The transparent sunlight struck the snowy field and scattered in all directions. The scene stood out even more due to the dense waves of inner force. Everything around was pure white.

A portion of the faint glow naturally climbed up to So Cheonmujuk’s silver mask, and the surface of the mask, which revealed her eyes and jawline, slightly distorted. As if it reflected her face—or her heart.

That image, reflected in Jeong Yeon-shin’s pitch-black pupils, was the same. Perhaps because it came after speaking with the Southern Emperor in the golden rice fields beneath a night sky unfurled in his mind.

Now, the frenzy-laced demonic nature of So Cheonmujuk appeared to Jeong Yeon-shin as part of the tribulations of life.

But she remained unchanged.

[It’s heartwarming to see. Have you truly built a family now?]

Just as she had once called Seventh Apostle his wife, she began with a joke. Yet, because of the echoing resonance in her voice, it arrived with a shiver.

For a practitioner of sorcery-infused martial arts to speak while vibrating the atmosphere was no different from a swordsman drawing their blade.

The Blood King responded at once.

“The Western Heavenly Demon King of the Black Path?”

He was a blood demon, and at the same time, a master of the demonic realm among the Half-Divine Faction. Naturally, he would be sensitive to one who had once joined hands with the Southern Emperor.

And at this moment, the only supreme master in full condition at the camp was the Blood King.

If a supreme genius of battle like So Cheonmujuk struck and retreated like a scout, even here in the heart of the Divine Sword Corps' camp, there would be devastating losses.

Casualties were inevitable.

Immediately, the Blood King’s inner voice shot like lightning into Jeong Yeon-shin’s ear.

—Martial forces are only truly meaningful when occupying territory or in direct confrontation. But that cult leader has nothing to protect. That means today's fortune is very unfortunate indeed.

Truly, to even speak of fortune was apt for an opponent like her. All supreme masters who had forged their Life-Saving Secrets were, in one way or another, natural disasters.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin’s words were as calm as the shimmering mist over the snowy field.

“She’s someone without an Ultimate Martial Way.”

So Cheonmujuk’s lips twisted faintly at the same time.

[Now that I think of it, I wonder if someone’s Life-Saving Secrets made from others’ lives can still be called Ultimate Martial Way. Do you think I wouldn’t have a method to rival yours, little brother?]

At this moment, though So Cheonmujuk was gazing down like an absolute being from the white-filled void, Jeong Yeon-shin calmly met her gaze. As if watching starving peasants during a famine.

“State your business.”

Lately, he’d come to understand that famine doesn’t just fall on the land. It splits the human heart like cracked farmland.

—The day you and the cult leader meet again will surely come. Then, just once, reconsider your blade before you strike.

Separate from the agreement she had made with the Great Elder of the Ming Cult, So Cheonmujuk appeared pitiable. A supreme master without an Ultimate Martial Way. As the Namgung Clan Leader had once said, it meant she had no self within her own life.

The perspective had changed.

So too must their relationship shift gradually.

At that moment, her head tilted faintly. For some ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) reason, her tone also became a bit more dry.

[Your gaze is a little irritating. I don’t recall you ever looking at me that way.]

“If you want to talk long, as if sharing a meal with me, go forge something even remotely like the Ultimate Martial Way and come back.”

He offered sincere advice just before interrogating her about Baek Mi-ryeo’s whereabouts. It was because he hoped So Cheonmujuk would internalize someone else’s life deeply.

From the surroundings of the Blood King’s tent, faint gazes were felt, but Jeong Yeon-shin only lightly curled his palm.

Hwaruk!

Daoist power using the Triple Clarity Force as its framework clashed with demonic energy in a colorless collision of forces.

A prelude to a starry night.

‘The time I can sustain this without strain is...’

One breath and a half.

But a supreme master’s breath could last an eternity.

Already, considering that Seventh Apostle now stood at his side like a ghost, that Jin Myeong-jo blocked the front with his single arm, and that the Blood King stood at her rear ready to join in—there was plenty of room to maneuver.

So Cheonmujuk would know this.

Perhaps that’s why—

She glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand with eyes shimmering with pitch-black demonic energy. At the same time, she made no playful gestures and simply spoke.

[I came to tell you the location of the Heavenly Demon Tomb.]

The place she once claimed to have sent Baek Mi-ryeo—now revealed not to be the grave of some nameless demon, but the resting place of the First Heavenly Demon.

As some among the Blood King’s masters faintly caught their breath, Jeong Yeon-shin calmly opened his mouth.

“Speak your true motive.”

[I realized that your level is now roughly equal to mine. You’ve fast-forwarded through time. If fate allows, I’d like to sit at the same table and hear your story.]

