Chapter 158: Commander of the Demonlight Wing
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 158: Commander of the Demonlight Wing
The sound of her fall was bleak.
The Branch Head's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, bearing the fatal sword wound that had brought her instant death.
Perhaps because her lifelong convictions had been nothing but hypocrisy, the sight of her miserably crumpled navy official robes turning black with blood felt strangely fitting.
At least, to the commoners, it certainly seemed so.
"Thank you, Great Hero...!"
"To see the Desolate Fortress and the Mount Hua Sect in person... our eyes have truly been opened."
These were the captives freed by the quick-moving Heonwon Chang. They bowed their heads or prostrated themselves in deep respect.
Passionate praises rang out as they poured out their gratitude.
Yet, it was a gratitude hard to accept with joy; the faces of those who had lost their homes and families were still stained with grief.
It was a bitter snapshot of the current world.
"Let's go," the boy in the black robe said.
Taoist Yu-hyeon, who had been watching quietly, slipped over to his side.
"We can head to the Martial World Alliance together. Not that you'd get lost, but it's incredibly crowded there right now."
"Right."
Jeong Yeon-shin took the lead, accompanied by the commoners who had been used as leverage to suppress the righteous martial artists.
Heonwon Chang guided them, cracking occasional jokes to lighten the mood. He boasted about how lawless martial artists wouldn't dare run rampant now that the Desolate Fortress had paid a visit, and promised to give his own Hero's Headband to any child who stopped crying.
The Double Yang Gang possessed several boats, one of which was exceptionally large, easily capable of carrying fifty people.
Jeong Yeon-shin's group and the commoners boarded the vessel together.
Instead of the malnourished village men who lacked the strength, Lazy Flame Dragon and Heonwon Chang took up the oars.
Standing beside Lazy Flame Dragon, Jeong Yeon-shin urged him to move faster.
"Your hands are slow. You aren't planning on sleeping here, are you?"
"The moment I return, I'm rising to the Blue Rank. This is just miserable."
When they set foot back in the village they had originally visited, the disciples of the Diancang Sect greeted them with expressions as if they had seen a ghost.
"That child has disappeared," the Small Sword Empress, Chwi So-ok, said.
She was talking about the village boy—the one who had informed Yu-hyeon and Jeong Yeon-shin's group of the village's tragedy.
In effect, he had lured the martial artists into a tiger's den without uttering a single word about the hostages or the government soldiers led by the Branch Head.
It was an act of offering up prey.
Martial artists usually possessed more wealth than commoners.
In the current world, "Green Forest bandits" simply referred to the martial arts experts encountered on secluded mountain paths.
Bandits that could not be resisted. Such was the nature of a chaotic age.
The leader of the Double Yang Gang, who had made a living robbing even martial artists, had simply met his match in an apex predator like the Demonlight Wing and met his end.
That village boy was just another byproduct of this chaotic world. However, vanishing right under the noses of the Diancang Sect's experts was a different matter entirely.
"He must have been a martial artist. He likely practiced an art specialized in concealing his aura and was born with great martial talent."
Jeong Yeon-shin dismissed the matter briefly, gazing at the mountain range stretching toward Hanzhong.
Rather than the village boy, he thought of those he had slain today. There were some who were not martial artists.
Though they had aided in plundering the commoners, they were government soldiers and officials.
Among them, the Branch Head had accepted her own death and even handed over a letter from the Martial World Alliance.
It was a first kill in a different sense—just like when he had killed the martial artist of the Hegemon Sword Sect at the Jeong Family Manor.
From the moment he buried the corpses of his enemies, including the Branch Head, up until now, Jeong Yeon-shin had compartmentalized his lingering doubts to one side of his mind.
It was a familiar process. He had done this constantly from the moment he stepped into the martial world with his sights set on the fruit of the World Tree.
'I am the Commander of the Demonlight Wing.'
The boy closed and opened his eyes. His gaze, which had flashed with a cold blue light, grew calm once more.
"Nameless, bring me paper, brush, and ink."
