“O Apostle, would you please... accept this offering?”

Someone suddenly addressed the Seventh Apostle. She slowly turned her head from her vacant contemplation of the young Grand Preceptor. As her crimson eyes lowered, her gaze became indifferent.

She asked simply,

“An offering?”

“Y-yes. O revered Seventh Apostle.”

The man's black hair was streaked with red. He was one of the Blood Flame Cult's Blood Master Swordsmen. Bowing as low as he could, he looked up at the Seventh Apostle with blood smeared around his mouth.

A warrior lay sprawled at his feet, a black shoulder cape draped over his back. Teeth marks stood out clearly on his neck.

“...”

The Seventh Apostle quietly regarded the Blood Master Swordsman. Young, with a face flushed with fervor.

It was a familiar expression. She remembered it from birth. Every cultist she had seen growing up had revered her with that very face.

“The demonic essence qi of these Pure Demon Alliance curs is a delicacy. Please...” the Blood Master Swordsman said.

“You madman!”

Another swordsman cried out in horror and rushed over, even employing a movement technique. He shoved down the back of the offering-bearer's head and whispered urgently.

“You presumptuous novice! Beg a hundred times for forgiveness for this insult! She refines her limitless innate blood vitality to cultivate pure Blood Art core energy. How dare you recommend the wretched practice of qi absorption to her, as though she were one of us common mortals! You would sully the Apostle's supreme martial attainment!”

“What are you... I heard the Third Apostle attained his rank through the Great Essence-Absorbing Art.”

“The Seventh Apostle is the true heir to sacred blood, no less exalted than the noble race. Hers is a pure bloodline that even our Cult's aristocrats call noble...! Do you remember the Solar Divine Meridians we saw in Jinan? They said their blazing yang power increased without limit. The blood vitality the Seventh Apostle was born with is just like that!”

“Ah...”

“Qi absorption is not a formula of the sacred blood. It is merely the Cult Leader's grace, bestowed out of pity for us lowly Han cultists. How dare you seek to defile the revered lips of the Seventh Apostle, born with holy blood, with human flesh and blood? Let us common mortals be the ones who must chew through the suffering of mutual strife to attain higher realms!”

The Blood Master Swordsman who had offered the tribute trembled. He immediately pressed his forehead to the ground.

“Please consider that my offense arose from ignorance!”

He pleaded from his prostrate position. Awe, after all, was an emotion mingled with fear.

That was how every Blood Flame cultist under heaven felt toward the Seventh Apostle. Even the Blood Master Swordsmen, said to be capable of conquering an entire county, were no exception.

“Stop making such a fuss, you insignificant thing. The Demonic Asura Blood Art has that formula too. It simply has no use for me.”

The Seventh Apostle replied dismissively and turned her head back. Just then—

“O Seventh Apostle.”

It was the other swordsman, the one who had stopped the offering. He bowed respectfully with his hands clasped as she gave him an irritated look.

“As the Cult Leader intended, reinforcements from the Desolate Fortress have descended into the City of Master Artisans.”

“Yes. Now I won't have to expend so much power making noises anymore. That makes things easier.”

“Then shall I now prepare a letter for the Cult Leader? I expect he will order their extermination. Should I tell our men to keep their sword qi honed?”

The Seventh Apostle gently shook her head.

“No. Don't do that. My Grand Preceptor made me a promise. To create a martial art just for me. What happened at headquarters taught me something. Even a Grandmaster must walk the martial path without wavering to produce a divine technique. My Grand Preceptor must live out his natural span in a good environment.”

“... I do not understand.”

The swordsman looked puzzled. At the same moment, the corners of her lips rose slightly.

“That's all right. You can make sense of it in the afterlife our Cult promises.”

SPLURT!

A flower of keen-edged crimson core energy blossomed. The blood flower bloomed fully, etching a chilling fragrance into the air.

It was internal power given tangible form. The very sacred-blood core energy he had prattled about.

The swordsman's vision tilted. The world seemed to slow. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked down at his chest.

It was drenched in blood. Like red paint splashed carelessly by a drunken painter.

He had not seen the strike. It was a move unleashed from a truly lofty realm.

He collapsed with a thud. The man who had been prostrating himself had already lost his head.

'Killing us to silence us...?'

His mouth opened soundlessly as the life drained from his open eyes.

“Perhaps that thrashing from the Desolate Fortress Master dulled the Cult Leader's wits. He seemed ready to swallow anything I told him. He didn't even notice I'd tampered with the diagram. That great art wouldn't have worked even if it had been done properly... He must have thought I took the Grand Preceptor's uniqueness lightly.”

