Chapter 506: The Great War of the Desolate Fortress (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 506: The Great War of the Desolate Fortress (6)
The moment Tidal Fist Heaven, Lord of the Myriad Phenomena Water Channel Fortress, shattered the western wall with a single punch, over a hundred writing brushes slashed through the air like swords.
Swoosh!
The area was a chaotic flurry. Messenger pigeons, galhon squirrels, Earth Bears, and swallows darted constantly to and from the long rows of desks. Amidst the wildly fluttering fur of various colors, an incredibly faint wave of internal power spread out, a mysterious energy originating from the Brightfolk's secret art of taming beasts into spirit beasts.
This was the Chief Steward's Office of the Desolate Fortress.
Here, scholars wielded the Four Treasures of the Study as if they were weapons. They dipped their brushes into freshly ground ink, swept them across paper to write brief messages in a single breath, sealed them, and tied them to the bodies or legs of the spirit beasts, whispering commands like a Taoist’s mantra. Then, the creatures would flap their wings and fly out through the open windows—a scene repeating itself endlessly.
They moved as if possessed.
Indeed, the scholars of the main fortress were all geniuses well-versed in both literary and martial arts, possessing deep knowledge in every field of study. They were the chivalrous heroes of the era, men who had refused to take Emperor Geonreung's civil service examinations, choosing instead to devote themselves to the Desolate Fortress. Now, they oversaw all seventeen units of the Divine Sword Corps.
Naturally, it wasn't just their brushstrokes that were sharp. Each of their voices was loud and clear, backed by a subtle yet profound internal energy.
"Situation on the west. No sign of the Twin Kings of the Dragon Stream under Tidal Fist Heaven, nor any other members of the Myriad Phenomena Water Channel Fortress. We estimate the Lord of the Myriad Phenomena Water Channel Fortress has headed south alone. Confirmed: Tidal Fist Heaven is acting on his own in the Jianghu."
"The blow that destroyed the wall was a martial art called the Six Harmonies Morning Demon Thunderbolt. According to the Netherflow Unit's report, rumors along the Yangtze River claim it is the greatest technique under heaven."
"It appears to be a fusion of the imperial navy's martial lineage and the arts of the World-Benighting Fist Demon, who pacified Qinghai one hundred and fifty years ago."
"Analyzing the same report. The technique is one move with two forms—two heavy strikes in a single breath. The first form destroyed the wall. The shockwave of the second surged toward the inner castle via the method of 'striking the cow across the mountain.' The Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit and the Commander of the Law Enforcement Unit intercepted it."
"The aforementioned commanders are currently meditating to regulate their qi. Their location is the Demonlight Wing training ground on the west side of the main fortress."
The voices of the scholars reporting from the front lines rang out, clear and urgent. Thanks to the Moon Nature Formation—the secret eye technique of the Chief Steward's Office—and the dharma treasures deployed throughout the fortress, some of them spoke as if they were looking down upon the very locations they described. It granted them a limited but direct field of vision, a martial art that could not be mastered with ordinary comprehension.
Meanwhile, at the seat of honor where their reports were being delivered, sat a middle-aged man with a thick beard. In his hand, he held a slender brush that seemed ill-suited to his massive frame.
With his eyes closed, the middle-aged man shook his head. "It was a massive technique. Judging by the energy wave, it will take him about half an hour to recharge. That may sound long, but it is far, far too short."
Then, he took a long, deep breath.
Inhale—
The dust motes floating like a cluster of stars inside the Chief Steward's Office scattered in disarray, blown about by a powerful current of internal energy.
This was Grand Steward Im Jin-myeong.
It had been some time since he had deactivated the eye technique that allowed him to survey all ninety-nine pavilion complexes and the surrounding walls simultaneously. While catching his breath, he oversaw the entire situation from the center of the main fortress, making decisions through his subordinates. He determined which formation to activate, how to deploy each martial unit, and which supreme experts from the Wish-for-Peace One Sword Hall to withdraw or send out.
