Chapter 498: The Martial World
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 498: The Martial World
Xiangyang, Huguang.
In the pitch-black night sky, a crescent moon hung like a pale scratch from a fingernail, casting a faint, ghostly light.
The pavilions of the main fortress of the Desolate Fortress, constructed from pure white marble, absorbed even that subtle moonlight like parched earth drinking in a drought. Thus, they remained starkly pale even in the depths of this winter night.
The pavilion of the Demonlight Wing was no different.
Rustle.
A swordsman wearing a dark hood and an eyepatch stepped into the Commander's office. His black robes, draping down to his feet, swept through the doorway and fluttered broadly in his wake.
"...Is this really necessary?"
Cheong-myeong, who had officially become the Commander of the Demonlight Wing as of midnight yesterday, muttered softly.
But that was all.
— You will likely ascend to the position of Commander of the Demonlight Wing while I am away. Please leave the things written here to the Grand Steward. Congratulations in advance.
These were the words Jeong Yeon-shin had spoken before they parted ways in Hangzhou.
The youngest member of the Demonlight First Team had even used the phrase discarding the old and welcoming the new, speaking with the solemnity of a grown younger brother. It meant casting away the old to make room for the future.
It was a clear declaration that he would completely empty the Commander's office for his successor.
This was why Cheong-myeong was currently packing up the personal belongings of the former Commander of the Demonlight Wing. Though it was a task too personal to entrust to servants, it was not a difficult one.
Jeong Yeon-shin's belongings were incredibly meager.
Slide.
The first thing to emerge from the desk drawer was a circular piece of metal engraved with rolling clouds.
It was the Token of Gratitude from the Zhongnan Sect. The deceased Sword Immortal of Zhongnan and the Zhongnan Sect Leader had gifted it to their young ally.
Next was the cup issued upon his ascension to the Blue Rank. It was a jade cup that the warriors of the Desolate Fortress—who lived in constant proximity to assassinations and poisonings—carried with them at all times. It was said he had used it when he first shared a drink with the Azure Qilin of the Namgung Clan.
That was not all. There were a few more items.
The Fan Dragon's White Crane Fan, left behind by Jegal Cheong-a when she departed to become a clan head after her brief stint as a guest warrior of the Demonlight Wing.
Ma Jin's black robe, practically reduced to a rag with one sleeve torn entirely off.
The secret manual of the deceased Duke of Eminent Fists, Eon Hwa-ryeon.
And finally, a chest containing the severed head of the Perfected Ancient Sword of the Wudang Sect.
Cheong-myeong had personally brought that last item and placed it on the desk. True to the eerie rumors surrounding the Nine Sects, the flesh did not rot.
The remains of the enlightened immortal kept their place without emitting a single foul scent, as if patiently waiting for the youth from his final tale to one day ascend Mount Wudang with him.
— It is my duty. I will return soon.
Those were the words Jeong Yeon-shin had left behind.
Cheong-myeong paused while packing the few items into a bundle. The cloth felt quite heavy in his hands, and it would likely feel just as heavy to Jeong Yeon-shin when he finally returned to the main fortress.
Whoosh.
Suddenly, flames flared up in the palm of Cheong-myeong's hand. It was the Samadhi True Fire. However, he soon shook his head and extinguished the blaze.
Even if he burned the bundle to ash, the burden already weighing upon a person's heart could not be so easily incinerated.
He left the office immediately.
Passing by the dozen-odd stone monuments erected in the Demonlight Wing's training ground, Cheong-myeong, clad in his black robe, headed straight for the Grand Steward's office.
The wind whistled, carrying the memories of those who had departed before him at Sichuan's City of Master Craftsmen back when he was still of the Blue Rank, as well as the three comrades who had returned as corpses from solo missions. The night wind of the main fortress was cold and piercingly clear.
In stark contrast, the Grand Steward's office was a sleepless castle of brilliant light.
Nodding curtly to the sentries who clasped their hands in respectful greeting, Cheong-myeong pushed open the main doors and stepped inside.
Rustle, whoosh—
The rustling of hurried footsteps and the flapping wings of non-human creatures echoed through the halls. Spirit beasts raised by the Brightfolk leaped over the rafters, carrying message tubes tied securely to their feet or clamped in their mouths.
