Chapter 421: Martial Lineage (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 421: Martial Lineage (2)
Yong Hee-myung, Commander of the Divine Sword Corps, stared blankly at Jeong Yeon-shin for a moment before slowly opening his mouth.
“That’s not it.”
“……?”
Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly.
A hint of amusement flickered in Yong Hee-myung’s eyes. The Commander of the Divine Sword Corps, whose dismissal was on hold due to the turbulent times, had the air of a carefree eldest brother who, despite his leisurely demeanor, understood the ways of the world.
He spoke slowly.
“The Purple Robe is a secret dharma treasure of the imperial family. The more real combat you experience, the more the spirituality dwelling within the robe absorbs your energy and grows tougher. You can think of it as a second layer of Body Protection Qi.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“The imperial family bestowed such a divine garment for one reason: because as of right now, the only ones who can replace you are me and your maternal grandfather.”
Sip.
A subtle aroma of tea drifted through the air as Yong Hee-myung took a sip from his cup.
“Just as a Black Rank cannot dare to act as a Purple Rank, a Purple Rank must not carelessly lower their status. You are now a person of the highest standing. Even if you must disguise yourself for a mission, you hold a position where you must never lower your own class.”
“……”
“Or perhaps you don’t trust the other Black Ranks of the main fortress? Is that why you’re so stubbornly clinging to the rank of Unit Commander?” Yong Hee-myung asked with a playful smirk.
Jeong Yeon-shin quickly shook his head. While his uncle and the Lazy Flame Dragon were people he had to look after like his niece Jeong Hye, the seniors of the Wish-for-Peace One Sword Hall were a different matter entirely.
“I was being arrogant. I simply… didn’t want to ruin things.”
The Mount Hua Agreement. The World’s Greatest Martial Arts Tournament. He had never experienced anything like this before; it was completely new to him. He was stepping forward as the undisputed representative of the Desolate Fortress, facing a situation where simply winning as a peerless expert didn’t guarantee a successful outcome.
That was why he had wanted to take on both roles, fully prepared to endure any criticism that might follow.
His fear of failure was immense. Ever since he had seen the Wudang Ancient Sword, a heavy burden had weighed on his mind. The Mount Hua Agreement was, in the first place, a promise from two generations ago, born from the ties of the Hegemon Hero. He didn’t want to tarnish his maternal grandfather’s long-standing name, nor did he want to cause immense trouble for the Desolate Fortress.
After all, it was he who had triggered the Mount Hua Agreement.
If the Desolate Fortress lost, the price would be steep: a Jianghu sect would gain the right to command a Purple Rank expert. Even if the opponent was one of the Nine Sects, such a thing could not be allowed to happen.
Had he seen right through his thoughts? Suddenly, the corners of Yong Hee-myung’s mouth curled upward.
“You can afford to be a bit more arrogant.”
“……”
“Kid, seeing you like this really drives it home. A Purple Rank at seventeen. With a character like yours, it wouldn’t be strange for you to be called a gentleman. Especially in the Ma family.”
Even as a flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks, Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t dare deny it. In his entire, long life of seventeen years, he had rarely seen anyone as humble as himself. Even stripping away any exaggeration from his superior’s words, the core of it remained true. He couldn’t deny the obvious, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing.
Seeing Jeong Yeon-shin looking somewhat disheartened, Yong Hee-myung shrugged.
“It’s fine to lose. If the Nine Sects call for me, I’ll go. Wasn’t the promise triggered to save me in the first place? Since I survived thanks to that, even if I have to become a pawn of the Jianghu for a while, it would be a cheap price to pay.”
Wearing a mock-solemn expression, Yong Hee-myung continued, “Now, let me ask again. Have you thought about the lineup?”
“Many people come to mind, but…” Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head. The participation conditions for the Mount Hua Agreement were highly unusual.
While Yong Hee-myung had gained the recognition of Wudang and Mount Hua by inheriting Ma Yeon-jeok’s Sword of Divine Attainment, there weren’t many at the Black Rank who met the qualifications for the duel. Aside from Hahu Wi-jin, Commander of the Forest-Treading Unit, who claimed to be of the Flash Art Lineage, there was practically no one else. This was because each of them possessed their own sect-exclusive divine ultimate techniques.
