* * *
Atop the roof of the antique pavilion.
Heon Wonchang's lips parted slightly as he gazed toward the distant city gate.
Boom!
A faint cloud of dust rose as a boy dusted off his sleeves, at his feet lay an old woman sprawled out in a disgraceful heap.
"You heard that…? Another warrior from Kangho!"
"Get inside! Hurry and lock the doors!"
Several townspeople, startled, fled in a panic. Taiyuan had become a sword forest due to the masked swordsmen.
Urgent footsteps echoed from all around, as if they had experienced this many times before.
Standing on the rooftop, Heon Wonchang fixed his gaze on the commotion.
'Just now, what was that?'
It was unlike his young friend.
The current Radiant Demon Squad's leader was the type to humiliate his opponent even in a single exchange.
It was why so few among the countless martial artists sought instruction from Jung Yeonshin, and why the Chief Administrator of Desolate Fortress had been immensely pleased with him.
Not long ago, he had asked a newly emerging martial artist clad in black to sabotage the Murim Alliance's Opening Tournament. They had deemed it a fitting use of the noble Ma Clan's bloodline.
Success was inevitable.
For nearly a year, Jung Yeonshin had been going through an intense period of turmoil, yet today, compared to his usual methods, he had brought down the elder Bamboo Sword with an astoundingly simple technique.
The way he utilized his footwork and inner energy was highly uncharacteristic.
The outcome itself wasn't surprising.
His mother's murderer had been an elder who merely flaunted her seniority within the Slaughter Sect. There was no way she had cultivated martial arts formidable enough to match the Radiant Demon Squad's leader one-on-one.
Jung Yeonshin, at most, would have viewed the old monster like a mere monkey. It would take at least ten of them for him to even consider drawing his sword.
And that was precisely the problem.
Was there something wrong with his body? From this distance, it was difficult to discern what was happening.
'If I abandon my trial now, those old venomous serpents will surely find an excuse to cause trouble…'
A mnemonic verse was needed.
The restriction placed within Heon Wonchang's body was akin to a disease.
Seven Pillars Forbidden Meridian Technique.
From birth, the elixirs he had consumed along with the Womb-Cleansing Waters had shaped his constitution.
If someone forcibly attempted to unlock and extract his inner energy, both his strength and vitality would dissipate simultaneously. Not even the Murong Clan, who had once kidnapped him, had been able to unravel this forbidden technique.
— So, the innate energy has already settled. There's definitely a structured method to handle it.
— Hmm. It's clear they designed this with a specific mnemonic verse in mind. The way the true energy is structured… Ha! The depth of knowledge about the human body is astounding. Ming Cult truly was a terrifying place.
— A nest of monsters. To bestow such a secret technique upon mere gatekeepers…
— For the Young Lord to easily acquire it, developing the clan's Absorption Technique would be the faster route. Hmm? It seems the young Kim has regained consciousness. Let's check his blood circulation.
It was a conversation exchanged beside the young Kim Seon-hwi's sickbed.
The Murong Clan's physicians.
They were men who studied martial arts as scholars did, and at the edge of the barely conscious Kim Seon-hwi's vision, the Grand Ritual Sword Murong Qihou and the young heir stood with their arms crossed.
Their presence shattered the childhood illusions of a young boy about orthodox sects.
Like how the Poppy Addict possessed the Solar Divine Meridian, the wretched short-lived constitution the young lord was born with had been engraved into him through external means.
It was the will of Ming Cult's martial lineage—to never leave anything beneficial in the hands of their enemies.
This was entirely unrelated to Jung Yeonshin's natural talent, who could craft mnemonic verses effortlessly, unlocking the martial secrets of Ming Cult.
A mnemonic verse was necessary.
If he wished to wield the tremendous energy within his body, it was a requirement.
"Tsk…"
For a brief moment, Heon Wonchang could only stare blankly at Jung Yeonshin.
Feeling a peculiar stirring in his heart.
'Bamboo Sword… really is dead.'
The elders who had ruled the Slaughter Sect through the privilege of tradition.
They had turned the young Kim Seon-hwi into a wooden puppet, constantly restraining his elder brother Kim Jon-hwi's chivalric acts.
During the Heavenly Demon Tomb Rebellion, many of them had practically handed Kim Seon-hwi over to the clutches of the Murong Clan before retreating.
And yet, under the name of their sect, they schemed solely for their own survival.
All under the pretext that preserving the Heavenly Demon's legacy came first.
