A Night Visit to the Drunken Moon Inn

The creak of a hinge—late at night, the door of the Drunken Moon Inn swung open.

Inside the empty taproom, Jeomsoi, who had been polishing a wine cup alone, lifted her head toward the sound. A figure stood before the door, the moonlight at his back.

It was Namgung Cheon.

Jeomsoi—no, Pyo Ryang, branch manager of the Haomun's Anhui division—set down his work and rose from his seat.

"So you've come."

The words of a man who had been waiting. Namgung Cheon gave a silent nod and settled naturally into a seat. Across from him, Pyo Ryang brought a tea set himself and sat down.

Since their last meeting, Pyo Ryang had tracked every one of Namgung Cheon's movements without missing a step. How he had swept the shadow side of Anhui Province clean in one stroke, and how he had installed a brand-new chess piece called the Gold Pavilion at the very center of it all—everything had far outstripped anything Pyo Ryang had predicted, an audacious stride beyond all expectation.

When he first came to me, I took him for a mere proxy moving at the Namgung Clan's bidding.

He had been wrong. The way this man conducted business bore no resemblance to the Namgung Clan as Pyo Ryang knew it. He plucked a useful man out of the unorthodox world and set him up as a new head. What scion of any orthodox sect would play a move so ruthless and so efficient?

And now that same Namgung Cheon had come to the Haomun again. Pyo Ryang studied him with a knowing look as he poured the tea.

"What business brings you this time?"

Namgung Cheon came straight to the point.

"The Ten Directions Array of the Four Black Alliance. I want to know where the Black Wind Squad, which holds the northern sector, is stationed."

"……!"

Pyo Ryang's eyes went wide as he stared at him. The Ten Directions Array—a defensive framework unknown to anyone outside the Four Black Alliance's leadership, the very foundation of their strength. How could this man know its name?

No—that isn't the important thing.

Pyo Ryang's mind began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to spin. It had barely been any time at all since the Anhui affair was settled, and already the man was turning his blade toward the Four Black Alliance? It defied common sense entirely.

"Young Master, as I'm sure you know, touching the Black Wind Squad is the same as making an enemy of the entire Four Black Alliance."

Pyo Ryang weighed his intentions as tactfully as he could, warning of the danger. But Namgung Cheon's expression did not change in the slightest. He simply waited for an answer. Faced with those unwavering eyes, Pyo Ryang weighed two possibilities.

First: the Young Master is placing blind faith in his own martial skill.

The arrogance of a young Transcendent Realm master who feared nothing under heaven. It was possible he simply could not gauge the height of the mountain called the Four Black Alliance. If so, this information would be a poison that led him to ruin—and the Haomun that handed him that poison would not escape unscathed either.

Second: the Young Master sees something I cannot.

The possibility that he possessed a move of his own, one that would let him survive making an enemy of the Four Black Alliance—or extract something greater. And everything the man had shown him lately pointed unmistakably toward the latter. Not once had he ever played a move that failed.

Pyo Ryang made his decision. An information broker was, in the end, a merchant. And a merchant's trade was, by its very nature, to earn the most where the danger ran deepest.

"Understood. Though the price of this information will be considerable."

Unlike before, he demanded payment for the intel deliberately—to make it clear that this was a gamble staked on their lives. But Namgung Cheon answered without hesitation.

"That's fine. I'll pay after I've verified the information myself."

For a moment Pyo Ryang found himself at a loss for words, but he soon nodded.

"Very well. Please wait a moment."

He returned shortly with a small letter. Handing it over, he said, "Commit it to memory, then give it back. I'll destroy it."

Namgung Cheon unfolded the letter and swept his eyes over the map and its contents. In the blink of an eye he had taken in everything, and he fed a light thread of inner energy into the hand that held the letter.

Fwoosh—!

Flames bloomed from his palm and reduced the letter to a fistful of ash in an instant.

"……!"

Watching the scene, Pyo Ryang's pupils shook violently.

Samadhi True Fire!

A flame of inner energy that could only be kindled by condensing one's qi to the absolute extreme—a fire that even a master of the Transcendent Realm could not casually produce. And this man had invoked it as easily as striking a match.

Leaving Pyo Ryang frozen in astonishment, Namgung Cheon rose from his seat. Before stepping out the door, he paused for a moment and, without turning back, spoke in a low voice.

