* * *
Taiyuan.
A vast metropolis. It was said that the headquarters of the Slaughter Sect was hidden here.
The Murong Clan and the Profound Martial Alliance sought to plunder the Heavenly Demon's legacy from them. Something they had failed to obtain during the Heavenly Demon Tomb Rebellion that had occurred over a decade ago.
It had nothing to do with Jung Yeonshin. As long as the common folk and his comrades were unharmed, that was enough.
He didn't care how the enemies viewed him. He was merely a kid with little time left to live.
'About a hundred remain.'
Jung Yeonshin considered himself to have deep self-discipline.
Even when the Profound Martial Alliance's Twin-Winged Blood Sovereign treated him as nothing more than a variable, even when the Young Lord of the Murong Clan spoke arrogantly of the Law, he had remained unmoved.
He was different from those monkeys who lost their composure at mere provocations, shattering the refinement of their techniques.
His strikes were cold and precise, revealing his full strength at all times. It was proof of a level of mental discipline far beyond the ordinary.
Even if his body was somewhat fatigued in this moment, a single Bright Pure Pill would restore his martial prowess to near perfection.
Click.
The moment he opened the wooden box, a clear fragrance rose into the air. The scent was reminiscent of incense burned in Buddhist temples.
Inside was a single, round, white pill—the Bright Pure Pill, a secret internal medicine of Shaolin.
It was renowned as the most effective pill in the world. Having taken it once before, Jung Yeonshin wholeheartedly agreed with the claim.
Tap.
Shaolin's Galhon (Brown Squirrel), the spirit beast that had delivered the Bright Pure Pill to Jung Yeonshin, leaped onto his shoulder before burrowing into his robes.
Where was its master, Wonjeok the Grandmaster? Few events in the world could so much as leave a scratch on the Four Great Diamonds of Shaolin.
"Chew it thoroughly."
Heon Wonchang spoke as he approached, gripping his sword downward.
The two strands of his Heroic Knot draped down the back of his head, swaying ceaselessly in irregular waves.
It was the effect of the immense power radiating from his body. A stark difference from before.
'His energy is far stronger than before.'
Jung Yeonshin thought.
The density of the energy brushing against his skin was overwhelmingly thick. The stored energy of the Desolate Fortress had increased by more than double.
No—nearly threefold.
If he applied this level of internal energy to assassin martial arts, which emphasized decisive single-strike combat, it would be threatening to anyone. Even in a contest of pure power, he might be able to hold his ground against Lazy Flame Dragon.
Questions arose.
What had happened to the Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior? What had transpired with Grandmaster Wonjeok?
But now was not the time to ask.
Jung Yeonshin placed the Bright Pure Pill into his mouth and observed his inner state.
The effects were immediate. The moment he chewed and swallowed, the medicinal power spread throughout his body.
A treasure created through the combination of the Myriad Clan Secret Art and Shaolin's Medicine King Hall techniques. He felt as if a refreshing fragrance was rising from every acupoint in his body.
A mystical energy took root within him, restoring elasticity to his blood vessels and reinforcing every meridian throughout his body.
The faces of Baek Miryeo, Chung Myung, and the senior warriors of the Radiant Demon Squad surfaced in his mind. People who, even when assigned to separate missions, would worry about him due to the ever-short-handed situation at Desolate Fortress.
Now, it was fine. He wouldn't give them cause for concern.
"Stop him! Don't give him time!"
"Scatter! Don't let the Radiant Demon Squad's leader recover!"
"Ignore the one using assassin sword arts!"
Boom! Ssssh!
The high-ranking warriors of the Murong Clan, frozen in shock at the death of their Young Lord, gritted their teeth, readjusted their grips on their swords, and leaped into action.
The force of their energy eruptions violently shook the ground. These were elite swordsmen, capable of summoning whirlwinds with their strikes.
The difference between them and a martial army formation was clear.
Even after losing their commander, they immediately made independent decisions. They weren't mere troops but martial artists belonging to a prestigious clan with centuries of history.
Jung Yeonshin remained unshaken, focusing solely on spreading the medicinal energy throughout his body. Moving his feet slowly.
