Deep Fire
As soon as Jang Cheon finished speaking, Yi Pil-do drew up his qi from his dantian in an instant.
Pa-at!
Yi Pil-do leaped back like a frog, putting distance between himself and his opponent. Creating space played to the spear's strengths.
His first move was a thrust—the spear art that stabbed along the shortest path to the enemy. He was a master spearman, confident in his position.
The inner energy surging from his dantian flowed into the major meridians of both arms.
"Hah!"
True Heaven Cannon, the name of the technique. It earned that title because the iron spear ripped through the air with the sound of an exploding shell. If you couldn't block it, you'd drop in an instant.
And Jang Cheon saw every bit of it clearly with his own eyes.
To win easily—without taking any risks—was simple. Just let the enemy's strike land and die. That was the terrifying advantage of the Immortal Heavenly Spirit Art. A bizarre technique that rendered defense unnecessary.
But Jang Cheon didn't want that.
Because he had the skill.
It wasn't the brash arrogance of a young fool who'd poisoned his foe and declared victory. It was a conclusion drawn after observing the enemy's methods completely.
"I won't kill you just yet!"
With a bold shout, Yi Pil-do thrust out his right arm.
Jang Cheon moved precisely in that instant—just before the opponent's arm extended. The critical point where the spear shot out along the shortest path with full power. For the arm to extend, the joints had to open inevitably. Every technique had such a weakness.
And by targeting that flaw, you could move later than the enemy and still win. In the martial world, this was called the principle of postemptive strike.
Tak. The sound was short. Shallow. It didn't sound dangerous at all.
Yet the effect was tremendous.
The back of Jang Cheon's hand lightly struck Yi Pil-do's elbow, numbing it instantly. The spear's trajectory twisted, turning the precise, powerful thrust into something worse than third-rate in a heartbeat.
"Huh?"
His slow realization came from arrogance. From thinking the enemy was already in his grasp.
No super first-rate master could avoid it. Martial arts were delicate. If not executed perfectly, even super first-rate inner energy was useless.
"......!"
Despite reaching those lofty heights, Yi Pil-do spat blood.
The reason was simple. The broken tip of his three-pronged spear had pierced his own chest.
He had debuted in the martial world at twenty and piled up countless nameless kills. He was undoubtedly a rare genius. How many in martial history had reached super first-rate before thirty?
But now, it all meant nothing.
"How......"
"Tell me everything you know."
In front of that man, nothing had meaning. No meaning at all. Not the spear arts honed over a lifetime. Not the advantage of his secret weapon that shattered the White Lotus Pure Gang. Not even his own martial arts that cleaved the air and unleashed sword qi.
It all ended due to one moment of fatal arrogance.
"How... What did I do wrong... Guh!"
The man's hand pierced his lung. Then gripped his heart.
The bizarre sensation of his pulsing heart clutched in another's fist. The fact that he was still clinging to life might prove his martial prowess.
On the other hand, Yi Pil-do almost seemed ridiculous. Wasn't his judgment way off?
Estimated realm: super first-rate? That thing? He had been arrogant, yes. The flaw in that technique being the elbow was correct, too.
But in all the thousands of True Heaven Cannons he'd unleashed, had it ever been countered so simply? Not even by peers.
Yi Pil-do was certain. Everything was wrong. That guy had surpassed super first-rate by leaps and bounds.
But.
"You... guh... picked the wrong person. I didn't find the right answer. I heard Ghost Shadow already reported that bitch's location... In a few days, the kill order will... Aaaagh!"
"Confident in your pain tolerance?"
Jang Cheon asked calmly.
Behind the heart lay the spine. A very delicate organ. Sever it, instant death. Mishandle it, paralysis.
But it was familiar to Jang Cheon. Those who cultivated the Immortal Heavenly Spirit Art became profoundly versed in two things: the human body and pain.
"Think you've steeled yourself enough?"
The half-destroyed room echoed with screams. They soon quieted.
Jang Cheon pried at the gaps in the spine with his fingernail, observing the reactions. The face feigning composure twisted, eyes rolled back, body convulsed in spasms. Then the nerves in the throat numbed, silencing the vocal cords.
Extreme agony in utter silence.
It took about the time to sip a cup of tea for Investigator Ju Young-seo to spill everything he knew.
How long would this one last?
"You seem to know a lot about the kill order. Recall it diligently. Who issues it, and who gets deployed."
Was his method a bit cruel? It didn't matter.
He'd pulled out Cheon Sohyang's bloodstained martial robes in front of Jang Cheon. That alone had already enraged him. Greatly. Fiercely, greatly. Coldly. And burning hotter than anything.
Yi Pil-do wouldn't die until dawn. Jang Cheon wouldn't allow it.
Regret it. Until your last breath.
