Chapter 486: Chapter 486

The inner quarters of Mok Family Manor.

Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly opened his eyes, and a realization struck his mind like a hammer.

‘...The Dark Celestial Emperor is dead.’

The ancient monster Cho Ryeol no longer existed in this world. His essence, his spirit, and his qi had been completely annihilated. Even the internal energy of the Dark Celestial Emperor that had remained on earth was now gone.

A revelation originating from the Baihui acupoint at the top of his head.

The Empty Destruction Realm of Moonlit Blade Dance had vanished entirely from Hangzhou.

Like the nameless warriors of the martial world who perished in futility on some forgotten mountain.

Naturally, Yeon-shin’s upper dantian once again began to burn with scorching heat.

A damnable sensation, but in the grand scheme of things, this was an auspicious event for the world. One man’s short fate had nothing to do with the security of the realm.

If Cho Ryeol had remained alive, sooner or later, another disaster like the Awakening of the Flood Dragon would have occurred. This was, without a doubt, a good thing.

Yeon-shin instantly knew who had accomplished this feat.

To him, neither the Lord of Ipwang Fortress nor the sect leaders of the Nine Great Schools were beings he needed to guard against.

There was no need to narrow the scope of his senses or condense his qi perception.

The one man he could truly call his elder brother had eliminated the threat.

The uniquely razor-sharp qi of the Celestial Extreme Sect’s master had been wielded by the Divine Sword of Ipwang, as if he had swung a sacred relic.

A feat that not even the heads of martial sects could accomplish.

As the Azure Mantle of Ipwang Fortress, Yeon-shin had to ensure that this achievement was duly recognized.

If he reported this to the General Directorate, Hyeon Won-chang might even be granted the qualifications of the Black-tier Order.

Regardless of his erratic martial strength as the Divine Sword of Ipwang, this was something that had to be done.

“...Why are you just staring blankly? You’re not a newborn child.”

The voice came from the physician standing in Yeon-shin’s field of vision, speaking in a dry, detached tone.

His face was deathly pale, sunken cheeks giving him a skeletal appearance—far beyond what one would call haggard.

“If you’re able to get up but still insist on lying down, then you must have finally realized that a life spent lazing around indoors is the highest form of fortune.”

“The status of an Azure Mantle of Ipwang Fortress may seem glamorous on the surface, but don’t you lot whittle away your own souls and bodies for the sake of the world? A truly good life is one spent as the master of a bountiful estate in some peaceful countryside. Keep that in mind, for your own sake.”

“Before we met here in Hangzhou, we had encountered each other elsewhere, hadn’t we?”

Yeon-shin stared at him intently as he asked.

The physician’s expression shifted slightly.

An odd sense of reminiscence flickered across his face. Though his features were as smooth as those of an aristocrat, invisible wrinkles seemed to ripple across time itself.

“...Why do you ask that?”

“It just felt familiar.”

Yeon-shin answered plainly. Because it truly did.

Silence stretched between them.

“More importantly, shouldn’t you be paying attention to something else? People who wish for your recovery are gathering outside.”

“You mean the Lord of Ipwang and the various grandmasters?”

“I couldn’t care less about them.”

The physician frowned, as if telling Yeon-shin not to even bring them up. Then, he gestured toward the unopened window.

“The Emperor is dead.”

They cut through the air like a guillotine.

Even Yeon-shin, who had become even more like a true gentleman after glimpsing the Supreme Ultimate, found his composure shaken by this revelation.

There was no falsehood in the physician’s voice.

His upper dantian whispered in agreement.

The physician’s voice carried on, unwavering.

“The Son of Heaven—the pillar that held up the sky—has collapsed. The world is on the verge of falling into chaos. {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} The Zhu imperial clan, the local warlords, the native martial sects, and all the great factions of the martial world—every one of them is watching with unblinking eyes. They are all waiting to see which way the nation will fall.”

“...His Majesty, truly...”

“All of them hold the power to turn this land into hell. You should know this better than I do. Thirteen Heavens, Nine Great Schools, Eight Noble Clans, the Martial Nobility—these fools are making a spectacle of themselves.”

“But the Lord of Ipwang does not involve herself in such matters. She is an untouchable figure. She never acted unless the Emperor himself made a request. She moved for reasons that were beyond human comprehension—like a force of nature.”

“And now, the eyes of the world are on this Azure Mantle. The one who commands the warriors of Ipwang Fortress, standing at the peak of the martial world.”

The physician tapped Yeon-shin’s chest with the finger that had just placed an acupuncture needle.

