Jegal Hwi was disqualified.

Born of the Jegal family’s formation, the illusions left the arena in a hush.

Martial Alliance elders and onlookers stared at the stage, speechless at the sight of a man multiplying before their eyes.

Amid the silence, Jegal Hwi stepped forward, cupped fist to palm toward the elders and gathered crowd.

“The purpose of this tournament is to show all under heaven the uniting of the Central Plains’ martial world—and to discover those who will lead it forward.”

His clear, steady voice filled the arena, drawing every gaze in an instant.

His unwavering cadence and upright bearing were more than enough to focus the hall upon him.

“And so I took this chance to show that there are ways besides sword and spear to face an enemy and protect one’s allies.”

Jegal Hwi turned toward the pavilion.

“My thanks to the Alliance Lord for permitting it.”

At that, every eye lifted to the highest seat on the pavilion, where the Martial Alliance Lord, Namgoong Mucheon, sat.

The reason Jegal Hwi had been able to use a formation during the tournament was that it had been installed the day before.

Strategist Jegal Myeong had a hand in it, and beyond that, it had been possible with the permission of the Alliance Lord, Namgoong Mucheon.

Namgoong Mucheon rose and stepped to the front of the pavilion.

With a cool smile, he spoke.

“Young Lord Jegal speaks rightly. In our martial world there exist many arts beyond sword and spear. Yet we of the orthodox have long failed to acknowledge that diversity, and have cast it out.”

Not only formations or mechanical arrays.

Some have pointed at the Sichuan Tang Clan’s poisons and called them craven.

Even the Mount Hae sword—merely for being rough and peculiar—has been treated as unorthodox; and many look down upon Mount Qingcheng or Mount Mo for studying arts of incantation at all.

“As all know, this tournament is the first step of our Martial Alliance. If, before we’ve even taken that first step, we show rejection and discrimination, can such an alliance claim to represent the martial world of the Central Plains?”

A promise to stand for the martial world.

A promise to achieve unity.

A promise to give voice to all.

Was that not the foundation upon which the Martial Alliance was built?

The limited allowance of poison use; the permission for Jegal Hwi to use a formation—

All to show that the Alliance stands as an alliance, and to draw in talents from every field.

“Because this is a place to divide victory, we gave a disqualification—but it was an excellent formation. Had this engagement been real combat, your array would have saved countless allies’ lives.”

Namgoong Mucheon’s praise for Jegal Hwi was light and cheerful.

Despite being the first disqualification of the tournament, he did not stint in commending the ability that had astonished everyone.

“Hone this outstanding ability from here on, and become a pillar of our martial world.”

Jegal Hwi bowed once more to Namgoong Mucheon.

Applause burst from the seats.

He saluted the crowd again, then said,

“Then, as I believe I have fulfilled my part, I will take my leave.”

He turned to go, then as if remembering, faced Yu Gang.

“Ah—my sincere apologies to Snow-Plum Sabre for the disturbance, which must have been deeply disconcerting.”

Jegal Hwi flashed Yu Gang a small smile.

Yu Gang, who had been frowning at that smile, let out a limp chuckle and nodded.

****

The tournament’s heat grew only fiercer.

Amid grueling clashes, results that overturned expectations began to appear one after another, and with no clear way to predict a champion, interest in the tournament swelled higher.

At last, the eight who would advance were decided.

Silver-Flash Spear—the spearman who cut down the Namgoong Clan and Shaolin favorites and rose through—

Namgoong Seolhwa—who finished every match faster than anyone, every round—

Golden Lotus Rain—the swordswoman who drew instant attention by felling Peng Hogwang, twice her size—

Hyeon—the Shaolin monk who had been named a favorite from the first with overwhelming strength—

Snow-Plum Sabre—who, face hidden beneath a bamboo hat, advanced while displaying a distinctive sabre art—

Jin Ye—the Mount Hua disciple who showed the great mountain-guard sect’s strength with restrained movement and a flourish-limned sword, embodying the grandeur of the so-called “Great Sword Sect”—

Tang Hojin—of the Sichuan Tang Clan, who, even within the limits on poison, showed excellent dueling and a respectful bearing—

Baek Un—of the Zhongnan Sect, who triumphed after a fierce battle against the unbridled, destructive Peng Mirang—

The ardor for the eight chosen warriors grew hotter still, to the point that Seolhwa could no longer walk the streets alone.

Because of that, the Imoogi—who had been enjoying carefree strolls, buying and eating sweets—had spent days brimming with complaint.

A corner of the training grounds reserved for tournament participants.

Seolhwa, who had loosened up lightly and now sat in the shade to rest, had a snake sprawled long at her side, its tail thumping the ground.

[Among flowers, the blossom on snow; when Red Heaven drapes the sky, all under heaven turns white.]

It was a song on the streets that praised Seolhwa.

But contrary to the lyrics, the Imoogi’s voice as it chanted was nothing but peevish.

[So you have an epithet now—does that please you? And what you got was “Heaven-Flower Sword Phoenix”?]

