The air shimmered, faint and translucent.

The mist that lay over the earth like a ghost’s bedsheets was slowly vanishing.

It felt like a tidal wave had swept through the atmosphere. A scorching tremor of power had surged—hell itself briefly manifesting—only to vanish after dyeing the battlefield with its presence.

“......”

Nothing moved in its wake. Only a faint, restless northern wind continued to drift through the vicinity without pause.

As the smoke cleared, the otherworldly space vanished as if it had never been.

The thickets, the cave, and the countless scurrying silhouettes were all gone—like the remnants of someone’s fleeting dream.

Whoosh!

Suddenly, through the thickening northern wind, something emerged.

This had been the imperial palace of a nation just hours ago.

On one side of that land, a yawning pit opened its maw like a dragon’s throat. Even under the pouring sunlight, it sank into darkness. A cave black as ink.

Yeom Jeong of the Six Original Star Lords was gone.

The transcendent essence of the Ultimate Martial Way technique she had unleashed—Heulju Great Cataclysm—could no longer be sensed. Not even the faintest trace of her presence or energy ripple remained.

She hadn’t just been swallowed by the sword wind. She had been cast beyond the reach of her own martial domain.

Her status was unknown—life or death.

But she would not return. Not even a transcendent once ranked equal to the Ming’s Five Heavenly Swords could.

It was astonishing—and yet, it felt oddly inevitable. A Transcendent Swordstorm. A level of transcendent martial power so intense that no principle of “Softness Overcomes Hardness” could withstand its pressure.

An invincible Ultimate Martial Way...

There weren’t many who would dare challenge something like that.

Jeong Yeon-shin quietly touched the hilt of the sword embedded in his side. A chilling sensation coiled around his palm.

It didn’t feel like metal—but more like the bamboo frame one hugs to sleep on summer nights.

At that moment, a figure landed, piercing through the fading mist.

Step—

“Phew... I’m dying here.”

It was beyond the spear-glinting altar. Yong Hui-myeong wiped sweat from his temple with the back of his hand.

For Jeong Yeon-shin, it was a first-time sight—and considering that this man had just rendered one of the Five Heavenly Swords incapacitated, he looked far too relaxed.

Monstrous vitality.

And yet the former Divine Sword Sect Leader groaned theatrically.

“I’ve done everything. This is the end of the line for me.”

It didn’t sound like false modesty. It was true—he’d done his part. On this heaven-shaking battlefield, he had tied down three peerless masters, including one of the Six Star Lords, and even driven Yeom Jeong to defeat.

Yeom Jeong.

A being infused with both the transcendental qi of a peerless master and the vitality of the Yozoku. Her presence, once impossible to extinguish, had been snuffed out like a candle.

Only Yong Hui-myeong could have done it.

Jeong Yeon-shin quickly assessed the state of his senior, who looked like he might faint at any moment.

The rebound from using Ultimate Life-Saving Technique...

Diminished precision in techniques, dulled combat instincts, delayed divine response from the upper danjeon, and loss of divine martial skills that required intense spiritual resonance.

The main issue was the baekhoe in the upper danjeon.

But, again—this was Yong Hui-myeong.

In terms of internal energy, he could rival the opium-addled freak from Liaodong for the top position in Ipwang Fortress. Even without mastering dynamic internal movement, his body was sturdier than Tae Yeom-ryong’s.

His qi and essence were absurd.

So much so that Jeong Yeon-shin had no choice but to request his ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) combat support.

—From here, I’ll take the front. You take the rear, senior.

—Trying to gnaw down to my spine now? How’d you know my bones were blessed?

As that calm telepathic exchange passed between the two Divine Sword Corps Leaders—

Whoosh!

An overwhelmingly powerful presence erupted beneath Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet. But it wasn’t the altar he stood on. It was the seductive force of Namje’s Gravitational Lure Armor, pulling everything inward.

Shhhhhh—

Jet-black mist scraped along the ground. Namje’s body rose like a stone pagoda, having switched places with the altar on his own. His movements weren’t human.

Jeong Yeon-shin tried to crush the spot underfoot, but Namje suddenly slid ghostlike to the right. He had redirected the suction of the Gravitational Lure Armor sideways.

[Divine Sword Corps Leader.]

Namje spoke, standing tall as he looked down at Jeong Yeon-shin. At the same time, a faint light flared from the shoulder of the altar that had shifted behind them.

It was the place where the Heavenly Patriarch Noban was reattaching the altar’s severed arm.

[Oversized remnants of a bygone era.]

Namje’s thought.

In that instant, the feeling of joints, tendons, and bones realigning surged forth with a sickening crackle. The altar screamed, as if dragged up from Infernal Hell.

“HRAAAAAAH!”

It was a technique Jeong Yeon-shin had seen in Hangzhou—a spell-martial art with regenerative properties. The caster was clearly Namje, and it was identical to the one Amcheonje had used to heal the Celestial Gate Lord’s injuries.

He truly was the strongest in the North.

