Chapter 424: Martial Lineage (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 424: Martial Lineage (5)
The old sliding door rattled open.
As Jeong Yeon-shin stepped inside and slid the door shut, the scent of aged wood washed over him. Beneath it lay the faint, distinct fragrance of incense used in memorial rites.
This temple sat quite a distance from the main Shaolin Temple. Around a large, round wooden table, several figures turned their heads.
With just that slight movement, the air in the room rippled, turning translucent despite none of them actively releasing their martial aura.
It's dense, Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
His earlier, lighthearted conversation with Yu-hyeon had helped ease the pressure of meeting the absolute peak of the Jianghu. Yet, the sheer weight pressing down upon this room was enough to make even the demonic breathing of the Heaven-Smiling Invincible feel stifling.
"The Purple Rank has arrived."
Ancient Sword—a man who possessed the face of a youth but smiled with the weary grace of an old man—gestured toward the seat opposite him.
As he did, his eyes—honed by decades of Wudang's peerless eye technique—seemed to guide the way. Jeong Yeon-shin felt invisible trajectories radiating from that gaze. They were martial forms in themselves.
He took his seat, his mind taut. Just as the figures before him each represented one of the Nine Great Sects, Jeong Yeon-shin was now, in both name and reality, the face of the Desolate Fortress.
"The Abbot is on his way. Please, wait comfortably," Abbess Baekyak said with a warm, wrinkled smile. Jeong Yeon-shin returned her greeting with a nod, making a conscious effort not to look around.
He remembered the earlier mishap when he had peered a bit too closely at Lady Yul-ha. Besides, his current perception method was already more than sufficient for practical use without needing to stare.
"……."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
The sect leaders of Qingcheng, Emei, and Mount Hua, alongside Perfected Ancient Sword, appraised Jeong Yeon-shin. Some glances were subtle; others were entirely open.
Among them, only Abbess Baekyak and Lady Yul-ha offered gentle looks. Jeong Yeon-shin deflected their attention, keeping his own gaze angled away.
His senses were running wild. It felt as if invisible threads of silk were dragging across his skin. The decades of profound cultivation emanating from these four peerless masters of the Nine Sects—the subtle pulsation of their muscles, the thrum of their acupoints, the rhythmic breathing of their internal energy—hit him in an immense wave of sensory overload.
Suddenly, Lady Yul-ha parted her lips.
"Has everyone decided on their roster for the tournament?"
"I did not expect you to be the first to speak, Lady Yul-ha. The Mount Hua Sect must be confident."
The speaker was Perfected Clear Water, the sect leader of Qingcheng. As a member of the Brightfolk, his voice carried a low, melodic resonance, yet his hearing was as sharp as a divine sword. It meant that, as a sect leader, he was acutely sensitive to the outcome of the Mount Hua Agreement.
Jeong Yeon-shin realized one thing.
The Mount Hua Agreement is no longer just a confrontation between the Nine Sects and the Desolate Fortress.
It was now a battleground for the entire vast Orthodox Jianghu.
What did martial artists live for?
Two things encompassed their entire existence: the martial prowess they forged with their own hands, and their reputation. Those who walked the dusty paths of the Jianghu earned respect through their martial arts and satisfied their desire for honor through their titles.
Even if one had no interest in personal fame, they would gladly choose mutual destruction over seeing their sect's name tarnished.
Earlier, Ancient Sword had referred to it as the World's Greatest Martial Arts Tournament. Even the Nine Sects, who claimed to be detached from worldly desires like wealth and power, could not afford to take this lightly.
"Confidence? Heavens, no." Lady Yul-ha waved a hand dismissively. "While our main sect disciples are children we can be proud of anywhere, the other sects are simply too formidable..."
Her clear voice subtly elevated both Mount Hua and the other sects. Her demeanor was natural yet noble. Jeong Yeon-shin was reminded of a plum blossom in full, spotless bloom. Perhaps this innate temperament of hers was even more dazzling than the divine ultimate techniques of the Orthodox sects.
"Mount Hua has every right to be confident. Beneath the Sect Leader, do you not have the Sword Absolute, the Three Treasure Sword Dragons, and the Blighted Sword? With outstanding swordsmen filling every generation, Mount Hua has no need to agonize over its roster. I am quite envious."
As Perfected Clear Water shook his head, Lady Yul-ha's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Speaking of which, I heard that the Qingcheng Sect Leader has secretly raised a genius who unified the Blue Cloud Sword Art and the Red Cloud Sword Technique... At that level of mastery, wouldn't they be unrivaled among the first-generation disciples? You have staked the future of Qingcheng on that child, have you not? Rather than the Red Cloud Dragon."
