Chapter 587: Chapter 587

Cheonggwang Plain erupted in chaos.

It was the stampede, as if the vast plain was about to be shattered. The vibration created by hundreds of masters flying across the ground. The barren earth resonated with an intense roar.

It was then that a breath of pale white mist escaped from the mouth of the Southern Emperor, who wore pitch-black fog like a dragon robe.

Behind him, still not revealing his true appearance, the endlessly stretching horizon began to turn white.

The faint sunset had vanished completely. Only pale, shimmering light rippled across the land, as though the night itself had been obliterated.

It was the martial resonance wave of the Oath of Radiant Might, raised by hundreds.

A legion of powerful warriors thundered forward, causing the earth to quake. If the North’s top martial artist was to sever Jeong Yeon-shin’s breath, now was the only chance.

A vessel acknowledged by the God of Battle himself as fit for emperorhood.

He never left any matter to chance.

Though he admitted defeat to Jeong Yeon-shin in the wager he himself declared, he was not simply a martial artist.

He was a man destined to sit on the throne of a nation, bearing the weight of his clan. His thinking flowed on an entirely different axis.

Without warning, the domain of the Southern Emperor—his Radiant Moon Suppression—vanished. For a moment, the surroundings faintly brightened.

The Southern Emperor spoke.

“I acknowledge you as an obstacle to the founding of my nation. That is my remaining regret.”

At the same time, a deep, reverberating hum spread from his body, transforming into human speech. It meant he had activated his upper dantian’s power.

Even while sensing the conditions of Mun Gok and Yeom Jeong through Whirling Wind Hollow, the Southern Emperor had already been preparing his right hand for a strike. A palm technique that would render all of Jeong Yeon-shin’s defenses meaningless.

A black cloud surged around his hand.

Within it, tremendous inner energy clashed and boiled. Yet not even a single spark appeared—only a droning vibration like a swarm of bees. The reason was that the concentrated and compressed energy had finally transcended the limits of martial force.

Not a speck was wasted.

The transformation between Internal Power Centering Technique and “Strike the Cow Through the Mountain” flowed effortlessly, and even rivaled the explosive fist strength of Mun Gok from the Six Original Star Lords.

The Southern Emperor’s massive frame glided toward Jeong Yeon-shin like a ghost. The air around the black cloud coiled and distorted.

Jeong Yeon-shin, standing face-to-face with him, showed no reaction.

Though his eyes were open, he was clearly unconscious. Even as waves of sand rose behind him to cast a massive shadow, he remained motionless.

KABOOOOOM! Shatterrrr—!

Behind Jeong Yeon-shin.

The moment permission for manifestation was granted on the battlefield, Yong Hui-myeong and Bukdo clashed with explosive force. Far more brilliant than before, their recoil burst forth, entangling violently.

Iridescent sword winds and heavy achromatic shockwaves collided, their forms flickering and twisting at overwhelming speeds, kicking up waves of sand in a yellow-brown explosion.

“Hey, Mr. Ma-Whatever, it seems I’ll have to take my eyes off you for a bit...!”

[Your swordplay is not battle, but mockery. I do not respect it. Also, I have no surname. ‘High Blade’ is enough.]

“Let’s stop talking. You talk too much.”

The Divine Sword Master and the Northern Bukdo.

Both were beings nearly at the apex of Jianghu. If either tried to hold the other back, the fight was bound to drag on.

Even if there was a difference in skill between them, only they could perceive it at this moment.

The Southern Emperor arrived directly in front of Jeong Yeon-shin, who stood with his back turned to the chaotic clash. The space split like glass along the path of the black-cloud-wrapped hand.

The strike was upon him. The hand came down.

KABOOOOOOM! RUMMMMMBLE—

An earthquake shook the ground.

Originally, Jeong Yeon-shin’s skull and blood should’ve burst apart with flesh scattering—but only the violently quaking earth remained.

The Southern Emperor’s gaze dropped downward, and there he saw a towering old swordsman blocking his massive right hand.

[I know you. The Sword of the Night Sky.]

The Sword Saint Hyun So-baek let a few drops of blood fall from beneath his pale beard.

He had blocked the peerless palm technique while holding an old, reversed sword. It was the grip of an inverted blade—used when one’s grip had lost all strength.

