The perspective had shifted.

That was the first thing Jeong Yeon-shin felt the moment he sat on the Seat of the Grand Mentor.

Though he simply stared forward in silence, the figures seated on either side of him obscured his view like walls.

To his right sat Shin Byeok and the other members of the Elder Council. To his left were senior members of the subordinate clans, including Ma Jin and Shin Seol-ha.

Fewer than ten on each side.

That was because not everyone had arrived. Most of the Elder Council’s forces were stationed near the Mun Gate of Muchang Province in the land of Hokwang.

Families like the Ipwang Haho Clan and the Ipwang Un Clan were still engaged in searching for their scattered kin after the chaos caused by the Seven Tyrant Kings.

Opposite Jeong Yeon-shin, many seats were also empty. Of the seventeen high seats, only five were currently occupied—those who had already chosen to follow the newly appointed Ipwang Fortress Lord.

Namgung Hwa-shin of Suncheon Ik-ju. Hyeon Won-chang, the acting Blood Guardian Lord. Wi Ji-geuk, Lord of the Heavenly Dragon Corps. Shin Hwang, Lord of the Myeolseom Division. And Yun So-yu, Lord of the Law Decree Division, whose back emitted faint martial energy as though straining just to sit upright.

‘You really came...’

Yun So-yu’s pale, sweat-drenched face lingered in Jeong Yeon-shin’s vision like a thorn. It seemed she'd prepared herself the moment he visited the Shin-ui Pavilion.

The pressure only increased.

Even so...

The figures surrounding him were like a perfectly constructed fence. Veteran masters of the martial world, each with decades of experience, sat calmly like loyal vassals.

This was not a sight permitted to any ordinary warrior.

There would be no more moments where the view opened wide to both sides. Not unless he someday stepped down from the Seat of the Fortress Lord, washed in gold and dust.

Then—

“There are those who find the fences of their own house suffocating. Men of ordinary nature, born of noble blood by some divine luck, sitting in places far beyond their worth.”

The man with gray-white hair spoke slowly. He was seated beyond Jeong Yeon-shin’s line of sight, directly opposite him. His tone was indifferent, almost bored.

A faded king.

“But you are not like them.”

The corners of the man’s mouth curled slightly into a smile. That thin curve of his lips—oddly—held a hint of satisfaction.

“It seems you've found your true home. A fruit born of turbulent times.”

The moment he uttered those cryptic words, silence fell over the hall. The space around him flickered with light, then dimmed again—like the glow of a lantern at midnight, brightening momentarily before turning into a murky cascade.

“...What a sanctimonious bastard...?”

Hyeon Won-chang muttered under his breath, throwing his head back in disdain.

He wasn't the only one reacting. Shin Hwang and Wi Ji-geuk were both watching the gray-haired man silently over their shoulders.

“Should I kill him?”

Wi Ji-geuk asked Jeong Yeon-shin directly.

His speech had subtly shifted into respectful form. Such was the custom in Ipwang Fortress.Jeong Yeon-shin merely raised his hand from the armrest—just slightly—and at that gesture, the sharp gleam of white light that had shimmered like a blade along Wi Ji-geuk’s jaw faded from sight.

Even Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol, whose ankle had been subtly restrained by a hidden cord, shifted to clasp his hands behind his back.

Meanwhile, Jeong Yeon-shin met the eyes of the gray-haired man.

At that moment, intelligence reports from Ki Dae-seung of the Central Bureau continued to echo in his ears—urgent whispers fed directly through their mental transmission technique.

—“This was newly uncovered beneath the Central Bureau.  It states he once controlled seventy-two swords through Sword Command Technique. Moreover, this next detail should be known only to you, Fortress Lord: He was once betrothed to the previous Fortress Lord. The marriage never happened, but he had enough influence to sway the Fortress’s founding factions...”

It felt as though the gray-haired man—this “faded king”—could hear the report himself. Even in that fleeting moment, his eyes curved subtly into a smile.

His pupils resembled ground, aged grain.

That was what gave them their ashen hue.

There was no specific eye technique in play, and yet he exuded an aura of dread. A rootless foreboding. Even for Jeong Yeon-shin—acknowledged contender for the peak of the martial world—it was unmistakable.