"I would like it if the relationship between you and me, Branch Manager, stayed exactly as it is from here on."

"……"

On the surface, a pleasant sentiment. But what lay beneath it was clear.

A warning. Never breathe a word of this transaction to anyone.

Pyo Ryang let out an awkward laugh and opened his mouth.

"……Would I dare?"

Having left Hefei, Namgung Cheon headed straight for Jiangxi, where the Black Wind Squad was stationed. Through the day he ran without pause, and when the pitch-black night fell, he stopped in secluded forests or by riverbanks.

Hsshhh—

A riverbank where the moonlight scattered like silver dust. Namgung Cheon's divine movement suddenly began to stir.

He was confronting the most fundamental problem he had.

The Namgung Clan's Floating Cloud Body Movement pursues stable, grounded motion.

It was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠technique ideally suited to unleashing the weighty forms of the Changgung Muae Sword Art—but it was far too honest to carry the ever-shifting Changcheon Mansangryu.

Which is why I must pull in the movement arts from the Heavenly Demon's archives.

Dozens of movement techniques flashed through his mind. The first to surface was the Wind Riding Body Movement of the Fengshen Sect, once of Qinghai: a Daoist principle that read the flow of the wind with the body, surrendered to that flow, and became one with nature itself. It resonated with the softness of the Floating Cloud technique.

Make the Floating Cloud Body Movement the frame, and lay the Wind Riding principle over it as flesh.

He gathered his focus, spread the Floating Cloud Body Movement, and at the same time let his inner energy flow along the weave of the wind.

Tap!

His form slid forward lighter and faster than before. Almost no friction against the ground remained.

Success? But Namgung Cheon shook his head.

No. This is merely a faster Floating Cloud Body Movement.

The speed had improved, but the trajectory of the movement itself was still rigid and truthful—nowhere near the unpredictable motion the Changcheon Mansangryu demanded.

Something more is needed.

Another technique came to mind: the Illusory Shadow Bewildering Steps of the Huanying Pavilion, a band of assassins long gone from Gansu. The heart of the Illusory Shadow steps lay in the subtle art of venting minute threads of inner energy to cast residual afterimages.

He moved again. Onto the swift motion of Floating Cloud fused with Wind Riding, he layered the principle of the Illusory Shadow steps, attempting to blur his own form.

Pwat!

For an instant his body wavered like heat haze, leaving a faint afterimage. But then—

"…Kkh!"

Forcing three different principles together, the energies coursing through his meridians collided head-on.

Their roots are different.

He sank down at the riverbank, dragging in rough breaths. Piling radical change on top of a stable foundation and forcing them together—of course it collapsed.

The method is wrong. It doesn't work by simply stacking them.

Chief among the problems was making any single technique the backbone. The moment one became the center, everything else was subordinated to it and robbed of its own light.

The frame must be me. My will—my Changcheon Mansangryu—must be the axis at the center of every movement.

He closed his eyes. And he recalled the three wills of his sword, the Changcheon Mansangryu.

The will to blanket all things, like a sea of clouds. The will to pierce through all things, like heavenly thunder. The will to shine even in darkness, like moonlight.

My movement art need only give form to these three wills. The Floating Cloud steps and the Illusory Shadow steps are nothing more than tools for expressing them.

He rose to his feet once more. And he took his first step.

This time he did not attempt any particular technique. He thought only of the cloud sea and let his body move. And the body found the optimal method on its own. For soft motion, the footwork of the Floating Cloud steps unfolded naturally; to ride the wind, the energy handling of the Wind Riding technique layered itself on top. The two techniques were not forcibly mashed together—they found harmony of their own accord beneath a single purpose: the cloud sea.

Next he summoned the moonlight. Within the stable current of the cloud sea, he added the will to hide his body. And again the body produced an answer: while maintaining the cloud sea's flow, it peeled away only a portion of his inner energy and used the principle of the Illusory Shadow steps to cast an afterimage.

Pwat!

There was none of the twisting meridian agony from before. Faint afterimages trailed his form, blooming like mist and vanishing in endless repetition.

The true body follows the soft, stable current of the cloud sea, while the afterimages flash out in wild, unorthodox motion.

Stability and audacity had, at last, begun to harmonize within a single movement art.

Swaeek—!