“To share a table with me...”

[There’s a saying that if the highest-level upper cinnabar fields all gather in one place, all mysteries of the martial world would become mundane. It came naturally in a martial world that had seen the likes of the First Patriarch of the Ming Cult, Bodhidharma, Jang Sam-bong, and the ‘Gate.’ Since it’s never happened before, it’s considered a fanciful dream.]

By now, every warrior of the Divine Sword Corps had emerged from their posts, encircling Jeong Yeon-shin. But So Cheonmujuk was utterly unaffected by their torrent-like aura. She merely parted her lips slowly.

[Now, it’s no longer a dream.]

“......”

[You and I exist. We only need one more.]

That line carried a strange resonance.

Just hearing it seemed to dry the snowfield like the arid grains of a desert.

Perhaps it was precognition from the upper cinnabar field. For some reason, Jeong Yeon-shin pictured Shin Byeok, the elder council head wearing the visage of the former Divine Sword Corps Master, Shin Cheonhwa.

But So Cheonmujuk never revealed who her “third” was.

[Well, that’s why I used even lies to win over Baek Mi-ryeo.]

To expend lies—treating relationships as a kind of sorcery or martial art. But Jeong Yeon-shin only asked to confirm the most important matter.

“Is Senior Baek safe?”

[Don’t worry. Her limbs are intact, and she’s even attained the Trinity Refinement. Baek Mi-ryeo is following my will, even after learning you’re alive.]

So Cheonmujuk’s words still had the power to stir hearts. So Cheon (Laughter of Heaven). The invincible one who mocked even the heavens. But Jeong Yeon-shin had been looking down on her the entire time.

“Then that’s enough. If Senior Baek thinks it’s right, I’ll accept it.”

[What?]

“She’s a far stronger person than you. Now just tell me where the Heavenly Demon Tomb is. And if you’d explain your ultimate purpose, I’d appreciate it.”

[...]

Perhaps it struck her more deeply than hearing she had no Ultimate Martial Way. After staring at Jeong Yeon-shin in silence for a moment, she finally answered.

[...It’s in the old land of Chang’an.]

“Shaanxi Province, Xi’an?”

[Yes, hidden in a mountain valley that even Huashan and Zhongnan couldn’t locate. Zhongnan’s grand elder Yeo Il-shin seems to have caught a scent recently, but... there’s no chance.]

At the same time, So Cheonmujuk kicked through the clouds and soared into the air.

[Even if my words are lies, it’s not far from Yangyang compared to the Demon Realm, so surely the Divine Sword Corps Master will act. Or should I now call you the Northern Emperor? Personally, I do worry about the Ming royal court’s watchful eyes.]

Her lips curled slyly as if enjoying the great tides of the era. And from the sky, her form began to fade transparently. It was, of course, a Spatial Distortion Technique.

[See you in Xian. If you're dying to grab me right now because you're full of questions—try. It was quite fun pondering how to counter that Dragon Claw Hand technique of yours. I’m honestly curious whether it’ll work in actual combat... Hm?]

Reflected in her eyes, now thinned like morning mist, stood Jeong Yeon-shin—unmoving.

He didn’t act, like a snowdrift settled quietly atop a white field. He simply looked up at So Cheonmujuk, calm and unshaken.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly opened his mouth.

“You probably don’t have much time left. Don’t spend what’s left of your life in hatred. That’s a meaningless and sorrowful thing to do.”

His tone was serene. Even a faint compassion lingered like the whisper of a northern gale.

[You...!]

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

So Cheonmujuk vanished from the spot, but even as she did, she seemed deeply startled—because Jeong Yeon-shin hadn’t tried to stop her at all.

From within the dazzling silver half-mask—

In the realm of the peerless, it appeared slowly.

The slight parting of lips, the lifting of lashes, the sharply wrinkling tip of her pale nose, caught between bewilderment and indignation. A face he had never seen before. In this moment, everything about her was almost laughable to Jeong Yeon-shin.

Fwoosh!

That image of So Cheonmujuk disappearing, as if Jeong Yeon-shin had been the one to let her go, was the final sight—just like that, the manifestation of the Ming Cult Master ended like a lie.

What remained were the Divine Sword Corps and the Ipwang Imperial Clan.

***

Not a single warrior of the Divine Sword Corps had held back during the Great Black Path Battle. Excluding the late-entering Ipwang faction, every expert needed time.

Time to treat the grievous internal and external wounds they’d each suffered facing an entire nation.

“......”

The moment So Cheonmujuk disappeared, over five hundred martial artists of the core faction sat cross-legged and shut their eyes.

