Chapter 554: Chapter 554

Jeong Yeon-shin was at the eye of the typhoon sweeping through the northern Jianghu. Whether it was desirable or not, whether there was a better path or not, that much was certain.

Northern King Yaryul.

The one who, after the collapse of Hocheonseong at the edge of the Great Wall, had flowed like water through Yeokluseong and even seized control of Chi Geuk Fortress.

Across the vast land, opinions were divided.

The same was true even within the very military camp where Jeong Yeon-shin currently resided.

Han, Ming refugees, the old Jurchens, Yuan nomads, and even the silent Yozoku masters whose mere presence distorted the air around them—

It was the dead of winter, the peak of the cold.

A chill wind brushed the horizon, warping the broad spread of twilight into pale streaks.

They sat cross-legged throughout the desolate camp, whispering among themselves. Seated within the yellowish winds tinged with translucent frost, none of them bothered to lower their voices.

“Why did the new king halt the harvest?”

“I don’t understand. What’s the point of war if we can’t plunder?”

“The more I think about it, the stranger it seems.”

“If the king says so, then what are we supposed to eat?”

Their questions were calm, as expected of those who had crossed the Great Wall driven by resentment. Mostly from the Han and Ming, they now spoke as northern Jianghu warriors.

The weapons they carried at their waists or strapped to their backs—swords and sabers in appearance—were no different from the crescent moon blades of the Yozoku in the stench of blood they emitted.

Meanwhile, the Yozoku warriors, casually squatting on the bare ground of the camp, had voices as loud and heavy as their massive frames.

“A king obsessed with war, but who refuses to reap its rewards...! He’s mad for battle alone!”

“His body may be the same size as those southern bastards, but make no mistake—he’s of pure Yozoku blood. A head soaked in northern stormwinds... A temperament to rival the North King gone mad with his axe.”

The air itself rumbled.

Jeong Yeon-shin was listening to all of it from within the king’s command tent.

The masked swordsman who had previously taunted him to his face—Lord of Hocheonseong—was there too.

“If you command me to go out and kill them all right now, I’d gladly obey,” said Lord of ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) Hocheonseong in a low growl.

Jeong Yeon-shin, having remained quiet in thought, tilted his head and asked curiously, “Didn’t you act like you didn’t even acknowledge me as king? What wind changed your mind?”

“Those bastards outside may call you king, but their words are tarnishing your dignity! It would be a hundred times better to drag them all in, cut off their heads with three swings, and feed their flesh to the soil of this land!”

A Han man in a mask spoke like a Yozoku.

Perhaps it was because he had mastered Internal Defense Qi. His speech, like teeth grinding down, caused the tent to tremble subtly. It felt like invisible scales of energy rippling across unseen armor.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself:

‘This Jianghu... really is strange.’

A man said to have been exiled from the Hebei Peng family as a child, a supreme master skilled enough to take on the sword arts of the Celestial Sword Tyrant Seomye, now revered the seat of the North King above all.

Though the North Kings might not fight each other to the death, it was common for the Yozoku beneath them to plunder and slaughter each other.

And yet, when looking at Lord of Hocheonseong, he could imagine it: how tightly woven and hellish the Heaven's Snare Net of the northern Jianghu might be.

Just how many elite warriors—pairs of men and horses—must gather beneath the axes and crescent blades of these North Kings who each claimed to have reached the Void Moon Realm?

That strength was likely enough to rival the imperial Ming Dynasty itself.

Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened. He remembered something Commander Im Jin-myeong had said. That Yeoryeongju had been Yozoku.

‘Heaven’s Snare Net that trapped Senior Yong... was that rooted in the North too?’

Looking back, the method had been odd—an enormous encirclement made up of village-like strongholds. Just like the military camps Jeong Yeon-shin had been seeing across the northern Jianghu lately.

If that was the case, then North King Yaryul was already trapped within their Heaven’s Snare Net. This northern Jianghu was a land made up of countless military camps.

In the end, there was only one answer.

To undertake the Northern Campaign within the laws that governed this Jianghu. That would require all the capabilities of the acting leader of the Divine Sword Corps.

Suddenly, Lord of Hocheonseong stomped his foot. A motion that drew attention with raw power, just like a Yozoku warrior.

“So, who will you name as your Champion General? If you don’t find a fitting supreme master soon, another North King might steal Yeokluseong and its forces from you. Surely many kings are already watching you.”

The word steal carried weight.

But Jeong Yeon-shin ignored him and stepped outside. Quietly following behind was Shin So-bin, who had been sitting calmly earlier.

