Chapter 499: Chapter 499

Hogwang Fortress, Yangyang.

Amidst the pitch-black night sky, a crescent moon hung faintly, resembling claw marks left by an unseen hand.

The grand halls of Ipwang Fortress’s main stronghold, built entirely of pristine white marble, seemed to absorb even the moonlight’s faint glow, as if they were parched land drinking in the last drops of rain. Thus, even in the depth of winter nights, they remained pale and ghostly.

Ma Gwang-ik’s pavilion was no exception.

A swordsman clad in a dark hood and blindfold entered the grandmaster’s office. The hem of his black robe, trailing down to his ankles, fluttered wide as it swept past the doorframe.

Cheongmyeong murmured briefly. He had officially become Ma Gwang-ik’s grandmaster at midnight the previous night.

But that was all he said.

— You’ll take over Ma Gwang-ik’s position while I’m away. Leave these documents with the Grand Marshal. Congratulations in advance.

That was what Jeong Yeon-shin had said to him before they parted ways in Hangzhou.

The youngest of Ma Gwang-iljo had spoken with the maturity of a grown brother, even using the phrase jegupo-shin—to cast aside the old and usher in the new.

In other words, he intended to completely clear out the grandmaster’s office for his successor.

That was why Cheongmyeong was now gathering the previous grandmaster’s personal belongings.

It was a task difficult to entrust to the servants, yet it wasn’t difficult at all.

Because Jeong Yeon-shin’s possessions were sparse to begin with.

The first item that emerged from the desk drawer was a round metal token engraved with clouds.

It was the Bo-eunpae of the Zhongnan Sect—a token of gratitude given to a young ally by the deceased Sword Immortal of Zhongnan and the sect’s headmaster.

Next was a blue-rimmed jade cup, traditionally granted upon reaching the Blue Rank. Warriors of Ipwang Fortress, well-acquainted with assassination and poison, often carried such a cup. It was said Jeong Yeon-shin had used it when he first shared a drink with Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin of Namgung.

That wasn’t all. There were a few more items.

A white crane fan of the Seonryong lineage, given to him by Jegal Cheong-ah when she declared she would become her own head while briefly serving as Ma Gwang-ik’s guest warrior.

A black robe, reduced to near rags, with one sleeve missing—once worn by Ma Jin.

The secret martial manual of the deceased Kwon Mugong, Lotus Blooming in Flame.

And finally, a wooden chest containing the severed head of the Daoist Swordmaster of Mount Wudang.

Cheongmyeong had personally retrieved this last item and placed it on the office desk. Just as the rumors about the old orthodox sects suggested, the remains of an enlightened sage did not decay.

There was no scent, nothing unnatural.

As if it was still waiting for the young man from its final moments to ascend Mount Wudang together someday.

— This is my task. I’ll return soon.

That was what Jeong Yeon-shin had left behind.

Cheongmyeong, pausing in the middle of packing the few remaining items, suddenly hesitated. The bundle was heavier than expected. The same weight would burden Jeong Yeon-shin upon his return to the stronghold.

A flame flickered to life in Cheongmyeong’s grasp—True Flame of Three Realms, the True Flame of Three Realms. But after a moment, he shook his head and extinguished it.

Even if he burned the bundle, the burden that had already settled in a person’s heart could not be erased.

Without hesitation, he stepped out of the office.

Passing by more than a dozen stone tablets erected in Ma Gwang-ik’s training grounds, the black-cloaked Cheongmyeong headed straight for the Grand Marshal’s quarters.

As he walked past the memorials of those who had gone before him in the Sichuan Minggong Hall, and the three comrades who had left on solo missions only to return as corpses, a whistle echoed in the wind.

The night air of the stronghold was cold and clear.

By contrast, the Grand Marshal’s quarters were ablaze with activity.

Offering only a slight nod in acknowledgment to the guards clasping their hands in greeting, Cheongmyeong pushed open the great doors himself.

Not human footsteps, but the rustling of non-human creatures. Beasts trained by the Myeong clan darted across the rooftops, some with messages tied to their feet, others with missives clutched in their jaws.

Amidst this, the voices of the Grand Marshal and his scholars filled the room, their conversation illuminating the space like lantern light.

“The King of the Grand Horsewood, Taebaek Bu-wang, has annihilated the Gongsun Clan and absorbed the local martial aristocracy... He is effectively a rising warlord. The imperial army will need to respond.”

“A well-argued point. I assume you’ve practiced reading your books well in your study. Now, let’s see if you can think of a proper countermeasure. Or would you prefer to accompany me northward to witness firsthand just how grotesquely distorted the faces of those Yao clan warriors become in battle?”

