Jeong Yeon-shin pretended not to see Manhwi’s smile.

A person necessary for a cause wasn’t always someone familiar or welcome on a personal level. As a disciple of the Saha Outsiders, the only one who met both criteria had been Chilsa-do, who had seeped into his skin over time like the slow spread of blood.

“...That was no different from the blunt edge of a sword. The final technique of a ruthless man.”

It was sincere.

He didn’t understand how the swordplay of the Outsiders had ended up like this. The exact function, depth, and consequences of One Sword to Cross the Sea—what price must be paid to use that technique.

“Isn’t it better this way? There could be nothing more suitable for you.”

The blind man in the bamboo hat tilted his head.

“Surely you weren’t planning to kill your master? I heard rumors you were cast out.”

“You say that as if it’s surprising. To master that kind of swordplay in the Saha Outsiders... filicide must’ve been routine.”

“I observed three years of mourning for my master.”

“...What?”

“I treated it as secluded cultivation. It wasn’t so bad. You should try it.”

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly descended to the ground.

Nearby, the dark blue shape of the Taiji he'd formed earlier was dispersing like mist. The trail of his formless sword, Starry Night, stirred up translucent spring breezes as it passed.

He had now reached the level of disturbing natural law with a single sword.

That might explain why the breeze felt like the hem of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress’s robe.

It was, of course, only a feeling.

“.......”

Standing amidst those thread-like breezes, Jeong Yeon-shin lowered his eyelids slightly.

The sword had let his master go, but his heart was still clinging to her sleeve. Even now, while standing beside Manhwi.

Step—

“Hmm.”

Manhwi raised his hand to shade his eyes as he looked up at the trace of the dark blue Taiji.

His expression was... oddly nostalgic.

A familiar sight, likely because of the Old Sword Immortal.

“...It won’t work twice. There’s a reason martial artists avoid revealing their ultimate moves. Everyone prepares in their own way.”

Silent Starblade Yang was a collection of trajectories formed from the sword techniques of many swordsmen Jeong Yeon-shin had encountered.

To a swordmaster like the Outsider’s Supreme Blade, it must have felt like the Old Sword Immortal had given his aid—

As if it were his own sword technique.

Dragonwill Blade Lord and Bukmyeong Gwonhu, and even the Azure Water True Person, had all been caught in the trajectory while pursuing Jeong Yeon-shin.

The Taiji’s sword path was always destined to be circular.

Naturally, like the three absolute masters, they had vanished.

Six peak-level warriors, gone in an instant—an astounding outcome.

The Taiji of one who refused compromise was that vast.

Even after several breaths, whirlwinds still spun on the ground.

“I won’t get a second chance either.”

Jeong Yeon-shin said quietly.

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress, the Tyrant Hero, the God of War—he would have to settle things with each when next they met.

The ravine fell into silence.

Dust spiraled in faint circles at the feet of the two men, each lost in thought.

The wind circled them again and again—until the silver powder of the shattered Divine Sword slowly drifted into Jeong Yeon-shin’s arms.

***

To Eunuch Myeong-yeo, the wind was an intimately familiar companion.

Naturally. He was of the Myeong bloodline.

And once, as an official of the Eastern Bureau who oversaw Ma Gwang-ik Province, he had been as well.

In the days when Prince Zhu Yunmyeong, then heir apparent, personally supervised his black-robed cultivation.

Myeong-yeo had even written reports praising Seomye’s gentle nature.

The wind had always been at his side then too.

—My judgment was right, wasn’t it?

Then came his downfall.

The more noblemen who died in Ma Gwang-ik Province, the further his demotion.

The wind of disgrace was impossibly rough.

But later, when he was reinstated thanks to Seomye’s meteoric rise, the wind of ascension tasted sweet.

Still—nothing compared to the gale now scouring his skin.

This was the threat of death.

This was the martial world’s blade-wind.

FWOOOOSH!

“Whoaaa!”

Tumbling clumsily down a steep mountain slope, Myeong-yeo quickly scrambled up and dashed ahead like a gale.

He had somehow entered the Tao of Desperate Flight.

The sword wind that had nearly decapitated him sliced instead into an old tree.

KZZZZZT—

The tree split in two behind him. He sprinted past its falling trunk.

Beside him, a dusky-skinned young man somehow kept pace.

“Soon-il!”

“Yes...!”

Jang Sun-il of the Hao Clan gasped between breaths.

When chaos descends, bandits always follow.

They had already cut down several thugs who had been lying in wait in the mountain.

After all, Myeong-yeo was carrying an imperial letter—to none other than the Divine Sword Squad Leader, Jeong Yeon-shin.

Behind them, from the farthest ridge, countless warriors of the Myeong clan were in pursuit.

Other martial artists, having seen this, assumed the two carried some priceless treasure and joined the chase.

Rumors said—

—The Divine Sword Squad Leader cut down the gate itself.

Now, the entire martial world was converging on Songshan.

While running, Myeong-yeo tightened the pack on his back and shouted:

“The Shaolin gate is just ahead!”

