A one-armed girl.

Her left sleeve hung empty.

And it wasn’t just her left side soaked in blood.

Her mouth too bore the thick traces of internal bleeding. A deep, dried streak of crimson.

The name White Miao now felt impossibly far away.

She looked every bit the part of the woman called Blood-Flame Lord.

‘How could that once-bold daughter of a noble family end up like this?’

To Myeongyeo, it was a bitter sight. Especially since she’d known Shin So-bin from long ago.

“The transience of the martial world...”

She murmured bitterly to herself.

Shin So-bin’s gaze shifted toward her. Her large eyes focused intently.

“Oh? Master Myeong, you’re alive?!”

“The Dongchang is based north of Dong’an Gate, isn’t it? The chaos from that person stretched southward from the Forbidden City itself.”

She had the audacity to jab her finger at the clay figure of the God of War while speaking, using none other than Jeong Yeon-shin’s broad back as her shield.

The God of War, Won Yeong-shin, gave no response.

He simply stood over Mun Gok’s enormous corpse, collapsed in a large 大 shape at Myeongyeo’s feet, as if napping.

It was once said that if the God of Battle joined the Six Original Star Lords of the North, they would form the Seven Stars of the Big Dipper—the brightest constellation under heaven. For a time, they had called each other family, bound by righteousness.

“......”

Won Yeong-shin’s eyes, sculpted from clay, reflected nothing.

Only faint eddies of dust drifted across their dry surface.

In the silence that seemed to choke breath itself, Myeongyeo thought:

All is loss.

A heavy silence passed.

Thud.

Suddenly, the Child’s Dream Sword of the Lord of Cheongeuk Gate lightly tapped Mun Gok’s head.

Like a blind man tapping the ground with a cane, unaware of the atmosphere around him.

“Hey.”

The blind man spoke.

Then again—thud—on the crown of Mun Gok’s head.

Even though the God of War had lifted his head, he ignored it.

The First Sword of the Heretical Path spoke to the corpse.

“Are you not there?”

No reply could be expected.

The Wandering Guest of Cheonreung muttered to himself with odd curiosity. As if a reply should have come.

This is bad.

Myeongyeo thought.

He was an eunuch who had navigated both the Dongchang and the Imperial Interior Bureau for years. And for someone as dangerous as the Wandering Guest of Cheonreung, knowing the name of his first love from childhood was simply standard practice in the Dongchang.

His long-standing grudge ends here. Without even doing anything.

Myeongyeo felt as though the entire story of the Wandering Guest—through records and whispers—had just flashed through her mind all at once.

A mad blind man. A bizarre heretic. A sword demon who stood alone against the world.

She instinctively sensed this situation had become dangerous.

Naturally, her hand reached to gently tap Jeong Yeon-shin’s back.

Sssk.

“Sir Jeong... The major fight may be over, but you’ll need to clean up the surroundings.”

But she gave up soon after.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze was fixed on the empty shoulder of Mun Gok’s disciple.

A storm of emotion howled within the stillness of that ruined temple.

[That’s enough.]

The God of War spoke to Manhwi.

[He may have deserved a wretched death, but we should not disgrace the dead. Don’t make it ugly.]

Manhwi paid no heed.

He tapped Mun Gok’s head once more with the sheathed blade of the Child’s Dream Sword and asked:

“Where exactly was that? In my frenzy, I didn’t track my strike.”

[You mean my real body? Judging from those in fur hats wandering about in spring, it’s neither the Demon Realm nor the Central Plains. But I’ll return soon.]

Clack.

The sword stopped moving.

In the blink of an eye, the God of War appeared like a mirage and grabbed Manhwi’s wrist.

A cloud of ochre sand streamed from the motion.

[I said enough.]

An unexpected standoff.

The air around Myeongyeo thickened with figures who looked like human-shaped natural disasters.

The God of War, Manhwi, and Jeong Yeon-shin.

The powerless eunuch stopped thinking.

And silently, unnoticed, slipped away and approached Shin So-bin’s group.

The bloodline of the First Family of Ipwang.

The one-armed girl, bloodstained head to toe, was cheerfully chatting with the mute warrior Shin Hwang.

“So, the big stuff seems over, but seriously, what’s with all these Won Yeong-shins? That monster over there and that old crone too.”

She pointed—casually and with zero reverence—at the God of War and Wi Yeon’s fading clay bodies, now crumbling into dust and wood shavings.

She sounded exactly like a madwoman, possessed by demonic obsession, but Shin Hwang replied without blinking.

“It only means you’ve stepped deep into the uppermost realm of the martial world. Just because it’s the same land doesn’t mean it’s the same world.”

He continued in a low voice.

