire palace.

Meanwhile, Yeom Jeong, who had been spinning her spear like a storm all this time, suddenly darted past Jeong Yeon-shin toward Yong Hui-myeong.

A crimson afterimage trailed through space. A grandmaster’s unique displacement technique, forged from countless weapon styles. The tremendous wind pressure of her crescent spear turned into a propulsion blast.

THUMP!

Jeong Yeon-shin followed in the very same instant—as if it were nothing.

He moved, his body glowing faintly as he advanced. As if So Cheonmujuk, standing ahead, was no more than a scarecrow. Stripped of her demonic energy, she now stood dazed, as if possessed.

A battlefield where all great causes clashed.

The palace slowed, perceived in infinite drag by everyone present.

FWWWWOOSH!

Jeong Yeon-shin reached out toward Yeom Jeong’s back. Her crimson spear was releasing transcendent pressure as it spun, and instead of forcing acceleration, she redirected her full strength into ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) the rotation of the shaft behind her.

If he reached in—he would be shredded.

Suddenly, Yong Hui-myeong stood and casually threw his sword.

CLANG! CLANG-CLANG!

The rainbow blade struck Noban’s sword aura, bounced off the High Priest’s five-colored palm—and with uncanny precision, grazed Yeom Jeong’s crescent spear to land in Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand.

A path of absolute mockery. The trajectory of the sword triggered a shockwave that slowed all movement in the palace for a split second.

FWHRACK!

Jeong Yeon-shin gripped the blade—now burning with deep blue flame—and reversed it in his hand. With a dazzling arc, the sword plunged down behind him, stabbing straight into his own back.

No—into the figure behind him.

A torrent of crimson blood exploded like a cannon.

Aisin Gioro Heukhwan, who had silently closed in behind him, was now impaled—armor and all—through the torso by the divine-grade blade. The sound came a breath later.

KUGUGUNG! FWASH—!

It was the sound of history being pierced.

“...Now I respect you. I understand what cause means.”

Jeong Yeon-shin continued speaking slowly, never turning around.

“If you wish to end this fight here, speak at any time. The condition is unconditional surrender.”

[You speak of peace after opening Naadam? You, more than anyone, symbolize true battle.]

Bukdo’s warhorse let out a thunderous cry, its hooves echoing. The moment was upon them—Southern Emperor and Bukdo would have no choice but to act.

At that very moment—

Ma Yeon-jeok moved.