Everything was unexpected.

It had started when he was suddenly dragged by Golden Thread Technique, who grabbed the front of his robes. It wasn't overwhelming force or speed, but there was a kind of resolute determination in that hand. Having never experienced this kind of master-disciple relationship before, Jeong Yeon-shin couldn't react.

Descending into the cave, the moment he arrived, a transcendent presence dispersed like the Liberation Incense of a temple.

Only a faint fragrance lingered in the deep darkness.

'It’s said that after Bodhidharma used it as a training chamber, it became the meditation cave of Shaolin.'

The surroundings were silent. Though he had been dragged deep into the cave, it truly felt as if he had entered an inner sanctum. The outside and inside were cut off by a mystical barrier of energy.

As if telling him to focus entirely on himself.

That was all.

"Why...?"

Why did you disappear without a word, even after trying to take away the halo?

Several questions circled in his mind, but Jeong Yeon-shin soon swallowed them.

Because he had realized something.

The teachings of Buddhism were meant to be attained by oneself, and the radiant halo of power was naturally drawn into the 'existence' of Bodhidharma without anyone’s intervention.

The Wheel of Light.

Wuuung.

At this moment, it resonated strongly from his heart.

It felt as though it was about to scatter into pieces. As if to say that power obtained through another’s enlightenment was ultimately fleeting.

Jeong Yeon-shin walked silently forward, enduring the fierce vibration of the halo with his heart.

He thought he heard the sound of some tone-deaf person's screaming echo faintly from above, but due to the mystical barrier of the Meditation Cave, it was barely audible. No distinct presence was felt either.

"......."

Was it because of Shaolin’s wondrous formation?

The darkness was uncanny.

The moment he boosted his vision using the Heavenly Sight Technique, he turned his head and faintly saw the outline of an old jar. The familiar musty scent of ancient fasting pills lingered.

On the smooth walls, worn down by countless waves of circulating energy, inscriptions stood out—graffiti-like scribbles etched deep into the stone. Each stroke carried the weighty presence unique to Shaolin’s external arts.

Ssshhk.

Jeong Yeon-shin sat down cross-legged before them.

'Among the Seventy-Two Secret Arts, this must be Engraved with the One Finger Zen and the Vajra Finger. A historical trace indeed.'

A sublime feast of enlightenment.

Each inscription varied in content and style.

The letters resembled pages from the Grand Sutras of the Library Pavilion, yet each one carried its own loneliness—the isolation of those who had endured the suffocating darkness alone for ages.

—Fasting Pill Jar, Na Dam.

—One who resolves all answers within himself is called a madman in this world.

Thus I raise the question: was Bodhidharma himself a lunatic?

Must one lose their mind to attain the supreme power of the World Sutra?

If so... oh, then I must have achieved great enlightenment in hell. Damn it all.

—Truly, "All Things Are Created by Mind" means that moving one’s flesh by will is akin to Martial Extremity. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

A body that suppresses murderous intent reaches Nirvana and guides others for eternity.

—Thanks to Shaolin’s grace, I momentarily regained my sanity.

Damn you, Sambong, you bastard, spitting at Cheonhamok without hesitation—wasn't that the real problem, Wolpung?

Why the hell did you smash my head and turn me into a fool?

At this point, the only solution is to enter Shaolin and study the World Sutra.

Oh Bodhidharma, you said, "If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha"—

So if I meet Sambong, kill him for me.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly scanned upward, brushing over these solemn inscriptions.

At the very end of the trail of troubled thoughts left by the great monks, there was a simple, dusty writing.

Sect of Emptiness.

'Heo-jong... an empty sect?'

The story of the First Heavenly Demon came to mind.

He called himself One Origin, saying there was nothing beyond himself in all of time.

The context was the same.

It was said that after abandoning countless philosophies, viewpoints, and sectarian conflicts of Buddhism, Bodhidharma had no one who could stand against him.

It had been that way ever since he broke through the Meditation Wall.

It felt as if the life of the Grand Master who attained Liberation, and the words on the wall, were asking Jeong Yeon-shin:

—How much are you willing to abandon?

A question so soft it seemed like a lotus flower settling onto his Baihui Acupoint.

In an instant, many things flashed through his mind. Obsession, time, world affairs, bonds... Now, standing before the traces left by Bodhidharma, he felt clearly—the more you empty, the more you would gain.

It was a Higher Dantian Insight.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly shook his head.

"...As the leader of the Divine Sword Corps in this turbulent age, I cannot recklessly discard anything. It seems I came here in vain. I have committed a useless rudeness."

