Beomha the Elder invited Jeong Yeon-shin to Songshan.

He asked him to help prevent the “Unification” between Great Vajra Master Wonjeok and the Tree of All Things.

He even spoke, in his position as the Abbot of Shaolin, of Dalma’s Meditation Cave, and considering that the mastery of Nurturing the Radiance of Skillful Dharma would lead directly to martial advancement, it was a request hard to refuse.

That’s what it meant to be the Swordmaster of the Divine.

There were even words from Yongjeong-je, dragged from Beijing by the Warrior Emperor’s hand:

— There are things to prepare. When you return, there won’t be a single flatterer in the Central Plains who dares to whisper of treason.

From the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, who had begun to use the word Emperor openly in his title, to Lee Teum-je of Nangseong, who had absorbed the entirety of Jianghu, to the Martial Emperor God of War, who stirred the world alone—Jeong Yeon-shin had to survive against such forces.

The power of alliances. The strength of the self.

Neither could be neglected for even a moment.

This was a world where not pursuing supremacy meant losing the things most dear.

That was why Jeong Yeon-shin set foot on his homeland again.

Below the hill that had served as a wall for so long.

“......”

Shinya-hyeon, Henan.

Dilapidated old buildings and halls crammed with townspeople, spitting them out just as easily.

Even from a glance, the land was too wide to be called a mere hyeon.

To travel from Yangyang to Songshan by the shortest route, this place was unavoidable.

It was really just a pass-through path.

Crunch.

Dust-colored dirt crunched under his worn leather shoes, and a shoot that hadn’t yet sprouted slipped up past the toe.

As though young Jeong Yeon-shin himself had been spat out by the people of Shinya-hyeon.

The dew that rolled from a dead leaf left a dark blotch on the soil.

All of Jeong Yeon-shin’s steps were executed using Jeongga’s Motion Skill.

He was recovering, at this very moment, from all internal and external injuries suffered at the hands of the God of War.

Sleeplessness, moonlight, swing.

He focused on recalling the secret techniques.

He calmed swollen acupoints and stitched torn meridians back together with internal energy.

That was why he hadn’t rushed to Songshan with lightness skill.

It was then.

A shaven-headed monk of unmatched prowess who always kept a distance—Beom-ryeol—swept his long hair back and suddenly spoke.

“If you're the Swordmaster of the Divine, you must’ve been a busy man. Did you come back home often?”

“Only once, when I fainted from the Huashan Oath’s aftermath... This is the first time I’ve returned with full consciousness since becoming the Head of the Jeong Clan.”

“Huashan Oath? The Western Peak, Huashan, has symbolized blade-like promises since long ago due to its steep ridges. What was the Huashan Oath of such a young Swordmaster?”

Beom-ryeol was that kind of man.

Though said to be the disciple of Beomha the Elder of Shaolin, it seemed he rarely had chances for casual conversation even with his own master.

He was unaware of internal Shaolin matters or any affairs of Jianghu.

And he was indifferent to all things.

He had barely spoken a handful of words to Jeong Yeon-shin throughout the journey here.

Perhaps it was the fate of a gatekeeper.

Jeong Yeon-shin opened his mouth slowly.

“I took on a duel in place of the previous generation. The previous Swordmaster of the Divine... my maternal grandfather...”

He stopped speaking.

A commotion had broken out below the hill.

A great number of Shinya-hyeon’s people were gathering. It looked like a village-wide ritual.

Then Jeong Yeon-shin felt a massive surge of Earth Qi.

A ground energy so vast it had only been experienced from the True Body of the Tree of All Things.

It rippled like invisible waves throughout the entire village.

A strange phenomenon.

Beomha the Elder calmly asked,

“How is your body? God of War’s strikes are the kind that reduce anyone to a cripple.”

“Almost fully recovered.”

“Let’s go.”

With that, Beomha lightly kicked off the ground.

Shaolin was the home of all dynamic martial arts in the world.

Given it held Dalma’s Muscle Tendon Changing Scripture, it made sense Beomha wasn’t surprised by Jeong Yeon-shin’s recovery.

Only Beom-ryeol muttered something blunt.

“Your body is like that of a prime warrior. Even among the Four Great Vajras, you’d be first.”

The three passed through one of the main village roads without a checkpoint.

Thanks to a subtle concealment technique, almost no one turned to look.

“Monk? From where?”

“Huang... Zi...? No way......”

In that moment, the hem of Beomha’s robe fluttered like temple incense, and the people returned to their paths as if waking from a dream.

Jeong Yeon-shin asked,

“What kind of sorcery was that?”

“Banged their brains with the Great Wisdom of Prajna.”

Their light footsteps continued.

The group followed the flow of the villagers, who moved as though attending a mundane event, heading to the center of the village—

Toward the county office that had ruled Shinya-hyeon for generations.

