Deep Fire - 4: Right Before the Blast
It was just before the explosion, right when Guisu Muyoung had coincidentally crossed paths with Cheon Sohyang.
A massive pavilion towered over the Seongdo branch. The chief steward stood at the top floor of the eight-story wooden structure. Unlike his usual disheveled attire, he was neatly dressed today. It was an important day for him, after all.
"Final report, sir. The supreme forces have just arrived at the branch. At the same time, we've eliminated the unnecessary personnel from the existing Seongdo branch. Everyone remaining in the alliance is now on our side."
"Good. Is there anything else I need to know in particular?"
"Movement from Shaolin has been detected nearby."
"Shaolin, eh. I've heard the Forbidden Sword Guardians have been dispatched. If the rumors are true... then this is the perfect chance to drag them out into the open as well. Oh, right—did the supreme forces leave any special instructions?"
"They said caution in all things is commendable."
"Do they think it's an excessive investment..."
He gazed outside, leaving the masked black-clad figure behind him. In his view lay Seongdo's grand streets—a city of wealth where all of Sichuan's goods converged, the martial heartland cradling the Five Great Families of the Central Plains. The Sima Family had always coveted this place.
Long ago, their ancestors had clashed right here in the lands of Shu. The family's bloodline had etched this land's potential and value deep into their bones.
"The main house has waited long enough."
They had lured gluttons like Gira-seong, nurtured geniuses with spirit herbs and martial arts, and freely wielded schemes both petty and grand to drag half the murim into shadow wars. The Blood Massacre of Baek Mountain. The Incident at Goryeong. A seasoned steward never bets everything on a single move. Like designing intricate mechanisms, he layered schemes upon schemes. One event stemmed from two stratagems, which themselves were mere pebbles rippling under four grand designs.
Dismantling and reshaping the tedious, centuries-old structure of the murim. That starting point should have been a single event.
Mengma Blood Tribulation.
The clever ones had already begun to suspect. Unsettling rumors swirled in the alleys. No longer could everything be hidden in the shadows.
"Some things can only be achieved through destruction."
Old alliances had shattered. Unholy pacts had been forged. Matters had ballooned to a scale impossible to conceal. Thus, they hid them differently. Cover one event with another. The massive chaos descending on Seongdo would be a fine opening gambit to smother the variables of the Mengma Blood Tribulation.
Sima Sim murmured softly.
"The time has come."
"...Shall we begin?"
"Fire the red fireworks. Turn Seongdo upside down. No matter what, secure the Void God Egg from the target."
"Understood. And... a report from the main gate. Normally trivial, but you ordered even the smallest details before the operation."
"What is it?"
"Someone's blocking the main gate."
"......That much, the warriors can handle. Unless it's something unusual, don't worry about it."
"Understood."
As the black-clad figure replied, their form blurred and vanished. Sima Sim gazed outside once more.
*
The fireworks launched. The order was given. To the Black Shadow Corps, it meant mobilization.
Normally operating in trios—three as one—these operatives moved in perfect sync. This time, three full teams mobilized. Overkill for capturing a single girl at the mid-Super First Rate level. But their role extended beyond that.
Secure the target first, subdue if possible, then prepare for the sequence of events the Dark Wind Squad was unfolding. The mission was clear. Execution should have been flawless.
Except for one tiny snag.
"What are you?"
Someone stood at the Seongdo branch's main gate. Just one man. A mysterious figure with disheveled hair cascading wildly. In his hand, a cheap sword—the kind hawked in any marketplace.
"......"
No answer came. A Black Shadow team member glanced at their leader. The operation was already underway; delay was fatal. The leader commanded.
"Eliminate him."
Short and to the point. Cleanup wouldn't be an issue. The city had no time for such petty murders.
"Understood."
The member indifferently drew the sword at their waist.
Flying Thunder
A swift sword art where draw and strike merged as one. Laughably familiar to the man. A technique seen once before. He already knew its flaw.
A single sidestep evaded it cleanly. Once the essence was grasped, breaking it was simple. An unexpected outcome.
