The threshold of Zhongnan Sect’s main pavilion stood tall.

It was understandable—they had nearly been wiped out by the Blade Severing Sect. The new pavilions, rebuilt with imperial support, were said to be structured for optimal defense against surprise attacks.

And so, Jeong Yeon-shin looked slightly down at Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja. Beyond the Daoist’s shoulder, a desolate courtyard spread out.

“......”

A man who had long held the position of co-sect leader.

In the eyes of the Ming-blooded true man, Jeong Yeon-shin looked less like a person, and more like calamity itself.

He felt it instinctively. At that moment, Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja was staring at the current leader of the Divine Sword Corps as though peering through an open gate. As if he were assessing a task requiring special countermeasures.

“I hope my disciples never have to face you.”

The old Daoist slowly moved his lips.

“In times like these, when chaos reigns, no one can predict what might happen.”

“I...”

Jeong Yeon-shin stepped down from the threshold.

“...wish that every time martial artists of the root sect face danger, they’d be able to meet the True Man of the Sect Master. So that they might survive.”

“Ipwang Fortress has always been a tool of the Ming imperial family. At least, I’m one of those who believe that.”

As Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja spoke, the wind around them stirred. His aged voice began to echo dully, and a translucent breeze pressed lightly against Jeong Yeon-shin.

“Because I don’t see you as some absolute force of good, there’s nothing beneficial about me meeting a master of the Divine Sword Corps. It’s like a civilian facing down a tiger.”

“It’s simply a meeting between two swordsmen.”

Thoom—

A clash of energy.

A faint boundary flickered like a whip, and the air around them shimmered like glass.

It wasn’t caused by either party.

Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja’s Heavenly Devil’s Breath reacted to the full-force Threefold Qi within Jeong Yeon-shin. The phenomenon arose because either one could harm the other.

“......”

Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja’s white eyebrows twitched slightly. A rare flicker of surprise crossed his usually blank expression.

“...Huashan has been so battered by chaos that even the elders locked away behind its gates have stepped out. There’s no longer brotherhood among the old sects. Only survival remains.”

“Then why ask me about my destination...?”

“Because you are a boulder.”

The old Daoist continued.

“The strongest unified sects under the Heavenly Tree, the Severing Blade Sect Leader, the Grand Alliance of Justice, the Four Holy Martial Clans, the Tyrant’s Seven Disciples... and now even the old sects, forced into survival mode, have joined hands with northern martial tyrants. While your Divine Sword Corps sacrifices itself in the north, they’ve become the new martial order. All the factions in the realm are aligning with that order...”

Then the Daoist asked quietly,

“What happens when a boulder drops into a lake?”

“Waves rise.”

“It won’t be welcomed. You’ll be too busy trying to protect your subordinates. If your next destination is Ipwang Fortress in Yangyang, then the ripples will start from there.”

—Old man talks too much.

A whisper brushed the back of Jeong Yeon-shin’s neck. A breath so natural it raised the fine hairs on his skin—an inhale and exhale that came from no distinct presence. The Seventh Apostle had crept up behind him.

—Not much of a thrill. You’re more balanced now.

She seemed slightly displeased that Jeong Yeon-shin’s martial energy had grown too harmonized to provoke her. He replied as he stepped down from the threshold.

“That makes it easier to shake hands. Easier to approach. Yangyang has always been the heart of the martial world, after all.”

As her internal energy brushed around him like a tickling breeze, Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja slowly turned away.

“If you set your mind to it, you’ll reclaim Ipwang Fortress without much trouble. What concerns me more is the fate of the Divine Sword Corps warriors before then. That may become your inner demon.”

By now, many had stepped out to watch Jeong Yeon-shin from behind. The Seventh Apostle wasn’t the only one to leave the pavilion. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Yalu Jin, the Invincible of the Little Sky, sat cross-legged in midair, expression unreadable. And Moon Gok, his large frame barely squeezing through the narrow door, tilted his body and slowly squeezed outside.

“Ipwang Fortress should be a bit roomier, right?”

Moon Gok chuckled awkwardly, while the Gaebong Clan Leader murmured from one side of the courtyard.

“Seven, then One to Nine... infinitely close to Nine from Eight... One to Nine? That Cult Leader really is peculiar...”

“Seven, then One to Nine... infinitely close to Nine from Eight... One to Nine? That Cult Leader really is peculiar...”

Perhaps it was because he’d recently removed the Qi barrier from Yeo Il-shin’s pavilion, but no one, not even Shin So-bin or the other members of the Divine Sword Corps, could understand what he meant. Yet they listened closely.