It felt strangely like receiving a harsh lecture from an unseen grandfather.

Yeon-shin lowered his gaze to his chest, recalling the Emperor’s enigmatic face.

“In terms of official rank, the status of an Azure Mantle surpasses that of most princes. You must have heard of the atrocities your maternal grandfather committed in Beijing. And yet he still walks free. That alone tells you the weight of your position. With the Emperor gone, your words alone could shift the fate of the world. Countless people from all walks of life will now seek your attention.”

Yeon-shin’s lips twitched slightly as he kept his eyes half-lowered.

His head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

He understood the physician’s words.

But they didn’t feel real.

Because the Emperor he had known was a man who had thought of the people.

"If your heart remains unbroken through the ages, then you are the sword of this nation."

The Emperor had never truly summoned Yeon-shin to the North. He had only joked about it upon their first meeting.

He had given the other Azure Mantles their own roles as well, never forcing them into battlefields that could threaten imperial authority.

He had believed that the royal family’s Three Supreme Martial Guards and the Zhu clan’s warriors were enough to handle the Northern invaders.

Even as he watched the North, he never let go of the people’s welfare.

And in the end, he lost both.

And he had paid for it with his life.

No one knew how that loss would ripple across the world.

Yeon-shin thought to himself—

Should the Emperor’s descendants truly move for the sake of power?

Would they not lose their heads for even entertaining such thoughts?

The physician smirked.

“The fools of the martial world console themselves by saying that a single sword is enough for life. But tell me—can you name a single major martial sect or noble clan that hasn’t shared drinks with a provincial official? Those who are truly content with just martial arts do not fear the imperial court. They either roam the world alone, get branded as Thirteen Heavens, or shut themselves away in the mountains like the Nine Great Schools.”

As Yeon-shin listened, he suddenly realized something.

The Lord of Ipwang was outside.

She surely knew he was awake, yet she had not called for him.

As if telling him he could sleep longer.

Yeon-shin’s vision unfocused.

Baek Miryeo and the Seven Apostles were gone.

A low voice rang out from the forefront of the riders, all mounted on robust warhorses.

The brief command vibrated through the air, carrying the weight of immense internal energy. The very space seemed to distort, shimmering faintly in response to the overwhelming qi.

The noble, rhythmic sound of hoofbeats echoed.

The dense crowd in the bustling streets of Hangzhou parted like waves.

Silence, thick and oppressive, settled across the surroundings.

A procession dressed in robes and martial attire of red, blue, and green rode steadily forward, their presence alone sending shivers through onlookers. They made their way toward the hill where Mok Manor stood.

At the head of the column, a rider deftly balanced on horseback, raising a long standard high into the sky.

A banner bearing the inscription Honghuang unfurled.

A fierce wind lashed against the fabric, making it ripple violently.

Gasps and murmurs of shock spread rapidly.

Prince of Gungmyeong.

A royal of the Zhu dynasty, personally granted land and the title of Wang (King) by the Emperor himself.

He had amassed a force on par with the greatest martial sects, commanding a vast number of warriors while overseeing the security of his territories. The Central Plains were vast, after all.

But they weren’t alone.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

From all directions, additional groups converged on Mok Manor, as though encircling it.

Eight distinct factions advanced at a slow yet deliberate pace, their numbers evenly mixed between men and women.

“This is the place, isn’t it?”

“Considering the number of hidden agents deployed, there’s no other possibility.”

Despite the ongoing famine, their faces gleamed with well-fed health. Each figure was clad in fine silk, their well-developed physiques indicating both wealth and training.

The sheer weight of their qi suffocated the common folk nearby, sending oppressive ripples through the air.

In several alleyways, people struggled to breathe, their bodies trembling as only thin, wheezing sounds escaped their lips.

The eight factions moved as one, each numbering at least a hundred warriors.

The sheer scale of their gathering transformed the scenery in an instant.

The once-ordinary hill now looked like a battlefield on the brink of war.

Because, in truth, they had arranged this meeting in secret.

A transcendent martial artist whose presence alone could decide life and death.

And above them, only the Emperor and the Lord of Ipwang stood.

To make demands of such a figure, no faction would move alone.

They had to stand together, if only for protection.

That was why, despite their outward composure, tension crackled beneath their carefully measured words.

“...By the way, where exactly has the Lord of Ipwang disappeared to? I assumed she had gone north, but it seems that wasn’t the case. Even during the Flood Dragon’s Awakening in Hangzhou, she never revealed herself.”