They all seemed like monsters, as if they had been brainwashed. Heon Wonchang's perception of the elder assassins had always been the same.
He had known them since childhood, and the very foundation of the sect was bizarre.
Yet…
Even that ironclad mass of murderous intent consisted of people.
They didn't just die at the hands of the inhuman figures of great orthodox sects.
Even at the blade of Jung Yeonshin, whom Heon Wonchang had shared many meals with, they could still perish…
'Not that I've met many who weren't like this.'
It was a matter of perception.
— Warriors of Kangho dislike underhanded methods?
— That's what they say. Yesterday, some martial artists passed by, talking about how an assassin had his neck snapped.
— Haha. Whether it's the righteous or the demonic, they all kill in the end. Even the acts of so-called great heroes mostly amount to murder. So we, too, should use daggers like chivalrous warriors do.
— How do I know… if my dagger technique is like that or not?
— If your actions can be recited as poetry afterward, that's enough. Hmm… How about this? An assassin who, for a single copper coin given by a child orphaned by bandits, takes the head of a tyrant. The elders won't like it much, though.
His brother Kim Jon-hwi had lived by those words.
Even after surviving the Heavenly Demon Tomb Rebellion, he had dedicated his life to the path of a hero. He cut down corrupt officials, the demonic faction, and even the hypocrites of the orthodox sects without distinction.
Wherever he struck, a letter detailing the sins of the deceased would be left behind.
He had dedicated his life to it. To changing the perception of their sect.
After miraculously escaping the Murong Clan, Heon Wonchang had wandered the martial world as a sword attendant to a certain drifter.
Even while tending to another's sword, he occasionally heard the title Chivalrous Slayer.
He witnessed his brother's lonely battle to reform the sect.
Yet, Heon Wonchang had not returned. The Murong Clan's actions had left him disillusioned.
It was only recently, upon reuniting with Kim Jon-hwi, that he heard about the changes in the Slaughter Sect.
His brother had said that the new disciples followed him wholeheartedly.
That only the elder council remained unchanged, and that the future of their sect would inevitably diverge from their intentions.
— If you return, we will make you our leader. Your martial arts may not yet match mine, but once the restriction is lifted, a new path will open. There's much you haven't learned from our sect's core arts. I will dedicate myself to cleansing your foundation. …We will cut down everything in our way, whether it's assassins or anyone else.
He had dismissed it.
But now, Bamboo Sword's death stirred something within him. The fall of the elder council was truly inevitable.
Swoosh.
The aged figures now standing before him…
They didn't have much time left.
"Do not move."
"The trial is not over. If you take another step, this will all be for nothing."
The old men, clad in solemn prayer, encircled Heon Wonchang.
Their expressions were hard to read beneath their veiled masks, but from their wrinkled eyes, he sensed something, animosity toward the young leader.
Their longtime comrade had been slain in a single move. Their stubborn pride had been utterly shattered.
"Don't give him any time! Stop him from meditating!"
"The Radiant Demon Squad's leader must not be given a moment's respite!"
Below, masked elite swordsmen surged toward Jung Yeonshin.
They moved with terrifying speed, leaving deep footprints across the ground and walls.
It was as if human arrows were being fired from all directions.
The clash began.
Boom!
A shockwave erupted from where Jung Yeonshin stood. The concentric waves of force spread outward, kicking up dust and blurring the surroundings.
"This is as far as we go. The trial will continue once the battlefield settles. If it's the Murong Clan's covert techniques, it's only a matter of time before we're discovered."
"Understood, the Slaughter Sect will withdraw."
"Kim Seon-hwi is to follow the orders of the Elder Council."
The characteristic monotone voices of the assassins echoed in Heon Wonchang's ears.
He silently gazed at the elderly figures before him, then slowly opened his mouth, starting his words with something he had long pondered.
"The final mnemonic verse. It actually exists, doesn't it? I'm getting all sorts of unpleasant thoughts because of this situation. To think that elite warriors of the Radiant Demon Squad would tell the Radiant Demon Squad's leader to retreat."
"…What is the intent of your question?"
One of the elders, meeting Heon Wonchang's gaze, responded with a voice dry as dust.
The Sacred Warrior was indifferent.
"Is my question so strange? Every direct descendant except for me is dead. When the Heavenly Demon Tomb Rebellion broke out, I doubt you bothered securing the secret manuscripts related to the direct bloodline. You were probably more concerned with obtaining another relic of the Heavenly Demon. Something like Heavenly Demon Armor, that ancient body-strengthening technique."
"..."
