Chapter 558: Chapter 558

The four Northern Kings had gathered.

It was a battlefield where the will of absolute beings was enforced.

There are things one can infer without needing to explain old stories.

To Jeong Yeon-shin, Tae Yeom-ryong’s appearance said enough. To Tae Yeom-ryong, Jeong Yeon-shin’s presence did the same. Naturally, Tae Yeom-ryong had the deeper insight.

That’s just how the situation was.

In the heart of the northern lands stood the acting Master of the Divine Sword Sect.

It was as if a lone man had wandered into the world’s greatest demonic stronghold, pretending to be a devil himself.

How could the Ice Empress’s grand warrior retreat without losing face? Jeong Yeon-shin’s identity couldn’t be exposed just yet, and Tae Yeom-ryong stood beside the Ice Empress—his wife and a Northern King.

Any excuse would look unnatural.

And clearly, what was growing in the Ice Empress’s womb was the fruit of her and Tae Yeom-ryong’s union.

There was no avoiding this fight.

“What a damn situation...”

The frozen flower petal between Tae Yeom-ryong’s teeth shattered.

Here, it was only right to act as the Ice Empress’s husband. Especially for someone who’d taken Reverse Flow Fortress from Jeong Yeon-shin and earned the open title of “Greatest Grand Warrior in the World.”

The greatest warrior of the North Sea called out to him.

In that instant, the wind atop the winter ridge turned colder still. Just that faint note of curiosity in her voice was enough to alter the air around them.

Near the gray-white cliffs, there was even a quiet cracking sound—ice forming along the ground.

That’s when it happened.

Tae Yeom-ryong, who had just started moving, suddenly stopped.

It was because he had finally laid proper eyes on the old Sword Saint who now stood in Jeong Yeon-shin’s way.

An old man, as withered as if he'd endured great suffering recently.

He stood with his back to the relentless wind blowing down from the high mountains. At some point, he had placed a wrinkled hand on the hilt of a worn sword.

Dry leaves shattered in the winter wind and brushed past the bony ankles of the Sword Saint like whispers. Even the most insignificant leaf seemed to mock him.

But the old man clicked his tongue instead, his face showing pity toward Tae Yeom-ryong.

“I can see the hardship in your eyes. It stirs the heart. If this old man were in better condition, perhaps things would be different... Today, I can only hope there’s a flaw in your technique.”

His gentle words didn’t sound weak at all.

The Reverse Eightfold Formation exuded by the Sword Saint was so flawless that it was impossible to grasp any martial intent—yet Tae Yeom-ryong’s skin still crawled with discomfort.

It was instinct born of divine combat intuition that had taken root throughout his body.

And so the question had to arise.

Where had this man come from, to stand beside one of the few direct subordinates who had no true allies? A Grand Warrior wasn’t just a servant—they were an extension of a Northern King’s will.

It was Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice, a sound transmission as calm as it was out of place.

Still, it landed with striking naturalness. The tone was flat and blunt, but unmistakably sincere.

Tae Yeom-ryong stared at the Sword Saint and asked,

“Who in the martial world doesn’t know who you are now?”

That held true from the southern lands to the far north.

Once the eldest son of a great martial noble house, blessed with the Sun God Veins. Now, the Ice Empress’s Grand Warrior, her husband, and the traitor of Ipwang Fortress.

That’s when it happened.

“One who elevates the prestige of their lord.”

Chi Geuk’s servant closed the distance without hesitation, speaking as he did.

Sunlight broke across the fair face of the Dream Phantom Body youth. The upturned corners of his eyes gave off an unmistakably provocative aura.

“Old man, do you think only that Flame Wolf earns such praise? Any Grand Warrior under a Northern King is the rarest of jewels in the world. Unlike a fugitive so unworthy of revealing his own martial name, one who barely kept up appearances with the Three Talents Sword Style.”

“You’re a bold young man.”

At some point, the Sword Saint had drawn his sword, the chipped edge of the worn blade catching in the white sunlight.

But Chi Geuk’s servant didn’t slow down in the slightest.

A sinister glow tinged the corners of the handsome youth’s eyes with red.