"They are still lacking. If they do not properly master the Blue Cloud Red Sunset, they will be helplessly defeated by Wudang's Palm Phoenix and their Ten-Stage Brocade, or the Hundred-Step Divine Fist unleashed by the head of Shaolin's Eighteen Arhats."
It was truly dizzying.
A galaxy of illustrious names was being casually tossed around.
The history of the Nine Sects was the history of the Jianghu itself. The inheritors of these great sects' martial arts and spirit medicines—often referred to as the thousand-year martial lineages—had spread their righteous names far and wide. Now, they were all gathering in Dengfeng County.
Jeong Yeon-shin's eyes narrowed slightly. Even though this wasn't an active war of nerves, a profound sense of pressure washed over him.
My martial lineage...
This was the reason he had been so obsessed with deploying the Black Ranks. It was simply too difficult to guarantee victory in the lower ranks.
Although Orthodox martial arts were known for being slow to master, aiming for a late bloom, the Nine Sects were considered 'great' precisely because they transcended such limitations. The sheer depth of their foundations was on an entirely different level.
Could the Flash Art Lineage truly stand against these thousand-year Orthodox martial lineages?
Until now, he had compensated for the shallow foundation of his explosive martial arts with his innate senses, and even then, he had often struggled against experts groomed by the great sects.
Just then.
"May this old monk redirect the benefactors' worries elsewhere?"
A low voice settled directly into Jeong Yeon-shin's mind.
It was not a sound perceived by his ears. It permeated straight into his consciousness, ensuring that not a single syllable was lost.
Wisdom Light Mind Speak...!
Jeong Yeon-shin's eyes widened.
Suddenly, the shadows cast over a corner of the temple began to flicker, taking the shape of falling leaves.
It looked exactly like a lotus blooming in the darkness. There was no mistaking it. It was the Nine Grades of the Lotus Pedestal, the peerless movement technique of Shaolin's secret heritage.
He was coming.
Whoosh—
It happened in an instant. An old monk wearing a hemp eyepatch over one eye suddenly materialized.
His orange monastic robes fluttered emptily; both of his sleeves were completely hollow.
"Dharma power...? No wonder it smelled better than the grain wine I drank at seventy..."
An old, raspy murmur scraped through the air.
It was Divine Monk Beomheo.
The Abbot of Shaolin.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the Green Jade Sword Manor in Dengfeng County.
Beneath a bluish wall that looked as if it were forged from melted leaves, two men stood with their arms crossed. They carried thick scrolls and bundles on their backs as if they were weapons.
Standing amidst a bustling clamor, they stared blankly at the dense crowd surrounding them, moving only their lips to converse.
"How many have entered?"
"It has surpassed a thousand. We can't handle any more."
"What if we include those staying in the town instead of the manor?"
"You've asked the wrong person. Go find the Beggar Sect branch. Elder Ju Gwang-singae would have an exact count."
"Nonsense. It's no secret that he doesn't look kindly upon the Hegemon Hero. Naturally, there's no way he would come to the Mount Hua Agreement. In any case, we should have filtered them out from the beginning. It's too hard to control them. It seems the manor is having a very difficult time as well."
"Those thousand-plus are already the handpicked ones. We only accepted those with verified identities and whose sects' reputations span across provinces. Even with just that, there are loud complaints outside, saying we aren't even giving third-rate sects a chance."
These two were lay disciples of Shaolin, as well as well-known gossips within the Jianghu.
Dok-hyeon and Dok-gyeon. After a fated encounter allowed them to learn Shaolin's secret eye technique, the Tathagata Dark Eye, they took it upon themselves to record all kinds of worldly events and send the information back to Mount Song. This was to ensure that the noble Northern Shaolin would not be swept away blindly by the undercurrents of the Jianghu.
Dok-gyeon, who had a relatively agile build, gestured with his chin.
"Sam-bok."
"Yes, master."
A servant wearing faded yellow hemp clothes stopped sweeping the courtyard and looked up.
He was a young man with a dusty face, his shoulders and limbs wrapped in mismatched scraps of cloth to cover the tears in his garments.
"Did the manor not provide you with proper clothes? Even menial labor is noble work. What is with that appearance of yours?"
The servant grinned.
"Things are tough back home. I send my monthly wages to my family as soon as I get them."
"If you're always living in poverty, when will you ever catch a break?"
"Well, your scalps look rather bare at a glance, masters, yet they still shine so brightly, don't they? I'm sure my day to shine will come, too."
