Blood, having streamed down along the halberd, formed a vivid crimson pool. The violent surge of internal # Nоvеlight # energy boiled as it corroded the pale white marble floor beneath it.

White smoke began to rise.

A corpse, skewered by a spear, seemed trapped within the dust of the martial world—like every warrior who had ever been caught in the inescapable snare of spears and blades.

“......”

The middle-aged man who met his end in that final moment—his eyes, locked in a lifeless, colorless gleam, looked as though they would remain that way for eternity. As if a statue, not a man, had died.

Even from beneath the duel stage, his lifeless form could be seen.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol looked up at Gun Wi-hu and let out a dry laugh. Having witnessed such a ludicrous scene, he could only laugh at the absurdity.

“...The martial world may be filled with swords and forests, but I never thought you'd go out like this, Brother Gun. Without even unleashing that so-called Gongwolmu of yours.”

The other Thirteen Lords present here were no rootless wanderers like Wollyo, the Lord of Shinyogwangjeok Gate. They had reigned as overlords of the unorthodox paths long before the great famine descended.

Among them, the leader of Simmuryun, Gun Wi-hu, was exceptional.

He had survived clashes against the Northern Kings and earned the title "Military King Martial Emperor". That name, though somewhat embellished due to the faded glory of the Military King, now hardly suited Gun Wi-hu. He was no longer a king, much less an emperor.

“Well, I hear they call the Northern God of War the Martial Emperor now... You had everything, Brother Gun, and you lost it all.”

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol spoke with a calm kind of mourning. Then, like someone commenting on a stranger’s death, he murmured as if to himself—how did it come to this?

A voice rose from beneath the duel stage, almost in answer.

“Master... Master...”

Gun Yu-rin, clutching the corpse of the Light Blade Sovereign Geum Min, muttered to herself with a choked voice. She had pressed her forehead not against her father’s corpse, but against her master’s. A scene made possible only because the faded Military King had drawn Geum Min’s body to her with the Void-Grasping Technique.

By contrast, the Sword Sovereign Baek Seo-goon looked directly at Gun Wi-hu’s corpse—but in her eyes, there was no trace of the Simmuryun leader. Only a fence of spears and men remained.

Gun Yu-rin and Baek Seo-goon were both outside that fence.

The ambitious heir of Simmuryun found herself beside her fallen master; the mad Sword Sovereign, trapped within memories of Jeong Ban-ak.

The faded Military King chuckled.

“How can one call himself head of a faction when he's become a thorn in the side of his own subordinates? This is what comes of valuing one’s life more than martial cultivation.”

“He’s dead, you know.”

“It's the fate of powerful men in troubled times. Those who possess much, lose much.”

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol tilted his head and asked:

“Didn’t you yourself come back alive after being utterly crushed by the Lord of Ipwang Fortress?”

“In exchange, I lost golden years of my life. Now, the only one who truly knows me is that same Lord of Ipwang. That’s why I’ve come here.”

“And how does that make Ipwang Fortress the right place to return to? Didn’t you come solely to retrieve Shin-ui? Even the Grand Empress Dowager—Fenghou Wi Yeon—knows you better than anyone. None of this adds up.”

The faded Military King smiled faintly and replied:

“To settle old grudges. You, unlike me, know nothing.”

“If you're so wise, Senior, then surely you can see through that spear phantom’s martial art?”

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol gestured toward the center of the duel stage.

There stood a woman, exhaling a pale breath before the corpse of the Simmuryun leader she had slain.

Haaa.

Her breath scattered like white blossoms that had failed to bloom in early spring.

Any master with a properly refined Divine Core would feel a chill down their spine witnessing her internal breath technique. Each exhalation of hers worked to suppress deep internal injuries.

No one could remain perfectly unscathed after slaying an absolute master like the Simmuryun Lord. Yet, she resembled Zhang Fei wielding his serpent spear with unmatched might.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol slowly shook his head.

“Seomye Mu Maek... so it was her.”

His muttering didn’t reach Mongbi Ak Su-rim. She merely grasped the spear embedded in the Simmuryun Lord’s chest—the same spear that had flown to her hand like a sword to its master—and pulled it free.

Chuk.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol silently watched that dreadful yet mesmerizing act.

It wasn’t a sword-command technique.

He could feel it with his martial sense. It had only seemed like Void-Grasping—just a single, incredibly fast motion. Nothing more. Just a basic operation of internal energy.

“Basic technique... truly, just basic technique...”

His voice barely audible, Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol suddenly felt a wave of discomfort.

Murong Association.

A sect formed by masters who sought to create the greatest martial technique in all the world. Each had forsaken their sect’s approval to share insights freely, like scholars pursuing a unified discipline. That made them heretics.