Meanwhile, the rapid-fire conversations between the Grand Steward and several scholars spread elegantly through the room, much like the lantern light spilling from the windows.
"Je Gang-cheon, the Great White Axe King of the Horde of Demons Green Forest, has annihilated the Gongson Clan and absorbed the neighboring local aristocrats of the martial world... He is practically a rising warlord at this point. We believe this matter requires a direct response from the Imperial Army."
"A very textbook observation. You must have read your books quite thoroughly in the comfort of your warm room. Now, think of an actual, practical solution. Or would you rather travel north with me to see just how hideously distorted the faces of the demonfolk experts truly are?"
"The ninth message sent to the Yangtze River Navy... ten days have passed. Twenty-three members of the Radiant Sword Unit have been confirmed alive in the upper reaches of the Han River, but the whereabouts of the Radiant Sword Unit Commander remain unknown. Circumstantially, we must consider the distinct possibility that he perished alongside the Eccentric Sword King, one of the Twin Kings of the Dragon Stream under the Chief of the Myriad Rivers Waterborne Bandit Stronghold."
"I have to ask, is it absolutely certain that that damned Radiant Sword bastard went to the Yangtze River? Why on earth did a man who should be assisting the Hidden Sword and the Commander decide to play the fool over there? Why is it that every single black-ranked seed from the Wish-for-Peace One Sword Hall absolutely refuses to listen to the scholars?"
"Lately, the heterodox sects have been far more actively taking commoners hostage to expand their territory, so..."
"This long night has made me slip up. It is the times that refuse to listen to me."
The inner courtyard of the Grand Steward's office.
Only after concluding his sharp words did the Grand Steward turn his gaze toward Cheong-myeong.
He stood against a backdrop of scholars filling tables that stretched across dozens of rows, surrounded by the four treasures of the study. The bushy beard of the head of the Grand Steward's office twitched slightly.
"What is that bundle?"
"Lord Jeong's belongings. The ones I mentioned before."
Cheong-myeong spoke as if putting a melody to the word "belongings." It was the distinct speech pattern of the Brightfolk, famous for making their spoken words sound like the lyrics of a song.
Grand Steward Im Jin-myeong nodded curtly.
"Leave it. I will have it moved to the main fortress's treasury. It is about time he started sharing Unit Commander Yong's luggage space."
The fluid brushstrokes of several scholars paused mid-air.
Yet even in that brief moment of silence, voices continued to ring out, striking the ears of the Grand Steward, a true master of upper dantian martial arts.
"A duel challenge from Hyeokryeon Pung-wol, Lord of the Martial Dragon Association, has arrived again! This is the seventh time... and exactly like the others, it is a request for a life-and-death duel with Unit Commander Yong! He says if we refuse this time, he will invade the main fortress alone...!"
"How can we summon someone who isn't even here? Do not reply. The Commander and the Hidden Sword are currently in a situation where they cannot pull away."
"Intelligence from the Lazy Flame Dragon of the Demonlight Wing beyond the borders! The North Sea Ice Palace has officially made contact with demonfolk experts... The leader of the demonfolk who fought the late Emperor is still missing. Additionally, there is a note stating that a marriage has taken place. The Lazy Flame Dragon himself has reportedly become the Ice Palace Master's fifteenth concubine..."
"What kind of utter nonsense is that? Is that bastard chewing poppy over there too? For now... classify all of this as top-secret intelligence."
Immediately after, Im Jin-myeong turned to another scholar and asked, "What about the nine merchant groups we classified separately?"
"There is no reply yet, sir."
"We must assume our supply lines have been cut. Beijing is in absolute chaos, after all."
Im Jin-myeong's tone remained perfectly calm throughout the exchange. It was not because he was relaxed, but rather a practiced posture of bearing the weight of every circumstance without placing blame on anything.
Cheong-myeong spoke up.
"Is the current Ice Palace Master a woman?"
"She is. But we have never had anyone in the main fortress get married while on a solo mission. The credibility of this intelligence is highly questionable."
"Lord Jeong will find this interesting."
Cheong-myeong stroked the Desolate Fortress Sword resting at his waist and asked briefly, "My mission?"
