Chapter 159: Commander of the Demonlight Wing (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 159: Commander of the Demonlight Wing (2)
After saving the commoners, Jeong Yeon-shin and his party immediately entered Hanzhong.
The gate guards’ eyes widened at the sight of the martial robes embroidered with the character ‘Hwang’ and the Desolate Fortress Token.
Members of the Desolate Fortress were expected to roam freely across the entire Jianghu. This meant they couldn't be tied to a single residence with identification tablets, but unlike other martial artists, they couldn't live as outlaws either. The Desolate Fortress was, after all, sustained by the state's tacit support and its mandate to stabilize the lives of the common people.
The Desolate Fortress Token, engraved with a golden tree, doubled as an identification plaque. Even so, delays at checkpoints were common, as it was a rare sight in the vast world.
“I greet the esteemed experts of the Desolate Fortress.”
Hanzhong, however, was different. Perhaps because it was such a massive city, the guards waved them through the moment they saw the ‘Hwang’ character and the Desolate Fortress Token. Most of them couldn't take their eyes off Jeong Yeon-shin, their gazes filled more with awe than wariness. They clearly recognized the hierarchy of the Desolate Fortress signified by his attire.
“To become a unit commander of the Desolate Fortress at such a young age, your talent must be beyond anything ordinary men like us can imagine,” the gate captain said, even offering a word of advice. “However, our Hanzhong has long been the backyard of the Martial World Alliance. The Jegal Clan has been pulling the strings for decades, and they've used the Desolate Fortress as a pretext to convene this assembly. I hope you will exercise extreme caution.”
He was a man who understood the ways of the world.
Jeong Yeon-shin was reminded of Zhenping County in Shaanxi, the site of his first mission.
‘The county magistrate there looked down on the Desolate Fortress. But in Hanzhong, even the guards are different.’
He returned the gesture with a clasped-hand salute before passing through the city gates. Instantly, a bustling, clamorous atmosphere washed over him.
“Finely crafted porcelain for sale!”
“Potatoes imported from the Western Regions!”
“Come taste the world's greatest delicacies at the Great Fortune Inn!”
Market stalls stretched far down both sides of the wide official road. The city was incredibly prosperous. At a glance, hundreds of commoners and martial artists filled the street, haggling at stalls or bustling about their business. It was prosperous enough to rival the streets of Xiangyang, the home of the Desolate Fortress.
This carried significant implications.
“The foundation of the Martial World Alliance is quite impressive, isn't it? It looks capable of rivaling the Desolate Fortress's own base,” said Lazy Flame Dragon, walking on Jeong Yeon-shin’s right. He walked beside his horse, loosely holding its reins.
“If the city housing their headquarters is already this prosperous, it's hard to estimate how much larger it will grow once it starts feeding on the logistics of the entire Orthodox alliance. As Hanzhong grows, so too will the symbolic power of the Martial World Alliance. A famine is only hell for the have-nots, after all. The wealth and food of the world naturally gravitate toward the powerful.”
He spoke with the insight of a former young master of a prestigious clan, his sharpness belying his sly and listless temperament.
“Are you speaking to me?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked.
Lazy Flame Dragon quickly turned his head. “How could I? I must speak respectfully to the Unit Commander, of course. It was just a monologue.”
“Behave yourself.”
The boy gave a casual, roundabout acknowledgment of his point. He found it difficult to express himself without feeling awkward unless he was dealing with commoners, a tendency that had only grown stronger lately. Heonwon Chang chuckled, and the corners of Namgung Hwa-shin's mouth twitched upward.
The disciples of the Diancang Sect followed awkwardly, unable to join the conversation, while the Small Sword Empress simply grinned with a somewhat blank expression.
They continued along the main avenue that stretched in a straight line from the city gates. As the dismounted party led their horses down the street, people began to stop one by one, recognizing the attire of the Desolate Fortress. A few even ran deeper into the city, likely to spread the news.
Heonwon Chang spoke up. “There will be countless provocations. Since they didn't invite any unorthodox sects, the Desolate Fortress will be the biggest eyesore here.”
“I'm already getting bored. I wonder how many sharp thorns are hidden beneath the superficiality so characteristic of the Orthodox sects. I feel like this stuffy air is seeping into my very bones,” Lazy Flame Dragon said, his eyes drooping slightly, his brow faintly furrowed in a languid expression.
