The moment he faced the First Heavenly Demon resurfaced.

It was nothing like this.

"......!"

His senses flared violently. It felt as if every hair on his skin was being forcibly ripped out. His entire body's internal energy began to open up on its own, then surged outward like a wildfire into the pitch-black cave.

The sensations behind and beside him blurred like mist.

Instinctively, he distinguished the weight of the situation.

Clearly, this was no ordinary event. Such things only happened when confronting a life-or-death opponent.

Jeong Yeon-shin immediately turned his focus inward.

'The Radiant Rings!'

Of the three rings, one had been completed with another’s power. Specifically, the first ring created with Dalma’s manifested essence — a fragment of true energy.

At this moment—

Uuuung!

The Radiant Ring, once solidified like a body-protecting qi barrier, now threatened to disintegrate on its own. He could feel it breaking apart like dust, ready to drift into the inner wall of the cave.

"Kh...!"

His breathing became rough, leaking between his teeth as the inner energy from his Radiant Ring Technique surged uncontrollably. Resistance was futile.

'...Is it trying to return?'

Return to the origin.

Jeong Yeon-shin understood quickly.

There was no trace of the Buddhist teaching of emptiness here. Instead of peaceful void, there was only intense agony. The gravitational pull felt like it would rip his heart straight out.

'To have my Radiant Ring stolen like this...?'

Whatever devoured the Ring of Light — what would it become?

Was it the manifestation of Dalma’s True Spirit? Or some monstrous typhoon, devouring all the strength of Shaolin's cultivation arts? Whatever it was, it would surely compete for the highest mysteries of all time.

Hoo.

Inside the cave, a blurry figure continued to waver faintly. Its outline barely visible.

A body more solid than a Yozoku, a bald head exuding overwhelming, transcendent strength. A sturdiness that could only be achieved by surpassing a terrifying threshold of cultivation. It was absurd.

"Desert Donor?"

It was the voice of the Shaolin Fist Monk.

It rang out from directly behind him, but Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t turn his head. All he could manage was to glare into the small, softly illuminated cave. He had to suppress the first Radiant Ring, which was swelling uncontrollably.

Kwaag—!

The sound of stone being violently gouged. The blackened cave walls crumbled and shattered under an unseen storm.

As he began to endure this unprecedented suction with his whole body, a giant hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. A thick sleeve slid down from a sturdy wrist, striking the ground heavily at the same time.

Coiled Zen Sleeve.

Kwaaaaaaaaang!

The roar hammered through his skull. His body was wrenched away from the pull up ahead, drawn backwards. The grip on his shoulder radiated monstrous strength — enough to briefly remind him of Mun Gok.

"Are you alright?"

The middle-aged Yozoku monk asked bluntly.

Then, as if worried he might have crushed Jeong Yeon-shin’s meridians and bones with his own enormous strength, he quickly removed his hand. Upon seeing Jeong Yeon-shin standing completely unscathed, the monk's normally impassive face showed rare surprise.

"...Sungsan is a sacred mountain of a thousand years, full of strange occurrences. But what just happened — that was different. And since your safety is a matter of great importance to the temple, if the Abbot were here, I would have reported this immediately."

Nodding, Jeong Yeon-shin turned around and respectfully clasped his fists toward the Grandmaster Wonmu. The shifting tone between deference and equality meant little.

"I am deeply indebted to you, Master."

"It would be better if you refrained from entering the inner wall. There is no benefit, only loss. Just like the infamous records of the Northern Territories that you may know."

"Did you have a connection with that bat?"

"When I was young, while copying the Mortal Names Record of the Demon Realm, the Abbot intervened at a gathering of the Northern Kings. He went together with the current Wudang Sect Leader, the joint leader of Wudang, the previous Qingcheng Sect Leader, and the Resonance Division Master of the Divine Sword Corps. That day, the Abbot secretly brought the starving children of our Yozoku clan to Sungsan as novice monks — without the Ming imperial court or the Three Grand Marshals ever knowing."

He was one of those Yozoku children. Jeong Yeon-shin, calming his breath, asked again.

"Is that all? The process...?"

"I just told you."

Meaning there was no need for further elaboration. The names of four Sect Leaders and the mysterious Resonance Division Master had already been mentioned.

"And that was enough for you to enter Shaolin out of gratitude?"

"The barley gruel was delicious."

The emotionless voice hinted at the times. Sometimes even the most faithless soul could be made a monk through sheer hunger.

Jeong Yeon-shin untied the bundle from his back and handed it over to Grandmaster Wonmu.

"May I ask you to safeguard this? If you could hang just this one item at the entrance of the inner wall, I’ll retrieve the rest when I descend. After what I just experienced, I’m not sure what I might encounter inside."

