Chapter 480: Chapter 480

Jeong Yeon-shin gave a small nod. The insight of the most renowned master in all of Jianghu was indeed profound.

Not confining his final survival technique to Mouth of the Empty Moon—something one might use only once in battle—was a thought he had already considered even before he was to cross swords with the Heavenly Pole Lord.

The nature of battle would always change. After all, he was a warrior of Ipwang Fortress.

Lowering his gaze, Jeong Yeon-shin saw Abbot Beomheo. His half-closed eyelids had erased all expression from his face. He now resembled a Dharma Guardian, one who safeguarded the Buddhist Law.

Not even a wisp of aura leaked from him, yet it felt as though he held the entire world within him. The hazy mist around him was being pressed down, ever so slightly, in his presence.

His control over energy was absolute.

Just how much ascetic training had he endured? The fact that the heat radiating from the Flood Dragon’s scales had been subdued was proof that the Supreme Wisdom of Prajna had fully permeated the living embodiment of a natural disaster.

The power of the Muscle-Tendon Changing and Marrow Cleansing Sutra, refined and wielded like a diamond—ever since Bodhidharma had created it, the technique had always been called invincible.

The Greatest Master of the Orthodox Sects.

The unchallenged pillar of the righteous path in Jianghu. The absolute figure whom countless warriors of the orthodox world revered as their spiritual foundation. A man like him had no reason to imply his own death.

“I do not understand your intentions, Master Abbot. Why are you giving me such advice now?”

Jeong Yeon-shin ran his fingertips over the blade of Thunderclap as he asked.

Beomheo’s face had entered a state of absolute clarity, as still as a sculpted statue. His immersion in the profound techniques of the Buddhist path made his expression seem all the more devoid of emotion.

Only when he was about to speak did his wrinkled lips move.

“Listen carefully. The third thing is karma.”

The old monk continued his guidance at a slow, deliberate pace.

“The affairs of Jianghu are ultimately matters between people. Even those who pursue the pinnacle of martial arts are bound by countless ties of karma and memory. This is true for the Heavenly Pole Lord, true for the so-called Lord of the Tyrant Sword, and even true for the Martial God of the North. If it were only about strength, why do you think even that man, the Northern War God, would go so far as to tarnish his own honor for the sake of his clan? That is why he is called the War God and not the Martial God.”

“...At this point, I fail to see what any of that matters. We are standing atop the scales of the Flood Dragon, are we not? You speak of warriors and non-humans, but are we not already facing a world where beings beyond humanity have begun to take over...?”

“Do not think that way. You must live in the Jianghu of men.”

Beomheo quietly cut him off.

“Our mountain sects—the so-called Nine Schools—and certain elite warriors of the Ipwang Fortress Divine Sword Division hold shut a door that few can see. That is simply the role assigned to them. Since ancient times, extraordinary monks and Taoists have been the ones who suppress the strange and unnatural. Long ago, the monks and priests of the Nine Schools became exorcists by a covenant with the Ming Dynasty’s first emperor. That is why they rarely interfere with worldly affairs.”

“You are by far the youngest among the commanders of Ipwang Fortress.”

The old monk’s words carried on in a low voice.

“You should walk among men and handle the matters of men. Do you know why the Nine Schools did not request your help when they moved to stop the Dark Heaven Emperor’s Tiger-Dragon Techniques? The Nine Schools are like ritual instruments used by nations when they conduct exorcisms. But you... you are a sword that kills men. I assure you, after today, this land will no longer drag you into battles against demons and spirits. The Nine Schools will now be far more cautious.”

Wudang, Emei, Jeomchang, Kongtong, and Hengshan.

None of their grandmasters had come to Hangzhou.

And with the Sword Immortal of Zhongnan slain—his blade having cut through the Gate of Samsara before he passed—the remaining disciples of Zhongnan were now rebuilding their sect in the region.

Among them was his niece, Jeong Hye. And he had heard that Yun So-yu of the Sword Dragon of the Clouds, whom he had once shared deep ties with, had taken the position of Zhongnan’s sect leader.

Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin recalled his grandfather’s letter.

—The Yong Family and the Old Man shall exterminate that which is not human. You, on the other hand, shall subjugate the world.

The exact same words.

It was not merely because Beomheo and his grandfather were of the same generation. It was because they shared the same view—of both the world and of Jeong Yeon-shin.

Jeong Yeon-shin found himself silently agreeing.

Yet he still did not fully grasp what Beomheo intended to do about the crisis in Hangzhou. Had it not already spiraled beyond human intervention?

A gentle breeze brushed against his skin, descending like a transparent thread between the two men, forming a wall between them. Even in the boundless sky, the air barely stirred.