Out of that violation of Jianghu's taboos emerged the divine technique: Great Sun’s Void-Warding Force.

Now, even that martial art might be overshadowed by Mongbi’s very existence. It begged the question: was all that defiance worth it?

“...Maybe I should use my martial sense to search for Shin-ui. He seems to be hiding within a formation, but I ought to show my face to Elder Nangseong at least.”

At the same time, Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol slowly turned his body. If he locked eyes with Mongbi, he’d be tempted to step onto the duel stage himself. That mustn’t happen. The Great Sun’s Void-Warding Force wasn’t his alone.

To see something to the end, one must first survive it.

With that, Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol calmly said to the faded Military King:

“Let me indulge in a monologue then. That senior is a member of the Ak Clan, who hails from Shandong though her main registry lies in Hanam. Her name is Su-rim; courtesy name Mongbi. She’s a monster who held the position of Sub-Leader of the Divine Sword Corps for decades with half-mad spearplay. Her foundation in the basic techniques is so deep it borders on grotesque. As you’ve seen, she can express the quintessence of spearmanship even through her fists and legs.”

A scholar who practiced brushstrokes his entire life may not produce beautiful writing—but even so, his characters hold a certain grace.

Even if he never passed the civil exam, time eventually repays the effort. That’s life—and martial arts are no different.

The greatest realms go further still.

They pierce through the essence of living itself.

“She dreams of becoming the next Yue Fei, the Spear Saint of all ages. Hence... Mongbi.”

A smile as deep as an ink wash painting spread across the faded Military King’s face as he sat carelessly on the edge of the duel stage. He looked up to find Mongbi standing right before him.

“The name suits her.”

“......”

“No reply? I suppose the energies in this formation have moved beyond balance.”

Only those whose Dynamic Qi had reached its apex could hold a conversation amid the Grand Celestial Circulation. If one like Mongbi kept silent with her lips pressed tight, it was likely she was investing all her mental energy in maintaining her internal flow.

“I know how difficult it is to wield multiple types of qi as if they were your own. I imagine you’ve succeeded only because you’ve come to understand all those who’ve lived on this land of Ipwang Fortress. Still... this power seems unlikely to last past a few more hours. And yet, the feats you've accomplished already are far beyond what one person could do alone.”

The faded Military King spoke as though he saw straight through everything, humming his words like a quiet melody.

“And now you’re restoring the true energy of your original body, drained from your recent transformation—through that wondrous Dynamic Qi circulation of yours.”

Still with that singing tone.

Mongbi’s lips trembled slightly, as if about to form a smirk. A smile might’ve appeared if her muscles moved properly—but her expressions were almost too faint to read.

The faded Military King chuckled and offered an assessment.

“You focus on recovery even before me—such seasoned prudence. You're like a diamond forged by time. Truly, you embody Tenfold Grace and Perfection.”

He made no effort to conceal his admiration.

Calm, composed, and utterly frank in every word. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

And perhaps Mongbi was the same in nature—for suddenly, she sat in full lotus before him, face to face.

Thud.

The hem of her fitted robes swept the floor as her sleek frame settled into place. She laid the long spear across both thighs in a single motion.

An almost unbelievable display of composure.

They now sat directly opposite each other, poised in silent confrontation. The faded Military King let out a hollow laugh.

“Trying to kill me before the formation’s power runs out, are you? So you sit right in front of me, restoring your strength while keeping your strike within reach.”

Restraint, entrapment, recovery—all three in one.

A mindset possible only to someone who had grasped the ultimate secrets of Dynamic Qi.

She was likely trusting that Jeong Yeon-shin would return soon.

For the first time, the faded Military King repeated the words of Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol.

"Seomye Mu Maek, is it..."

Mongbi, seated across from him, had already closed her eyes by then.

Even through her tightly shut lashes, a razor-sharp aura clung to her like the edge of a sacred blade. The pressure radiating from her entire body—pure internal energy from a master of the fundamentals—was truly overwhelming. Though her frame, seated cross-legged, was thin enough to suggest long deprivation, she was like a fortress in stillness.

The Faded Military King offered a faint smile. That was all.

"I’ve just recently heard an interesting rumor. That you’re the one who possesses Mongbi, a disciple of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, and perhaps even the man who completed the Gate-Splitting. Anyone who dares speak of ruling the world would do well to meet you at least once."

Other than the slow, rhythmic speech, there was no movement. He had no intention of leaving. Naturally, his disciple Baek Seo-goon stood quietly nearby as well.

The stench of blood grew heavier.

***

Ju Yeon-jeong was watching those cursed figures from a distance. In her ear, a whisper-transmission from General Command’s Gi Dae-seung entered.

