Chapter 526: Chapter 526

Jet-black hair and dark robes fluttered long in the wind.

“It’s hard to even look. That’s beyond insolent.”

Shin Blood Demon Jin Myeong-jo spoke.

“This is the Wonpyeong One-Sword Arena, heart of the Main Sect.”

His unusually dark black hair and the hem of the robe symbolizing a Grand Master blended together like the night sky. Several Grand Masters seated in the arena stared at his back with shocked expressions.

“Was that just now...?”

“Did he already achieve a major feat?”

It referred to a great advancement in martial arts.

Jeong Yeon-shin, like many of his seniors, gazed at Jin Myeong-jo, who had blocked the view of Mount Wudang’s staff with his presence. As always, he felt a familiar temperament emanating from the most dependable back in the Main Sect.

The Blood Flame Cult Leader who once crushed Jeong Yeon-shin with an overwhelming presence during his youth in blue robes.

That white-haired transcendent’s divine nature that had spread when presenting a head to the Lord of Ipwang Fortress—now flowed from Jin Myeong-jo. Faint, yet chillingly serene.

‘So he really did take another head of a Blood Flame Cult Leader.’

The divine nature of the most noble blood demon in the world had been passed down to the current Vice Commander of the Divine Sword Unit.

A mysterious mental imprint, a power separate from inner strength. The higher the creator's level of mastery, the longer it remains in the world.

And just as it amplifies inner power, it is also the reason why Jeong Yeon-shin’s purple robe can restore its fabric on its own.

So long as energy remains within the cloth, the robe's divine nature does not fade. That was what the Gunreung Emperor had said when bestowing the purple garment.

—A man of mine had it tailored by the best cutter in the Northern Capital. Even a Spirit Thief would target it, so calling it the work of the greatest artisan in the world is no exaggeration.

The divine nature of the white-haired transcendent who once burned in Cheongyeom's flames in Sichuan was no different.

The nobles of the Blood Flame Cult divided ranks among themselves through blood-soaked innate energy and honored their ancestors’ spirits. One who had long stood at the peak of the clan could indeed leave behind a divine imprint like a relic of a saint.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself.

Completely assimilating such a thing was a different matter altogether.

Without doubt, the current Vice Commander of the Divine Sword Unit should be in deep closed-door cultivation.

The fact that he had even come out to the Wonpyeong One-Sword Arena was a surprise in itself. Regardless of how the meeting progressed, he could’ve focused solely on strengthening himself.

And then it happened.

“If it’s not Lord Jeong... I have no business here...!”

With a woman’s stifled voice came a strong gust of pine-like fragrance. In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin recalled a certain pavilion from the past.

A time spent sharing drinks with Yong Hui-myeong and other Grand Masters in Owunsan Grass-Hut Hermitage, and the old swordswoman who had challenged Jeong Yeon-shin to a test of golden-threaded technique while playfully donning a young boy’s appearance.

It was the wave of Wudang’s Cotton Palm.

Jang Bong, her neck caught by Jin Myeong-jo, twisted her left hand around his arm and broke free. The motion was strong yet gentle. And fast.

In an instant, she had pried Jin Myeong-jo’s arm away and dropped low.

The next moment, her body arrived beside Jeong Yeon-shin—exactly where Jin Myeong-jo had originally been seated. Her white sleeve fluttered like a feathered cloud.

It was truly ethereal.

There was no vibration or blast typical of acceleration techniques. It was clearly Wudang’s Cloud-Ladder Steps. And it suited the elevated aura she exuded.

But only briefly. Clad in her pure white robe, Jang Bong flinched. For Jin Myeong-jo, leaving behind a comet-like trail of red glowing eyes, had already taken position behind her.

“Leaping around like a monkey.”

His tone was as sharp as shattering ice.

Even the Cloud-Ladder Steps—one of the Five Illustrious Movement Arts famed for transcending the bounds of ordinary lightness techniques—could not shake off the Blood Preservation Technique of the Vice Commander of the Bloodline.

And all of it played out in clear view of the Grand Masters seated within the arena.

Hahoe Wi-jin even clapped his hands in amusement, and had Jeong Yeon-shin not intervened with a courteous gesture to Jin Myeong-jo, Jang Bong’s head would’ve been split by the Dark Night Blood Sword.

“...Right now, Mount Wudang is on the verge of being split in two by the Headmaster.”

Jang Bong, turning her back to Jin Myeong-jo, spoke each word with deliberate care. She seemed completely unbothered by whatever might befall her.

Her face was hidden behind a translucent veil, with only her eyes exposed. The gaze she cast down upon Jeong Yeon-shin in that moment glowed faintly blue.

Whether from the radiance of her martial arts or the noble blood of the Ju family, it was hard to tell.

Jeong Yeon-shin immediately spoke.

“That’s not reason enough to interrupt the gathering at the One-Sword Arena. I’d prefer if you explained the situation properly.”

“The cause lies with the Old Sword Sage.”

Jang Bong—Ju Sehwa—spoke with difficulty. Her voice was heavy with the strain of suppression.