A divine technique was activating, invoked with a peculiar energy. Even while he spoke, he was calculating trajectories and pathways between them, estimating all the potential interactions that could bloom from their stances.

“The greatest virtue of a Northern King is to choose an exceptional Grand Warrior, yet it seems King Yaryul has none. Keeping an old man who can’t tell sky from earth at his side...”

He swept through the air with his entire body.

The posture of a true warrior entering combat. Bold yet precise. His smiling face unleashed endless provocations as if it were all effortless.

“If you couldn’t reveal your real swordplay, you should’ve at least gathered some allies. But shouting ‘Come, all of you!’ like some fool...”

That was as far as he got.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With a thud, the Shame King’s Grand Warrior—the Reverse Dragon Body swordsman—launched forward from the Sword Saint’s side, unwillingly entering a fight he hadn't wanted.

In that moment, the stone hill trembled like a swamp, breaking apart in all directions.

At the same time, twin palms struck out, distorting the air as they extended. The black-haired boy, draped in flame-like, colorless internal energy, attacked with both hands.

From the now-expressionless face of Chi Geuk’s servant, a wispy fog rose and surrounded the Sword Saint.

Hundreds of layers of overlapping qi formed a fog-like body in an instant, and within it flickered the allure of an illusionary sword—so subtly enchanting it could ensnare the mind.

An even more aggressive method than the Dream Phantom Body technique that had trapped Wudang’s Head Master in a heart demon.

The thunderous sound of their strike came late, as if echoing from deep within the clouds.

It was a joint attack at a level demanding a true secret technique—an assault harsh enough to require even a Northern King to unveil their ultimate skills.

The Sword Saint closed his eyes where he stood.

It was the opening move of a vagabond warrior who had no refined breathing techniques, one who had invented every sensory path of the body through sheer instinct.

And just like that, Tae Yeom-ryong—who had been about to step in and interfere—flinched and froze.

As soon as the battle began, the four Northern Kings wavered like a mirage on the great northern plain, then each took a step back. A flickering afterimage followed—the movement technique of Shifting Form and Changing Position.

The maneuver was nearly simultaneous.

Each had a different reason.

Two of them honored the laws of the War God. One was a phantom-like being obsessed with observing her husband’s every move. The last was a mayfly of a being who moved reflexively while silently watching the Ice Empress’s monstrous martial power.

—Shouldn’t you stop staring? I don’t think we need to provoke them unnecessarily. She’s already someone who draws resistance because we know nothing about her, and right now, she seems to be favoring the Acting Master.

—You're going to bore a hole through the Ice Empress's face. You should be watching Elder Sword Saint instead....

—It's fine. He's a master of the sword.

The Sword Saint had learned swordsmanship from a wandering swordsman known as the Eternal Spring Swordsman, and had risen from being a third-rate martial artist to an unparalleled swordmaster.

It was a famous story during the Han-Zhong Martial Alliance.

As always, the conversation between Shin Sobin and Jeong Yeon-shin carried the easy tone of people their own age.

The Acting Master’s mannerisms grew notably more casual when he was with his disciple, with Yuhyeon of the Mount Hua Sect, or with Ma Se-in of the Ipwang Devil Family.

But the fight in the middle of the clearing shaped by the Northern Kings was anything but casual. Even the dust clouds mingled with sharp sword winds, like fragments of divine blades.

A vague sight appeared.

The ground caved in in a great circular depression.

The thunder came slightly late. It violently shook the central ridge of the vast Gwanghon Mountains.

Silhouettes tangled in the dust.

They collided like shafts of light, struck like whips, and rebounded off sword winds slicing through their trajectories.

Each time, enormous shockwaves tore the dust clouds apart. But before the clearing could even be fully revealed, countless impact waves crashed into the earth again.

The combined attacks of three Supreme Combatants, united in the Formation of the Three Blossoms, surged endlessly like a tidal wave.

Thick clouds of brown dust billowed far and wide in all directions.

The internal organs of the Northern Kings thrummed like drums with the quaking, and the tremors didn’t fade. Not even internal energy barriers like Heaven-Stage Light Armor, Soul-Burning Ice, or True Flame Star Sky could block the sheer intensity of the martial force at play.