"Good grief..."
Dok-gyeon shook his head.
The character Dok (禿) in their names literally meant 'bald.' However, the two took immense pride in their appearance, styling themselves to resemble Shaolin's main sect disciples. Dok-hyeon, who possessed a stouter build, clicked his tongue as he looked at the servant's shaggy, unkempt hair.
"For someone whose diligence is famous throughout the manor... just go rest until lunchtime. I'm worried you might get swept into a pointless fight with the martial artists who have traveled from afar."
"Understood, sir!"
The reason Dok-hyeon had mentioned a fight was because of the countless people lining up outside the manor's main gates. The crowd was composed entirely of Jianghu martial artists.
The summer air, already shimmering in the sunlight, grew stiflingly hot. Dust clouds, kicked up by sudden flares of internal energy, frequently erupted here and there.
"Line up! Get in line!"
"Do you think I belong in the same line as these worthless rabble? Make way! This seat is the Yongpae Double Blades of Mount Heng!"
"They must think this is their local marketplace. The Orthodox faction, no, the entire Jianghu is flocking to this land."
"Leave them be. They'll end up dying in a ditch like that."
"What did you say?!"
They were martial artists. Belligerence was in their blood.
The gates had been thrown wide open so that martial artists from the Eight Great Families, such as the Peng Clan, could participate.
Countless crowds flocked to the Mount Hua Agreement with all sorts of goals: chasing fame, seeking enlightenment, or hoping for a fated encounter.
Meanwhile, the martial artists of the great sects stayed in seclusion as if entering closed-door cultivation, truly aiming for absolute supremacy. Because of their absence, the rogue cultivators and martial artists from smaller sects were gradually letting their guard down.
Even so, they still stiffened up whenever swordsmen from Mount Hua or Wudang happened to pass by, though many of the Nine Sects' martial artists assigned to guard duty were currently scattered among the civilian residences.
Dok-hyeon and Dok-gyeon shook their heads.
"I feel like a major incident is bound to break out sooner or later."
"Most of it will just be petty squabbles among martial artists. It can't be helped. Let's get back to our conversation."
Dok-gyeon spoke in a hushed tone. The thick cheeks on either side of Dok-hyeon's mouth curled into a smirk.
"You mean the bet?"
"Yes. I heard that the great merchants have wagered an astronomical amount of money. It's on a scale where even the Imperial Family might get involved."
"It is indeed a gamble that everyone is watching. Which sect will dominate the Mount Hua Agreement?... Where did your younger brother place his bet?"
"Wudang, the Southern Venerable. A wager worth two bags of rice."
"Playing it safe, I see."
"What about you?"
"Well, we are lay disciples of Shaolin. The Abbot won't step forward himself, but even so, the only major threats are the other Nine Sects, or perhaps the Peng Clan, who have recently acquired the Indian Yoga Divine Art."
"What about the Desolate Fortress?"
"Let's be precise. It's not the main Desolate Fortress, but the Flash Art Lineage. A lineage that has barely been active for three years..."
Dok-hyeon suddenly trailed off. Dok-gyeon nodded, as if immediately understanding why he had stopped.
"Not even three years. Yes, the Desolate Fortress's Flash Art is certainly a strange, violent, chaotic, and supernatural existence. I feel the same shock you do. But... a martial lineage is different."
"Indeed."
"A single peerless master can turn the tide of a great sect war, but certain powerful martial lineages..."
The renowned gossip from Shaolin's lay disciples slowly finished his sentence.
"They change the very shape of the Jianghu."
The Mount Hua Sect was a prime example. In the Shaanxi region, numerous sects took inspiration from the Plum Blossom Sword, making fast swords and illusion swords their ultimate techniques.
The same went for the Wudang Sect; in northern Huguang, mentions of Tai Chi Chuan were dominated by its offshoots rather than the main stream.
In Henan, dynamic cultivation arts that tempered the body under the influence of Shaolin's Muscle Tendon Changing Classic had flourished for generations. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call these lineages the very culture of the Jianghu.
Such renowned martial lineages heavily influenced the political landscape among the great sects.
In eras when fast swords were particularly lethal, body protection astral qi would be developed to counter them. When body protection astral qi dominated, internal heavy hand techniques would rise. As the status of internal heavy hand techniques grew, body protection scriptures and dynamic cultivation arts would flourish in response. Pushing further, tyrannical martial arts—which could accumulate power much faster than dynamic cultivation arts—would inevitably ride a massive wave of popularity.
