Chapter 593: Chapter 593

Most of the missions in Ipwang Fortress mean that failure is death. Those who are still alive in the Black Class have achieved countless successes.

The place where Jeong Yeon-shin had disappeared.

The King's Inner Chamber.

There were circles filling the four sides: the ceiling, the two walls, and the floor.

The formations were filled with chaotic symbols and strange patterns from the ancient era. These were the formations that the Mystic Master had referred to as "the Quiet."

The essence of the formation was clear. It had extinguished all signs of life within the chamber. She had subdued Shin So-bin and prepared the wide-range shifting technique.

Death in the martial world comes suddenly, without warning.

At this moment, the Black Class members of the Shin Sword Corps experienced failure like death. Now they had no choice but to leave everything to Jeong Yeon-shin’s fate.

The words etched into the bedding mocked them. Strong winds from the broken windows and walls rushed in, slowly pushing the ash away.

This was a space filled only with exceptional individuals.

The words left behind by the Master of the Demon Sect were carved into their minds like burning seals. Even the eyes of Tae Yeom-ryong, Namgung Hwa-shin, and Hyeon Won-chang, who had reacted slightly slower than the others, were caught.

Tae Yeom-ryong's face showed confusion. His mind had processed the situation, but his core instinctively pushed back the truth as if it were an invincible defense.

Even Namgung Hwa-shin, whose body still carried the pressure of his overwhelming presence, stood there, still holding the Ipwang Sword, his expression laden with deep confusion.

Among the young top-tier Black Class warriors, Hyeon Won-chang was the only one free of confusion.

The temporary leader of the Blood Corps, known as the brother-in-arms of Jeong Yeon-shin, his eyes now filled with bloodlust, scanning all directions with his spiritual senses.

He muttered anxiously.

Tae Yeom-ryong felt something strange in Hyeon Won-chang's actions. The corners of his mouth slowly parted, and he spoke, chewing on his thoughts.

"Did you know something?"

"Better shut up. If you have time to talk, focus on expanding your spiritual senses," Hyeon Won-chang replied.

"Already doing that... So, you knew?" Tae Yeom-ryong's voice came out sharp like a blade, cutting through the tension.

But none of the Black Class warriors felt any fear from this strange alienation.

Seonmok Ryeong, elbowed Tae Yeom-ryong and walked toward the bed where Jeong Yeon-shin had disappeared.

Her footsteps were so silent that it was as if she was not touching the ground. She now held a branch in her trembling hand, pulling it from her chest.

Thrusting it into the bedding—

The moment the branch pierced the bed, a soft groan escaped her lips.

The branch absorbed her inner strength. Immediately, it rooted itself into the bedding where Jeong Yeon-shin's warmth had been.

It was the seedling of a rare tree.

The very same tree that Jeong Yeon-shin might one day use as a mark of his unique martial art.

For Jeong Yeon-shin, a peerless swordsman, it was an attempt to grasp at whatever could be of use.

And yet, it was also their limitation.

Time seemed to freeze for many of them.

It was the time of the "Ha" hour (around 9 PM). The twilight had disappeared.

The purple sky was nowhere to be seen.

The once-vibrant northern horizon, which had been full of life and light, vanished. A dark sky was layered above.

But they couldn’t afford to fall into silence.

A shrill scream echoed as a blood-spirit broke through every boundary and flipped everything upside down, constantly reminding the Shin Sword Corps of the harsh reality.

They had won the battle at Qinghuan.

Four of the Liu Yuan Star Generals had descended to push back the transcendent beings from the north. The vast northern and southern martial worlds had been left in shock.

But losing Jeong Yeon-shin was an irreplaceable failure. In the aftermath of the battle, it was a strategic loss.

Thus, the defeat of the Shin Sword Corps.

Before long, the face of Shin So-bin, seated next to the "Jeong Ga Dong Gong" book, grew darker in the ashes. It had been quite a long time.

There was a hidden room where even the dim twilight could not reach. It could be properly called a darkroom.

"I don't understand the Master’s intentions. I heard that you personally allowed outsiders to participate in the Great Ming Flame Festival..."

The voices of the two men murmured softly, and a hazy spiritual aura spread out and flickered in the darkness.

It was the cold hiss of a snake, a chilling aura. Dark demonic energy.

"Yes, they say there are two Han people."

"Your reaction is unexpected. Isn't this festival a rite of initiation? The ignorant ones are to receive the will of the Heavenly Demon."

"That’s true, but..."

"This northern branch is already filled with the sweat of the Yao people. A couple of Han people wouldn’t even be noticed on the battlefield. You should know how to differentiate between the good and the bad."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The man who had been speaking respectfully now spoke in a hurry.

"The outsiders were people without any special background, but the Master commanded that they be treated with the utmost care and be included in the festival..."

"Then the Master has chosen to gather talent. There are 1,370 participants in this initiation festival. With the Master’s discerning eye, this will be a grand success. Isn't it a blessing for our sect?"

"What I mean is... should we not be concerned for the outsiders' safety? You know, the Yao people from the Demon Realm have entered in large numbers, so this will be a dangerous event."

The shadow of the old man, known as the "Taesa" (Grand Elder), trembled in the darkroom. He smiled.

A voice, old and gruff, followed.

"You speak like a member of the Jianghu of the Ming Dynasty. How dare you try to dirty the festival with such presumptuousness? It’s outrageous that you would try to gauge the Master’s mood. Safety? Safety! That is the most out-of-place word in our sect."

