The Six Stars do not fall.

Even under the faint light of day, they fill the sky; even when dealt fatal blows on the battlefield, they do not die.

That is why they are called the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords—stars that cannot be brought down by human strength. Even if some divine archer were to shoot and strike them, it would remain no more than a dream at high noon, while they continue to blaze terribly through the starry night.

Among them, the Southern Emperor and the Northern Blade are Yozoku who stand at the pinnacle in multiple domains.

Their innate qi was of a different class, and not only did they possess the power of the divine Sangdanjeon, but their very flesh rejected death. In another era, each would have been the greatest under heaven.

It was well known across the entire Demonic Realm.

Sssrrrk.

The figure holding a long hammer like a crescent blade silently looked down.

A faintly materialized storm was reflected below. It spun like the blade of the giant Pangu, forged from rivers and clouds stitched together.

For a long time, all directions had been steeped in a dull, thunderous roar.

A massive explosion, as if capable of severing even thought, was tearing apart the surrounding terrain. Mu Gok of the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords muttered indifferently.

"If that Deadly Stroke pierced through that mess... even Uncle Bukdo probably won’t come out unscathed."

A natural monologue. It was the habit of masters who’d undergone closed-door training for years, muttering chants over and over.

As is often the case, the higher a martial artist's level, the less sane they tend to be—and so, in this moment, he smiled.

"But Uncle Bukdo is the embodiment of northern gales. His lifespan won't end just yet. He’d rather smash in the other guy’s skull."

It was the rambling of a madman.

Meanwhile, snowflakes from the place of his seclusion—Mount Jumulangma—fell from his body from time to time. The overwhelming suction force from his mastery of Inhalation Technique had endlessly absorbed all heat and energy.

"...I'm jealous."

Shortly after, Mu Gok turned his head and spoke.

"Hey. That right there is the Naadam we wished for."

An aged voice echoed immediately from the empty air above.

"You mean the Yuan Dynasty’s festival? Ridiculous! But as you said, since we don’t fall so easily, we can enjoy the fight."

Though forceful, the end of the sentence thinned out faintly, as if the speaker had merged into the nearby space at an invisible speed.

Sssssss—

A sprint that completely dispersed atmospheric pressure unfolded. A mystical footwork that touched the sky. This wasn’t human speed.

"Not wrong."

Mu Gok’s shadow shrugged.

Even his tone changed.

"Uncle Bukdo has the strongest lifespan under heaven. He really doesn’t die. Even when he was riddled like a beehive by that Deadly Stroke from Gunreung. Even when his entire skeletal frame was shattered by the collusion of two among the Three High Protectors of the Ming Imperial Family. And what was it? That Postnatal Guangchengzi, right? That old monster of the Joint Sect rode atop young Beomha’s Hundred-Step Divine Fist and kicked his side in twenty times like mortar shells."

"......"

"Even when he got stabbed in the heart by the Blade Palm Immortal—yeah, the Head of Hyeongsan Sect—he held out with innate qi for months until he recovered. I saw it with my own eyes. While he was doing spy work, he devoured a Ming swordsman’s wife they’d brought as rations. Oh, and the swordsman who chased after him? He saw my hands and gouged out his own eyes... A shame, really. But a major incident. That’s how the Ming’s Number One Heretical Sword was born."

That was also when he fell out with the Southern Emperor, that old bastard—

Mu Gok of the Semi-Warrior Sect ended his ramble and cackled like a monkey.

Sitting on a pure white cloud as if it were a chair, his rambling nonsense spilled out at random. He resembled Sun Wukong from tales of old, back when he was still a monster.

"Ah, but I can’t just sit here watching."

Mu Gok stood up from the cloud. The bright sunlight shone behind him.

"If Uncle Bukdo ends up critically wounded, territorial negotiations with the Southern Emperor will become difficult. We’re aiming to obtain an autonomous region that preserves the customs of the Demonic Realm."

Whoooosh!

At that moment, the storm below began to settle.

The target was clearly Ma Yeon-jeok’s back. The cloud beneath Mu Gok’s feet scattered in all directions. A transcendent propulsion wave surged out.

Just then—

"Sit down, you damn monster. I can’t see."

"Hm?"

Mu Gok’s face, briefly shadowed by the sunlight, took on a puzzled look—then the voice of an old beggar continued.

"Because of your hulking size, I can’t see that eerily young face. Already getting irritated from the storm, and now this." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

"Old man, are you insane?"

"Get lost! Is eating people something to brag about?!"

Before that shout could fully land, a beam of light shot in and halted right before colliding with Mu Gok.

KRRRRAAAAAASH!