He continued, “Isn't it simple, though? We just need to ensure the Sect Founding Ceremony goes smoothly and establish the majesty of our fortress during their little festival. They can't harm us openly, so all we need to watch for are sneak attacks. Even then, the Alliance might stop them for us—a host is responsible for their guests' safety, after all. Our only real job is to save face.”
“I’m saying this precisely because that ‘saving face’ is a mission as vital as our lives, you nameless rogue,” Heonwon Chang retorted. “The number of sects that have signed the alliance covenant is estimated to be over one hundred and twenty. An immense number of eyes will be watching us.”
Heonwon Chang was quite adept at treating Lazy Flame Dragon with casual disregard. Though he sometimes faltered before the unique aura of a young master that Lazy Flame Dragon occasionally exuded, the Hero of the Desolate Fortress was, at his core, a man who loathed the great sects. He often used his White Rank to pull seniority on the unranked Lazy Flame Dragon, scolding him on Jeong Yeon-shin's behalf.
“It's only because we lacked the time. With the Sichuan mission, I would have advanced straight to White Rank,” Lazy Flame Dragon muttered, smacking his lips. “I'll have to achieve some significant merit during this founding ceremony, too. I'll show them a double-rank promotion, something unprecedented in the history of the Desolate Fortress. I'll aim straight for Blue Rank in one go.”
As they spoke, the headquarters of the Martial World Alliance came into view. Its sheer presence made it look impregnable.
It was built on a vast expanse of land, too large to be taken in with a single glance. Its towering walls looked as solid as fortress ramparts. Hanzhong was a transportation hub in the Central Plains; it was a mystery how they had managed to acquire such a massive plot of land.
It was reminiscent of the Desolate Fortress. Like their own fortress, it even had a moat—a wide band of water encircling the entire headquarters. Though a moat meant little to martial artists who had mastered high-level Body Protection Scriptures, it seemed to have been built to project the Alliance's majesty.
“This… no matter how I look at it, it reminds me of our main fortress. Isn't it too similar?” Heonwon Chang muttered.
The bridge leading across the moat to the entrance was incredibly wide, spacious enough for dozens of people to pass at once. Escorts transporting goods, merchant groups arriving to trade, martial artists from the various sects of the Martial World Alliance… It was quieter than the entrance to Hanzhong, but that only heightened the solemn atmosphere.
“Hwang…? The Desolate Fortress…!” a man exclaimed, stopping in his tracks.
Jeong Yeon-shin's black robe and the golden ‘Hwang’ character were highly conspicuous at the front of the group. Any martial artist of the Alliance would recognize them instantly.
The atmosphere shifted in a heartbeat. The flow of people crossing the bridge ground to a halt. Amidst the whispering murmurs, predictable names and terms drifted over: Desolate Fortress, black robe, Flash Art, White Qilin, Lazy Flame Dragon…
“We've arrived at the place where we'll make our names,” Heonwon Chang said with a deliberately hearty laugh. Xuzhou in Southern Zhili, where he had become famous, was quite far from Hanzhong. No one here recognized the Hero of the Desolate Fortress.
No one moved until the party had crossed the bridge.
The expressions of the warriors guarding the entrance stiffened. They only straightened their posture when Heonwon Chang stepped forward to stand beside Jeong Yeon-shin.
One of the warriors confronted him. “From where…”
Was he just going through the motions? He asked the question even though everyone already knew the answer.
“We are from the Desolate Fortress. The Demonlight Wing.”
“…Bring the register.”
The warrior who had spoken glanced behind him. A subordinate gatekeeper immediately approached, holding a ledger and a brush wet with ink. He was clearly recording the identities of everyone entering the Alliance headquarters.
“See you inside,” the Small Sword Empress said with a parting wink as the disciples of the Diancang Sect entered first.
“I am Heonwon Chang, a White-Ranked Warrior of the Demonlight Wing under the Divine Sword Corps of the Desolate Fortress. My moniker is the Hero of the Desolate Fortress. Here is my Desolate Fortress Token.”
