The words "I'm leaving"—

They heralded the approach of Wudang’s Supreme Tai Chi Sword.

In an instant, the sprawling underbrush, casting vast shadows across the forest, swept aside as if pushed by invisible hands. It came with the voice of an old daoist, weathered and low.

“So... Even I, a humble monk, feel deeply ashamed to remain here now.”

The source was a wrinkled hand resting on the hilt of the Songmun Ancient Sword. Around that hand, wind stirred in circles, soft and indistinct.

Fhwaak—

Two figures emerged beneath the crystalline sunlight. One was an elderly daoist with a lush white beard; the other, a tall old woman, gaunt as a withered tree.

Both bore names of considerable length.

The first: Wudang’s Head Master, Supreme Immortal Hyeon Gong.

The second: Matriarch of the Ming bloodline, Grand Empress Dowager Wi Yeon.

The latter spoke first, her tone archaic and scolding.

“Wasn’t Wudang’s symbol the pine and the cloud? Yet your vows vanish like mist, just as light. I never knew you were such a fickle man. I gravely misjudged you.”

“You senile hag. You never bound me by even a pinky swear,” replied Hyeon Gong without flinching.

From beneath his feet, translucent internal energy began to rise like a cloud.

This was the prelude to Wudang’s Cloud-Stepping Movement—a movement art named for its dreamlike grace, as if walking upon clouds. In truth, the energy radiating from Wudang’s sect master always rolled forth like dense mist.

Following Wi Yeon’s narrowed gaze, faint tendrils of wind shimmered like flame—she was clearly incensed. And yet Hyeon Gong’s glazed eyes, half-rolled back in his head, repelled even the oppressive aura of a founding grandmaster.

Wi Yeon said calmly:

“You intend to go to Hokwang Fortress, then. And you’ll join hands with the Jeong family.”

“Exactly. Well spoken. That Jeong boy—Seomye—he needs help.”

“Jeong family?” Wi Yeon repeated the name, eyes narrowing.

Hyeon Gong ignored her. What mattered now wasn’t whether the old daoist was senile or sharp—it was where the Wudang Head Master would go. The man and the position were one and the same, but the weight was not.

Wi Yeon knew that, too. No matter how often Hyeon Gong had used his fragile mind as a shield for refusal or discourtesy, it changed nothing.

“You said Jeong family?”

A pause.

“I meant Seomye.”

“What do you plan to do with the Sword Ghosts of Wudang?”

“They’ll be free. The vastness of Hokwang will fall under Seomye’s care. That province, with more cities than any other in the land, will bow like reeds before the Stone Blade Division. Just as it has for centuries.”

“You truly are drifting between sanity and madness. There’s a mania in your tone, in your very breath. But what I asked was about Wudang's future, once you loosen the reins yourself.”

“Loosen them? No...”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not me. The age itself has released the reins. And isn’t that why you, too, have abandoned the people and focused only on control?”

“You’re wrong. The true problem lies in ignorant men, trying to seize the World Tree before even forming a proper trunk. If you wish to preserve the root, it must be cut free of rot.”

“Still preaching that nonsense even after the Cataclysm?”

“If there are more so-called masters in the world than there are gates to the Western Regions... and if just as many of them are prepared to die by their own hand—then and only then will I admit I was wrong.”

Such is the way of seasoned rulers: even trivial admissions are dressed up in grandeur.

Wi Yeon continued slowly.

“But humans are incapable of such things. If mankind’s nature was truly upright and orderly, how do you explain that the Sword Mark of the Cataclysm was only discovered just now?”

She asked in her antique phrasing, and Hyeon Gong shook his head again.

“You must despise Mencius and worship Xunzi. Fitting for an old ruler. Then it seems there’s no point in further conversation.”

“You think you’ll be able to leave?”

“Judging by your remaining strength... yes, I think I can. The cost of fusing those three Royal Protectors into one must’ve been high.”

In an instant, Wi Yeon stepped forward with a footwork technique. Hyeon Gong mirrored her, retreating with equal speed. They both moved like gliding shadows, each standing atop the tip of a single blade of grass.

Hyeon Gong chuckled.

“How are the knees holding up? At your age, shouldn’t you be bathing in golden essence...”

Wi Yeon’s mouth moved. A whisper.

[Seize him.]

The forest roared like a plain as her voice thundered out with Sixfold Echo Resonance. The canopy buckled as Hyeon Gong surged forward.

Wudang’s Cloud-Stepping Movement carried him hundreds of paces in an instant—so fast the sound couldn’t keep up with the motion.

BOOM—!

He tore through the terrain, indifferent to the earth exploding behind him. The riches of this forest were not for the common folk. This was the very heart of Jianghu’s greatest mystery—

The World Tree’s Root.