It was a place young Jeong Yeon-shin found difficult to approach.

The owner of that office had been his father Jeong Ban-ak’s closest childhood friend.

— You’re Lady Ma’s boy, huh? Jeong Dae-myeong always obsessed with superstition since he was a snot-nosed brat... If no one feeds you, just sneak into the office.

— He said he’d beat me with a rod if I came...

— That Jeong family brat said that? I’ll beat him to death!

I’ve never walked this road beside others before.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought.

Like stepping into a shallow swamp.

Every step tugged him into memories.

The road lined with thin trees, the fence curving into an alley, all of it steeped in childhood.

“That wall over there... I feel your aura there, however faintly,” Beom-ryeol said, pointing.

A small wall encircled a large tree like a bonsai of antiquity. The tree’s shadow stretched across the wall like crooked veins.

The village children, Jeong Yeon-shin among them, called it “Hansang Fortress.”

A little fort, as the name implied.

Still the same.

The tree, still faintly green, was said to have been planted personally by the Great Sage of Guan, Lord Guan himself. The most famous sight in Shinya-hyeon.

“One time, the older village brothers from the Jeong household knocked it down drunk and blamed me. My eldest brother was among them.”

Beomha tilted his head.

“What do you mean? Even with one of their own present, they blamed the younger brother of another?”

Without explaining, Jeong Yeon-shin continued.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“That was when I was developing the Jeong Clan’s Motion Skill. I analyzed muscle movement. After I rebuilt Hansang Fortress, the village walls kept getting knocked down and the blame shifted to me again. By the time I was ten, I’d become familiar with martial creation.”

Perhaps it was thanks to Shinya-hyeon that he had survived the stormy Jianghu. Without his childhood experiences, it would’ve been far harder to create martial techniques in real time during his travels.

“Amitabha.”

Beomha chanted quietly. Beom-ryeol mixed a Buddhist chant with a string of curses and pointed elsewhere.

“You don’t mean to say... you repaired that fortress wall too? The uneven levels scream of a bitter, misshapen heart. Shame, that.”

“That one was a gift from my mother when I was alive...”

“Such a warlike touch. She was fit to be a general.”

The land where Liu Bei’s Three Visits bore fruit. The birthplace of what’s now considered the most renowned internal art, Jeong Clan’s Motion Skill.

Naturally, it attracted many visitors.

And yet...

Even so, the crowd around the county office was excessive. Even at a glance, it numbered in the thousands, spilling over the walls.

“Come out if you’ve accepted it already!”

“Uh-huh, how many ration slips are you taking?”

“It’s just two slips, why are you like this? I’ve got mouths to feed....”

A few of those who barely escaped the government office scurried away in haste. They were heading along °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° a path familiar to Jeong Yeon-shin—toward the Jeong Family Manor.

“Huh?”

Among them, a shaggy-haired man came to a halt.

Then, like a wooden puppet, he slowly turned his face toward Jeong Yeon-shin. From his dry forehead down to the corner of his lips stretched a faint scar.

It was a fingernail scratch left by Jeong Yeon-shin when he was about six years old.

‘Second son of the fabric shop, So Su-hun.’

He used to be close friends with Jeong Nam-san, the eldest brother.

The foundational breathing method of transferring Jeong Family’s Inner Meridian Energy swiftly to the fingertips was devised thanks to So Su-hun.

He used to jokingly choke people from behind, and to escape his iron arms, scratching his face had been the only option.

“You... No, are you...?”

“Are you headed toward the old site of the Jeong Family Manor? That land was bought up by Ipwang Fortress and turned into a branch base, wasn’t it? What are you doing there?”

So Su-hun didn’t answer.

The paper slip with the red seal trembled like a talisman in his hand, and all he could do was mutter unintelligibly, “Uh... uh...”

His eyes darted between the faded purple lapel, the black character for “Hwang,” and Jeong Yeon-shin’s face.

Then, a strange resignation washed over him.

“...So it’s come to this.”

Even though he’d always known this day would come, he had tried to ignore it.

Jeong Yeon-shin had made a name for himself in the martial world a long time ago.

Anyone in the village who had stayed put must have considered this moment at least once.

“You’re not going to answer?”

“No, I mean... with this, we can receive grain rations... The warriors guarding the old Jeong Family grounds from Ipwang Fortress ran off after hearing about the Uprising of the Seven Tyrants... The ones managing it now are supposed to be the Myung Clan from Cheonhamok... They say the land’s spiritual energy is the greatest in the world......”

Jeong Yeon-shin silently listened to his rambling.

Then, slowly, he opened his mouth.

“You’re telling me the masters of the Myung Clan from Cheonhamok occupied Sinyahyeon? That land in Hanam, not far from Songshan?”