The Seventh Apostle's murmur tickled the ears of the departing swordsman.

“I suppose I'll say the young Grand Preceptor's martial prowess was greater than expected.”

Her voice held a hint of laughter.

* * *

There was no sound among the homes of Spring District in the City of Master Artisans. Only silence filled them.

It was a dead village, its air as still as death.

'Was it always like this?'

Surely not.

Jung Yeonshin reached the village outskirts. He sensed qi waves gathered in what seemed to be a distant square. Martial artists.

Every one of their energies flowed outward irregularly, lacking upright composure. He surmised they belonged to the Thirteen skies or to warriors between the two paths.

Here at the entrance to the artisan city, they had seized its first village, Spring District. The deserted streets alone made their conduct obvious.

He could distinctly sense people huddled inside the picturesque houses, breathing anxiously. They were enslaving the artisans said to forge the world's divine weapons.

He remembered the smith he had met at the entrance, Jang Jongmyeong. The man had pleaded with him as the Desolate Fortress Master's disciple, saying there was no telling what the Thirteen skies' evil and unorthodox forces might do.

[“Our city is home to so many ordinary people! Please, please protect them!”]

He had been right. As Yeonshin proceeded down the street, faint sounds reached him from afar: fire roaring in forges, the metallic clang of hammers on anvils.

Weapons were being made while the village lay dead. He did not need to think long to recognize coercion.

WHOOSH!

A sudden breeze ruffled Jung Yeonshin's hair.

“Want us to take care of them?”

At some point, the Supreme Flame Dragon had drawn level with the young captain. Perhaps because of the heat from his Solar Divine Meridians, blood had dried onto both his hands.

He was not alone. Namgoong Hwashin's aloof blue robes fluttered at the edge of Yeonshin's vision. Hong Joogeom's steadfast qi waves settled behind him as well. With the soft sounds of lightness skills skimming the ground, the Wing-Returning Unit's experts formed ranks and began following him.

They had slaughtered the Brilliant Prosperity Sect warriors in moments.

Their weapons smelled of blood. No one had sheathed a sword yet.

All were more seasoned warriors than Jung Yeonshin. They too recognized what the boy had sensed. Even if their energy detection did not reach as far, experience allowed them to surmise that marauders still remained—evil and unorthodox forces playing master over Spring District.

“Your orders, Captain,” Namgoong Hwashin said.

The boundless power of the azure heavens rose from the White Qilin's entire body. Clear waves of core energy.

Before it was the power of the Azure Heaven Grand Expansion Divine Art, it was the spirit of a chivalrous warrior. Faced with the common people's catastrophe, he had set his own despair aside.

“C-Captain...? Did you just say captain?”

Heon Wonchang stumbled over his words. It was a sight he had never even imagined. Namgoong Hwashin was honoring Jung Yeonshin as his captain and requesting orders.

Was that possible? The White Qilin was the rising-generation disciple who had conquered the eastern Dragon-Phoenix Summit south of the Yangtze.

“I've been appointed temporary captain of the reinforcements,” Jung Yeonshin explained briefly.

Leaving Heon Wonchang wide-eyed at that alone, the boy spoke quietly once more.

“Clear them out.”

It was a simple order. Its consequences were anything but.

Those words summoned death upon the enemies remaining in Spring District. The Wing-Returning Unit's experts scattered in every direction.

CLANG! BOOM!

“The Desolate Fortress! Were there Radiant Demon Squad members left?!”

“Stop! Stop! In my capacity as sect leader, I request peac—argh!”

Clashing blades and the reverberation of qi waves awakened the underground village. The silence filled with the sounds of sudden, fierce combat.

“What is this?”

“Experts from the Desolate Fortress's Divine Sword Squad...”

The Tang Clan and Beggars' Sect experts murmured uneasily. From the nameless cliff near the Sichuan Tang Clan to the City of Master Artisans, from the slaughter of the Brilliant Prosperity Sect warriors to the scene before them, it had been one shock after another.

This was separate from the Lightning Genius Jung Yeonshin's martial talent.

Warriors from sects across Sichuan were being slain because the Desolate Fortress's full-fledged warriors had moved at a single word from the boy. Anyone would have found it difficult to believe.

Nor could they intervene with any objection. Every stroke of the Wing-Returning Unit's swords was justified. Drawing their blades and striking their enemies was rightful vengeance.

Considering the artisans of the City of Master Artisans, it could even be called chivalrous punishment.

'Lightning Genius... There's nothing more to record about his standing. I should examine his level of martial prowess and the arts he's mastered.'

So thought the Beggar Heir. The Lightning Genius's stature was unmistakably high. He appeared to have won the hearts of a combat unit under the Divine Sword Squad completely.

