Chapter 234 - Treasured Sword (7)

The air was clear. Wind swept over the wall and seeped through the crack in the door.

In the room where winter had crept in, the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad sat upright. With his elbows resting on the wooden chair’s armrests, he looked haughty.

So did the casual tilt of his chin. Before leaving the room, the Supreme Flame Dragon had made a show of admiring him as the very embodiment of adolescent rebellion.

The world.

It was not a word to toss around lightly. The martial world was vast. All manner of eccentrics and supernatural abominations dwelled across its endless lands.

Even Jung Yeonshin had spoken somewhat loosely.

His experience was still limited. He had not seen even half the great factions of the Thirteen skies. Countering forms for their subordinate martial lineages would hardly make a significant difference to the balance of power among them.

‘That’s all right.’

Shaking up Xi’an in Shaanxi Province would be enough.

First, he would use the countering forms to divert the attention of Xi’an’s evil and unorthodox paths and make it easier for the orthodox martial artists lying low to fight them.

He wanted Jung Hye and wiji myohwa, who must be in hiding, to have room to breathe—in terms of both martial arts and their circumstances.

“Thank you.”

Jung Yeonshin thanked Zhuge Cheonga once again.

This was after the Supreme Flame Dragon and Heon Wonchang had driven out the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect’s remaining lackeys from the inn.

The two had bound Gal Dojin and So Yurang, sealed their paralysis points, and locked them in a guest room. Then they had arranged for their captain to use the inn’s detached annex.

They had just arrived after more than ten days of travel from the Desolate Fortress.

[“A hard journey tires even a martial artist’s muscles. Take a whole day to rest in the annex.”]

Leaving the Supreme Flame Dragon’s words behind, he had gone to sleep.

The bed was exceptionally well made. The quilt, embroidered with the ten symbols of longevity, was so soft it seemed stuffed full of cotton.

He had the bed to himself. Jung Yeonshin could curl up as much as he liked, until he woke at dawn.

[“Shouldn’t we get some information out of them first? News from places controlled by the Thirteen skies is hard to come by elsewhere. Looks like all the officials have been bought off, too.”]

[“Senior Baek sent word. Everyone arrived safely and has scattered. Sobin brought the white robes.”]

While the Supreme Flame Dragon went to interrogate the two unorthodox men, Heon Wonchang left to fetch breakfast.

Anyone could tell that both men had been raised in comfort. Once they had proper sleeping quarters, color had visibly returned to their faces.

And now, the same was true of Zhuge Cheonga, seated opposite her captain across a red sandalwood tea table. Her pale face glowed with vitality.

She looked composed despite this being her first private audience with her captain. She swept her black hair, tied with sky-blue silk, down beside her neck. Jung Yeonshin watched uneasily.

“Even so...”

“Yes?”

“It still looks easy to grab in close combat. Is a completed eye technique really that effective?”

“...”

Zhuge Cheonga blinked once, gazing steadily at her captain.

Like the Zhuge clan head, her expression remained difficult to read. She merely seemed unable to find a reply.

“Never mind.”

Jung Yeonshin closed his mouth.

He could not understand why she left such a weakness exposed when her body was so slow. Had taking responsibility for the Radiant Demon Squad made him more anxious?

This was not idle meddling. It was a captain’s concern. If something terrible happened to her, it would tear his heart apart.

‘I should discuss it with Radiant Demon Team One.’

The new captain put those thoughts aside.

He had been listening closely to Zhuge Cheonga’s explanations of eye-technique principles. There was much to learn. Creating new martial arts was always like that, but eye techniques were particularly profound.

Was it because they were not methods of striking with the body? There seemed to be an inexhaustible number of principles to examine and reflect upon.

Just then—

RATTLE

Heon Wonchang opened the door with his toe and came in, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands. The Desolate Fortress Sacred Warrior claimed some expertise in poisons as well.

Since Xi’an’s streets were now the heartland of the evil and unorthodox paths, he had personally watched the waiter and cook to check for poison.

“The food is safe. However...”

He set the broad tray in the middle of the tea table.

The poor harvest had limited the variety. Only bowls of kung pao chicken and broad knife-cut noodles gave off a savory aroma.

Over them, Heon Wonchang handed him a letter.

The rolled paper carried the scent of ink not yet dry.

Accepting it silently, Jung Yeonshin raised an eyebrow. He had already sensed the qi fluctuations approaching from outside.

The waves of martial power were quite formidable and possessed a very solid character. When their owner abruptly turned away, he had been considering whether to stop them.

Jung Yeonshin opened the letter.

