Chapter 432: Grandmaster (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 432: Grandmaster (6)
Under a deep blue sky lay a dark, gloomy expanse of earth. The land stretched out in all directions, as vast as a wilderness, yet entirely scorched.
Pitch-black flames billowed sporadically across the terrain. The summer heat, shimmering transparently as it descended, blazed in shades of black the moment it touched the ground.
It was less a ruin and more a hellscape—a place that could truly be called a dead land.
In the midst of it, a strange voice echoed softly. It carried a melody like a dead man clumsily reciting poetry.
When ten men gather, one plays the king.
The dusty wind of the wilderness is the clamor of a distant heart demon.
Upon this land, like a sandcastle awaiting the high tide after ten days of building walls,
Is the great wave of time a heavenly mandate that must be accepted, or a test permitted to be defied?
Black sparks sputtered wildly over the dead land before vanishing.
"How does it sound to hear it yourself?"
The figure wearing a silver-white mask that came down only to the tip of her nose curled her lips.
She was wrapped in a white cloak embroidered with ornate tassels like a dragon robe, but contrary to her noble appearance, she was holding an old man by the throat, lifting him into the air.
"This is the preface to the Heavenly Demon Divine Art you wanted so badly. Isn't the mnemonic quite poetic?"
"I cannot... believe it. It cannot be... the orthodox lineage."
The old man spat in a raspy voice. Even with his windpipe crushed in her grip, his internal energy breathing did not falter.
On the back of his pitch-black robe, the words Pure Demon were embroidered in a calligraphic style as vigorous as flying dragons.
"Foolish old man. Since when does the demonic path have an orthodox lineage?"
The masked figure sneered.
"The demonic arts of the Ming Cult exist to be completely overhauled to fit the successor's body. Half-wits who follow the teachings of their predecessors to the letter can never become the Heavenly Demon. That is why you, old man, will only ever be a collateral branch."
"..."
"Still, I was quite surprised. To think you would harvest the demonic essence of the dead. Wasn't the owner of the grave you dug up the former Pure Demon Alliance Leader? Your own disciple?"
"That... is the demonic path," the old man rasped, the whites of his eyes staining pitch-black.
The masked figure tilted her small head slightly to the side.
It was a gesture that made it impossible to tell whether she agreed with his words or merely dismissed them as trivial. Mockery was deeply ingrained in her every movement.
The masked figure parted her lips.
"You've used your head in your own way, and you've grown strong enough to carelessly throw around the title of 'the world's greatest,' but..."
Suddenly, thin veins bulged on the masked figure's hand, which was as translucent as white porcelain. She tightened her grip.
A ragged breath burst from the suspended old man's mouth, and the masked figure's lips curled into a crooked smile.
"I suppose you didn't expect things to turn out like this?"
Heh, heheh...
The old man let out a fragmented laugh.
"Indeed. Who would have guessed... that a being barely clinging to life by suppressing themselves with sorcery martial arts... would release their seal just to hunt down and kill this seat?"
"It was but a fleeting moment. I have locked it away again."
The old man's laughter deepened.
"You... are nothing but a giant mayfly."
"Your metaphors lack elegance. You are hopeless at composing poetry, old man."
Answering nonchalantly, the masked figure suddenly looked up into the distance.
Unlike the blighted ground, the sky was clear. Wispy, pale cirrus clouds drifted leisurely, drawing long tails across the azure expanse.
"It must have started by now, right?"
"What has?"
"I am curious about the direction of the Mount Hua Agreement. My choice will change depending on the results Flash Art produces. The current state of the Jianghu has been unusual lately."
"I have no interest in incomprehensible nonsense," the old man sneered. "I hear that child is also a strange, violent, chaotic, and supernatural being like you. If so... are those destined to die soon not being praised as the future of the Jianghu, the rising waves of the Yangtze River? How truly laughable. How would the world react if they found out?"
Was this his terminal lucidity? Despite the hand still constricting his throat, the black-robed old man's windpipe gradually cleared.
Soon, with every syllable he uttered, the insidious spirit of a demonic grandmaster began to seep through.
