The Secrets of the Secluded Valley
Which is the greatest sect hidden in the deep mountains and secluded valleys? It is an eternal topic of debate for the gossips who love nothing more than drawing comparisons.
Some, arguing that raw strength is paramount, point to the Heavenly Martial Alliance of Mount Tianshan—the Demonic Cult. Others, citing sheer numbers and information networks, champion the Beggars' Sect. Some speak of the Four Dark Alliances, whose vast wealth and ruthless methods are currently unmatched in the Jianghu, while those who understand the terror of the outer realms whisper of the North Sea Ice Palace.
Thus, opinions always clash when discussing the absolute strongest. However, if one were to ask which sect is the most respected, everyone would answer in unison: "Shaolin of the North, Wudang of the South!"
‘So it comes to this.’
With dark, heavy eyes, **Yoo Jeong** stared at the Taoist priest blocking his path and the elderly beggar standing behind him.
“Yoo Jeong. The Murim is not a forest; it is a swamp. Once you step foot inside, it is not easy to pull yourself out. I hope you never have to.”
His master’s warning echoed in his mind.
You get tangled up with one martial artist by chance, and another immediately appears? It was a connection he had never wanted. As their numbers grew, Yoo Jeong felt a massive headache coming on.
‘Should I silence them?’
He briefly weighed the possibility.
‘No, I can’t.’
Dealing with the old beggar alone would have required Yoo Jeong to exert his full strength. Now, another old man of at least equal caliber had joined the fray.
Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time, he sheathed his sword.
"Why are you doing this?"
"...I apologize on his behalf. No doubt this fellow started the trouble."
The elderly Taoist priest wore his hair swept back neatly under a traditional crown. His long, sage-like beard reached his chest, perfectly groomed without a single stray hair. However, what caught Yoo Jeong's attention was not his immaculate appearance, but the sword hanging from his waist.
A single pine tree was engraved on the scabbard. It was the symbol of a highly renowned Taoist sect.
"Greetings, Priest of the **Wudang Sect**."
The Wudang Sect. A Taoist sect located on Mount Wudang in Jun County, Hubei Province. Armed with martial arts fully deserving of the title 'divine techniques'—such as the Cotton Palm, the Wisdom Sword, and the Yin-Yang Divine Art—it was a pillar of the Orthodox Murim that had produced countless masters.
In particular, because Wudang boasted so many sword masters, it was the sect his master, the **Sword Empress**, had mentioned most frequently. In her stories, she had always shown deep respect for Wudang. Thus, despite the unpleasant encounter, Yoo Jeong showed proper etiquette to the priest.
"May the Supreme Lord of the Numinous Treasure bring peace to your body and soul. It is a pleasure to meet you, young hero, though our introduction is late."
Surprised by Yoo Jeong's unexpectedly polite demeanor, the elderly Taoist recited a prayer for peace, bowed, and clasped his hands in a formal greeting.
"Once again, I apologize for my friend's rudeness."
"Hey, you old garlic-nose! What did I even do?!"
**Goegelgae**, who had been kicking the dirt in frustration during the lull, flared up and shouted.
"You must have been the one to offend this young hero first, which is why you were fighting in such a place."
"Ha! Unbelievable. Hey! Do you think I did it for no reason? The kid's martial arts are highly suspicious. I thought he might have trained in demonic arts..."
"Demonic arts?"
The priest scrutinized Yoo Jeong with narrowed eyes. Soon, however, he let out a low hum and shook his head.
"He certainly possesses an extraordinary level of martial arts for his age."
"See? I told you! I didn't unleash my dog-beating techniques for nothing, you garlic-nosed Taoist!"
"But I sense absolutely no demonic Qi from him. Chwigeolgae, your judgment was flawed."
"Aigoo, you're so frustrating! Didn't you see his eyes practically burning with killing intent just now?"
"If you go around causing trouble like this, even the Hall Leader of the Arhat Hall would lose his temper."
Thump, thump.
The elderly priest clicked his tongue as he watched Goegelgae beat his own chest in frustration.
"I apologize, young hero. This humble Taoist is **Hyeonwon** of Wudang. This crude friend of mine is Gwer... something or other."
