Chapter 569: Chapter 569

—Yeom Jeong. Yeom Jeong, are you listening?

—Is no one there? I bring urgent news. From one king to another. This concerns my Champion. It's serious.

—Yeom Jeong is already on her way under the Southern Emperor’s command...

—She should be arriving soon. Isn’t she the top martial artist among the Ten Joints of Hulhuang? She must’ve shaken off the interfering Northern Kings and is heading straight down. Though if I say this, she’ll probably interrupt right about...

—So I hear the fledgling has lost his mind. Trying to assess me, of all people?

—Shall I rip your limbs {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} off, since you’re not Yaryul?

—Now that you mention it, you’re not Yaryul. You’re Pah Gun. Northern King Pah Gun is listening too. He’s standing right in front of me.

—Ha! Let them all hear.

—Yes, listen, Yeom Jeong. You too, Mun Gok. This concerns my Champion.

—Why the hell does that lunatic keep...?

—The Champion accepted me. Said they needed time to think. So I granted them leave. They unleashed the Dragon-Wheel Grand Eight Forms of Kunlun at full force. It was a dance of courtship.

—Self-destruction! You’ve lost your only Champion. The kings of Whirling Wind Hollow will now come to pillage your territory. According to the will of the War God, you may not interfere with their Champions.

—Northern King Yeom Jeong, you don’t understand pure devotion.

—Let’s calm down, the two of you. I’m looking at Pah Gun right now. Haven’t the kings of Whirling Wind Hollow always been curious? Northern King Pure Devotion, would you like to ask first?

—I want to know what they look like.

—Only Yeom Jeong could tell you that. Without her Pillar-Opening Grand Vision, it’s hard to see through the mask. But the body looks solid. Seems to have quite a few allies too. Might surprisingly enjoy making connections.

—Pah Gun’s silence speaks volumes. I wouldn’t mind meeting them once. But I’ll wait. For my Champion...

—Pah Gun, are you listening? Have I self-destructed...? If I were to chase my Champion even now...

A hill covered in pale frost.

Like most of the northern ranges, it was a barren rocky mountain.

What set it apart was the chill and faint-white cold-ice energy drifting across its rough surface—white, and almost translucent.

Now and then, the flapping of bony mountain birds would brush close before flitting off again. It was the cold vapor rising into the sunlight, scattering into iridescent hues.

On cold days, human warmth draws near.

And on that freezing slope, a pair—man and woman—were nestled together. A man leaning against a stump with only the base of the trunk left, and a woman reclined sideways in his arms, as though his chest were her bed.

Now and then, faint smoke rippled across their bodies, like cold ice burning under a fire.

They were Tae Yeom-ryong and the Lady of the Ice Palace—husband and wife.

“That one called Yaryul. The Northern King.”

“Oh, Pah Gun? He was good-looking. If that old swordsman hadn’t blocked my view with a blade wind, I might’ve taken him as a concubine...”

“You’ve always tested me with that. Didn’t we agree to stop the whole concubine thing? I meant something else.”

“Hmm, he didn’t seem suspicious.”

“Didn’t seem suspicious?”

“It was like looking at someone naked—you could see his purpose right through. Even at a glance, it was obvious he came to stir up the South. Just like when you came to enter the palace.”

“How awkward. Back in my hometown, they called this the North, not the South...”

“Changing the subject? Cute.”

Tae Yeom-ryong’s gaze rested downward, chin perched gently on his wife’s narrow shoulder. He was staring at her lower belly.

Smoothly draped in blue silk, it shimmered faintly. Still firm with the tone of a martial artist.

The Ice Palace Lady traced his jaw with her fingertips.

“Looking forward to it? Still a long way off.”

“...More like I’m worried. The priests of this land... they want to kill our child. That’s no small nuisance.”

“It’s because of you.”

Her voice was like glass.

Why did she treat Northern King Yaryul with kindness?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

It was just a short sentence, but clearly an accusation loaded with meaning.

The Northern Sea Ice Empress.

Having survived endless schemes, the High Lady of the Ice Palace always spoke .

Those who failed to respond properly to such conversations usually ended up frozen and shattered. The palace, as the name implies, was a cold place.

But Tae Yeom-ryong answered slyly.

“I had a feeling. Didn’t you admit it too? The god in my upper dantian.”

“Don’t shut your mouth like that, you’re scaring me.”

