Chapter 514: Chapter 514

Jeong Yeon-shin stood still, his gaze fixed on the Ipwang Fortress banner he had planted.

Yet, despite the sheer number of martial artists gathered beyond the main gate—not a single one moved.

Jeong Yeon-shin, the Annihilation of the Wastelands.

As the winter wind began to stir once more, the hem of his violet robe fluttered. But unlike when he had first appeared at the onset of battle, his robes were no longer pristine.

Streaked with dark crimson, the cloth bore crude strokes of blood, as if painted with the chaos of war.

And the young man who now blocked the gates of Ipwang Fortress stood as the undisputed sovereign of martial suppression.

No one moved to break the banner, its pole fashioned from the spear of Ak Su-rim.

The aura of the martial artists, which had once radiated in a show of dominance, had now dissipated into irrelevance.

The only one who moved—with a measured pace and a flowing violet robe—was the woman.

At some point, as if by some sleight of hand, she had subdued Haeil Kwoncheon, the man who had burned the winter air as if summoning the infernal depths of hell.

Now, he was bound by the very earth itself, as if the goddess of soil and stone had entombed him.

She alone had captured a supreme martial master of the opposing side.

Even the searing energy that once boiled the battlefield had completely vanished.

With a mere flick of her fingers, as if plucking the strings of a qin, she had manipulated the air pressure itself, sealing off seventy-five of Haeil Kwoncheon’s vital acupoints.

Even his monstrous, sun-scorching qi had been utterly stifled.

Beside Jeong Yeon-shin, Shin Cheonhwa spoke.

Her voice carried easily across the battlefield, unfiltered, unhesitating.

[ "What is your name?" ]

"Yeon-shin of the Jeong family, from Shinya Prefecture, Henan."

[ "Burnt-out smoke? Who names their child like that?" ]

[ "A bastard deserving death." ]

"...He has already passed."

[ "Not that I find it regrettable." ]

"I beg forgiveness for not offering proper respects."

Jeong Yeon-shin replied, still gazing at the banner he had planted.

He had no intention of looking away.

He had invoked the name of Ipwang Fortress himself.

With the severed heads of his fallen seniors laid behind him, it was only right that he conduct himself as one of the Violet.

Shin Cheonhwa glanced at him, then murmured.

[ "Broad shoulders." ]

Her languid tone oddly matched her carefree temperament.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin understood—her words were not mere commentary on his build.

Rather, it was an acknowledgment—a Violet elder’s approval that he was worthy to wear the robe.

But Jeong Yeon-shin did not turn to look at her.

He had already received word of her identity from the Grand Commander.

The previous, previous Commander of the Divine Sword Corps.

A figure so far beyond his reach that he had never even considered their existence.

And yet, because she was such an unfathomable figure—he believed she would understand the actions of a distant successor.

‘Ipwang Fortress has now opened its gates to Yangyang.’

There could no longer be any room for the martial world to look down on them.

Straight toward the banner.

The gathered martial artists stiffened.

Jeong Yeon-shin stepped beside the banner.

Those standing at the forefront of the martial artists flinched, stepping back.

Even gasps escaped here and there—a reflexive response from warriors whose instincts had sounded the alarm.

To be slow in reacting to a powerful figure’s movement in the martial world was to have one's lifeline severed.

The forced exhalations of internal energy were their bodies’ way of urging them to heighten their defenses.

Ipwang Fortress ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) and the Martial World.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

A history of conflict between the fortress of governance and the unruly warriors who opposed bureaucratic intervention in their affairs.

The martial world was not just composed of great sects.

There were subordinate factions of the larger alliances, aristocratic families with martial traditions, clans that passed down techniques in secrecy, and the countless mid-sized sects that truly filled the land.

They were the ones closest to the lives of ordinary people.

In sheer numbers, they dwarfed the great sects.

And now—this martial world, the very essence of it, had gathered before Ipwang Fortress.

Those who had rushed forward, intent on besieging the stronghold, were a mix of the high and the low.

All those who believed they had the strength, the influence, the ability to challenge Ipwang Fortress.

‘A definitive display is needed.’

Jeong Yeon-shin thought, his mind growing slightly hazy.

The medicine in the Divine Thunder Wine had worked exceptionally well in restoring his vitality and treating his internal wounds.

But at its core, it was still aged liquor.

The alcohol content was high, and the medicinal properties were infused within the very essence of the drink.

Meaning—it was impossible to expel the intoxication through internal energy alone.

He had to settle this before the drunkenness set in.

"A warrior prepared for battle—"

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly, gazing at the martial artists who now watched him in complete silence.

"Sees a fleeting moment as eternity."