All the feathers of cloud shredded apart.

Without even clashing with Mu Gok’s transcendent internal energy barrier, the beam blasted the pressure aside. It was the countercurrent of aerial stepwork—Sky Walking Technique's backlash.

As dim shockwaves rippled out in concentric rings, Mu Gok was hurled away from the center like a bullet.

"That quick-footed old geezer...!"

His voice faded as he flew off.

Now visible, the Drunken Beggar King looked down from the sky. He stood on legs made of pale true energy, treading the wind.

"Why the hell are those monsters so stuck together? Can’t even approach recklessly."

It was a murmur full of tangled emotion.

***

The vortex had ceased.

For a moment, all present along the riverbank paused. The heightened senses of the top warriors on both sides, which had filled the battlefield with violent energy and thunder, focused entirely on the duel’s outcome.

SSSSSHHHH—

Debris from the river poured down like rain.

The immense blade winds settled as if they’d never existed.

It was a calamity like a drought, a typhoon, an earthquake, Seomye, or an avalanche—something that swept people away and vanished just as suddenly. A natural disaster, in the truest sense.

From the dissipating, dreadful vortex in the air, Ma Yeon-jeok and Bukdo slowly fell.

Embodiments of worldly domination.

Giant Yozoku who brought shivers wherever they went.

Each was the sword of an ancient nation and had stood in place of the War God when he was absent—grand generals in their own right.

They were wrapped in each other’s embrace.

The Bo Weol Sword had pierced Bukdo’s iron-clad abdomen and protruded out his back. In turn, Ma Yeon-jeok had taken an axe blade deep into his chest.

A stance of deadlock that had lasted dozens of breaths.

Bukdo’s thought rang out.

[To face someone like you, reason must shine like the North Star. Even if I were enraged by the loss of a companion, it would be the same.]

It meant he’d always prepared a counterattack. No matter the opponent, the moment they pierced the storm and closed in, he would drive in the axe.

That too was part of the Ultimate Martial Way—‘Northern Gale of the Grand Demon’—a motion as natural as transcendence itself.

Splash.

Bukdo stepped on the river’s surface as if it were solid ground.

Dark waters lapped quietly, and crimson blood spread faintly beneath. Ma Yeon-jeok looked down on him, one knee pressing into Bukdo.

Stepping-stone Crossing and fluid movement.

It was proof that both still had strength left. Practitioners at the apex of martial arts—of hegemonic techniques—still had ample power left, even after unleashing the Ultimate Martial Way.

Bukdo’s voice continued softly.

[This is the very spirit our clan should pursue. If we don’t fight, we are robbed. The Yozoku’s fate is never to wield farming tools... Because of you, I am deeply gratified.]

Ma Yeon-jeok did not respond.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The victor was clear. The penetrating wound from the Bo Weol Sword was fatal.

Earlier, Bukdo had twisted his body, but the seasoned sword followed through and pierced his lungs.

The ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) massive force imbued in the Bo Weol Sword had simultaneously shattered every bone and organ in its path.

Thud— Thud—

But even now, the two bodies continued to exhale a fierce torrent of energy like a heartbeat. It was the unique vitality of absolute masters.

They were beings whose innate qi had touched the heavens.

Bukdo, in particular, was the rightful heir of the Demonic Realm. A Yozoku who called the North his homeland. A clan born for battle.

It was said that when the Six Stars of the Demonic Realm gathered, they formed the constellation of the War God.

Among the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords, Bukdo’s symbol was inexhaustible vitality and overwhelming breakthrough power. All of that brought him close to being the strongest under heaven—so claiming the rightful lineage of the Demonic Realm was only natural.

That’s why—

He could still move.

Skkrrrch—

Bukdo’s axe blade, faintly yet surely, dug deeper into the inside of Ma Yeon-jeok’s chest. It reached all the way to the Yuktang Acupoint at the solar plexus.

The center of the middle dantian.

A thunderous resonance burst from within Ma Yeon-jeok’s body at the same time. A prelude to entering a mental deviation—any further, and it would reach the heart.

From the hand gripping the massive axe handle, a monstrous power was gathering.

A Yozoku. He was a Yozoku.

Ma Yeon-jeok’s lips slowly curved.

“Quite the spirit. So that’s your so-called Ultimate Martial Way.”

[There’s something I’m curious about.]

“Then spit it out.”

It was after he had activated the Ultimate Martial Way. A crack had reached even the middle dantian deep inside his solar plexus. Even if he killed Bukdo in this state and made it to the Black Palace of the Dark Blade, he would become a burden to Jeong Yeon-shin.

In that case—

It would be better to die on his own terms.