Naturally, pursuit followed. The first came from impossibly high in the sky—just a blur, turning into a massive arrow that struck the ground beneath Hyeon Gong’s foot.

“...!”

The ground gave way. Dozens of feet deep, as if a meteor had struck. The thunder of the long-range strike launched him upward like a leaf caught in a blast.

KWAHHHH—!

In that one moment alone, the arrow of Chi Cheon-gung Baek challenged even the greatest of the land. Only techniques like the Pa Hwang Three Forms of the Sword Tyrant, or the drunken fists of the War God, could compare.

“Now that’s something...”

Splinters of trees and stone showered upward. Hyeon Gong silently used them like stepping stones and continued his advance. He moved as if in leisure—but each step covered immense distance.

He flew like a cloud swept up by a violent gale.

Around him, tendrils of cloudy wind fluttered like a fairy’s robes. The Supreme Sword Energy flowed from the still-sheathed Songmun Ancient Sword, distorting the air and forming a shield of internal force.

It was this mystery of the Tai Chi Sword that deflected the arrow. He had read its approach and, thanks to its distant origin, had time to react.

THOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM—!

Arrows rained down in a line, each one tearing into the earth along his path. The whole world blurred in a storm of pressure. The gusts grew stronger by the second, slicing into his protective qi and even ripping his robes apart.

And yet—

Even while being chased and under fire, the Wudang Head Master was unfazed.

As the wind grew red with the scent of blood, Hyeon Gong muttered to himself with a sigh of awe.

“So refreshing.”

A straight, forceful attack meant nothing to him.

Chi Cheon-gung Baek was death to most martial masters. But to the foremost heir of Sambong’s Wuji, she was merely... impressive.

Her arrows, though they rained like a storm, only served to enhance his rhythm. They slowed his escape—but that was all.

And even now—

TWANG—

He stepped lightly onto a descending arrow and vaulted upward, his footwork embodying gentle strength overcoming hardness.

The hazy horizon rapidly drew near.

That was when the arrows ceased—and suddenly, both sides of his vision filled with shields. Just as they moved to crush his temples, he unsheathed his sword upward.

CLANG—!

The brilliant white blade of the Songmun Ancient Sword cut skyward. The shields bore carvings of a white lion and a golden lion, but they were tiny—more toy than weapon. Blades jutted from their lower edges.

Beast Shields.

Rare indeed.

But Hyeon Gong’s eyes rose beyond them.

Above, a woman balanced upside down in mid-air, the beast shields locked onto her forearms like sleeves. Her weapon control was beyond skill—it was art.

Softly, Hyeon Gong called her name.

“Great General of the Moonfang.”

“The title of Great General... is not suited for a traitor like me.”

The woman spoke.

She wore light leather armor, and her face was covered in scars—Hyeon Gong knew most of them had been left by the Northern Kings of the Demonic Realm.

And she carried three shields:

A massive round rattan back-shield (deungpae) so large it could wrap her entire frame.

Two smaller ones—Beast Shields—on each arm, with blades affixed at the base.

Each came from a different region—one from the southern wilds, the other from the east.

Their wielder clearly cared little for formalities in combat.

“Not the Three-Fanged Great General, but rather... a martial wanderer who might commit treason at any moment. Yes, that sounds more fitting. Would you name me, Head Master?”

“Don’t waste my time.”

“Ah, Tayeon—Delaying. I like it. Thank you.”

She was a war-born monster. Even among warriors who lived by the sword, madness was common. Tayeon had survived battlefields filled with Yozoku warriors, Northern Kings, and even members of the Six Original Star Lords. No one stayed sane through that. Especially not after watching her own son’s spine shatter under the heel of Northern Jianghu.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t belittle the title. Few in the martial world actually live up to their names.”

Hyeon Gong shook his head, but Tayeon only smiled faintly while suspended midair.

“I didn’t even fulfill my role properly.”

“What about the other two? The Sunfang and Starfang?”

“They gave their blessing to let you pass.”

Tayeon stepped down opposite Hyeon Gong, one foot at a time. Her stride carried wildness—gone was the discipline of military formations. In its place, the refined, feral poise of a Yozoku warrior.

She parted her lips.

“Once, I let you go. I hope we never meet again—because next time, I won’t be able to send you off so gently.”

“You were disciples of old Wi Yeon, weren’t you?”

“We were her joint successors.”

Wi Yeon and Emperor Gunreung. The Three-Fanged Great Generals were their creation—living weapons formed to seal the Great Wall. Chosen from among the most exceptional warriors of the entire Ming Empire at its peak.

Tayeon was the widow of the Shinfang Great General, and the mother of a son once hailed as the strongest future general under Heaven. Both were torn apart alive—one by Mun Gok, the other by Bukdo. And the senile old man who had been denied even his revenge by the Demonic Sword Master had nothing left to say.

