Mind Your Historical Accuracy
The kidnapping of the owner of Muho Bookstore—a spark Dokgo Sanwol had turned into an all-consuming blaze.
Or, more accurately, a flare launched by the Green Forest and detonated by Sanwol. To the public, it had already become famous as the "Kidnapping of Hero Kang," and a full week had slipped by since the ordeal had ended.
During the past week since Kang Seokho safely returned to Wuhan and reopened the bookstore, the atmosphere within the Murim Alliance had grown deadly solemn. The celebratory euphoria from the soaring success of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering evaporated into thin air, replaced by a chill as suffocating as a house of mourning.
It was unavoidable. What had seemed like a routine kidnapping turned out to harbor far darker, more treacherous implications.
"The Green Forest has been colluding with the Blood Cult... This is not a matter that can be brushed aside lightly."
"Hear, hear. Even without them, the Green Forest had been expanding its influence, steadily becoming a menace to righteous martial artists and common folk alike."
"Though we crushed their momentum thanks to the uproar stirred by Master Kang's kidnapping..."
"We failed to finish off the head of the snake—their Grand Chief. Knowing those Green Forest bastards, they will spring back up like noxious weeds the moment we look away."
Thanks to this crisis, the council chamber—which had spent weeks echoing with frantic debates, tears, laughter, and shrieks over the latest plot developments of Sanwol's Nangahyeopjeon—finally reclaimed its solemn, intended purpose. The Murim Alliance leadership, however, found little reason to celebrate that fact.
"Whew... A mountain of worries looms over us."
Every elder gathered in the chamber nodded in grim consensus.
Presiding over the assembly as Alliance Leader, Geuk Cheonrang gave a somber nod. If anything, he grasped the true gravity of the situation more keenly than anyone present.
The Blood Cult, unnervingly dormant for years, had finally shown its tail. Had that been all, it would have been simple enough: scour the surrounding lands, drag the heretics into the daylight, and crush them without mercy. That was how it had always been done, and that was what he had intended this time as well.
Yet this was different.
The Blood Cult was infamous for slaughtering anyone outside its twisted dogma, indiscriminately butchering Orthodox and Unorthodox factions alike. Yet those very fanatics had uncharacteristically approached the Green Forest, attempting to broker a cooperative alliance.
"It seems our only course is to see the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering through to a resounding triumph," Geuk Cheonrang declared, his expression austere as he set their immediate objective.
Under the original schedule, the main tournament bouts should have been well underway. However, when both the participating martial prodigies and the spectating citizens had formed an armed rabble to hunt down bandits, the Gathering had been temporarily suspended.
"Keep all matters concerning the Blood Cult under strict secrecy until our investigation concludes. But herald far and wide that the Green Forest has suffered a devastating defeat."
The foundational purpose of the Murim Alliance was to ward off the encroaching malice of heretical demons and safeguard the peace of the Central Plains. The Dragon and Phoenix Gathering had always served as a public demonstration to cow the wicked and reassure the common people, making this triumphant news all the more timely.
"Furthermore, we must expedite the Alliance's scheduled events. Now that those Blood Cult vermin have made their move, we must act faster still."
"Understood, Alliance Leader. Young Hero Dokgo has also pledged financial sponsorship, allowing us to accelerate our planned initiatives."
"Excellent."
Even as decisions were forged in swift succession, a knot of unease lingered across Geuk Cheonrang's brow.
His mind drifted back to the kidnapping of Master Kang just days before. Seizing the righteous pretext Sanwol had created, Geuk Cheonrang had intended to wipe the Green Forest off the martial map for good. The federation's terrifying stature rested almost entirely upon the shoulders of its Grand Chief, No Hwi-gon, a master of the late-stage Transformation Realm; severing that head would scatter the rest.
Geuk Cheonrang had stormed the Green Forest stronghold alone—only to encounter an unforeseen horror.
'The Apostles of the Blood Cult... Who could have guessed they would move in person?'
There was a reason the so-called Number One Under Heaven, a mid-stage Profound Realm supreme master, had failed to bring down late-stage Transformation Realm No Hwi-gon. The Apostles—shadow figures who rarely operated in the open, lurking instead behind the bloodiest atrocities of history—had manifested before his very eyes.
'I know not what foul sorcery they invoked, but the danger far exceeds our expectations.'