Im Jin-myeong's answer came immediately.
"Rescue the Radiant Sword Unit quickly. You must return safely."
"What about the defenses of the main fortress?"
"...Do not worry. We can still hold out for now."
Light and shadow clashed sharply across the wooden window frames. The voices echoing from the Grand Steward's office faded into nothingness at the boundary where the illuminated interior met the freezing night air.
* * *
It was a land that had suffered a severe, unrelenting drought.
The vast ground was cracked in all directions, and thick white smoke rose in long plumes from deep craters gouged randomly into the earth.
A blood-red grandmaster's chair sat completely isolated in the middle of the wasteland, adding to the bizarre, unsettling atmosphere. It was an extremely antique chair, and a woman in a red robe with long, pitch-black hair sat in it, her single eye closed.
A mad ritual. At this moment, her face, whiter than the smoke brushing against her skin, was completely devoid of blood.
She possessed a beauty capable of toppling empires.
"Seventh Apostle."
An equally chillingly beautiful, white-haired man looked down at her. He wore a ceremonial robe even redder than the Seventh Apostle's gown, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"I did not expect you to be captured so easily. After wreaking such absolute havoc on our cult's branches, to think that in the end, all you relied on was your own martial arts."
He spoke in a smooth, silken voice. Soon, the Seventh Apostle's red eyes slit open slightly.
"You mimic your predecessor well. Are you no longer the First Apostle, but the Blood Flame Cult Leader now?" she asked in a dry whisper.
A dizzying, almost intoxicating smile formed on the red lips of the current Blood Flame Cult Leader.
"The legacy of the predecessor that you so foolishly rejected has been passed down to me. Such is the nature of the Blood Flame Cult's noble bloodline. Just as you can never control your own madness, the boundless spirituality of the former Cult Leader did not simply vanish from the world; it wandered in search of a master and was bestowed upon me. Like the legend that the Green Jade Buddhist Staff of Shaolin always returns to Mount Song no matter what storms it weathers... Yes, I heard your grandmaster's divine sword did something quite similar in Hangzhou recently. It returned to its master on its own, did it not?"
He continued his tale in an archaic, theatrical tone.
"Since you are the main culprit who destroyed our main stronghold, your head should naturally be severed... But if I go to Xiangyang and deliver news of you, how will he react? If he has grown attached to you, his expression will stiffen; if not, he will simply rejoice that a formidable leech has been cast off. Which do you think it will be?"
The Seventh Apostle pressed her pale lips together.
She could not move, even though she was not physically bound. Her acupoints had been completely sealed.
After staring down at her in silence for a long moment, the Blood Flame Cult Leader curled his lips into a mocking smirk.
"Yet, it is strange. You were captured far too easily. Even though I have not yet fully integrated the spirituality of my predecessor."
"..."
"How did your body end up in such a pathetic state? Whom did you fight before meeting this seat?"
The Seventh Apostle did not answer this time either.
An energy resembling the cold light of the moon was lodged deep in her Qihai point below her navel.
Her body was naturally born with a chilling power, but the energy that had penetrated her when the Desolate Fortress's Greatest Sword Under Heaven struck was, quite literally, the ultimate expression of Yin energy.
Naturally, it was melting into her Blood Art True Qi like an overwhelming, invasive spirit medicine, causing bizarre and painful changes to her internal pathways.
She had spent her days half-unconscious.
She desperately needed time, but heaven's luck was not on her side.
Rustle.
The Blood Flame Cult Leader leaned his face dangerously close to hers.
His robes subtly revealed the contours of his transcendently trained upper body. His smile possessed a demonic quality that could bewitch anyone who looked upon it.
"What should I do with this rebel? In truth, you must know as well. I cannot easily kill you, for your bloodline is far too precious to waste."
"Yes, don't kill me. The Grand Preceptor would want that too. I might be useful to you, after all."
The Seventh Apostle stared straight at him, her lips moving mechanically. Yet, for some reason, her tone lacked its usual confidence, and the Blood Flame Cult Leader's blood-red eyes caught that trace of weakness like a ghost.
Straightening his back, he laughed out loud.
