Shadows of Amyeong
The next day, Jang Cheon stepped out onto Hyeongmun Street. As he walked the bustling road, he pondered deeply.
"Amyeong."
Those who called themselves the Dark Shadows. Unlike the Sima Clan, they wouldn't be easy to track down.
"An organization is different from a clan. Judging by how they operate under pseudonyms, they probably don't expose their bases either. Commissioning the Beggars' Sect wouldn't be wise."
Even if he shelled out a fortune for information, it would likely be no different from the rumors he'd already heard. Geumjeok-san had offered his help, but Jang Cheon wasn't thrilled about that. In the jianghu, it was best to avoid incurring debts. Besides, from his perspective, he'd already repaid the one he owed. A night's trust demanded no less in return.
So, what to do? First, he needed to shift his mindset.
"I am Amyeong... I am Amyeong... I move as Amyeong now."
Hide his identity? Yes, avoiding the Tang Clan's vigilance was key here. Weren't they on high alert after the recent incident? A local collaborator would be ideal. Wait—a local collaborator?
"Come to think of it, there's a pretty convenient way to find one."
Jang Cheon turned on his heel, bought a cheap mask from a market vendor, and vanished into the crowd.
The Sima Clan. Even on the eve of their ancestral rites, the atmosphere was grim. Clan bloodkin wore mourning garb, and passersby held their tongues. The Sima Clan, known as one of the Sacheon Three Families, had once eyed even the Central Plains with their strategists. Yet this powerhouse had lost kin and experts overnight.
And not just any—they were heavyweights. The Murim Alliance's Seongdo branch chief strategist. The Elder Council's head and one of the clan's rare Transformation Realm masters. Losing a Transformation Realm expert—what did that mean? The balance of power had crumbled.
No one on the battlefield could replace a Transformation Realm fighter. Lose your strength, and your voice weakens in an instant. Alliances forged in the shadows, secret pacts, conspiracies—they had suffered massive losses. The clan would have to hunker down for decades.
Worse, they couldn't even pinpoint the true culprit. All they knew was a nebulous moniker drifting like clouds.
"The Black-White Sword Ghost..."
Cloud Wind Water Master Sima Gyeom muttered to himself. He was on gate duty today. His martial prowess was at the peak of 1st Rate, a master of the Eighteen Swords of the Heavenly Mirror. Yet even he shuddered at the thought of the Black-White Sword Ghost. The internal reports made him question if the killer was even human.
Three bodies found at the scene. Cheonri Dokhaeng, the pinnacle of Super 1st Rate. Sima Jingyeong, at the entry of Transformation Realm. And Yi Si-hyang, the Blood Flame Demon Lord and leader of the Demonic Cult's Blood Mist Unit.
All slain with a single stroke. Identical methods, no time gaps, all dismembered. And for such a monster, there was scant intel. An unfamiliar martial art. A bizarre half-sword weapon. What fate awaited the Sima Clan...?
As these worries plagued him—
"Hey."
A man appeared at the main gate. Black martial robes, cheap mask. Despite the rudeness, Sima Gyeom responded with refined poise.
"Our clan is not receiving outside visitors at present. If you lack an appointment, please depart graciously."
But then—
"I'm not here to chat with some 1st Rate peon. Fetch your superior."
"Will you only leave after tasting my sword?!"
There were eyes watching. As an upright faction clan, the Sima couldn't just swing wildly. Sima Gyeom swallowed his anger and issued another warning. Yet the man didn't flinch.
"Don't you know who I am? I'll make it clear."
He stepped forward instead. Sima Gyeom held back no longer. He drew his sword in a flash, sweeping it wide to block the front—the Eighteen Swords of the Heavenly Mirror, a supreme technique that sealed all enemy movements.
It failed. The man sidestepped perfectly with one stride, evading total control. Like a 1st Rate expert toying with a child's playfight.
"Gahk!"
"Endure it well. Someone will come eventually."
A hand clamped his throat. Sima Gyeom was subdued in one exchange. He could manifest sword aura at 1st Rate peak, but it was useless. An intangible energy bound his meridians, rendering his body unresponsive.
A master far beyond his level. Not even Super 1st Rate...
"A Transformation Realm expert... here of all places...!"
"Urk! Aaaagh!"
"What happened?! What's the commotion?!"
Unable to bear the pain, Sima Gyeom screamed. Figures burst from the inner compound. Sima Gwang, a Super 1st Rate expert guarding the White Lion Hall, drew his sword at once.
"Who dares cause a scene before the great Sima Clan?!"
"He didn't recognize me."
The mysterious man replied nonchalantly. Masked face offered no clues. Even Sima Gwang, well-versed in arts, couldn't identify the style. One thing was certain: a transcendent master beyond imagination.
As Sima Gwang bit his lip to signal an alert, an elder from behind intervened. Sima Hogyeong, the Third Elder at the pinnacle of Super 1st Rate, appeared.