It was then—

“No matter what happens, I hope you do not stray from the righteous path. The disciples of our sect might one day lose their sect leader...”

The old co-leader’s words. A subtle warning that he might one day cross swords with Jeong Yeon-shin himself.

In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin caught the faint scent of wood from the Daoist’s back. The same scent carried by Amya Lord, Cheongsu Jin-in, and Dragon Fang Sword Lord—those who resisted the Heavenly Tree on their own.

“Even if I’m gone...”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke to the old man’s back.

“Ipwang Fortress will be reclaimed.”

Yet Hu Cheon Gwangseong-ja did not stop walking. His old voice drifted out as he continued on.

“If you trust the Divine Sword Corps that much, then the loss when they fall will be just as great. That only deepens my concern for you.”

“You’ll see for yourself.”

Step.

Jeong Yeon-shin also began walking.

But in the opposite direction—toward Yangyang. ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) His worn leather shoes crumbled the dust gathered by the spring breeze.

Jinryeong Mountain Range.

The rumor that the Divine Sword Corps Leader had returned hadn’t yet reached the foothills. Behind Jeong Yeon-shin’s group, Yeo Il-shin quietly saw them off. Her golden hair, once swept by wind, now bore the weight of conflict.

Something had already been exchanged between them.

“I, too... must decide.”

She muttered to herself.

***

A brushstroke swept across the page like the ridges of Jinryeong Mountain.

The ink was dry, and the characters were rough. The scent of thick ink lingered in the air.

Scratch.

It was a desolate marketplace.

Many stalls stood cracked and abandoned. A young shopgirl’s body, once calling out for customers, lay on the ground, staring into the sky with a gaunt face.

She had starved to death. Just like the dry stalls—void of any moisture.

“Damn kid...”

A one-armed man full of scars—Ipwang Lord Ma Jin—closed the girl’s eyes. Her pupils, reflecting the drifting white clouds like a mirror, shut as if falling into peaceful sleep.

“...Might’ve been better off getting killed by some lunatic from the martial world.”

He offered a crude prayer for the dead and looked toward the center of the market.

There, a broad-shouldered middle-aged scholar sat at a table, tirelessly moving his brush. Whatever tragedy had unfolded around him, he paid it no mind. He seemed utterly indifferent, even to the starving civilians dying before him.

General Director Im Jin-myeong spoke without raising his head.

“Lord Ma... it would be wise to begin circulating your Qi Dynamics. They’ll arrive soon.”

He sat on a rickety wooden chair—the kind used by wandering peddlers to lure in crowds—and, like a refined scholar, completed several letters in succession. His brush moved in fluid, decisive strokes.

Thud.

Finally, he stamped each one with the official seal of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, then rolled and sealed them. Each letter bore a different destination inscribed at its end—Grand Alliance of Pure Justice, Four Holy Martial Clans, Celestial Pole Sect, Hebei Peng Clan, Jinju Eon Clan, the Main Branch of the Heavenly Tree...

A middle-aged woman, who had been watching from the side, opened her mouth while smoothing the bloodstained folds of her sleeve—stained with both her own blood and others’.

“They’re not the sort you'd request aid from.”

Shin Seol-ha, matriarch of the Ipwang Shin Clan. In recent years, she had become better known as the mother of Shin So-bin, the Scarlet Radiance Empress, than by her own martial title, Swaying Moon Azure Sword.

“Aid?”

Im Jin-myeong’s lips lifted along with his scruffy beard. He replied nonchalantly.

“These are threats, not pleas. Ipwang Fortress stands whole and unmatched with just the Seventeen Divine Blades of the Shin Sword Corps. Why tarnish our dignity with begging? Lord Jeong will return—together with the young miss of the Shin Clan.”

“...Do as you please.”

Shin Seol-ha turned her head, well used to the Grand Director’s antics. Still, a faint smile seemed to tug at her tired lips.

To protect the pride of Ipwang Fortress—

They had built it high enough that no one could easily look down on the lives of the people. The fall of Ipwang’s prestige would directly lead the hopeless commoners to become part of the chaos. And from there, the rise of bandits like those in Green Forest.

In other words, Gunma Nokrim had only been the beginning.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“This stronghold—just by upholding the name Ipwang—can serve as a brake on the chaos. That alone makes it the greatest sect in the realm. Of course, I haven’t just been scribbling meaningless words here.”

Im Jin-myeong addressed those around him.

