Chapter 483: Chapter 483

In an instant, So Cheonmujuk scattered like a mirage in the great desert of summer, then reappeared beneath the airspace on the opposite side.

Before the defensive aura could even be tested against the sword strike, seemingly forged from moonlight, Jeong Yeon-shin had succeeded in performing Ihyeong Gongheo— a technique tied to both longing and resentment.

It was different from his previous encounters— from the Sect Master of Cheonggeuk Gate, whom he had to strike down multiple times, or from the moment he had called out to Abbot Beomheo, relying on the resonance of dharma and desperate wishes.

But as So Cheonmujuk stepped upon the void, her brows furrowed for the first time.

She had been in the midst of reciting an incantation, enhancing the technique’s mystical power. A quiet thought slipped from between her lips.

It was a muttered curse, spat out as if chewed through clenched teeth.

The vast, flickering storm clouds of thunder were split in a single stroke, scattering to either side.

Like fuses ignited by a violent flame, the sword strike severed something fundamental at the core of the sorcery-infused martial arts.

By the time Jeong Yeon-shin below widened his eyes and exhaled a single breath, it had all vanished.

Complete annihilation. Overwhelming.

[Since when have you been watching?!]

The hem of a pale green robe brushed through the air. Darker green hair, absorbing the sunlight that had begun to weave its way back into the canyon, swayed lightly with the returning wind.

It felt as though she had descended along the full-force trajectory of So Cheonmujuk’s Six Harmonies Celestial Ascension.

From a nearby cliff, fragments of stone crumbled and tumbled down.

Amidst it all, the silhouette gripping a single sword slowly descended to Jeong Yeon-shin’s eye level before pausing in midair, standing as though upon an invisible cushion.

For a moment, the long strands of jade-green hair, shimmering in sunlight, swayed gently with the rebound of landing.

Yet there was no sound of feet touching the air.

Jeong Yeon-shin, rarely taken aback, stared at the figure.

Perched upon a sparse, skeletal tree branch protruding from the cliffside, the Seventh Apostle had silently crept close, floating midair using her mastery of Ashin Technique.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s pupils, long devoid of the brilliance of An Technique, reflected a long-lost image of the Martial Deity.

Ears sharper than any noble lineage.

A delicate yet perfectly harmonious face, the epitome of beauty rarely seen in this world— yet even that paled in comparison to the deep green eyes, devouring souls like an abyss.

Within the canyon, as the wind naturally resumed its flow.

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress slowly locked eyes with Jeong Yeon-shin. Her lips parted ever so slightly.

“The fabric suits you.”

Her radiant voice brushed the air like a whispering breeze.

Just that one sentence.

Jeong Yeon-shin felt as though his ceremony for donning the violet robe had finally concluded.

His hazy consciousness swelled behind his head like a gathering cloud, a profound sensation separate from the situation at hand.

Yet, at the same time, he questioned.

It wouldn’t be wrong to say that he shared the same thought as So Cheonmujuk.

Things were different now than when he had worn white or blue. The world had undoubtedly stepped into an era of chaos.

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress should not be standing alongside violet. In the grand scheme of the world, such a thing would be an utter waste.

Ipwang Fortress, responsible for overseeing the vast livelihoods of the people, could not afford to consolidate overwhelming individual power into a single force.

The mere gathering of the Divine Sword Sect’s masters had already sent ripples across the land. The Lord of Ipwang Fortress had her own duty—her own karma.

The violet-robed nobleman still revered his master, but some things had to be said clearly.

“How was your journey through the martial world?”

Her voice, filling the air like a gentle breeze, caught him off guard. The memories of everything that had transpired in Hangzhou flashed through his mind like pages turning in a book. His lips did not part so easily.

Yet, the green gaze of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, fixed upon him, remained serene.

She did not rush him.

She merely looked at him. With the clear, dew-kissed presence of a fresh leaf.

For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt as though he wanted to fall asleep within those eyes. Perhaps because his body and mind were exhausted. If he could forget the suffocating world of martial strife for even a moment, it would be a relief.

