“I do not know when you lost these bodies, nor where, nor how they were stolen. I only sought to protect my own clan.”

Namgoong Mucheon spoke plainly of what had transpired.

That there had been an attempt on his life. That to seize the one behind it, he had needed to feign death. That in the tombs he had faced Jiangshi.

“For so many to fall into that man’s grasp, and yet none among you spoke of it. No one revealed it. That, perhaps, was how you sought to protect your clans and sects. But—!”

His voice rang louder, his eyes darkened with anger.

“A boil festers the more it is hidden, burrows deeper the more it is concealed! The result of your silence is this!”

The ancestors were the roots and the history of the martial world.

Because of them, the martial world of today existed at all.

Had even one clan or sect revealed their losses and sought aid, the truth would have been plain—that the vanishing corpses were not a private matter, but a crisis of the entire Central Plains.

“Boils must be cut open and exposed before they heal! Because you sought only to hide, we lost our roots without even realizing!”

Instead of weighing the gravity of the matter, they had hurried only to conceal it.

“And how could a tree without roots ever grow straight...?”

As he spoke, Namgoong Mucheon’s face seemed touched by sorrow.

His voice, his tone, his expression—all revealed his true grief for the state of the martial world.

Sensing his sincerity, the gathered leaders fell into solemn silence.

The clan heads glanced at the sect leaders; the sect leaders looked back at the clan heads.

It was as if the assembly had been split into two halves, one facing the other.

“Our enemy already knows us. Already grips our weaknesses. And what have we done to prepare?”

At this rate, the martial world would soon collapse.

While they postured, guarded against one another, their foundations were rotting away.

“That is why, even now, I have gathered you here—to unite our strength and guard our rivers and lakes.”

At last Namgoong Mucheon revealed his purpose in calling them together.

“The longer we distrusted each other, the more bitter it may feel to begin. But that bitterness will temper us.”

He clenched his fist before them all.

“We will write a new history of the martial world.”

The Martial Alliance.

The Orthodox Union.

The White Path Alliance.

Everyone there had known of the idea, but never had the goal been spoken so plainly, so concretely, as it was now by the Sword Emperor.

The faces of the leaders were complicated, mingled with concern and hope.

A union of clans and sects.

A greater alliance of all the orthodox powers across the martial world.

If such strength were combined, who in the world could oppose them? Even the powers gathered here alone were formidable beyond measure.

Once, they would have said it impossible. But now, with the Sword Emperor himself leading, it seemed not only possible, but already begun.

Only their decision remained.

Namgoong Mucheon addressed their conflicted faces.

“You have traveled far to be here. Rest well and shed your weariness. Tomorrow, we will share details and each of your thoughts.”

They would need time to reflect.

As Mucheon turned to depart the Celestial Hall, the warriors who had carried in the coffins approached the clan and sect leaders.

“Damn. Is it fair for a man to be that impressive? That’s cheating.”

Peng Yeopmyeong muttered as he watched Mucheon stride away from the bustling hall.

Tang Munryong, watching the Sword Emperor’s back recede as though ascending toward heaven itself, gave a hollow laugh.

“It was never a contest we could win.”

The leaders busied themselves deciding whether to send the recovered remains first, or to summon their clans and sects to claim them, or to leave them in Namgoong’s care.

Peng Yeopmyeong, meanwhile, thrust all responsibility on an elder of his entourage and was the first to turn away.

“Where are you going?”

Someone asked, wondering if he meant to seek Mucheon directly.

“I think I’ll lance one of my own boils!”

“...What?”

Leaving only those cryptic words, Peng Yeopmyeong strode from the hall.

Tang Munryong, watching him vanish, lifted his gaze toward the blue sky overhead.

The endless heavens filled his sight.

“The world is tipping toward Namgoong’s side.”

Haa—

A long sigh slipped from his lips, mingled with envy and anticipation.

****

That evening.

A brilliant full moon bathed the Namgoong estate in pale light.

As the Abbot of Shaolin, Beopgong, gazed at the high moon, he sensed an approach and turned.

Namgoong Seolhwa.

The familiar face greeted him with a bow.

“I greet the Abbot of Shaolin.”

Beopgong’s mouth curved in a gentle smile.

“I knew there was reason for your hasty return, but never did I imagine you were plotting something so vast.”