"Even though the heavens do not permit your existence, do you truly believe you can become the Heavenly Demon on your own? Especially when you are practically a living corpse right now."
"Aren't you the corpse?"
"Looking at you, I can clearly see what kind of madness that child of the Desolate Fortress will unleash in the future. It is merely a pity I will not live to see it. Indeed, the higher one climbs, the more precious one's life becomes."
"An old man who is nothing more than a single meal babbles on. Of course, one thing you said is correct. There was exactly one true statement."
From some unseen point, ink-colored currents began to crawl up the smooth back of the masked figure's hand.
Conversely, the old man's body withered and dried up like a mummy. As his skin cracked, the light in his eyes flickered out in vain.
"Yes."
The Ming Cult Leader, the Heaven-Smiling Invincible, whispered into the old man's ear. She applied force to her fingers, which were now wrapped in the pitch-black currents like silk.
"I am Flash Art after his death."
Crack—
The old man's neck collapsed with the sickening sound of breaking bones.
* * *
The sound of lonely footsteps echoed.
A handsome young man with sharp features walked along the path, carrying only a single sword.
The hem of his robes, falling to his feet like ebony, swayed gently with his upright stride.
He was the Desolate Fortress Black Rank Expert, the White Qilin Namgung Hwa-shin.
He was walking inside a vast manor.
Everyone who passed by him paused for a moment.
Middle-aged men who looked old enough to have grown children, as well as several women, turned back to look at him, uncaring of their appearances.
A few of them offered friendly greetings before Namgung Hwa-shin had even fully passed.
"Young Master Namgung, are you well today?"
"Yes, Miss Ho."
"You remember my name? My sect is actually about to have a duel with the Diancang Sect soon. May I ask for your well wishes, Young Master?"
"I wish you victory."
There was a dignity in his bearing befitting one from a prestigious family.
After obtaining the Black Rank and being temporarily appointed as the Commander of the Heaven-Aligned Wing, many in the Jianghu had begun treating him as a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan.
Fourteen days had passed since the duel between the Desolate Fortress and the Peng Clan.
Dozens of martial duels had taken place since then, reflecting the sheer number of sects participating.
In the meantime, the Desolate Fortress had fought two more duels.
Their opponents were the South Sea Sea Blade Sect and the Shandong Ak Clan. The White, Blue, Black, and Purple ranks each fought twice, making eight battles in total. The Desolate Fortress claimed seven victories.
Only the White-Ranked Warrior Ma Ung had conceded a single defeat to Ak Ye-rim of the Ak Family.
The single clash exchanged between the Ak Family Head and the newly appointed Purple Rank was the highlight of that day's duels.
The Lotus Nezha, Flash Art, had made his move twice across both events and had never once suffered a setback.
As the Mount Hua Agreement progressed, he came to be recognized as an insurmountable wall among his peers.
In the Green Jade Sword Manor, where hundreds of renowned figures of the Jianghu were gathered, rumors said that a new moniker was already being whispered in certain circles.
Meanwhile, the Naraka Reaper Ma Jin defeated the Sea Blade Sect's greatest fist master and Ak In-un, the Lion-Capturing Golden Spear, who was considered the next number one spear of the Ak Family, one after another.
Only when facing the Lion-Capturing Golden Spear did he draw the saber from his back. Immediately after the battle, he secluded himself in his quarters to perform qi healing and accumulate qi.
—Kid, I know what the Qilin's Judgment, created by the newly appointed Purple Rank, means to you. A divine art you don't want to learn is worse than the familiar Three Talents Sword.
Those were the words Ma Jin had thrown at Namgung Hwa-shin.
It meant he shouldn't force himself to master it. Jeong Yeon-shin did not say much to Namgung Hwa-shin about it either.
He merely pushed more side dishes toward him when eating breakfast with their companions, teasingly saying that since Hwa-shin was now an inch shorter than him, he ought to eat plenty.
The Blue-Eyed Demon Sword had said that this was something all the young warriors of the Demonlight Wing went through.
And now.
Creak.
Opening the inner door of the large pavilion, Namgung Hwa-shin stepped over the threshold.
"Ah, you've come."