Then Bukdo spoke. As he gripped the axe, he radiated a divine force.

[Your Deadly Stroke didn’t look like this.]

“It’s only natural that it changed. Who in the martial world lives without the agony of life?”

[But not you. I know. So does the House of Aisin Gioro and Yeoryeong—they’ve read your life.]

“What did you say?”

[Every generation of Divine Sword Corps Commanders has been a subject of the Demonic Realm’s scrutiny. Your Ultimate Martial Way was always the same form, growing more intense and fierce. The unyielding pride of a national sword never allowed to rust. The countless deaths of your subordinates. The collapse of livelihoods crushed by unorthodox cults. The death of your wife before your daughter could grow up. The severing of ties with that daughter...]

Bukdo’s voice held a rugged joy, like an old northern song. Slowly, he concluded.

[Your whole life was a vortex of regret. A constant wish to turn back time—a life built on failure.]

“It’s getting irritating.”

[But it was the right life for a warrior. Even the former Head of Wudang once sought to witness your Deadly Stroke firsthand. That’s the kind of Ultimate Martial Way it was. Why did it only change now?]

But Ma Yeon-jeok only scoffed.

“You’re already as good as dead.”

[Show respect to this body. I am the rightful heir of the Yozoku who does not die from such wounds. Only under my rule can the Demonic Realm preserve its sacred soul.]

His thought-voice slipped out in ancient speech.

At the same time, the axe handle in Bukdo’s hand let out a buzzing tremor. Even in near-death, power was being gathered for a strike.

Such was the vitality of the Liu Yuan Star Lords.

It was a power not granted to the Han.

[I carry too much on my back. I cannot afford a meaningless death. You, close your eyes.]

“You foolish bastard.”

Ma Yeon-jeok’s lips moved slowly.

“Do you think regret comes only once in a lifetime?”

Suddenly, from the blade of the Bo Weol Sword that had pierced Bukdo’s back, a single blue ember fell like a flower petal onto the water’s surface. It resembled the tears of an old man—small and fleeting.

Vwoooom—

Just then, faint concentric ripples spread across the lakeshore.

At the center, that single sapphire flame—

KRAAAAAAAAK!

A space with a diameter of one hundred jang collapsed in an instant.

For a moment, the river water carved out an enormous hemispherical depression. Even the sunlight, pouring transparently from the sky, refracted and scattered in every direction like the trails of a meteor shower.

Just like the tangled threads of agony that always haunted the lives of Divine Sword Commanders.

“......”

As if the universe of void had settled in—the sky and river completely vanished in that spot.

It forced silence. A domain of annihilation.

This was the Ultimate Martial Way that did not cease unless it killed the enemy.

And then—

KWA KWA KWA KWA KWA KWA KWA—!

A storm, rapidly growing in mass, surged back like a tsunami, swirling with spray and fury, filling the empty space.

[Yeon-hwan Strike...?]

Bukdo’s thought-voice seeped out from the shrunken space. His transcendently sturdy body had been crushed into blue petals and erased.

The only one left whole was Ma Yeon-jeok, whose sword dropped a tear-like flame.

[So, in the end, like this.]

Before his eyes, a faint wind hovered precariously like a will-o’-the-wisp. No presence, no form.

It was all that remained of Bukdo. That vivid blue petal of true flame had even crushed the spiritual essence from the upper dantian of a Liu Yuan Star Lord.

[Blown away into the passing wind...]

Even that heavy regret went no further.

Before Ma Yeon-jeok’s white breath could turn into a deep exhale, the source of the thought had completely vanished.

A complete death.

In front of it, Ma Yeon-jeok slowly straightened his back.

Splash.

He now stood upon the river as if it were solid ground, his leather shoes repeatedly dipping beneath the surface and rising again.

But this was after releasing his Double Linked Strike of the Ultimate Martial Way without a second thought. Even his unstable Stepping-Stone Crossing couldn't break his composure.

He simply no longer had the strength to move, let alone step again into the realm of the absolute.

Rumble—

From the moment he first stepped into the path of hegemonic martial arts, the current of mental deviation—always with him—now surged through his body like a lightning bolt.

This time, the toll was especially great. And yet, his face remained utterly calm.

At last, Ma Yeon-jeok’s gaze turned to the Black Palace of the Dark Blade beyond the riverbank.

The towering palace had completely disappeared. Now, only a dense black mist, like a bottomless abyss, slowly spiraled over its former site.

Both the previous and current Commanders of the Divine Sword Corps were there.

“......”

Another complete one.

The energy of Divine Sword Sect Leader Yong Hui-myeong was faint.