"No... I would never dare..."

A slight noise was heard.

The sound of flesh being torn from bone. In an instant, the old man’s hand moved like flowing water and plucked the head of his subordinate like a ball.

One of the Five Great Laws of the world silently manifested.

It was the Demon Sect’s "Dark Hand of the Heavens."

"Of course, I don’t know the Master’s true intentions," the old man, the Taesa of the Demon Sect, mumbled leisurely in the pitch-black room. The body of the severed head slumped to the ground, and darkness rippled.

Jeong Yeon-shin had a dream.

A nightmare where Baek Mi-ryeo was being embraced by So Cheonmujuk.

Thanks to his innate Upper Dantian aptitude, he realized it was a dream, but it was still horrifying. The younger sister he had gained at Ipwang Fortress didn’t look back at him.

She was merely drawn away by So Cheonmujuk, further and further.

Then, suddenly, Baek Mi-ryeo’s head fell from her neck—and upon closer inspection, it was the head of the deceased Jade Sword Master. Her small face rolled across the ground like a pebble, strewn among stones.

When he blinked, a field of stones spread before him. All of them were the severed heads of comrades who had died in battle at Ipwang Fortress.

Even in that moment, Baek Mi-ryeo kept receding into the distance, and Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t move. How could he possibly step on his comrades’ faces?

—Such fertile land. I envy you.

A chilling voice rang out suddenly, and Jeong Yeon-shin’s awareness became sharp like a blade.

Baek Mi-ryeo’s back had transformed into the figure of a towering man. A pitch-black celestial armor fluttered behind him like a cloak. It was the strongest in the North—Namje.

That’s when it started.

Namje’s back transformed into countless others. Mun Gok, Yeom Jeong, Bukdo, Leader of the Chi Geuk Sect, Leader of the Sword Faction, So Cheonmujuk—and then back to Namje again...

Beings who had gained supreme freedom through the downfall of those as fast as lightning. Now, no one could halt the retreat of those backs.

Jeong Yeon-shin was the same.

Even in this moment, he couldn’t reach them—not even in his dreams.

‘The fastest under heaven...’

What about the Leader of the Merchant Clan, the elder of the Open Beggars’ Sect? If the legendary Body Movement Technique that was said to surpass even his grandfather’s speed were real—couldn’t it catch anyone?

Even the Six Original Star Lords who had disappeared as if it were inevitable.

Even the life of the Grand Master of Myeongryu.

Even the flow of time.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice struck his ears.

At once, Jeong Yeon-shin escaped the dream at a transcendent speed. He felt the icy air on his skin, and in a split second, lifted eyelids that weighed a thousand pounds.

A face with rather human-like features. He smiled awkwardly, the edge of his northern winter cloak—with a fur-lined hood—fluttering in a showy way.

For some reason, Jeong Yeon-shin was gripping the man’s wrist. Sitting half-collapsed on the dirt floor.

The man asked cautiously.

“Could you let go of me? You’re stronger than you look. I might break a bone at this rate.”

As soon as Jeong Yeon-shin slightly loosened his grip, the man quickly pulled his hand free.

“Wow... Are you a wanderer, perhaps? Your sensory path is terrifying. I just tried to nudge you awake and nearly got wrecked.”

The man chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Jeong Yeon-shin silently observed his own brain. In the few seconds of unconsciousness, he traced the sensations linking his body to his mind.

The divine quality of his Upper Dantian allowed him to instantly see through the man’s lie.

The man had reached out with ill intent, and Jeong Yeon-shin had instinctively snatched a grappling technique. His skin remembered it.

Jeong Yeon-shin swept the area with his energy sense. He couldn’t feel the presence of the Sword Saint. His senses still remembered being beside him not long ago.

“Was anyone else near me? An old man with the air of a wanderer.”

“You were the only one lying here peacefully.”

The man shrugged with exaggerated casualness and continued speaking.

“An old wanderer, you say? Not worth worrying about, right? If a vagabond survives to that age, then he’s bound to have martial skill beyond what even the Northern Kings of the Demon Realm can imagine.”

“Surely, he’ll survive this ‘Rite of Initiation’ as well—if not as the top pick, then at least somehow.”

A phrase with two meanings. A grand ceremonial event—or a ritual sacrifice. In this case, it seemed to be both.

Because behind the man’s shoulder was a living hell. Hundreds of people of every age and shape were engaged in a chaotic, barehanded melee.

Blood sprayed. Protective energy shattered like glass. People flung across the battlefield crashed into others, were trampled, and exploded on impact.

It was madness. Devils using one another as stepping stones to grow stronger.

Boom! Crack! KABOOM—!

There weren’t even screams anymore—just the sound of shockwave collisions, the roar of footwork, and the wet rip of flesh being torn apart. Only the strong remained.

The man whose wrist had been in Jeong Yeon-shin’s grip shook his head with a drained expression.

“There are a few more places ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) nearby. I’m from the Seokwon region, and I had no idea this was hidden underground. I only joined because they said the Bright Demon Sect would bestow martial arts in cooperation with the Southern King. But now I think this place is their main headquarters.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind called up the Great Marshal of the Huang Army’s map. If it was Seokwon, then it was one of the major cities in the northern part of the Demon Realm.

Roughly three thousand li north of Juyong Pass on the Great Wall. Yeokluseong was somewhere around the middle of that distance.

It was incomprehensibly far from where he had been.