Lazy Flame Dragon twisted his lips but laid out the four treasures of the study. Jeong Yeon-shin wrote a letter on the spot.
< To Myeong-yeo, personally. From the Commander of the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress. >
It was a letter addressed to the Eastern Depot.
"The path of the sword is imbued in your handwriting. A truly martial calligraphic style."
Watching the brushstrokes flow in a single, swift motion, Lazy Flame Dragon let out a soft exclamation of admiration.
"I knew it when they talked about the Flash Art lineage and all that. You must have written a few secret manuals in your youth. Ah, wait, you're in your youth right now."
"I'm counting on you."
Jeong Yeon-shin ignored Lazy Flame Dragon, speaking instead to the spiritual beast.
The White Swallow tilted its head once and took flight from the boy's hand, the densely written letter already tied to its leg.
"Let's go," Jeong Yeon-shin said, watching the White Swallow soar into the sky.
The villagers, who had been surrounding the group and staring blankly up at the spiritual beast, quickly lowered their heads. At the same time, they burst into a clamor.
"Great Hero, please give us a chance to repay your kindness!"
"Even just a meal... no..."
A woman in a shabby skirt trailed off. There was no way they could afford to treat their saviors to a proper feast.
Though the noble boy in black had bestowed upon them the food and supplies taken from the Double Yang Gang, the devastated village did not even have a proper hearth.
Rebuilding had to come first.
"I will stop by on my way back. If this village is standing again by then, I will gladly accept a meal, using our shared sense of accomplishment as a side dish," Jeong Yeon-shin said gently.
The woman and the other villagers, tears welling in their eyes, took turns holding the boy's hand.
It was a single spark of warmth in a chaotic age. Heonwon Chang was also briefly surrounded by people of all ages, and it took him quite a while to break free.
"Once you enter the Alliance, you should meet the Alliance Leader first," the Small Sword Empress said, looking at Jeong Yeon-shin with a strange gaze.
The boy nodded silently and mounted his fine steed. Lazy Flame Dragon, Heonwon Chang, and Namgung Hwa-shin took their positions to his left, right, and rear.
Behind them, the villagers bowed with their thumbs tucked into their fists or pressed their palms together respectfully.
These were the etiquettes of Taoism and Buddhism. It was as if they were treating him not as a mortal, but as a divine being.
The boy felt a strange sensation. He had only done what was expected of a martial artist from the Desolate Fortress.
Yet, this was the first time he had directly heard the praises of the commoners. Until now, his life had been an endless cycle of repeating missions and immediate travel.
He was glad the fruit of the World Tree was at the Desolate Fortress. It meant he could accumulate achievements while experiencing this kind of warmth.
Jeong Yeon-shin waved once toward the village and turned his horse's head.
'They said the Martial World Alliance Leader is the Sword Saint,' the boy thought. Now, he had to carry out his original mission.
'To think a person is referred to as a star. Just how well does he wield a sword?'
He recalled his own Radiant Brilliance Sword Style, a sword form originating from the cliffs of Mount Zhongnan. Many martial artists had witnessed his duel with the Namgung Clan.
Since the form of his sword technique was now known to the whole world, he needed to reinforce it in secret.
The martial world was a place full of wonders. He wasn't so overconfident as to assume he would easily conquer the Sect Founding Ceremony.
And even if he did win, as the representative of the Desolate Fortress, he had to avoid bringing shame upon himself during the sparring session with the Alliance Leader.
'The Commander of the Law Enforcement Unit was indeed helpful. I'll apply every inspiration that comes to mind to my swordplay. From now until the end of the Sect Founding Ceremony.'
* * *
The main headquarters of the Martial World Alliance, located in Hanzhong, was basking in the peak of elegance.
The oppressive heat that had hung heavily over the summer grass was now washed away by clear, crisp air.
It perfectly complemented the grand atmosphere exuded by the towering pavilions and the vast crowds.
"Lord Jegal, have you returned those items to the Namgung Clan?"
"Yes, they were borrowed to begin with. We have retrieved everything we needed."
"Were the traces clearly visible?"
