The Blue Armband
Cheong of the Transcendent realm had received an armband in addition to her alias. It was a blue armband bearing the character for “leader,” the mark of a squad commander in the Heavenly Martial Squad.
The Dragon-Phoenix Gathering was more than a mere social club for the next generation of orthodox Murim leaders. It was also a fully recognized combat unit under the Murim Alliance. As such, the rising stars of the orthodox sects were assigned to either the Heavenly Martial Squad or the Earthly Valor Squad, the Alliance’s reserve forces.
Officially, the two squads stood as equals, independent of one another. In practice, however, those with exceptional skill or the backing of the Nine Great Sects and Ten Great Clans were placed in the Heavenly Martial Squad, while everyone else was sent to the Earthly Valor Squad. The Murim Alliance insisted this division had nothing to do with status or connections and was merely a matter of training needs. Young experts who already possessed their own complete martial systems were assigned to the Heavenly Martial Squad, while the Earthly Valor Squad received personalized instruction from the Alliance’s finest techniques and masters. That was the official line, at least.
The original intent might have been pure, but most of the hot-blooded young martial artists saw it differently. Members of the Heavenly Martial Squad felt like hostages kept to ensure the good behavior of the great sects and clans, and they avoided its activities whenever possible. The prevailing wisdom among them was simple: skip every event you can. Members of the Earthly Valor Squad, by contrast, were desperate to prove themselves and claw their way into the Heavenly Martial Squad, volunteering for every mission that came down.
Cheong found none of this glorious. A combat unit was just a fancy name for an army, and she had no desire to wear a uniform twice in one lifetime.
“Master, do I really have to join the Heavenly Martial Squad—or whatever it’s called?”
“It is not as formal a group as you imagine. The Murim Alliance would never dare order the heirs of the great sects and clans around. Unless the entire Murim falls into chaos, you will never be forced into any real missions.”
Even the Ban-Geom-Ssang-Do Association members were proof enough. Both Paeng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae belonged to the Heavenly Martial Squad. If the heirs of the Five Great Clans were injured on some dangerous assignment, the Alliance would never survive the backlash. The so-called missions were little more than escorting young masters on their travels or attending banquets so the Murim Alliance’s name could appear in the guest book.
“Still…”
“You already won the Hidden Dragon Tournament. For the sake of the Alliance’s reputation, you should at least play along.”
Strictly speaking, a disciple of the Goddess Sect did not qualify for the Heavenly Martial Squad. The sect was famous only for being an all-female, mysterious faction; few people could even name its signature techniques. Even now, the Goddess Sect itself was not widely recognized as a major power—only Seomun Su-rin was. But if another peerless expert emerged after the current greatest female master, the situation would change. A true great sect was defined by the strength it passed down through generations. Once that happened, people would say the Goddess Sect truly had something worth respecting.
“So I would like you to help. If you truly dislike it, I will not force you.”
“Help? This is something I should do anyway. Of course I’ll—”
Cheong changed her mind on the spot. After all, if she was already wandering around the Sword-Carving Cliff and traveling the jianghu, who would even know where to find her for work? Seomun Su-rin did not bother hiding her pleased expression. What kind of fortune had brought her such an obedient and sensible disciple in her later years? These days she was even happily visiting orthodox elders she had once avoided, and the sight filled her with delight.
Cheong felt mildly annoyed, but not truly repulsed. She added, “Besides, as you said, unless something major happens in Murim, there won’t be any forced conscription.”
While the orthodox Murim had the Murim Alliance, the unorthodox world had its own coalition: the Grand Assembly of Unorthodox Heroes of the Heavenly Murim, shortened to the Sadoryeon. The name was grandiose, as unorthodox types tended to obsess over appearances. Orthodox martial artists simply called them the Evil Path Alliance and left it at that.
The current Lord of the Sadoryeon was Bu An-pyeong, known as the Tyrant Lord and ranked third among the Ten Great Masters. He did not accept that ranking. In his mind, he had always been the strongest under heaven.
Unlike the orthodox side, unorthodox experts had to hide their true strength at all times. Betrayal was a virtue in their world. If someone was stabbed in the back and died, the victim was mocked as an idiot while the traitor was praised for following the natural order. Revealing one’s full power in such an environment was an excellent way to get killed. Thus, by the time rumors spread that Abbot Muhak had reached the middle stage of the Profound Realm, Bu An-pyeong had long since entered the late stage.
Of course, the orthodox side also concealed their strength, though to a lesser degree. If the orthodox hid thirty percent, the unorthodox hid fifty. So even if Abbot Muhak’s breakthrough to the middle Profound Realm was true, it was safer to assume Bu An-pyeong was already eyeing the next realm.
These days, the Tyrant Lord’s appetite was excellent. Good news arrived every single day.
“My lord.”
“Oh? What is it this time? Another one collapsed?”
“The Dragon Gate Sword Sect, the Yeongdeok Gate, and the Ryeonju Island Gate.”
“Kukuk. They say you can blow your nose without lifting a finger. The Blood Sect is surprisingly helpful, aren’t they?”
“But is this really all right? They are the Blood Sect, after all.”
“What of it? Do we have any connection with them? Did we collude?”
“If the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold— Aaaagh!!”
With a light flick, the subordinate who had been reporting was sent tumbling across the floor, screaming.
