Chapter 579: Chapter 579

Beneath the towering snowy peaks, everything came to a halt.

The fierce movements atop horses and on foot, the surging flows of internal energy, the relaxed waves of qi rippling through the winter wind, the shockwaves pulsing from spears and blades, the snorts of warhorses scattering pale breath—

One by one, they stopped.

Only one thing grew clearer: the faint sound of wind brushing over the snow, carrying specks of dry, white powder.

The quieter the people grew, the deeper winter settled in.

Time itself seemed frozen.

So it was across all three fronts of the battlefield.

On one side stood the Chi Geuk Army, arrayed like a fortress wall, facing off against elite warriors from the southern orthodox sects.

On the far opposite end, the blazing cavalry charge of the Yeom Jeong Army raged on, joined by members of the Divine Sword Corps.

And in between, dead center, was the massive crater created by Jeong Yeon-shin.

“What... was that just now? The voice that came from that pit...”

Whispers spread among the southern martial artists before quickly dying down. The confrontation between the Chi Geuk Army and their forces was like a porcelain plate about to shatter.

The Northern King Yaryul had been the storm in the stagnant demonic lands left behind after the God of War’s disappearance. The Northern martial world, in acknowledgment, raised him to the position of Pah Gun among the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords.

He was a figure whose influence shook all of the North.

And he had declared: “I am the Master of the Divine Sword Corps.”

An impossible event had just unfolded.

And its impact on the future of northern affairs was immeasurable.

A crude whistle blew from the direction it had first come.

A single flag arced through the sky in a massive parabola. Thrown by someone with little sense of distance or aim, it clumsily landed just outside the crater, barely sticking into the ground.

Somewhere, a flustered young voice let out an “Oops!”

But the banner itself, fluttering in the dusk light, was no crude thing. Nor were the words written upon it.

Divine Sword Corps, Divine Sword Squad.

The southern martial artists opened their mouths, but no words came out. Most wore faces heavy with disbelief. The terms central figure or Lord of Alliance had long since faded like a forgotten lie.

Then, from within the crater, slow footsteps echoed.

A silhouette ascended in silence.

A strange pressure bled from each step, as if time itself were slowed. Surrounded by the gazes of powerful warriors, the figure gradually emerged.

First, his forehead. Then his unkempt but thick and refined eyebrows. Bloodshot, dreamy eyes.

The bridge of his nose, catching the sunlight perfectly, gleamed like a sharpened sword.

It was the face of the young man who had called himself the Master of the Divine Sword Corps.

Some southern martial artists standing beyond the Chi Geuk Army gasped in disbelief.

And even as countless eyes focused upon him, a strange noise continued to break the silence. It came from directly behind him.

Something was being dragged along the ground, following his steps.

Perhaps that was why—

Though the inside of his violet longcoat was torn and soaked, as if every muscle and vessel had burst, it drew few stares. The outer fabric of the coat shimmered too beautifully, too seamlessly, in the red light.

The peerlessly handsome youth climbed from the crater—and with a dull thud, dropped something at his feet. The snow beneath them crumpled in eerie silence.

What lay before his feet like a war trophy—

Was the form of a woman, one of breathtaking beauty, a figure who matched the youth’s striking appearance as if they were born of the same dream.

Just like the youth’s neck and hands, soaked crimson with blood, her sharp nose and delicate face were stained with it.

Her long hair, dusted like ash, sharply contrasted the youth’s pitch-black strands.

She was the revered figure of the northern martial world.

The one who had stolen the treasures of the Forbidden City and distributed them to the North.

An unmatched powerhouse.

The Chi Geuk Army’s Second Commander, who had been watching the young man climb from the crater, froze for a second time. The first had been when the youth claimed the title of Divine Sword Corps Master.

But only after seeing the woman’s face did the Commander’s emotions fully surface.

“The Queen... Her Majesty...?!”

His tone was different than when addressing the Chi Geuk King.

She was the Queen of the Mongyo bloodline. Though the Commander served the Chi Geuk King as his lord, to one born of the Mongyo lineage, this woman was their true sovereign. There was no comparison.

Was she... truly dead?

The world’s swiftest being.

The one called the Heaven’s Swift Blade.

She held no formal troops, yet was closer than anyone to the God of War.

Once she moved, no one could catch her.

Her single strikes reached even the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

There were times she hadn’t even counterattacked—she had simply let the ultimate moves of her foes destroy each other, all while fading like a dream.

That was why the Chi Geuk Commander now questioned the unmasked Northern King Yaryul.

“How could you possibly...?!”

Jeong Yeon-shin, standing atop the crater, stared quietly at his feet. He heard nothing else—no voices, no murmurs.