Heonwon Chang, Lazy Flame Dragon, and Namgung Hwa-shin verified their identities in turn. A significant stir arose when the latter two announced their names. The feeling of ‘could it be?’ solidified into ‘it really is.’ They were already widely renowned as the strongest rising stars of the Eight Great Families. Now that they had appeared at the Martial World Alliance as swords of the Desolate Fortress, the gazes directed at them were bound to be complicated, laced with bitterness and hostility.
“Next…” the gatekeeper began, then hesitated.
A brief tension hung in the air. The identity of the next person was self-evident. A boy in a black robe accompanied by a dragon and a qilin could only be the Flash Art, Jeong Yeon-shin—a newly emerged supreme expert whose fame had been skyrocketing.
Those familiar with the martial world tended to avoid speaking of the Desolate Fortress's Black Rank experts. A single one of them was a legion unto themselves, holding a status that allowed them to execute even Orthodox martial artists under the pretext of public welfare. Their very existence was a taboo in the Orthodox martial world.
Commander of the Demonlight Wing, Flash Art.
He had played a monumental role in mobilizing three of the Desolate Fortress's units to strike the Hwangbo Clan. He had also personally engaged in a life-and-death duel with a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan. It was a strange coincidence. He was an expert deeply entangled in the very events the Martial World Alliance had used as a pretext for its formation.
“…”
Just as silence fell over the bridge, a figure descended with a soft whoosh.
Thud.
A young man in a green silk robe landed squarely between the Desolate Fortress party and the gatekeepers. He held a fan reinforced with steel ribs, exuding a scholar-like aura wrapped in a peculiar elegance.
Swoosh.
He turned toward Jeong Yeon-shin. Holding his fan in a reverse grip, the young man clasped his hands in salute.
“I am Jegal Hyeon. Though it is a great discourtesy to do so upon our first meeting, I have long admired your martial fame. I respectfully request a duel with the Commander of the Demonlight Wing.”
His words deepened the surrounding silence. Now, every onlooker was completely focused on them. They were no longer just stealing glances; they were eager to witness whatever exciting event might unfold.
“How incredibly sudden. He’s not the type to act like this…?” Lazy Flame Dragon muttered. As the former young master of the Hwangbo Clan, he seemed to know Jegal Hyeon.
“Here?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked quietly, feeling Jegal Hyeon’s gaze sweep over the Northern Light sword at his waist.
His senses, sharpened by his Upper Dantian, caught the look clearly. A strange power dwelt within Jegal Hyeon's eyes.
‘Look at his eyes.’
Among the countless martial arts in the world, there existed Eye Techniques—a discipline focused on training one's vision. It was said that a well-developed Eye Technique granted a field of vision that surpassed one's cultivation, pushing dynamic visual acuity to its absolute limit.
‘Something feels off.’
Seon-ryong Jegal Hyeon. Winning wasn't his objective. He didn't seem to hope for victory at all; rather, he appeared to have some hidden agenda. It felt as if he were painting a larger picture instead of seeking a simple one-off encounter.
Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly. Had he walked into a scheme the moment he set foot at the Alliance's entrance? The sensation was eerily similar to what he had felt when dealing with Ju Yeon-jeong of the Desolate Ma Clan.
“If it's just a light exchange of a few blows,” he said, accepting the duel for now.
Jegal Hyeon's lips curved into a faint, peculiar smile. “I shall gratefully engage.”
An impromptu arena formed atop the exceptionally wide bridge. In an instant, voices erupted as the main gate of the Alliance headquarters was surrounded by a crowd. People flocked from the markets of Hanzhong and from within the Alliance headquarters itself, their faces filled with curiosity.
“The Desolate Fortress truly brings a storm wherever they go!”
“To think Seon-ryong himself would request a duel. But isn't he being too polite? No matter how high his status, the other is just a boy who hasn't even reached twenty.”
“Shut your mouth. You know nothing of the world. If you truly knew what that black robe signified, you would never utter such nonsense.”
“Are we to witness the swordplay of a unit commander from the Divine Sword Corps?! Today is a blessed day!”
The duel between the young man and the boy, who had been staring each other down, began abruptly.
Whoosh!
Facing Jeong Yeon-shin, Jegal Hyeon stepped forward with his right foot. His incredibly light stomp contained a profound principle. Dust scattered from the gap between his sole and the ground as the force of his Fa Jin, rising up his leg like a whirlwind, became practically visible.
