The air in the City of Master Artisans seemed to grow heavy. An unusually chilly wind swept around the masters of the Tang Clan and the Beggars' Sect.

Brushing the cavern's stone walls, it gave a rough, dull roar.

It was a fitting reflection of the Beggar Heir's mood.

'Lightning Genius, Jung Yeonshin. A blue robe of the Radiant Demon Squad, and acting captain of a combat unit.'

Conflicting emotions rose within him: awe and wariness. As a martial artist, he could only marvel.

The boy's progress was far too swift. To fathom the depths of his martial learning, one would have to descend into an abyss.

Such was the case at the Beggar Heir's level of attainment. The boy's martial might had unmistakably surpassed the bounds of the rising generation.

'He's reached the realm of the Desolate Fortress's black robes. Before long, the Divine Sword Squad may have a new captain under its command.'

And there was more. Simply developing martial prowess was one thing; defeating and killing supreme masters of equal or greater strength was another.

He possessed an innate instinct for battle. His finesse exceeded even the level of his cultivation.

To name martial artists who had reached that realm at the Lightning Genius's age, one would have to search all of history.

Even then, there might only be a handful. Bodhidharma, Zhang Sanfeng, and the founding patriarch of the Ming Cult were the first names that came to mind.

That was what made it so wondrous. The Beggar Heir felt a rare sense of amazement. Anyone who walked the martial path would find it difficult not to.

But the perspective of someone concerned with the affairs of the entire martial world was different. His sect was the One Gang of the Nine Great Sects and One Gang.

The Beggars' Sect upheld the chivalry and order peculiar to Murim.

The emergence of a boy who seemed a supernatural abomination was bound to put him on guard.

'The Alliance's opening ceremony will be held soon. We'll have to invite masters from the Desolate Fortress, even if only as a formality. If that boy comes, will anyone his age be able to face him?'

No one readily came to mind.

Few sects in the martial world welcomed the achievements of a Desolate Fortress master.

Apart from the Nine Great Sects, which cultivated themselves in pure religious sanctuaries, any faction would first harbor a blade in its heart.

It was so even when they had done nothing wrong. The Desolate Fortress sought to subdue the martial world in the name of the people's welfare.

The order it desired amounted to oppression of Murim.

To the Beggar Heir's knowledge, apart from religious martial lineages such as the Nine Great Sects, most orthodox martial artists privately thought along these lines:

I'd harmed the common people? What, did those innkeeper bastards lodge a complaint? A chivalrous warrior is a bold, heroic soul. Surely heroes can draw their swords now and then when they're drinking.

How many villains were there throughout the land? The Desolate Fortress was losing sight of the greater good over trifles...

The Beggar Heir himself agreed to some extent.

"The Desolate Fortress. One of its exceptionally sharp blades has grown dull... only for another sword to hone its edge to a razor point. And it's absurdly young, at that. A treasured sword, newly born. It's truly unfair."

He grumbled under his breath, referring to the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad and the Lightning Genius.

A mere member of the rising generation had slain leading masters of great sects.

Not one, but two. Who would believe it? The greatsword of the Ten Perfections Sect and the divine hand of the Pure Demon Alliance were each comparable to the leaders of the Nine Great Sects' elite forces.

Dokgo Gwang and Ha Yulgeuk. At the very least, either could be considered a contender against a combat-unit commander of the Eight Great Families.

'The balance of Murim will shift, even if only a little. An unbelievable newcomer has emerged.'

The Beggar Heir scratched vigorously at his back as he thought, trying to get a look at the Lightning Genius.

The boy was some distance away, hidden among the Desolate Fortress warriors, and difficult to see. Good grief, what fearsome security.

"You look like you're plotting something underhanded."

Light footsteps sounded. The Beggar Heir turned his head to find Tang Ryeoryeo, the Poison Phoenix, staring steadily at him.

"Underhanded? What do you take the great Beggars' Sect for? Call it foresight and careful planning. While the two sides fought, we beggars protected the common people."

His reply was glib. Tang Ryeoryeo's delicate brows drew together slightly.

That was an undeniable fact. As the Radiant Demon Squad's strength dwindled, the Beggars' Sect had stepped forward to protect the residents of the City of Master Artisans.