—I will not ask where you came from. At noon on Minor Snow, let us pit our forces against each other below Great Moon Gorge. The loser withdraws.

After scanning the short message, he slowly spoke.

“Cautious.”

Heon Wonchang shrugged.

“Indeed, sir. They came swaggering in as though they meant to wage a war.”

He was being fully respectful in Zhuge Cheonga’s presence. Jung Yeonshin rose with a faint smile.

STEP

He headed straight for the window.

The room occupied the entire third floor, affording a broad view. Lowering his gaze slightly, he saw people with travel packs, carrying frames, and carts behind them.

They hurried to and fro. Despite the poor harvest, the city was remarkably lively. It must have been because it was wealthy.

‘That must be why the unorthodox martial artists have multiplied.’

Jung Yeonshin lowered his eyes. The shops and halls lining both sides of the broad main road spread out before him.

So did a swordswoman walking in the distance and the subordinates escorting her.

Wi Ilhwa, the Demon-Scattering Sword, leader of the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect.

She lived up to her epithet of scattering demons. Sinister qi fluctuations spread through her long, trailing hair.

The waves were powerful yet irregular. He could feel them even from this considerable distance.

Watching through the window, Jung Yeonshin spoke.

“Fair Eyes, take dictation for me.”

“Yes.”

Addressed by her alias, Zhuge Cheonga laid out her writing implements. She placed the inkstick on the inkstone and prepared brush and paper.

It did not take long. Within a few breaths, she was ready to write.

Jung Yeonshin leaned sideways against the window.

‘Rise.’

The blood vessels running from either side of his Adam’s apple to his solar plexus twitched in response. They were his internal carotid arteries.

Along with the nerve trunks, they filled with faint radiant wheel qi. At once, qi fluctuations enveloped even the fine meridians passing through his eyeballs and continuing to his brain.

HUM

Jung Yeonshin manipulated his qi with extraordinary precision.

It circulated from the Qingming points at his temples through the Sibai points beneath his eyes, the Tongziliao points at their outer corners, and the Zanzhu points between his brows. His entire eyeballs grew hot.

The flow should eventually converge at the Baihui point on his crown, but he was still at a stage where qi deviation was a concern. The structure of his qi circulation remained incomplete.

‘Discern.’

The instant he imbued it with the intent to perceive and examine, a hazy image formed in his vision. The vitality of the people traveling along the main road washed over his eyes. It had no particular shape.

It merely felt as though the body’s most open sensory organ had become a little more sensitive. He was not suddenly seeing something previously invisible.

It was probably because he had failed to guide the flow into the Baihui point’s sensory passage.

He spoke without thinking.

“It’s no different from usual.”

“... Other prodigies experience a drastic improvement in their ability to track motion at that point. They spend decades training to weave a qi flow of that complexity.”

“So it isn’t usable yet.”

Jung Yeonshin answered Zhuge Cheonga calmly.

She had been looking at her captain with green light in her eyes. Now she lowered her head again.

Her pale fingers closed around the brush. A tiny crease crossed her previously smooth brow. Heon Wonchang grinned at her.

It was a smile of satisfaction at another’s misfortune. The Big-Tongued Sword had served as scribe for the Comprehensive Compendium for Breaking the Righteous Path, only to lose the next assignment to the accomplished calligrapher Zhuge Cheonga.

“Remnant-Revering Earth Sect. Body mechanics.”

Her captain began speaking. Glancing at him leaning against the window with his arms folded, Zhuge Cheonga started writing.

“They use the muscles of the entire body evenly when walking. The thigh muscles don’t rise high. Since no single part protrudes, their Mobility Arts are inherently stealthy. The center of gravity of their martial power is low. A variation that forces a particular change of direction should easily upset their balance. I’ll give you the directions. Later Heaven Eight Trigrams: Kan, Kun, Qian.”

“... I’ve written it down.”

“Both arms sway minutely at the waist. They are quiet compared with the power in the qi fluctuations she emits. Beware of surprise sword strikes. She has strengthened the extensor retinaculum and biceps of her right arm, so she should excel at swift upward cuts, but the qi at her wrist’s Inner Pass pressure point is not forceful.”

“One moment.”

“... Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Her swordplay favors dazzling movements, relying on the blade’s sharpness. Repel the first exchange with a forceful sword strike, and victory should be assured. Even staking everything on a single strike would not be dangerous. I’ll describe the core-energy structure of a countering wave of force. Write it down separately.”

His voice had no rise or fall. It flowed out with utter nonchalance. So did his next question.

“You’ve left enough space, haven’t you? Anyone should understand this much, but some people seem obsessed with annotations.”