The stomp was followed by a strike. The steel fan snapped open and swept horizontally.
Though iron fans were typically used folded like clubs, the fan techniques of the Jegal Clan were clearly different. The force concentrated between the fan's ribs seemed to whip up individual whirlwinds.
‘Interesting.’
The corners of the boy's mouth twitched upward just as Jegal Hyeon unleashed his technique.
The hem of Jeong Yeon-shin's pitch-black robe swept up as he leaped, as if stepping on thin air. The boy landed his leather boots squarely atop the steel ribs of the fan and stood tall.
Tap.
His hands were clasped behind his back. He hadn't drawn his sword. This was partly because of Jegal Hyeon's peculiar gaze from earlier, and partly because he clearly remembered the mission given by the Divine Spear, Ak Su-rim. He just had to humiliate them. He didn't care what schemes the Martial World Alliance was harboring.
‘Wind God Movement Technique.’
He activated the Body Protection Scripture he had recently created. Emitting minute shockwaves of force from his entire body, he remained atop the fan like a weightless feather, refusing to come down. A sensation akin to riding a cloud spread from beneath his feet.
It was highly entertaining. The feeling of his body swaying along with his fluttering robes was entirely novel. He adjusted the micro-Fa Jin throughout his body in response to Jegal Hyeon's hand movements and the shockwaves from the fan. By shifting his center of gravity at every moment, he drifted through the air in perfect sync with the fan's ribs.
“What… what is this…?!” Jegal Hyeon seemed utterly bewildered, his straight eyebrows furrowing in dismay.
“…”
The surrounding crowd, which had been buzzing with anticipation for the clash, froze.
Someone muttered, "Crossing the River on a Reed." It was the legend of Zen Master Bodhidharma crossing the Yangtze River on a single stalk of reed. Standing atop the fan of the Jegal Clan's young master—a man renowned for his fan techniques—was indeed comparable to standing on a reed leaf floating on the waves of the Yangtze.
“Commander of the Demonlight Wing! What do you think you are doing…?!” a mid-level expert from the Shandong Ak Clan shouted, but before he could finish—
“A rising star of your Alliance requested a duel with this Unit Commander…”
The boy's posture was incredibly haughty. He stood at the very edge of the fan, looking down with indifference. His hands-behind-the-back stance even exuded a bizarrely elegant charm.
“I am imparting instruction.”
Jeong Yeon-shin didn't consider this mockery. It was a clash between two martial arts, each refined with the utmost sincerity. Pitting supreme art against supreme art, savoring the mental images, history, and subtle principles within—this was the boy's sole pleasure.
He deliberately lingered a moment longer before stepping down. His timing was exquisite—a split second before the Ak Clan expert could thrust his spear.
Having completely disrupted the spearman's rhythm, Jeong Yeon-shin casually unclasped his hands. In that moment, he looked like any other boy his age.
“While weapon forms are important, mastery of movement must come first.”
A brief silence fell. Those captivated by the overwhelming sight couldn't take their eyes off the boy in the black robe. Everyone—commoner or martial artist, man or woman, young or old—wore the same expression, as if they had witnessed a technique unprecedented in the world. It was a rare and precious spectacle.
“Just as expected of the genius I chose. Truly sound advice,” Lazy Flame Dragon said, breaking the silence by clapping alone. He even nodded in agreement.
Jeong Yeon-shin could see right through his intentions. Whether he was genuinely impressed or not, flattery was clearly a significant part of his reaction. He had heard that the Unit Commander's evaluation would play a major role in erasing his status as the young master of a traitorous clan.
“Covering incompetence with flattery is the behavior of a sycophant,” Heonwon Chang cut in sharply.
“…”
Jeong Yeon-shin turned toward the gatekeeper. “I wish to enter the headquarters. Lead the way.”
“…Please follow me.” The leader of the gatekeepers turned with a dazed expression.
Jegal Hyeon stood motionless, still in a daze, while the mid-level expert of the Shandong Ak Clan seemed reluctant to risk crossing hands with the young Unit Commander of the Desolate Fortress. He merely gestured with his chin to the Alliance warriors, his face stiff, signaling them to disperse the onlookers.
