Chapter 45: Preparation
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 45: Preparation
This was not good, Jeong Yeon-shin thought. The martial world was a harsh place, and arrogance was an emotion that only hastened one’s death.
That was no way to think, not before he’d even gotten his hands on the fruit.
Just because people called him a genius didn't mean he should start believing it himself.
Just give me the fruit. I’ll do anything.
He repeated the mantra in his mind, conjuring the image of the deep green eyes nestled within the curved, smiling eyes of the Lord of the Desolate Fortress.
It felt like falling into an abyss.
As he pleaded for the fruit of the World Tree in his heart, the doors of the pavilion swung open.
* * *
This meeting wasn't originally on the agenda. Rumor had it that the Imperial Grandson had personally requested it.
Some of the sharper seniors had whispered that he had no other excuse to meet the Flash Art in private, so he was using the pretext of praising the swords of the Great Ming.
“So you are the Blue-robed Warriors who were promoted this time.”
Jeong Yeon-shin came face to face with the Imperial Grandson of the Ming Dynasty.
He didn’t need Do Yu-won’s advice to know the man was famously fickle.
“I am the Imperial Grandson of this nation.”
He was an incredibly handsome young noble. His ears, shaped like the tips of a fine sword, looked strangely familiar. He stood about five and a half feet tall, similar in height to Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been growing rapidly lately.
Beneath thick, pitch-black eyebrows, his flashing eyes seemed to harbor dark lightning. He seemed to exist in a world of his own, a solitary figure even as bright sunlight streamed in from the side.
An innate majesty lingered in his gaze as he scanned the bowing Blue-robed Warriors.
Is this the aura of one born to rule the world?
Though he had already permitted them to raise their heads, Jeong Yeon-shin was the only one who actually did so.
It’s not like he’s the one who holds the key to my survival.
Even the Emperor, who was said to possess peerless martial arts, treated the Lord of the Desolate Fortress as a sovereign. She was the one who had taught martial arts to the current Emperor and the Crown Prince.
The ancient Grand Preceptor of the Great Ming. Since even the Imperial Grandson’s power was useless when it came to the fruit of the World Tree, this meeting held little meaning for Jeong Yeon-shin.
The same went for loyalty. That was a luxury he could only afford if he survived.
I should ask the Fortress Lord for guidance soon. Would it be best to ask for a heart cultivation art?
Lost in thought, he suddenly found their eyes meeting. A pair of pitch-black eyes held a strange curiosity.
“It is you,” the Imperial Grandson of the Great Ming Empire said.
“Can you play music with a sword?”
“……?”
“Many famous swordsmen can make their swords ring, but a sword song is different. It belongs to the realm of true qi control. I’ve heard one must possess an innate sense to turn the sword’s ring into a song.”
As Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent at the unexpected question, the Imperial Grandson burst into a hearty laugh.
“I only mentioned it because I heard your talent is extraordinary. Are we not of a similar age?”
His words and demeanor were unconventional, exuding an immense sense of self-worth. It was as though he was declaring that no one in the world could ever touch him.
“It is rare for me to have something I possess taken away, especially attention. Yet, I heard the Grand Preceptor took an interest in you. As her student myself, I felt it too. A spark of jealousy.”
“…I am humbled.”
“No. The flaw is mine. Such feelings are unacceptable for the Imperial Grandson of the Son of Heaven—a lack of virtue, an imperfection. I wanted to confirm your talent for myself. Perhaps then, this shame of mine might be diluted, if only a little.”
The Imperial Grandson’s gaze was incredibly direct. Though his eyes gleamed with the distinct light of an expert who had mastered a peerless divine art, he seemed to possess something more.
Mettle, Jeong Yeon-shin thought. Wiji Myo-hwa of the Zhongnan Sect is called the Sword Dragon, but for this man, the single word ‘Dragon’ would suffice.
There was a reason why both the Crown Prince and the Imperial Grandson shared the honorific title of “Your Highness” in the Ming Dynasty. He hadn’t understood before, but now he saw the nature of the bloodline that ruled the world.
“But it seems I expected too much. A sword song is the most luxurious entertainment among all the arts under heaven. It is something meant only for the imperial family, so how could I ask you? Even I only know of it from what my father, the Crown Prince, told me. My apologies. I am embarrassed.”
With a faint smile, the Imperial Grandson clasped his hands behind his back and turned away.
“You may all leave. It was a pleasant meeting.”
* * *
“How was His Highness the Imperial Grandson? I’ve only ever seen him from afar.”
With all his scheduled events finally over, Shin So-bin leaned in, her small face alight with curiosity. None of the Demonlight Wing members had gone to bed; they were all waiting for him. They had set up a banquet in the Great Martial Training Ground—proof of the famed efficiency of the Desolate Fortress's Demonlight Wing.
“Well… we were dismissed pretty quickly,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied noncommittally. The savory aroma of the feast seemed to stimulate even his dantian. After a day of events unlike any he had ever experienced, his hunger was intense.