Hearing this, Yong Hee-myung nodded.
“The Commander of the Forest-Treading Unit. Didn’t he return to the main fortress with our Deputy Unit Commander? We can summon him in no time.”
His words made sense, as Huguang and Henan were neighboring provinces. Likewise, Shin So-bin, Heonwon Chang, and the Lazy Flame Dragon would also be at the main fortress. Jeong Yeon-shin had previously issued a return order to them through the former Hwangbo Clan Head, with whom he had formed a connection during the Flood Dragon’s formation. Sichuan at the time had simply been too perilous.
“That settles the rough outline. As for the White and Blue Ranks, since there are so many from your martial lineage, you’ll have no trouble choosing.”
“Commander, forgive the intrusion, but may we come in now?”
The carefree voice belonged to Cheong-myeong, the Blue-Eyed Demon Sword. As the door opened, Jeong Yeon-shin’s head snapped around. He’d already been sensing familiar presences through the crack of the slightly ajar door. He had left it open on purpose, having heard news that the experts of the Demonlight Wing, who had been patrolling the vicinity of Beijing, had returned. They had apparently been assisting the Embroidered Uniform Guard outside the city due to the movements of a spirit beast.
“Let’s see how much our Unit Commander has grown!”
“Don’t speak so lightly of a Purple Rank’s noble presence. In any case, he is greater than you.”
“Beijing is in an uproar with talk of the Lotus Nezha.”
“Show us the Purple Rank, the Purple Robe! Why are you still wearing a black robe?”
Clad in blue martial uniforms, they entered with a polite yet boisterous clamor. Two people stood at the front: a one-eyed Brightfolk youth with a relaxed smile, and a woman with pitch-black hair cascading down behind her calm eyes. Though none of them carried weapons, every single one exuded the sharp aura of a master swordsman.
Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze swept over Cheong-myeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, and the dozen or so Blue Rank experts.
They were the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress. Along with the Heaven-Aligned Wing, they were the two wings of the main fortress that served as the vanguard during great sect wars. In other words, they were the siblings of the Flash Art.
The pale lips of Baek Mi-ryeo parted.
“We will escort you to Shaolin.”
Her voice was cool, like a winter breeze that had once cooled his body after long hours of training. A faint smile traced Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips.
*
Cheong-myeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, and the other Demonlight Wing experts shared news from the Desolate Fortress. It had been a long time since the Head of the Main Fortress Elder Council had returned after entering the Forbidden City. The imperial ministers had been prepared for a major confrontation, but the Elder Council Head had instead vehemently demanded the dismissal of the current Commander of the Divine Sword Corps, leaving the high-ranking officials utterly dumbfounded.
So that’s why the Forbidden City was so peaceful, Jeong Yeon-shin thought. The delay in receiving permission to enter the palace was a minor issue in comparison. He had expected a grueling battle of wits, but now he understood why everything had been strangely uneventful.
— The Dragon Clan is muddy water, and the Ma family is no different. The Jeong family is the lotus blooming in that mud. That is why this old man believes in you.
The message from the Elder Council Head was written in a single, sweeping stroke on a sheet of paper.
Cheong-myeong mentioned that the Elder Council Head had left word that he was preparing for a promotion ceremony at the main fortress, adding that his physical condition was not fit for a long stay in a foreign land. This was due to the internal injuries he had suffered long ago when he lost his martial arts and Innate Qi to the Blood Flame Cult Leader.
“Wait just a bit longer. My subordinates are bringing it from afar. A rare, famous sword cannot be stored carelessly, after all.”
In front of the elegant palace gates of the Southern Three Stations of the Crown Prince's Palace, Jeong Yeon-shin was being seen off by the Crown Prince and the Head Eunuch. Yong Hee-myung had already departed under the Emperor’s orders.
“My son told me that you are quite well-versed in the song of the sword. Might I be able to hear it once?” the Crown Prince asked, adding that there was once a time when the cry of a blade would sever his worries.
Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head. “There are those who must hear it, and those who must not. Your Highness is the latter.”
“Why is that?”
“Because mine is a sword ring that severs the thread of life…”
For a moment, the Crown Prince’s lips pursed. His expression was peculiar, as if he had been struck by an indescribable emotion.
“A gentleman of the Ma family offers me counsel. Indeed, seeing you receive recognition from the Emperor gave me pause. Yes, there are anxieties that one must rightfully harbor…”
“……?”
“I shall repay this favor. The day will come when we meet again. The country, the imperial family, will have need of your strength.”
A northern wind, cool and dry, seemed to blow from the Crown Prince’s words. Jeong Yeon-shin responded to the praise with an arching hand salute.
I must watch my mouth in the future.
It seemed even his casual words now carried the weight of a master’s insight. He worried he might accidentally grant an enemy a moment of enlightenment.
“I hope you will convey my regards to your maternal grandfather,” the Head Eunuch said, looking down at him. The high official, who had previously spoken to him with casual condescension, was now showing proper etiquette. Jeong Yeon-shin merely gave a small nod.
He had received ample rewards from the Forbidden City. Now, he truly had to deliberate on the lineup for the Mount Hua Agreement.
For the Blue Rank…
The Lazy Flame Dragon possessed high martial arts but was unreliable. In any case, all members of the Demonlight Wing had mastered the Vast Art Formula for joint attacks. Rather than risk someone who might falter in a decisive moment, it would be better to send either Cheong-myeong or Baek Mi-ryeo.
“You look bored. It should be here soon,” the Head Eunuch’s words broke his train of thought.
Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin felt the warm spirituality of the Lingering Thunder.
“I shall take my leave now.”
As he flicked his hand, the air, warped by the summer heat, suddenly rippled. Immediately after, a silver light flickered in the distant sky, and a long sword flew toward him, the sound of it tearing through the air deafening.
It was the Divine Sword: Lingering Thunder.
Jeong Yeon-shin caught it in one swift motion without even blinking. The hilt felt warm in his palm. Right there, in the middle of the imperial palace, he casually sheathed the Lingering Thunder at his waist.
“……”
Yet, no one said a word. Not even as Jeong Yeon-shin turned his back on the majestic waves of golden roof tiles.
Rustle.
He adjusted the large travel sack on his shoulder. The weight of the bundle pressed down on him, seeming to whisper softly. It was time to return to the martial world.
*
The midsummer heat was stifling in the desolate forest. Barren, withered branches rustled and rubbed against one another in the humid wind. In this land, even the wind was yellow.
This was the mountain behind the Jeong Family Manor of Xinye County, Henan Province. On a flat hill, a dozen or so graves stood in rows. Recently, the place had struck terror into the hearts of the local villagers due to a bizarre rumor: Black Way thugs, who feared neither the local authorities nor Shaolin, had established a third-rate unorthodox sect on the ruins of the Jeong Family Manor, only to be annihilated by a peerless, one-eyed beauty.
These were not the graves of those thugs. This was the burial ground for the household of the Jeong Family Manor, who had been local landowners.
The red-robed enchantress had transformed the burial mound of a woman named Ma Yeon-sang into something resembling a royal tomb before vanishing. She had built a circular brick wall three zhang high around the grave. Meanwhile, the grave of the Jeong Family Head, located two spots over, had only been weeded as a bare minimum sign of respect.
“Hero Namgung, this won’t get us anywhere. Perhaps if you stepped back for a moment…”
“Please understand, Small Sword Empress. Whether it is a civilian memorial service or a Buddhist ritual, we must watch over it all.”
Below Ma Yeon-sang’s grave, three groups stood in a tense standoff. Not a single person among them was ordinary. Despite the turbulent times, their faces were clean, and their martial robes shimmered with the brilliant luster of fine silk.
The foremost among them was a single man. A young man whose pale skin contrasted sharply with his pitch-black robe. His slender jawline was as elegant as the blade of a precious sword, and his dark eyes were sharply focused, exuding the aura of an upright, righteous hero. His appearance and demeanor were the very definition of ‘noble.’