The Sect Master of Cheonggeuk Gate, the Dark Heaven Emperor, the Flood Dragon, and now, So Cheonmujuk.

He had endured battle after battle of catastrophic scale.

Never in all his time wandering the martial world had he undergone such relentless hardship.

The level of combat had been incomparably high.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

His entire body was battered beyond measure, deteriorating further with each passing moment—by now, even standing upon a branch with Floating Footwork was becoming difficult.

But he shook his head inwardly.

The mind of the Ancient Sword Saint accompanied him, an unbroken cycle like the endless Taiji. He had to see this through.

“The Divine Sword Sect’s Ma Gwang-ik and Baek Mi-ryeo.”

“...They are in the hands of the Cult Leader, yet this disciple still lacks the power to retrieve them.”

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress softly cut off his words. At the same time, her hand extended forward, as effortlessly as the wind weaving through the canyon.

The realm of the Natural Sword.

In a split second, she seized Jeong Yeon-shin’s arm and pulled him toward her.

The Seventh Apostle, standing beside him, instinctively reached out, but her fingers merely brushed against his back.

In an instant, he had been drawn into the embrace of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

Their collarbones brushed lightly.

The folds of violet and green fabric pressed together, emitting a soft rustling sound.

Then, the master whispered into the disciple’s ear.

“This would not normally be the case, but your body has too many openings. You must rest.”

Jeong Yeon-shin could not finish his sentence.

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress had pressed a long, slender finger to the slumber acupoint at the nape of his neck.

A warm sensation spread through his entire body, carrying the drowsiness deep within.

His vision rapidly narrowed, and soon, his eyes drifted shut.

Like moonlight filling the surface of a lake, the essence of the Lunar Harmony Technique flowed through his meridians. Absolute, yet tender.

A mere instant before his vision blackened entirely.

His master’s voice sank into his ears.

That was as far as he got.

A sensation, as though his very soul was slipping away from the turbulence of the world.

Before he knew it, Jeong Yeon-shin’s consciousness sank into a deep, unbroken slumber, like a pebble sinking into water.

The Mok Manor of Hangzhou.

It was the residence of the Eternal Lantern Divine Physician, whose medical skills were said to reach the heavens.

Many had fled, shouldering their bundles, believing misfortune had descended upon Hangzhou. Yet not even monstrous beings with the power of dragons could take precedence over human health and longevity.

Even after the Flood Dragon had manifested and vanished in Zhejiang, the Divine Physician’s residence remained in chaos.

However, unlike the commoners who endlessly passed through the manor, the martial artists encircling its walls stood motionless.

They were armed with gleaming or rusted weapons, creating a suffocating atmosphere like a forest of blades.

Men who had once ruled like kings in their own lands now hesitated to even speak in the presence of the Mok Manor.

“Is the Twin-Wall Sword Lord truly here...?”

“The Sect Leader of Cheongseong refuses to leave his quarters, and someone even managed to retrieve a blade of grass from where the Sword Deity of Mount Hua had stepped. They said the withered leaf turned green again.”

“The realm of the Living Sword...!”

“Could we not offer tribute and meet with Abbot Beomheo?”

“If you can erase the scent of blood from your body, perhaps. Until then, don’t even dream of it.”

Murmurs blended in hushed tones, carrying the accents and dialects of different provinces.

Rumors of absolute masters had spread.

Many commoners had fled Hangzhou, but in contrast, martial artists from across the land had used their lightfoot techniques without rest, or ridden their steeds to the brink of collapse, all to reach the Mok Manor.

Even the smallest insight gained here could elevate them to power.

For those who had abandoned farming, there was only one way to fill their bellies in these turbulent times—by wielding their own strength.

The Sect Leaders of the Nine Great Schools were known for embodying the supreme martial way in even their smallest gestures.

The same held true for the high-ranking warriors of Ipwang Fortress, whom many martial artists feared ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) and loathed.

Despite their numbers, none dared to step beyond the manor’s gates. The presence of supreme martial artists radiated faint but unmistakable energy, halting them in their tracks.