It was thanks to them that most of the iron-race people now huddled together far off to one side were unharmed.

Only the devastated ground of the city lay empty.

The Beggar Heir spoke with a sly smile.

"Before you pick at faults you can't even see in others, reflect on your own conduct. Weren't you watching only the Lightning Genius, afraid that Blossoms Raining Across the Sky might slip away from you? Your retainers did help us, but in the first place... I never imagined I'd hear a daughter of the Tang Clan call me underhanded."

"Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I don't know you're constantly sizing him up? You're afraid he'll become an obstacle to forming the Martial Alliance."

"Then tell me, my lady, does the retired clan head know you've been away from home for so long?"

"Is that a problem?"

Tang Ryeoryeo swept her short hair behind her ear as she replied.

Her manner betrayed the haughty bearing of a pampered daughter of a distinguished family. The Beggar Heir's smile deepened.

"If Blossoms Raining Across the Sky is why you're going out of your way to find fault with this beggar, I understand perfectly. Nothing in the world could be more important than your family's renowned, peerless secret art. After all, how many masters possess talent like the Lightning Genius's?"

"..."

"But please watch your words and actions. Didn't the Tang Clan also affix its seal to the invitation to the Alliance gathering? After what happened to the Hwangbo and Namgoong clans, you declared that you would no longer stand idly by in the face of such merciless oppression. I fear your sharp words might undermine the trust between allies. The retired clan head would not welcome that."

Still smiling, the Beggar Heir continued.

"Let us keep our distance from each other. The Tang Clan makes me rather uncomfortable, you see."

There was a blade hidden in his leisurely tone. Tang Ryeoryeo said no more.

She felt this was not something to argue about with Desolate Fortress masters sharing the same space.

Was it because the truth would come out anyway? The Beggar Heir was astonishingly brazen.

Just then, a voice spoke.

"Now, it was my family that got wiped out. Why are you lot getting so worked up?"

A wave of scorching pressure swept over them with the jocular words. A powerful arm dropped across the Beggar Heir's shoulders.

The Supreme Flame Dragon had appeared without warning. For an instant, the air seemed to leap and surge.

Astonishingly powerful Blazing Yang Core Energy was heating it.

"Like a pair of reckless brats."

He spoke with his arm still around the Beggar Heir's shoulders.

His voice sounded profoundly bored, yet that single remark brought silence.

His overwhelming presence, hot enough to melt flesh, gave the impression that he could not be opposed. He was beyond the reach of anyone in the rising generation.

"..."

The Beggar Heir fell silent. His Beggars' Sect subordinates could not intervene either. The Supreme Flame Dragon was already a widely renowned young nobleman.

The martial prowess he had displayed in the City of Master Artisans that day had been shocking in its own right.

Everyone knew that, apart from the Lightning Genius, the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad, and the Tang clan head, no one there could face him.

And so the Supreme Flame Dragon remained silent for a long while, a faint smile on his lips. His behavior subjected them to terrifying pressure.

There was not one among them who did not fear that the opium addict might actually melt the Beggar Heir's neck.

"Wow, he's gone all the way from here to there. Truly fascinating. Perhaps the only pleasure left in my life."

He muttered to himself like a madman. With his arm still around the Beggar Heir's neck, the Supreme Flame Dragon watched only Jung Yeonshin's progress.

Even now, gentle ripples of light flowed from the boy's body.

"How entertaining. How thrilling."

The sight brought home just how vast the world of martial learning was. The Supreme Flame Dragon's lips curled into a broad smile.

The Beggar Heir could not move a muscle. He had to stand rooted to the spot until Jung Yeonshin, the Lightning Genius, finished circulating his energy.

The Supreme Flame Dragon did not budge until then. Had the Beggars' Sect held even a little less standing, there was no telling what might really have happened.

Only when the Beggar Heir's cold sweat began evaporating into white vapor did Jung Yeonshin finish.

He exhaled a long breath.

The boy slowly opened his eyes amid the Desolate Fortress masters. Heon Wonchang immediately hurried over, breathless.

He held Jung Yeonshin's Desolate Sword in both hands.

"Wear it at your side, Young Master."

He spoke with a grin. Jung Yeonshin's lips curved slightly.