The desolate marketplace had gathered more than a hundred figures.

Officials and warriors of the General Directorate, and even retainers of the Ma and Shin Clans, now stood guard. In a rundown cart to one side lay Elder Shin Byeok-do, unconscious.

“Just a little...”

Im Jin-myeong muttered quietly.

“Just a little longer...”

Then—

“For such famed warriors, your current force looks pitiful. I hear Naraksal lost an arm to the Sword King Buta? What a miserable state you’re in.”

The voice came from beside Im Jin-myeong’s desk.

It was a middle-aged man kneeling in restraints. Less martial artist, more dandy noble, his face oily, his skin smooth.

Qin Lun, known as Manrakja—the right hand of the Hao Sect Master.

He had been captured after a fierce pursuit while spying on the remnants of Ipwang Fortress. Despite his dandy demeanor, his footwork rivaled top-tier masters.

Even now, with a faint smile on his face, there was nothing fearful about him—perhaps even a touch of arrogance.

Qin Lun spoke.

“Let’s be reasonable and accept the Sect Master’s mediation. Your era is over. Like it or not, this chaos has loosened the reins on us bottom-dwellers.”

Im Jin-myeong tilted his head slightly.

“...Isn’t it rash to treat Ipwang Fortress as if it’s already gone? You risk much, don’t you? The only ones who could truly block the movement of our purple-robed elite would be the northern God-Fist or Lord Jоо Gwang-shin. But what if Lord Jeong returns with a calculated retreat?”

“That would, of course, be a catastrophe...”

Qin Lun's brows furrowed as he answered truthfully.

“But even someone like him can be targeted by the martial world. The realm is broad enough to make one sick—and now the entire martial community fights for survival. Even if no one can touch the acting Sword Lord, those tied to him... well, not all of them are as formidable as Yeonhwa Nata, are they? Besides, Lord Jeong—he’s still young, isn’t he? Probably not fully tempered yet.”

“......”

When Im Jin-myeong said nothing, Qin Lun smiled politely, as if to pacify the man’s brewing anger.

“If I may confess something... I’ve been reporting not only to my sect master, but to others as well.”

“What?”

“By now, the Grand Alliance Leader or the Holy Clan Lords—or perhaps even one or two of the Tyrant's Seven Disciples—may already be nearby. I’d wager their combined force easily surpasses the Namgung Clan at its peak, who once stood toe-to-toe with Ipwang’s elite.”

The Hao Sect had always changed with the times. In peaceful eras, they made moderate profits with mild manners. In brutal times, they followed the strong and ruthless.

This time was no different.

With the Beggar Sect leader vanished, and Ipwang’s intelligence network effectively paralyzed, the Hao Sect was on the verge of being named one of the new Thirteen Thrones.

“And right now, Ipwang Fortress looks like a retreating army after a lost war. You can’t possibly stand against them. Although... the Grand Alliance Leader, at least, does care for the people. He may be willing to negotiate—”

Qin Lun’s pitch-black eyes gleamed with a slick sheen. He was like a jester dancing before the supreme powers of the martial world—ones he’d never dared face until now.

The reversal of power.

That perverse thrill—that was why so many pursued strength in the martial world. Whether they held personal grudges against Ipwang or not.

Im Jin-myeong chuckled.

“Well, that’s perfect. Sounds like we’re drawing a crowd.”

“If you would only allow the name Ipwang Sword Corps to be nominally absorbed under the Grand Alliance’s banner, we could—what did you say again?”

“I told you to eat shit. It’s an eastern martial phrase. Our Great Snow Sword from the reports says it a lot.”

Qin Lun’s eyes narrowed.

“In what context...?”

Im Jin-myeong didn’t answer. He only said what he wanted to say.

“You may not know this, but Zhuge Wuhou of Shu Han was hailed as the greatest strategist not for any martial arts technique—but for a single act. He correctly predicted the timing and path of a massive natural disaster. That kind of insight transcends any battle technique.”

He leaned in slightly.

“And I, with nothing but petty skill, now serve as acting Lord of Ipwang Fortress. It’s only fair I be the best at something.”

Boom.

A distant sound echoed.

Scrape—

The sound of a dragging foot.

A limping figure cast a slow-moving shadow from afar. One hand held a bottle of wine, the other gripped the scruff of a man’s neck—no less than the emperor himself.

“‘To kill the martial world’... that’s what Lord Jeong said, the day we lost the fortress.”

Im Jin-myeong finished his words slowly.

“Now go and die.”