This was a world bristling with blades.
The gates of the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch had always been busy. All manner of people came calling: merchant companies seeking a steady trade in supplies with martial masters, commoners bringing their grievances to the Fortress rather than the local authorities, and drifters hanging about in hopes of learning even a move or two of some sublime martial art.
The broad streets extending ahead and to either side had never been quiet.
Nor were they now. Only the nature of the crowd had changed.
The usual passersby had retreated to the sides, watching the strangers with expressions of concern, excitement, and more.
“That's the Ten Perfections Sect over there.”
One spectator murmured the words. He was a dignified-looking merchant dressed in yellow silk.
A merchant with both fine clothes and years of experience was generally well versed in the affairs of the martial world. A martial sect was like a rich vein of ore through which vast quantities of goods flowed.
Beyond consuming martial uniforms, blades, provisions, and other resources, sects constantly expended immense martial force that affected ordinary people's livelihoods—through chivalrous deeds or outright robbery.
Merchants had no choice but to keep abreast of the martial world's affairs. All the more so in a year of poor harvests like this one.
“Starting with the man in front... What an extraordinary gathering. The Fell Sword has come in person. Pale-green fighting clothes, a two-handed saber, thin gloves... Those strong features, too. It must be him.”
“You mean the younger brother of the Ten Perfections Sect's Sword Scorpion Demon?”
The man beside him asked. The merchant nodded.
“Yes. Sworn brothers, not brothers by blood. But their swordsmanship is said to be so evenly matched that neither stands above the other.”
“High praise indeed.”
“Of course, the Sword Scorpion Demon, Dokgo Gwang, probably said that to bolster his sworn younger brother's reputation...”
“But isn't the Fell Sword's reputation second only to the Sword Scorpion Demon's these days? Was it the Qingcheng Sect and the Emei Sect? In any case, the story is still famous. How he showed off the Ten Perfections Sect's flying-blade art before masters of the Nine Great Sects and the Tang Clan. They say he sliced the wine cups in their hands in half.”
“He was merely throwing his weight around in front of the rising generation. He could never have done that to the Tang Clan's seasoned masters.”
“Do you happen to have ties to the Tang Clan, my friend?”
It was a playful question. Wearing a human-skin mask, the Tang clan head gave no answer.
He silently watched the group advancing from across the street. If they continued straight ahead, they would arrive right beside the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch.
A young man's voice reached them first.
“Retainer. I believe caution is warranted. Considering the masters of our sect and the Pure Demon Alliance who entered the City of Master Artisans...”
They were on the street west of the Kuizhou branch.
Some twenty people, armed with swords, sabers, clubs, and whips.
People along the street scattered with frightened faces, a sight the newcomers seemed thoroughly accustomed to.
It showed in their very steps. Each of them possessed a calm yet unyielding spirit.
The young man spoke again. The crescent-bladed polearm on his back and treasured sword at his waist looked perfectly natural on him.
“Senior Uncle Dokgo and the Pure Demon Divine Hand were there. The Kuizhou branch itself may be insignificant, but we must give due weight to the reinforcements from the main Fortress. Surely they escaped the City of Master Artisans because they had a force comparable to the Radiant Demon Squad? We must allow for an unknown master.”
“...”
The retainer did not answer. He was a middle-aged man who wore composure like armor.
His pale-green sleeveless martial uniform stood out, baring his muscular arms. Twin swords hung at his sides, while the ends of three daggers protruded from behind his waist.
Despite his array of weapons, he projected a neat, restrained presence.
“I do not underestimate them.”
The Ten Perfections Sect's retainer, the Fell Sword Gal Saryang, slowly parted his lips.
“We need only fulfill our duty. The sect leader has entrusted me with full authority, and I have honed my core energy to repay that trust. It will suffice to believe in my accumulated achievement and demonstrate my martial arts.”
It was then.
“Hey!”
A swaggering shout, like that of a street thug, shook the air. It was as though a great lion had roared.
A ponderous force approached, laden with monstrous internal power.
Directly opposite them.
Unlike the Ten Perfections Sect, this group numbered only a little over ten. Yet the force of their long strides was tremendous.
Faced with a wall, they looked more likely to smash through it than walk around. Even their qi waves battered the air with overwhelming aggression.
The Pure Demon Alliance.
The man at their head cut a distinctive figure.
