Chapter 88: The Struggle (7)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 88: The Struggle (7)
Jeong Yeon-shin intended to keep Namgung Mi alive.
If this woman had come armed with a meticulous justification, then he and Namgung Hwa-shin simply had to play their parts.
Had she been difficult to subdue, he would have severed her neck in a single stroke. But now that he had captured her, he could frame the situation perfectly.
He would leave her fate to Namgung Hwa-shin.
While Yeon-shin hoped Hwa-shin would overcome his emotional scars, he also planned to secure a victory for their side. He wanted to create a scenario where it would be perfectly acceptable for the Desolate Fortress to execute members of the Namgung Clan.
He had completely subdued Namgung Mi. It was the best possible outcome among the scenarios he and Namgung Hwa-shin had considered.
“What should I do with you?”
His voice was distorted by the Demon Mask of the Pure Blood Robe. Perhaps it was the influence of the destructive and erratic energy of the Mara Blood-Roaring Art, but the veins bulging on the back of the hand gripping Namgung Mi’s neck looked sinister.
“A lowly member of the Orthodox Namgung Clan. Still, your name is widely renowned. We could use you to announce that our Cult is very much alive.”
His words revealed the purpose of the Blood Flame Cult noble who had invaded this place.
“Heavens!”
“To think it would come to this…”
The Wuchang martial artists, who had been observing the battle between the Namgung Clan and the heretical expert, lamented their fate. Though they lacked the courage and skill to side with the utterly defeated Namgung Mi, they had enough sense to understand the situation.
The majority of the crowd that had raided the Blood Flame Cult’s main stronghold were local martial artists from the Southern Zhili area. In terms of sheer numbers, they had even outnumbered the warriors of the Desolate Fortress. The news of the stronghold's destruction was no secret.
Martial artists lived and died by their skills and honor. The Blood Flame Cult was no different. A noble of the main stronghold had personally appeared to demonstrate the remaining strength of a sect whose reputation had plummeted. Anyone could understand the implication.
“I could snap your neck right now, but that would be a waste. There must be a way to make use of you for a long, long time.”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. It was said that experts who reached the pinnacle no longer seemed human. To the third-rate martial artists of the Jianghu, the masters of the Nine Sects, Eight Families, and the Thirteen Heavens were such beings. The crackle of true qi enveloping the youth’s voice only amplified that unsettling atmosphere.
“How about I make you my servant? You can wash my feet.”
“…”
The mask’s demonic face seemed to stare intently at Namgung Mi. Its mouth was torn wide like a dragon’s maw, as if contemplating what to do with its prey.
Namgung Mi opened her mouth, her expression strained as she barely managed to part her lips.
“You bastard… did you just call me… lowly?”
“I did.”
“A lowly wretch… hiding behind a mere mask… how dare you.”
The demon mask laughed.
“Does my assessment of you displease you? You, a fallen spawn of Namgung, wearing the mask of the Orthodox path. The word ‘lowly’ suits you perfectly. You framed innocent people as Unorthodox martial artists to use as fertilizer for your own reputation. That’s a disgraceful act even our Cult wouldn’t commit.”
“Nonsense—ugh!”
Her curse turned into a pained gasp. The moment Namgung Mi opened her mouth again, the demon mask’s left hand blurred. A series of dull thuds echoed as shockwaves slammed into her body, sounding like a rapid succession of bursting drums. Anyone could tell this was no ordinary acupoint sealing.
As Namgung Mi’s body went limp in his grasp, the bizarre noble of the Blood Flame Cult spoke.
“Did you think my talk of making you a servant was a joke?”
“Wh-what…!”
“If you wish to circulate your true qi, you must first obtain my permission. Such is the divine power of our Blood Art.”
He had sealed her internal energy. The Desolate Fortress’s own Flash Art had once suffered a similar technique at the hands of the Blood Flame Cult’s Seventh Apostle. It wasn't difficult for him to inflict the same heavy-handed internal technique he had personally experienced onto someone else. All he had to do was apply the unique circulation of true qi from the Mara Blood-Roaring Art.
“How dare you! How dare you!”
Her voice rose to a shriek. Namgung Mi’s delicate features twisted with venom. This wasn’t despair, but violent resentment. Something she’d thought impossible had just happened to her.
‘I will kill him! I will make him kneel at my feet and then I will kill him!’
He had subdued her and stripped away her freedom to even circulate her own power. She glared at him, her eyes burning his image into her mind. Her gaze swept over the demon mask’s entire body, focusing intently on the sliver of skin visible around his sleeves. An expert’s eye technique could transcend imagination; there was a chance she could deduce his identity by observing the flow of internal energy through the acupoints near his pulse.
“What admirable spirit.”
“Cough…!”
Just as the demon mask tightened its grip on her neck, the main gate of the Hyeonsa Gate swung wide open with a sudden crash. A refreshing breeze swept in, carrying with it a clean, straightforward aura.
“A blood ghost has made its nest in the ruins of a fallen Unorthodox sect.”
A young man, whom the blue martial uniform suited perfectly, stood in the gateway. His expression sank as he looked toward the demon mask and Namgung Mi.