"Is there not Mount Mao in Southern Zhili? It seems the sorcerers of the Maoshan Sect, whom the Namgung Clan immediately summoned back then, did their job well. Thanks to their spells, none of the corpses rotted. Examining the sword marks on the bodies was as easy as flipping one's hand."
"Hmm..."
"The swordplay of the Commander of the Divine Sword Corps is indeed a peerless, matchless divine art. Even the cut surfaces of the wounds belonged in the realm of secret manuals. Without our family's secret transmissions, deciphering them would have been difficult. Furthermore, the forms of the Commander of the Demonlight Wing, the Flash Art... once analyzed, it was clear they were no ordinary secret techniques. He truly deserves to be the youngest to ascend to the seat of a Desolate Fortress Unit Commander."
"...They say the Namgung Clan's Elder Council Head is the only direct descendant who did not participate in the duel. Truly, a shuddering thirst for revenge. Even more so considering he quietly allowed the corpses of his son and grandson to be transported."
"Hasn't the Namgung Clan already been swallowed up by its collateral branches? This is likely just their final struggle."
The middle-aged men, precious swords hanging at their waists, walked forward with dignified strides.
They strolled along a path paved with smooth stone, surrounded by pavilions stretching in all directions like a royal palace, with golden sand glittering at every intersecting crossroad.
Nearby stood a hermitage originally built to host Shaolin monks. Now, it was occupied by young martial artists.
"To be honest, coming to the Alliance is the first time I've ever heard of a 'blunt sword.' It's a principle that doesn't exist in our region. If we're talking about striking second to prevail, I can't help but think it's just for show."
"I agree. If one has the ability to suppress an opponent by striking late, there's no reason to wait for them to attack first, is there? Such a person would already be an expert far above their opponent. If it's a sword strike that cannot be blocked even when anticipated, then their level of attainment is already on a completely different dimension. They cannot be compared on equal terms."
Men and women of radiant spirit sat wherever they pleased, deeply engrossed in discussing martial arts.
They had drawn their weapons, which gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, and laid them out on the ground.
Every single one of them wore colorful martial uniforms woven from fine silk.
Because of their noble status, they were impeccably groomed, and having trained in orthodox martial arts, their skin was flawless.
Regardless of gender, they all looked fair, elegant, and noble.
"There are those who speak of martial arts that don't exist in this world. The Thousand-Pound Weight is one such example. How can a human body increase its weight out of nowhere?"
"I think that's just a matter of terminology. In our Guangxi martial world, it refers to a secret technique that firmly establishes the center of gravity in the lower body. It's a method that unleashes the starting stance, foot stomps, and true qi circulation as one. I heard that Wudang Tai Chi Chuan is also an art that solidifies one's own balance while manipulating the opponent's center of gravity. Am I wrong?"
All the men and women conversing possessed outstanding appearances. They seemed completely detached from the famine raging outside the walls.
The Martial World Alliance was an unprecedented venue for exchange—a grand banquet for exceptionally noble martial artists.
The world was vast, and it was extremely rare for martial artists of noble, prestigious families to gather from all over the Central Plains.
They had usually been too busy acting like royalty in their own vast homelands.
Until now, that is.
Coming to this place, they finally met peers of equal status. They couldn't help but be excited.
It was then that someone spoke up.
"Isn't it about time we head out? The elders gave us a task," Moyong Myeong-jun said. Hailing from the Moyong Clan of Jiangbei, he was a handsome young master renowned north of the Yangtze River for his profound swordplay.
Privately, he was also the official young master of the Moyong Clan.
"I received word an hour ago that those bearing the character 'Hwang' have entered the land of Hanzhong. Let us rise now."
"I am the one who received the instructions."
A young man with a scholarly air and a gentle impression stood up. He possessed an aura that made his green silk robe suit him perfectly.
Combined with his peerless appearance, he drew the gazes of many of the women who had been discussing martial arts nearby.
It was Seon-ryong, Jegal Hyeon.
"They told me to go and verify the Flash Art's swordplay. I didn't expect to be used as a sacrificial pawn in a game of Go," Jegal Hyeon muttered.