As the leader of the Radiant Demon Squad, he was a master of Sight Arts. He had no need to assume a seated meditation posture. He could circulate his energy while walking toward his destination.
Step.
His Protective Energy Barrier took the lead. A body honed like an assassin's—lean and precise—held the Desolate Fortress Sword, its blade bathed in deep shadows.
"Squad leader, the White Cat and Poppy Witch are inside the Slaughter Sect's headquarters. Judging by their movements, it seems they've figured out its exact location. They laid in wait like a mouse trap, staying silent, only to spring into action the moment you arrived. That says it all."
A clash between great warriors over a treasure in an enclosed space like the headquarters—
A chuckle laced Heon Wonchang's voice as he trailed off.
Did he enjoy serving as the squad leader's escort? Ever since he had slain the Young Lord of the Murong Clan, he had exuded a carefree ease.
"Will you be joining us right away?"
He asked.
Jung Yeonshin didn't reply with words. A single exhale was enough.
As one of the sharpest warriors of the Radiant Demon Squad, Heon Wonchang immediately understood.
He raised his sword, speaking in a quiet murmur.
"It won't take long, will it? With the squad leader's internal energy control, I mean."
An unnecessary remark.
A signature speech pattern of Desolate Fortress warriors. During missions, they conveyed layered meanings within their words.
Jung Yeonshin understood immediately.
It meant he had no energy to send a direct transmission and that prolonged energy circulation would be problematic. Likely due to the drastic increase in his power.
'He's focusing.'
The task was clear.
Recover from his severe internal injuries first. Then, follow Heon Wonchang to the Slaughter Sect's headquarters.
It didn't matter what treasure lay within. Reuniting with his comrades was the priority.
It wouldn't take long.
Both Jung Yeonshin and Heon Wonchang believed so.
And then, the clash began.
Against the swordsmen of the Murong Clan, who surged forward to meet them.
Ssshhh—!
There was no sound of steel clashing against steel.
Only the sight of three swordsmen's heads falling, severed in a single instant.
A gust of wind followed in the wake of the passing sword.
Assassin martial arts. Techniques that eschewed direct clashes.
―Are you… perhaps from a renowned martial clan?
Heon Wonchang who had once been astonished by young Jung Yeonshin's Swift Sword during the Desolate Fortress Trial was no more.
Now, he wielded an astonishing Swift Sword, cutting a path forward.
The only sound in the air was the rustling of the Murong Clan's swordsmen's robes as they charged.
Ssshh! Boom!
Countless sword scars were etched into the void. Every time Heon Wonchang swung his blade, at least two men fell.
His Radiant Arts Secret infused with assassin sword techniques evoked the image of Nine Yang Unified Arts.
A misty silver radiance masked the flow of his sword strikes, concealing the true killing intent hidden within.
Blood sprayed.
Heads flew.
Despite executing such a ruthless sword technique, his advance never faltered.
Thus, it was exhilarating to watch.
In the city's alleys, the curious literati peeked out cautiously, watching in awe as though they were seasoned martial artists themselves.
Ssshhh—!
Through the whirlwind of shattered stones and dust, heads were severed in a single stroke.
A road paved with headless corpses.
From the beginning, they were merely a branch faction raised by Murong Mingjun to solidify his succession rights. They could not be considered the absolute elite of the Murong Clan. However, they were by no means weak.
"He's using assassination techniques. Don't approach recklessly."
"Brothers who have mastered Meteor Sword, fall back! Strong swords won't work! Experts of the Silver River Flowing Silk Sword should go first!"
The enemies were using their heads. They had completely analyzed the compatibility of martial techniques.
Tatadak.
The formation of swordsmen shifted in perfect coordination. No one rebuked the one who openly named their clan's secret martial art.
It was as if they were saying that now that the identity of their fallen Young Lord had been exposed to the Radiant Demon Squad's leader, the only answer was to kill and erase all evidence.
The dozen or so swordsmen who moved to the front of the encirclement wielded extremely thin blades. Even the width of the slightly drooping blades was narrow, resembling slender swords. They seemed to be masters of Illusory Sword or Swift Sword techniques.