His body became a single streak of afterimage, cutting through the forest. Even threading between the trees at a furious pace, not one leaf brushed his collar.

He stopped. Before a cliff, his steps came to a halt.

It isn't complete yet.

But after long effort, he had succeeded in laying the first cornerstone of a movement art entirely his own.

And…

Namgung Cheon's gaze dropped toward the base of the cliff. There, asleep in serene silence beneath the moonlight, stood a vast estate. To the eye, it looked like nothing more than the manor of an ordinary rich magnate.

But Namgung Cheon could feel it—the raging torrent of immense power swirling beneath that stillness.

And it happens to be a fine place for a test.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Before the great gate, out of the deep darkness, Namgung Cheon slowly revealed himself. A guard at the gate immediately drew his sword.

Shreung!

"Who goes there!"

At that, Namgung Cheon inwardly clicked his tongue.

I came to the front gate specifically to show courtesy.

There was no need to beg men who didn't even know how to receive a guest to open the door for him.

Then courtesy ends here.

As though the blade leveled at him didn't exist, he stamped lightly off the ground.

Tok!

Like a bird taking flight, Namgung Cheon rose in one graceful bound, his movement art arcing in a parabola toward the wall, many jang high.

"Intruder!"

The guards cried out in alarm and blew their whistles.

Piiii—!

The shrill whistle tore across the whole estate. And the very instant Namgung Cheon cleared the top of the wall—

Shishishik—!

Hidden mechanisms inside the wall sprang to life, and hundreds of arrows and hidden weapons descended on him like a dense net!

Now that's a bit more of a welcoming greeting.

Namgung Cheon's movement art shifted at an eerie angle in midair.

Swaeek—!

His body threaded between the rain of projectiles as though swimming through them.

Tap.

His feet landed lightly just inside the wall. The moment he touched down, torches flared to life atop the halls in every direction and the Black Wind Squad came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pouring out like a disturbed hive.

"Kill him!"

At the vanguard's shout, blades surged in from all sides. But Namgung Cheon did not draw his sword.

I only need to toy with them until Ak Mookyeol shows himself.

His movement art shifted strangely once more. He seemed to charge in a straight line, then scattered into afterimages, appearing several jang ahead in a blink.

"A master! Unfold the Black Killing Sword Formation!"

The squad's movements transformed in perfect unison. In an instant the men built a circular formation around Namgung Cheon. The energy blooming from their blade-tips linked together, binding him like one vast trap.

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠formation, is it?

Swaeek—!

The moment he evaded the sword at his front, another blade flew from behind, aimed at his back—and simultaneously swords pressed in from left and right. There was no visible gap to escape through. But the smile on Namgung Cheon's lips remained easy.

Every formation has a core.

He raised every sense he possessed to its limit. And then—

Found it.

Among the dozens of blades, a single sword moving infinitesimally differently from the rest. The one holding the heart of the formation, directing the launch point of every attack—the formation's head.

That instant, Namgung Cheon's form launched like an arrow. One target. Only one.

"Block him!"

The man standing as the formation's head shouted in haste. He hastily recalled his sword to defend, but Namgung Cheon's palm-strike was faster.

Tuk.

Struck lightly on the neck, the man crumpled unconscious on the spot. Stripped of its center, the Black Killing Sword Formation collapsed as if it had never been. Seizing that opening, Namgung Cheon felled several more, and just as the commotion reached its peak—

"You bastard!"

The doors of the main hall burst open and a man came charging out, his face twisted with fury.

It was Ak Mookyeol.

Namgung Cheon, having just knocked out yet another Black Wind trooper, came to a stop where he stood. Then Ak Mookyeol channeled his inner energy and roared.

"Everyone, fall back!"

At his command, the fiercely advancing Black Wind troopers reluctantly sheathed their swords and opened a path.

"So you did come out."

At Namgung Cheon's calm remark, Ak Mookyeol's rage detonated.

"Do you have any idea where you are, daring to—!"

A roar steeped in killing intent. But Namgung Cheon only brushed off his hands lightly, unbothered, and spoke.

"We've met before. It seems you're being rather cold for an old acquaintance."

And then, closing the distance toward Ak Mookyeol step by measured step, he continued.

"I've come to talk. Something very good—for the both of us."

The contents of this book may not be used in any form or by any means without the written permission of Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dream Books.