"Did you not deceive my brother, the Acting Sect Leader down there, who's gathering the disciples as we speak? Was it all just a ploy to delay the appointment of my brother, Kim Jon-hwi, the Chivalrous Slayer, as the new sect leader? After all, to you, whether it's a bastard-born like me or a collateral descendant like him… neither of us are to your liking."
Saaa— Boom! Clang!
Amidst the winter wind, shockwaves continued to resound in the distance.
The elders did not respond. They simply stood there, maintaining their dignity as if protecting their pride.
Like the gentle breeze that now brushed past their dry skin.
Heon Wonchang nodded to himself, unsurprised.
"The greatest virtue of an assassin is deception, after all. You seniors are truly outstanding disciples of the Slaughter Sect."
"Do you dare mock us?"
A voice hissed from the side, like a wildcat baring its fangs.
Heon Wonchang half-closed his eyes, silent.
'There is no final phrase to complete it. Only the branch families' secret manuals remain…'
The restriction within him slumbered in the form of Innate True Energy.
If he tampered with it recklessly, it would shorten his lifespan. If luck betrayed him, he might keel over right here and cross the River of Three Crossings.
But time was running out.
If Jung Yeonshin's earlier techniques stemmed from internal injuries, he would struggle against the Murong Clan's elite swordsmen.
It was a crisis that all black-robed martial masters, marked as targets by the various great sects, inevitably faced.
A suffocating sensation welled in Heon Wonchang's chest.
His leader was living on borrowed time, yet there were so many who wouldn't even allow him that.
'Wait… borrowed time…?'
Suddenly, light ignited in Heon Wonchang's eyes.
He had protected Jung Yeonshin longer than anyone in Desolate Fortress. He had always sensed the boy's temperament.
Whether it was the piercing radiance of his azure-white eyes as he devised an unforeseen sword technique, or the dazzling arc of his blade in a battle he had no chance of winning.
— Young Master Jung! I swear you've grown taller!
— Your complexion looks better as well, Brother Heon Won.
He had watched, up close, a comet burning away its remaining days.
The young star had once called him a brother-like figure.
'To hell with the Slaughter Sect.'
Heon Wonchang asked himself—
…Do I possess the will and courage?
Do I have the resolve to step into the same realm as my brother?
At this moment.
The Kim Seon-hwi inside him did not answer.
Wuuung—
Only the Desolate Sword, long hanging from his waist, hummed in response.
That was enough.
He squared his shoulders, casting aside hesitation.
Lines of mnemonic verses unraveled within his mind, intertwining, seeping into his meridians.
He continuously recalled the intricate sensation of Radiant Arts Secret.
Seven Pillars Forbidden Meridian Technique. Timed Unlock.
Slivers of soft radiance seeped through the elder's dark encirclement.
* * *
"The clan leader will arrive soon."
A massive man draped in a white robe spoke.
The Grand Ritual Sword Murong Qihou.
His face was concealed behind an ox-horned Demon King Mask, and an aged warrior's aura surrounded him like a dense fog.
Though his arms were crossed, invisible sword energy leaked from his body, carving countless circular grooves into the ground at his feet.
The youth beside him, wearing a Great Sage Mask, spoke with a slight distance between them.
"We must secure it first."
"You speak of Heavenly Demon Armor, yet you cannot even handle the Radiant Demon Squad's leader before you?"
"You know it's only a matter of time. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to kill the brightest prodigy of Desolate Fortress."
"You sound confident."
"I sent in the Meteor Filling the Sky first. I assumed you wouldn't want to face a battle-worn Radiant Demon Squad's leader."
A mist of dust veiled their vision.
The clash of blades and the sickening sound of flesh and bone being cleaved echoed incessantly.
As soon as Murong Mingjun had faced Jung Yeonshin, he had instinctively stepped back.
He had boldly approached, but the Radiant Demon Squad's leader's gaze was anything but ordinary.
The sheer force behind the Ultimate Sword of a Supreme Master had drained his courage in an instant.
It only took a few breaths for him to realize that striking now, after letting the battle take its toll, was the right move.
That time had arrived.
"I'll be on my way."
He spoke.
A detached reply soon followed.
"I will not go."
"I know. My uncle prefers my sister, after all."
Murong Mingjun smirked.
The second-in-command of the Murong Clan did not see him as a worthy heir.
In both talent and character, he believed Murong Suran to be the rightful successor.
He had even remarked that the current heir's disposition was better suited to the Dark Sword, not leadership.
Murong Mingjun didn't care.