"Huh."
In that instant, his fate was sealed. At close range, a missed strike exposed the opening. Optimal suppression incorporating martial principles was possible. An overwhelming advantage, without even needing to draw his sword.
But that wasn't what the man wanted. He needed to cause a commotion. Draw their attention. Make trivialities like assassinating a girl vanish blank from their minds.
Force them to concentrate every ounce of power on him amid the chaos.
He converted the exposed advantage into his own time. A trickle of qi into his dantian.
Three hundred years ago, this was called the ignition line. The precursor that plunged the murim into terror.
Kwaaaaang!
A sound echoed through the void. Not the swish of a sword. It was inner power. Human inner power, bursting forth.
The overwhelming force that ruptured the three meridians. Bewilderment spread across the Black Shadow operatives' faces. Naturally so.
Rupturing the three meridians killed a person. Normally.
The man murmured faintly. How long had it been since he'd used this technique?
First Form
Tan
A line. A black line. Inky black, thick, unprecedented.
The Black Shadow operative saw some line. It was a sword aura line. It surged from empty space ahead. Strange. There were ten of them now, moving in tight formation. He was at the rear.
Unless the nine ahead, with their protective auras complete, were pierced in an instant.
But impossible. To do that required the full power of Hebei Peng Family's patriarch at the Transformation Realm, famed for divine strength.
Not with that cheap sword. Impossible, no way...
Quaaeaak!
Kwagagagagak!
Kaaaang!
A deafening roar. A signal transmitted to the entire Murim Alliance, to the Seongdo branch pavilion, to the three peak experts watching from above.
Jang Cheon stared straight at the pavilion. The enemy ringleader I-pil-do had vomited up in agony was there. Clear as day.
"What... in the world..."
Sima Sim was speechless. He couldn't even guess what he'd just witnessed. A human sword piercing ten men straight through and shattering the gate's pillar.
The world called beings capable of such monstrosities by one name.
Transformation Realm. The stage where one shed the human shell and became something else.
The steward glanced sideways in shock. Fortunately, the one he'd personally requested was on site. Without this man, today's operation would collapse into full retreat.
"That one? Go."
The elegantly mustachioed elder murmured swiftly. No time for idle chatter mid-operation. They had to contain the disaster at the gate.
Sima Family Elder Council Leader, Divine Mountain Ghost Sword Sima Jingyeong.
From the eighth floor, he launched toward the outside. Crossing the air gracefully, the elder descended to the ground like a painting. Amid burning wooden debris and scattered corpses, he approached.
Toward Jang Cheon.
"......What madness is this."
He demanded. A declaration of war on the Murim Alliance? Or on the Sima Family? No clue. Nothing. He couldn't even speculate on the man's martial arts. Ominous. Eerie.
The Transformation Realm wasn't achieved lightly. Fine arts, a master, talent. Like a sharp awl piercing a pouch, rumors inevitably spread. No one, no matter how overwhelming, emerged from the shadows unknown.
"Where do you hail from?"
A probe at his identity. Jang Cheon picked up a new sword from the corpses. Half-broken. Not that no intact ones lay around. The approaching foe's aura marked him no mere rabble.
Not cannon fodder, so he prepared accordingly. Heuk-yo was indestructible even halved. A half-broken sword was Jang Cheon's most familiar weapon. The weight and balance differed, sure.
But complain over that?
"State your purpose and identity. Fail to do so rightly, and you shall surely be punished for this evil deed."
"......Hand over my disciple."
Jang Cheon raised his sword. Middle guard—the most basic stance facing an enemy. His eyes settled calmly, staring down the foe.
"What?"
"You might not know."
The truths I-pil-do spat were complex fragments. Even with superior arts, he was just a pawn.
But Jang Cheon had no intent for brain games from the start. Solutions to thorny problems always came simply.
"But the one up there surely does."
If they knew Cheon Sohyang's location, they'd move. Whoever knew it commanded them.
Then drag them all out, slaughter, and interrogate the top dog. Swift as a blade's edge.
Jang Cheon's way.