“I came to raise a toast to my sister, but…”
He exuded an unstoppable momentum. Embroidered on his shoulder was the prominent character for ‘Hwang.’ His sharp nose and tightly closed lips resembled Namgung Mi’s, so much so that everyone present immediately recognized their blood relation.
“Hwang…! The Desolate Fortress!”
“He said sister. Could it be…?”
“The White Qilin! It’s the White Qilin of the Namgung Clan!”
Color returned to the faces of the crowd. With Namgung Mi defeated, they had no idea what fate awaited them. But now, the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin, had appeared. He was a martial artist who had made a name for himself even before joining the Desolate Fortress.
For a young man already widely recognized by the Nine Sects and Eight Families, he had long surpassed the level of a mere rising star in the Wuchang martial world. He was an expert whom no one would deem an unworthy opponent for the Blood Flame Cult noble who had just fought a fierce battle.
‘The very people who were just denouncing the Fortress.’
Namgung Hwa-shin thought. He had arrived with Jeong Yeon-shin the moment the banquet began and had heard everything—how they extolled the Namgung Clan while insulting the Desolate Fortress. The ugly truth of these local martial artists, who changed their tune so quickly, was repulsive.
He forced himself to ignore it and stepped forward. Inwardly, he regretted not investigating Hyeonsa Gate sooner. He had thought it was enough that Namgung Mi had framed the servants and destroyed their dantians, but he had been wrong. He hadn’t expected her to drag the attendants into it as well.
‘Yes. You were always this malicious.’
His gaze fell upon Namgung Mi, who was being choked by the Flash Art. Perhaps because her acupoints were sealed, she couldn’t even turn her head.
‘Has he completely sealed her movements?’
Suddenly, Namgung Hwa-shin was surprised at himself. It seemed he, too, was nothing more than a soldier walking the Way of the Sword. He had checked on his close comrade’s safety before his own half-sister’s. The Flash Art of the Demonlight Wing, Jeong Yeon-shin. His breathing was as calm as ever, showing no significant strain.
‘Truly remarkable.’
It was a feat Namgung Hwa-shin could hardly replicate himself. He lacked the means to withstand that chilling energy, and even if he did, it would be impossible to remain so composed. It meant that the martial power the Flash Art displayed was incredibly stable—something only possible for someone who had completely mastered their current realm.
He was born with incredible senses. His martial talent was clearly superior to his own.
‘He created this opportunity for me. It is a favor. I must succeed, no matter what.’
With firm resolve, Namgung Hwa-shin spoke. “Blood ghost. Step away.”
“Another Namgung mongrel? Step away? Your words are laughable.”
The masked Flash Art replied in that bizarre voice. Namgung Hwa-shin thought to himself, If I didn’t know the circumstances, my pride would be wounded. There’s something deeply provoking in his calm tone.
Forcing a commanding air, Namgung Hwa-shin declared, “Namgung Mi, the Changryeong Hwaju, is the target of a formal duel issued by our Fortress. The Commander of the Divine Sword Corps is arriving as the officer in charge of this mission.”
“The Commander of the Divine Sword Corps…?”
A heavy silence fell over the training ground. It was a name that demanded such a reaction. The reputation of a peerless expert, said to look down upon the world alongside the Abbot of Shaolin, transcended any physical distance. Unlike the Lord of the Desolate Fortress, who was said to walk among the clouds, this was a very real and irresistible threat.
“Release my sister. Unless you wish to be hunted by the purple-ranked experts of our Fortress for the rest of your life.”
“Is the Namgung Clan threatening me?”
The demon mask’s reaction was instantaneous. He threw Namgung Mi, her acupoints and internal energy completely sealed, onto the ground like a piece of trash. Paying no heed to her as she sprawled in a state no one could have imagined at the start of the banquet, he took a step toward Namgung Hwa-shin.
Shring.
Once again, he drew the sword from the red sash of his Pure Blood Robe. The momentum released with the draw was chilling.
At the same time, Namgung Hwa-shin drew his Desolate Fortress Sword.
Sweat pooled in the palms of the onlookers.
Step. Step.
The air between them seemed to freeze. Not a single gust of wind blew. In the dry, tense atmosphere, only the two experts strode toward each other. The way they walked, holding their longswords low as if taking a stroll, was strangely similar.
The air felt like it was gradually compressing. The tension, stretched taut like an eternity, grew as the distance between them shrank. Ten steps, eight, five… and then.
Boom!
The sound echoed as one. Their stomping feet and sword-gripping hands blurred first. Following the brief sound of impact, two swords caught the sunlight. The moment the white sword-light shattered into two beams, their red and blue robes brushed past each other.
Clang—!
Namgung Hwa-shin came to a halt. The ringing of his sword, vibrating as if about to shatter, forced him to stop. This was what he had intended from the start.
Yet, the trajectory and force of the strike were entirely different from their duel during the Desolate Fortress competition. He could feel an astonishing level of progress.
‘He has completely integrated his heightened true qi into his sword path. The concentrated power was on a different level.’