Meanwhile, Lord of Hocheonseong’s mocking voice struck the tent wall.

“You never bow, do you. You must not realize just how extravagant the Champion Generals of the North Kings are. I won’t wait long, so choose quickly. Either demand my loyalty in exchange for your martial prowess, or flaunt your strength alone and get trampled beneath the hooves of the North Kings.”

“I never gave you permission to be rude.”

In that moment, an invisible force slammed down on Lord of Hocheonseong’s crown.

Jeong Yeon-shin hadn’t even looked back. He had simply lowered his palm in place. Still, Lord of Hocheonseong staggered violently—then burst into laughter.

“That hand felt electric...!”

“I think he’s genuinely insane. They say people like that are always powerful.”

Shin So-bin whispered from Jeong Yeon-shin’s side.

Naturally, Lord of Hocheonseong heard her. His laughter grew louder, as if delighted by the word powerful.

“Remember this, O King! Your lofty martial arts only have meaning when opposing the North Kings! When kings face each other, it is the lords beneath them who sweep the battlefield...! As you are now, you’re nothing more than a penniless North King! That’s how the world sees you!”

It sounded like advice, or maybe mockery, striking him from behind.

The hundreds of men and women outside the camp—northern Jianghu warriors of all sizes—silently agreed with that statement.

They each had swords, axes, greatsabers, crescent blades, or warhorses beside them, but the winds that wrapped coldly around their bodies were all the same.

―You are not yet complete.

It felt like the world was speaking to Jeong Yeon-shin.

A few gusts of cold wind scraped across the wasteland. As always, the dust clouds spread thin across the ground, obscuring even the acting commander’s field of vision.

This was northern Jianghu.

Jeong Yeon-shin was undeniably within the Demon Realm now.

Ten days after North King Yaryul had taken Yeokluseong—

Though proper place names existed, many still referred to the North this way. Even the northern Jianghu warriors themselves did so often.

Part pride in their strength. Part resignation to the barren land.

“You’re really going to go ...?”

“I’ve never had much greed. Even as a Sword Pupil, just a few Bi-Gok pills would satisfy me.”

Isn’t that a blessed thing?

So said an old swordsman in the wasteland.

His tone was serene, but the ground beneath him was not. The earth, stained a deep crimson, reeked of blood.

From time to time, pools of thick blood would suddenly drain into the ground with a slurp.

A mountain of corpses and a sea of blood made up this place.

It had once been a village.

There were still a few proclamations posted on the remaining walls, but to the common folk, this was something out of another world.

[To North King Yaryul:

A half-formed king dares to dream beyond his station.

You possess neither the loyalty of any lord nor a single Champion General.

You are not fit to be king.

Yeokluseong is far too prosperous for the likes of you.

I know that the Lord of Yeokluseong, once a loyal servant of the Fiery God King, has been forcibly held in your undeserving grasp.

The northern gatekeeper, once the barrier against southern invaders, is failing the mission bestowed by the God of War.

Acknowledge your lack of virtue.

At this moment, I cradle in my arms a Champion General of the Half-Dragon Body, one who rivals the Southern Divine Sword Commander.

With a single command, I intend to challenge you to a life-and-death duel of Champion Generals.

If you doubt this, I can summon a gathering to prove it.

You will lose everything. Step down of your own accord.

Before the honor of the North King is shattered across all the lands.

—The Four Kings of Dragon Resonance.]

[To North King Yaryul:

In the name of the Heavenly Demon, I proclaim this.

Do not dare to falsely claim the most noble of surnames.

If you do not reveal your true name soon, the darkest flame under heaven shall descend upon Yeokluseong.

And I shall burn every lowly creature under your command to death.]

[To North King Yaryul,

Among the warriors you conquered in Chi Geuk Fortress was my brother.

If you possess the peerless martial power befitting a king, then you ought to know shame. I was told that this is not how a North King should fight.

A king must raise his hand only against another king.

How can one who kicks about the underlings of the enemy claim to be a North King?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

I am a warrior who once raised mules in Manjuseong.]

[To North King Yaryul,

I do not know who you are.

But if you truly came from the South and are so confident in your bare-handed combat, then face me.

I have handed defeat to masters of the Southern Eon Clan multiple times.

Of course, it will not be you, but your Champion General—your very shadow—who must step forward.

If you have no such Champion to present, then feel free to pretend this was never sent.

If I am feeling merciful, our Ice Palace's name shall shine even brighter.

Lacking even one worthwhile companion in life is not such a grave flaw.

—First Ice Lord of the Northern Ice Palace.]

[To North King Yaryul...]