Because he had encountered something great, he had to enter all the more. Every time he had risen higher, hardship had followed. And if he had a chance to confront the traces of Dalma, he would not miss it.

Grandmaster Wonmu stared silently at Jeong Yeon-shin for a moment, then spoke slowly.

"...Does your bundle contain many precious items? The young novice monks remaining inside the temple can guard it better than this poor monk, whose spiritual senses have grown rough."

"Aside from a brush and ink, some bird feed, and extra salt, there are books imbued with strange Northern auras and a sword gem left by a senior from the Zhongnan Sword Immortals."

"How long do you expect to be in seclusion? The monastery has limited supplies, and there may not be enough barley gruel for you."

After securely wrapping Jeong Yeon-shin’s bundle in his arms and draping his subdued, yellow-green body-protecting energy over it, Grandmaster Wonmu asked again.

'That must be the Emperor’s Robe among the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts.'

Taking a step forward, Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly, tightening the first Radiant Ring with the dual Radiant Rings of his heart.

"I have never endured a long seclusion before. I am not patient like the monks here. I cannot sit for nine years like Dalma... but this time, it might last quite a while."

"To be honest, nine years is short. The original Grandmaster Wonjeok had already been in seclusion for decades before entering Shaolin. Though he spent many of those years as a fool under Zhang Sanfeng's technique."

Another unknown story.

Just like the ancient, secret pasts of old sects, the tales of Zhang Sanfeng, the noble families of Tianxia, and Dalma himself — the higher he climbed in the world of martial arts, the more breathtaking the stories became.

Thus, Jeong Yeon-shin decided, even if only briefly, to turn his back on everything. To reach the level where unraveling countless secrets would become trivial.

"Master, you should descend the mountain as well. You have already delayed too much of your time because of me. You alone must guard the vast Shaolin grounds and Sungsan."

Step.

As Jeong Yeon-shin walked into the cave, he felt Grandmaster Wonmu raising his hand in a farewell gesture behind him. The old Yozoku monk shuffled a few times in place, then his presence dissipated using the Diamond Unmoving Body Technique.

"Good fortune."

The Grandmaster’s words were soon swallowed by the winds along the cliffs. Jeong Yeon-shin now faced the mist that reemerged within the pitch-black cave.

The faint outline of a human figure swelled dozens of times in an instant — and then, it seized the hem of his violet long robe.

Movements so chillingly fragmented they barely seemed human.

"......!"

There were no footsteps — immovable.

No disturbance — diamond-like.

And yet, no trace of humanity could be felt. The figure slowly shook its head before him, and the darkness of the cave rippled as if in response.

The instinctive dread made every hair on his body stand on end.

'Why are you looking at me like I’m some vile thing...?'

The next moment, the figure grabbed Jeong Yeon-shin by the collar and dragged him into the depths of darkness.

***

A bright halo of light poured over the rice sacks. There were at least a hundred of them.

The vast grounds of Shaolin Temple began to bustle with an unexpected crowd, and outside the temple walls, martial artists were lounging without their weapons, enjoying some rest. Among them, some even clasped their hands in prayer, showing reverence as they looked toward the Dharma Hall.

This was the noble demeanor of the high-born clans.

“This is the offering rice,” a woman, her bright blue gown sweeping the floor, said as she bowed her head to a short monk. One of her hands was raised in a half-gesture of greeting, imitating the temple's rituals exactly.

Xiang Lan, also known as "Peony Immortal," one of the four wives of the Grand Lord of the Daesun Jeongmaeng, was rumored to have helped lay the foundations of the Nanseong Uprising. It was for this reason that the monk Beomheul had allowed her into the temple grounds.

“Amitabha... If this much offering rice is used to care for the temples, the Buddha will surely be well-fed. You have come at the right time,” the monk said.

“Thankfully, the temple grounds are empty. I was concerned it might be too crowded. The warrior monks seem to have gone out on a mission?”

A curved smile appeared on her face, sharp yet soft, like the edge of a blade. Beomheul immediately assessed her, his eyes sharp. He could tell that she was highly perceptive, skilled at reading situations and understanding the dynamics at play.

She was not alone.

Behind Xiang Lan stood a gaunt swordsman, emotionless as always. Without a doubt, this was Go Geol, the second-in-command of the Daesun Jeongmaeng. A figure so formidable that even now, it would be hard to challenge him, especially with the resources he had poured into the sect and his own unyielding strength.

Another of Daesun Jeongmaeng’s wives, the Great Black Immortal Han, was also surveying the surroundings. She was hidden beneath a dark cloak, her face veiled by shadows. Little was known of her beyond rumors that she had lived like an assassin, preparing for the Daesun Jeongmaeng’s uprising for many years.

“The temple is truly empty. Such an uncommon sight. But in this case...”

Her murmur was natural, almost as if it were meant to be heard. She couldn’t help but appear mad.