The death of the Old Sword Sage.

Was she holding back the urge to blame Jeong Yeon-shin? Many martial artists Jeong Yeon-shin had encountered would’ve done so without hesitation. Of course, he himself still bore the bitter scars from it.

If he hadn’t lost once to the Lord of the Celestial Polar Sect, the legendary swordsman of Wudang, the Old Sword Sage, would never have died.

In Hangzhou, where the Grand Martial Tournament took place.

The man in purple moved. Wudang must’ve felt secure.

And then the calamity unfolded.

‘If only the Commander had taken on the Lord of the Celestial Polar Sect instead...’

Perhaps no one would’ve had to die.

The urgency sprouting in Jeong Yeon-shin’s heart was already rooted in his inferiority toward Yong Hui-myeong.

Even if Ju Sehwa were to blame him here, he was ready to accept it in silence. A substitute commander, the destined master of the Ascending Divine Sword, a transcendent of this era that permitted no hero’s death...

Then Ju Sehwa parted her lips once more.

“I searched for Myulseom Grand Master, who was said to have been with our Old Sword Sage to the very end, but I couldn’t reach him. I had no choice but to come here. Before the Mystic Army’s Emperor Shinhwang, the one who last spoke with my master was you, Lord Jeong. I humbly ask—will you ascend Mount Wudang and remove the Main Sect’s hidden affliction?”

Just as Jeong Yeon-shin fell silent at the earnest request of a true disciple of Wudang—

Four voices echoed, mingling with a dense wave of martial energy.

Two dignified voices, one neat and composed young man, and one slightly hoarse middle-aged man.

“Please, don’t do this. We deeply regret and apologize for crossing Ipwang Fortress’s walls without notice, but we only came to stop one of our disciples.”

“He’s right. Young Lord Namgung, surely there’s no reason for us to exchange blows. We had planned to follow protocol with proper notice—!”

“The Elders crossed over through the western wall that collapsed during the Sect War. In such a time, that’s a grave insult and an unforgivable offense. The rest of your explanation can be made from the dungeon. The prison in the capital remains intact. Senior Changcheon, I’ll take it from—”

“Baek Girin, that’s enough. Just because you’ve mastered Simgeuk Girin doesn’t mean you should get ahead of yourself. The sharper your swordplay becomes, the more... Hey, wait—damn it, you bastard.”

Two Taoists of Wudang.

And the temporary commanders: Suncheon Lord and Grand Master Changcheon.

It seemed a clash had broken out, as the influence of martial force gradually approached. Bursts of wind surged forward like explosions.

Ju Sehwa let out a small sigh beside Jeong Yeon-shin.

“It seems two of my seniors have come to apprehend me. I barely evaded them after some lunatic with clear eyes charged at me.”

“Doesn’t sound like something to joke about.”

Ak Su-rim, with her head tilted slightly, replied with a casual remark. Off to one side, Yullyeong Grand Master Yun So-yu nodded.

“It’s the Seven Sacred Stars of Taihe. Elite masters selected as the seven pillars of Wudang’s Seven-Star Sword Formation. They’re extremely powerful.”

Yun So-yu’s voice was low and heavy. At the same time, Ak Su-rim shook her head.

“What kind of feast are they expecting, sending two down here? If a gate on Mount Wudang’s been breached, normal masters wouldn’t be enough. Or maybe there’s something even more urgent going on?”

“It’s because of the Sect Head.”

Ju Sehwa whispered quietly.

“After reaching the state of ‘Climbing to the Peak’ a few years ago, he suffered an inner demon that a Taoist should never have. And then... he heard something even more impossible.”

Cutting her off, Jeong Yeon-shin turned his head.

“Senior Jin, would you be willing to stop the fight?”

Until that moment, Jin Myeong-jo had stood as if ready to rip Ju Sehwa apart.

His eyes, glowing crimson like precious blood jade, met Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze. Then, slowly, Jin Myeong-jo opened his mouth.

“The structure of the Divine Sword Unit is...”

“Please, speak freely.”

“Those scrolls—are they ultimately to be decided by the roster you brought, Lord Jeong?”

Jeong Yeon-shin brought both hands together and raised them toward Jin Myeong-jo, over Ju Sehwa’s shoulder. His voice carried a firm certainty.

“I don’t think my junior could be more perfect than this. Please, lend your aid.”

Jin Myeong-jo didn’t contest Jeong Yeon-shin’s decision further. Rather, he turned around at once—befitting the seat of the Divine Sword Unit Commander.

Unlike the nobles of the Blood Flame Cult, who once gasped for breath under prolonged exposure to divine force, Jin Myeong-jo now walked out of the gathering hall at a calm, measured pace.

His shoulders sloped in a smooth curve, slightly drooped—as if finally feeling the weight of the great responsibility soon to rest upon them.

“Jang Bong, you go as well. I’ll send word the moment the gathering ends.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke as he turned his head toward the round table.

He etched into memory the sense of duty and consideration shown by the newly appointed Divine Sword Unit Commander.