The Swift Blade, lying dead.

The snow beneath her sculpted nose shimmered only with sunlight. Her breath, which once dug furrows into the earth, had ceased.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin did not consider her a corpse.

He still remembered how, from the peak of Mount Haebing to this battlefield, she had used her revival technique again and again to restore herself mid-fall.

She was unlike any other master.

How could she unleash her Dream Phantom Dance multiple times?

Because her Dream Phantom Dance truly reversed time.

It was literally a nervous system racing through the past. By wringing out every last drop of divine energy from her upper dantian, she could endlessly restore her body and internal reserves.

A monster. A godless wraith. Any word applied.

In just that brief moment, they had exchanged hundreds of close-quarter techniques.

It was more difficult than simply holding out against the combined attacks of Mun Gok and the Swift Blade.

He had to decide the outcome himself—one-on-one.

He had pierced her heart. Smashed her skull. But her divine energy remained and reactivated the Dream Phantom Dance. Like the Bloodflame Cult Leader once had, she revived again and again—until now.

Jeong Yeon-shin had lived through that suffocating time with tear-streaked cheeks.

Blood dripped from the strands of hair covering her face. Crimson droplets also fell from Jeong Yeon-shin’s fingertips.

One side of his violet sleeve, soaked in his own blood, darkened like a scorched rag.

He spoke to the body of the Swift Blade.

[You made me feel desperate. So what about me? How much pressure am I to you?]

His voice hummed low and steady. He truly didn’t know the answer. It was a question for her—and for the northern martial world.

Jeong Yeon-shin was «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» willing to kill her for as long as she could be killed. But he could not repeat this forever. Even now, his comrades in the Divine Sword Corps were locked in battle.

And then, there was a response.

[Cycle of Dream Reincarnation.]

A voice echoed from the corpse—its heart and part of the brain blown away.

The fastest under heaven. In terms of transcending her neural control, even surpassing the Lord of Ipwang Fortress and the God of War.

She was a transcendent being.

Her mental will alone caused the Chi Geuk Commander to react.

But the color returning to his face lasted only a moment.

It wasn’t Shin Tu who moved alongside the Dream Phantom Dance—it was the snow beneath her.

In that instant, unlike Jeong Yeon-shin who pressed her head into the icy ground with a shadowed gaze, the Cycle of Dream Reincarnation transported the book in her arms entirely to another point in time.

The torn half of the Sword Immortal’s secret manual—

To a point in the sky they had once passed, while racing side by side.

It was even beyond the rear slopes of Mount Haebing. The very spot where the massive army of Mun Gok was clashing once more with the lone Tae Yeom-ryong. The final activation of Shin Tu’s Dream Phantom Dance was no different from the Irregular Void.

Her Cycle of Dream Reincarnation could not be used again without restoring its master.

At last, Shin Tu’s body slackened. Her spirit, internal energy, and physical strength all released at once. The pure white snow, tracing the curves of her frame, crumbled softly.

—How much pressure am I to you?

That very state was her answer to Jeong Yeon-shin’s question.

Even if her body and energy returned to a pristine state through the Dream Phantom Dance, her spiritual core—her upper dantian—could not be restored.

Shin Tu was completely dead.

Having protected something more important to her than life itself.

In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin recalled the Myungryu Commander, Un Sohyeon. Then, slowly, he removed his foot from Shin Tu’s head.

The Chi Geuk Vice Commander opened and closed his mouth, letting out a low, mournful sigh.

To someone who understood the true extent of such a transcendent expert’s power, the meaning behind this scene was more than clear.

And then, like someone who had mastered the art of face-changing, he suddenly smiled.

“Who has won? That is the most important question in this land. In this demon realm, the strong play the role of kings—and you are still a splendid Northern King.”

His pristine white teeth gleamed as he said this, but their luster was different from the sullied white snow surrounding Shin Tu’s body.

So sweet were his words, they suited the color. Yet they were far from pleasant.

Not unlike Lord of Hocheonseong’s manner, but with an entirely different flavor. One that left a bitter taste.

Jeong Yeon-shin said nothing to the Vice Commander’s nonsense. He simply turned his back. Even the Chi Geuk King, who had watched in silence until now, was left behind.

There was no strength left.

From now on, he would use his energy only for what needed to be done. If anyone from the Divine Sword Corps chose to cut down someone like the Vice Commander, he had no intention of stopping them.

Far off, Jegal Cheong-ah had tried to call out to him, but faltered mid-sentence.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze turned instead to the warriors of the main fortress entangled with the warhorses.

‘Light Blade Squad, Cheongmyeong Line.’

Forty-three still breathing.

At a glance, they were locked in an even struggle against some three hundred mounted Yozoku warriors. It was a battle that defied reason.