“Well... it’s not like Shaolin can protect us anymore. Not just the Myung Clan, but other martial artists who’ve only heard rumors about the energy are gathering too. They’re all people of the Jianghu.”

Someone like So Su-hun could hardly be expected to have broad knowledge.

If they weren’t wearing identifiable uniforms like those from Ipwang Fortress, recognizing monks from Beomheo or Beom-ryeol’s sect was nearly impossible.

Meanwhile, sunlight struck Jeong Yeon-shin’s purple robe, creating an aura like a pre-dawn glow.

The torn hem from his fight with the martial god was ever so slowly mending itself.

So Su-hun looked like even opening his mouth was a struggle.

And he wasn’t alone.

By now, many people of Sinyahyeon had turned their eyes toward the group.

Some fled the moment their eyes met his, others stood frozen in place.

‘They look well-fed.’

These were people who’d kept the fertility of the land a secret from outsiders.

People who didn’t leave even after hearing a child had been taken into Ipwang Fortress.

“.......”

An indescribable blend of confusion and fear shimmered beneath the white sunlight.

How many years had they lived in hell?

There were a few people he could have shared old stories with, but Jeong Yeon-shin continued walking in silence.

He was headed toward the old site of the Jeong Family Manor.

That’s when So Su-hun shouted from behind him.

“The Chief of the Jeong Family came down to guard the grounds, but she got captured! All the escorts who served her as Merchant Guild Master were killed...! They might use her as a hostage right in front of you!”

“......!”

In that instant, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped into the pouring sunlight.

Step.

The next moment, he was standing in front of the Jeong Family Manor’s gate.

No longer bearing the name “Jeong Family,” the plaque now read “Opening Earth Blossom.”

One breath later, Beom-ryeol appeared, and three breaths after that, Beomheo emerged like a Buddha statue on either side.

“You’re absurdly fast.”

Beom-ryeol gave him a glance and spoke in a low tone.

“These Myung Clan masters of Cheonhamok can’t be thought of without the concept of ‘Union.’ With sensitivity like yours, it’ll take serious effort to retrieve the hostage. You might even have to spend sleepless nights in a supreme domain where a moment feels like eternity.”

It was true.

The manor had been rebuilt with walls far grander than the old Jeong Family Manor.

The reason no presence could be felt at the moment was due to an extremely dense energy veil cloaking the area.

‘There’s a supreme master inside.’

Sinyahyeon.

Once a quiet countryside, it had now drawn the likes of the Sword Sect, Blood Flame Cult, and even Cheonhamok.

Who knew what was buried beneath its soil?

Beomheo slowly spoke.

“You two can do the fighting. This old monk will extract the civilians.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Brother. Back at the main temple, the ‘Union’s Source’ may be waiting for us. The madman-turned-monster might’ve already destroyed the Scripture Pavilion and the Meditation Hall....”

And then—

Creak―

Suddenly, the gate opened on its own.

At the same time, the translucent energy veil vanished, and a rancid stench swept over them.

At Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet, viscous blood trickled down.

The front yard of the old Jeong Family Manor.

“Primal Stabilization Array.”

A blind man in a straw hat sat atop a mound of corpses.

“Came beggin’ without shame, and they shoved blades in my face instead of rice. Swords sharp as their ears.”

Jeong Yeon-shin recognized the behavior. Only one thing was different—blood flowed from a pant leg where one leg was missing, soaking into the mound of bodies.

Beom-ryeol tilted his head.

“Whether Myung Clan or Jianghu folk, they were all cut down with a single sword. Could it be... he’s using attacks from a dimensional void as his opener?”

Meanwhile, Jeong Yeon-shin’s senses picked up several presences.

Perhaps the ones deemed valuable enough as hostages.

He even sensed the breath of the Chief—separated since the Jeong Family’s massacre.

‘They’re in the dungeon.’

Everything was already over.

Then—

“It was a crash landing, actually. I was just trying to reach the richest spiritual point in nearby Hanam, and ended up in the middle of this Earwig Palace.”

The blind man bashfully lowered the brim of his straw hat. Jeong Yeon-shin silently opened and closed his hand.

“Still, meeting again like this must be fate. True swordsmanship, they say, comes from whole legs. I heard some armless monk on Songshan forms arms with inner force, and a young pretty boy from Yangyang can achieve perfection in one breath.”

“.......”

“Won’t you bestow a lesson on this poor wanderer?”

Then, as he adjusted his grip on the sword hilt, the Heavenly Pole Sect Master paused—because the tip of Jeong Yeon-shin’s leather shoe was already pressed to his throat.

The speed matched that of a drawn sword.

“...There’s emotion in your movement. Looks like you saw a face you didn’t like.”

“Didn’t you ask for a lesson?”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

“What?”

“I meant it sincerely.

I really want you to teach me.”