For a moment, the only sounds were the footsteps of the Demonlight Wing and the gatekeepers.
The hems of black, blue, and white robes, along with others of nondescript colors, receded toward the wide-open entrance.
Even as the Alliance warriors pushed them back, the crowd continued to watch the retreating figures. Their steps were strangely quiet, almost leisurely.
The summer had been long, but it had finally ended.
Now, autumn had arrived.
Brilliant red leaves drifted down from above. A gust of wind blew from behind Jeong Yeon-shin’s group, carrying the scent of fall.
The wind, weaving through the crimson leaves, was as gentle as the brushstrokes of a humble painter. It seemed to bear silent witness to the formidable power of the boy who stood as the Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
* * *
The Martial World Alliance leadership had deliberately sent Jegal Hyeon, their rising star. The outcome of the duel didn't matter.
No one had expected Jegal Hyeon to win in the first place. The confrontation was merely a test—a chance to see how accurately they had analyzed the traces left on the corpse of the Azure Qilin, Namgung Se-jin.
On a smaller scale, it was an opportunity to probe the martial arts of the Commander of the Demonlight Wing and, by extension, the sword techniques of the Commander of the Divine Sword Corps.
There were many keen eyes in the Martial World Alliance.
The Eye Techniques of the Jegal Clan had long been renowned for their sophistication, second only to their infamous formations.
The Moyong Clan was also formidable in this regard, having acquired an Eye Technique of the Ming Cult lineage from the tomb of an unnamed Heavenly Demon.
“He didn’t even draw his sword?” a middle-aged man with exceptionally dark, sword-like eyebrows muttered.
He was Feng Shui Master Jegal Cheon, leader of the Jegal Clan’s Worthy Heaven Unit.
With the Alliance Leader and the Jegal Clan Leader away inspecting the reconstructed traces of the Divine Sword Corps Commander's swordplay, he sat in the Alliance Leader's chair as the acting Chief Military Strategist.
“Unit Commander, the Commander of the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress requests an audience.”
A pleasant, refined voice echoed from beyond the elegant curtain. It belonged to a servant brought directly from the Jegal Clan.
Jegal Cheon replied without hesitation.
“Let him in.”
As he gave the order, he moved his arm.
He picked up a few Go stones from the armrest of his chair and casually tossed them around him. Instantly, the air grew heavy.
The supreme art of the Jegal Clan, said to rival the Blood Flame Cult in the art of sorcerous formations, had been activated.
The Heavy Wind Vine Wall Formation. It had been integrated into the headquarters’ construction to protect the Alliance Leader's Hall. It was a supreme formation that erected a mystical wall on the outside while whipping up sharp, sword-like winds within.
This was the realm of sorcery.
Beneath the curtain, a pair of pitch-black leather boots came into view. By now, the servant and the Commander of the Demonlight Wing must have encountered the anomaly. Where else would they have seen an invisible barrier that warped space itself? Sorcerous formations that exerted physical force were rare in the world.
To break through it, a martial artist needed more than just brute force; it was impossible to overcome with conventional martial knowledge. After all, a master sorcerer could force a stalemate even against a supreme expert.
‘Of course, blatant intimidation would be a poor move...’ Jegal Cheon thought.
There were many ways to discern a person's character, but in his experience, nothing was more effective than provoking their anger. At least, that was how things worked in the Jianghu.
The Alliance's Sect Founding Ceremony was a lengthy event. He needed to grasp the temperament of the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing and probe for weaknesses. The power of a martial art is drawn from the mental images it evokes; True Qi is merely the medium used to manifest its principles. If he could constantly disrupt the Commander’s peace of mind, there was much to be gained. The chances of an Alliance martial artist winning the Sect Founding Tournament would increase, and he might even extract information about the Desolate Fortress.
If the boy, in his youthful impulsiveness, couldn't control his rising anger, he would make a fool of himself in front of everyone.
That would drag the Desolate Fortress's reputation through the mud.
“I said, let him in,” Jegal Cheon repeated, deliberately raising his voice.
Rip—
A hand, shaped into a rigid blade, pierced straight through the center of the green silk curtain.
In that instant, Jegal Cheon felt a chilling, uncanny dread.