“The ninth relay to the Yangtze River Fleet... Eleven days have passed. We have confirmed the survival of twenty-three members of the Radiant Sword Unit, but their leader remains missing. Given the circumstances, we must consider the possibility that he perished alongside one of the Twin Kings of the Flowing Dragon under the Wanxiang Canal Lord’s command.”

“I must ask now—are we certain that damn Radiant Sword actually went to the Yangtze? Why was he messing around there instead of assisting Dark Sword and his unit leader? Why do all the black-blooded warriors of Wonpyeong One-Sword Pavilion utterly ignore the scholars’ orders?”

“Lately, the Outlaw Devils have become more aggressive, taking hostages among the common people to expand their influence...”

“I’ve been awake too long—I misspoke. It’s not that they don’t listen to me. It’s that this era doesn’t listen to me.”

Inside the Grand Marshal’s quarters.

Only then did the Grand Marshal, Im Jin-myeong, finally glance at Cheongmyeong.

He sat against a backdrop of scholars and stacks of documents, his thick beard shifting slightly as he nodded.

“Jeong Gong’s belongings. As I mentioned before.”

Cheongmyeong spoke in the sing-song cadence characteristic of the Myeong clan, as if weaving melody into the word belongings.

Im Jin-myeong gave a nonchalant nod.

“Leave it here. It will be moved to the main stronghold’s vault. It’s about time we started storing Lord Yong’s belongings alongside his.”

A few of the scholars, previously lost in their writing, halted their brushstrokes.

But even in that moment, the voices filling the Grand Marshal’s ears—voices carrying the weight of decisions and strategy—continued to ring out.

“A new martial challenge has arrived from Hyeollyeon Pungwol, leader of the Murong Society! This is the seventh one... Once again, he demands a duel to the death with Lord Yong. He has declared that if we refuse again, he will storm the stronghold alone—!”

“How are we supposed to summon someone who isn’t here? Do not reply. Lord Yong and Dark Sword are unavailable.”

“Urgent intelligence from Taeyeomryong! The North Sea Ice Palace has been sighted meeting with Yao warriors... The leader who once fought Emperor Seon remains missing. Additionally, there are reports of a marriage alliance—apparently, Taeyeomryong himself has become the fifteenth concubine of the Ice Palace Lord...”

“What the hell kind of nonsense is that? Is he chewing opium over there, too? For now... mark it as classified intelligence.”

Im Jin-myeong turned to another scholar.

“The nine merchant guilds we categorized separately?”

“We should assume supplies have been cut off. The situation in Beijing is deteriorating.”

His tone remained calm—not out of composure, but out of a refusal to complain or lament the circumstances.

“The current Ice Palace Lord is a woman?”

“Yes. But no one has ever returned from a solo mission with a wedding ring. This intelligence is dubious at best.”

“Jeong Gong will be interested.”

Cheongmyeong stroked the hilt of his Ipwang Sword and asked briefly,

“What is my mission?”

Im Jin-myeong answered without hesitation.

“Rescue the Radiant Sword Unit. Ensure their safe return.”

“The stronghold’s defenses?”

“...Don’t worry. We can still hold out.”

Shadows flickered across the window frame.

Inside the Grand Marshal’s quarters, voices filled the lantern-lit interior, while beyond the walls, the cold night air devoured them into silence.

The land had suffered an extreme drought.

The wide expanse of earth was cracked in all directions, deep fissures running through it like gaping wounds. Wisps of pale smoke rose from various spots, lingering in the stagnant air.

Amidst the desolation sat a blood-colored Taesa Throne, its ominous presence heightening the eerie atmosphere. A woman in a crimson robe sat there, her long black hair cascading down, a single eye closed.

It was a ceremony of madness. Even as the ghostly smoke brushed against her skin, her pale face remained devoid of any trace of blood.

Her beauty was peerless.

The words came from an equally chillingly beautiful man with snow-white hair. Draped in robes redder than the Seventh Apostle’s own, he stood behind her with his hands folded behind his back, gazing down at her.

"I didn’t expect you to be captured so easily. You went around slaughtering the branches of our cult, yet in the end, all you relied on was your own martial prowess."

His voice was smooth, almost leisurely.

At those words, the Seventh Apostle’s crimson eye narrowed.

"You’re doing a good impression of the last one. So, you’re no longer the First Apostle—you’re the Bloodflame Cult Leader now?"

The Bloodflame Cult Leader’s crimson lips curved into a wicked smile.

"The true power of the last generation has been passed down to me—the way it has always been in the noble bloodline of the Bloodflame Cult. Just as you can never suppress your own madness, the vast, all-encompassing divinity of the previous cult leader did not vanish from the world. It wandered, seeking a new host, and it settled within me.