Jung Yeonshin, who had been walking silently, hesitated for a moment. It was out of concern for Heon Wonchang.
However, the Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior simply shrugged his shoulders.
Then, continuing his steps, he tilted his sword diagonally and struck upward, his large arm trajectory showing no hesitation whatsoever.
Clang!
The first sound of collision rang out.
His attack was blocked by two crossed swords.
Two swordsmen of the Murong Clan, clad in white martial robes, stared at Heon Wonchang with expressionless eyes. They had intercepted his assassin swordplay with slight time intervals.
The targeted swordsman first placed his blade against Heon Wonchang's Desolate Sword, and another expert supported the block from below with a swift sword technique to endure the force.
"You're using a crude sword style."
The swordsman on the left remarked. Heon Wonchang's lips curled up slightly.
"A high compliment."
Wasn't that just another way of saying that fighting him was a nightmare? Heon Wonchang mimicked the man's tone perfectly. The eyes of his opponents sank heavily.
That was the end of it.
Suga-gak! Clang!
The clash between the protector and the executioners continued.
Amidst the chaotic intertwining of sword paths, the first two heads were severed. Blood began to splash from Heon Wonchang's body as well.
This style of combat did not suit the Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior in the first place. The power of an assassin's sword was best displayed in ambushes and sudden strikes.
The swordplay Heon Wonchang was showing now was a fusion of the throwing techniques he had learned in his youth, Radiant Arts Secret, and Assassin Swordplay. It was exaggeratedly foundationless, making the previous remark not entirely unwarranted.
"It's just a few scratches!"
He shouted like a battle cry, concerned that Jung Yeonshin might stop his energy circulation and step in.
It wasn't just out of care for the squad leader. In a situation where they were surrounded by enemies, the only viable countermeasure was the Manifestation of Lotus Nezha.
Jung Yeonshin accepted the Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior's intent.
Step.
He did not intervene. He focused on his recovery while continuing to walk.
This mere moment felt extremely long.
Even as they neared the outskirts of the city, stepping into a sunken wasteland resembling a basin, the feeling remained.
"They haven't broken the entrance formation yet! You can tell just by sensing the auras of those loitering around!"
Heon Wonchang shouted in a slightly hoarse voice, his words cutting through the chaos as the sword forest of warriors split apart in pursuit of them.
They had reached their destination.
Beneath the cliff of the wasteland, surrounded by sheer rock walls, lay a basin.
Huuuu—
A dry, dust-laden wind swept past them. It sounded eerily like the wailing of ghosts.
"They say it's the aftermath of a battle that took place when the heavens opened."
Heon Wonchang swallowed a rough breath as he spoke. Though he tried to maintain his composure, it was somewhat unconvincing. However, their enemies, who had descended the cliffs to encircle them, did not seem to view him as weak.
The swordsmen of the Murong Clan.
Each one of them wore plain white masks, their entire bodies draped in heavy cloaks, their silent stance filled with solemnity.
Their numbers had dwindled. About forty remained.
Then.
Step.
Through the encirclement, a man emerged, wearing a Bull King mask engraved with ox horns. His steps were astonishingly light, proof that he had mastered the Protective Energy Technique.
"You are correct."
The masked swordsman spoke in a middle-aged voice.
The hem of his white long robe reached down to his leather shoes.
From his towering frame, well over six feet, an invisible sword aura seeped out, slicing against the ground. He was unmistakably a master of high rank.
"We found the entrance. Isn't it over there?"
He pointed toward a recessed section of the cliff.
Beyond the encirclement, a group of scholar-like men and women, about ten in number, were examining the area meticulously.
They acted as though they had no interest in Jung Yeonshin or Heon Wonchang. They were searching for the formation pillars that sealed the entrance.
"Their faces haven't changed much. The same ones who stuck needles into my body and ripped through my veins when I was a child."
Heon Wonchang gritted his teeth.
In that instant, Jung Yeonshin's clear gaze swept over them.
The Bull King masked swordsman lowered his hand.
Sarak.
The white sleeves of his robe brushed against his waist.