Was she treating the internal injuries inflicted by Ma Jin? Peng Ya, the Blade Marquis of the Peng Family, was reclining on the bed and sneered upon seeing him.
"So... they sent someone of appropriate status, I see? Though, of course, there's no way a Purple Rank would personally grace this place with his presence."
Self-derision lined her lips. Namgung Hwa-shin spoke with a calm expression.
"You are correct. I have come as an envoy."
"I know. Just sit anywhere."
Peng Ya gestured with her chin without getting up. She pointed toward a red sandalwood chair on one side of the bed.
Namgung Hwa-shin pulled it forward, swept the dust off the wooden backrest with a delicate gust of palm wind, and sat down.
"Fastidious, are we? People call you the most perfect warrior, and I suppose it's because you're so fussy about everything. Well... as a concubine's son, you probably had no choice if you wanted to be recognized by the main family."
Peng Ya smirked, genuinely mocking him this time. However, Namgung Hwa-shin cut straight to the chase without reacting to her barb.
"You must have already received word. Tell me how the Peng Clan has accepted the main fortress's demands. Unconditional cooperation with the main fortress's future missions, the transfer of the Beizhili branch family's land, support with internal injury medicine, looking after the livelihoods of the people in Beizhili and Shandong, and reporting the progress every Mid-Autumn Festival... and everything else."
"I was actually dumbfounded. Did all of this really come from the head of the Lotus Nezha? No, more importantly, is it alright to decide such a major matter here? Since you guys are monstrously huge, you're bound to be sluggish. I heard your course of action is decided by the powerful Chief Steward's Office."
"The Purple Rank's will is the will of the main fortress."
"..."
Peng Ya fell silent.
The eyes of the robust Peng Clan saber-wielder twitched. She seemed to feel a profound sense of dismay.
Though she had spoken of a difference in status earlier, she was only now truly realizing the gap between a Desolate Fortress Purple Rank and the proxy of one of the Eight Family Heads.
"It feels like you'll annihilate our clan if we don't accept. We fully intended to pay a price, but to go this far against the main family so close to Beijing... What, are you planning to go on a massive hunt for the Northern God of War someday? Given the sheer number of demonfolk experts, even if by some stroke of heaven's luck you mobilize the Nine Sects and two Purple Ranks step forward, you'll still be short-handed."
"I know nothing of that. Just write your name at the bottom of the document you received earlier and return it to me."
"You know nothing, and you're no fun. They should have sent the poppy addict instead. Ah, wait, that scoundrel is just a mere Blue Rank, so he doesn't have the status."
Peng Ya grumbled to herself as she rummaged through a nearby shelf. The leadership had already finished discussing the Desolate Fortress's coercion disguised as a proposal. All that was left was the signature.
Just then.
[I ask the Peng Clan. Is the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin, present? I feel the energy wave of our family's Great Evolution Divine Art.]
An elderly voice rang out resoundingly. The sheer momentum of the sound was enough to completely fill the Green Jade Sword Manor.
It was the Six Harmonies Sound Transmission, vividly carrying the accumulated qi of an old expert from a prestigious family. In an instant, the shelf Peng Ya had placed her hand on rattled and shook.
"This momentum... is it the Imperial Sword Form?"
Peng Ya turned her head in annoyance and raised an eyebrow. She immediately understood the reason for the commotion.
She had ordered her subordinates not to admit any guests while the Desolate Fortress's envoy was visiting, but these visitors had clearly prioritized their own business over the Peng Clan's face.
"Is it the Namgung Elder Council Head? This turtle-like old man...?"
Clack.
While Peng Ya spat out a curse, Namgung Hwa-shin left the room.
Beyond the door he had flung wide open lay a tense scene.
In the midst of the Peng Clan's saber-wielders—who stood frozen with their hands merely resting on their weapons—an old man in blue robes was stroking his beard. He had already reached Peng Ya's pavilion.
It was a truly surreal sight. He had bound the warriors of a prestigious family with nothing but his momentum.
It was as if an invisible palace had unfolded around him, turning the Peng Clan saber-wielders into his helpless subjects.
[Please show understanding. Many people must witness this.]