“I know! Just a little further...!”

“You stop here!”

“Huh? After all this way?”

“I meant you, Soon-il! I must go on!”

“What?”

“It is my duty to deliver the imperial decree. If it is not proclaimed within Shaolin in time, the Divine Sword Squad Leader will carry the shame of a rabid dog who bit his own master... Please buy me time. You have my deepest gratitude.”

He said it like it was nothing—asking to be a human shield.

And yet, there was no sense of strangeness.

This was Myeong-yeo, the storm of court politics.

Even now, thunderbolt-like calculations flashed in his upper dantian.

The Three Great Generals let me live. Even though they are now traitors who defy the emperor, they still showed a shred of respect for the imperial will. But once they rejoin the Grand Empress Dowager, will they still? I must hurry!

The emperor, now residing in Ipwang Fortress, had summoned the three generals to guard Myeong-yeo.

But that protection was already null and void.

—We can’t deliver the message or the will. You go alone.

Their words still echoed in his ears.

The moment they reached Henan, the Three Great Generals had abandoned him.

—*Our choice is disgraceful. Therefore, we are no longer generals nor even foot soldiers—only wandering outlaws. We cannot coexist with the monsters of the North.

Our hearts are too narrow. And we still see, before our eyes, the soldiers and disciples we loved like children, who died with barbarian axes in their skulls. But if you can deliver the will safely—tell the Divine Sword Squad Leader this:*

—The military saluted you.

HUFF!

A leap cleared the brittle branches blocking his view.

His shoulder and waist were stinging from lack of qi to maintain his guard, but Myeong-yeo welcomed the approaching dusk.

Silent Starblade Yang...! Just like the reports from Shaanxi!

Finally, the Shaolin gate was within sight.

He glanced sideways—no sign of Jang Sun-il.

The young man had really turned back, just as asked.

That was the behavior of a true knight-errant.

And now he was already far behind.

He must’ve had some kind of vendetta—perhaps with the heretical sects, perhaps with the Divine Sword Squad Leader.

“What a madman... Truly, thank y—!”

He didn't even look back as he shouted at Jang Sun-il, but then froze. A single leap down the hill would take him straight to Shaolin.

“Insane.”

The words slipped out before he realized.

The hem of Myeong-yeo’s sleeve hung limp, arms dangling at her sides.

“How... what should I do...!”

He had known from the start that the vast ridge would be packed with people. He had predicted the situation right in front of Shaolin. After all, the ones contending for the title of greatest under the heavens were consuming one another just beyond the ridge. Even the figures confirmed by the gossips’ secret reports had been terrifying.

But what now unfolded on the road leading up to Shaolin's mountain gate was something else entirely.

Flutter―

A flag with a single character, “Tae,” inscribed on it flapped in the wind, the pole planted beside the palanquin carried by sixteen noble clans of the world.

......

The Sixteen of the Martial Illustration. It was the symbol of Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon, granted by decree of the founding emperor. The highest-ranking individual in the land had appeared in person.

And now, truly, Shaolin was populated by monks alone.

‘A feint to distract from the true aim!’

An intangible pressure filled the silence. It wasn’t the aura of Wi Yeon. Rather, it was the people of the Central Plains, parting like a tidal wave in her wake, that created the solemn grandeur.

The living history of the Ming Empire spanning centuries.

It was no exaggeration. Who in the world today could claim greater authority than the companion of the founding emperor of Ming?

Her presence eclipsed that of the current emperor, who had neither military power nor real influence left. Even if the Lord of the Divine Sword Corps were to be given another sacred blade in her name, none would object. Even the Master of Ipwang Fortress was in her grasp—she was, for all intents and purposes, the true emperor.

Step.

A towering old woman descended from the palanquin, and most of the crowd dropped to the ground without needing to be told. As her wrinkled bare feet advanced step by step, more and more people bowed and withdrew.

Her very presence demanded that the masses become ripe stalks of grain, bowed in reverence.

Just like Emperor Gunreung.

At least, that’s how Myeong-yeo felt.

And then, the Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon turned her head and met Myeong-yeo’s gaze. In that instant, her hand reached out, and as if drawn by a ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) beam of light, Myeong-yeo was yanked forward.

Swoooosh—Crack!

Her collar was seized by a graceful yet brutal golden hand. The force was beyond comprehension.

“Eunuch Myeong-yeo.”

“Kh-! Khaak! You... you know me...?”

“I know every official in the Central Plains. You are part of the foundation my husband laid for this nation.”

The old woman continued.

“You are no different.”

......

Myeong-yeo, held aloft by the Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon, froze. At the same time, Wi Yeon’s gaze shifted to the bundle on her back. The veins in her brain seemed to freeze and slide down her spine.

“There is something I must confirm. Come with me.”

Creak.

The enormous mountain gate opened on its own, revealing the temple grounds in full.

The outer court, wrapped like a folding screen with pale-blue halls and pagoda forests. The front courtyard, so flat and orderly it almost looked unnatural. Its vastness made it difficult to describe as serene—but it was filled with monks.

There was no need to count their number.