No matter how the Beggar Heir puzzled over it, he could not fathom how that was possible. That point merited special mention.

'I'll have to investigate once we're out. He's no mere rising disciple with impressive martial arts.'

Amid the unexpected upheaval in Spring District, the second most exalted beggar under heaven turned his gaze.

His eyes settled on a boy standing quietly in a deep blue robe. There was something peculiar about his bearing.

It was the dignity of someone exalted, a quality the Beggar Heir knew well from meeting countless heroes. Was it because he had watched the boy command Divine Sword Squad experts with a few brief words?

'When the Martial Alliance is formed, he must go on the list of people requiring special attention. He's someone to watch out for.'

His eyes suddenly met Jung Yeonshin's. The Beggar Heir discreetly turned his head away.

Half a double-hour later.

They assembled at the entrance to Summer District, which followed Spring District, before a huge semicircular stone gate. The Wing-Returning Unit's experts had gathered the city's residents after everything was cleared out.

From Spring District's smithies to its homes and square, blood from the enemies' corpses soaked the stone paving.

“Thank you! Thank you so very much!”

“We thought we would become slaves... Thank you, truly.”

The short commoners bowed again and again. The man at their head remained motionless with his chest pressed to the ground.

It was Jang Jongmyeong, who had been hiding silently by Spring District's entrance. He said he was the headman of the village.

Meanwhile, Hong Joogeom asked Jung Yeonshin's permission to interrogate the captured enemies. The boy nodded quietly.

“I'll talk! I'll talk!”

“Shut up! You spineless wretch, have you no shame?!”

The man who had shouted for silence lost his head. Namgoong Hwashin's sword had traced a straight line. It did not even leave a trailing streak of blood.

“I'm the one who needs to earn merit, you know.”

While the Supreme Flame Dragon grumbled, Hong Joogeom asked the enemies their purpose.

Few warriors walked between the two paths out of the conviction known in the Central Plains as chivalry. Several warriors from the middle-path sects answered immediately.

“We were told Bodhidharma's manifestation body was in the City of Master Artisans. In the form of a treasure.”

“Manifestation body?”

The Tang siblings, who had been watching Jung Yeonshin all this time, echoed the words. They could hardly do otherwise.

The term referred to one of the Buddha's three bodies. In the martial world, it was understood as an inner core of condensed internal power.

Bodhidharma's manifestation body, then, meant a fragment of the core energy the great master had accumulated in life. The Tang Clan experts, who dealt in poisons and medicines, could not help pricking up their ears.

After bowing to Jung Yeonshin once more, Jang Jongmyeong rose to his feet.

“So that was what they were after.”

“How could something from such a distant age still remain?” Tang Ryeoryeo asked.

Jang Jongmyeong glanced at Jung Yeonshin, only speaking once the boy nodded.

“It seems there were capable people even before the iron race. A craftsman refined that crystal of tangible core energy—one whose level must have been rare throughout all history.”

“You're saying someone refined a fragment of core energy? How could anyone do such a thing...?”

“The Tang clan head should be capable of it too. He must have kept his distance from his children. In any case, it isn't very dense. But melt it into a sword, and it would become a divine blade with a spiritual nature. If a person consumed it... I don't know what would happen, but it's a treasure anyone would covet. Enough to bring this calamity upon us.”

His expression turned bitter as he finished. He seemed unable to think of anything else to console himself with.

Jung Yeonshin turned his head, his palm resting in the recess of the stone gate that served as both Spring District's exit and Summer District's entrance.

“We're moving on immediately. Take care.”

He was bidding farewell to Jang Jongmyeong and the villagers when someone spoke.

“I don't know who you are to lead Divine Sword Squad warriors, but you are as foolish as you are young.”

It was one of the captured enemies, a man of dignified appearance. Perhaps he had suffered the Supreme Flame Dragon's blazing yang power: the front of his robe at the solar plexus was burned and dried fast to his flesh.

One could barely tell that it had once been fine silk.

“The Ten Perfections Sect and Pure Demon Alliance divided the treasure-plaque keys to Summer District between them. You would do well not to act rashly. The stone walls will collapse.”

His words and manner were unusual. He seemed to be someone of no ordinary station.

Heon Wonchang, the Supreme Flame Dragon, and the other Desolate Fortress experts stared blankly at him.

“I possess a core-energy diagram of Summer District's treasure plaque. Roughly thirty percent of the complete version. Don't think you can extract it through interrogation—through torture. I can endure it. Simply agree to one condition...”

RUMBLE!

A faint shaft of light spilled through. Beneath Jung Yeonshin's fingertips, the gate was opening.