“...When chaos broke out at Stone Blade Fortress, weren’t your people the ones who made sure no one died? Have you considered rejoining the world outside the World Tree? If word spreads that you were falsely accused of being one of the Seven Apostates while searching for the Emperor, you’ll have men lined up by the cartload.”

There was so much more to say.

Tayeon smiled politely and trailed off.

“A husband? Fuck that...”

At the same moment, her arms blurred.

She stepped into close range, Cloud-Stepping Movement lifting her forward with a ghostly flash, as if a moon halo flickered through the sky. She ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ didn’t hesitate to enter striking distance.

Her punch came curved like a whip, the blade-tips of the Beast Shields arcing in a crescent.

CLAAANG—!

The Songmun Ancient Sword rotated like a trickster’s flourish, brushing the blades aside.

The air between them folded and snapped outward like white lightning. The aftershock of their clash.

It wasn’t over.

The move was a lethal art designed to kill in a single blow—a strike meant to sever the windpipe if it landed cleanly. A technique forged in direct combat with the Six Original Star Lords.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG—!

She showed no mercy. Military-born warriors never did. But Hyeon Gong was one of the Five Supreme Sword Saints—even weakened, he could handle Tayeon alone. It was everything else that concerned him.

RUMMMMMMBLE—!

The moment battle broke out, arrows rained down from the sky by the dozens.

Fine-tuned adjustments to Chi Cheon-gung Baek’s archery were now complete.

Hyeon Gong knew she wouldn't hit Tayeon even by accident. But the question remained—just how powerful was this trio when supporting each other? No one in history had matched Chi Cheon-gung Baek’s prowess in archery support techniques.

“So... this is a factional assault.”

Hyeon Gong murmured distantly.

The entire forest trembled like an earthquake.

More than one enemy. The strongest factions in the world were about to release their full might.

ZEEEEEEEENNNNG.

A bizarre vibration echoed from afar. It pressed against the skin with just sound alone—as if lightning had been brought down to earth.

“Geumbyeokja...!”

Tayeon cried out.

And at that very instant—

A humanoid lightning bolt shaped like rippling golden rings crashed forward, lifting a knee to strike just beneath Hyeon Gong’s chin.

Thunder God’s Strike—the natural enemy of all metal.

But Hyeon Gong did not block it with his sword. Instead, his palm—coated in the internal strength of the Wudang Cotton Palm—shielded his danjeon.

BOOM!

He was launched into the distance, no more than a dot on the horizon.

Bright golden sparks fanned out, scattering in arcs. The leaves that had been swirling around were now seared black.

KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA—!

The arrows now fell uselessly where his head had just been. The sheer force of the wind was monstrous.

And in the chaos—blonde hair fluttered beside Tayeon’s rough, black strands.

“What are you doing...”

She began to speak, then stopped.

Suspended midair lay a youth, glowing entirely gold—Geumbyeokja, asleep with a faint mutter of dreams.

"I just wanted to kick that old man Sambong..."

Silence fell.

Then, a voice whispered like a spring breeze—Wi Yeon’s voice, carried on a spiritual whisper.

“—When I show signs of senility... kill me.”

Tayeon nodded quietly.

***

There are moments when all you can do is nod.

Even a man born a slave, married into a royal family, could understand that.

So did Jin Myeong-jo.

Expressionless, he thought:

“I want to take it back.” 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Main Temple of the Bloodflame Cult. Once reduced to ruins by Jeong Yeon-shin’s Eradication Formation.

Rustle.

A red-haired woman adjusted his robe, lips tightly pressed, brushing his collar with slow, cold fingers. It felt as if she were toying with his gaze—though perhaps it was just his perception.

She was Jeok Iseo, Crown Princess of the Blood King Clan.

Sister of one of the Seven Apostates, now Jin Myeong-jo’s wife through some great transaction.

Her fingers, cold to the point of burning, grazed his nape again and again. As a mixed-blood, he had to suppress the instinctive shiver each time.

It felt like freezing his own instincts to survive.

Suddenly, Jeok Iseo whispered:

“It’s a girl.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Our child. I can tell the moment I conceive. It’s the royal bloodline.”

Jin Myeong-jo froze. It was midnight.

He almost asked again, “Excuse me?”, but swallowed it—his training held.

Jeok Iseo glanced at him, cold and unreadable.

“...It suits you. The Pureblood Flame Robe.”

She murmured softly.

The Bloodflame Cult Lord’s divine treasure had adjusted to Jin Myeong-jo’s body. A flawless crimson robe, slick as if stained in blood.

In shadow, it shimmered with hints of violet.