A boy with extraordinary eyes smirked.
"Well, if a mid-level expert were to trade blows with the Flash Art and lose, the Alliance's reputation would plummet, so that's probably why... but above all, it's because Brother Jegal's fan techniques and eye techniques are outstanding. Who knows? You might actually put up a good fight."
"We'll see."
A bitter smile played on Jegal Hyeon's lips.
"Regardless of age, the opponent is a Unit Commander of the Desolate Fortress. Judging by the rumors, such a strict great sect wouldn't have appointed a novice to such a position. Since I am bound to lose anyway, please wait at least fifteen minutes before following me. I have no desire to show you my embarrassing defeat."
He placed his foot on the railing of the hermitage's second floor.
Step.
The moment he took a step, a gust of wind arose. In an instant, his figure drifted away as if he were flying.
It was a picture-perfect display of the Body Protection Scripture. Exclamations of admiration escaped from both the men and women.
"He has blurred the boundary between movement techniques and lightness skills. He is indeed the Seon-ryong. No matter how I look at it, he doesn't seem like someone who would lose easily..."
"He has been grinding his teeth in determination ever since he threw up his hands in defeat against the Imperial Sword Form. There must be results from his closed-door training."
Some watched him with sullen expressions. Moyong Myeong-jun muttered inwardly, 'Obnoxious bastard.'
'He's an important figure with a direct line to the Alliance elders. I, too, must earn my father's trust.'
Even if their internal thoughts differed, they were still a coalition of the orthodox faction.
The young martial artists decided to respect Seon-ryong Jegal Hyeon's request. It was a gesture of courtesy toward a peer, fitting for martial artists of the orthodox path.
They spent the next fifteen minutes in discussion and idle chatter.
"What about Miss Ye?"
"I don't know. It seems she isn't participating today."
"It seems Young Hero Ak is lovesick. Isn't it a bit too obvious?"
"Don't talk as if I'm the only one!"
Talk of the most famous woman in Hanzhong, laments about the devious elders, the heroic spirit of running wild across the martial world, the budding romances between young geniuses, and the conversation inevitably returning to martial arts...
To these hot-blooded martial artists, fifteen minutes felt incredibly short. They rose from their seats one after another.
"I saw the portrait of the Flash Art. Is he really that handsome in person?"
"As for looks, the Alliance's martial artists aren't lacking either. I'm more curious about his level of martial arts. Just how strong is he that the Alliance elders mobilized even their secret lines to track his movements?"
"There was a strange rumor. Something about the young master of the Hwangbo Clan and the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin..."
Fitting for the rising stars of the Alliance, their steps were swift. They reached the main gate of the headquarters in an instant.
'Hmm?'
In that moment, Moyong Myeong-jun sensed that something major had occurred. Were they onlookers? The crowd blocking his view was immense.
This was despite the Alliance's main gate being massive—as if the entrance of an ordinary fortress had been widened tenfold.
It seemed that not only the Alliance's martial artists but also the commoners and escort warriors doing business in Hanzhong had gathered.
"How can this be?"
"Is he even human...!"
The murmuring was quiet considering the sheer size of the crowd. It meant they were completely absorbed in the spectacle before them.
Moyong Myeong-jun instantly kicked off the ground and leaped high.
Whoosh!
In a single bound, he landed atop the wall stretching along both sides of the entrance. It seemed many other martial artists had had the same idea; there were already dozens of people positioned at the same eye level.
None of them looked back at the noble swordsman of the Moyong Clan. This, too, was unprecedented.
Moyong Myeong-jun lowered his gaze, and his eyes widened.
"...!"
A handsome boy was standing atop the fan held by Jegal Hyeon. He looked incredibly arrogant. It was the posture of a supreme expert.
It was an unbelievable sight.
Due to the nature of the Desolate Fortress, where rank replaced generational hierarchy, the standing of the Demonlight Wing's Flash Art was far beyond that of a mere rising star.
Yet, Seon-ryong's fan techniques were also considered unrivaled in Hanzhong. The Endless Wind-Whirling Fan Technique.