He was a Black Rank of the Desolate Fortress: White Qilin Namgung Hwa-shin.
Behind him stood a sharp-featured young noble and another young man. They were the Blue-Ranked Warrior Ma Se-in and the White-Ranked Warrior Ma Ung. It was a gathering where everyone knew Ma Se-in was the young master of the Desolate Ma Clan. These three represented the Desolate Fortress.
“Just do it. What’s the problem with us watching?” Ma Se-in asked in a calm tone, standing straight out of respect for the burial ground. He truly lived up to his recently acquired moniker, Gentleman Ma.
However, the dozen or so people he faced were also regarded as immortals in the Jianghu. They were from the Diancang Sect, one of the Nine Sects, known for the Diancang Shooting Sun swordplay, which was said to pierce the sun itself.
“Watching is not the issue, but those who followed you look ready to clash at any moment.” The disciples of the Diancang Sect showed manners no less refined than Ma Se-in’s. They had completely suppressed their energy so as not to disturb the ground, appearing as a group of exceptionally handsome and disciplined martial artists.
Among them, the swordsman at the front stood out. It was a woman carrying a black precious sword. She wore vermilion silk light armor, and her pitch-black hair cascaded down to her waist. Though her aura was clearly suppressed, she could not hide her incredibly sharp temperament.
Small Sword Empress Chwi So-ok.
She had large eyes, and the slight downward slant of her eyelids gave her a gentle look, yet no one dared to underestimate her.
The Small Sword Empress urged the Desolate Fortress group to step back.
“Whatever the others may think, I have come with goodwill. Do you intend to let the anniversary of her death pass like this?”
“I am aware that there is no special connection between your noble sect and our main fortress’s Commander of the Demonlight Wing. I merely wish to prevent any unfortunate incidents,” Namgung Hwa-shin replied, clasping his hands in a polite salute. Even in that small gesture, an innate elegance shone through, marking him as the epitome of a righteous hero who maintained clear boundaries.
At the same time, a snort of laughter erupted from another side.
“How very bold.”
“Indeed. After avoiding us for so long.”
This was the last group to ascend the hill, following the Desolate Fortress and the Diancang Sect. Five men and women, wearing the blue hero’s headbands popular in Southern Zhili, were looking up at Namgung Hwa-shin with displeasure. They were not of the Namgung Clan, but rather local martial aristocrats who had once been closely tied to them.
One of them bowed politely toward the Small Sword Empress’s side, expressing the utmost respect. “We are deeply sorry for this unsightly display. Please, grant us some time. We have a matter to settle with a direct descendant of the Namgung family.”
At the grave where the mother of Jeong Yeon-shin, Commander of the Demonlight Wing, lay at rest, someone was receiving respects while bypassing the Desolate Fortress group entirely.
The old woman standing beside the Small Sword Empress slowly opened her eyes. Clad in coarse hemp robes, she leaned on a long sword as if it were a walking cane. Her gaze swept down the hill.
Whoosh—
Everyone’s breath caught. It felt as though a silent, icy wind had swept through the area like a tempest. There was no one present capable of matching her. Even the black-robed White Qilin slightly bowed his head in deference to her martial prowess and seniority.
“…If this is a family squabble from Southern Zhili, it is not my place to interfere,” a raspy, aged voice drifted out.
At the old woman’s words, the faces of the hero’s headband group brightened. They immediately raised their chins toward Namgung Hwa-shin.
One of the young men among them spoke up. “You must know our business. Southern Zhili has been a mess lately. Bandits are rampant, and all sorts of Black Way thugs are disrupting the marketplaces under the guise of being Jianghu sects. It is all because the direct line of the Namgung Clan is gone. Wiped out by the Desolate Fortress.”
“…The Elder Council Head of our family should still be alive and well.”
“It is not enough! He is a figure of the past. Our sect and the other sects of Southern Zhili cannot seek our future from him. That is why our Jianghu needs you. Return to the Namgung Clan!”