In his aged body, he had held off Yeom Jeong of the Six Original Star Lords for a long time. Naturally, there were limits—but even so, the Sword Saint had used a step forward from earlier to push Jeong Yeon-shin back and out of harm’s way.

Jeong Yeon-shin, flung back, managed to maintain balance despite his unconscious mind. Upholding the dignity of the Divine Sword Master. His innate instincts had pierced through even unconsciousness.

Everyone present was a superhuman.

The Southern Emperor’s mental voice carried genuine sincerity.

But that was all. From the hand clad in black clouds, a pale shockwave burst forth.

Undefendable. It was the secret of “Strike the Cow Through the Mountain.”

In an instant, the wave passed through the sword and crashed into the old swordsman’s body, and countless streams of blood gushed out.

The monstrous palm strike had been laced with razor-thin sword winds.

The aged body collapsed.

With a soft thud into the soil.

The rusted sword embedded itself into the cracked earth.

The Southern Emperor walked forward in silence. No mockery, no commentary. Only the composure of someone simply doing what must be done.

He would try anything.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

For the sake of the nation to come. And for the same reason, he honored those who tried to protect something. Just as he once acknowledged Joo Gwang-shin, the Drunken Beggar King, as a great warrior.

At last, the Southern Emperor and Jeong Yeon-shin stood face to face.

A Han and a Yao. The difference in height was stark. Just like the north and south—utterly different martial worlds.

Jeong Yeon-shin's wide-open eyes had lost their focus.

He had faced Mun Gok and Shin Tu, again Shin Tu, and now the Southern Emperor. Those who would one day become founders or emperors. All in a single day. An absurd feat.

[There is no more time. Die now.]

The Southern Emperor’s mental voice came forth unfiltered.

Even apart from the echo of his upper dantian, the hand shrouded in black cloud was already falling toward Jeong Yeon-shin’s head.

And just then, the surroundings brightened.

The Southern Emperor muttered—

Four shadows finally burst through the instant and crashed in.

All of them wore fluttering black robes.

In the Southern Emperor’s pitch-black pupils, their figures slowly reflected. Every one of them had once appeared in the portraits of the Yeoryeong faction.

The first to arrive and strike, slashing upward at the Southern Emperor’s wrist like a gust of wind, was Master Cheongmyeong of Bright Wing.

The movement was entirely unguarded, yet the sword path—twisting upward at an odd angle—managed to lift the Southern Emperor’s hand ever so slightly.

Those uniquely cold, blue eyes of the Bright Clan burned into the Southern Emperor.

It was a moment segmented into hundreds of fragments of breath.

Upon the sword that disrupted him, another blade overlapped. A tremendous impact. The tied-back hair of Hak So-seon, Master of the Radiant Blade Squad, fluttered sharply like a soft sword.

And she was even lifting the corners of her lips ever so slightly.

Perhaps she was pleased by the extreme situation.

Or perhaps she simply trusted in the success of the defense.

Dozens of bluish strands of sword energy lashed like thunderbolts, dragging at one of the Southern Emperor’s knees.

A sword technique based on spellwork, designed to collapse balance by striking the back of the knee. From over Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder appeared the figure of a tall, gaunt middle-aged man—Changcheon Master of Ipwang Fortress—wielding a sword cloaked in blue light.

That made three black-robed figures so far.

Slightly later than the other three Masters, a young man slammed the Divine Sword Corps’ flag into the ground at the Southern Emperor’s feet—Bang!—releasing immense pressure.

Suncheon Lord Namgung Hwa-shin gently wrapped his arm around Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder and retreated several paces in a single step, placing the Divine Sword Corps’ banner between them like a wall.

Four in black. Defensive energy harder than any celestial armor. The entire sequence had taken place in a single moment.

The Southern Emperor assessed it swiftly.

He judged that he could not break through the Masters of the Divine Sword Corps all at once. The very next moment, he was already standing in another battlefield.

Mun Gok’s army and Tae Yeom-ryong amid the ruins.

Like a burning leaf bouncing about in the whirlpool of a mounted formation. Tae Yeom-ryong was buying time.

The strongest in the North among the Ten Masters walked calmly at the center.

[Let’s go. Mun Gok and ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Yeom Jeong are in danger.]

He grabbed the shoulder of the Yao warrior striking down from atop a massive battle horse. None other than Mun Gok’s son—a prince destined to inherit the title of Northern King.