“...”

A small crack appeared in Zhuge Cheonga’s impassive expression. Her thick lashes lifted slightly.

She could not help wondering: what abilities would an eye technique created by someone like him possess?

‘I have no idea.’

Pressing her lips together slightly, she lifted her brush again.

* * *

‘That is a monster.’

Wi Ilhwa, the Demon-Scattering Sword, hurried along.

She had retreated on the strength of the instincts that had saved her life hundreds of times among the evil and unorthodox paths.

The Remnant-Revering Earth Sect was a branch of the Lingering Spirits. The intelligence network of this member of the Thirteen skies rivaled even the Beggars’ Sect. Its secret eye techniques were far from ordinary.

The Lord of Yeoryeong had bestowed upon her the Dark Movement, Time-Transcending Sight Art. It was an unrivaled eye technique—a gift worthy of being called sovereign grace.

With eyes flashing jet-black, she had looked through the man called Chief. The ability bordered on seeing through solid objects. Through courtyard walls and stone, she had examined the qi he possessed.

Then she had immediately turned away, containing her heart, which felt ready to burst, with internal-energy breathing.

‘To think there’s another person like that in this world...!’

The density of his internal energy was tremendous. It was horrifying.

She had not discerned its nature. The Dark Movement, Time-Transcending Sight Art was not lacking. That was simply Wi Ilhwa’s limit.

Had her attainment been sufficient to see through the nature of a supreme master’s suppressed power, she would have united Xi’an’s Murim long ago.

She returned straight to the Northern Radiance Inn.

Going directly to the private room at the top, she sat in the grand armchair. This was a base she had gained by driving out a lay sect affiliated with Zhongnan.

Carved from a solid block of ebony, the chair was Wi Ilhwa’s throne. Even its ink-dark armrests were extraordinary. As always, it bestowed upon her a sense of omnipotence.

Sovereign of Xi’an’s evil and unorthodox paths.

HISSS

The cool surface warmed in an instant.

Blazing yang power flowed from her entire body. Sweat formed on the backs of the dozen or so disciples kneeling at her feet.

Her faintly wrinkled eyes softened. Wi Ilhwa muttered briefly. This was who she was.

“Send word. Throughout Xi’an.”

She spoke.

“Make no distinction between factions, whether they belong to the Tyrant Sword camp or not. Whiteburn Gate, Severance Pavilion, Great Spirit Awe-Shaking Sect, Sword Demon Sect, Heaven-Ending Saber Sect, Radiant Moon House... Notify them all. Tell them a supreme master has arrived whom none of us can face alone.”

* * *

Three days passed.

The weather was fine. Long veils of early-winter mist draped the densely wooded mountains.

Grasses bowing toward the earth breathed out hazy air.

The landscape basked silently in the clear sunlight. Wild animals, having fed early, were retreating deep into the forest.

Patches of thin ice dotted the shore of a lake roaring with the waters of a waterfall. On one of them stood a man wrapped entirely in a jet-black cloak.

It was Jin Myeongjo, the Blood-Preserving Squad Captain.

He stood steadily on the thin ice shimmering with rainbow colors.

Even with only the balls of his feet together beneath him, he looked in no danger. It was his mind that was precarious.

Jin Myeongjo parted his lips, his face expressionless.

‘Fucking hell.’

He could not bring himself to say it aloud. His lips merely formed the words.

He sensed the qi fluctuations of his junior coming up the ridge. They were vicious. Exceedingly faint waves of Dharma power were already slicing his skin to ribbons.

His keen senses as a supreme master made them all the more distinct. He had not grown accustomed to them. If anything, he was afraid.

The way the junior’s eyes occasionally flashed of late was bizarre, too. Every encounter was an ordeal, yet his dignity as a senior would not let him show it.

Honestly, he was not sure.

He had been screaming so terribly inside. And not merely for a day or two.

Did his junior truly not know? Was he actually enjoying it all? Jin Myeongjo, the Supreme Demon of Divine Blood, entertained every sort of thought alone, rejected them, and entertained them again.

He had repeated this train of thought dozens of times. At last, it converged on one conclusion—as it had so often before.

Damn it, surely not.

‘Here he comes.’

He forcibly tightened his mouth.

Even an expressionless face could not be adopted carelessly.

He treated the muscle group extending from the buccinator through the zygomaticus minor to the levator anguli oris as an object of external-arts training. There was a method for creating an aloof bearing.

His coldness was manufactured.

Before his junior’s head had even risen above the ridge, Jin Myeongjo spoke icily.

“You’re late.”