Thud—
Rumble—
A low, distant rumbling, like thunder swallowed by far-off dark clouds, rolled in. It was the sound of clashes between experts on the east, west, and south sides. The resonance had been gradually growing louder since the battle began, a clear sign that the Great Sect War was intensifying.
It was the malice of the Jianghu, accumulated over a long, long time.
Im Jin-myeong spoke, his face devoid of expression. "...Keep this in mind, everyone. The fortress will not simply wither and die. We must be prepared for a battle of attrition."
It was a war of endurance. The defending side, in particular, had to manage its forces with meticulous care. In these troubled times, the Desolate Fortress could not hope for reinforcements. They had to constantly gauge the stamina and internal energy consumption of every expert in the fortress.
"Continue the reports."
At Im Jin-myeong's command, his subordinates replied instantly.
"The rogue martial artists of Lingering Spirit are swarming the collapsed wall. Their numbers are endless!"
"Experts from the Desolate Ma Clan, the Yu Clan, and the Un Clan are responding from the west. For now, they are evenly matched and focused entirely on defense."
"According to the Desolate Ma Clan's observations, Tidal Fist Heaven's internal energy circulation has weakened by about seventy percent. His accumulated qi is depleted. We need not worry about another Six Harmonies Morning Demon Thunderbolt for the time being."
"The Commander of the Bloodkeeper Unit is leading the counterattack...!"
"Additional report! The Demon-Governing Venerable of Lingering Spirit has appeared! He is giving… a spirit elixir to Tidal Fist Heaven! The rogue martial artists' movements have completely changed! They are forming a defensive array to protect him!"
The air in the room fluctuated. The rhythmic breathing of the scholars in the Chief Steward's Office faltered. In that moment, only a precious few, including the Grand Steward, maintained their composure.
Im Jin-myeong's lips moved, his voice carried on a wave of energy.
—Myeong-jo, if you do not see an immediate opening, withdraw. Regulate your qi and consolidate your insights in the inner castle. Do not act rashly.
Then, he spoke aloud. "Activate all mechanism formations in that sector. Obstruct Tidal Fist Heaven's qi regulation as much as possible and have the experts of our vassal clans reorganize their formations—"
He cut himself off, his eyes snapping open. Several scholars were looking back at him. Among them, a woman with her hair in a single ponytail, loosely wearing a blue scholar's robe, parted her lips.
"Should we send word to the underground?"
"No."
"It seems the time has come. Even now, the eastern side of the fortress is shrouded in fog, obscuring our eye technique's vision. We deployed so much force there, yet there is no news. Even the Ma Clan Head, who went there fifteen minutes ago, has not sent a swallow. If some mishap has occurred..."
"Not yet."
"Otherwise, we must recall the martial units of the Divine Sword Corps. More than half of them are scattered across the land. We need them if we are to hold out until Lord Jeong returns."
"No," Im Jin-myeong said, shaking his head. "The Elder Council Head, who was already sick of Unit Commander Yong's mobilization orders, gave them a strict command: even if the main fortress is destroyed, they must preserve their lineage and protect the common people. The Elder Council Head's command overrides the Grand Steward's authority. Unless another Commander of the Divine Sword Corps appears, they will not return."
The subordinate fell silent. Soon, another scholar submitted a report.
"The Commander of the Forest-Treading Unit has sent word. He is requesting permission to deploy."
—Denied.
The Grand Steward's voice transmission, a sect-exclusive art that consumed a significant amount of internal energy, struck the distant pavilion of the Forest-Treading Unit like a bolt of lightning.
Having delivered the direct order, Im Jin-myeong spoke dryly. "There is no need to even consider it. Deploying in that state? The Commander of the Forest-Treading Unit will remain focused on defending the inner castle. The pests of Lingering Spirit have already infiltrated the inner areas of the main fortress, have they not?"
Like the technique of the Dreaming Mortal Moon that was silently swallowing the eastern side of the fortress, Im Jin-myeong's voice seeped into the silence that had begun to settle over the room.