Simultaneously, the fragments of the corpse that the Southern Emperor had planted in the ground began to tremble violently. He had spread a wide-area alternate void.

The battlefield turned urgent. Mun Gok’s son asked in a cold, murderous tone:

“Do you intend to take the Frozen Emperor’s consort with you?”

[None shall be denied from becoming my people.]

The Southern Emperor replied.

“What nonsense is this?”

Tae Yeom-ryong’s retort was meaningless. Already, the Southern Emperor, the hundreds of Mun Gok’s soldiers, and even Tae Yeom-ryong himself were fading. They were completely swallowed by the alternate void.

Resistance was impossible. Forced transference.

“What kind of messed-up situation is this...?”

Just as Tae Yeom-ryong tried to take a quick retreat step—

A rainbow-hued sword beam suddenly erupted from the edge of his abdomen. The moment the blade pierced him, his body was vividly restored, as if a lie had been dispelled.

The Dragon Ring Sword of the Divine Sword Lord.

A blade of inner energy composed entirely of overwhelming true energy. The moment it struck, Tae Yeom-ryong’s alternate void was disrupted.

Naturally, his brow furrowed. The Dragon Ring Sword vibrated while still embedded through his side.

“Endure it. I aimed well.”

Yong Hui-myeong suddenly appeared beside him.

Over his shoulder, the towering Bukdo, riding a massive warhorse, thundered through the air. With four translucent limbs, he trampled the streaming rays of sunset.

RUMMMBLE! RUMMMMMMBLE—!

An awe-inspiring technique of stepping through empty space.

The Six Original Star Lords of the North did not see retreat as shameful, like seasoned commanders. Their temperament was entirely unlike that of southern martial artists. And there was no one who could stop their withdrawal.

That was why the Southern Emperor had taken Joo Gwang-shin’s legs.

Soon, the martial world would know. The world’s swiftest men had vanished, and all unmatched masters had become truly unbound.

“So they’re just going to leave ? After disgracing themselves?”

Yong Hui-myeong smiled faintly as he spoke.

The Southern Emperor, now almost fully transparent, silently stared at him, then slowly opened his mouth.

[You should’ve stabbed me.]

“This guy’s about equivalent to the next Master of the Divine Sword Corps’ left leg. He’s more important than anyone.”

[Is the World Tree safe? Each year of famine only makes the sects more rampant.]

“Who knows. Seeing monsters like you walk around without a care, I can pretty much imagine what’s happening up north.”

[It wasn’t before. I suspect the Lord of Ipwang Fortress doesn’t have long.]

“This land probably wants us to meet again. Wouldn’t the corpses of the Southern Emperor and Bukdo make perfect fertilizer?”

[Tell Yaryul this: talent and instinct in battle are not enough to carry the great will of a nation. That martial artist of Blue Flame you failed to bring... that one must remain where he is. If he doesn’t want to die.]

“Yaryul, whatever that is—I don’t know. Anyway, don’t worry about your clan. I suspect they’ll soon have some fertile land to call their own.”

The Southern Emperor and hundreds of Mun Gok’s men vanished completely. Not even a great noise was heard.

A gust of northern wind blew.

It was red, like the last streak of sunset.

But the northern wind could not reach the emptied battlefield.

Hundreds of Divine Sword Corps masters had already surrounded the place. Standing silently among the Masters, they all stared at Jeong Yeon-shin.

In his unconscious eyes, the light of the Oath of Radiant Might shimmered in reflection—like a man who still shone with inner brilliance after countless deadly battles.

“When... did this many...?”

Yong Hui-myeong’s soft, bitter laugh descended over the now-silent dusk.

Ipwang Fortress had been moved to the heart of the Demonic Realm.

It stood ready to take on the combined assault of the former Northern King.

The vast battlefield was pale with the martial resonance wave of the Oath. The shattered ground, the scattered shards of frost, and the cratered holes in every direction began to lighten.

There were no shadows.

Dawn had followed directly behind sunset.

“By the order of Seomye Jeong, acting on behalf of the Master...”

In the still silence, Master Cheongmyeong of Bright Wing knelt on one knee and reported to the two Masters of the Divine Sword Corps.

“The Divine Sword Corps has gathered.”