—I like it.

[Like it, my tail! Why does “flower” have to be in it? It doesn’t even capture your skill!]

Humans—always fawning over what’s pretty and flashy! Useless to the last!

Seolhwa smiled faintly and stroked along the snake’s back, swish, swish.

The Imoogi twisted its body with brusque annoyance to shake off her hand, then spoke as if bothered.

[Why’s that guy coming again?]

Seolhwa lifted her gaze to the one approaching.

It was Yu Gang.

Yu Gang sat beside her.

“Finished training?”

“No. Just resting a bit.”

“How’s prep for the match? Your opponent looks experienced. Hiding plenty, too.”

“So it seems.”

Seolhwa’s next opponent was the spearman, Silver-Flash Spear.

When he beat Namgoong Woong, she thought: understandable. When he then toppled a Shaolin disciple, she was a little surprised.

He’d shown more than he had against Namgoong Woong.

“Smart.”

“Right.”

In a tournament where winners climb instead of finishing in one go, your strength will show as you fight on.

Gauging the opponent’s level and using only as much of your own strength as needed to win is itself a skill; to lay out one’s entire hand in the early rounds is wasteful.

Which was why some among the remaining eight had certainly hidden their true level.

“You?”

Seolhwa turned to Yu Gang.

“Are you ready?”

“Me? Well. Always—”

“Not that. Your heart.”

“....”

Yu Gang closed his mouth.

His next opponent was Jin Ye, Mount Hua’s second disciple.

Back when Yu Gang was at Mount Hua, Jin Ye had been a junior he was close to.

Four years ago, when turmoil struck Mount Hua, Yu Gang had protected him.

And Yu Gang did not know—but Seolhwa remembered with perfect clarity.

Jin Ye was the name he’d carved on the final memorial tablet before he breathed his last in their previous life.

“I’ll be fine. I’d steeled myself for this from the day I entered.”

With so many outstanding disciples in Mount Hua, it was to be expected. Still—

“I had hoped, if possible, not to meet them across the stage...”

“You’ll win, won’t you?”

“I have to. I came back to take the championship.”

Which, thinking of it, sparked a sudden curiosity.

“Why do you want the championship? Hiding your identity means this place weighs on you.”

How easy is it for an expelled disciple to show his face before his former sect leader and former brothers?

Even the Green Forest War King cannot show himself before Shaolin; he lives for Shaolin from where he cannot be seen.

Yu Gang was no different.

“My master told me—if I win, I can enter the Demon-Slaying Corps.”

The Demon-Slaying Corps.

A strike force formed to excise the demonic.

Outwardly just a special detachment of the Martial Alliance; in truth, as the name says, a corps formed to oppose the demonic.

Knowing of the Blood Sect’s existence, the Martial Alliance would gather warriors outside the orthodox fold to form an elite force to oppose it.

Yu Gang’s reason to enter the Demon-Slaying Corps was plain.

“There’s something I ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ have to finish with my own hands.”

No Mun.

His first master.

The one who brought him to Mount Hua and taught him the martial ways.

“My master has permitted it, too.”

Ouyang Do wished for Yu Gang to break the shackles of his past by his own will.

He believed the key to unblocking Yu Gang’s stalled growth lay there.

“I’m going to win. So I’m sorry—but it can’t be helped.”

Yu Gang smiled weakly.

Whatever the reasons, the fact remained: he had to step on a former junior to climb. It was bound to feel awkward.

“By the way—what are you and that guy... exactly?”

Wiping the smile from his face, Yu Gang changed the subject.

Unease crept into his expression.

“That guy? Who?”

“You know. The foppish one. Looks like he couldn’t even hold a sword, waist all flimsy, weak as a reed—but a mouth that never stops.”

Seolhwa’s brow pinched, just a hair.

“Who is that supposed to be?”

Yu Gang, as if even speaking the name soured his mouth, let his lips droop.

“That—Jegal Hwi, or Hui, or whatever.”

“Ah. Young Lord Jegal?”

“...Mm.”

“Just a friend.”

Yu Gang’s face brightened at once.

“Just a friend? Truly?”

“Mm.” 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

“I’d heard rumors—you and that guy were a little...”

That there was... that sort of thing.

The two meeting in private, and so on.

Of course, the rumor’s seedbed was the Jegal household.

No doubt that guy had spread it.

“Truly just a friend? Nothing special there?”

“Mm. Just a friend.”

“Then...!”

“Like you.”

“...!”

Yu Gang’s blossoming expression fell flat with a thud.

He stared at Seolhwa as if struck.

His round eyes welled.

Leaving him there, Seolhwa picked up her sword and rose.

“I’ve rested enough. I’m going to train.”

Yu Gang reached out before he knew it—but couldn’t catch her, and only watched her retreating back.

His mouth opened and closed, unable to shape a word.

[Tsk, tsk. Was that fun for you?]

The Imoogi, which had at some point settled familiarly on Seolhwa’s shoulder, clicked its tongue and looked back at her.

The corner of her mouth had curved—just a little.