"How truly pitiful! Having lived as a noble aristocrat, there is one thing you have never experienced in your entire miserable life. Indeed, who could have ever grown attached to you?"
Rumble!
The ground shook violently in response to his aura.
The earth swelled up in various places, spewing thick dust into the air.
This was because the spirituality amplifying his true qi was overflowing from the Cult Leader's head. Along with that upper dantian ability, the irregular waves of energy unique to the Blood Art True Qi were violently tearing the surrounding ground apart.
"I shall take you with me on the way to Xiangyang! I am far more curious about your reaction than that of the Lotus Nezha! Will you be a burden to him, or merely a tribute like our cult's tribute? This seat shall verify it personally. It will be a most delightful game."
"You are quite the idler. You might as well plow a field with all that free time."
The Seventh Apostle curled her lips slightly. She was thoroughly analyzing the structure of the Cult Leader's true qi that sealed her acupoints. It would not take long for her to unseal them herself.
"First Apostle, where are your subordinates?"
"Do not play tricks. Those children cannot overcome the deep instincts of their bloodline. The moment they see you, they will waver. They will hesitate between continuing to serve me or following you."
"So you left them behind? You must have been incredibly confident."
"If I could not handle you alone, how could I call myself the Cult Leader? This battle was originally meant to be a test for myself, but it has ended far too anticlimactically."
Suddenly, the Cult Leader's mad laughter ceased entirely, as if it had never been.
"The Desolate Fortress will be destroyed," he said softly. "It is a grand plan prepared over a very long time. Of course, it will succeed even if this seat does not go, but if we are to expand our cult's influence once more, we must lend a hand in such a historic moment..."
Crack.
In an instant, the ground beneath his feet froze completely transparent.
"Hmm?"
The Blood Flame Cult Leader turned his head.
Step.
Figures were walking from the edge of the silent plain. Only three silhouettes wavered alongside the smoke rising from the cracked ground.
Their black robes, each slightly different in design, fluttered darkly in the wind.
"The Desolate Fortress...?"
Doubtful words escaped the Cult Leader's red lips, and just as he lightly twisted his foot to shatter the encroaching ice—
Bridging that brief moment, a massive man leaped forward, landing with a thunderous roar as he swung a huge fist directly at the Blood Flame Cult Leader.
Boom!
The blow struck his abdomen squarely. It was a devastatingly powerful strike accompanied by a howling tempest.
Faint, razor-sharp winds poured from the shockwaves bursting in all directions. It was clearly the unique fa jin of the Brightfolk, but the sheer weight and elasticity flowing through this sequence of fist techniques were extraordinary.
At the same time, the ice of internal energy binding the Cult Leader's feet crackled as it hardened further. It prevented him from being blown away completely by the punch. It was a super-ascension freezing martial art.
'The Cold Sky Flowless Ice Art...!'
The divine art secret technique of the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit of the Divine Sword Corps.
In the Cult Leader's backward-tilted vision, three people came into full view. They had already drawn near, appearing like a painting divided into several panels.
While Cheon So-so, the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit, stared at him with calm, deep blue eyes, Hahu Wi-jin, Commander of the Forest-Treading Unit, pulled his fist back to his waist like a loaded cannon, preparing to strike again right before the Cult Leader's face.
Just as the enraged Cult Leader's expression contorted—
Slash!
It came from the flank.
A sword strike rising in a perfect straight line slashed his shoulder. Translucent sword winds mingled with a spray of hot blood.
This was the sword move of Un So-yu, Commander of the Law Enforcement Unit, her long black hair fluttering wildly like the robes of a descending celestial maiden.
Then,
the Cult Leader's bright red lips curved into a vicious smirk.
"Ridiculous."
Thud!
The atmosphere warped violently along the hand he thrust sideways toward Un So-yu.
A technique imbued with pure lethal intent. A faint blood-red light flickered within the palm force that erased the entire space between them in an instant.
In that fraction of a second, the Cult Leader's body was blasted backward. Hahu Wi-jin, who had landed the straight punch, and Cheon So-so, who had extinguished the freezing energy at his feet, pursued him like the wind.