Even the smallest gesture was refined. It carried the dignified air of a warrior who had spent decades within a prestigious martial clan.
The black sheathed sword tied to his white sash looked equally precious. The mask added an air of mystery to his presence.
As soon as he took a step forward, the Murong Clan elites, who had been holding themselves with dignity, shrank back slightly. It was enough to reveal that he held considerable status within a noble house.
He didn't even spare a glance at the fallen warriors of his clan.
"In this place, names can be spoken. Shall we introduce ourselves before we cross swords? I am…"
"Grand Ritual Sword Murong Qihou!"
Heon Wonchang bared his teeth and roared.
"You wretched bastard, you finally show yourself!"
"...."
The Bull King masked swordsman spoke no further.
The Grand Ritual Sword of the Murong Clan.
A name known to nearly everyone in the upper echelons of the martial world. It was said that he was the greatest swordsman of the clan, second only to the leader.
With a single sword, his fame had spread across the Nine Provinces. In the harsh lands of Liaoning, he was known as the King of the Underworld.
"You must have taken Shaolin's internal medicine. I was curious about the truth behind your reputation."
Murong Qihou gestured with his chin past Heon Wonchang's shoulder.
"I will make my move."
The direction of his declaration was clear. It was addressed to Jung Yeonshin, who stood motionless.
A warning heralding a rare, grand confrontation.
The entire crowd held its breath. Even the gentle breeze that had been flowing transparently came to a stop.
Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.
"Heon."
"Speak. If you wish, I can take care of it…"
Heon Wonchang waved his blood-soaked sleeve nonchalantly.
But the Heroic Knot at the back of his head had already drooped weakly. It seemed that the time limit for his energy-enhancing technique had ended. It resembled Ultimate Thunder in its nature.
"I can sense several people nearby with an aura similar to yours."
"Truly shameful. Just senile old men trying to do something about the squad leader. The few elders who actually care for their disciples must have already entered the headquarters. Or they might be elsewhere, trying to help their disciples escape…"
Heon Wonchang could not finish his sentence.
Ssshh—!
Suddenly, Murong Qihou drew his sword.
"Radiant Demon Squad's leader. Once this battle is over, I will show you my face. You should at least know the face of your opponent."
An ill-fitting jest rang through the air.
From the tip of his hand, a massive sword light surged forth in a chain, gleaming sharply. At the same time, an explosive white sword force materialized completely, cutting through the air.
The sound of the atmosphere being ripped apart was deafening.
A massive sword arc, drawing a trajectory as grand as a ship's mast, came crashing down.
Simultaneously, five elders, clad in black wind-cloaks, leaped down from the high cliff.
Their reversed sword strikes were all aimed at Jung Yeonshin's head.
Perhaps it was retribution for the retaliation against an old woman at the city gates.
The moment Murong Qihou extended his slash, they had been waiting, descending swiftly from above.
A fleeting moment.
The only peaceful ones were the men and women on the other side, still analyzing the formation.
Jung Yeonshin closed his eyes.
In a time frame ahead of theirs, he silently recalled a mnemonic verse.
His upper dantian ignited with white-hot radiance.
Beams of light surged from his Baihui Acupoint, swiftly taking form. In an instant, they shaped themselves into the outline of a fan, overlapping with the image of the Beiming Sword hanging at his waist.
A cold sensation surged through Jung Yeonshin's mind.
Sword.
'Good.'
He whispered inwardly.
At the same time, a single sword trajectory rushed straight through his mind.
It did not remain a mere imagination.
A violent sonic boom erupted from his waist.
The moment he opened his eyes, space split horizontally.
A pale line cut through the incoming sword force arc and Murong Qihou's throat, before soaring upward and forming a brilliant circular arc.
Then, with a thunderous clang, his sword returned to its sheath.
Boom! Rumble!
Sixteen headless corpses collapsed and fell.
Murong Qihou, the elder assassins, and the martial scholars who had been studying the formation—blood gushed from the cleanly severed ends of their necks.
"...."
The elite warriors forming the encirclement froze like ice.
Step.
Jung Yeonshin walked past the head of the Bull King-masked swordsman, paying no heed to his exposed face.
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