'Though that was only until he was defeated by the Azure Qilin in twenty exchanges at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering...'
However, Jegal Hyeon was not young. He was on speaking terms with Lazy Flame Dragon of the Solar Divine Pulse, and according to investigations, there was a nine-year age gap between him and the Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
Seon-ryong certainly possessed the reputation and achievements to hold a heavy responsibility within the Alliance. This meant he was one of the top experts even among the young martial artists of the noble, prestigious families.
'But isn't he being utterly toyed with right now?'
Moyong Myeong-jun activated his family's secret peerless eye technique. In an instant, his vision blurred.
Only the body of the boy clad in the black robe stood out with exceptional clarity.
'What in the...!'
Commander of the Demonlight Wing, Jeong Yeon-shin.
The fine muscles of his limbs were constantly tightening and relaxing. It was a sight of him generating dozens of unfathomable, high-level martial principles at once.
Clad in a gentle breeze with his black sleeves fluttering, his appearance was strangely mystical.
Tiny bursts of Fa Jin occurring throughout his body supported him and perfectly distributed his weight.
Faint shockwaves constantly breathed out gusts of wind.
He looked like a descending immortal. What on earth was that movement technique?
"Commander of the Demonlight Wing! What do you think you are doing...!" a middle-aged man running from afar shouted.
He had a spear strapped to his back. He seemed to be from the Shandong Ak Clan. An elder of the Alliance, unable to watch any longer, had finally stepped forward.
Meanwhile, Jegal Hyeon gritted his teeth so hard that the sharp sound of grinding enamel could be heard over the whistling wind of the battlefield. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he swung his heavy iron fan wildly from left to right, desperately channeling his qi to dislodge the oppressive weight bearing down on him. Yet, despite his frantic, full-bodied efforts and the fierce momentum of his weapon, the young Commander’s foot remained planted perfectly atop the thin edge of the moving fan. It was a flawless, almost mocking display of balance and internal energy. The Commander's leg was extended perfectly straight and remained utterly unmoving, rooted as firmly and naturally as the leg of a tranquil crane standing completely unbothered amidst a raging, violent storm.
The sheer profundity of the martial arts belonging to the Desolate Fortress's Black Rank truly defied all mortal imagination. Every subtle shift in the Commander's weight, every imperceptible adjustment of his internal qi to counteract the swinging fan, spoke of a monstrous mastery that far transcended his apparent years. The visual contrast between the two combatants was nothing short of staggering. While Jegal Hyeon strained every muscle and meridian in his body just to keep his weapon aloft, the young Commander simply stood there with his hands casually clasped behind his back. His pitch-black sleeves billowed and snapped wildly in the wind generated by the fierce shockwaves of their clash, painting a vivid picture of absolute, untouchable dominance. It was the undeniable highlight of the confrontation, a breathtaking scene of martial superiority that would be permanently seared into the memories of every onlooker present.
It was a movement technique of such sublime, ethereal quality that it was hard to believe even when witnessed directly with one's own eyes. The sheer physics of standing upon a violently swinging iron fan should have been impossible for any normal martial artist, yet the Commander made the entire act appear utterly elegant. He looked as if he were merely taking a leisurely, moonlit stroll through a quiet courtyard rather than engaging in a high-stakes martial arts duel against a renowned genius. The effortless grace in his posture completely mocked the desperate, flailing attempts of his opponent.
"Since a rising star of your esteemed Alliance requested a duel with this Commander..."
The voice cut through the tense, chaotic atmosphere, smooth, resonant, and entirely devoid of any physical exertion. The young Commander of the Demonlight Wing spoke with a chilling, absolute calmness. His half-lidded gaze casually swept downward from his elevated position, looking past his billowing black sleeves to meet the bloodshot, furious eyes of the struggling man trapped beneath his foot. He did not shout, nor did he raise his voice to match the frantic energy of the battlefield or the shouting elder approaching from afar. Yet, his words echoed with an oppressive, undeniable clarity that demanded the immediate attention of every single martial artist in the vicinity.
"I am simply imparting some guidance."