“I don’t want to rob my child of their father.”

“I once heard something like that from a comrade I served under. Didn’t want to raise a family without a father, they said.”

“A pretty young friend. Fun in many ways. Rather pitiful, too. Brave despite being full of fear. A true Champion, I’d say. Though not someone who could replace another as a substitute Champion. Temper’s too rotten.”

“Changing the subject again. Keep that up and you’ll die even sooner.”

“I wasn’t changing it.”

The Ice Empress, who had been nuzzling into her husband’s chest, blinked slightly wider. As if something clicked.

Tae Yeom-ryong’s lips curved faintly.

“You can’t lie in front of a child. My family... we had too many dirty secrets. That’s why we were exterminated.”

“...So the palace’s spiritual bindings don’t work on you. How...?”

“Didn’t you admit it yourself? The god in my upper dantian. And when you’re close to death, everything becomes trivial.”

“I thought of you as a Northerner now.”

As she moved to rise, Tae Yeom-ryong gently wrapped both hands around her lower belly.

“My attendants... the Bukgung twins, they spoke of the recent famine. They said the wolves of the North never abandon their kin, even when starving. I may be your husband, Ice Empress, but I haven’t been banished from Ipwang Fortress yet.”

As mist drifted in the frozen grove—

It came from far away.

A deep reverberation, like great drums being struck in succession. A sound they’d agreed upon several days ago.

The Northern Sea Ice Empress stood, pressing her frosty palm into Tae Yeom-ryong’s abs.

“Let’s go. Your lifeline is calling.”

A faint fortress stood in the distance.

It shimmered like a mirage. As if it might be swallowed up at any moment by the horizon, faintly overlaid with pale sunlight.

It was Yeokru Fortress, far removed from Cheonggwang Plain.

At that moment, only four things were clearly visible in the midst of the sandy plain:

A young man in a silver mask with bare hands, a woman with gray hair cloaked in white sunlight like a palace robe, a hulking yok tribe man over nine feet tall, and the wind-scoured tiers carved into the sandy ground.

From beyond Yeokru Fortress came the sound of a sonic boom, echoing faintly as it surged forward.

It must’ve been the Sword Saint clashing with So Cheonmujuk, unleashing impact after impact.

Perhaps she had run into Yeom Jeong, the only one among the Six Liu Yuan Star Generals who was an old woman.

Meanwhile, Jeong Yeon-shin was standing against two figures.

They could not be called people. Those on the level of the Five Supreme Swords and the Liu Yuan Star Generals were more like ill omens in human shape. Calamities in the form of martial voices, incapable of being defied.

All the more so if they were close confidants of the War God.

The world’s finest strategist. The War God’s own tactician.

The Sword Lord who had once pierced through the body of the Flood Dragon looming over the metropolis of Hangju, and the inexpressibly terrifying Master of Cheongeuk Gate—these monsters of the North silently watched Jeong Yeon-shin.

It had been a long time since someone’s gaze made it hard to breathe.

Was it because there were two monsters before him?

His long exhale caught in his throat. Their energy fields were actually interfering with his internal breathing.

Martial arts of the battlefield.

He felt it through every fiber of his being. All their martial intent was fixated on the annihilation of Ming. Even the strategist’s energy, despite its subtlety, carried that killing intent.

Conversely, they too seemed to be trying to see through Jeong Yeon-shin’s Reverse Breath, Returning Pulse. Both sides were at such a height that a single misstep in execution meant death.

What martial art would signal the start of this war?

Whose allies would arrive first?

They were too far from anyone. The world was absurdly vast, and the number of those strong enough to dominate a nation was just as great. Each of them was a variable in this battle.

Only with luck could anyone seize the initiative here.

Jeong Yeon-shin opened his mouth.

“Do you see anything?”

With one hand, he lightly brushed his chest. The outline of a thin bundle of paper skimmed his palm, giving off a strange warmth. It almost felt as if it were imbued with a soul.

At the same time, heat surged in the upper part of his head—his upper dantian.

An old voice echoed from memory.

The Sword Immortal of Zhongnan, who had exterminated the monsters of southern Shaanxi and returned home. He was the first to see through Jeong Yeon-shin’s lifespan outside Ipwang Fortress. A man who had been consistently kind to him.

The only one to mentally slash open the “gate.”