“...I understand your words, Master.”

As Jeong Yeon-shin’s deep purple sleeve billowed in the wind, Beomheo slowly nodded.

“Yes. It is enough that you value human bonds. No force is stronger than the ties between people. Whether it is good karma or ill karma, karma itself is a force that surpasses calamity, even the upheaval of nature.”

The Abbot of Shaolin had imparted these three things.

A figure standing against the colossal eyelid of the Flood Dragon moved away. Wrapped in a thick, pure white robe, his skeletal frame seemed even paler than the garment itself.

The Dark Heaven Emperor had once again woven his Primordial Spirit into being.

Jeong Yeon-shin had already noticed the sight of bone dust reassembling. He had absentmindedly run his fingers over Thunderclap, but had not moved—because Beomheo, sensing the same presence, had chosen to continue speaking.

[What are you thinking?]

The Dark Heaven Emperor asked in a slow voice.

His gaze met Beomheo’s.

The old monk’s lips moved deliberately.

“What is your purpose, senior?”

[To confirm something.]

[Whether true transcendence exists in this world.]

For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s grip on Thunderclap tensed.

But the two elders simply continued their conversation.

“And if you find your answer?”

[Then I will seek my own way to ascend. Do not be mistaken. I have no interest in this wretched land.]

“The world beyond death is not something the living can verify.”

[You say this while speaking to a skeleton?]

The Dark Heaven Emperor’s speech was archaic, befitting the oldest known master in Jianghu.

“You are still among the living. Your form is merely a Primordial Spirit. If you have no interest in this world, relinquish the Flood Dragon. Otherwise, you will only invite endless challenges.”

“There are many strong warriors in this world.”

[Then I shall face them all. I still have much to learn. I must even discover where this Flood Dragon was lured from. Perhaps that is where my answer lies.]

“And if the beast regains its mind?”

[Then that will simply be the end of my path.]

The Dark Heaven Emperor silently stepped forward and rose into the air. It was a natural, fluid use of Sky-Stepping Techniques.

From his deep-set sockets, dark blue flames surged.

There was no limit to the energy he had gathered.

It seemed he intended to continue fighting indefinitely.

Beomheo rose without another word.

Perhaps he had sensed that there was no room for negotiation.

Suddenly, the air slammed down with a heavy force.

At the same time, golden arms emerged from Beomheo’s shoulders, exuding an ethereal mist like an incense burner, distorting the space around them.

Even though it was not divine power, it radiated a sacred presence.

Jeong Yeon-shin looked at the old monk.

“You told me to value karma.”

Jeong Yeon-shin nodded.

“Then shouldn’t I value you as well?”

For the first time, the Abbot of Shaolin’s statue-like expression cracked.

A faint smile curved his wrinkled lips.

“...You are young. So very young.”

A sound like the earth itself splitting apart echoed as something streaked across the distant sky.

With each passing moment, white shockwaves rippled outward, spreading widely as it approached at terrifying speed. It carried an aura so thunderous it seemed as though lightning itself had taken the form of a swordsman.

At the very moment Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened slightly—

The figure that had surged across the sky plunged into the Flood Dragon’s body. From that single point of impact, a faint pulse of energy seeped outward, expanding into dozens of overlapping shockwaves.

The sound of scales shattering into pieces.

It was as if the Flood Dragon, which had been floating through the skies as if in a dream, had suddenly been dragged down to the earth. The figure that had impaled its entire body burst through the other side, unleashing an earth-shaking roar.

Blood poured down in torrents like a waterfall.

A storm gale immediately erupted.

It was the vacuum left in the wake of that single strike. Transparent currents of water twisted into spirals, momentarily being drawn into the air, and a section of the storm clouds overhead was torn apart—allowing beams of sunlight to pierce through.

Foam that had splashed up from the river surface was now caught in the rising and falling air currents, floating erratically.

The sheer force of the blade’s strike had generated shockwaves.

A truly overwhelming martial wave.

At the very center of it, a figure gripping a massive greatsword stood atop the fragments of shattered scales, floating in midair.

“...So it does connect.”

The voice was deep, resonating like it had emerged from a cavern. The pronunciation was slightly clumsy, as if spoken deliberately, despite the lack of need for it.

A single absolute strike.

A hand that moved with utter disregard for whether or not the Flood Dragon awakened.

An act of pure chaos.

[...Is this another of Beomheo’s so-called ‘challenges’? The martial world of this era is truly overflowing. The heavens themselves are now drawing their blades.]

The reactions of the other masters were secondary. What filled Jeong Yeon-shin’s vision was the intruder.