The Brightfolk Commanders of the Divine Sword Corps—their coordinated attacks were absolutely seamless. While their two black robes fluttered violently, Un So-yu's left arm, naturally holding her sword in a reverse grip, blurred into motion.
Whoosh! Crash!
The sword, flying with a massive burst of shockwaves, pinned the Cult Leader's body diagonally to the ground. The resulting explosion of yellow dust completely shrouded the figures of the four combatants.
Even amidst this chaos, Cheon So-so's ice art, crackling as it activated, actively slowed down the regeneration ability unique to the Blood Ghosts.
"What... how...?"
The Seventh Apostle's eyes widened in rare, genuine surprise.
The smoke rising from the devastated ground grew thicker as time passed.
Crack! Crash!
Blood sprayed continuously, and fragments of translucent shockwaves scattered in all directions.
Whenever the Cult Leader's smooth laughter rang out, the sickening sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones immediately followed.
The trajectories of hundreds of fist and palm techniques, along with lethal sword strikes, clashed and heated the surrounding air through sheer friction. Yet, at other times, a chilling coldness rippled across the ground accompanied by the sound of rapid freezing and shattering. Thousands of deadly exchanges merged in this manner.
"Trivial things, struggling so hard!"
"You know this, but do not let him breathe. The Unified Martial Transcendence is coming."
In this urgent, life-or-death situation, the only ones capable of converting their internal energy breathing into spoken words were the Cult Leader and Cheon So-so.
The Cult Leader did so through his peerless martial prowess, and the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit through the Sapling of the World Tree kept safely in her bosom.
The sun gradually sank, and before long, the fading sunlight shimmered like burning firewood on the horizon painted with the sunset. The fuel for this fire was time itself.
Swoosh—
The dust that had been constantly kicked up by the collision of powerful shockwaves slowly began to settle.
All four of them were battered and bloodied.
Their red and black robes were torn to absolute shreds, along with pieces of their own flesh.
The ground had long since turned dark red, thoroughly drenched in blood. The Commanders, covered in all kinds of cuts and puncture wounds, observed the Cult Leader with quiet, unwavering eyes.
With everyone's sense of qi dulled to the absolute limit, it was a moment where they had to rely more on their naked eyes to survive.
Rustle.
Chips of ice scattered at the Cult Leader's feet.
His usual elegant posture was gone. The refined air of a noble had vanished, replaced by the vicious aura of a bat baring its fangs.
"Indeed..."
His shoulders slumped as a smirk curled his lips.
"The Desolate Fortress has changed its stance. It started with Yong Hee-myung... no, that bastard's absence is already well-known. If that's the case, then as I expected..."
Grab!
Suddenly, a long, slender hand shot out from behind, gripping the crown of his head. Its skin was so pale it seemed to have been pulled from the evening twilight itself.
"...!"
Before the Cult Leader could even turn his head—
Slash!
—a blade of dark red light severed his neck, separating head from torso.
The blade, forged from sinister true qi, lost none of its luster as it sliced clean through his neck.
Bright red blood streamed down the Cult Leader's body, which remained standing, perfectly balanced.
A brief silence fell.
Hahu Wi-jin furrowed his brow. Un So-yu silently flicked her sword once.
Step.
A moment later, the master of the unseen blade revealed himself. He had pale skin, sharp features, and a slender face. His black robe clung to his body like a bat's wings.
"Vice Commander of the Divine Sword Corps," Cheon So-so said abruptly, lowering her arms.
Jin Myeong-jo, Commander of the Bloodkeeper Unit, paid her no mind, simply holding up the Cult Leader's head.
The blood-red eyes had not lost their light.
He was still alive. His face had returned to a mask of indifference, as if his earlier rage had never existed. Such was the nature of a peerless master from the Blood Flame Cult—detached from blood, life, and death itself.
"...Indeed. Such is the Jianghu."
Slowly, the Blood Flame Cult Leader spoke.
"You have achieved something remarkable. However, today was nothing but a stroke of heaven's luck. The Jianghu and the entire wicked way will soon descend upon you all..."
Splat!
Before he could finish, his head was crushed. The Commander of the Bloodkeeper Unit’s hand tightened around the mangled ruin of bone and flesh.
"As if it were ever any different," Jin Myeong-jo muttered softly.