“More than that, I’m amazed you recognized the Grand Empress Dowager as a form of Won Yeong-shin. How many generations removed are you from the Jeong Family’s main line? You must understand Master Jeong deeply.”

“Well, it’s kind of...”

A faint, uncertain smile flickered across Shin So-bin’s lips.

Was it because she thought her own accomplishment was insignificant—or perhaps it was something more personal, something shy and hidden?

But Myeongyeo saw through it instantly.

He was an eunuch, after all. Skilled in all manner of deception and subtlety.

He could guess—it was the latter.

This disciple... reminds me of Master Jeong when I first met him. Everyone here is a monster.

Even if Jeong Yeon-shin were to die while striking at the Gates and vanish from this world, the legacy of Ipwang Fortress would remain.

He’d picked the right side.

“I wonder when the Grand Commander will finish cleaning up and come back up. There are corpses all over the mountainside.”

The girl spoke of grotesque things as if they were nothing.

That, too, reminded Myeongyeo of Seomye, the Bright Wing Lord of Ma Gwang-ik.

A type of person to avoid.

Myeongyeo turned to Shin Hwang.

“Master Shin.”

“Master Myeong.”

“You’ve achieved something truly great. Slaying a Six Star Lord is no small feat...”

“In the end, it was a joint effort. The apostate monk from Shaolin played a major role.”

“Well, what does it matter? Your name has long been spoken with awe, and this deed will surely count when choosing the next Divine Sword Corps Leader.”

The next leader of the Divine Sword Corps.

“...!”

A statement bound to cause ripples. Perhaps across the entire world.

Not only did Shin Hwang’s eyes twitch, but reactions stirred all around—Hyeon Won-chang, Shin So-bin, even nearby Shaolin monks.

Naturally so.

From now on, Jeong Yeon-shin would roam only the highest peaks of the martial world.

And someone would have to take over the role he’d once held.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s divine sword—an already unparalleled master, or someone only a step away from reaching that height.

But who could it be?

There must be many worthy candidates.

Then Shin Hwang’s voice dropped like a boulder.

“...We’ve heard the imperial decree too. But as for the ‘new Divine Sword Corps Leader,’ Master Jeong has said nothing. It’s not your place to speak of it first.”

“Oh dear.”

Myeongyeo immediately acknowledged his own recklessness.

He brought his hands together and bowed.

“I got too excited—not very eunuch-like of me... But in apology, I do have something important to share. It concerns a man from the Haomun. He may have personal ties to Master Jeong. He risked his life to deliver imperial orders.”

“Haomun? That would be one of the God of War’s informants.”

“Please follow me. He shouldn’t be far.”

"Step forward."

Everything unfolded as naturally as flowing water. The reason the eunuch was able to guide Shin Hwang to Jang Sun-il with such smooth speech—and why Hyeon Won-chang and Shin So-bin could approach Jeong Yeon-shin without hesitation—was the same.

They were standing in the very center of the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation.

It felt as if an enormous Buddha loomed over the temple from the heights of Mount Song. There was no pressure—but no one could act carelessly either. The monks of Shaolin held such overwhelming force, their combined might could fall like the Buddha's palm at any moment.

It was the same when Hyeon Won-chang and Shin So-bin passed by the top warriors /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ of Cheonhamok—the Sixteen Wooden Shadows—as well as Wi Yeon.

"Master Jeong, could you freeze this for me?"

Hyeon Won-chang handed Jeong Yeon-shin a long bundle of cloth. Something wrapped tightly. The sharp stench of blood seeped out.

"You studied the secrets of ice techniques, didn’t you? Thought you might fix the damage caused by that damn Yang Guifei."

“...An arm.”

The moment Jeong Yeon-shin grasped it, he murmured. The familiar tension was unmistakable.

"So-bin’s...?"

"A Master should know his disciple. Mun gok almost crushed her with that massive hammer, so I cut it off first. Had to—she was right next to me. This demon blade made it possible... Anyway, you should’ve seen how that bastard got torn apart by Baekbo Divine Fist after missing his swing. Splendid."

Hyeon Won-chang chuckled as he caressed the hilt at his waist.

Jeong Yeon-shin let out a short, surprised laugh and then, with a focused breath, froze the turbulent internal energy in his palm. The qi of nature stilled at his will.

Crk—

Frost formed on the bundle of clothes.

It froze instantly. It was the same method he once tested on Tae Yeom-ryong’s famed bloodline.

— A fine massage, huh? You’ve got quite the touch, My Lord.

The one who'd earned beatings that way. It hadn’t produced much then, but now it came in handy.

Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at Shin So-bin. Her cheeks were flushed. Steam rose from the bloodstains covering her body—it was clearly the leftover heat of Jonggeuk Thunder.

"It doesn’t hurt?"