The very air inside the manor seemed frozen in time. The overwhelming pressure they exuded sent shivers through even those trained in sensory perception.

Some martial artists, lacking the ability to perceive energy, attempted to push open the main gate with bold enthusiasm—only to be stopped by their own peers.

“Why, why are you stopping me...?”

“Shut up and step back. We wait until they come out.”

The moment they entered, they risked suffocating under the dense waves of martial force, or worse, falling into qi deviation. They could even incur the wrath of the supreme masters of the Nine Great Schools.

Even the Divine Thief, who had been stirring trouble in the imperial vaults of Beijing, turned away.

No one in the world could enter uninvited.

Beyond the gate they so desperately longed to pass.

The blue-tinged weeds covering the manor’s courtyard resembled footprints left by those who had lingered nearby. Deeper within, all the doors of the inner quarters stood open.

“What kind of fools— monks and priests no less— sit around like that, waiting in such an absurd state...?”

The Eternal Lantern Divine Physician, muttering curses, ruined the quiet elegance of the manor’s scenery.

Seated on a wooden bench in the open courtyard, he was administering acupuncture to commoners.

This, in turn, made the already pale-faced patients even more hesitant to breathe.

Inside the inner quarters, the Sect Leaders of the Nine Great Schools sat in meditation, each occupying a separate residence.

They exchanged words only among themselves, voices too faint for others to hear.

—We have waited long enough. My internal injuries are mostly healed, so do not try to stop me from leaving.

[That ‘mostly’ is still far from the Young Lord of Yulha being at full strength. Are you truly set on seeking out Benefactor Jeong?]

[Consider this decision carefully, as the Sect Leader of Mount Hua. We have left Songshan, Mount Hua, and Cheongseong Mountain unattended for far too long. Our disciples must be struggling to manage on their own.]

At Beomheo’s words, Yulha hesitated. Meanwhile, Cheongseong’s leader raised a brow.

—Our sect sees it differently. The disciples raised in the land of Immortal Mountains have strong hearts. They would not want their Sect Leader to abandon the bond forged in life and death. If we were to speak of duty, it would be a far greater disappointment to them.

[I see you have considered it well. I respect Cheongseong’s will.]

Beomheo smiled faintly.

The Divine Physician had offered none of them his medical skills.

He had merely allowed them to stay.

Even when Beomheo approached him, he nearly shooed him away.

Yet the Mok Manor was still the safest place in the world.

The gods that resided within the upper dantian of the absolute masters.

Their profound internal strength, cultivated over lifetimes, only grew denser.

Even if they were injured, that power never faded—it merely radiated an unparalleled pressure.

And for the absolute masters who had devoted themselves to Daoism and Buddhism, their transcendent state of mind surpassed human limitations.

The sheer presence of their upper dantian alone constantly emitted qi.

Even if lightning struck from the heavens, there was no risk of fire.

Their very existence wove an indestructible net akin to diamonds.

They were accustomed to silence, carrying it with them wherever they went.

Even the ever-talkative Ak Su-rim, known as the Divine Spear of Ipwang Fortress, had vanished at some point.

Now, only the groans of patients and the Divine Physician’s curt reprimands echoed through the manor.

The frail body of Abbot Beomheo suddenly lifted his head.

At that exact moment, a storm erupted.

The invisible net woven by the absolute masters of the Nine Great Schools was effortlessly torn apart.

As if the wind of heaven and earth had always meant to flow uninterrupted.

A tremendous shockwave crashed down upon them.

With the recoil, dust billowed upward like a rising storm cloud.

Yulha and Cheongsu immediately sprang to their feet.

“What in the hell—?!”

Even the Divine Physician, who had been diagnosing a patient from a distance, widened his eyes in shock and cursed.

Jeong Yeon-shin, lying upon hundreds of layers of rustling leaves, slowly descended with the fading storm.

His eyes remained closed—unconscious.

And in the sky above.

Standing upon the brilliant cascade of sunlight, a silhouette gazed down at the Divine Physician and parted their lips.

The movement was slow, deliberate.

“He must be treated within one shichen.”

Silence once again blanketed the open space.