Rustle. Swish.
Not a single person stopped their brushstrokes or their internal energy circulation, yet the sheer weight of the entire Jianghu was descending upon the Desolate Fortress. It was damp and gloomy like an invisible fog, and strangely heavy.
They knew. They knew what movements were already taking place outside Xiangyang. They knew how those who had learned martial arts were now seeking their own safety in these troubled times. They knew how many sects besides the Thirteen Heavens were rushing toward the Desolate Fortress, seeing this as an opportunity, and they knew that those jackals would soon arrive, one after another.
Since the founding of the nation, the dam that had held back an absurdly massive river had finally cracked.
The Jianghu and the Desolate Fortress. Paradoxically, the famine had caused the rivers and lakes of the Jianghu to swell and overflow their banks.
"Report from the main gate!"
Suddenly, beginning with one man's shout, the air shook repeatedly.
"Hyeokryeon Pung-wol, Lord of the Martial Dragon Association, has been spotted to the south! Fog is forming further away! It is the Horde of Demons Green Forest!"
"Grasping Wei, Surveying the World! It's a cavalry charge! They are heading straight for the main gate of the fortress...!"
"The rogue martial artists of Lingering Spirit and the warriors of the Martial Dragon Association are scaling the walls faster. It seems there was a prior agreement."
"Unleashed from an estimated twenty li away! Urgent! This is extremely urgent!"
"The Azure Sky Unit and the Forest-Treading Unit are on the walls. The Ironfolk of the City of Master Craftsmen are on standby in the southern inner castle. Shall we activate the mechanism formations?"
The voices of the geniuses in the Chief Steward's Office grew louder, their pitch rising.
Clatter.
The long rows of desks in the room shook. For the first time since Ma Ung of the Desolate Ma Clan had announced the start of the battle, the room thrummed with the agitated energy of its occupants. Even Im Jin-myeong's facial muscles twitched.
"And the Divine Spear?" he asked.
A subordinate answered immediately. "She remains alone at the main gate."
"And Namgung Hwa-shin?"
"His injuries are still severe, so..."
"I will activate the Ordered Eye once more."
Muttering those words, a deep green glow shimmered in Im Jin-myeong's eyes. It was a secret divine art, a technique that allowed him to survey the vast expanse of the entire Desolate Fortress at once from where he sat, on a completely different level from the eye techniques of the other scholars.
Vroooooom!
With a resonance of true qi, his field of vision shifted, as if being sucked toward the main gate.
Flutter—
In the next instant, his vision was filled with the color of a purple robe. At the same time, the scholars in the Chief Steward's Office who were monitoring the main gate witnessed the exact same sight. They were all geniuses capable of absorbing written words as if they were actual experiences. A brief flurry of whispers mentioning "Void Displacement" swept the room before all their voices dropped in unison.
"The Purple Robe of the main fortress has appeared."
"Lord Jeong, the Flash Art."
"Awaiting the Grand Steward's orders."
"I suggest a complete revision of our strategy. The situation is such that we can safely withdraw the forces of four martial units from the main gate and split them to the east and west..."
The sun beat down on Xiangyang, its heat amplified by the glare from a thousand drawn blades, baking the Desolate Fortress.
When the sun sets, the earth cools.
Accepting this natural truth, they began to calculate the advantages they could gain from it. This was the state of Clear Mirror, Still Water—a calm that all within the fortress were bound to possess when standing alongside the Purple Robe.
Thus, the Chief Steward's Office actually grew calmer.
The dust that had been cluttering the room drifted in long streams once more, settling quietly but continuously through the clear winter air. Pure white sunlight shone blankly upon them, just like the image of Jeong Yeon-shin reflected in Im Jin-myeong's vision.
"...The Forest-Treading Unit to the west, the Azure Sky Unit to the east gate. The mechanism formations will be activated only on my command. The Ironfolk must also remain on standby." Pausing briefly to regulate his internal energy, Im Jin-myeong slowly added, "However, Lord Jeong is also human. We cannot leave the main gate completely empty..."