"Not really? I’m way too excited right now. I mean, when else would I get to smash the Six Original Star Lords? It’s not like Uncle Mun Gok’s gonna take hits for me again."

"It should hurt quite a bit."

"But it doesn’t...?"

There were those silently watching the scene: The God of War, Mun Gok, Manhwi, and Wi Yeon. Each was lost in thought—impossible to read.

Especially Manhwi, still standing near Jeong Yeon-shin. His face lacked even a trace of expression, as if all feeling had vanished.

Suddenly, Hyeon Won-chang laid a hand on his shoulder—

Then slammed a kick into Mun Gok’s temple. A clean strike like a drumbeat, full of emotion—as if he’d faced death countless times.

And all of it in front of the God of War.

"Seems you had a grudge against this monster. Don’t be too upset. Your hand played a big part in ending him."

"...?"

Beneath the conical hat, Manhwi’s jaw twitched. It was the movement of someone addressing a madman.

Though everything was settled, chaos still reigned. Some needed to leave.

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke to the God of War and Wi Yeon.

"Leave. Now."

He knew why they remained. The God of War clung to unfinished regrets. Wi Yeon still calculated. Each had business—regarding Mun Gok and the Divine Sword Corps.

[I’ll disappear soon anyway. My true body is too far away.]

The God of War’s voice, now half-faded. Jeong Yeon-shin responded.

"You seem relaxed. I guess you got stranded alone?"

[That’s right. Once I kill the previous Ipwang Fortress Lord, that bastard’s next. I always figured I’d need to crush his skull.]

He gestured at Manhwi with his chin. The man showed no reaction. Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t care. It was his life.

"The Grand Commander received word. You captured the Lord of Seonmok Ridge?"

[Only three.]

"What?"

[In the place where we felled the tree with legs, we planted saplings that can grow into heirs. A last bastion to remain after our meaningless deaths.]

"You mean the noble bloodlines?"

[That old woman. Your master. And the Lord of Seonmok Ridge. Two will die—so the Seonmok Lord must be protected. She’s imprisoned underground.]

The God of War looked... bored. A face never seen before on the God of Battle. Maybe it was Mun Gok’s death.

[If we meet again, don’t stand in my way.]

Suddenly, his earthen form crumbled. The figure of the God of War was gone.

At the same time, Wi Yeon opened her mouth.

"The Four Great Guardians, the Three Grand Generals, the Imperial Triumvirate, your master the Emperor of Chaos, and the unified clan elites... They are the ones you will face. Can you handle it?"

Her voice grated like bark rubbed together.

Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head ever so slightly.

"I’ll ask once, and only once."

He calmly asked back:

"What is your purpose? You and Cheonhamok?"

"A slow death," said Wi Yeon.

Before he could even narrow his eyes, her low voice continued:

"Doors don’t just open in the Central Plains. They exist in remote valleys across the world. The martial realm—so obsessed with competition—won’t be persuaded by someone like you. Think of those swayed by fame and grudges, who eventually became part of the Tyrant-Seven."

"......"

"The fall of the world is inevitable. Only the Root can delay it. That is my modest insight, earned from years of managing affairs of state. Once more, I urge you—join our order. The world needs unification."

"And if I’m right, and you’re wasting my time?"

"If we’re wrong, we’ll pay dearly. We’re prepared to fall to the lowest ranks, to abandon the dignity of our clan. Whatever the cost, we’ll accept it."

"That’s the problem."

"What?"

"You policy-makers cause devastation across the world... And when things go wrong, all you offer is a personal price. Even now—you listen to a doctrine of enlightenment, but never ask the secrets of the art itself."

"......"

Jeong Yeon-shin continued in a quiet tone.

"Your will is weak. Less than a common foot soldier."

Wi Yeon’s wrinkled lips moved no more.

The warriors of the Sixteen Wooden Shadows who carried her palanquin began to scatter like wood shavings.

"One last thing."

Suddenly, fire surged in Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice.

"You asked if I could face you all. Here is my answer."

"A noble madness. Dazzling... and pitiful,"

Wi Yeon said softly as she vanished into thin air.

And Jeong Yeon-shin growled each word:

"You will be annihilated. Every last one of you."

***

A brilliant white flame erupted, engulfing the black palace of the Demon Realm.

It roared toward the sky, the smell of burnt Yang Guifei flesh swirling violently around the light-and-shadow-washed citadel.

At the core of the Bloodflame Cult, a supreme master clad in a red blood robe was holding a wedding ceremony with someone.

The once-empty sleeve now revealed the contour of a wrist.

And deep within the dungeons of Ipwang Fortress, where darkness lay thickest, a girl sat in silence—gently stroking the shaft of a spear laid across her thighs.