He spoke his request loftily. Wearing a worn precious sword at his waist and clad in blue silk robes, an innate nobility flowed from the old man's entire body.
He was the Azure Sword Lord, Namgung Muhak.
He was a direct descendant of the martial world aristocrats who ruled Southern Zhili.
Having previously served as the commander of the family's elite sword unit, the Azure Sky Sword Heaven Unit, he was now the Elder Council Head who practically led the closed-door Namgung Clan.
Namgung Hwa-shin stared blankly at him before slowly clasping his hands in greeting. It was the formal attitude of treating him as a stranger, not a blood relative.
"Elder."
"Call me grandfather. I have much to say to you," Namgung Muhak said.
At the same time, the momentum pressing down on the vicinity grew denser.
With the cracking sound of splitting ground, an energy barrier forming a faint hemisphere surrounded the area. Peng Ya, who had just stepped over the threshold with an expression ready to demand an explanation, faltered.
Because she had not fully recovered from her internal injuries, she could not withstand stepping into the domain of the Imperial Sword Form.
"I heard that the Desolate Fortress's next opponent has been decided as the Sword Empress's Diancang Sect. Thus, I have something to advise you. It is a way for you to avoid having to face the highly perilous Shooting Sun Sword Technique."
The Namgung Elder Council Head stood completely peerless. Even within the confines of the Peng Clan's quarters, he exuded a majesty that was nigh matchless.
Namgung Hwa-shin's eyes trembled slightly.
He slowly opened his mouth.
"...Since my superior is present at the Green Jade Sword Manor, even if you have business with me, the correct order of procedure is to notify the main fortress's Purple Rank first. I will not listen."
"This is family business. It has nothing to do with the Desolate Fortress's Namgung Hwa-shin, so there is no need for you to concern yourself with your superior."
As he spoke, the momentum grew heavier. Tiny grains of sand and pebbles began to float into the air.
This was a rare occasion where the Namgung Clan, which had gone into seclusion after losing most of its direct bloodline, stepped out into the Jianghu. Since saving face as a prestigious great sect came first, they made sure to display their might.
It was also a clear indication that they intended to cause a stir that would be on everyone's lips.
Despite being an orthodox sect, they did not care about the eyes of the public. It could be called the desperation of a prestigious great sect whose lineage might otherwise be severed. It was as tyrannical as an invading army.
"..."
Namgung Hwa-shin's face grew solemn.
He slowly reached his hand to his waist. The Desolate Fortress Sword, which had been with him since he first entered the main fortress, was resting there.
"Do not draw it. You only need to listen."
Warning him briefly, Namgung Muhak raised his hand toward the men behind him.
One of the ten blue-clad swordsmen escorting the old man reacted immediately.
It was a middle-aged man carrying some sort of silk bundle on his back. In private, he was the very swordsman who had trained Namgung Hwa-shin as a hidden sword for over a decade.
"I know you have no desire for material wealth. But this is different. You, too, will be satisfied," he said in a low voice.
At that exact moment, a sound like a giant sheet of paper being ripped apart echoed through the courtyard.
"Gasp...?!"
The figure of the old swordsman, Namgung Muhak, who had been standing proudly, momentarily staggered. At the same time, the experts in the courtyard snapped their heads upward.
The translucent energy barrier was shattering into tiny pieces. It happened in an instant. Through the gaps, dozens of sharp gusts of wind swept down, forcing the Namgung Clan experts to their knees one by one.
Even Namgung Muhak was no exception. Suppressed groans leaked out from all around.
Step.
A well-polished leather shoe stepped onto the ground.
A figure stood with his back to the sunset, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist. An overwhelming shockwave of sword intent surged from him.
Perhaps bathed in the light of the sunset, the red hem of his robes, tinged with a subtle indigo, shielded Namgung Hwa-shin.
"Namgung Elder Council Head."
The figure who had torn through the sword sphere of the Imperial Sword Form opened his lips.
It was a strange thing. Even though he had addressed him formally by his title, the unspoken weight of the word 'old man' seemed to linger in the courtyard.
The figure looked down at the old man's thick white hair.
"State your business."