Suddenly, his voice stopped.
It was said that the strikes of peerless experts occurred in an instant. Unless it involved the Unified Martial Transcendence, that was generally true.
Naturally, it did not take long for the dazed mutterings of the scholars in the Chief Steward's Office to follow in succession.
"Grasping Wei, Surveying the World has been stopped. Zero damage to the main fortress."
"The cavalry force has been annihilated."
"A total of four hundred and seventy-eight enemies are bypassing Lord Jeong and scaling the walls. They consist of rogue martial artists, a handful of Lingering Spirit warriors, and the Martial Dragon Association."
"Annihilated again."
At that moment, for the first time, a scholar muttered a quiet, "Crazy..." before pressing his lips shut as if nothing had happened.
"One survivor... the First Protector of the Martial Dragon Association. However, his left hand is missing and a severe wound penetrates deep into his left abdomen. They are practically wiped out."
"Recording the standoff. Lord Jeong, the Divine Spear, and the Master of the Martial Apex Hall. On the other side, the Leader of the Horde of Demons Green Forest, two supreme experts, and Hyeokryeon Pung-wol, Lord of the Martial Dragon Association."
Listening silently, Im Jin-myeong rose from his seat and spoke. "Clear the main gate. You, Scholar Chae, go to the inner quarters and bring out the Thunder Immortal Treasure Wine."
The woman who had mentioned the "underground" earlier quickly stood up. "For Lord Jeong?"
"Yes," Im Jin-myeong replied. "For Lord Jeong."
*
At the eastern end of the Desolate Fortress stood the pavilion of the Heaven-Aligned Wing of the Divine Sword Corps.
A woman clad in sleeveless rags was walking, her arms swinging loosely. Her movements resembled those of a drunkard trying to maintain her balance, and a greasy sheen rippled along her long hair as it swayed back and forth.
Step.
A beggar was roaming the grand pavilion complex as if it were her own home, leading a crowd of dozens. Except for their leader, everyone was dressed in colorful, luxurious silk clothes, with gourds emitting a faint aroma of alcohol hanging from their waists.
The only thing out of place in the Heaven-Aligned Wing's pavilion, built of pure white marble, was the beggar leading the way.
Among those following her, a young man with exceptionally dark hair braided down his back suddenly spoke up. Despite the languor exuded by the mole near his eye, his voice was sharp.
"They're all asleep now, aren't they? Why don't you walk a bit faster?"
"Don't make me talk. I'm exhausted," the beggar replied.
The young man's face crumpled. "Of course you're exhausted, causing this kind of ruckus in the Desolate Fortress of all places. Don't stop circulating your qi. If things go south, the Heaven-Measuring Brush Demon, Im Jin-myeong, might draw up wanted posters with our faces. Then we won't be able to go anywhere."
"An expert of the Thirteen Heavens is worried about something like that?"
"You told me you were from the Beggar Sect when you took me in as a disciple!"
"Don't worry. Didn't I teach you the Dog-Beating Staff Technique? Just mess up your face a bit and act like a beggar, and wanted posters won't mean a thing. You'll just be another common beggar."
"No, wait...!"
Thud!
As the young man stamped his foot, a rough hand clamped down on his shoulder. It was a restraint from the giant walking behind him.
"These are unprecedentedly troubled times. Government wanted posters lost their power long ago. Even if it is the Purple Robe of the Desolate Fortress... his personal martial power is merely absurdly high. They are just individuals who walk the Jianghu alone, unable to call for reinforcements from other sects. We only need to reach the quarters of the Lord of the Desolate Fortress."
It was an extremely calm voice.
No one refuted his words. Only the irregular sounds of their swaying footsteps echoed through the silence. Even as they crossed diagonally through the Heaven-Aligned Wing's pavilion in broad daylight, their demeanor was entirely carefree. Not a single one of them hid their presence, because at a certain point, no one had dared to attack them.
