Chapter 603: Chapter 603

Even the Demon Realm has something like a tavern. The only difference was that the scent of iron and blood replaced the smell of food.

There existed a circular plaza known in the old Yuan tongue as saha. Some from the southern lands referred to it as the Great House. It was a place where anything could be traded and exchanged.

The saha of the Coldblood Valley was no different.

There were those seated on mats, stalls with five or six chairs, figures darting about using lightness techniques, and many martial artists bursting forth their qi as they haggled. Easily, there were hundreds of them.

“The price is too low. Got anything else?”

“Something else? How about my axe work.”

“I’m looking for someone who’s mastered the third secret of the Ten Yellow Destructions. Tell me in secret. If you share your knowledge, I’ll give you a handful of meat.”

It wasn’t booze, but chunks of human flesh and shards of metal that flew through the air. Sometimes, stringy tendons—like threads of blue silk—would shoot up, mixed with reddish bodily fluid.

Those tendons might have belonged to a person.

Or perhaps to a bear or wild boar, which were rarely found. Then again, it could’ve been pieces of prey scattered generously by a powerful martial artist who had returned from a Gate, offering it for anyone to eat.

“Demon Realm” fit perfectly. The clans ran on the law of survival of the fittest.

The old Jurchens, who were crushed by the War God. The Manchus, once also Jurchens, who fully submitted to the Southern Emperor and even changed their clan name.

And the runaways from the south, the bandits who had learned the mounted combat arts of the old Yuan Empire, and the nomads wielding forbidden internal techniques.

“For the greatest martial world!”

A drunkard shouted from a mat barely big enough for three people.

It was a thunderous outburst, loud enough to draw attention—but none of the martial artists in the saha plaza even glanced his way.

They were all busy haggling over blade work, odd jobs, or bits of martial arts instruction. Some discussed the political landscape of the Coldblood Valley, a gorge so vast it defied the term “valley.”

“I heard the Wind King got his hands on the Thousand-Stage Light Armor... anyone know what’s going on?”

“The atmosphere around Violent Wind Division does seem tense. Felt like they’d already announced a victory.”

“Did you see the recruitment notice? Sounds like they’re going to clash with the Jeok Clan. They’re gathering vagrants... promising full meals.”

“Probably just throw some tongue meat at them. And once you’ve tasted that, you can kiss your shot at entering Whirling Wind Hollow goodbye. That stuff’s addictive.”

“You’re talking about Whirling Wind Hollow here? Are you insane?”

The voices of the powerful churned the dirt beneath them like a vortex. A constant boom, boom—earth-trembling echoes. Flashes of martial qi bloomed nonstop.

Everyone knew everyone, and yet everyone was indifferent to everyone else. Because they only cared about their own survival.

The bead curtain hanging in the only open part of the wall swayed softly.

It was the sole entrance to the massive circular plaza, made of thick netting strung with large beads that served as a door.

Not an easy structure to sneak into. Anyone trying to scale the wall using martial movement would instantly trigger the crowd’s qi senses.

A highly closed-off martial domain—even though it was vast and open to all.

Silence expanded, thick and sticky. The bursts of martial qi that had once exploded from mouths like power plays had long since faded.

Three figures walked in, each buried head to toe in pitch-black winter cloaks, their hoods pulled low.

As they brushed past the curtain, the smell of blood began to spread slowly. An aura that seemed to lick at the thickened air.

“Why is the Blood Royal House in the saha...?”

The drunk who’d earlier shouted about the greatest martial world now whispered, holding his breath.

Blood Royal House. Or more formally, the Blood Royal Jeok Clan.

At least here in this vast gorge, they were. Even the powerful Yozoku martial artists held their breath when near them.

Coldblood Valley was flanked by two massive mountains, with a gorge as large as a city carved between them.

The saha lay at its center, while the Blood Royal Jeok Clan, the family of the Northern King, occupied the mountain on the left side.

They were the force that overlooked the valley from the highest point in the west.

One of the two true giants.

The trio in obsidian black walked toward the center of the saha. The only sound was the soft scrape of their cloaks across the dirt.

The entire crowd stayed silent until they reached a humble tavern.

At the exact center of the plaza, surrounded by earthen walls with only the ceiling open to the sky.

One table. Four chairs.

A hulking old woman ran the tiny tavern. She showed no interest in her guests, simply wiping empty cups with a filthy rag, squeaking away.

One of the three nodded. The one who had taken the lead from the moment they entered.

A woman’s voice flowed from beneath the hood pulled low over a pale nose.

Low, yet bewitching. The shadows nearby shimmered like silk.

If the clan of the Dream Enchantresses bewitched people from the top energy center in dreams, the Blood Ghosts seduced their prey with a few sensual movements and a whisper, then brought their lips to the neck.

Those with noble blood were especially dangerous.

A ripple spread through the crowd.

“The Princess of Pale Shade...?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Jeok Iseo came down herself.”

Some clenched their eyes shut or slapped themselves across the head. Anything to keep from being drawn in and drained.

Crown Princess of the Blood King. All but guaranteed to inherit the Northern King’s throne. The legitimate heir of the Blood Royal Jeok Clan.

The old Yozoku woman slammed a cup down on the table.

Jeok Iseo’s hood fell off by itself.

And of course, her eyes were crimson—bright red like polished rubies. Her short, sharply cut black hair was revealed along with it.

The Crimson-Eyed Princess with Short Hair.

Her scarlet lips were pressed tightly together in solemn silence.

At the same time, the two who had been guarding her also lowered their hoods. Their every motion followed strict rules of decorum and discipline.