He stepped into the dust.
A lone shadow stood still, shoulders slightly slumped.
The number of corpses strewn around was impossible to guess, making his stomach churn.
The swordsmen who had swarmed the Radiant Demon Squad's leader were personally trained by Murong Mingjun himself.
"Lotus Nezha! The ignorant fools of Shaanxi call you the incarnation of the Crown Prince of Nezha!"
He shouted.
"Yet if you struggle so much against the blades of mere mortals, then how could the Lotus Blade, said to be sharp enough to sever the head of the Zhuge Clan's leader, ever hope to reach me?"
"…Come here."
A low voice resonated. Murong Mingjun's shoulders flinched slightly.
At the same time, he stomped the ground, as if to erase his moment of hesitation.
"The air reeks of blood, you didn't even bother to form an inner energy barrier! I've heard from my clan leader! They said the Radiant Demon Squad's leader's body-strengthening techniques are far inferior to his swordsmanship! If you still have strength left, come at me yourself!"
A considerable amount of time had passed since the initial clash.
His uncle, who had grown cold toward him due to certain past events, would not lend him aid.
A man who would be pleased if the young heir died here, who would push Murong Suran forward in his stead. Grand Ritual Sword Murong Qihou was both the most insidious and the most honor-obsessed hypocrite.
Murong Mingjun was determined to drain the Radiant Demon Squad's leader's energy at any cost. If he could sever his head himself, all the better.
At that moment—
Tatadak.
From the distant wall, an unusual presence came racing toward them. It was very small.
A squirrel, its fur a gentle shade of brown, darted across the walls, leaping nimbly from one spot to the next. A wooden box was tied to its tiny back.
A pure, fragrant scent drifted in the air.
'A spiritual beast of Shaolin…? The ones said to be adept at tracking…'
Murong Mingjun's eyebrows shot up.
The battle had dragged on for too long. It was no surprise that unexpected elements were beginning to intervene.
"That thing! Capture it immediately! That must not fall into the Radiant Demon Squad's leader's hands!"
Whoosh!
At his command, a dozen figures surged forward in pursuit.
All of them were swordsmen.
The lull in their fight against Radiant Demon Squad's leader lasted only a fleeting moment before, at the given order, they tore through the air with blinding Body Acceleration Techniques.
The gusts of wind whipping past their ears were reassuring in their sheer force.
"Swordsmen, reveal your true nature!"
Murong Mingjun's cry was more of a demand for provocation.
The masked swordsmen responded in kind.
"The fight is dragging on! Isn't this getting too dull?"
"Is that truly Lotus Nezha before us?"
"They say the Radiant Demon Squad's leader is dangerously temperamental! With his hands, he's proving the rumors right!"
Murong Mingjun's lips curled into a sneer.
"You must have come here seeking Heavenly Demon Armor. And yet, you have nothing, do you? No body-strengthening techniques, no power worthy of the name Lotus Nezha…"
Suddenly, Murong Mingjun's vision turned stark white.
A dried, luminous streak blinded him, obscuring the elongated shadow stretching behind it.
Something passed by his throat, utterly devoid of presence.
Swish.
The presence that suddenly landed beside him was eerily empty. It was terror incarnate.
"The young heir of the Murong Clan hastens his death with such foolish talk."
A cheerful voice rang right beside him.
Murong Mingjun's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his gaze lowering. But there was no way he could see the thin red line now etched across his throat.
"…Radiant Demon Squad's leader's body-strengthening technique."
The silhouette of a Death God, forehead bound with a Hero's Scarf, whispered.
With a single flick of his sword, the radiance of Radiant Arts Secret scattered in a pale shimmer.
At that very moment, Murong Mingjun's head toppled to the ground.
Across the battlefield, the swordsmen who had lunged to slaughter the squirrel—every one of their heads was gone.
At the same time.
Through the hazy cloud of dust.
The squirrel and Jung Yeonshin's gaze met.
They were familiar with each other.
As the small, mystical creature lifted a tiny claw and sliced the strap around its waist, the wooden box strapped to its back flew through the air.
Drawn by an invisible force.
It was a sight that halted the advance of the approaching swordsmen.
The box was pulled into Jung Yeonshin's grasp.
Tak.
Bloodstained fingers ran over the wooden texture.
A small sound, yet it drowned the battlefield in silence.
The Radiant Demon Squad's leader had replenished his supplies.
"Behold Lotus Nezha."
The voice of the Desolate Sacred Warrior rang chillingly through the air.
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