The Hegemon Hero, Ma Yeon-jeok, had reigned as the absolute ruler during one such era.
Ultimately, the flow of the vast Jianghu was dictated by the giant martial lineages that led the Murim.
"They say that four people of different generations will decide the matches against other martial lineages. If it were the founder of the Flash Art alone, it might be a different story, but whether the fledgling lineage he created can pierce through the centuries-old foundations of the Nine Sects is highly doubtful..."
Dok-gyeon shook his sharp chin. Beside him, Dok-hyeon could not deny it.
"Even in Shaolin, they say there were so many candidates for the tournament that they had to hold internal competitions just to decide the roster."
"That is the proof of a great sect. Disciples who have mastered the Hundred-Step Divine Fist, temple servants who casually use the Vajra Immovable Body Art, and even our senior brother whose Zen Coiling Sleeve has reached the pinnacle of mastery... There are countless cards to play in the right situations. In the past, they say the Flash Art and the White Qilin competed right before the Desolate Fortress fought a life-and-death duel with the Namgung Clan. But I don't think the Flash Art Lineage—which isn't even the main fortress—has that kind of depth."
"Agreed. Even the Peng Clan is reportedly busy compiling dozens of counter-strategies based on the characteristics of each sect's martial artists, just like we are. Compared to that level of preparation, a newly born martial lineage—no matter how brilliant its founder's wit—is bound to be shallow and thin in the end..."
As the two gossips were quietly conversing, the thick crowd lining up outside suddenly began to stir.
This was an uncommon occurrence. By nature, martial artists were a breed whose pride pierced the heavens, even if they had only trained alone on some remote mountain.
The surging internal energy filling their bodies made such arrogance inevitable.
"It seems a fairly well-known figure has arrived."
"There shouldn't be any room left in the manor."
"Perhaps someone who was already staying here went out and has returned. Listening to what the crowd is whispering... Ah, Namgung. It's the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin."
"The young man who lacks nothing in this world has returned."
"He must have been in a hurry. The preparations of the great sects, including the Peng Clan, are extremely thorough. A sect of hidden hermits could suddenly pop out from anywhere."
"Even so... after the gathering of the Divine Sword Corps, they shouldn't have any strength left to spare. There may be many Desolate Fortress martial artists scattered around, but how many of them can truly be recognized as belonging to the Flash Art Lineage?"
Just then, a clear voice pierced through the evening glow.
[By the authority of the Black Rank, I command.]
It was a resonant Six Harmonies Sound Transmission. It spread with the piercing clarity of a cloudless blue sky.
[As of today, the Divine Sword Corps' covert operations in Dengfeng County are terminated. All members of every martial unit who have learned the martial arts of the Flash Art Lineage stored in the main fortress's Gold-Piercing Martial Library—accept me as your temporary Unit Commander and escort me to our lodgings. After holding an internal competition, we will report the results to the Purple Rank of the main fortress.]
It was the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin.
Dok-hyeon and Dok-gyeon's eyes met. A sudden realization flashed between them.
This was a place where countless Jianghu warriors had gathered. There was no way the Desolate Fortress would just sit idly by.
Aside from the Flash Art Lineage, countless other operatives must have infiltrated in secret, disguised among the civilian residences.
However, the White Qilin's Six Harmonies Sound Transmission had specifically limited its call to the personnel of the Flash Art Lineage.
Just how many could there be?
Thud.
A sudden noise came from the wall behind them. The servant, who had been crouching as silently as a dead mouse, had dropped his broom.
He slowly stood up, tearing away the messy patches of cloth covering his shoulders.
The character Hwang (荒) was revealed.
"I guess my chances of being assigned to Henan Province again are ruined. It was such a quiet, peaceful land."
The servant, Sam-bok, muttered.
As he walked past Dok-hyeon and Dok-gyeon, Dok-hyeon—who had been staring blankly—snapped out of his daze and spoke up.
"Why is that? There aren't many who can conceal their internal energy as flawlessly as you do."
"Because I'm from the Netherflow Unit. We strictly handle covert operations."
Sam-bok replied without breaking his stride.
He walked straight toward the massive crowd lining up to enter the Green Jade Sword Manor. With each step he carved into the ground, a powerful gust of wind swept outward, forcefully parting the people to his left and right.
It was as if he were parting a dense thicket.
"The Radiant Wing Step...?"
Dok-gyeon murmured blankly. At the exact same time, new, powerful martial auras began bursting forth continuously from all directions.
On that day, every hidden martial artist of the Desolate Fortress in Dengfeng County stood up.