Laughter echoed from the direction of the Shinyogwangjeok Sect.

A newly risen powerhouse from Namjikrye, they had naturally claimed a seat among the Thirteen Heavens in the absence of the Divine Sword Corps, which had journeyed north.

No one laughed at the operatic performance of the Shinyogwangjeok Sect disciples.

Their Sect Leader was one of the Thirteen Heaven Masters named in the Tyrant Hero’s Manifesto. Their strange composure and eerie demeanor were well known.

The Grand Master of Myeolseom, Muk Shingun. Baek Girin of Suncheon Ik Province.

And simultaneously—

The Sixfold War Banner signaling the southern descent of five martial units out of the Seventeen Divine Sword Divisions.

“......”

Silence rippled through the fortress.

As the remnants of song slowly sank into the rusted ramparts...

A figure crossed the distant wilderness and came to a sudden halt atop a hill overlooking the half-destroyed city gate.

Fwaaaaah!

Dust broke like waves beneath leather shoes.

The recoil of the lightness technique left a brief counter-gale.

Shin Hwang, the Grand Master of Myeolseom, glanced idly at the dust and murmured inwardly.

This won’t do.

At that moment—

“Grand Master.”

A firm female voice called from behind.

Jin Mu-hwa of Ipwang’s Vanguard. The Blue of Myeolseom, whose solemn impression matched her deep mastery of Jeong Family’s Flowing Blade Core Technique. Her ability to keep up with Shin Hwang despite the delay proved her prowess.

Soon, fourteen Myeolseom warriors lined up behind them.

Kwa-kwa-kwa-kwaang!

The forceful recoil of their lightness techniques sent yellow winds raging, yet Shin Hwang never looked away from the city.

The walls, the watchtowers—

All were vacant.

The banners of the Seventeen Divisions that should have been fluttering high above were nowhere to be seen. A bloody spring breeze now stirred in their place.

And more—

The banners of the General Command, Prince of Gungmyeong, and Crown Prince Zhu Yunmyeong—

Even the single sword [N O V E L I G H T] banner that had always symbolized the Lord of Ipwang Fortress—

All gone. Broken.

Shin Hwang slowly opened his mouth.

“...Report.”

Jin Mu-hwa responded immediately.

“The Myungryu Division reported: The Namgung Clan of Namjikrye was annihilated by the Shinyogwangjeok Sect’s sound arts. That was where a minor, powerless branch had barely survived after being crushed by both the fortress and the Green Forest Cavalry.”

“Shinyogwangjeok. A name I had never heard until before the Divine Sword Corps headed north.”

“Sect Leader Wollyo ended ten years of seclusion last winter. Before that, they operated as a performer’s school in disguise...”

“When one dies, another fills the void. Vermin of the unorthodox path indeed.”

“Wollyo became one of the Thirteen Heaven Masters through a secret sound art. There were reports claiming he enchanted a thousand imperial soldiers with a single whistle, drowned them all, and crossed the Yangtze on their corpses. It’s said not a single drop of blood was shed as he forced even local nobles and imperial generals to kneel.”

“Likely a superior cranial technique. I’ll need to shield my head.”

“If it’s not Wollyo himself but his disciples’ sound art, then the Baekhoe Defense node of the Jeong Family’s Flowing Blade Core Technique should be sufficient.”

With a light tap of her fingers to her own head, Jin Mu-hwa’s pupils shimmered faintly blue before the glow faded.

Shin Hwang slowly raised his left hand.

“If this Wollyo is here, I should be the one to gauge him first.”

The Myeolseom warriors instinctively stepped back.

Divine Flame Twin Hands.

Encircling Gale.

Fwoosh!

His palm cleaved the air like opening a gate, and a blazing gale shot outward from the arc.

This was wind linked directly to Shin Hwang’s qi sense. Since his great breakthrough, he had never failed a mission. Until it dispersed on its own, the force maintained the same function as Yi Gi Yu Geom—to feel all that brushed against the wind.

The gust surged forward without resistance.

KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWAAA—

In an instant, it pierced through the marketplace of Yangyang, vaulted over the outer walls of Ipwang Fortress, and surged toward the tallest watchtower deep within the inner city.

At its summit stood a young man with his arms crossed.

Wollyo, Sect Leader of Shinyogwangjeok.

His crimson silk sleeves fluttered in the wind, which now rose all the way to his chest. He closed his eyes and welcomed the breeze.

With one hand fondling a dangling earring, he smiled faintly—a picture of serene defiance.

“So it’s Grand Hero Shin of Myeolseom, eh? Well, before anything else, you should take a look at this. We can’t seem to make sense of it ourselves....”

Wollyo let his words trail off lazily.

