Chapter 575: Chapter 575

The colors of all directions had changed.

The sky and earth had been painted over in pure white. It was, quite literally, a heaven-shaking, earth-shattering phenomenon. The brilliant sunrays converged like pillars, pouring down in the aftermath of overwhelming footwork collisions.

The echo of galloping hooves had vanished entirely.

They were cut off from the outside world.

Neither Mun Gok’s overwhelming cavalry nor the figure of Tae Yeom-ryong could be seen. Even the very ground was saturated in a sticky white. As if sunlight and time had tangled and frozen.

The seven Masters were standing in a completely different land.

A realm dyed entirely in white.

Was it because Yeom Jeong of the Liu Yuan Star Lords had surrounded heaven and earth with her crescent blade, like the declaration of ‘Great Pillar Opening the Cosmos’?

Or was it because the Sword Saint’s rusted blade had dragged down a sea of clouds from the heavens?

Maybe it was due to Mun Gok’s thunderous shout overturning the plain, or perhaps the chilling whisper of the Divine Sword Sect Commander, swooping down like a bat with his banner.

In the midst of the pure white cataclysm, a woman’s voice rang out.

Irritation was laced in her tone.

It was the point of impact after a clash between supreme martial masters whose life’s work had been fused into overlapping martial footwork. Nothing that happened here could be considered strange.

Bukgung Ah had recognized the situation.

This place, twisted by transcendent footwork, distorted time and space. A single fleeting moment beneath her feet could equate to many outside.

That’s why she had cursed without restraint.

A snapping sound echoed from her tattered black robe. Bones shifted within her as she used Northern royal movement techniques to forcibly realign dislocated joints and meridians twisted earlier by Mun Gok’s assault.

The Lord of Yeouicheon of the Divine Sword Corps.

A master of Seomye’s Footwork Variant, Hwanikbo.

She had consolidated all six major steps for easier study and spread them across Ipwang Fortress via the Heavenly Thousand Martial Manual, thereby expanding the reach of Seomye’s footwork.

Just as Ma Gwang-ik’s Qingmyeong and the Bloodflame Marquis Shin So-bin had once made the basics of the Footwork widely known.

It was only natural, then, that she could dispel the pressure on her shoulders with a single forward step.

Her blood-soaked bare foot touched the white earth. Hwanikibo: the Second Step of Radiant Wings. A stride that pierced momentum itself.

At once, the nearby ground regained its original color, cracking into a yellowish earth tone. The circle surrounding her companions came into view.

Six others—some standing firm, others kneeling or sprawled with one knee raised. Their black garments contrasted sharply against the lingering white.

Bukgung Ah parted her lips slightly.

Only the soft sounds of inhaling and exhaling rippled through the air.

Long, drawn-out breaths of divine internal arts exhaled from every direction. Each one re-centering their combat posture.

No one intended to rest.

A middle-aged man’s voice echoed, heavy and firm.

“The recoil from the footwork is fierce. If you don’t want to get crushed to death, don’t break the Radiance Seal.”

It was Shin Hwang, the Master of the Annihilation Unit.

Thin, yet solid—gale winds surged from the crooks of his arms. Ipwang Secret Scripture: Heavenly Parity Martial Canon. His dislocated arms snapped back into place with a sickening crack.

Not a single bead of sweat on him.

Next to Shin Hwang, a large man of the Myeong bloodline rose to his feet. It was Hahoe Wi-jin, Master of the Celestial Forest.

“I gouged out the giant’s left eye. If we move quickly, we can exploit his partial vision. Oh, am I the only one here who’s fully mastered Wind God’s Internal Art?”

Hahoe Wi-jin asked as he crushed the eyeball with a massive hand.

His other arm hung limp like a withered branch, yet a breeze still danced around him, teasing his robes—an innate wind-based ability possessed by some of the Myeong clan.

Shin Hwang’s reply was curt.

“He has many flaws now.”

They were discussing Mun Gok, the flawless martial giant of the Liu Yuan Star Lords. The question: how could they kill the God of War’s strategist?

But for the black-robed warriors of Ipwang Fortress, analyzing an opponent was as natural as breathing. There was no need to count each flaw.

Their focus was elsewhere.

On the most pressing matter for any master under the Divine Sword Corps.

“That one... who did it?”

Cheon So-so spoke suddenly.

Her long robe was half torn from the crushing pressure. Her skin, pale and red, looked as though she had bathed in blood.