There was only one possible reason:

"A man capable of harming me."

Jeong Yeon-shin understood Sword Command Techniques. With just one blade, it could replicate the might of a battlefield weapon. If seventy-two swords fell under this man’s command... they’d descend like meteors.

After watching him for a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin finally spoke.

“I’ve faced the Eightfold Divine Art of Yeongcheon Sword Demon. You’re the one who created it, aren’t you?”

“So what if I did?”

The faded king responded casually.

Jeong Yeon-shin replied in an even calmer tone.

“The Mind-Controlled Sword is fast—but does it still work after its wielder dies?”

Beside the gray-haired man, the woman who’d been staring intently at Jeong Yeon-shin flinched. She was Baek Seo-goon, the current Sword Lord. Yet in that moment, she looked more like someone recalling Jeong Ban-ak, head of the Jeong Family, not Jeong Yeon-shin.

She immediately masked her face with a blank expression.

But Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t return her gaze. In his memory, the Fortress Lord only ever spoke to the enemy’s leader.

The faded king smiled once again.

“You really are alike.”

He said.

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly in return.

“So you were her disciple after all. You resemble her.”

“Hm?”

“You look at me—but you're seeing someone else. You're all the same. So very tiresome.”

A soft exhale echoed from the seats of the Divine Sword Corps. Namgung Hwa-shin, still slumped as if asleep, had breathed out through her nose. Beside her, Hyeon Won-chang tilted his head, wondering if it was flattery.

“You lot have gathered a council that rivals the Martial Alliance... yet act like a family. It’s enviable. Almost fascinating.”

The faded king continued.

“I heard rumors about your entrance into the True Gate. Are they true?”

Jeong Yeon-shin responded with a calm expression.

“They are.”

“...So it was true. Then that would make your sword strike the greatest in all of Jianghu. It will have far more impact than even your rise to Fortress Lord. You’ve surpassed even Jang Sambong—who disappeared after meddling with the World Tree’s root node. Which means you are the Greatest Sword of All Time.”

His voice carried a steady, melodic cadence—like an old melody whispered across ages. The peculiar tone of an ancient noble house. The insight of a transcendent, long-lived king. Now Jeong Yeon-shin understood why even figures like the Lord of Murong Sect would accompany him.

Yet he only offered a faint smile.

“You know nothing.”

“...Bold words. Even Jang Sambong never spoke to me like that.”

“Do you know why he entered the World Tree’s root? Do you know what happened there?”

“......”

“How many so-called ‘peerless masters’ would willingly stand at the gate, prepared to die?”

After saying that, Jeong Yeon-shin leaned back in his chair, just slightly.

His chin tilted upward, like the tip of a sword pointed toward the three across from him:

The faded king.

Baek Seo-goon.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol.

His obsidian-black eyes glared down at them.

“You people... are my burden.”

He said.

A thick silence fell.

Even without spiritual perception, it was clear: Everyone in the room was projecting his master’s image onto Jeong Yeon-shin.

He, too, recalled the moment they first met—his master’s eyes, which had seemed to suck in his very soul.

“Is that how I look now?”

At that moment, Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol still hadn't looked at Jeong Yeon-shin. He gazed silently into the distance, like a man admiring mountain winds and water.

Then Jeong Yeon-shin asked:

“Lord of Murong... Why are you here?”

“...Come now. I, too, am the head of a sect, so do show at least the minimum courtesy. And if possible, inform me of Yong Ga’s whereabouts. I’m asking nicely, as you can see.”

At that moment, a vast shadow fell over them.

Mun Gok leaned in close to whisper into Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol’s ear. His hunched form, hands clasped behind his back, mouthed words softly.

Mencius once said—

“‘To speak without decorum is self-abandonment, and to live without purpose is self-neglect.’ Then he strung those two together. Isn’t that just exquisite?”

Veins popped across Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol’s bare arms beneath his sleeveless monk’s robes.

This wasn’t just another encounter. If this was the same Gongwolmu who once nearly tore the upper body off the God of War himself, he could well deliver a fatal blow in the blink of an eye.