“It’s difficult to track someone of her caliber. From what I heard in Beijing, she was waging her own battles elsewhere.”

At some point, all hoofbeats had ceased.

Most of the eight factions remained mounted, silently observing Mok Manor from a distance.

Their wariness was palpable. Whispered messages flitted between them.

—There was a great battle here. The physician within is not known to treat those who have cultivated internal energy. The new Azure Mantle must be utterly exhausted.

—They established ties with the masters of the Nine Great Schools at the Huashan Martial Summit. The Celestial Extreme Sect Master beheaded the Wudang Sword of Antiquity. We should focus on lauding the defeat of the Supreme Blade of the Unorthodox Faction.

—But we must not be too forward. Our words must carry weight if we wish to capture Jeong Yeon-shin’s interest.

—It is right to praise him, but if we bow to his subordinates as well, our proposal will seem laughable. We should conduct ourselves as we always do.

—Leader, please... do not say anything reckless!

—Do not worry. Many are under the mistaken belief that Jeong Yeon-shin, because of his bloodline, is prone to violence. But unless provoked first, he is one of the most mild-mannered individuals. Even his childhood is well-documented—didn’t the villagers of Shinya County describe him as a calf-like child?

The Emperor’s death had shaken the world.

And these eight factions, gathered here, were undeniable proof of the unfolding chaos.

A web of tangled interests.

The Prince of Gungmyeong and other royal factions were here to confirm that Ipwang Fortress would not interfere with their governance.

The Vice Grand Commander sought reinforcements for the battle raging in the North.

The Governor-General of Zhejiang had come to recognize Jeong Yeon-shin’s merits and safely send him away—partially out of guilt for his past cooperation with Mount Tai’s stronghold and the Celestial Extreme Sect.

Few among them had come with pure intentions.

In truth, only the Four Provinces Martial Alliance could claim so.

The Great Merchants Guild, for instance, was here to request the martial strength of Ipwang Fortress.

To transport vast resources safely in troubled times, no insignia carried more weight than the symbol of Huang (荒)—Wasteland.

“Since all esteemed guests are present, I will be direct.”

The leader of the Great Merchants Guild, Gwan Heo, leaped gracefully from his warhorse.

A man of grand stature, aged yet imposing, a master not only of calculations but also martial arts.

“The Imperial Court’s support for Ipwang Fortress may soon be severed. However, our Great Merchants Guild can make Yangyang richer than ever. Relay this to your Azure Mantle.”

He directed his words toward Ak Su-rim.

A man who controlled the lifeblood of the economy across the world.

And yet, among the eight factions, he ranked the lowest in status.

Thus, by unspoken agreement, he was the first to take the blow.

Because the grandson of Pae Hyeop was never one to show leniency to outsiders.

But Gwan Heo thought differently.

‘The rumors about the Annihilation of the Wasteland are exaggerated. In truth, this new Azure Mantle is the most noble-hearted of them all—at least, someone we can reason with.’

A close examination of Jeong Yeon-shin’s history made this clear.

The Great Merchants Guild.

A group that would risk their lives over a single silver coin.

Their intelligence network rivaled that of the Beggars’ Sect and Hao Clan.

That was why they dared to propose using the might of Ipwang Fortress for their own ends.

“...Who the hell are you people?”

Ak Su-rim stared blankly at him, showing no regard for the royal banners before her.

The icy wind tousled her long black hair, which cascaded down her neck.

Gwan Heo clicked his tongue inwardly.

‘How could she be so oblivious?’

Even a warrior as fearsome as the Annihilation of the Wasteland couldn’t handle this alone.

The influence of the eight factions was simply too vast.

The scale of their interests required nights of deliberation to untangle.

Any rational person would need days just to comprehend it all.

“The Deputy Commander of the Divine Swords has no business here. Nor does anyone else in this gathering.”

Qi rippled outward from several groups.

A reminder of their presence.

The pressure was suffocating, distorting even the dust in the air.

“We wish to speak as equals with the Azure Mantle of Ipwang.”

The Great Merchants Guild’s Leader spoke quietly.

The inner courtyard of Mokga Manor.

The young man, his back turned to the Lord of Ipwang, muttered inwardly. He was crouched carelessly on the edge of the gently sloping roof of the inner chamber.

The hem of his violet robe trailed down to the bricks, mingling with the dust.

"I am a maggot. I can do nothing, yet I must do everything..."

In that instant, an overwhelming surge of power rippled from the hand gripping the Divine Sword, Yeorae.