“Let King Yaryul remain at ease.”

Now, the King of Resonance sat cross-legged on the bare earth. She had laid the heavy head of her pregnant warhorse on her lap.

“The vitality of Grand Warriors wearing Heaven-Stage Light Armor is like the seven northern stars—no blood or wounds even after a full day of war. Therefore, this battle shall continue until the swords of the four Grand Warriors fall silent.”

A monarch’s speech, commanding and unflinching.

Her long years of rule as a Northern King gave her that composure. Being a half-blood of Han and Yozoku descent gave her sharply defined facial features, lending her a natural sense of authority.

Around that time, Tae Yeom-ryong finally stepped into the dust cloud.

At once, the air heated with a cracking roar, like dry firewood popping and burning.

Overwhelming Solar Yang energy. The world shimmered with heavy mirages, as if all directions had turned into the sun-scorched skies of midsummer.

Chi Geuk’s servant had been right.

He was one who elevated the prestige of the one he served.

The shadows clashing in the dust halted for a moment.

Even the old Sword Saint, who had thus far allowed not a single clean hit, briefly wavered in place.

Then, the Ice Empress smiled faintly, the dimples on her snow-white cheeks showing clearly.

“I want to hold him. My husband just used his full strength.”

Each of the Northern Kings present checked this with their own divine awareness.

For a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin furrowed his brow beneath the silver mask—though no one saw it.

That’s how intense the aftermath of the battle was.

Even if the Heaven-Stage Light Armor meant this would be a long, drawn-out battle, it drew every shred of attention.

At this moment, the dust stirred by the Grand Warriors was like thunder-swallowing storm clouds. The deafening roars kept pouring out, and the haze only thickened with time.

A festival of martial prowess, crafted by beings of unique and unmatched talents.

And all of them had senses that could elevate the power of a joint assault to its maximum.

Suddenly, Chi Geuk’s jet-black veil fluttered. For the first time here, she spoke first.

“That old man’s swordplay...”

Her voice dropped low.

“It’s not the worthless Three Talents Sword of the southern lands. It’s simple, but not monotonous. He reveals experience, not martial techniques. A Northern King chose a being of equal stature as a Grand Warrior.”

Her halting, rough voice struck upon the truth, then became a question brimming with heavy energy.

“...How is that possible?”

“I was simply more blessed than the rest of you.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered, his gaze finally pulling away from the Ice Empress. And it was a voice that truly believed what it said.

But this was the Demonic Territory.

Here, a refined Grand Warrior was a direct reflection of a Northern King’s prowess. To the others, Jeong Yeon-shin’s remark sounded like mockery.

The Northern Kings could all discern truth from lies.

None sensed any deceit in King Yaryul’s voice. But Chi Geuk, ever boiling with the fighting spirit of a pureblood Yozoku, growled lowly.

“You will die crushed and ruined, a reward you brought upon yourself. If that old man cannot wield his weapon like the Six Primordial Star Lords of this land, he will be slain and left in pieces, hiding his true martial path to the end. Of course, his corpse shall be toyed with by my Grand Warrior’s martial brilliance, and dance endlessly beneath the ashen moon of the Demonic Territory—like the fugitive from the South that he is!”

The one with the hardest Heaven-Stage Light Armor in the North.

The stone beneath the Gwanghon Mountains rumbled as Chi Geuk’s words piled on, each syllable thickening the sense of impending doom, as if her prediction would soon come true.

Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly spoke.

“Now I understand. Why the one who wrote the Martial Roster left the War God behind.”

At that, the King of Resonance, who had been idly petting her pregnant mare’s mane, chimed in.

Whatever inner peace she’d found, it now extended to a drowsy smile.

“You mean the one of the northern world among the Six Primordial Star Lords? He may have brought a noble swordsman under him, but it’s not a name a new king should be putting in his mouth so lightly...”

But Jeong Yeon-shin continued, undeterred, speaking through the silver mask of King Yaryul.

“You are all forsaken. I can tell just from how you inflate your karma with words. Frankly, your Grand Warriors might have more fighting spirit than you.”