“Hmph.”

Yet, in the end, he consciously relaxed every tendon in his arms.

It was the right decision. The pressure now blanketing the central martial hall wasn’t emanating from just one or two powerful individuals.

Mun Gok straightened his spine with a light smile—and there were many more figures besides him.

The faded king, glancing around at the silent assembly, finally opened his mouth.

“To ask a supreme master to die by their own hand... is that what this so-called inquiry amounts to? A ritual of dying with one's gate? A master, mad with martial devotion, who clings to life more than anyone else... You've given me a fine answer.”

“That’s why the accused were made to stand until now.”

“You mean to make us ponder what might drive us to kill ourselves?”

The gray-haired man smiled faintly as he spoke, but Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head and replied flatly.

“I’m considering how best to coerce you. I don’t trust you.”

“The Imperial Sect would have no choice. Their distrust of martial artists runs deep—has ever since the Yuan dynasty.”

“I make this clear, not as an insult, but are your parents still alive?”

The faded king’s posture—hands behind his back—fell away like petals in spring wind.

“...What?”

“It seems your supposed heir, the Sword Lord, means nothing to you. Do you have no other blood relatives? No one akin to kin? The nature of one’s true self can protect such ties.”

His tone was calm, like a still lake. Not quite a threat.

At that moment, Commander Im Jin-myeong, standing near, sent a mental transmission.

—To the current Fortress Lord: If you're looking for potential hostages, it’s likely that Hwayeonbi, the last disciple of the Murong Sect Lord, survived the events at Ipwang Hall. Shall I track her down if you so command?

—Bring in anyone you can find. Treat them with dignity.

—We already treat both the current and former Fortress Lords with the utmost respect.

As if he had heard that exchange directly, the faded king muttered under his breath.

“Is this the Demonic Sect?”

Jeong Yeon-shin lightly tapped the armrest of the Grand Mentor’s chair.

He had assumed the position of Fortress Lord—and now had no choice but to handle matters of the world, not as a mere warrior, but as a ruler.

“You are all standing in the very center of the world’s affairs. It is because I’m discussing your next moves.”

So spoke the current Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

And so it was.

Hyeok Ryeon Pungwol now looked at Jeong Yeon-shin as though seeing something beyond even the Phantom Demon King. But Jeong Yeon-shin remained unfazed. This was merely the truth. The Fortress Lord was the direct superior of the Dan Lords.

The faded king smirked ambiguously.

“You're a king far too unbending. To distrust and look down on men so—how can you ever find allies? Even the Mount Wudang faction here in Hokwang is tied up, aren't they? Despite the bond you share with Jang Sambong’s successors.”

“I merely don’t trust heretics. They’re no different than the rabble who once ran amok in my house.”

“Well... A gentleman in troubled times can make a companion of even a murderer on a mountain path. He learns to read mountain trails from frequent escapes, to find edible weeds amid famine—and if lucky, even leads a bandit to mutual destruction. Surely you've done things like that too. I’ve heard the Shin Sword Corps commander had his own personal collection of prisoners.”

“That was only while they remained in my grip. They’ve since gone on to live their own lives.”

One can never know how a person’s life will turn out. One must not speak in absolutes.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly rose from his seat.

He hadn’t even fully stood when every person present rose with him.

Even those with damaged meridians joined the standing gesture.

The ground itself trembled as countless strands of martial energy tangled like misty threads, shaking the marble floor with a thunderous BOOM—

Even Namgung Hwa-shin’s body was lifted briefly off the ground.

“This concludes my answers to your questions. Now begins the inquiry. The Elder Council, the subordinate clans, and the Divine Sword Corps shall each uphold your true natures.”

At Jeong Yeon-shin’s command, the air quivered—

Then layers of translucent energy curtains sprang up, spreading into the sky like veils.

Kuguguguguguung—!

Hundreds of layers.

The shadow cast by the faded king vanished entirely.

The prison-like gloom that had previously filled the chamber was now repainted by a deeper darkness.

And yet, none of the guests entered a stance of battle.

Everyone engaged Jeong Yeon-shin in a seamless exchange of questions and answers.