Tonight, even Jeong Yeon-shin had to drink. Despite his concerns about qi meditation, he couldn't refuse what Heonwon Chang had brought after so much effort.
Shaoxing wine.
It was a precious liquor that had traveled all the way from Zhejiang, a great distance from Xiangyang. Heonwon Chang had reportedly sprinted to Xiangyang’s Number One Tavern to obtain it.
Is this actually supposed to taste good?
His comrade's sincerity and the taste of the alcohol were two entirely different matters. Taking a sip after Ma Jin offered his congratulations, Jeong Yeon-shin unconsciously furrowed his brow.
His seniors chuckled. Even his junior, Shin So-bin, looked at him as if he were a child.
“The Flash Art is now Blue Rank!”
“It’s been such a short time, it’s hard to believe how much has changed.”
“But look at the achievements he’s piled up! I was terrified during the incident with the Eight-Fanged Rakshasa Sword, but the Seventh Apostle’s eye for talent was…”
Everyone chattered boisterously. Even the experts of the Desolate Fortress, whom the entire world revered, were no different from commoners once alcohol entered their systems.
Amidst the noise, Jeong Yeon-shin recalled the challenge the Imperial Grandson had posed. Calling it a “challenge” was his own interpretation; a spark of inspiration had simply piqued his interest.
He called it a sword song. Playing music with the sword’s ring.
He had heard many stories since coming to the Desolate Fortress, including one about sound arts. It was a famous tale in the martial world: an internal cultivation expert who played the guqin to face a hundred opponents, rupturing his enemies’ eardrums with just a few plucks of the strings.
It wasn't difficult to grasp the principle.
True qi.
In the end, it all came down to internal energy. The key was maximizing the efficacy of the true qi infused into the air. That was the difference between a high-level martial art and a third-rate one.
Perhaps I can perform a sound art with a sword.
If he succeeded, it would make dealing with multiple enemies much easier.
“Drink!”
“We’re out of side dishes over here!”
Were all drinking parties like this? By now, the banquet was no longer about celebrating the Flash Art. Everyone was simply enjoying themselves, which actually made him feel more at ease.
Jeong Yeon-shin humored Heonwon Chang’s drunken rambling while beginning to map out the sound art in his mind.
Thus, the boisterous day drew to a close under a warm and cozy moonlit night.
* * *
The next day brought more appointments, this time for the reward for his promotion to Blue Rank.
“Hurry up and choose. Every single one of them is a famous sword.”
The speaker was a man whose head barely reached Jeong Yeon-shin’s waist. He had a thick beard and short limbs, but his arms were incredibly thick. The sheer definition of his muscles made him look even sturdier than Jeong Yeon-shin, a practitioner of the Jeong Family Dynamic Art.
“Still, shouldn’t there be one that fits my hand best?”
“I made them to fit anyone in the world. Any bastard who blames his weapon should first reflect on his own martial arts.”
Jeong Yeon-shin could almost see the proud smirk hidden beneath the man’s beard. This was the armory of the Desolate Fortress's smithy, which vied for the title of best in the world. For the first time in his life, Jeong Yeon-shin was meeting a member of the Ironfolk.
They were a people who, along with the Brightfolk, had helped found the empire and settled in the Central Plains. They received treatment entirely different from the foreigners of the Western Regions. Both the imperial court and the martial world valued their talent over their short stature, hiding them away for their own purposes.
They are said to forge even Divine Swords.
Jeong Yeon-shin scanned the armory alongside Cheong-myeong. Every weapon looked extraordinary; he truly felt he could pick any of them.
Cheong-myeong, a smile on his face, spoke. “Still, you must choose carefully. This is a one-time promotion reward. Though they say you can take another once you reach the Black Rank.”
“Hey, Blue-Eyed Demon Sword. Is this greenhorn really a Blue Rank? I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard of such a thing, no matter how indifferent our clan is to the outside world.”
“Can’t you tell by his clothes?”
When Cheong-myeong’s expression turned serious, the Ironfolk man shut his mouth. It seemed the moniker “Blue-Eyed Demon Sword” was indeed infamous—a side of Cheong-myeong that Jeong Yeon-shin wasn't used to seeing.
He nudged Cheong-myeong’s arm.
“Hmm?”
“How about that one?”
Jeong Yeon-shin pointed to a sword on a display rack. Both its hilt and scabbard were pure white. It would make a striking contrast to the pitch-black Desolate Fortress Sword currently at his waist.
“That is the Northern Light. A fine piece,” the Ironfolk man said, his tone suggesting he was speaking of a person.
After getting the man’s permission, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped forward and grasped the sword. He felt the texture of the hilt for a moment before drawing the blade.
Shring.
A wavy pattern shimmered on the dazzling, pure white blade. Jeong Yeon-shin infused true qi into it with his right hand and immediately felt its superior quality. The energy flowed without any obstruction, dancing along the blade’s edge.