The marks left from taking Mun Gok’s blows head-on were all over her. Even her voice was slightly slurred.

Still, Cheon So-so pushed the words out.

“The right hand of Dae-ri.”

Bukgung Ah was the one who answered without delay.

“It was Mun Gok. Nothing but his ‘Nine-Flood Qi’ could’ve shattered the True Radiant Star Core. At least on this battlefield, that’s the only answer.”

Also known as Nine-Flood Power.

A divine martial art said to be inseparable from the God of War’s strategist. As brutal and absolute as the Forbidden Unity Martial Art of the Ipwang Demon Clan. Their bloodline never weakened, only grew stronger.

As a child, Mun Gok had chosen to learn the Path of Tyranny through this most cunning and ruthless method.

There was no method to break it.

Only greater force could win.

“The Acting Commander hasn’t shown his true martial arts, has he?”

Bukgung Ah muttered flatly.

Around that time, the one-legged Lord of Wugeuk Sect nodded faintly.

“He was fighting monsters barehanded. Looking back now, I don’t even understand how that was possible. And now I hear he’s called the Northern King, Yaryul.”

“Northern King? Since when...?”

“As Acting Commander of the Divine Sword Sect operating in the north, hiding his identity would’ve been priority. And with his disposition, I’d say he handled it well.”

“That ends here. ‘Yaryul, Northern King’ is nothing compared to ‘Yeonhwa Nata, Jeong Yeon-shin.’”

The Lord of Wugeuk moved each of his limp limbs ever so slightly.

He was in a state where recovery might not be possible, yet he spoke of Jeong Yeon-shin with quiet joy.

It was then that Hahoe Wi-jin interjected sharply. To cool his overheated upper dantian, the Masters took slow, deliberate breaths.

“Every time our Grandmaster goes out, he comes back with injuries. More so lately. He’s more reliable than any Han warrior here—but also the youngest among us, damn it...”

“Celestial Forest Master, mind your words.”

“Wei Ji-geuk, you brat. You haven’t even spoken properly to the Acting Commander.”

Meanwhile, the seven Masters were still processing the sudden intrusion of Jin Myeong-jo.

Each one focused on adjusting their breathing, or treating internal and external injuries, however temporarily.

To one side stood the silent Yun So-yu, Master of the Commandments Unit.

She was pressing a blade, heated with inner energy, against the torn flesh of her arm. Merely sealing acupoints hadn’t been enough.

Reorganizing their formation came first.

They weren’t violet-ranked warriors, so if they wanted to fight like Jeong Yeon-shin, they had to assess everything carefully. Fortunately, they were veterans in that regard.

None of them believed Mun Gok had died from a single banner strike.

Even now, within the white radiance of the Radiance Seal swirling around them, a quiet fury was beginning to stir.

The Masters lifted their heads.

The sky above was just as white.

Three figures kept clashing and rebounding off each other, again and again—intertwined in flashes within a strangely quiet silence. No shockwaves radiated out.

A spectacle of massive calamities rampaging in a space that swallowed up not just faint presences, but even enormous waves of energy without leaving a trace.

All their movements relied on aerial footwork and mastering control in empty space.

It meant they never touched the ground.

A woman of massive stature, swinging an even larger crescent blade, landed hundreds of strikes precisely on the Sword Saint.

A giant, ripping out the Divine Sword Corps’ banner and unleashing a voiceless roar behind his back.

And the Sword Saint, absorbing every incoming slash—those countless distorted trajectories—with a single rusted blade.

Amidst it all, even their shifting forms sometimes flickered with a dark red hue, vanishing like bats into shadow.

It was when Hahoe Wi-jin muttered, glaring up at the giant—

Suddenly, objects began to rain down from above like hail.

Bukgung Ah caught one mid-air, her lips curling faintly.

“So now they’re letting us in?”

Pills falling from the sky. Far too many of {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} them.

The moment they’d seen Jin Myeong-jo, the Masters had been waiting for these. Trauma salves and internal medicine, dropped through gaps in the sky between the supreme martial artists.

A supply chain that reached across all of Ipwang Fortress. It kept the cycle of battle in motion. Ensuring the Divine Sword Corps' mission never faltered.

Cheon So-so muttered, already chewing and swallowing one of the pills.

These were high-level experts of the Triple Transformation Peak. They didn’t need to cross their legs in full meditation just to take a pill. Internal energy flowed at the speed of intent.

“When the hell did that bastard complete his Aerial Martial Form?”

