The Movement Art.

The book was a little larger than an adult's palm. Its well-worn pages turned one after another.

At last, Ma Jin set the secret manual back on the tea table. He had not even managed to finish it.

The pages trembled briefly, but Ma Yeonjeok remained still rather than unfairly blaming his son.

Who could say whether it was he or his son who was trembling? He did not want to know.

"... This is a martial art born of Sang."

The short name rasped against his tongue. It was her childhood name, a familiar form of address that rolled awkwardly from his lips.

Ma Yeonsang.

His daughter's name. A face he had struggled for so many years to forget rose in his mind.

Those eyes, large and clear since childhood, had passed down to her son, Jung Yeonshin.

Was it because he had been so absorbed in beheading martial artists who committed atrocities?

Busy racing across the vast Central Plains as the Divine Sword Squad Leader, Ma Yeonjeok had assumed his daughter was simply a gentle soul. His only occasional worry had been how she would fare once she became mistress of a household.

It had been a pointless concern.

His daughter had grown bold through the years of growing up that he had never witnessed.

She had fallen under the spell of an idle pleasure-seeker with a taste for ostentatious finery. So completely had she fallen for him that she refused the arranged marriage customary in their family.

Ma Yeonjeok was appalled.

He rebuked the senior clan members who had allowed his daughter to travel as far as Henan Province, then ordered them to bring him this layabout who called himself the Master of the Jeong Clan at once.

He could not believe it. The cherished daughter of the desolate’s ma clan, taken in by a wastrel like that?

["I am Jeong Banak."]

Meeting him, Ma Yeonjeok found that his appearance alone was worthy of their standing.

The man was exceptionally handsome. He also possessed the easy manner peculiar to a country bumpkin who knew nothing of the world.

Even the sobriquet he presented so proudly was Banak. Reports gathered through the clan's covert network, the Beggars' Sect, and even the Hao Faction described him as adept at charming women.

As heir to a great landowner in Xinye County, he had gone by such names as the Pleasure-Seeking Young Master and the Flower Young Master—a wealthy family's debauched rake.

["You turtle-bred bastard!"]

Even after being cursed as a wretch who would not recognize his own parents, he merely kept his head silently bowed. The sight was contemptible.

Ma Yeonjeok had meant to kill him with a single palm strike. His palm had truly come to the very brink of unleashing Burst Discharge.

["Father...!"]

Only when he caught sight of his daughter's tearful face did he manage, with difficulty, to still his core energy.

That day, he had sunk into a mire of deliberation. As clan head. As a father.

Ma Yeonjeok remembered it vividly. His lips trembled as he murmured,

"Heaven has ordained but one destiny for the Ma clan."

"To assist the fortress master and raise the banner of order for all the common people under heaven... I heard it drilled into me from childhood. I remember it more clearly than the formulas of our family martial arts."

Ma Jin met his father's regret with those words.

Ma Yeonjeok nodded.

He had revered that honorable, noble mandate of heaven as he would a treasured sword. He had done so all his life.

Those creatures who called themselves martial artists drew their blades anywhere they pleased. They amassed power the common people could not resist, wielded their paltry convictions through sword strikes, and dressed it all up as martial learning and chivalry.

Uncontrolled martial might was a poisonous vermin that would bring a nation to ruin.

It had to be crushed. Yet the world was vast, and they were as numerous as they were powerful. Political marriages between the Desolate Fortress's martial houses were inevitable.

He had spent a long time trying to persuade his daughter.

["His physique is utterly unsuited to martial arts. Nor did he seem particularly perceptive. I even saw the stubbornness peculiar to ignorant men who know nothing of the world. How could I bring such a man into our house? Sang, must it truly be him and no other?"]

Ma Yeonsang had answered yes.

It was an answer that called for severing ties.

Those born to a distinguished martial house like the Ma clan could not marry just anyone.

Bloodlines of proven martial talent had to intermarry to hold the next generation of Murim in check. It was a greater duty incumbent upon anyone who ate the Fortress's rice, ensuring a steady succession of masters who would protect the common people.

Swallowing his sorrow and disappointment, Ma Yeonjeok had made his decision.

["Leave. Go, and never return. The traditions of our house are inviolable. One ill-laid stone can bring down a sturdy fortress, so severing our ties is the only way I can wish you happiness. The food and clothing, the halls and beds you enjoyed as a daughter of the Ma clan were recompense and stipend for protecting the common people under heaven. Now that you have forsaken your duty of your own accord, how can I treat you as blood kin in the place where our ancestors' tablets stand?"]

["Father..."]

A distinguished family's nobility came from upholding its duties and the recompense they entailed.

Ma Yeonsang's love was a transgression he could hardly tolerate.

He could not bring himself to kill the man who held his daughter's heart. Forcibly separating them would have been no less cruel.