Shaolin. The One Hundred and Eight Arhats.

Wooooooooong!

A translucent dragon whirlwind enveloped them, soaring toward some unknown place. Even by Myeong-yeo’s standards, the energy was overwhelming. But with a flick of Wi Yeon’s hand through the still silence—Clang!—it was instantly severed.

Whoooosh—

Dust whipped up, even lifting the hem of Myeong-yeo’s trousers as she dangled. The spiritual transmission had been forcefully disrupted through sheer pressure.

And yet, no one spat blood.

The Shaolin monks merely stared at the high-born intruders with eyes as clear as crystal. Was it the effect of their Muscle-Tendon Change Classic training? Myeong-yeo suddenly felt like she had fallen into a world of monstrous spirits and demons.

“You’ve used it wrong.”

Wi Yeon spoke. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

“You’ve thrown a dragon-slaying sword into the furnace.”

Her gaze had shifted to the left guest hall. A one-eyed old monk with no arms—Shaolin's Abbot Beomha—stood in the distance as if he were merely a visiting pilgrim.

He replied with a faint smile.

“In times of war, we forge swords. In times of peace, we melt them down into plows and pickaxes... That is how iron should be used.”

“Lead me to where the door once stood.”

“You already know, don’t you? If nothing stirs within, then all is empty.”

“I want to see it with my own eyes.”

“Amitabha. It is right there.”

Suddenly, the sleeve of Abbot Beomha flapped upward playfully, then stiffened diagonally, as if pointing to nothing but thin air. It was a certain point between the outer courtyard and the pagoda forest.

“According to records of past generations, the founding emperor once gave this command: ‘Let Shaolin’s pagoda forest always look down upon the demonic and the monstrous, so the relics of departed monks may spread virtue’... Perhaps it was his foresight that made it so, for the Master of the Divine Sword Corps, who came to Mount Song through ties to Shaolin, has cleaved open the Gate of Severance. Truly a blessed one.”

......!

The shock rippled not just through those within Shaolin but even to those listening outside. Some high-level masters erupted with internal qi.

Even the noble clans sensed not a single trace of falsehood.

Myeong-yeo, staggered to the point of dizziness, thought:

‘The Shaolin abbot’s words and conduct hold two things.’

Majesty and subtlety.

As if he saw straight through the Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon’s unwavering devotion to the founding emperor—seeing him not just as a spouse, but as her other half. A born martial artist from a farming background, the founding emperor. The last stalk of rice left in Wi Yeon’s long-fallow heart.

Rustle.

Myeong-yeo’s hand twitched toward the bundle on her back. Wi Yeon’s grip still clutched her collar, and should she touch the bundle now, the entire contents might ignite in an instant.

Wi Yeon had mastered the ultimate Wind Art—her Sammae Flame rivaled even the Black Flame of past Ming cult leaders.

‘I must proclaim the imperial decree...!’

Wi Yeon remained silent. Myeong-yeo’s anxiety climbed toward its limit. In a situation where an official had angered the Grand Empress Dowager, this was the moment to clearly declare allegiance.

Wavering is death. An old proverb among eunuchs.

At that moment, Abbot Beomha pointed to the sky.

“There—he approaches.”

Myeong-yeo’s upper dantian flared with dazzling white heat. He shouted reflexively.

[An imperial decree is delivered! Kneel!]

The mighty resonance echoed in all six directions.

Dust trickled down from between brick walls, and Wi Yeon’s indifferent gaze fell like a stone on Myeong-yeo.

He shouted on regardless.

[The Divine Warrior of the North has infiltrated the imperial palace’s hidden vaults, leaving behind a spell of distortion, and the Northern God of War followed its trace, manifesting in Beijing... abridged...!]

Every word was spoken aloud. Up to that moment, Myeong-yeo remained unscathed, and even he found that strange—yet he roared with all his strength.

[By the authority of this letter, we declare: Ipwang Fortress is indeed a recognized sect of the imperial court. Thus, gathering the remaining royal seals and eternal legitimacy, we strip Lord Wi of his title, and confer the position of Second Lord of Ipwang Fortress upon Jeong Yeon-shin, of the Jeong Household.]

“...So noisy.”

Wi Yeon moved her arm.

Suddenly, from between her and Myeong-yeo, the earth surged upward. In the blink of an eye, it formed the figure of a towering man—one-eyed, limping, missing a leg. At once, he reached out and yanked Myeong-yeo by the scruff of the neck. The force and precision were divine.

Slam!

......!

It was like the Terracotta Army of the First Emperor’s tomb.

An earthen warrior. A clay soldier. An earthen avatar of Won Yeong-shin. It grinned, as if telling Myeong-yeo to finish the proclamation.

And so he did, as if in a trance.

[Bring peace to the end times.]

Backlit by dawnlight, the figure of the Master of the Divine Sword Corps descended. He brought with him three companions of varied appearance, as if descending from the heavens—an image of a true conquering general.

At that very moment, the earthen giant slammed Myeong-yeo into the ground and spoke.

[The proper reward. I certify it.]