Three muffled booms rang from the dust cloud, echoing like stars lighting up in a constellation.

A moment later, the silhouette of the Sword Saint drove his blade deep into the ground. A gust burst from the impact and scattered all the nearby dust into the sky.

The gaunt old man leaned on his sword as if it were a walking stick and stood.

“In the Three Talents, the character for ‘Talent’ represents the sprout rising from the earth.”

A weathered, elderly voice.

The three Grand Warriors now stood scattered around him.

The swordsman named Geomdan sat on the ground in disbelief, as if struck by an unknown technique.

To one side, Chi Geuk’s servant clutched his chest, spitting up mouthfuls of blood.

And Tae Yeom-ryong stood still, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist, his expression now serious.

None of them tried to approach the Sword Saint again. The old man gave a gentle smile toward Jeong Yeon-shin, who stood at a distance.

“Three Talents... When three sprouts rise, spring has arrived. The season of renewal. If such fine days repeat eternally, then even a wasteland might one day bloom with sprouts as dazzling as the Ascendant Sword. If three sword strikes can be woven into one—what, then, can’t be achieved?”

The old man spoke like a rustic grandfather giving advice to a king.

And he did so only after shattering Heaven-Stage Light Armor with the Three Talents Sword. Even if it hadn’t been a true Northern King’s defense, it was worth listening to.

Shock spread like a swamp across the gathered crowd, and they began to feel the weight of the battle’s outcome.

Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin felt the wind blowing from the mid-slope of the Gwanghon Mountains begin to split, threading toward the King of Resonance and Chi Geuk.

Whispers drifted through the twin breezes.

Unlike the Mind Light Transmission of Monk Beomha or the mental projection of Master Hyeongong, this was different. Like the breath of the Empress Supreme once felt—an entire wind transformed into someone’s lips.

—Two severed legs were hung on the gate plaque of Guando, the road into Onjo Fortress from the plains of Seoha.

A voice thick with darkness.

A sound transmission through wind—a secret communication method among the Northern Kings. At this moment, it was being conveyed across vast distances to the King of Resonance and Chi Geuk.

—A hard-earned trophy. Thus, this Southern Emperor now honors the beggar king of the south as the Grand Warrior of the world. And so, I urge you, my comrades... spread the word south. That the legs of the world’s greatest were torn off by the hands of the Southern Emperor.

The Southern Emperor. Also known as the War God’s right hand.

Now the greatest figure in the North with the War God vanished.

And if it’s the greatest divine step user in the world, there was no doubt—the reference was to Lord Ju Gwang-shin of the Beggar’s Union.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s pupils trembled beneath his silver mask. Just for an instant. Then they flared with icy light.

And then, the voice of King Yaryul slipped into the howling northern winds—calm, but shuddering like a tremor through it all.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips moved slowly.

He had attached his own voice to an unseen sound transmission channel belonging to supreme beings. It was certainly not something anyone else here would have dared to do.

But to Jeong Yeon-shin, that didn’t matter.

The King of Resonance and Chi Geuk, who had remained expressionless while listening to the wind-borne message, both flinched. After a beat of silence, the man who had mentioned Ju Gwang-shin’s legs asked curtly:

He wasn’t the only one.

The second voice was that of an old crone Jeong Yeon-shin had never heard before.

Though it traveled as mere wind, the pressure was crushing—as if it weighed directly on the soul. A few more breaths, each from a different presence, scraped across the ears.

A strange, intricate network of sound transmissions.

It was the divine communication art of the War God.

A method of power surpassing any other martial technique—why the Northern martial world had managed to hold off the military forces of Ming time and again.

There was hardly ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ a more effective military strategy than the kings’ instant, long-distance communication.

It connected the Northern Kings, friendly to the vanished War God, from desert to desert like the roots of trees across vast wastelands.

—I am Yaryul of the South. The King of Resonance and Chi Geuk will vouch for me. I’ll hear no other questions.

Jeong Yeon-shin had stepped into the core of their world as the one who had unified the southern North.

With no permission, no particular training.

What did you do to the beggar king of the south?