*
The next night, inside the Murim Alliance's Seongdo branch, a young man with a goatee sat at a desk.
His martial skill was just above first-rate. Yet he was one of the most important figures in the branch.
Seongdo branch chief strategist, Sima Sim.
What he was reading wasn't Alliance news. It was a letter from his family's secret channel in the Sima Clan.
It concerned plots planned at the clan level— so-called black operations.
"Ghost Shadow has located Target 13."
Target 13. The related black op was Demon Extermination Blood Tribulation.
Sima Sim knew the names tied to it. This was top priority.
The meaning was simple and clear.
"Eliminate Target 13 within one week!"
Killing one girl who'd barely reached peak first-rate? Seemed easy? No, it was an incredibly difficult mission.
They'd already failed once.
The largest operation ever planned from headquarters. Allies they shouldn't have touched, four Transformation Realm masters mobilized, two thousand three hundred warriors forming a heaven-and-earth net for total annihilation.
From that, a mere peak first-rate girl survived, becoming a clear stain on the clan.
Thus, this was an extremely arduous, high-difficulty task.
"Report required manpower and schemes."
Headquarters graded and managed all plots. For top-priority ones, all requested support was approved first.
He'd attach five super first-rate ronin skilled in tracking. Overkill already—he'd catch flak for it.
But his eyes lingered on the recent string of reports.
And the one just received.
An unknown figure killing Sima Clan members from the shadows. His identity still elusive, they just called him the Dark Blade.
"You're at an advantage."
He admitted it.
To a strategist, the Dark Blade was the most dangerous type. No revealed identity, scant clues to deduce. A variable. The worst kind, unreadable.
Thus, he acknowledged the foe's edge once more.
"You've hidden your identity, while mine is exposed. You've concealed your intent, while mine is clear. As military texts say, I've lost the wonder of the formless. In ten battles, I'd lose nine."
Same forces: certain defeat. Even superior forces: likely defeat. No reason to fight on unfavorable terms. He could yield this round and wait for the next chance.
But Sima Sim wore a faint smile.
"The only solution... is to smash down to a level where strategy doesn't apply."
Overwhelming force that nullified battle itself. An excess of masters beyond excess. The martial world had such beings.
In the vast Central Plains, among martial artists more numerous than grains of sand in the Yangtze, those revered as absolute warriors.
Only about a hundred reached it—beings whose names would echo eternally in martial history.
Sima Sim took up his brush. Beneath all the prior requests on the bamboo slip, new words were added.
Top priority request: One Transformation Realm master.
*
And in some ordinary inn in Seongdo.
A girl entered. Her face was veiled by a thin cloth. Daughter of a wealthy house? But her clothes seemed somehow shabby. Traces of travel lingered here and there, some stained with unidentified blotches.
A young but beautiful voice called the waiter.
"One bottle of liquor and some duck, please."
"Yes, right away."
A window seat overlooking the street. Rain fell outside.
Winter rain, rare in Seongdo.
The girl had lived here all her life. These past few years, she'd been forced to wander, but ten days ago, she'd returned.
Yet she still couldn't go where she wanted.
Suddenly, the girl's brows furrowed.
"......My chest, again."
Her gaze dropped to her abdomen. Beneath the white martial robes, a massive scar surely remained.
Two years ago. She'd been deeply stabbed by a blade. A wound that had toyed with life and death.
The enemy had inflicted prolonged internal injuries with vicious arts, dragging her to death's door.
Without heaven's luck, she never would've survived.
It still hurt. Ached. Tormented.
"Your liquor first, as ordered."
The cheap liquor carried a harsh scent.
The girl pulled a money pouch from her bosom and paid.
A red stain inside the pouch. Blood.
"Here you go."
This money wasn't hers. Paradoxically, that's why she could use it without worry.
Then she noticed a small dish beside the liquor.
"......What's this?"
"Oh, on the house. Saw you by the window. Don't know your story, but hang in there."
Fallen flower petals. A common simple side dish.
The waiter winked. The girl reached for it instinctively, then stopped.
She'd nearly died from an act of kindness before. Been poisoned with Dream Soul Drug trying to help someone.
In all those moments, the girl had desperately wished for one thing.
She closed her eyes again. Endured the stinging pain of her internal injuries.
The crises she'd faced these two years. Some knew who she was, some didn't. Some sold her out for the Sima Clan's bounty.
Sometimes... base lust had drawn foul men near.
Should she suspect? Was this waiter a Sima Clan spy? Or just a pure young man?
How had she become someone who pondered such things?
The girl murmured, pouring her earnest wish into it.
"Ajussi...... I, I miss you so much, ajussi..."
The last words stayed trapped in her heart, unspoken.
Cheon Sohyang never touched the fallen petals until her meal was done.