The demonic energy wave of the world-renowned Ming Cult Master was a calamity. If they had been fine before, it might have passed, but with internal injuries already torn open, it only worsened the damage—natural as a widening crack.

A lull had come.

The pure white sun above the snowfields sank quickly behind the clouds, as if half a day had passed in an instant.

Then, two old men appeared at the edge of the ravine overlooking the Divine Sword Corps’ encampment—conversing like it was nothing.

“Still, they chased her off nicely. If they’d clashed with that Ming Cult Master right after the Great Black Path Battle...? Gives me chills, real chills.”

“It was inevitable. How could a demon with nothing but her own body stand against the Northern Emperor of the world?”

“She only had her rejuvenated body too...”

“Stop sprawling on the ground like some beast and see if you can pull your energy back into your legs. I don’t have much time left, and yet you—your tumbling bear tricks have improved tremendously. Everything seems petty these days, but it’s been a while since I didn’t get sick of something.”

“This damned youthful old man still refuses to yield...”

“I know your meridians have rusted badly. Of course they have, with no grandchildren to restore your youth. But I’ll take that into account, so how about one more round?”

“Enough!”

At that moment—

Ma Yeon-jeok’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the Drunken Beggar King.

Then, he turned toward the Divine Sword Corps encampment. Suddenly, the figure of Yong Hui-myeong caught his eye. With faded scholar’s robes fluttering dramatically, he was descending straight toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

“That guy—why now?”

“You didn’t feel it?”

The Drunken Beggar King, who had been lying flat on the snow like a beggar, spoke again, his face stiffening slightly.

“He’s been running around like he wasn’t mortally wounded, but looks like even the Tyrant Hero isn’t at full strength. Then again, he ripped apart a monster like Bukdo without leaving a trace, so I guess that makes sense.”

“What did you say?”

“A massive qi wave is drawing near. To your grandfather’s eyes, the title of Northern Emperor might seem worthy, but the word 'Emperor' attached to Seomye now isn’t something the martial world sees as a mere nickname anymore. Authority and symbolism—they’re different. Even standing still, he drags a storm behind him...”

The Drunken Beggar King couldn’t finish his sentence.

—Divine Sword Corps Master ‘Daeri,’ you have toiled greatly.

A voice dropped heavily like a pillar falling from the horizon of the white sea of clouds.

—I am ashamed I could offer no help. Of all times, only now have I regained the strength to move. Damn this wretched timing. Today’s events will ruin my face and reputation.

The voice crashed through the air like it rode the spine of a cloud. It wasn’t anything like a standard transmission technique or Six Harmonies sound wave. It was fundamentally united with the wind—true qigong. The bearing of a noble Ming descendant.

“Yangcheon.”

The wrinkles around Ma Yeon-jeok’s eyes deepened as they had before his rejuvenation. Lord Yangcheon. One of the three greatest martial masters of the Ming royal family. Known privately as the Crown Emperor’s foremost disciple—a title for the most unbound of the Zhu bloodline.

—In any case, please understand. I speak not only as an individual but as a clansman. Even I came here ready to stake my life.

The next line followed.

[By decree of the Ming Royal Family.]

It was the same voice, but with a shift in temperament. The spiritual energy of the spirit housed in the Upper Dantian cut through the sea of white clouds unimpeded. A surging force like an unseen tidal wave. The precursor of Unified Martial Power.

Like someone pointing a cannon at the Divine Sword Corps camp mid-negotiation.

[This is the imperial command upon which the centuries-old throne of Ming rests. First decree: from this moment forward, no one is to move.]

Even as those words spread, Lord Yangcheon’s voice grew louder—signaling rapid approach.

Whether it was the Lingering Void Path or the wind-based movement arts unique to the Ming bloodline, he was crossing the sky with breezy swiftness.

It was then that Yong Hui-myeong suddenly thrust a gray divine sword into the very center of the Divine Sword Corps’ encampment.

Clang!

Right in front of Jeong Yeon-shin.

“A promise is a promise. Seomye has risen.”

The qi in his voice slid down into the snowy field like transparent syrup candy.

It felt like a dragon encountering a toy. Then came Yong Hui-myeong’s Six Harmonies sound transmission, almost as if mocking the imperial decree.

[The succession of the Divine Sword has begun.]

The reaction came from the canyon below the cliff. In the blink of an eye, Ma Yeon-jeok landed beside him.

Thud!

Sunlight glistened off the scattered fragments of snow.

Three purple-robed figures now surrounded the Divine Sword.

Yong Hui-myeong glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin’s peaceful expression and chuckled faintly. Then he spoke slowly.

[Witnesses, rise to your feet.]

Srrk.

The sound of high-level Divine Sword Corps warriors unraveling from their cross-legged meditation.