“You’re really going to drink?” the tavern owner asked again. The eyes of the crowd that filled the saha plaza turned quietly toward her, heavy with tension.

To raise a cup at the center of Coldblood Valley—

It was symbolic. It meant occupation.

A silent declaration that the very heart of Coldblood Valley—where traces of earth energy still lingered—now belonged to them. It was also an open declaration of war against the Violent Wind Division, the other major power in the region.

This could signal the beginning of a full-scale war between the Northern Kings.

Jeok Iseo’s pale fingers lightly wrapped around the cup.

Her lips parted slowly.

“Did you really think I’d just sit back and watch this madness forever? The Blood Royal House and the Violent Wind Division glaring at each other, and vermin like you scooping up what scraps of earth energy you can from between them...”

Coarse words flowed out like blood, coated in that silky, seductive voice. But no one dared to criticize her behavior.

Such was the nature of the Demon Realm’s martial world—power was law.

“The Southern Emperor has fully mobilized. More than ten thousand martial troops will follow him first. And the Northern King forces in Whirling Wind Hollow will begin to rally beneath his banner.”

Jeok Iseo continued, slowly.

“The current strongest man in the North is a war god without reins. If you don’t want to be conscripted or dragged along, you’d better crawl into the main house and bow your heads flat on the ground.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Her voice dripped like blood. The crowd held its breath, afraid of sinking into the mire conjured by her words.

Heir of the Blood Royal House.

Next in line to become Northern King.

This wasn’t something just anyone could say unless they truly grasped the current power balance of the Demon Realm. Only someone from the rightful bloodline of the Northern Kings could speak .

“If we go up to the Blood Royal residence, will we be accepted? Even if all we’ve got to offer is mongrel blood instead of fancy herbs?”

A massive drunkard suddenly shouted like a madman from one corner.

A vague, blood-hued mist streaked through the air and landed directly in Jeok Iseo’s grasp.

It was a secret technique that consolidated the Suction Palm Art into a divine martial form—an absurdly tyrannical skill.

She crushed the drunkard’s throat immediately.

“It’s the age of vagabonds now.”

His neck twisted grotesquely. His corpse sprawled on the ground like tangled vines, and just as Jeok Iseo raised her cup again, the drunkard’s head slammed into the dirt.

But none of the martial artists in the tavern moved from their places. The Blood Royal House was the House of the Northern King. Quite literally, the ruling family.

Their rule was brutally authoritarian, but crystal clear.

“With this declaration of war, I hereby conscript all of you into the main house,” Jeok Iseo announced. No one dared to take the cup from her hand.

“Soon, vermin and mixed blood will become valuable. These are the words of the dignified Blood King...”

Suddenly, her words trailed off.

Her head rose slowly. All the way up to the sky above the saha, which had no roof and was open wide to the heavens.

The faint sound of thunder rolled across the air. A deep vibration followed.

It was as if some enormous force had torn across the sky and been swallowed by the clouds.

Anyone with even a hint of qi sense in their body would’ve reacted instantly.

Hundreds of martial artists sprang to their feet across the plaza. This was a place for experts, after all.

Even if the Blood Royal House’s presence carried the weight of a royal court, the martial artists of the saha were most sensitive to their own survival.

Jeok Iseo didn’t look at them. She was already gone—the first to leap into the air.

She propelled herself into the sky.

Her dark robe flapped violently like a bat’s wings. In a flash, she soared above the saha, far into the air.

At the same time, from the west mountain that flanked the canyon, a thunderous roar erupted.

A deafening sound cracked the air, striking the ears with constant reverberation.

The massive mountain was splitting open vertically.

Along with the expansive palace complex built on its summit—

The Blood Royal House estate. Once shrouded in heavy shadows like a gloomy fortress, it was now being swallowed by a rising cloud of dust.

Split in half, along with the mountain.

The stoic expressions of the guards who had leapt up alongside her finally broke into shock.

But unlike their panicked gazes searching for direction, Jeok Iseo’s eyes were fixed unwaveringly on a single point.

The very bottom of the newly formed fault line—

The place where the thunder had ceased—

Two figures stood there.

A narrow space, filled entirely with suffocating presence.

Even from afar, their forms could be clearly seen.

One of them was the most famous man in Coldblood Valley.

Head of the Blood Royal House.

The only Northern King born from blood ghost lineage.

None in the vicinity could match his dignity. He was one of the few who could stand against the Lord of the Violent Wind Division—the other Northern King.

It was because of him—her father—that Jeok Iseo had dared to raise a cup in the center of the saha.

He was the most aloof of all.

A man worshiped as a god across half of Coldblood Valley. An unmatched martial master who gave no part of himself to anyone.

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee.

His eyes were bright red, his long white hair cascading down his back. A beautiful man.

In Jeok Iseo’s memory, his hair had always been neatly tied like silk. At least, it had never been °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° soaked in sweat .

Even his perpetually drowsy gaze had lost its usual calm.

And the man standing before him—

He just stood there, unmoving. From the glimpses of his nape, he might’ve been a young man.

His wild hair flowed down to his lower back like rippling waves, and from his hand, a deep blue smoke slowly dispersed.

His appearance was intact.

His clothes, plain though they were, were spotless, as if wrapped in solid qi armor. Not a speck of dust marked his humble cotton robe.

Then the terrifying realization struck Jeok Iseo—

She couldn’t sense a thing.

Not even his face, which was turned away from her.

The only certain thing was this:

He had appeared out of nowhere—

And made the Northern King kneel.

Jeok Iseo, hovering in midair, dropped her cup without thinking.