Suddenly, the Chi Geuk Vice Commander’s voice rang across the battlefield.

“Stop now! Let us speak first!”

No one heeded him. A moment of hesitation would have been fortunate.

The momentary lull created by Jeong Yeon-shin’s declaration as Master of the Divine Sword Corps had long passed. The Yeom Jeong Army and the Divine Sword Corps’ subunits had resumed their savage, murderous clash.

Two warriors stood out in the very heart of the chaos.

Shimmering forms collided again and again, distinct from Jeong Yeon-shin’s own presence.

Among them, a hulking figure wielding a massive crescent-moon blade rode a giant warhorse. With each swing of his weapon from that elevated position, the ground cracked open with thunderous force, revealing the yellowed earth beneath.

The Lord of the Yeom Jeong Army.

One of the Six Liu Yuan Star Lords, the martial leader Yeom Jeong—unsurprisingly a master of cavalry warfare and polearms.

He even unleashed techniques resembling the Dream Phantom Dance once shown by the Chief of the Green Forest Cavalry.

Harnessing the shockwaves from surrounding horses’ hooves and wrapping them around his body, he amplified his power further.

Though it didn’t match the original Dream Phantom Dance in effect, the sheer pressure of his strikes was enough to overwhelm.

Surely, this too was a Northern divine technique.

Even Jeong Yeon-shin, in his current condition, would struggle to match him—at least, without resorting to other techniques.

But there was no need to think of such things now.

The Master of the Divine Sword Corps did not need to draw his sword unless the enemy commander was someone like Shin Tu.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

A woman intercepted all of Yeom Jeong’s devastating spear strikes. Her flowing use of Flower Transfer Technique, her accumulation and release of force, her continuous chaining of techniques—all were seamlessly executed.

Her expression was mischievous.

Though she stood between life and death, the corners of her lips twitched into a faint smile.

Her hair, tied in a single cord, remained untouched by the chaos—never once unraveled in the thick of battle.

She was none other than the Captain of the Light Blade Squad of the Divine Sword Corps.

The character used in her title meant “fury.” She was the wielder of a wrathful blade.

Light Blade Captain Hak So-seon.

Jeong Yeon-shin had only seen her before via written reports. Until her clash with the Thirteen Heavens’ Many-Faced Executioner, she had served as an aide to Ma Yeon-jeok.

But now, she was Jeong Yeon-shin’s Black Sword.

Had the Cheongmyeong Line’s leader not yet arrived? Jeong Yeon-shin sent a silent voice transmission to Hak So-seon.

Jeong Yeon-shin narrowed the wildly expanding Southern Radiant Light Tai Chi around him. In an instant, the circle of blue light swept over the white ground, encircling only the Yeom Jeong Army.

The density of the technique increased.

As looks of shock spread across the field—

The white energy flowing like mist from Hak So-seon’s blade began to glow, and within the deepened Southern Radiant Light Tai Chi, her sword drew a perfect arc.

It was impossibly fast—so fast it seemed slow.

The arc slashed straight for Yeom Jeong’s neck and his warhorse’s head.

Within that sword path, techniques Jeong Yeon-shin had created in his “white era” were condensed into their peak form.

The multi-stacked formations of the Beginning Conquest Scripture, the explosive Storage Grinding Force that released accumulated battle power, the Radiant Blade Stream that wove all these into waves of light, and the gripping method Advancing Thunder from the Formless Ultimate Fist...

It was a single strike, yet it felt like dozens of techniques had been slammed into it at once.

Two heads followed the arc of her blade.

Only then did blood lines appear, etched into the necks of Yeom Jeong and his warhorse.

Their heads rolled across the snowy ground.

Only then did the fighting begin to cease, one by one.

These were all elite warriors with refined senses—their reactions came swiftly.

Hak So-seon did not stop her sword strike. Like a painting in motion, she spun and came to a halt before Jeong Yeon-shin.

The hem of her pitch-black sleeve fluttered like the smirk of a madwoman.

“Successor of a single lineage.”

Light Blade Captain Hak So-seon halted with one knee on the ground at Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet.

“I offer my respects to the Grand Master.”

She finished her words.

Only silence remained.

The chill of the wind rattled through the battlefield. Blood-soaked skin danced with an icy touch.

Hak So-seon lifted her head slightly and asked,

“I ask the Master—what will you do?”

Just as Jeong Yeon-shin had called himself Master, she did not bother with the word "proxy."

Jeong Yeon-shin was quiet for a moment.

Someone was waiting, unguarded, for his answer. A first in the North.

Was it because grief still gripped him?

Hak So-seon’s question echoed in his ears like a distant bell. Slowly, he parted his lips.