By all accounts, most Blood Cult Apostles resided in the Transformation Realm. Conventional martial wisdom held that it took three inferior combatants to stand against a superior master; simply pairing one Transformation Realm martial artist with another would never have posed a threat to Geuk Cheonrang.
The true catastrophe had been the sinister occult ritual the Blood Apostle unleashed. Whatever foul preparations they had made, the moment Geuk Cheonrang detected an unnatural ripple in true qi, the bandits throughout the stronghold contorted unnaturally, transforming into rabid jiangshi. Bound by duty to purge the undead horde before they could escape, Geuk Cheonrang was held at bay just long enough for the Blood Apostle and the Grand Chief to slip through his grasp.
"Still, we are fortunate," an elder murmured.
"Indeed. We owe Young Hero Dokgo an immense debt."
Despite the looming shadow, the Alliance leadership and Geuk Cheonrang held fast to genuine hope. So long as Sanwol remained, his boundless cultural sway would continue to bind the Orthodox sects in unbreakable solidarity.
The moment the conference concluded, Geuk Cheonrang declared his work done for the day and bolted straight toward Muho Bookstore. His destination was obvious: to devour the freshly inked Volume 5 of Nangahyeopjeon, which had debuted the previous afternoon.
"Keuhu! The deeper Young Hero Dokgo's heartache, the brighter the flames of his passion burn!"
With release dates coming in rapid succession of late, life was sweeter than ever for the supreme master.
The Murim Alliance formally announced the resumption of the main tournament for the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering. Having fattened their coin purses with bounties from hunting bandits and devoured every page of the newly released Volume 5 of Nangahyeopjeon, the citizens of Wuhan welcomed the news with open arms.
"Volume 6... is finished!"
Around that very hour, barely a heartbeat after releasing Volume 5, Sanwol collapsed backward onto his floor, thoroughly spent.
"Phew... Finally, I can practice my martial arts in peace."
None knew better than the author himself just how colossal an influence Nangahyeopjeon wielded over Wuhan. Because of that, Sanwol had made an unspoken pact with himself, never revealed to another living soul: No hiatuses, no sporadic drops—maintain a monthly serialization at all costs!
Deliver one fresh volume every single month to stave off the world's boredom. With every volume he illustrated, his drafting speed gathered ferocious momentum; drawing subsequent installments would only take less and less time.
"What's this? Did you pull an all-nighter?"
"Uncle, you're heading to work already?"
"Of course I am. I have to keep the shop running. There are too many people clawing at the doors to read Nangahyeopjeon."
To guard against any lingering threats, Kang Seokho had temporarily taken up residence at Sanwol's estate. Yet he could never bring himself to abandon his beloved shop, dutifully showing up at the counter every single day without fail. Thus, at six in the morning—scarcely moments past daybreak—the middle-aged shopkeeper was already on the move.
"Judging by those ink-stained fingers and that hollow look in your eyes, you have other business to attend to?"
"The main tournament of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering is about to resume. With the drafting out of the way, I need to brush up on my martial arts."
When Sanwol let out a groan and stretched his stiff, aching joints, Kang Seokho clicked his tongue, muttering that this was no way for a master of the Peak Realm to carry himself. Sanwol let the familiar nag drift in one ear and out the other, but he couldn't help chuckling when he saw Kang Seokho casually reaching toward the manuscript of Volume 6.
"Come on, Uncle. If you want to read it, just say so."
"I want to read it. Satisfied?"
Snickering at the old man's utterly predictable nature, Sanwol left him to it as Kang Seokho turned the first page without a shred of shame. For the next two quarters of an hour, Kang Seokho forgot all about heading to work, completely lost in Volume 6. By the time he looked up, breakfast had already arrived.
"Whew... You really have a devilish knack for cliffhangers. Cutting off the chapter right before the protagonist's championship duel, frozen on his opening stance—how is anyone supposed to endure waiting for the next volume?!"
"That's the iron law of serialization. You hook them on the final beat so they have no choice but to come back for the next one."
Having devoured both the comic and a hearty breakfast, Kang Seokho finally departed for Muho Bookstore. After duplicating several master copies of Volume 6, Sanwol gathered his sword and stepped out into the courtyard.
Having observed countless stances during the tournament matches, Sanwol intended to forge his very own version of the Three Powers Sword Art. Creating a martial art from scratch was notoriously daunting, but when one had a solid foundational art and an overwhelming wealth of reference material, it was surprisingly manageable. It wasn't about manifesting something from nothingness, but rather deconstructing, adapting, and weaving existing forms together.