The sword path—the very route the blade traveled—determined the power and efficacy of a strike. He had heard that the Flash Art, Jeong Yeon-shin, had consumed a spirit elixir. He had also seen him clash with the Seventh Apostle several times. Yet, experiencing the strike firsthand was something else entirely.
Namgung Hwa-shin thought of his half-brother.
‘Perhaps now I can truly discuss my chances of victory against him.’
Just then, his idle thoughts scattered at the sound of a sword being sheathed behind him. It was Jeong Yeon-shin, still wearing the demon mask. Sheathing his blade with a posture as upright as the persona he had displayed, he spoke.
“You are indeed worthy of speaking the name of the Commander of the Divine Sword Corps.”
“…”
“Desolate Fortress. Wait for us. There are many branches to replace our main stronghold. The nobles of the bloodline will return.”
He strode away arrogantly without a backward glance, heading toward the main gate through which Namgung Hwa-shin had entered. The Wuchang martial artists, having witnessed the overwhelming exchange, remained silent.
“Insects.”
The Blood Flame Cult noble departed with a low chuckle.
“…”
After a long, lingering silence, cleaning up the situation fell to Namgung Hwa-shin. Only then did he turn his gaze toward his enemy, his half-sister, who had always looked at him with contempt and loathing.
Yet, a reunion with her blood relative seemed to be the furthest thing from Namgung Mi’s mind. She stood haughtily, as if she had never been sprawled on the ground. Her upturned eyes were fixed on the main gate—the direction in which the demon mask had departed. A deep-seated resentment burned in her gaze, an obsession even Namgung Hwa-shin had never seen before.
Staring at her quietly, Namgung Hwa-shin spoke. “Our side will take custody of you. We will guarantee your safety until the duel.”
“What…?”
“The Flash Art of the Demonlight Wing is with me. With Young Hero Jeong and myself, you will be safe until you reach Southern Zhili.”
Behind Namgung Mi, who finally turned her head, the faces of the Wuchang martial artists came into view. Their expressions were a diverse mix of complex emotions.
“This is a disaster. That man was an incredibly powerful expert. To think such a blood ghost is roaming Wuchang.”
“More than that, we should worry about the Namgung Clan’s retaliation…”
It was the classic behavior of swallowing the sweet and spitting out the bitter. Namgung Hwa-shin inwardly frowned and ignored them.
The fruits of their struggle for justification were beginning to ripen.
“Protecting an opponent with whom they have agreed to a life-and-death duel?”
“How truly… fair and honorable.”
“The Desolate Fortress. They said they cared for the people’s livelihood…”
This was exactly what Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Hwa-shin had intended. The figures gathered here were mostly influential: escort agency chiefs, martial hall masters, sect leaders, and even the dean of the Wuchang Prefectural Academy. Their words would soon shape local public opinion.
It was done. They could now execute the leadership of the Namgung Clan without worrying about the judgment of the common people.
* * *
An ancient tree rising from a corner of the Wuchang marketplace was the tallest in the vicinity. A woman sat leaning against one of its thick branches. Her hair, flowing like black silk, fluttered in the gentle breeze. Her red eyes, like rubies cherished by a demon, lingered on the scene below.
Her eyes caught a boy leaving the area, his movements as swift and elusive as a drifting leaf. It was a movement technique resembling that of the Brightfolk. While it should have left almost no trace, the boy's footsteps were still audible to her ears.
The Seventh Apostle parted her lips.
“My little Grand Preceptor.”
She had been talking to herself more often lately. Was it because she had spent too much time walking the Jianghu alone? No. She had probably always been like this. She was, after all, an existence born noble and alone from the very beginning.
“Hehe,” she giggled, a nasal hum slipping out unintentionally.
“You are so sweet.”
The Flash Art, Jeong Yeon-shin. She had clearly engraved his voice, laden with the true qi of the Mara Blood-Roaring Art, into her memory. The sight of him wearing the Pure Blood Robe once again was ecstatic. Thanks to his brilliant talent and resolute nature, it suited him better than anyone else—so much so that the image was branded into her mind with more vividness than the sigils on Unorthodox slaves.
That voice, that appearance, that haughty demeanor.
The entire time she listened and watched, she felt as if her whole body would melt away. Even her thoughts grew as soft and pleasant as clouds drifting across the night sky.
The Seventh Apostle’s right eye, glowing with a brilliant red light, swept over every detail of Jeong Yeon-shin. Before she knew it, her noble and little Cult Leader was removing his mask and taking off the Pure Blood Robe in a deserted clearing not far from Namgung Hwa-shin.
Suddenly, her heart ached as if it were being torn apart. Those things are yours, my little Grand Preceptor.
It was as if he had chosen the location with her in mind.
“Haa…”
She let out a sweet sigh and murmured in a whisper, “What must I do for you to accept me?”
If only that boy would look at her.
Would it be so wrong to sever all his limbs and bring him to her side?
The Seventh Apostle immediately shook her head. No. He was destined to create a divine art that would blaze across the world like a comet. He was a being who must not be ruined by such wicked desires.
“Show me a gap…”
She lightly licked her lips.