"I already told him my title, you garlic-nosed prick!"
"Be quiet, you. Young hero, we belong to the **Wulin Alliance Headquarters** and are currently on a mission for the future of the Orthodox Murim. I believe my friend here was simply being overly sensitive."
The priest's demeanor was polite and apologetic, yet carried an innate dignity that was not the least bit subservient. His presence, reminiscent of a steadfast pine tree, made Yoo Jeong nod in acknowledgement.
"The only reason I did not reveal my sect is because I wish to avoid any ties with the Murim. As long as the misunderstanding is cleared up, that is enough. May I leave now?"
Yoo Jeong asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. He was already running terribly late. Now that silencing them was out of the question, his only thought was to sever all ties with these people as quickly as possible and return home.
"I understand. My apologies. As for your whereabouts, if this fellow has any sense of shame, he will keep his mouth shut."
"Ahem."
"Thank you. Farewell, then."
Picking up the sack of rice and the groceries he had set aside, Yoo Jeong gave a slight bow and prepared to pass them.
Grab.
That was, until the priest's eyes suddenly widened, and he reached out to grab Yoo Jeong's wrist.
"...What do you think you are doing?"
"Ah. Forgive me."
Meeting Yoo Jeong's icy glare, the priest hastily released his grip as if he had been burned. Yet, his gaze remained locked onto Yoo Jeong. More precisely, onto the sword Yoo Jeong carried.
"The **Heavenly Sword Style**!"
The priest gasped in sheer disbelief. At those words, Yoo Jeong's face hardened into a cold mask.
“Young hero. The person we are searching for is none other than your master, the Sword Empress.”
Yoo Jeong's expression was grim as he hurried back toward **Muo Valley**, having finally shaken off the Wudang priest and the Beggars' Sect elder. The priest's earnest plea weighed heavily on his mind.
“Though the long peace has weakened the Orthodox Murim, the forces threatening us grow stronger by the day. To the south, the Four Dark Alliances have amassed power and are plotting something. The sorcerers of the Sun Moon Sect, whom we drove across the eastern sea, are biding their time to strike. And to the west, the threat of the Demonic Cult in the Tianshan Mountains is ever-present.”
No matter how desperately the priest pleaded, Yoo Jeong remained completely indifferent. The political landscape of the Murim was something he neither knew nor cared about.
However...
“The North Sea Ice Palace has brought up the Covenant of the Northern Sword with the Sword Empress.”
Yoo Jeong could not ignore those final words. His master's name had been invoked, and it concerned a matter he knew all too well.
The **Covenant of the Northern Sword**.
Years ago, when the Lord of the North Sea Ice Palace marched south with unstoppable momentum, wielding bizarre ice arts and overwhelming internal energy, his master, the Sword Empress, had stood in his path with nothing but a single sword.
A duel to the death ensued. Yet, even after three days and nights of an earth-shattering battle, neither could claim victory. Marveling at each other's supreme skill, the Ice Palace Lord and his master forged a solemn vow.
The Ice Palace would withdraw to its northern domain. In return, the Sword Empress would cultivate her martial arts until she surpassed him, at which point she would visit the Ice Palace to fulfill their mutual goal.
As a token of this promise, the Ice Palace Lord had gifted her **Cheonru**, the sacred treasure of the Ice Palace, offered with his deepest respect and friendship.
“It has been ten years since the Sword Empress went into seclusion. The Ice Palace has sent a formal letter of protest, demanding to know if she has ascended to heaven. If this continues, the Covenant of the Northern Sword will be broken, and the Ice Palace may march south once more.”
In the end, the priest's point was simple. The Murim was short-handed, and with the Ice Palace threatening to stir up trouble, they needed the Sword Empress to break her seclusion.
Naturally, Yoo Jeong had absolutely no intention of complying. His master was suffering from amnesia. To drag a patient who could barely care for herself back into the chaotic Murim? To proudly parade her around under the legendary name of the Sword Empress was nothing short of suicidal.
“Gratitude and vengeance are two sides of the same coin.”
It was a lesson his master had drummed into him. For every person who revered the name of the Sword Empress, there would be another harboring a deep, bitter grudge. To those enemies, an amnesiac Sword Empress would be the perfect, defenseless target. Yoo Jeong refused to take that risk.