Unlike before, his yellow robes were no longer tightly bound. His physique did not seem so much massive as razor-sharp.

Where before he had resembled a body clad in iron armor, now he was more like a drawn bow. That impression was further emphasized by his ears, which rose slightly, angling smoothly backward along the sides of his face.

His nose, as sharp as a divine sword, now carried an even sharper edge.

The Lord of the Tyrant Sword.

The moment their eyes met, an empty pull surged outward.

A sensation of hollowed-out nothingness.

It was not the calm immovability of a martial master.

At that moment, something pierced into Jeong Yeon-shin’s upper dantian—a single thought.

Even he did not understand the meaning of this sudden realization.

A thousand years of what?

No human mind or body could possibly endure such a span of time.

The one certainty, however, was that contrary to Beomheo’s words—no method could possibly shake this inhuman being.

That was simply how it felt.

At that moment, Beomheo addressed the Lord of the Tyrant Sword.

“It doesn’t seem you came to help us. But you’ve needlessly provoked the wrath of the Flood Dragon.”

The old monk, as always, spoke in a calm tone as he began ascending into the air.

Beneath him, the Flood Dragon, now pierced clean through its center, let out a suppressed roar between its fangs.

A massive noise, like rolling thunder, began to spread.

And then, darkness fell.

It was an unnatural omen.

Similar to when the Flood Dragon had first appeared—but different.

Back then, thunder and lightning had descended amid storms.

Now, the daylight itself was turning into night.

It was as if the very fabric of the sky was being rewritten.

[The later generations of Jianghu have truly gone too far! The Flood Dragon awakens...!]

“There is no other way.”

Beomheo, now hovering high above, settled into a seated position.

“The Flood Dragon shall leave this Jianghu along with this old monk. The younger generation must live in their own martial world.”

The moment he assumed lotus posture, the echo of a heartbeat pulsed outward, filling the vast space.

Golden light began to trace the outline of his seated form.

Immediately, the Dark Heaven Emperor raised his hand—and dozens of blue lightning bolts, like harpoons, speared downward.

But Jeong Yeon-shin had already swung Thunderclap.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

An invisible blade of energy surged forward—and canceled them all out.

Ripples of colorless force spread like waves on a lake.

Perhaps because he had once lost his left arm to the swordsmanship of the Heavenly Pole Lord, Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes now read through the ever-changing patterns of sorcery-infused martial arts completely.

He quickly shifted his gaze.

Where was the Lord of the Tyrant Sword?

With a flick of his eyes, his vision caught the still-standing figure.

The man had not moved.

He still gripped his greatsword calmly, showing no intention of intervening.

Had a single strike to the Flood Dragon been enough for him?

Blood from the dragon dripped heavily over his shoulders, drenching him.

Yet, his deeply set eyes revealed nothing but detachment.

Meanwhile, the Dark Heaven Emperor was erupting in fury, his wariness toward Beomheo reaching its peak.

At that moment, the coiling dragon stretched its endless body, unleashing a deafening thunderclap.

[Beomheo! Are you truly willing to stake your life on something with no guarantee of success?!]

"Would that young warrior of Ipwang Fortress have crossed swords with the Lord of Heavens Gate if he thought he would lose?"

[Did the one who so easily abandoned the world once posture as a great monk before the common people?!]

Beneath the Dark Heaven Emperor, Beomheo chuckled.

"If one sitting in the Pure Land only welcomes those who have already attained enlightenment, can he truly be called a Buddha?"

Such is the life of a traveler upon the Buddhist path. The deeper their cultivation, the more they perceive the chaos of the world with sorrow. And so, they must descend into hell itself to save those who suffer.

In the next instant, Beomheo seized the Dark Heaven Emperor by the ankle and plunged toward the dragon's head.

The monk’s robes were set ablaze by the web of blue lightning, his wrinkled skin scorched, yet even that could not halt his Vajra Immovable Body.

A resonance like a temple bell spread through the air. Simultaneously, the old monk’s will expanded like a full-force strike of the Six Harmonies Formation. The divine clarity within his upper elixir field repelled the Shaolin abbot’s thoughts from the world itself.

[Hell Remains Unfinished.]

Below, countless souls cried out for salvation.

In that instant, the sky was engulfed in crimson fire.

The dragon had suddenly reared its head at an unbelievable speed, unleashing its breath.

From its towering, vertically slit pupil, a raging light flared. Now that the mystical beast had regained its senses, its reaction was beyond formidable.

With an earth-shattering roar, the infernal pillar of flames swallowed Beomheo and the Dark Heaven Emperor whole, twisting space into disarray. Even Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been keeping the Sword Emperor in check, had no chance to intervene.