Such qualities, too, were virtues the acting Commander must learn.

Before stepping once more into the martial world, Jeong Yeon-shin addressed the remaining matters.

The full reorganization of the 17th Divine Sword Corps.

The current status of the martial units stationed in rough terrain, including Yeoicheon and the Celestial Dragon Unit.

The report from the Ipwang Horse Clan, stating that Lord Jeong’s martial level had reached such a peak that aside from the white-robed, no others had suffered casualties.

The glad tidings that other masters, formerly part of the affiliated clans, now wished to be included in the Divine Sword Corps’ new structure.

And the reassignment and deployment of the remaining elite warriors in Ipwang Fortress.

“My apologies for being late, Acting Commander.”

During that time, Grand Master Changcheon, the temporary Suncheon Lord, and the new Divine Sword Unit Commander returned one by one and took their seats.

On both sides of Namgung Hwa-shin’s cheeks were deep marks—one from Changcheon Grand Master’s “Formless Soul-Shattering Palm,” the other from the “Bloodflash Claw Technique” of the Blood Replenishment Unit.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

But no one in the room paid particular attention to the bruised and bleeding wounds.

“...Grand Master Cheonrim, please take charge of Hangzhou and its surrounding regions.”

Time passed swiftly. The wall that had earlier been completely pierced through by Namgung Hwa-shin now filled with the dusky air of night.

The winter wind gently swept away the dust within the hall.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly met eyes with Ak Su-rim.

Her pupils shimmered with a hueless brilliance. The face of the strongest spear of Ipwang bore no discernible expression.

Throughout the gathering, she had only spoken when necessary.

Unlike usual, there had been no grand gestures with her spear. Even the corners of her eyes were faintly lowered.

“Regarding my decisions and behavior...”

Jeong Yeon-shin continued cautiously.

“There was no sarcasm. I may lack talent for naming things and might have offended your sensibilities, but...”

“What we discussed today is the best formation approved by the Supreme Commander and me.”

The end of Ak Su-rim’s black hair brushed his shoulder. A sign of inner energy stirring. With the depth of her mastery over “Three-Flame Gathering Essence,” her emotional unrest surfaced visibly.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t stop.

“If I formally object—”

Jeong Yeon-shin murmured. His tone dulled, like something had been worn down. It was the voice of a blade with too many nicks to cut cleanly anymore.

The Acting Commander had spoken of the impossible. Yet no one pointed it out or gave advice.

They simply remained silent for a moment. Even Ak Su-rim’s lips slowly closed.

“No matter the title, please protect our homeland. I trust you all. I will go fulfill my duty on Mount Wudang.”

Only the wind echoing against the cracked wall, as if the land itself had split from drought. The hall was filled with the air of deepest winter.

Until the Master of the Infinite Flame Hall ignited the Sammae Truefire in her palm—

Jeong Yeon-shin did not sleep.

After handling a few final affairs that absolutely had to be completed, he left the inner fortress of Ipwang Fortress just as dawn broke.

There were three people in total. Among them, Jang Bong and other high-ranking martial artists from Mount Wudang, still unfamiliar to him, awaited.

Jeong Yeon-shin picked up a stone box, slightly larger than a human head, wrapped in a silk cloth. It was carved from marble.

He carried no other baggage.

The hand gripping the knot held nothing but a clean, refined scent.

The heavy gazes of the Wudang Taoists fell on the box—but Jeong Yeon-shin looked beyond their shoulders.

A woman in violet stood there, long hair trailing in a single stream behind her, wrapped in morning mist and clear sunlight.

“You still have strength left to move. Guess you’re the tonic.”

Shin Cheonhwa motioned with her chin.

“I’ll go with you at least to Mount Wudang. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

A faint curve formed at the corner of Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips.

Jang Bong looked faintly surprised, but Jeong Yeon-shin began walking slowly. ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) The violet fabric covering his long legs caught a soft tint of crimson from the pre-dawn light.

It was the new year of his eighteenth spring.

It didn’t take long for the group to reach Mount Wudang.

They had surely traveled day and night at incredible speed, but at least to Jeong Yeon-shin—whose mind was crowded with complex thoughts—it passed in an instant.

It helped that of all orthodox sects, Mount Wudang was the closest to Yangyang.

Even so, the vast distance closed like a dream.

The foremost sword sect under heaven.

The origin  Martial Bloodline of the Three Summits, a lineage that came infinitely close to being the greatest of all time.

The first thing Jeong Yeon-shin saw upon arrival on that land was—

A massive mountain peak, split vertically in half along with pale clouds.

The place where Wudang’s Taoist halls were said to be clustered. A place that should not—could not—be fractured in such a way.

Had Jang Bong, Ju Sehwa, been equally stunned for a moment? Her shout came a step too late.

With her voice echoing like a thunderclap, Jeong Yeon-shin struck the ground beneath his feet.

Upon the earth once stepped by Jang Sam-bong, a faint star pattern spread out.

It was the propulsion wave of the Ten-League Light Step.