"If you still need more time to think—"

His voice remained steady.

"Then as a martial artist, you lack even the qualifications to exchange words with me."

Then, his expression hardened slightly.

"Stand before me not as a warrior, but as a commoner—"

"And I shall protect you."

As soon as he finished speaking, the banner—once fluttering ceaselessly in the wind—

Now folded against the spear’s shaft, as if a bird tucking its wings.

There was no greater humiliation for the martial world.

A silence like death itself spread across the battlefield.

Some sect leaders, their disciples at their backs, clenched their jaws.

Clan heads who had coordinated their uniforms, as if they had come to overthrow Ipwang Fortress together, visibly stiffened.

Even among the strongest warriors present—those who held honor and reputation above all else—unrest was palpable.

Despite hundreds, thousands of martial artists now gathered in Yangyang, the tension was undeniable.

Dust crumbled from the roof tiles where various martial artists stood.

A telltale sign of strained senses.

Their nerves had sharpened to the point where their bodies had begun to unconsciously react.

No one stepped forward.

The remnants of the Divine Sword Corps Commander’s martial prowess still lingered.

And the absolute power behind it.

Suddenly, amidst the low laughter that escaped from Shin Cheonhwa.

Their pride had been pushed to the very edge of the cliff, and yet not a single one dared to step forward before Jeong Yeon-shin. They remained silent. It was the silence of death in the martial world.

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke again.

“I gave you the chance, yet the banner has not been broken.”

He grasped the pole planted at the passage leading to the main gate of Ipwang Fortress. The weapon of the Ipwang’s foremost spear. At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt it.

The breath of Ak Su-rim, who had just crushed the skull of one of Gunma Nokrim’s top masters with her bare hands, was flowing through his own grip as well.

At some point in the past.

Like when he had attempted to seize control at the Great Opening Tournament of the Martial Alliance.

Jeong Yeon-shin summoned the wind of the Wind God’s Step throughout his body. Instantly, a fierce gust swept through the folds of his wide purple robe.

The deeply embedded spear shaft was pulled free in his hand.

Amidst the utter silence, where not a single martial artist’s breath of inner energy could be felt, silver streaks ran down noisily along the bannerpole that still held Je Gangcheon’s severed head.

“I declare Ipwang Fortress’s victory.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice rang out.

The moment those words were spoken, many of the martial artists in the distance visibly flinched. Though he had not spread his words through the Six Harmonies Transmission, the message had reached them nonetheless.

From atop the fortress wall at the far end, the azure-robed martial artist of Myungryu Division, Sambok, hurriedly spoke up.

[They did not have the foresight to break the banner themselves, but the keen senses honed through their inner energy remained alive and breathing.]

His voice was like that of a man reciting a record of the event. Naturally, it had been amplified by his internal energy.

And so, the marketplace of Yangyang, which had once been filled with the vibrant sounds of commoners going about their lives, remained eerily silent—kept that way by the countless martial artists who had fallen speechless.

Suddenly, within the low laughter that escaped from Shin Cheonhwa.

Their pride had been pushed to the edge of a cliff, yet not a single one dared to step forward in front of Jeong Yeon-shin, remaining silent. It was the silence of death in the martial world.

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke again.

"I gave them a chance, yet the flag did not break."

He gripped the flagpole planted at the entrance to Ipwang Fortress with one hand. The military banner of Ipwang Fortress. In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt it.

From afar, the breath of Ak Su-rim, who had shattered the head of a martial artist from the elite Green Forest Cavalry with one hand, flowed through his grip.

Just like when he attempted to seize the initiative during the martial world faction war.

Jeong Yeon-shin raised the wind of the Wind God technique with his whole body. A powerful gust swept out from his wide violet sleeves.

The flagpole, deeply planted in the ground, was pulled from its place by his hand.

In the stillness, where no martial artist’s internal energy could be sensed, silver light rushed down the flagpole where the head of Je Gangcheon was impaled.

"I declare the victory of Ipwang Fortress."

Jeong Yeon-shin said.

As soon as those words left his mouth, martial artists began to flinch from afar. The news had reached them, even though Jeong Yeon-shin hadn't deliberately spread it to the martial world.

From the distant fortress walls, Sambok of the Myung-ryu Sect, who had been standing in a daze, quickly opened his mouth.

[They lacked the ability to break the flag, but the sharpness of their senses, honed to perfection, was still alive and well.]

His voice seemed to murmur as if reciting the record of the event. It was, of course, a voice amplified by internal power.

The bustling marketplace of Yangyang, which had been filled with the sounds of the common people’s lives, fell into a deep silence as martial artists closed their mouths.