Sima Hogyeong spoke lowly.
"Do you seek death?"
"Me?"
The elder's words carried weight. His reputation for keeping promises earned him the moniker Ironclad Word of the Central Heavens. Yet the masked man showed no arrogance in retreat.
And then.
"......"
".......I see. So it was your side that ordered secrecy. Follow me."
No more words passed between them audible to others. It had to be Sound Transmission—a divine ability only accessible upon entering Transformation Realm. Sima Gwang watched the masked man follow the Third Elder calmly, sighing in relief.
Why would a Transformation Realm master visit the Sima Clan? Could it relate to the grand plan underway in the inner compound?
"You did well."
A middle-aged strategist murmured softly, helping the fallen Sima Gyeom.
Jang Cheon followed the old swordmaster into the Sima Clan's inner compound. He didn't even know the man's identity. He'd merely guessed that a Super 1st Rate pinnacle elder might have leads.
"To arrive without notice—how bold."
"Do I need to send word to go anywhere?"
He knew their kind well—Transformation Realm experts, each living in their own bubble of superiority. Especially one tied to a shadowy organization? Lawless tyrants, arrogant to the core. Playing the part was simple. He'd done it several times as a wanted fugitive.
"...As I said before, even we struggle."
The man seemed convinced. The elder grumbled about their hardships as he led Jang Cheon onward. They passed the inner compound and moved through the vast Sima estate, eventually arriving at a remote warehouse where few ever ventured.
Oddly, the warehouse wasn’t made of wood, but of stone—blue-green stone, at that. It must have cost a fortune. Jang Cheon noticed that the grass around it had withered and died.
"I heard the external leader visited a few days ago, but to come again... Make sure to convey things properly this time."
"I make the judgments."
Why the theatrics? On reflection, the elder acted as if he'd anticipated Jang Cheon's arrival—or rather, someone from Amyeong. He needed something.
"Progress is nearly complete, but..."
Creak.
The warehouse door slid open. It looked like a haphazardly stocked herb storage. But a faint rotten stench lingered—not the herbal aroma, but the reek of desiccated corpses.
The elder opened a loft door in the corner. From the ladder below, the dry foulness rushed up.
"As you know, these Divine Artifacts aren't exactly user-friendly."
"......!"
And in the basement—
A grotesque stone altar carved with neither Daoist nor Buddhist motifs, but bizarre reliefs and yokai.
An altar. Jang Cheon had seen a similar one before, when rescuing Cheon Sohyang. Not Daoist or Buddhist—stone etched with eldritch carvings and demons.
But not identical. The form differed. The Flame Wing Divine Bird's was octagonal; this one pentagonal. Amid foul, ominous energy, characters of the Five Elements were inscribed one by one.
And at its center—
"Groan... uuurgh..."
A child, barely conscious, bound in chains. Around twelve years old. Shackles on arms, legs, all limbs. Eyes rolled back, unresponsive, tears streaming.
No martial artist. A commoner, by the look.
A long, slimy tube-like thing connected to the child's dantian. Each groan pumped a flashing red liquid from it.
"Hollow Yin Severed Meridians. Hard to procure. As you know, our Demonic Cult alliance is severed."
"......"
"Matching the Shaanxi deadline isn't easy. Void Sky Chaos sufficed with yang energy, but Void Soul demands... a more delicate offering. So stop pressuring us. Excluding Namgung, who in the world could outpace us?"
"Namgung...?"
The name slipped from Jang Cheon instinctively. He'd killed Namgung's young lord. Bound by grudge, but the man had known basic propriety. Back then, at least.
But the Namgung involved in this?
"Namgung's Outer God Hall. They're the experts... Wait."
Sima Hogyeong's words halted.
Did Amyeong not know of Namgung? Impossible. How could they ignore their rival?
On second thought, escorting him here was sloppy. He'd bought the Amyeong claim and the genuine Transformation Realm aura. Such experts weren't roadside pebbles.
But verified? No.
"......You."
Sacheon had another mystery Transformation Realm prowling. Why had he forgotten? The clan was on alert because of it.
Too late for self-reproach. Praying the foe hadn't noticed, Sima Hogyeong stepped back slowly. Very slowly.
This was the clan's heart. Ring the bell, and alert would spread. Clan head, grand patriarch, first elder—anyone would come.
If only he could trigger the mechanism behind him!
But his hand wouldn't move. Not by his will.
Sima Hogyeong closed his eyes. Grasping at straws, he bluffed.
"Black-White Sword Ghost. Even you can't afford to make enemies of the Sima Clan..."
"You lot."
Jang Cheon spat from beneath the mask.
He'd lived as a villain, slain many as a public enemy. Yet even then, a righteous man of the jianghu upheld certain codes.
"Dare turn humanity against you... and speak such words?"
Jang Cheon's hand seized Sima Hogyeong's throat. Too tight for even a scream.