The walls were plastered with proclamations in all kinds of handwriting, each denouncing the one who had stirred up the current storm in the Demon Realm—yet the open ground before those walls was nothing but ruins.

At the center stood an old man, his sword thrust into the earth like a staff.

That alone was enough to shred the frost nearby into a fine mist, a sign that all the surrounding wind had turned to sword qi.

A natural disaster born from a single blade.

A hulking Yozoku warrior, reduced to little more than an upper torso, looked up at him.

“If you intended to take nothing... then why did you invade this place?”

He asked, clearly and firmly, even in the face of death.

His innate qi was like molten steel—everything about him was vivid and clear.

A thick, slightly angled mouth, a sharply hooked nose like the claw of a martial artist, and pupils gleaming black within deeply shadowed eyes.

A warrior of the Demon Realm.

A man—and at the same time, a being of monstrous strength and spirit.

But the old swordsman merely gazed down at him, answering calmly.

“I saw it clearly from afar. You were beheading villagers with your crescent blades and stacking the corpses into towers with your brutish hands. A truly revolting battle formation, wasn’t it?”

“It was to strengthen the earth’s energy.”

“So that’s your excuse. And yet, it’s no different from the demonic cultists of our Jianghu. Absurd... and tragic.”

“I do not know what these ‘demonic cultists’ are. But the God of War decreed that though we may plunder, we must never eat human flesh. We follow his sacred command.”

“...The will of the Northern God of War, is it? Was it also he who devised this formation of yours, this method of returning the corpses’ energy to the earth?”

“The formation was created by the God of War’s right hand. But the will behind it is the God’s own.”

“The God of War’s right hand... That would be the Southern Emperor, no doubt.”

“We do not eat the weak, even if we starve. We use the fallen as feed for the strong—fertilizer for crops, food for cattle and pigs. The waiting is a time of patience and reverence... Our formation is sacred. Do not mock it with your sarcasm.”

The old swordsman was silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head and muttered, “Difficult. Difficult indeed.”

It was only then that the Yozoku warrior’s breath began to hitch. His thick-skinned face, which had shown no expression until now, gradually turned pale.

Panting, the Yozoku warrior cried out, “Your name...! Tell me your name before I die...! I want to die with worth!”

“Hyun So-baek. From Taekju, Shanxi Province.”

The old swordsman answered.

He had grown gaunt and aged after surviving a brush with death at the hands of the Dark Heaven Emperor.

And the Yozoku warrior immediately recognized the name of Sword Saint Hyun So-baek. The fame of some Ming martial artists had long since crossed the Great Wall.

He was the man whom the Zhuge family had once humbly endorsed as the Murim Alliance Leader at the height of their power. The same man the Lord of Taemo Mountain—who claimed to rival Zhang Sanfeng—had targeted before anyone else in the Jianghu.

“The Sword of the Night Sky. It is an honor.”

And in that breath was his final exhale.

Hyun So-baek looked down at the now-lifeless Yozoku warrior for a moment, then slowly turned his head.

“I am not in a good mood right now. Whoever you are, it would be wise to turn back.”

His low voice landed on a figure standing nearby.

A young man in a silver mask was watching Hyun So-baek in silence, his entire body shrouded in a thick blood-red robe.

“At first, I was most curious as to what brought you here,” the youth said with a respectful tone. “But let me ask this first, out of caution.”

He paused, then continued, still formal.

“Have you perhaps been revealing your identity so openly to others as well?”

At that, Hyun So-baek fully turned his head.

“You speak as though we’re acquainted... Wait.”

Suddenly, the old swordsman’s form flickered faintly in place—and in the next instant, a thunderous sound exploded right in front of the masked youth.

A wide shockwave burst forth. More than just sound, it was packed with overwhelming power.

The two of them now stood at diagonal angles, swords clashing.

Sparks of deep blue burst and crackled from both blades—reverberations from draw and counterdraw.

The ground collapsed belatedly. The walls bearing proclamations against North King Yaryul crumbled with a violent crash.

But the masked youth never looked away from the old swordsman in front of him.

His gaze was pure white—like holy fire.

Hyun So-baek murmured.

Surprised for only a moment at the opponent who stood barely a step away, the old Sword Saint’s lips slowly curled upward in a gentle arc.

“We’ve both aged, haven’t we?”

His insight and judgment moved faster than any blade.

At that moment, standing before Jeong Yeon-shin was the greatest Champion General in the world.

—What makes a man complete?

That was the answer Jeong Yeon-shin arrived at.

It was built from all the time he had accumulated thus far. One of a kind.

He was already a Divine Sword Corps Master capable of leading the Northern Campaign.