“More importantly, what kind of ability is it? What matters is how well it syncs with us—and the Acting Commander...”

Hahoe Wi-jin and the Lord of Wugeuk spoke in low murmurs.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Now that they were ready to fight again, those were the obvious questions. Just because they wore the same black didn't mean they knew each other’s full situation.

But that was as far as their speculation went.

Without needing to raise their awareness or scan the air, the battlefield above suddenly began descending.

Yeom Jeong, Mun Gok, and the Sword Saint all loomed larger. Meaning altitude was dropping.

Someone had forcefully pulled down the entire domain where their powers had intertwined.

It could only have been restrained with an equal-level force—inner energy on the level of a supreme master.

Faint voices even became audible.

[Which rat is it?! I can't sense them! Who dares drag us down so subtly?!]

[A chaotic duel indeed.]

Three titans, three walking calamities, fell from the sky.

A steep plunge—that’s what it was. The entire spatial field they had been in came crashing down.

White. Then translucent.

Even the ground where the Masters stood looked like it would be consumed.

The footwork domain created by Yeom Jeong’s “Great Pillar Opening the Cosmos” nullified all distractions and permitted only direct attacks aimed at her.

The Sword Saint’s “Pierce the Heavens” created a faint sword barrier around his rusted blade, like a blanket draped over it—an absolute defense.

Mun Gok’s “Steadfast Strength of Mencius” rejected all energy emissions.

Within the resonance of his roar, ranged acceleration, sword aura, slashes—none of it could extend. It meant combat had to be purely close quarters, through fist and sword.

And beneath all that stood the seven Masters.

Each one battered and torn, like their faded black robes. Considering who their opponents were, it had been a battle that felt like it lasted eons.

Regardless of who died here, Bukgung Ah of the Divine Sword Corps murmured softly.

It was then that the whisper of intent rang out—Jin Myeong-jo’s mental directive, tugging down the tangled footwork domain of the three supreme warriors.

[Silent Night—Execution Prison.]

A mental command formed in a single thought, executed through absolute inner energy.

There was no delay. No matter how powerful the technique, it could be deployed repeatedly in an instant.

This was the Aerial Martial Form of the Divine Sword Unit Commander.

The Sword Saint’s eyes widened slightly as he landed on the ground with a thunderous crash.

That was because blades formed of dark red mist had surrounded the three transcendent beings.

Shapeless swords radiating an incredibly sinister aura, spiraling upward.

Seven of them, in total—floating like prison bars in the air.

As Yeom Jeong and Mun Gok slowly began to rise to their feet,

The seven Masters each gripped a single Dark Night Bloodglow Demon Sword, wrapped in the faint white current of the Radiance Seal. The blood flowing from their bodies added a dark crimson hue to the scene.

The Black Swords of the Ming warriors were all masters of martial arts.

All the more so after perfecting the Radiance Seal. There was not a single person among them unfamiliar with swordsmanship; no one looked awkward with a blade in hand.

Not even Mun Gok, nor Yeom Jeong, looked down on them.

“I’ve heard about this... Ipwang Fortress scum. You call this ritual of yours ‘Naadam’ in the so-called Northern lands.”

At those words, Shin Hwang—who had been silently watching Mun Gok—finally responded.

“It’s not the North.”

“It’s Ipwang Fortress.”

It was a desolate wilderness.

The sky was twisted, layered like multiple overlapping horizons. The clouds stretched dimly, damp and dark.

“Doesn’t it look like the North? This place.”

At Yong Hui-myeong’s question, Ma Yeon-jeok didn’t respond. He clearly had no interest in entertaining that line of thought.

Yong Hui-myeong, too, didn’t seem to expect an answer.

He sat on a stone throne dressed in the elegant fashion of a Grand Preceptor. His violet long robe draped leisurely, exuding a scholar’s grace even while resting against the stone.

Ma Yeon-jeok stood tall. Not even a wisp of his usual blue flame remained.

“You look far too healthy,” Yong Hui-myeong said with a smile.

Then he began to whistle a melody—before cutting it short. The land beneath their feet suited such whims.

It was a world where anything might appear at any moment.

“Even the limping bastard’s presence is noticeable now. So ordinary it’s frightening.”

So said the current Divine Sword Corps Commander, almost jokingly.

But his sharp eyes weren’t smiling. If Ma Yeon-jeok didn’t react again, he looked ready to kick the back of his former superior right then and there.

“The limping bastard. You’re right.”

Ma Yeon-jeok spoke at last.