The moment his fingers brushed over the earring—Ziiiing—

A divine resonance pulsed outward.

Shin Hwang’s gale twisted off course toward the lower left, as if yanked.

The redirected wind crashed instead toward the Celestial Martial Treasury and dissipated with a blast.

Outside the walls,

Shin Hwang opened and closed one hand.

“...If you haven’t mastered the Jeong Family’s Core Technique to its peak, just confronting that man might result in instant death. Jin Mu-hwa, while I contain him, keep your field extension long.”

“In—instant death, sir?”

“Think of it like the Sword Songs of the Sect Leaders. He spent his entire life honing that one technique. To become one of the Thirteen Heaven Masters with it... he must be a monster.”

“The hell...?”

Despite muttering under her breath, Jin Mu-hwa pressed forward.

There was no hesitation.

No warrior of the Jianghu holds back in the face of a clan’s annihilation.

The martial artists of Ipwang Fortress were becoming more like true warriors of Murim, centered around the Flowing Blade Core Technique.

“Is the Sect Leader still in Shaanxi?”

“I’d prefer him to remain in Zhongnan. Too much happened in the North already. If he’s the older brother and uncle of the Jeong Family, perhaps he can give them something we never could...”

“That’d bring some peace of mind.”

“Indeed. Hopefully he’s finally getting some sleep.”

Whenever they spoke of the Core Technique of the Jeong Clan, their breath naturally slowed and softened. Even without uttering the name Jeong Yeon-shin, their meridians began to warm as if preparing for battle.

Jin Mu-hwa said,

“In any case, Soyeon Corps, Myungryu Division, and Resonance Division currently lack commanders. Although Ipwang’s Divine Spear has joined us, he hasn’t yet mastered the Jeong Flowing Blade Core Technique. So we’re the commanding force. We’ll start by scouring the outer perimeter, assess Wollyo and other top-tier enemies, then proceed cautiously—”

Just then—

Shuffle.

A slim figure slipped past Myeolseom as if gliding.

A young man, body wrapped in ragged bandages, drawing soft circular arcs with a faded sword.

A monster.

Shin Hwang didn’t even try to stop him.

Despite the bloodied wrappings, the youth danced a swordplay more agile than most lightness techniques.

The Myeolseom elites immediately sensed it.

The extreme blade rhythm riding atop his pupil technique.

Even in that brief moment—his speed increased.

He was overlaying Simgeuk Qilin from Thundercrash Sword Flow onto the Jeong Family’s Flowing Blade Core, breaking down the boundaries between its footwork and lightness movement.

Even in a fortress filled with prodigies, it was a ridiculous sight.

He became a dot in the distance in the blink of an eye.

“Grand Master! Stop him! Please—!”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

A young girl’s startled cry echoed behind them.

Namgung Hwa-shin, the White Qilin, vanished through the collapsed main gate of Ipwang Fortress as if being pulled into it. At the same time, the masters of Suncheon Ik who had been keeping pace with her surged forward, overtaking the Myeolseom main unit.

“Aaaagh!”

A young swordswoman in a white uniform—Shin Bin-bin of Suncheon Ik—screamed in panic, unlike anything heard from her before. The other Suncheon Ik masters, however, wore calm, resolved expressions.

Jin Mu-hwa spoke.

“Shin Bin-bin, the Swift Defender of the Wall. She's more than worthy of Blue Rank now... but Suncheon Ik has no Grand Master to lead them.”

That was as far as she got.

While the main Myeolseom unit and the Suncheon Ik forces lacking their provincial leader pushed through the main gate, the remaining three martial units curved directly westward toward the Celestial Martial Treasury.

And even then—no interception came.

Not even defenders along the ramparts.

As if something immense had already happened inside the fortress.

Only now did the martial elites of Ipwang Fortress, scattered throughout Yangyang, begin to question things.

Just then, from within the inner citadel near the Celestial Martial Treasury—

BOOM!

A deafening blast shook the air.

Fwoosh!

A high fountain of blood erupted.

***

Blood poured like spring rain, with sunlight glinting over it.

The ground was stained black and red.

Multiple layers of bloodstains had soaked it through.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin felt no moisture.

All sensation had dulled. Even the wind brushing past his skin was muted.

Like being wrapped in silk that didn’t tear at the flesh.

He had forcibly expanded space around himself to emerge.

That’s why his reflection in the pool of blood shimmered in monochrome, his body appearing scaled like a coiled dragon.

All except one wrist, hidden from view—located somewhere far away in Zhongnan’s Songnam Sect.

‘Right now... I am...’

A ghost of unmatched power, breaching the gate?

Plop.

The final droplets of blood fell into the blackened earth, overlapping with previous stains.