Shaolin was a large temple.

Over the years, many who claimed allegiance to Daesun Jeongmaeng had passed through its gates. Each of them had come seeking spiritual power, yet none had been as strict or imposing as the ones visiting now.

Even now, they showed no sign of fear.

The temple had already erased the possibility of any improper treatment by offering a large amount of rice donations. None of the visitors carried weapons, and only the necessary attendants were with them.

And then...

“I spoke with the incense traders. Recently, the only visitor was a madman with a severed head strapped to his back. We avoided discussing it with him, but something else must have been at play. If you wish, I can investigate further.”

A whispered remark from one of Daesun Jeongmaeng’s warriors to Xiang Lan. He avoided speaking directly, likely because he had something more to discuss with Beomheul.

“I’m looking for someone important. Someone I can seek help from in the old sect...”

Xiang Lan smiled slightly as she continued.

“After all, even if it’s just someone with a severed head, no one can fault the temple’s guests. As a matter of fact, we’re also holding onto a head.”

“......”

A certain tension filled the air, suppressing even the wind.

A frail old woman holding a folded fan and an elderly man clutching a sword like it was his child were leaning against the nearby wall. Beomheul recalled their youthful faces from his time in the old Sungsan faction, remembering them as the previous sect leaders of the Eight Great Clans: Jeong Cheong, Gongsun Wol. They were powerful figures, even if not present here.

Xiang Lan’s uprising had been a coordinated effort of the four former clan leaders and their wives. Even without their physical presence, their influence was immense.

Suddenly, Han, the Great Black Immortal, muttered softly.

“It’s important that Shaolin accepted such a madman as an incense trader. That would have been impossible for anyone without a special status or connection.”

The calculation of timing, the awareness of situation, the preparation.

Everything seemed to fall into place, as though fate itself had aligned them. Beomheul recited a prayer under his breath.

‘Daesun Jeongmaeng.’

People like them, whether they toppled nations or shifted the course of history, would eventually be recorded in the annals of history.

Just then—

Boom—

A wave of dirt exploded from the mountainside, accompanied by a loud shout, as if a giant’s neck had cracked open, echoing through the air.

[You said our clan was here, so why are you stopping me? Today’s the day I feast on monk meat. It’s tough and there’s not much, but... it’s enough.]

[Amitabha.]

[Move aside. What are you protecting?]

At that moment, a ripple of energy surged through the air, shaking the very foundations of ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the temple. The pressure was so great that even the temple's bell seemed to be trembling.

Boom— Boom—!

The entire temple grounds filled with a deep, resonant vibration. In this vast distance, only six of the Yozoku kings could cause such a massive disturbance.

“Shall we go up? The Wind General is in that direction,” Han said, pointing towards the direction beyond the storm.

Beomheul’s expression turned grave. He had been disturbed from his seclusion, and it was worse than if he had never entered it. The flow of energy, and even his body and mind, were disrupted.

“Let’s go.”

Over a hundred Daesun Jeongmaeng warriors leapt into the air, leaving no time to stop the event. With a light flick of Jeong Cheong’s fan, Beomheul’s body was lifted into the air as well.

Jeong Cheong, with his raspy voice, said, “Shaolin is the master of Sungsan, so out of respect, I’ll accompany you.”

With a swish, the former leader of the Jeong clan, Jeong Cheong, soared through the air alongside Beomheul, following the group of Daesun Jeongmaeng warriors that had already landed at the base of the mountain. Han, the Great Black Immortal, led the way, while Xiang Lan and the former leaders of the Gongsun family leapt in the direction of the Six Stars of the North.

‘Daesun Jeongmaeng really is like the central martial world.’

There are so many who act like great powers. It’s overwhelming.

As Beomheul, a monk who had spent his life immersed in Buddhist texts, began to feel dizzy from the mountain wind, a sudden faint breeze cleared his vision.

Before he knew it, he stood in front of the dark cave.

“Amitabha. I’ve blocked the gate that harms people, but now I find myself trapped by people. How useless human life is.”

“First time.”

The old woman who had lifted Beomheul like a feather in the air, Jeong Cheong, smiled faintly.

“The Buddhist scriptures are reaching me. Maybe it’s because I sent my son away in vain. Yes, he was quick-witted, so I thought he’d live forever.”

“Jeong Donor.”

Beomheul called out softly, but Jeong Cheong didn’t respond. Instead, he looked down, his dim eyes glinting strangely. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

“What’s that?”

A young man’s severed head was hanging at the entrance of the cave. Even Daesun Jeongmaeng’s warriors, who could dominate entire armies, stopped in their tracks.

The head spoke.

“Greetings? I was going to pretend I was dead, but I can’t stand all these onlookers.”

“......”

“Would you like to hear a song?”