—The Faded Military King. He’s the one who once stopped a celestial catastrophe caused by the Dark Heaven Emperor and the Shadow Dragon, alone, in old Sinyahyeon.

—I know. Tell me something that matters.

—Not the current Lord, but the previous Ipwang Fortress Lord’s parents were slain by a technique he used. The one thing to be wary of is his long-range sword command. It’s derived from the “Single Thread Piercing Cloud Sword,” a branch of the Eightfold Divine Technique—the source of the Sword Sovereign’s martial path. There are records that the Ten Ri One Kill technique from the Dark Night Battle was modeled on this form. It slices through clouds and mimics the soul-calling mysteries of the Heaven Tree Bow Method...

—Hit Suncheon Ik-ju in the head once and make him look this way. Keep your hand on your sword.

—Yes, ma’am.

At Ju Yeon-jeong’s signal, the Ma Clan members began to move.

Long and short iron rods and broad silken banners were assembled around the duel stage. The sound of stakes being hammered into the ground echoed suddenly. It was unclear whether they were preparing for a new enthronement or reinforcing Ipwang Fortress’s Grand Formation.

Far away, a similar clatter echoed like a mirrored response—Shin Seol-ha of the Ipwang Shin Clan was commanding her own people. It was all to buy more time for the Nine Palaces Sunset Fall Formation.

Ju Yeon-jeong tilted her head back and looked at the sky.

"...Twilight is falling."

Then she cast her gaze downward at the two figures seated at the edge of the stage—Mongbi and the Faded Military King. Her cold eyes then swept over Gun Yu-rin, Baek Seo-goon, and Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol.

Those who had come to steal Yeon-shin’s divine intent.

And yet, none of them made a move to interfere with the strengthening of the formation. They remained shamelessly, eerily calm.

Naturally.

Suddenly, a black-robed man stepped in to block their escape. One of his sleeves hung limp—Ma Jin, the Lord of the Ma Clan.

His twisted lips moved.

"Uninvited guests should at least face the master of the house. Sit tight and wait."

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol tilted his head with a grin.

"Naraksal, so it’s true—you lost your martial prosthetic to the Sword King. And yet, you dare act so boldly now? You’d be one of the Black-Robed Three Weaknesses at this point."

"Don’t raise your voice. If your spit lands this way, I might catch your mongrel arrogance."

"Hah. Your true protection isn’t your strength, it’s your blood relation to Gwangya Ilmyeol. Unlike that sword-obsessed sovereign of Simmuryun, I have no leash. So save the bravado for someone else."

If more of Ipwang Fortress’s remaining masters kept appearing one by one, this would turn into a real nuisance. Better to move directly and search for Shin-ui.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol leapt into the air.

At the same time, a radiant rope shot through the sky and wound around his leg. The recoil alone split the air like a thunderous whip.

A chilling wave of murderous intent.

For a moment, it even carried the arid scent of the northern wilds. The aura of someone who had truly faced an unmatched martial master.

Soft Rope Snare...! Could it be Wi Ji-geuk of the Heavenly Dragon Corps?

The rope, faster than any Lightening Step technique, slammed him to the ground like a meteor.

BOOM!

Dust exploded in every direction, muddying the air in a stormy blur.

Yet in the middle of it, Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol landed firmly, upright. A feat worthy of one who contends for supremacy under heaven.

But he didn’t move again.

It was already too late. He had stalled too long.

[Lower your voice.]

The words carried from afar.

A distinct sixfold resonance unique to the General Command—but it wasn’t Gi Dae-seung’s. The weight of it was different.

[Lower your voice.]

Anyone closely tied to Ipwang Fortress would recognize the voice instantly—Im Jin-myeong, Commander of the Imperial Swords.

All eyes turned skyward.

It was dusk.

From the shadowed northern sky, a flash of light burst forth. As the masters’ senses detected it, the light rapidly grew.

A trail of brilliance carved through the heavens, filling the air with soft starlight. A propulsion path made by Void-Stepping through the air. It looked as if a giant page of celestial calligraphy was being turned.

[Bow your heads.]

In a blink, the soft starlight formed the shape of a human.

A young man flew through the air, holding a girl in his arms.

Im Jin-myeong’s voice, carried through sixfold resonance from the outskirts of Yangyang, was reverent and exacting.

[To the new Lord of Ipwang Fortress.]

It felt as though the enthronement had already begun.

Ma Se-in shivered as chills ran through his body—but a second later, confusion flickered across his face.

“...Huh?”

It wasn’t the central martial grounds.

Jeong Yeon-shin, having flown across the night sky like a comet, had not landed at the heart of the fortress—but instead crashed into a secluded area within it.

The very place the Faded Military King’s party had targeted from the beginning.

The roof of the VIP Pavilion assigned to Shin-ui—was now in ruins.