It was, in effect, no different.

“......”

No intact bodies remained nearby.

Only mangled flesh, the kind left behind by Ten Thousand Flowers in the Rain assassination techniques.

It was impossible to know how many had been torn apart.

At that moment, the pressure of the Celestial Tree was crushing his thoughts harder than any force—

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin narrowed his eyes again.

A few had escaped by sheer luck.

Most, he could tell, had fled to nearby Divine Sword Corps halls to call for reinforcements.

But what would return from there likely wouldn’t be Ipwang’s own warriors.

Then—

“You really are human.”

A man’s voice descended like sunset.

“In that case, the rightful master has returned.

As the thief who stole your home, I’m truly ashamed.”

A man who had been watching Jeong Yeon-shin from beside the watchtower.

Not the youth with earrings standing proudly atop it, but the one observing Jeong Yeon-shin in detail using spiritual sight.

Many of those who died calling out to Jeong Yeon-shin earlier had been shouting this man’s name.

One of the Seven Tyrants of the Heroic Manifesto.

The Palace Lord of Treading Star Palace—one of the Thirteen Heavens.

Tap.

He dropped right in front of Jeong Yeon-shin without hesitation.

Like a street thug leaping casually from a wall.

Jeong Yeon-shin stared at him. Five paces apart—

To those two, that was as good as having crossed swords already.

Even under the weight of the Celestial Tree’s pressure, he could see the man clearly.

Handsome, radiant features, suited to a blue hero’s robe like Hyeon Won-chang’s.

A sleeveless tunic, arms scarred from what looked like countless tortures.

Emaciated like he’d starved for days.

A fist-fighter.

The trailing end of his hero’s robe fluttered like feathers, even though Jeong Yeon-shin was slicing all wind with his Simgeuk Qilin’s sword force.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought:

‘This is a Will Incarnate.’

The level where willpower manifests as actual strength.

Though he didn’t have a large energy core, his inner energy carried overwhelming spiritual presence.

Even Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t understand how he maintained the Trinitary Flame State.

“Regardless.”

The man—Palace Lord of Treading Star—smiled without blemish.

His eyes gleamed with profound insight.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for your arrival.”

Grrrrrk—

Jeong Yeon-shin silently took a step forward.

He couldn’t rely on lightness techniques with space so warped around him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight.

He was certain of one thing now.

Inside the Celestial Martial Treasury, not only scholars but also many families of Ipwang Fortress remained.

And he had no idea what might befall them.

Thud!

Suddenly, the Palace Lord’s force struck down on the top of Jeong Yeon-shin’s foot, locking his movement in place.

A technique like nailing the foot to the earth.

He treated Jeong Yeon-shin not as a man—but as some otherworldly monster, requiring special containment methods.

“I do not wish to fight you,” the Palace Lord said.

“Even if I die, it would only mean something if I crossed hands with you at your full strength.

Please... return here in one piece.”

—Seomye, you must stop now! Do you intend to be consumed by the Celestial Tree?!

Ye Il-shin’s voice echoed in his mind.

—Even if it means dishonoring you... I...!

He also felt someone from the Songnam Sect trying to release their hand from his in the mental realm.

But Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t let go.

Instead, he recited inwardly.

Noble Technique. First Circle.

He shattered the force pinning his foot.

Kwachang!

Fragments of transparent force shattered like glass.

The Palace Lord shook his head with a troubled smile.

“You just had to...”

“...If that truly is the infamous Giant Swell Eradicator, then I suppose it makes sense.

They say the Deputy Lord of the Divine Sword Corps occasionally displayed such anomalous techniques.”

Wollyo, Sect Leader of Shinyogwangjeok, smiled from atop the distant watchtower at the remark.

Just then—

All three of them froze.

KWA-AAAAAAAANG!

Someone landed beside Jeong Yeon-shin, causing the earth to tremble as if an earthquake had struck.

Black fabric, heavy with dust, billowed violently in his view.

A girl in black robes, long spear held reversed on her back.

The tips of her short-cropped hair lashed endlessly against her shoulder blades.

Sunlight streamed across her translucent cheeks, and her chiseled, ivory nose gleamed through the wind.

Two bold characters stood out on the banner coiled around her spear:

Burial Road.

The path that climbs and descends graves.

Meanwhile, the wind she carried—

A lifeless storm of grays—

Showed no sign of fading.

Wuuuuuuung—

A low vibration like a swarm of bees.

It was not natural wind.

Jeong Yeon-shin understood the moment he saw it.

This was a foundational martial technique of the Resonance Division, handed down even before the era of Divine Light Mastery.

“Who are you?”

Ak Su-rim’s first words, glancing sideways at Jeong Yeon-shin.