There was always something cheerful about Heon Wonchang's manner.

"You've accomplished something truly astounding. The advancement of your martial arts isn't merely remarkable, it's simply..."

Heon Wonchang, whose eyes had been wide since he first smiled, was only the beginning of the praise.

"Truly astonishing. The next black robe will come from the Radiant Demon Squad."

"Was that final technique the second form of Infinite Blossom Fist Strike? I never knew it could produce such dazzling variations. It rivaled the Plum Blossom Sword of Mount Hua's Sword Saint."

"I can still picture you in a white robe as clearly as yesterday."

His seniors in the Radiant Demon Squad gathered around. No one stroked his head or touched his shoulders anymore.

They showed him the respect due an exalted martial artist. Their smiles expressed their pride in him.

They did so despite the deaths of so many comrades.

Suppressing it, looking away, burying it deep in their hearts... They seemed accustomed to it. There were many ways to face sorrow.

Their mastery of life ran deeper than Jung Yeonshin's.

'That's... something I need to learn.'

So the boy thought, for the images of his fallen seniors and Ma Jin's arm kept flickering before his eyes.

He forced himself to settle his heart. Until they returned, they could not afford to let down their guard.

He also exchanged greetings anew with Ma Jin, Baek Miryeo, and Chung Myung, but they could not linger.

There were too many wounded. They needed to leave the cavern quickly and find a physician.

They had merely been unable to contain their joy at the reunion for a moment.

"Please wait!"

The iron-race people of the city's Winter District approached from one side. Perhaps a hundred of them. First came their heartfelt thanks.

Gathering together, they offered deeply courteous clasped-hands bows. Their bearing as they bowed conveyed the utmost respect.

The kindness they had received was immeasurable.

Their boundless gratitude was palpable. Their gazes were intense as they looked back and forth between Jung Yeonshin and Ma Jin.

Those were not looks one gave another person. Reverence—worship—was the right word. These people had lived their lives in a confined world.

They seemed to regard the realm of the black robes as divine.

"Could that young master be Lü Dongbin reincarnated...?"

Someone murmured it. Even the name of one of the legendary Eight Daoist Immortals had been invoked.

Beside him, Chung Myung confirmed that it was true and gave Jung Yeonshin a nudge. Baek Miryeo briefly chimed in.

Their smiles were mischievous. Many of his seniors seemed to have changed their attitudes, but Radiant Demon Team One remained the same.

The boy elbowed Chung Myung's sword-wounded abdomen and flicked a finger near Baek Miryeo's back.

His seniors cried out.

Amid all this, the leader of the city's iron race spoke.

"Please, please tell us what you desire. We will repay you with anything we can."

Jung Yeonshin answered immediately.

"Prosthetic arms."

"Pardon...?"

"You said you refined Great Master Bodhidharma's core energy into a treasure plaque. Then can you not make prosthetic arms operated by internal energy? I've heard this place is filled with wondrous weapons."

"Ah."

It was the bushy-bearded headman standing at the front. His expression brightened a little.

He replied that it was possible. They could not, however, begin work at once.

Many of them were injured as well. This had been a war between factions vying for supremacy in the Central Plains.

Quite a few residents had suffered cuts or lost limbs after being struck by stray fragments of martial force.

"Not a soul unscathed."

The Tang clan head clicked his tongue.

He had been giving Jung Yeonshin a curious look while surveying with pity the City of Master Artisans, where he had hoped to make his home.

"We should find a physician outside. Come along. All of you."

But they needed time to prepare. They shouldered their comrades' bodies and hastily applied wound salve to the injured people's external wounds.

Jung Yeonshin bowed his head before his seniors' bodies in silent mourning.

"..."

Suddenly, the boy felt someone's gaze upon him.

The radiant wheel within his heart gave a small turn. He detected a familiar wave of qi.

'This is...'

He turned his head. He had to look all the way up to a distant stone wall.

The figure that came into view was familiar: a slender frame and eyes like blood condensed into jewels.

Amid the cavern's fierce drafts, those eyes gleamed bewitchingly through long, fluttering black hair.

It was the Seventh Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult. The skirts of her pure-blood robe streamed in the wind with her jet-black hair.

She winked a crimson eye.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The boy muttered.