At that moment, Beomheo’s thoughts echoed forth.

[I dissolve into stillness.]

The Dark Heaven Emperor roared in a voice that shook the heavens.

Then, in the blink of an eye, both Beomheo and the Dark Heaven Emperor vanished—along with the enormous body of the dragon, which had been entwined with the flames.

As if a god had exhaled and snuffed them out like incense.

It happened without warning. A mutual annihilation.

The vast region, once dominated by the dragon’s coiled form, abruptly revealed a sprawling horizon. It was as if the dragon and the Dark Heaven Emperor had been pulled into an entirely different world.

Moments later, Beomheo’s voice drifted down, carried by the winter wind.

—Watch over the martial world of men.

It was a message as faint as the lingering scent of temple incense.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly stepped onto the river’s surface.

To his utter astonishment, the manifestation of Beomheo’s Gongwolmu had bent space itself. It was unlike the distorted void techniques wielded by sorcerers.

The dragon’s immense form had been completely engulfed and erased from existence. His upper elixir field’s intuition conveyed that undeniable truth.

Ascension—or extinction.

He had executed a technique that embodied the transcendence spoken of in both Daoism and Buddhism through martial arts.

The pathway of the Celestial Dragon’s Fusion, which had been connected to the dragon, was now severed. There was no doubt that the dragon had vanished. The greatest force of the orthodox sects had unleashed something capable of violating even the fabric of all existence.

A short distance away, the Sword Emperor stood upon the water’s surface, still radiating overwhelming energy.

A mortal crisis. The disparity in their martial realms was clear.

Jeong Yeon-shin did not bother looking at the man’s face or expression. He was, after all, someone who had attained an unshakable state of being.

Even if Beomheo had taken the Dark Heaven Emperor and the dragon with him in death, it was unlikely to stir any emotions in the Sword Emperor. He was probably just organizing his enlightenment from the spectacle he had just witnessed.

The Sword Emperor was unmoved by the affairs of the world. There was no need to exchange words with him now.

Jeong Yeon-shin had no intention of facing his clan’s mortal enemy here.

If the man swung his sword, he would fight back—but there were more pressing matters. Even if he were to die beneath his blade at this moment, he first had to repay the grace he had received from Beomheo.

As the domain of the Realm of Empty Extinction faded over the river—

He spun the luminous wheel of his heart.

Three thoughts came to him at once.

His grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok, who had stood motionless before the Azure Flame, ready to perish alongside the Bloodflame Cult Leader.

The distorted void technique of the Celestial Peerless that had stolen Baek Mi-ryeo away from him.

The Seventy-Two Supreme Techniques of Shaolin, whose every principle resonated with divine power.

His past unraveled like interwoven threads, aligning and connecting into a single path.

Within the radiance of his upper elixir field, it crystallized into the form of a sword.

The energy from the thunder he grasped vibrated against his fingertips, as though searching for something.

Recalling the very sword strike he had once endured from the Lord of Heavens Gate, he slashed at the empty space before him.

The atmosphere rippled like a mirage. A sight that could never be replicated if attempted again. It only mattered that it worked now.

With that one desperate thought, he thrust his hand into the rift.

The instant he felt the sensation of gripping someone’s shoulder, he pulled.

As the saffron-colored robes began emerging from the void, he muttered almost absently—

"Connected by fate, so it is called karma."

There was no doubt—it was Beomheo.

A surge of astonishment flooded through his grasp. A presence unlike anything he had ever sensed from the Shaolin abbot before.

As he carefully drew the old monk’s body out of the rift, Jeong Yeon-shin murmured just like the Lord of Heavens Gate once had—

He twisted half a turn in place.

From the vast sky above, a figure in soft pink robes came plummeting downward.

It was Yulha Nangnang.

She had driven back the dragon’s enormous body but had been struck by the infernal explosion that followed.

Her hair fluttered helplessly, and her pale face had grown even paler.

She attempted to slow her descent, firing bursts of energy from her feet, but she was seconds away from crashing into the river below.

Swiftly, Jeong Yeon-shin extended his arms, catching her beneath the knees and supporting her back.

In that moment, the residual energy scattered, forming ripples across the water’s surface.

As he fully absorbed the force, the heat from their garments transferred between them—warm and searing.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood still for a moment.

A fleeting memory flashed through his mind—Cheongsu Jin-in’s head rolling across the ground atop a pavilion.

A shudder ran down his spine, spreading through ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) his entire body.

Then, Yulha Nangnang, nestled in his arms, gently raised a hand and smoothed down the back of his hair.