“I told you not to write characters. Just speak plainly. Why must you always show off your learning? Do you think I never studied?”
Bu An-pyeong came from a scholarly family, as his cultured name suggested. How a man of such noble lineage became the leader of ruffians was a long story… or rather, not at all. He had simply been denied government posts due to his humble origins, filled with resentment toward the world, and happened to possess heaven-sent talent in martial arts. Starting late with third-rate techniques and no proper teacher, he had still reached the pinnacle of the unorthodox path through self-study alone. Had he entered the imperial palace earlier, he might have become another Mucheon Daeje or Mucheon Daejanggun—an unparalleled figure combining a scholar’s integrity, a literati’s knowledge, and a martial artist’s might. But even if someone in the palace could turn back time, the sacred trinity of blood, regional, and academic ties would have barred him from office regardless.
“Hurk! That was an incredibly powerful strike. Your greatness as Lord of the Sadoryeon grows ever more evident!”
Bu An-pyeong had only tapped him with a light gust of wind. The subordinate’s dramatic rolling was pure flattery.
“You rascal. That’s why I can’t even hate you. So, ‘if the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.’ What does that mean?”
The phrase meant that without lips, the teeth would feel the cold—emphasizing the value of the lips. Without them, one would not merely feel cold teeth but would become a hideous monster to behold.
“Watching the orthodox sects fall is entertaining, but if the Blood Sect starts running wild in earnest—”
“So what? Should we rush in to save the orthodox dogs when they’re under attack? Why would we interfere in someone else’s fight?”
It had begun with the massacre at the Jin Family of Gwangju. Since the family head and all their experts had been away, the damage was limited to losing their foundation, but they would never regain their former glory in Gwangju. Afterward, the regions of Yangju and Gyoji, along with all the orthodox sects in the southeastern Central Plains, suffered mysterious attacks, one or two reduced to ashes each day. Though the attackers remained unidentified, everyone knew they were the work of the Blood Sect. Reports of jiangshi, corpses with missing hearts—the handiwork of the Food God Demon—and the mad laughter of the Angcheon Demon Army all pointed to them. The Blood Sect struck with deliberate ambiguity: they neither claimed responsibility nor bothered to hide evidence.
“But if the Blood Sect reveals its true colors, won’t it become a disaster?”
“Hah. You really do love showing off your learning. ‘If the lips are gone’ is not our line. That is what the Murim Alliance says. Once the Blood Sect shows its hand, they will be the ones begging us for help. Even if we act unpleasant now, they will not be foolish enough to drag us down with them.”
In truth, if the Blood Sect rose, the unorthodox factions only needed to protect their own territories and lie low. But the Murim Alliance, which claimed to safeguard the peace of the Central Plains, could never simply defend its own borders.
“So tell our people to keep throwing banquets. When the Blood Sect sweeps through, we will pick up whatever is left. This time, Yangju and Gyoji will fall under the Sadoryeon’s control.”
While chaos brewed in one corner of the Central Plains, communication in this vast land still relied entirely on human messengers. News traveled slowly. Even after the Yangtze River bloodbath, it had taken a full month for protests to reach the Murim Alliance, another month to dispatch investigators, another to return and organize, another to reach the Eon Clan, and yet another to investigate and report—five months in total despite urgent priority. The strange events unfolding in the remote southeast would take even longer to become known. Only after the Murim Tournament ended, people returned home at leisure, discovered their homes reduced to ash, and rushed back to the Alliance for help would the truth spread.
Thus, in Kaifeng, with only the closing ceremony of the Murim Tournament remaining, the atmosphere remained festive and lively. Among the excited crowd was one particularly cheerful person.
“Hmm. Isn’t this restaurant a bit dark?”
Paeng Daesan ground his teeth. “Please. Can you not do this?”
“Here, I’ll light it up for you. Watch. Ta-da.”
Cheong poured sword gang into the Cheongja Sword. The greatest difference between sword qi and sword gang was luminescence. Both were sharp enough to cut ordinary people, and their names were similar, but sword qi only glowed faintly like a firefly, while sword gang radiated light like starlight, illuminating its surroundings. Not that starlight was particularly useful at night, let alone in broad daylight. The Cheongja Sword simply became an even more dazzlingly radiant Cheongja Sword.
“Now it’s Cheongja Sword Plus One. My, it’s bright. What good is a gloomy place to eat? With sword gang, you don’t even need lamps. One of these and you can walk dark roads without worry.”
“I have never heard anyone suggest using sword gang as a torch in my entire life.”
“What are you talking about? If some strange fellow attacks at night, you just swing this once. Sword gang will cut the weapon itself in half, won’t it? Not that sword-qi-only people would know.”
“Kuh.”
“Kuk.”
Paeng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae let out simultaneous sounds of indignation. Cheong’s expression grew even more triumphant.
“Especially you, Sword Idiot. You should train harder, or you will end up not a Sword Idiot but a Sword Disciple or Sword Servant. Since Transcendent is not enough, you should aim to become a Super Peak as soon as possible.”
“……Just call me Sword Friend.”
Namgung Sinjae, who had once sworn an unnecessary oath to reach the pinnacle with the sword alone, was now suffering the consequences of bringing up the title “Sword Idiot.” At this moment, however, he sincerely wished the world were not so filthy and vile, and that he could raise his realm quickly—sword or no sword.