The reason the altar had always been his shield, treated not as a subordinate but a comrade. So long as Namje remained intact, the Dark Blade could always rise again. The fight would never end.

That can’t be allowed.

He stepped forward.

He hadn’t allowed the Celestial Gate Lord’s regeneration in Hangzhou either. The blind swordsman in the straw hat had fought Jeong Yeon-shin and Yulha Nangnang while still carrying traces of Jade Sword’s Tenfold Brocade.

Swish.

In a step nearly matching the fastest in the world, Jeong Yeon-shin’s leather shoe lifted—and in that instant, he passed Namje in a curve, appearing before the altar’s arm.

“......!”

A punch exploded through the just-recovered arm, sending it bursting apart. It was like detonating a clump of mud in a swamp.

RUMMMMMBLE!

Time, which had been stuck, surged back into motion. Blood and bone fragments swirled above the altar’s widening eyes.

White sunlight and bloodied chunks of flesh tangled messily across the old palace ruins.

At that same moment, a feather infused with dim starlight—launched by the Heavenly Patriarch Noban—slashed at Jeong Yeon-shin’s ribs like a sword.

CRRAAAAASH!

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

It soared past the altar and landed right beside Yong Hui-myeong. The sword energy in its path shimmered like the undulating ridgelines of the Mongolian plains.

A strike worthy of the last emperor of the fallen Yuan Dynasty.

An overwhelming sword attack. Even now, the hem of Jeong Yeon-shin’s glowing robe rippled harshly at his side.

Shink.

Yong Hui-myeong drew the Divine Sword from Jeong Yeon-shin’s waist and asked casually,

“What’s it like, walking around in that kind of defensive energy armor? Feels like you’ve got extra lives.”

“Ask them.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered while restoring his internal energy wall with Radiant Wheel Technique of the Martial Arts Method. A pressure churned in his belly for a moment. That short sword strike had even carried layered internal martial techniques.

[Annoying footwork.]

Namje’s thought resounded.

He now stood between the altar and the Heavenly Patriarch Noban. The formation had split into three Northern Kings and two Divine Sword Corps Leaders.

[When I failed to make that beggar my subject and watched him fall into ruin, I was deeply regretful. Taking his legs—the greatest obstacle to my grand enterprise—was not enough.]

“Ruined? You seem perfectly fine.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered calmly.

The battle hadn’t even lasted half a day, yet it felt as if they’d been fighting for an eternity.

And still, one by one, the enemies who once upheld a nation had fallen. The words Namje now uttered—infused with martial spellcraft—were likely the final threads of a long tale.

[This land does not support those who’ve lost their legs. The fallen return to fertilizer. Just like that beggar, who had outlived his usefulness by teaching you a secret art.]

Wooooooom—!

[Let’s finish this. My army arrives soon.]

With each word, the surrounding air grew more oppressive.

Pressure closed in from all sides. The ground cracked layer by layer, and the cave Yong Hui-myeong had created echoed with resonance in response.

In that instant—

Shhh—

A shadowy storm cloud sank down over the ruined palace. It looked as if pitch-black ash were spilling across the land.

A cloud of martial energy unlike anything Jeong Yeon-shin had ever felt.

Its crushing weight spread omnidirectionally, enough to suppress even True Radiant Starlight, and yet Jeong Yeon-shin and the man hiding behind him—Yong Hui-myeong—remained the only ones unharmed.

But Namje wasn’t the only one who had prepared for the final confrontation.

“...It’s only natural for a nation’s collapse to be met with such fierce resistance. Break them, and the Ming will fall too. Just as I lost many swords to the young Lord of Ipwang Fortress and the old Jang Sam-bong.”

By now, all the feathers from the hat of the Heavenly Patriarch Noban had come loose and swirled through the air, while waves of pressure rumbled from the hearts of the two Divine Sword Corps Leaders.

Except for Yong Hui-myeong, all present had their divine energy from the upper danjeon swelling grotesquely. And for some reason, Noban’s voice came not as thought, but as audible speech.

[Sixfold Mercy Technique...]

Law King’s eerie Buddhist chant merged faintly with it.

Five transcendent beings let a few breaths pass, as if waiting for one another’s ultimate techniques to fully charge. Right up to the moment when a circle of blue light was engraved on the pitch-black ground—

Tak, tadak—

This was the way of masters.

At the edge of battle, one does not disrupt the opponent’s martial arts. One trusts in the life they've built and stakes everything on its completeness.

The certainty that, if their technique unfolded in full, they would win. That was the essence of a peerless master.

Naturally, they remained composed even on the edge of life and death.

[The King of Chi Geuk passed without even a funeral—like a flash of light. And this, too, shall be a funeral of light. Just as Yeom Jeong fell, our retreat will fall as well. I remember every disgrace I’ve suffered.]

[No way back? I disagree. As the last emperor of this ruined nation, I’ve judged—Northern Emperor is not yet the True Swiftest Under Heaven. Nothing of that kind can be perfected in such a short span. The Beggars’ Chief never met him in full form, and after his fall, only passed on mysteries through words and gestures.]