Just as the Green Jade Buddha Palm of Shaolin will always return to Mount Song, so too did your Taesa Divine Sword return to its rightful master in Hangzhou."

His tone was almost nostalgic.

"You’re a beast who destroyed my main branch. I should sever your head on the spot... but how do you think they’ll react in Yangyang when I bring news of you? If they’ve grown fond of you, their expressions will stiffen. If not, they’ll rejoice that a stubborn leech has been shaken off."

The Seventh Apostle pressed her lips together.

She was unbound, yet unable to move. Her blood points had been sealed.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader stared at her for a long moment before curling his lips into a smile.

"But this is strange. You were captured far too easily, and I haven’t even fully absorbed the last generation’s divinity yet."

"What happened to you before we met? Who did you face?"

The Seventh Apostle remained silent.

A moon-like energy was coiled within her Qi Sea below her navel.

Her body had always been attuned to a cold, chilling force. But ever since she had encountered the World’s Strongest in Ipwang Fortress, his power had invaded her, an energy so overwhelmingly yin-based that it was nearly unbearable.

It had seeped into her Blood Art True Qi, triggering an abnormal transformation.

For some time now, she had drifted in and out of consciousness.

She needed time. She had no luck.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader leaned in close.

His robe, draped over his transcendentally honed muscles, shifted lightly. His smile exuded demonic charm—a bewitching allure capable of ensnaring people.

"What should I do with this defiant one? You already know, don’t you? I can’t kill you so easily. Your bloodline is too precious."

"Hmm, yes, don’t kill me. The Grand Apostle would want that. You’ll find me useful."

The Seventh Apostle murmured as she gazed at him. But for some reason, there was no confidence in her voice.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader’s crimson eyes gleamed like a beast catching its prey.

He straightened and let out a thunderous laugh.

"How pitiful! You, who have lived as a noble all your life, have finally experienced something unfamiliar. Tell me—who in this world has ever truly cared for you?"

As if in response, the ground trembled.

Chunks of earth burst from the ground, sending dust clouds into the air.

The divinity amplifying his True Qi was overflowing from his Upper Dantian, and the violent fluctuations of Blood Art True Qi tore through the terrain in chaotic surges.

"On our way to Yangyang, I will take you with me! I am far more curious about your reaction than Yeonhwa Nata’s! Are you his burden, or are you nothing more than an offering to the cult?

I will see for myself.

It shall be... entertaining."

"You sound like an idler. Maybe you should go plow some fields instead."

The Seventh Apostle smirked slightly, her lips twitching.

At the same time, she was analyzing the structure of the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s True Qi that sealed her blood points.

It wouldn’t take long to break free.

"First Apostle, what did you do with your subordinates?"

"Don’t bother scheming. Those children cannot defy their blood.

The moment they see you, they will waver—unsure whether they should continue serving me or follow you."

"So you left them behind? You must be confident."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"How could I call myself the Cult Leader if I couldn’t handle a single woman? This battle was always meant to be a test for myself.

It just... ended far too easily."

Suddenly, his mad laughter vanished.

"Ipwang Fortress will be annihilated."

"This has been planned for a long time. Of course, it will succeed without me even being there. But if I am to rebuild the cult’s influence, then I must be present at such a historic moment—"

Beneath his feet, the ground froze over.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader turned his head.

Silhouettes emerged from the distant edge of the desolate plains.

Their black robes billowed in the rising smoke as they strode forward.

"Ipwang Fortress...?"

Suspicion flickered in the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s crimson gaze.

He twisted his foot slightly, shattering the ice.

But in that single instant, a towering man leapt through the air.

He descended with a deafening boom, driving a massive fist straight toward the Bloodflame Cult Leader.

The punch landed squarely in the abdomen. A devastating blow, carried by a storm of force.

Waves of energy burst outward in all directions, a whirlwind of slicing wind trailing behind. The technique was unmistakably that of the Myung Clan, a signature step force technique—but the weight and elasticity within the movement were beyond ordinary.

At the same time, the ice binding the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s feet hardened with a resounding crack. It prevented him from being completely blown away. This was an advanced supreme freezing technique.

‘Cold Heaven Flowless Ice Arts...!’

The secret art of the Divine Sword Unit’s Lord of Sunwood Ridge.

In the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s tilted vision, three figures appeared. They had approached so swiftly that they seemed to be mere fragments of an unfinished painting.

Lord of Sunwood Ridge, Cheon So-so, gazed at him with calm blue eyes, while Lord of the Celestial Forest, Hahoe Wi-jin, was already reloading another devastating punch at his waist, like a cannon ready to fire.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader’s face twisted in fury.