Without hesitation, he rose.

Fine stone dust of the Meditation Cave crunched under the soles of his leather shoes.

The silent cavern filled with the small sound of footsteps.

Step.

He walked toward the entrance.

Judging by the unchanged resonance of the first halo, it was likely that Bodhidharma’s spirit was still watching over him.

'Why?'

It had clearly taken form, used Golden Thread Technique, and even conveyed faint emotions to Jeong Yeon-shin.

Yet in the end, it said nothing.

Was it because he wasn't acknowledged as a true companion?

Or because no further guidance was deemed necessary?

Jeong Yeon-shin muttered quietly, as if bidding farewell after a brief meeting.

"The grand affairs of the world are now beginning to revolve around four great axes. I am but one among them. Even Bodhidharma would find it hard to retreat into nine years of seclusion in such times."

Before he realized it, he was on the upward slope of the cave.

The entrance was just ahead.

"I have already met other completed beings like you, Grand Master. The Daoist Sambong Zhenren, the Heavenly Demon of the Netherworld Path, and..."

Jeong Yeon-shin paused briefly before continuing in a low voice.

"My master as well. The monstrous force of the Ten Thousand Demonic Clans now serves her ascent. An ordinary person cannot fathom such a climb..."

As he spoke, his foot stepped into a beam of transparent sunlight.

His voice remained expressionless.

"I cannot even last nine hours."

Whoosh!

For some reason, it felt like a faint laughter echoed behind him.

Turning his back to the Meditation Cave, the hem of his purple robe fluttered in the dusty breeze.

Outside the Meditation Cave.

"Hmm? Did you run out of food?"

A lazy question, as if full after a good meal—Wollyo's voice.

Jeong Yeon-shin silently stared past the severed head hanging at the entrance.

"......."

The mountain path leading into the cave was drenched in blood.

About a hundred corpses stained the slope dark red, massive bleeding from their eyes and ears.

The metallic stench twisted in his nose.

Wollyo's head dangled.

"Aside from one of the Grand Alliance Lord’s four wives, none could withstand even a few bars of my tune. It seems only the monsters trained in the Jeong Family's Resonance Art are fitting audiences. Of course, peerless masters aside."

"...You know classified information."

"You mean the successors of the Jeong Family’s Resonance Art? The Lord of Haomun told me."

Even among countless rumors, Wollyo was as dangerous as the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

This was also why Jeong Yeon-shin had stopped his meditation retreat.

"Oh, and by the way, a ridiculously huge Golden Toad appeared from the west. It happened just as the former Lord of the Zhuge Clan was about to crack my skull open. It was truly a stroke of fortune. Everyone would lose their minds over a spiritual beast’s inner core of that caliber."

He spoke of tremendous events with nonchalance.

The former Zhuge Clan Lord had gone to capture the spiritual toad.

'The Gate of Songshan has been breached?'

The fact that most of the Shaolin monks had left the premises wasn’t ordinary to begin with.

If they had filled the absence of Abbot Beomha and Beom-ryeol with other monks, then now that the two had returned, a shift should have occurred.

Ssshhk.

Once again, Wollyo, tied to Jeong Yeon-shin’s back, spoke in a humming voice.

“Famine and disorder being inseparable has practically become common sense by now, but lately, it feels like it’s beyond that. It’s as if some invisible latch has been undone. Maybe it started when those tree-legged creatures and those ear-monster guardians began rampaging...”

There was more.

Kwaaaang―!

'The west.'

A dust cloud, rising from the central peak of Shaoshi Mountain, began to swell endlessly, surging forward like a tsunami.

In an instant, the sky turned a pale gray, and an overwhelming pressure swept away the mountain air.

It wasn’t coming from below, but bursting straight ahead — a landslide erupting forward.

Through the haze, a faint sight came into view:

A scene of Grandmaster Wonmu of the Four Great Diamond Guardians being struck head-on by a single devastating punch, his body shooting from the western cliff into the Shaolin grounds like a meteor.

"Hoooh, now that’s being hit by a force that defies the laws of nature. The opponent must be one of the Six Original Star Lords, or perhaps one of the Five Heavenly Swords..."

Wollyo’s voice faded out.

Jeong Yeon-shin had already pushed off the ground — the faint shimmer of the Ten Mile Radiance instantly traced a parabola, shooting from the Meditation Cave all the way to the Shaolin Temple, crossing hundreds of meters in one breath.

Step.