He brought the blade close and stroked it with his left hand. In that instant, a spark of light-blue lightning flashed in his eyes.
“…With this, I might even be able to play a song with the sword’s ring.”
“You?” The Ironfolk man chuckled. Since his clan presented weapons to the imperial court, he seemed to know of the sword song. “That is a divine skill one cannot even dream of unless they are exceptionally close to their weapon. Even a supreme expert couldn’t hope to mimic it without innate talent, let alone with a sword they’ve only just grasped.”
“Quiet,” Cheong-myeong said.
Jeong Yeon-shin had already closed his eyes.
He knew without even swinging it. He knew how he should move the sword, how it would ride the air as it drew minutely different trajectories. It was a realm entirely separate from practice. Though it would take time to make it as familiar as his Desolate Fortress Sword, he understood the nature of the Northern Light in an instant. It was a gifted, natural sense.
Just then, a familiar wave of energy approached from a distance. It was a lofty presence, as if it might soar into the sky at any moment. The Imperial Grandson.
A moment later, the Ironfolk man frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to choose quickly? I was told the Imperial Grandson was coming.”
It was no coincidence. The travels of the imperial family were said to be extreme: either absolutely no one knew, or everyone knew. The Desolate Fortress was a gathering of supreme experts; unless the Imperial Grandson was secluded or traveling incognito, anyone could sense his approach.
Jeong Yeon-shin had not yet witnessed the martial arts of the imperial family. He had chosen this time in hopes of gaining even a sliver of inspiration.
“The Imperial Grandson has been wandering around quite often lately, hasn’t he?” Cheong-myeong asked in a peculiar tone.
The man nodded. “They say he turned his heart to martial arts after the Crown Princess passed away. Having lost his mother, he seeks to soothe his mind through the sword.”
“His mother…?” Jeong Yeon-shin unconsciously muttered.
He examined the Northern Light for a moment, then asked Cheong-myeong nonchalantly, “If I were to win the favor of His Highness the Imperial Grandson, would it help with matters inside the fortress? For instance, gaining support when challenging for the rank of Commander of the Divine Sword Corps.”
“Of course. It would be better than having no connection at all. That’s not a position you can ascend to through martial strength alone,” Cheong-myeong replied with a slight smile.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded. That was all he needed to hear. He had already practiced with the Desolate Fortress Sword. If he aimed to create a sound art capable of facing a hundred men, how could he fail to command a mere sword ring?
He stepped outside the armory.
Wuuu.
The moment he infused true qi into it again, the Northern Light emitted a strange vibration—the cry of a newborn flood dragon. Following it, a clear, straight song of the sword echoed.
“What—!”
The cry completely drowned out the Ironfolk man’s astonished voice.
* * *
The Great Ming was an empire born from the union of Emperor Taizu of Ming and a Brightfolk Empress. Since the Brightfolk were a clan revered as immortals, the bloodline of the Empress Dowager granted her descendants longevity. The throne changed hands only through war or assassination.
The current Emperor was powerful and had reigned for a long time without trouble. Thanks to the Desolate Fortress, peerless experts could not threaten the imperial family, and as the years passed, the Emperor grew more relaxed. He had even faced the 108 Arhat Formation of Shaolin alone, simply to experience their martial arts.
The Crown Prince had remained the Crown Prince for decades, with no pretext to succeed the throne.
The Imperial Grandson, Ju Yun-myeong, was born late in his father’s life. As the son of the Crown Prince, he had to watch his father gradually lose his sharp wits. The sword song his father used to perform to calm his mind had, at some point, vanished.
“A sword song,” the Imperial Grandson laughed suddenly. He was on his way to the Desolate Fortress armory. “Who else would practice such a luxurious hobby?”
Having lost his mother, the Crown Princess, at an early age, his habit of talking to himself had grown. His attendants knew well enough not to react.
It was then.
Beneath the falling dusk stood a boy holding a sword, his blue martial uniform and blue robe fluttering in the wind.
He had seen him before. The Flash Art. The young swordsman whose every action was reported daily to the Lord of the Desolate Fortress, a woman the Imperial Grandson himself admired.
Was it intuition? An anecdote flashed through the Imperial Grandson’s mind. In the Spring and Autumn period, a master of music had called a certain person Zhiyin—a close friend who understood one's performance better than anyone else.
“The sword’s ring…?”
The Imperial Grandson heard the vibration echoing from the boy’s sword. Unconsciously, his steps quickened.
And then he saw. He felt his ears open.
Wuuuung—
The groan of an imugi breaking from its egg gradually transformed into the roar of a dragon. There was a resonance that seemed to yearn for something far away, something almost sorrowful.
The sword song, sounding as if it rose from the throat of a dragon, rewound the Imperial Grandson’s oldest memories—of his father in his prime, and the song of his sword.
As his heart rested upon those distant memories, he murmured as if sighing.
“To think there was someone who could make me his Zhiyin…”