Namgung Hwa-shin did not answer for a moment. Then, he spoke slowly. “Unless I am excommunicated, I will never leave the Desolate Fortress of my own accord. If the trouble in Southern Zhili is an uprising of unorthodox sects, I will go suppress them as part of my duties.”
“I knew you’d say that!” another person sneered.
“Didn’t I tell you? There’s no way a half-wit who hasn’t even inherited the Imperial Sword Form would feel any responsibility for Southern Zhili! He probably hasn’t even seen the red jade embedded in the Heavenly Sword!”
“Is this the limit of a concubine’s son…” the martial artists of Southern Zhili sighed. A few of them brought up the deceased Azure Qilin, saying that if he were still alive, the Southern Zhili martial world would have remained whole.
Namgung Hwa-shin remained silent.
He was not a man who drew his blade in haste. Unless he bore witness to a glaring, undeniable act of injustice, he absolutely refused to shed blood. The core teachings passed down by his late elder brother, the Azure Qilin, held humility as the ultimate, unwavering truth of the martial path.
It was this very same humility that had compelled him to so easily concede defeat to a strange boy he had just met during the Desolate Fortress entrance exam in the distant past.
His mindset remained completely unchanged even now, in the face of such blatant disrespect.
He merely stood his ground, silently hoping that the aggressive crowd gathered before him would eventually exhaust their own bitter anger and leave of their own accord.
"Enough!" one of the martial artists scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "We didn't have any real expectations for him to begin with, did we? Let's just go and enjoy the tournament. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to broaden our horizons and witness true martial prowess."
"I heard that the Desolate Fortress has suffered consecutive, humiliating defeats against the Shaolin monks," another chimed in with a mocking sneer. "In the end, this tournament will probably just come down to a showdown between the Peng Clan and the Nine Sects. Whether it's the White Qilin or the Desolate Ma Clan, they are ultimately just outsiders—they are neither true people of the Jianghu, nor do they belong to the imperial military."
"The Sword Empress is listening. Keep your voices down," a third hissed, glancing nervously toward the side.
Gradually, the mocking voices began to quiet down. But it wasn't out of newly found respect. It was because a sudden, ominous rumble of thunder echoed from the distant horizon, vibrating through the very ground they stood upon.
The low rumble rapidly swelled, growing deafeningly loud in the span of a single heartbeat. Then, it struck down right in the dead center of the three gathered groups, taking the blinding, terrifying shape of a faint bolt of lightning.
Boom—!
When the dust settled, it was not lightning that had struck the earth. It was a sword.
A brilliant red gem was embedded deeply into its hilt, gleaming with an ethereal light. Namgung Hwa-shin stared at the weapon, his jaw dropping open in blank disbelief.
"The... Heavenly Sword?"
The initial shockwave from the impact was not particularly large, but it instantly unleashed a terrifying, powerful gale.
The fierce wind rose like a raging tidal wave and swept relentlessly downward. Its sheer, oppressive pressure violently forced the martial artists of Southern Zhili straight to their knees, pinning them to the dirt. The deafening sound of the earth cracking beneath their trembling legs was loud, chaotic, and utterly overwhelming.
"What... in the world is this...?!" someone gasped, struggling helplessly against the crushing weight of the aura.
"Sword Control... and... Qilin's Judgment?"
It was exactly as Ma Se-in had muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with shock.
The old woman standing silently beside the Small Sword Empress opened her eyes once more. The Small Sword Empress's hand had reflexively shot out to grip her own sword hilt in defense, but the old woman's weathered hand firmly pulled her disciple's arm back down.
"He is not an opponent you can face," the old woman warned in a hushed, grave tone.
It was right after the old woman—the legendary Diancang Sword Empress—restrained her disciple that the true source of the phenomenon revealed himself.
Flutter—
A single, solitary figure descended gracefully from the clear, boundless sky, as if stepping down an invisible staircase.
It was a young man.
His long, untied hair billowed in the wild wind like flowing ebony silk. As he floated downward, the dazzling sunlight caught the hem of his fluttering robes, transforming the fabric into the vivid, burning color of a sprawling sunset.