A blade soared in a straight arc, slashing across his shoulder. Blood splattered, mingling with a semi-transparent sword wind that followed the cut.

The wielder, Lord of the Commandments, Woon So-yoo, had her long black hair billowing like a celestial robe.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader’s crimson lips curved into a grin.

With a swipe of his sideward hand, the very air itself warped around him.

A technique imbued with the will to kill—a force that erased the very space between him and Woon So-yoo in an instant. A faint blood-red light flickered ominously.

But in that very moment, the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s body was blasted backward.

Hahoe Wi-jin’s fist had landed directly, while Cheon So-so’s freezing energy sealed his footing, preventing him from evading entirely.

The Masters of the Myung Clan’s Divine Sword Unit moved with perfect coordination. The two figures in black pursued him relentlessly, while Woon So-yoo’s left arm blurred as she smoothly reversed her grip on her sword.

A devastating shockwave erupted as Woon So-yoo’s blade pinned the Bloodflame Cult Leader to the ground in a diagonal arc, embedding him deep into the earth.

A cloud of ochre dust exploded outward, momentarily obscuring all four figures.

Meanwhile, Cheon So-so’s freezing energy continued to activate, dulling the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s regenerative abilities—a fatal hindrance to beings with vampiric blood arts.

For once, the Seventh Apostle’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.

The smoke rising from the battlefield grew thicker by the second.

Blood sprayed unceasingly, while semi-transparent energy fragments scattered through the air.

Each time the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s laughter spread smoothly through the battlefield, the sound of flesh and bone being torn apart followed.

Hundreds of punches, palms, sword slashes, and energy strikes intertwined into a chaotic, explosive barrage. The heat of violent energy collisions ignited the air—only to be abruptly extinguished by the chilling crack of ice.

Thousands of exchanges overlapped in mere moments.

"You insignificant insects dare struggle so much!"

"You ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ know what’s coming—don’t let him breathe. He’s about to use Moonless Step."

Only two people on the battlefield could manipulate their breathing patterns into spoken words amid such chaos: The Bloodflame Cult Leader, through his peerless mastery, and Cheon So-so, through the Divine Heavenly Tree Sapling she carried.

The sun had begun to set.

On the horizon, the sky burned orange, the sunlight flickering like embers—fuel for the fire of time.

The relentless dust that had been kicked up by their clashes gradually settled.

All four of them were in tatters.

Scarlet and black robes were shredded, some pieces torn away with flesh still attached.

The earth had long since been soaked in blackened blood, while the four masters, riddled with wounds and piercing injuries, gazed silently at the Bloodflame Cult Leader.

At this point, their energy perception had dulled. They had to rely more on their eyes.

A piece of ice shattered at the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s feet.

He no longer stood with his usual noble posture. Gone was the graceful refinement of a Northern aristocrat—in its place, his entire presence exuded the primal aura of a fanged bat, lips curled into a feral grin.

His shoulders slumped, his lips quirking in amusement.

"Ipwang Fortress has changed. It started with Yong Hui-myeong, no... the absence of Yong Ga is already well known. In that case, the one pulling the strings must be—"

Suddenly, from behind him, a long, slender hand clamped down on his crown.

The skin was pale, like a shadow emerging from dusk.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader barely had time to turn his head before—

A sword of blood-red energy sliced clean through his neck, separating his head from his body.

The sinister True Qi blade, forged of pure, eerie energy, retained its glow even after severing him.

The Bloodflame Cult Leader’s body did not even waver. Even as his head fell, his stance remained perfectly balanced.

A moment of silence passed.

Hahoe Wi-jin furrowed his brows, while Woon So-yoo wordlessly flicked her blade once.

The wielder of the formless blade stepped forward.

Pale skin, a narrow face. His black robes clung to his body like a bat’s wings.

"Vice Commander of the Divine Sword Unit."

Cheon So-so spoke abruptly.

Blood Guardian, Jin Myeong-jo, did not respond.

He simply held up the Bloodflame Cult Leader’s head.

The crimson eyes had not lost their glow.

As if nothing had happened, his face returned to an expressionless mask.

Such was the nature of a grandmaster of the Bloodflame Cult, one who had transcended the boundaries of life and death.

"...Yes. The martial world is ."

The Bloodflame Cult Leader spoke.

"You’ve accomplished something impressive.

The martial world... the entire Dark Dao... will soon rise against you all—"

His skull burst apart before he could finish speaking.

Jin Myeong-jo’s fingers crushed his remains like pulp.

"It always has," he muttered softly.