The moment he landed at the guest hall of the temple, a massive fist came crashing down toward his crown.

In that fleeting moment, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped lightly, pushing off the surface of the fist, landing squarely atop a thick forearm.

Even through the swirling dust, the faint expression of shock on his opponent’s face was visible.

"......!"

Rumble, rumble, rumble!

The ground beneath them caved in from the impact of the punch.

Even Jeong Yeon-shin was slightly surprised.

'I didn’t gain anything from the Meditation Cave, and yet...'

His footwork had become minutely lighter.

He was someone who calibrated every sensation in his body like a living instrument — he knew himself well enough to recognize even the slightest change.

"Beiqi? Indeed."

The rough yet cheerful voice rang out as the dust settled like mist.

The man's voice carried the constant undercurrent of power, as if his every word birthed gusts of wind.

Jeong Yeon-shin, standing on the iron-like forearm, slowly lowered his eyelids.

"Good to meet you. I am Mu Gok."

He ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) came into full view — a giant of a man grinning wildly.

He carried a hammer longer than a crescent blade, blood still staining his lips.

It looked as if he had torn into Grandmaster Wonmu’s flesh.

At that moment, the Yozoku monk lay sprawled on the ground like a fallen mountain beyond Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder — living proof of Mu Gok’s overwhelming strength.

Had Grandmaster Wonmu not possessed such a supreme cultivation and an ascended Divine Core, the outcome might have been different.

Jeong Yeon-shin opened his mouth.

"Rest easy."

―...I will rise again after a hundred breaths.

The wandering monks must be protected.

Never in the thousand-year history of this temple have civilians been murdered by martial artists within the grounds of Shaolin.

It was the transmitted voice of Grandmaster Wonmu.

[To think a young one could fall so far behind.]

A crone's voice drifted down from the skies.

[Even this era’s famine is the first in a thousand years. No matter how mighty Shaolin is, there are places even they cannot reach. It is simply the spirit of the times moving the world.

Human lives are entrusted to the heavens.]

A mantra he once heard from the Lord of the Zhuge Clan floated into his mind — but now, it carried an even deeper weight and an eerie resonance.

[Have you come to seize Mount Song as the leader of the Divine Sword Corps? It’s true — there are few strategic points as valuable as this for those who seek to conquer all of Jianghu. I expected you to be outrageously powerful, but to think you’ve added such brilliance atop your might...]

The tone was peculiar — as if acknowledging that this was only natural.

At that moment, Wollyo’s dangling head seemed to have a sudden epiphany.

"Once, the heads of the Murim Sword Sect, the Mo Yong Clan, and the Zhuge Clan debated the essence of martial arts! Now, facing the black-clad sword of youth, they lose their heads like sunset crashing into the ridgeline of time!"

He mimicked dramatic pansori singing, and the spiritual pressure around them plummeted violently.

At that moment, a body, fluttering with its silk robes, descended vividly — dragging an entire mass of brilliant white mist behind it like a sun.

"......!"

An old woman wielding a folding fan was moving the Gate itself.

'Jeogal Cheong, the Celestial Dance Empress.'

He recalled the intelligence reports from the Main Administrative Office.

She had long since crossed the Silk Road to secure her household’s complete succession — perhaps she had even mastered the mystic martial arts of the Western Regions.

Srrrk.

At the same time, Jeong Yeon-shin sensed an overwhelming sword intent building up from a corner of the temple wall.

Just as Namgung Hwa-shin once cleaved through two Lords of the Thirteen Heavens even while at a great disadvantage, a supreme swordsman was now poised, sword drawn, ready to become a new variable.

Slowly.

An aged voice descended like ripe rice stalks bending low.

"I am but an insignificant elder of the Gongsun Clan. I already died once at the hands of a monstrous being named Yeohae during the Imjin Year. At a glance, you are indeed a remarkably formidable swordsman...

Yet strangely, I do not feel fear."

The old swordsman seemed to have lost the very ability to feel fear during his long sojourn to the east in the Imjin Year.

"......."

Even now, Jeong Yeon-shin stood calmly atop Mu Gok’s forearm.

Then, just as the tattered monk’s robe of Grandmaster Wonmu spilled forth a mess of ruined books — one of them being the treasured volume of the Sword Saint of Mount Zhongnan —

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly placed his hand on the hilt of the Sword of Mastery.

It happened in a single moment.

"......?"

A glimmer of confusion appeared on Mu Gok’s face.

Swiik—

A faint vertical line was carved across both the Gate and Jeogal Cheong's body.