So he had sent her away. He had cut their connection entirely.

If she remained connected to the Ma name, she would become an exception to its laws and undermine the family discipline built over more than a century.

["Clan Head! Is this reasonable? You mean to turn away the matchmaker from the Shin Clan like this?"]

A betrothal had already been intended. In giving his daughter her freedom, Ma Yeonjeok had endured the rebukes of the Ma clan's elder council.

It was all right. That was what he had thought. He had considered it one last gift he could give her as a father.

That had been the end. He had not sought his daughter again.

To bring peace to all under heaven, one first had to cultivate oneself and set one's household in order.

In this affair, the Divine Sword Squad Leader had set his household in order by severing ties with his daughter.

That was what governing a household meant to the warrior Ma Yeonjeok.

The old master in purple robes slowly parted his lips.

"The masters of the noble race... All my life, I have stood beside that ancient, exalted people, overflowing with talent. Talent generally stems from blood. One cannot stake a family's fate on the slimmest of exceptions, can one? Anyone who wished to break with tradition had to sever their family ties. I needed to set that example."

That was also why he had deliberately refrained from seeking his grandson. He could not leave a precedent.

Yet ironically, now his decision had become meaningless and hollow.

Anyone who knew Jung Yeonshin would think the same.

"People judge by the outcome. They will consider our house a pack of imbeciles."

Ma Jin's voice held a note of self-mockery.

He too had ultimately acquiesced to Ma Yeonjeok's decision. He had thought it served his sister and upheld the family's ideals.

"Yes. Sixteen years have returned to us as karmic retribution."

Ma Yeonjeok's lips quivered. The trembling grew worse with every page of the Movement Art they turned.

The manual's opening was a blade piercing the peerless master's heart.

In the end, the affairs of the martial world were so unpredictable as to seem ephemeral.

Like the thin wisps of steam dispersing above the teacups surrounding the Movement Art manual.

Father and son had both reached a realm in which internal energy conformed to intent.

Waves of qi spreading from their hearts distorted the white steam above their cups.

The two masters, rare equals under heaven, scanned the words of the Movement Art. A somber light shone in their eyes.

RUSTLE

The hand turning the page was careful. This time it was Ma Yeonjeok's.

His gaze remained on the manual's formulas. Deep regret lingered in his fingertips.

At last, they finished reading the Movement Art manual. The silence that followed felt different from the one after its opening.

The air in the room was saturated with outright astonishment.

"This..."

The old man spoke slowly.

"It truly is a divine technique."

"... The formulas alone make that clear."

"This is no martial art over which to debate whether to make a donation. Even if we cultivate it through Yeonshin's immeasurable kindness, it is far too precious to make widely known. This divine technique must not be shared so freely."

Ma Yeonjeok slowly rose.

He took faltering steps through the most luxurious room in the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch, paying no heed to its fine, antique carved ornaments.

Night had fallen before they knew it.

Soft moonlight spilling through the window traced the curve of his wrinkled mouth. It was a self-mocking smile.

"I never imagined reading a martial arts manual would open my eyes."

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Only faint remnants of astonishment and sorrow now lingered in it.

He wore a detached smile, as though he had come to some realization.

* * *

Time passed. A fortnight had gone by since they left the City of Master Artisans.

Ma Yeonjeok's bearing changed more with every day. Each day brought renewal, his complexion visibly improving.

His already formidable presence surged still higher.

Enjoying the honor of instructing masters of both purple and black rank, Jung Yeonshin felt the change clearly.

At times, he even imagined the air around Ma Yeonjeok shimmering like the heat of summer.

They said this was the realm in which one could discuss martial arts with the leaders of the Nine Great Sects. All streams returned to their source.

Did reaching that so-called peerless realm allow one to swiftly grasp even the mysteries of unfamiliar martial arts? For the first time, the boy was astonished by another person's progress.

Ma Yeonjeok, on the other hand, only marveled that this Movement Art was more intuitive and faster than Shaolin's Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic.

"Your progress is falling terribly behind, Uncle."

Jung Yeonshin was teasing him. Ma Jin smiled faintly and stroked his nephew's shoulder.

His left sleeve remained empty.

They stood behind the enormous gates of the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch.

A cool breeze teased Jung Yeonshin's long blue robe.

Its hem now brushed the backs of his knees. When he had been promoted to blue rank, it had covered his ankles.

"I hope this ends quickly," the boy murmured.

Was it because the robe was fully imbued with the pure qi waves of the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art?

Hanging down from his shoulders, the long blue garment seemed to proclaim his readiness, despite the cuts and bloodstains scattered across it.

The Desolate Sword and Northern Radiance hung together at his waist. Anyone could see he was heading into battle.

"Can you truly handle it alone?"

"You've asked me more than a dozen times already."

So went the exchange between uncle and nephew.