Whether they spoke softly like the faded king, Or whether they now lay prostrate like Gun Yu-rin, flattened as if Shin So-bin’s cushion.

For a very long time.

Until the current Lord of Ipwang Fortress was satisfied.

*** 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

“He’s likely Fortress Lord by now. Seomye is our greatest threat.”

A cracked old woman’s voice resounded.

“I’ve confirmed that we cannot coexist. The inquiry was real.”

It was a forest of full bloom. A brilliant landscape of fantastical flora spread out like flowing silk. Some branches even bore unripe figs—early for the season, as though time itself had shifted forward.

Saaaaa—

Two shadows swelled and rippled like clouds across the earth. One of an old woman, the other a weathered Daoist.

The latter spoke.

“So... the Seomye elite lost to the Stone Blade Division Lord.”

“...You could say that.”

“A shame.”

“If you had come with me, things might’ve been different. A sect leader of Wudang should be more than just a senile old man.”

“Bin Go protects the Root; the Root governs the Gate of Wudang Mountain with no deviation. That was our pact. Don't you dare break it. I’m no Yong Ga Hwi-myeong dragged to Ipwang Fortress by Ma Yeon-jeok’s deception. You pitiful boy.”

“Try to understand. Controlling the Three Great Protectors of the Imperial Court is no easy feat. Geumbyeokja is a constant headache, and Chi Cheon Gungbaek has no interest in internal affairs. Thankfully, the Third General has returned.”

“What about Whistle Lord and the Muck Dagger Wielder? And Gwonhu, struck on the head by the Yong Ga boy’s sword? Are they all in ruins after fighting the crippled war freak?”

“They were all pushed back by the joint assault of the Cheonreung Guest and Seomye. Whichever side regroups first will tip the balance. If Ipwang Fortress discovers the Root, we’re in trouble.”

“What’s there to fear in that wriggling worm of a tree? Wait—Cheonreung Guest? Cheonreung Guest...?”

“The one who killed Go Geom of Wudang.”

“That bastard deserves to be torn into a thousand pieces by the Songmun Blade! Where the hell did he crawl off to...?”

Fwip!

The shadows across the field twisted violently. Though formed only by sunlight and treetops, they warped. The old Daoist’s sword shadow began to distort—an omen of Wudang’s Tai Chi Insightful Sword, capable of twisting even natural law.

The old woman chuckled softly.

“Zhenren Hyun Gong. I was just about to take a stroll across the Central Plains. If I ask the Wind King about the Cheonreung Guest’s whereabouts... Then in return, promise me this: Once. Just once—you’ll act in accordance with the Root’s will.”

“I already do, you withered old stump.”

“Swear it.”

“...I swear.”

The old Daoist raised his pinky.

The old woman’s shadow flicked his finger lightly.

“I inscribed my wish onto the Child’s Dream Sword long ago.”

Swish!

The nearby field collapsed flat as if inkstones had been dropped from the sky.

Spring wind began to write.

Carrying the spirit of Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon, the wind traced out a report—just as she once composed them herself. This, too, was a kind of Wonyoungshin—an emanation of will.

“How could I not keep such a threat beneath my eyes? One must observe him forever—like a martial name registry of Jianghu.”

The King of Wind’s skill, honed to deflect even the God of War’s Whirling Wind Hollow, demanded almost no °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° internal energy.

Without laying eyes directly upon the Central Plains, she could still read it all.

Light green waves rippled across the grass.

The writing was complete.

The script was jagged, like a child just learning the Thousand Character Classic. The phrasing, too, was crude—meant to be interpreted by Wi Yeon.

<Wudang Mountain. Man Hwi... the Gate... gone.>

The two shadows froze.

Only after a moment did the old woman murmur, confused:

“...Without even a binding suffix...?”

Another phrase was etched without feeling.

<As prey of space, all perished. One sword remains on the ground.>

The spring wind stilled. The field moved no more.

Only the old voice creaked out, restrained:

“Seomye’s elite... He turns any blade into his own. The Stone Blade... is no metaphor. And what am I supposed to do?”

“Hyun Gong. Stay still.”

“I’m canceling the deployment. I must leave this place.”