'Strictly speaking, it's more like modification and refinement than true invention.'
Still, what difference did semantics make? The undeniable truth was that his Three Powers Sword Art was growing sharper by the hour.
Just as Sanwol was fleshing out the three fundamental forms with various branching stances, a servant tending the garden came running over in a flurry.
"Young Master, an official missive has arrived from the Murim Alliance."
Sanwol unfurled the parchment. As expected, an interminable and flowery preamble greeted his eyes. Why couldn't people just cut the pompous formalities and state their business? It would save both the writer and the reader a mountain of headaches.
Naturally, the impeccable courtesies born from the Murim Alliance's borderline religious reverence toward him were completely ignored as Sanwol skipped straight to the crux of the matter.
"Young Master, forgive my impudence, but... has another incident occurred?" the servant asked anxiously.
It was no wonder; the servant had watched Sanwol's expression harden with every line he read. To the household staff, Sanwol was no longer just an innocent, sunny-faced young master; they knew firsthand how terrifying he became once his switch was flipped.
Sensing the servant's unease, Sanwol offered an awkward smile to put him at ease.
"It's nothing so dire. I just need to stop by the Murim Alliance alone for a brief moment. I'll leave the household in your hands while I'm away."
"Understood, Young Master."
Tucking the letter into his robe, Sanwol freshened up and stepped out of the estate. Bowing respectfully to see him off, the servant suddenly paused, a puzzled thought crossing his mind.
Wait... Has the Young Master always spoken so politely to us?
In truth, after the chilling display of wrath Sanwol had unleashed during Kang Seokho's kidnapping, he was deliberately trying to smooth over the awkward, fearful air among the staff. When someone powerless spoke formally, it was expected; but when someone who possessed terrifying strength treated his subordinates with unfailing courtesy, it projected nobility of character. Thus, Sanwol had made an effort to show respect to the servants whom he had previously addressed casually.
In reality, the servants wouldn't have minded in the slightest had he ordered them about like dogs. He paid them lavish wages, fed them well, and gave them comfortable lodgings; none of them was shameless enough to hold a grudge over a bit of informal speech from their master. Still, some things were better left unspoken, and Sanwol's gesture was one of considerate goodwill.
'It truly turned out just as Young Hero Jegal said.'
The contents of the Alliance's missive were indeed best kept from prying ears. The letter requested Sanwol's cooperation in their investigation, confirming that the Green Forest had been deeply entangled with the Blood Cult.
'The unprovoked assault by Peak and Transcendence Realm masters... If the Blood Cult was pulling the strings behind the Green Forest, everything falls into place.'
Though none knew who had ordered the slaughter or for what purpose, such questions were largely meaningless when the Blood Cult was involved. Those lunatics slaughtered commoners and martial artists alike on a whim, living solely to indulge their bloodlust. Perhaps a family had simply crossed a mountain pass at night, and an Apostle had casually ordered a nearby Green Forest expert to butcher them all.
"Hm? Young Hero, are you on your way to visit the Murim Alliance?"
As Sanwol stepped into the Alliance compound, a voice called out to him. Wondering who it could be, he turned around, only to see a figure who looked like the very textbook definition of a Buddhist monk.
"It is a pleasure to meet you. Young Hero Dokgo, is Master Kang in good health?"
"Ah, yes. Thanks to the selfless efforts of so many, the situation was resolved far better than we deserved."
Addressed with such gentle, benevolent poise, Sanwol could not bring himself to be curt, politely answering the elder. Yet curiosity pricked him as to why this monk had stopped him so abruptly. Just as he was about to ask—
"This humble monk is Oh Hwa-jeong, the Abbot of Shaolin Temple. If Young Hero has a moment to spare, there is a matter regarding Nangahyeopjeon I would like to discuss. Would you indulge me?"
The sudden proclamation of being the Abbot of Shaolin Temple struck Sanwol's senses like a thunderclap. Why on earth would an esteemed living legend want to talk to an ordinary ronin like him?!
The shock that slammed into Sanwol's mind eclipsed even the day the scions of the Five Great Families had swarmed him.
'What in heaven's name do I say to that?!'
He found it utterly impossible to blurt out that he had official Alliance business to attend to.