They had annihilated two elite contingents from major factions of the Thirteen skies. It was a feat beyond what the combined strength of the Radiant Demon Squad and Wing-Returning Unit could readily accomplish. Naturally, the casualties had been immense.

Even Chung Myung and Baek Miryeo had suffered sword wounds. Not one senior had come through unscathed.

Few were fit to fight, and those masters who were still relatively sound, such as the Supreme Flame Dragon and White Qilin, needed to guard the buildings.

Their enemies were not gentlemen who entered only through the front gate.

CLANG! CLANG!

Vigorous hammering rang faintly from a small smithy within the grounds.

The iron race from the City of Master Artisans had gathered there. They had built a great fire in the furnace and were pounding their hammers against anvils.

They were crafting the extraordinary implements unique to their people, including prosthetic arms and legs powered by internal energy.

"And you cannot let yourself be seen, Uncle."

"... No. Who would benefit from seeing the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad missing an arm?"

"I should be going."

Jung Yeonshin sensed mighty energies in the distance. There were more than one or two. The approaching figures exuded tremendous force, as though they would crush the city between them from either side.

'This was inevitable,' the boy thought.

Two elite contingents sent by the Thirteen skies to the City of Master Artisans had vanished. Meanwhile, the Radiant Demon Squad, which had lost contact, had returned to the Kuizhou branch.

A fortnight was enough for major factions like the Ten Perfections Sect and Pure Demon Alliance to piece together what had happened.

Nor could he overlook the Blood Flame Cult. The Seventh Apostle had appeared in the City of Master Artisans.

That made three of the Thirteen skies.

There was also the Tang Clan. They had sent only physicians, with no message one way or the other, but they would not maintain their inscrutable stance forever.

At this point, they stood at the center of the martial world.

From now on, every incident would be discussed by martial artists throughout the land. That was what Heon Wonchang had said.

'Like thorns.'

Ma Jin was the only one who had come to see him off, yet far more strands of energy detection pricked his skin.

They belonged to the Desolate Fortress masters extending their sharpened senses outside. The Supreme Flame Dragon, Namgoong Hwashin, Heon Wonchang, Hong Joogeom... They seemed ready to rush out at any moment.

And they probably would. Jung Yeonshin had another reason for going out alone.

It was not simply that his internal injuries had fully healed.

With Ma Yeonjeok away after sensing an immense, sinister energy, he needed to show that the Desolate Fortress remained strong.

That was how dangerous Sichuan was. They were a wounded tiger bristling amid a pack of wolves.

This was not a battle with annihilation at stake, but a stratagem to create room for negotiation.

To establish their standing before the martial world, they needed something extraordinary.

'A demonstration of martial might will suffice.'

The boy closed his eyes once, then opened them.

"Imperial watchdogs, show yourselves!"

The internal power carried by that booming voice was monstrous.

They were already at the gates. The waves of qi massing outside were mighty.

Were the Ten Perfections Sect and Pure Demon Alliance first? The presences converging from both sides were like a tidal wave.

Did that make them threatening?

Jung Yeonshin asked himself.

He did not know. He had already slain the Sword Scorpion Demon and Pure Demon Divine Hand. Nor did it seem that any of the Lords of the Thirteen Skies had come in person.

He could not gauge how much he could handle alone.

Proud masters of major factions were unlikely to launch a joint attack from the outset, so he first had to assume there would be single combat.

Meanwhile, beyond the encirclement, the usual assortment of onlookers had gathered in layer upon layer.

Jung Yeonshin clearly sensed their faint presences and heard their voices.

"I kept telling myself it couldn't be, but the great factions really are going to have it out!"

"Will the Desolate Fortress have to withdraw from Sichuan?"

"Would that be the end of it? The warriors at their main fortress in Xiangyang would sweep down here. That's the real problem."

"Whatever happens, I see no hope for the Kuizhou branch."

They were common people. Some local martial artists seemed to be among them as well.

They had all come to witness a battle seldom seen in the martial world. There was little entertainment to be had in this world.

Many would set concern for their lives aside for a chance to witness the supreme arts of masters firsthand.

To them, martial arts said to contend for supremacy under heaven were the skills of the immortal realm—the world where immortals dwelled.

"For now, you represent the Fortress."

Ma Jin whispered from behind him. Suddenly, Jung Yeonshin felt something settle around his shoulders.

"I will make sure my seniors need not leap from their sickbeds and join the fray," the boy said calmly.

Even as he spoke—

FLAP!

Pitch-black fabric unfurled in a long sweep. Though the end of one sleeve was torn, its appearance remained stately.

A black robe of the Desolate Fortress wrapped around Jung Yeonshin's shoulders.

"I will be back."

When his two hands emerged from those jet-black sleeves, the boy became someone who could no longer be spoken of as merely one of the rising generation.