"......"
All around them, warriors with the character 'Hwang' engraved on their shoulders lay scattered like corpses. They looked as if their sleep acupoints had been sealed. Their numbers exceeded a hundred, and more than a few had actually been slain in their sleep, now dreaming their final dream in the Sanzu River.
It was the inevitable end for those who encountered the Lord of the Dreaming Mortal Moon.
The beggar woman slowly parted her lips. "That fellow... he'll come again, right?"
"The Ma Clan Head? Of course. He was brimming with vigor, quite unlike a eunuch. We were delayed immensely because of that monster. He's needlessly elusive."
"If I unleash this, even he would be dealt with easily."
As she took a soft step forward, the sky over the entire eastern region of the Desolate Fortress rippled translucently.
Thrum—
An overwhelming energy barrier descended. At that moment, she was no mere beggar, but a supreme being who looked down upon the Desolate Fortress as if it were a space beneath a bridge.
The young man waved his hands in a panic. "Don't do that! I'm definitely going to get expelled someday and make a name for myself!"
"Crazy bastard," the giant walking behind him muttered.
Just then...
Bump.
The Lord of the Dreaming Mortal Moon bumped into someone as if by chance and let out a dazed, "Ouch."
Then, wiping the soot from her face, she looked up. Her expression was still dreamy, as if she were walking through a dreamscape.
A Brightfolk youth clad in glittering golden clothes stood before her.
The youth was a vision of absolute, unadulterated gold. From the crown of his head to the very tips of his toes, every inch of him seemed crafted from the most precious of metals, radiating an aura of extravagant wealth and otherworldly brilliance. Even his hair, cascading down his head in soft, luminous waves, caught the ambient light in a way that made it look exactly like molten, pure gold frozen in time. It was a dazzling, almost blinding display. It was the kind of overwhelming opulence that would normally command the immediate attention and profound awe of anyone who happened to cross his path. The glittering golden garments he wore only amplified this radiant spectacle, weaving a complex tapestry of light that stood in stark, jarring contrast to the grim, soot-stained, and gritty reality of the surrounding Desolate Fortress.
Yet, despite this awe-inspiring and majestic appearance, the young man’s current posture completely shattered any illusion of dignified grandeur or martial readiness. His head was slumped heavily forward, his chin resting loosely against his chest in a manner completely devoid of any alertness, tension, or aristocratic grace. The radiant strands of his golden hair spilled over his face, partially obscuring his youthful features as his shoulders sagged with a profound, undeniable lethargy. He looked less like a proud, glittering member of the Brightfolk and more like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut, leaving him dangling in a state of total, unnatural relaxation.
A rhythmic, incredibly soft sound drifted from his slightly parted lips, cutting through the tense, chaotic atmosphere of the crowded street. It was a gentle, steady snoring, rising and falling in a peaceful, rhythmic cadence that seemed entirely out of place in such a volatile and dangerous environment. The Lord of the Dreaming Mortal Moon, still wiping the dark soot from her own face, could only stare in a state of mild, dreamlike disbelief. The supreme being, whose own overwhelming energy barrier had just thrummed with world-shaking power only moments before, now found herself face-to-face with an absolute, undeniable absurdity.
The Brightfolk youth had not been knocked unconscious by their sudden, unexpected physical collision. Nor was he in the midst of some deep, esoteric meditative trance unique to his glowing lineage, gathering qi or comprehending the Dao. He was simply, inexplicably, and completely fast asleep.
He stood there, perfectly balanced on his own two feet, entirely lost to the waking world in a deep, undisturbed slumber. The steady rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by that soft, continuous snoring, confirmed the utterly ridiculous truth of the situation. Amidst the bustling chaos, the wandering giants, the frantic young martial artists, and the hidden supreme beings of the Desolate Fortress, this glittering anomaly of a young man was peacefully napping while standing straight up. He remained completely and blissfully oblivious to the world, the collision, and everyone around him.