To Yoo Jeong, maintaining the peace of the Murim meant nothing. His master's health and safety, and the side dishes she liked to eat, were infinitely more important than the so-called future of the martial world.
Rather than worrying about the Covenant of the Northern Sword being broken, he was far more concerned that his master might have caused some trouble after waking up from her nap. Hurrying through Muo Valley, Yoo Jeong finally arrived at their thatched cottage.
But the scene that greeted him was entirely unexpected. Losing all reason, he screamed.
"Get—away—from—her!"
His thunderous, rage-filled shout reverberated through the depths of Muo Valley.
"Hic... Jeong is mean. Waaah."
Watching his master sob against his chest, Yoo Jeong felt like a terrible criminal. He repeatedly stroked her hair, trying his best to soothe her.
"I'm sorry, Master. I was just so startled."
Even as he apologized, he shot a sharp, piercing glare at the intruder in Muo Valley.
Slurp.
The intruder calmly sipped the tea Yoo Jeong had served, completely unfazed by his hostile gaze.
"I... I was just playing with big sister. But Jeong screamed at us. Hic."
"It's my fault. Shh, don't cry. You'll ruin your pretty face. Here, blow your nose."
Snort.
Wiping his master's nose with his sleeve, Yoo Jeong turned his attention to the uninvited guest.
"You said you are the successor to the Earth Blade?"
"Yes. I am **Namgung Sua**, disciple of the current successor of the Earth Blade, **Hwahwa-nachal**."
She wore a peculiar cat mask and a willow-leaf saber at her waist. A tall, slender woman clad in white martial robes, her long hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Every line of her posture exuded the elegance of a prestigious noble family, but Yoo Jeong found everything about her deeply irritating. It was a matter of first impressions.
When Yoo Jeong had first returned to Muo Valley, the scene before him had looked like an active kidnapping. His master had been whimpering, "No, I don't want to!" while Namgung Sua silently pulled her by the hand. Seeing that, Yoo Jeong had lost his mind and nearly drawn his sword on the spot.
"Playing the righteous hero... I believe you are a bit too old for such games."
Despite the sharp sarcasm in his quiet voice, Namgung Sua replied calmly.
"The Heavenly Sword and the Earth Blade originally stem from the same sect. The Sword Empress is my aunt-master, so how could I ever refuse her summons?"
"Ha. But before that, why should I believe you are the successor of the Earth Blade without any proof?"
"Is the fact that I successfully navigated the **Mist Flow Returning Formation** not proof enough?"
"The formation is..."
"Jeong, Jeong. That big sister is really Yul's disciple."
As Yoo Jeong tried to press further, his master, still clinging to his chest, tugged at his robes and chimed in.
"Yul?"
"My master, the current successor Hwahwa-nachal, goes by the name Do Yul."
"Ah."
Left with nothing to say, Yoo Jeong resorted to pinching his master's cheek. Her soft cheek stretched like rice cake. Making strange, muffled noises, his master began to beat his chest in protest.
"Jeong is mean! Why are you bullying me?"
"I bought meat."
"Jeong is the best!"
Gently stroking his master's silky silver hair once more, Yoo Jeong locked eyes with Namgung Sua, who was watching their interaction with a peculiar expression.
"So. What is the real reason you have sought out the hidden sanctuary of the Heavenly Sword?"
“It is because of the Covenant of the Northern Sword.”
Her lips barely moved, yet her voice echoed clearly in his ears. It was the technique of Sound Transmission, and a highly advanced one at that.
“But seeing the Sword Empress in this state... what on earth happened to her? Did she suffer a Qi deviation?”
“...Something like that.”
“Oh dear. This is a disaster.”
Yoo Jeong's brow furrowed at the word 'disaster'. Just as he was about to snap back with a sharp retort—
"Jeong. Why are you talking to big sister so quietly? And I didn't have a Qi deviation..."
A heavy silence fell over the thatched cottage.
Did she just... eavesdrop on our Sound Transmission?
Yoo Jeong and Namgung Sua stared at her, frozen in identical states of utter shock.