“Thank you for granting my request, Master.”

Before revealing the bodies before the gathered leaders, the Namgoong Clan had sent to Shaolin to ask their will.

If they had not known of Shaolin’s circumstances, there would be no issue. But knowing full well that Shaolin sought the body of their former abbot, it would have been unthinkable to expose their failing without consent.

Upon hearing the request, Beopgong had chosen to support the Namgoong Clan.

For he knew Shaolin’s shame was not theirs alone, and he had no wish to conceal only Shaolin’s disgrace while feigning righteousness.

“So when you told me the remains would soon be recovered... this was what you meant.”

“It was not certain, but fortune favored us.”

Among Mangwol’s Jiangshi, the body of Monk Gyewon had been found.

“Thanks to you, we have recovered the body of our late abbot. For that, I owe you true gratitude.”

Beopgong bowed to Seolhwa.

She had plucked from him the thorn that had lodged in his chest for years—how could he not give thanks?

“We have been foolish indeed.”

“....”

“I do not even know why we have spent so long criticizing one another, scorning one another, hating one another.”

“You yourself do not truly believe that, Master.”

Beopgong looked at her, a wry smile on his lips.

“It was arrogance. That is why we made no effort to even reach out to the great clans. We did not think of them as fellow members of the martial world.”

Though Shaolin claimed to honor all martial arts, unconsciously they had divided clan and sect into ranks, treating the clans as lesser.

Could they not call that shameful?

“Those gathered today must have realized much. Things will not be as before.”

Big or small, they were all leaders of the martial world.

They were wise enough to grasp the lessons.

“I have long thought highly of your grandfather. Even in his youth, when he put that man No Mun in his place, I knew he was an extraordinary warrior.”

“You knew of that matter with my grandfather and No Mun?”

“Of course. I was there when that man provoked him.”

“Ah.”

So many had been present when grandfather humbled No Mun.

As expected of grandfather. He really does know everything.

“Do you know this?”

“...Pardon?”

“Jade Plum Sword has been speaking to the leaders, recounting what happened at Mount Hua four years ago.”

Seolhwa’s eyes widened.

“The Sect Leader of Mount Hua himself?”

The affair of Mount Hua four years ago was graver still than the loss of ancestral remains.

The sect had been nearly annihilated, and it had been revealed that the sect’s foremost sword, the Plum Blossom Swordmaster himself, was an agent of the Blood Demon Cult.

And the one most shamed by that revelation was none other than the current leader, No Un.

In that matter, he had been undeniably incompetent as Sect Leader.

“When Jade Plum Sword told me, I was astonished. I had been so near to them, so long in contact, and never knew.”

“Because Mount Hua concealed it...”

“No. Because I did not care enough to see.”

When Mount Hua had begged for a Great Restoration Pill to heal their Sect Leader’s grave illness, had Shaolin shown ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) more concern, had they given aid...

“That is why I will hide no longer.”

“...What?”

“We cannot leave everything to the Sword Emperor. As Abbot of Shaolin, I must have honor as well.”

Seolhwa’s lips parted slightly.

Surely not...

“A month ago, at the main temple, an incident occurred. I intend to reveal it to all.”

“Will you be all right?”

Beopgong nodded firmly, without hesitation.

“The Sword Emperor hinted at an ‘enemy,’ but most here still do not know who that enemy truly is.”

There were many who had not even heard the name Hwaoru, let alone the Blood Demon Cult.

“If we are to fight together, we must first know our foe. If both Jade Plum Sword and I speak, it will be far easier to persuade the others.”

His words were true.

By revealing the stolen ancestors, Namgoong Mucheon had laid bare the problem and threat to the martial world—but the enemy itself had not been named.

The Namgoong Clan knew little of the Blood Demon Cult.

Seolhwa, though she knew well, remained bound by prohibition and could not speak.

If Shaolin and Mount Hua raise the alarm, then even a vague enemy will be understood as danger enough.

With a brightened expression, Seolhwa bowed her fists.

“Thank you, Master. It was not an easy decision.”

“It was only what must be done.”

She bowed once more, deeply.

Beopgong looked at her steadily.

“...Why do you look so?”

Did he wish to say something more?

His mouth curved in a gentle line.

“No reason.”

“...?”

“I only find myself wondering what comes next.”