And the Book the Sword Queen had murmured about even as she lost consciousness.

Jeong Yeon-shin looked at the strategist and asked:

“What do you call it when a thief has something stolen from him?”

“Is it still stolen goods?”

In the hazy wind-blown sand.

The three stood in tense confrontation. It was only when Mun Gok—the War God’s strategist, one of the Six Liu Yuan Star Generals—finally opened his mouth that the silence broke.

“Yaryul King, I’m curious about your goal. I really did hope to mediate between you and the Southern Emperor...”

His tone was unexpectedly courteous, given the weight of his deep voice. That dissonance sent a chill down the spine. A deeply ominous feeling followed.

Jeong Yeon-shin smiled faintly.

At the same time, Mun Gok mimicked his smile. But though the curve of the lips matched, the thick, ashen flesh only added to the grotesqueness of his expression.

“I said two things. At least one might’ve been true. By the way—what is that book you and the strategist have been sharing?”

The one who answered was the strategist, who had been silently staring at Jeong Yeon-shin. Her radiant voice now sharpened slightly.

“It’s from Mount Zhongnan. My cousin, the Southern Emperor, told me to keep watch. A sword slash that tears open the gate. Might help us find the War God.”

Whatever the full context—

The War God might return.

Her words were uncharacteristically direct, and Mun Gok’s eyes glinted.

His pupils, black as pitch, began to glow with a grayish light—the color of his inner force. The brilliance then flickered into a long blur in the air, signaling Mun Gok’s disappearance.

At the same moment, the strategist stepped toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

It felt like the whole world closed in.

Through the silver mask, Yaryul King could see their figures clearly. Their forms rapidly enlarged, shrinking the space between them in an instant.

The northern power that had opposed Ming was now in motion. Of the Five Supreme Swords of the South, he was facing two at once. There was no way to claim victory alone.

Mun Gok’s shoulder charge—his signature technique—was blocked by Jeong Yeon-shin’s right hand, which was abruptly flung upward.

Mun Gok had lunged like a missile, and his massive hand, using the Capture-and-Twist method of Qinna, grabbed Jeong Yeon-shin’s wrist and hoisted it.

A straight trench carved across the sandy floor in the wake of that brutal move.

The interval was absurdly long.

Jeong Yeon-shin immediately aimed a kick at Mun Gok’s solar plexus using his footwork—but the moment his foot was half-lifted, the strategist landed gently atop it, feet together.

Her toes pointed firmly forward.

Her ash-glimmering hair billowed like powdered embers.

The Supreme Guardian Nerve Technique of the world’s finest protector.

She had forced even the greatest masters, for whom moments felt like eternity, to reveal an opening. Whether opened or torn, it came at a price.

In an instant, divine force surged into Mun Gok’s veiny, bulging hand.

The muscles under Yaryul King’s right armpit tore halfway up, strand by strand.

He had clearly meant to rip the arm out by the root, but something didn’t go as planned—Mun Gok’s gaze trembled ever so slightly.

Jeong Yeon-shin had already lost his left arm once.

There was no way he’d left the right unprotected. The hardened calluses of the Tang twins and the True Celestial Body Defense they passed down gleamed like starlight even inside his arm’s tendons.

Combined with the Light Wheel Qi that flowed endlessly through his meridians via the Tang Family's art of movement.

Right arm cannot strike. But it’s not completely lost.

Jeong Yeon-shin bit down the searing pain, his blue eyes unwavering. He calmly assessed the damage in that instant.

The shock reaching his brain now was less severe than when the senior masters had once evaluated him.

That was good enough.

For a fleeting moment, his and Mun Gok’s eyes locked. Their gazes were level—because the giant Mun Gok had stooped low to deliver his charge.

Thunder-like vibration coiled through his leg’s pressure points. Reverse Breath, Returning Pulse—its final thunderclap. The energy surged like a whip, launching his leg upward.

As the strategist leapt down from his foot, the newly opened view in front of him revealed—

The tip of Jeong Yeon-shin’s foot pierced Mun Gok’s massive throat like the tip of a spear.

A death point—a strike that could sever the enemy’s life.

Dark-blue Heaven-Piercing Armor distorted in a flurry, spewing black sparks in succession. All of them belonged to Mun Gok.

The kill-strike had landed clean.

But Mun Gok, expressionless, was already raising his massive torso.