Wooooom!

Noban continued his message to Law King through the starlit feathers, each glowing thread growing denser with light.

[There are those who shed a layer of themselves when they witness divine inspiration. From what I’ve seen: Jang Sam-bong, the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, the God of War, and the Northern Emperor. But no such moment was granted to him in swiftness. Because Namje ruined that chance prematurely, a retreat is still possible.]

Most manifestations of the Ultimate Martial Way take time like this. But the longer the pause, the more complete the technique becomes—not just for them.

Because by now, the once-soft Southern Radiance Supreme Tai Chi at Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet had begun to blaze with a deep, cold blue light.

Haaa—

His white breath echoed like a mountaintop. A resonant breath. Clearly, a prelude to the Ultimate Martial Way.

Namje’s voice echoed again:

[The Ultimate Life-Saving Technique, already fully analyzed at a national scale. You’ve used it far too much. Just like Ma Yeon-jeok did all those years ago.]

A heavy statement.

A deeply understood Ultimate Martial Way couldn’t easily function as a life-saving technique. Not in battles between peerless masters. Even the Tyrant Hero would face the same.

“......”

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t speak. He only extended the starlight beneath his feet.

The blackened blade, like a dark flame, dropped to his side and merged with the fierce blue light of Southern Radiance Supreme Tai Chi, shimmering as one.

This was no mere empty martial radiance.

***

A soft blue glow began to seep like mist from the open field that had once been the Black Path Palace Grounds.

A handsome man with long silver hair draping down his back—Blood King—stood in silence, overlooking the battlefield. He had intended to charge in immediately, but found himself at an unexpected crossroads.

The river that curved behind the great city of Black Path.

It was a tributary of Black Dragon River—one of the longest and widest in all the realm.

And beyond that ridgeline, an army was approaching. Easily numbering over thirty thousand. So vast that each soldier appeared more like a shadow in a cloud than a distinct body—an entire military force trained in martial arts.

Rrrrrrrrumble—

That’s an abyss.

The moment you were pulled in, even a Supreme Master would die as if falling through eternal time. Only someone like a Martial God or the young Lord of Ipwang Fortress could hope to break through it.

And worse yet, it was an army of Demonic Race.

Not even a few Supreme Masters could scatter them by force. No Demonic Race knew fear. Meaning: the army would not rout on its own.

Blood King slowly opened his mouth.

“That child...”

A woman stood on one end of the distant ridge, looking down upon them. The hem of her faded black robes and her even blacker hair fluttered long in the wind. Her figure shimmered faintly red in the light.

Had she been guarding against this disastrous army from the start?

There was no avoiding her gaze.

But what Blood King felt went beyond mere curiosity. His eyes could not look away.

Beside him, Gale Fortress Lord was gazing in another direction—toward the river that wound gently behind Black Path. Across its oily waters, two silhouettes were triggering a barrage of shockwaves like a walking catastrophe.

“To drive Northern Heaven to that edge... and so young. Who the hell is that?”

Gale Fortress Lord muttered. It was enough to make the two Northern Kings drawn in by North Emperor pause for a moment.

Whom should they support?

Just now, word had reached them that even the Six-Star Army’s Wugok had deployed to assist the North.

If they chose the wrong side, even by logical reasoning, the tide of the war could shift catastrophically.

Naturally, they also had to consider the consequences. The Supreme Masters on South Emperor’s side were all seasoned generals—masters of retreat through a hundred battles.

Then it happened.

Suddenly, from beneath the cliff they stood on, an aged presence stirred. A decrepit beggar no one had paid any attention to until now.

Blood King and Gale Fortress Lord, through their martial senses, realized that the old man had no legs.

“That bastard...”

Cough. A dry cough escaped as the old man muttered to himself. Loud enough to echo all the way to the riverside, where Northern Heaven’s massive wave was surging.

“Could it be... the one I knew...?”

If one descended the sloped path the beggar sat on, they would reach a flat stretch of land. Beyond that, an open plain. And just beyond the field, where the Black Path Palace Grounds had once stood, the calm river continued to flow.

In other words, the cliff where they now stood was the starting line—right before entering the battlefield. No great faction in the realm dared to cross it lightly.

Wuuuuuuuuuung—

A sudden buzz of energy flared like a swarm of bees. It came from the beggar’s lower half—where there had once been nothing but empty air.

As if drunk, a flow of energy twisted together, chaotic yet forming the shape of legs in a blink.

It was a divine technique—true qi manipulation permitted only to the likes of Beomha, the greatest monk of the Orthodox sects, or to Northern Heaven itself.

Literally divine skill.

Anyone else trying to mimic it would suffer unbearable strain on every pressure point in their body. Just keeping the technique active for a few breaths would be near-impossible.

Blood King and Gale Fortress Lord didn’t even have time to react.

In the next instant, all they sensed was the afterimage left behind by the beggar.

No sound followed.

Only a single straight line of light drawn across the vast battlefield.

“......!”

The Fastest Under Heaven was sprinting across the plains.