His loose, disheveled hair resembled a lion's mane. With only an ink-dark shoulder cape—a short cloak—carelessly thrown over his bare torso, he displayed an upper body covered in scars.
His muscles looked carved from stone, and his frame was enormous. He seemed a full eight chi tall.
An immense saber hung across his back, large enough to be mistaken for a pillar.
Anyone could see that he had cultivated both internal and external arts. He was the Saber-Fist Demon of the Thirteen Skies.
His blue eyes flashed, a characteristic common in the Pure Demon Alliance, with its many members from the Western Regions. His hair was light brown.
“Well, if it isn't the swordsman from the Sect of Deficiencies?”
He greeted the other man with a broad grin. A deficient sect—the jibe mocked the Ten Perfections Sect's name, which signified completeness.
It was an insult even most supreme masters would hesitate to utter.
The Fell Sword Gal Saryang gave a composed nod.
“You still look hale and hearty, Senior Saber-Fist Demon. Is that thanks to the Pure Demon Divine Hand's passing?”
“A regrettable loss.”
“Truly?”
“I'm pleased to have one fewer bastard vying for the next alliance leader's throne. But I've lost my chance to break his Fourteen Mist-Commanding Palms myself. How could I not regret that? I only hope the Desolate Fortress bastard who must have smashed the Divine Hand's arms isn't wasting away. I wonder who it was. The captain of the Radiant Demon Squad, surely?”
His voice brimmed with vigor. Gal Saryang shook his head.
“Did you not grace us with your presence to earn some merit? If you truly believed the master who opposed our two great sects alongside the Radiant Demon Squad's captain was still unscathed, you would not have come, Senior.”
“Your paltry insight is laughable. Still, there is some truth to it.”
The Saber-Fist Demon laughed and continued.
“You know me rather well.”
“It is easy enough to deduce. Only a purple-robed master could manage such a thing. But could the Fortress spare a purple robe to come all the way to Sichuan?”
There was something peculiar about his tone. With that, Gal Saryang fell silent.
Before long, the Ten Perfections Sect and Pure Demon Alliance groups stood facing one another, right beside the main gates of the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch.
They had arrived together as though by prior arrangement. It appeared they had adjusted their pace to match each other.
“The Tang Clan is here too. I wonder what those sly creatures are after.”
The corners of the Saber-Fist Demon's mouth rose in a menacing smile.
He had sensed people concealed along the street running straight out from the gates. Their concealment arts were distinctive to the Sichuan Tang Clan.
Exquisite though those arts were, Gal Saryang and the Saber-Fist Demon were supreme masters powerful enough to play at being princes within Sichuan Province.
No one short of the Tang clan head could deceive their energy detection.
Gal Saryang spoke.
“I do not believe they pose a danger. The Sichuan Tang Clan is already compromised. I hear they are licking the Blood Flame Cult Leader's feet. If it comes to it, they will help us. Does not the entire martial world wish to see the Desolate Fortress destroyed?”
“Except the bald monks and ox-nosed Taoists of the Nine Great Sects.”
The young man attending the Fell Sword Gal Saryang answered. Confidence colored his cynical tone.
The domineering bearing unique to the great sects of the Thirteen Skies was not exclusive to the Pure Demon Alliance or the Blood Flame Cult.
Each possessed tremendous pride in its own martial learning.
“...”
The hundreds of spectators had fallen silent without anyone noticing.
Most commoners pressed themselves against the walls. Wandering warriors stood atop the roofs of various buildings, while some martial artists clung to railings like spiders, using Wall-Lizard Art to hold fast with their hands and feet.
Only the masters of the Thirteen Skies made their presence heard.
They stood at the summit of Murim, where strength reigned supreme. Such was the standing of warriors from the great sects said to rival the Nine Great Sects.
It was more than enough to crush every spectator gathered here beneath their presence.
The Pure Demon Alliance masters in their black shoulder capes smiled, seemingly savoring the silence.
There lay the essence of those who cultivated martial arts. By ascending to higher realms, they felt their own existence.
They sought a presence and strength that could exert overwhelming influence over others.
In that pursuit, the Thirteen Skies stopped at nothing. That was why they belonged to the evil and unorthodox paths.
Meanwhile, the Ten Perfections Sect warriors looked utterly composed, as though out for a stroll.
“Let us begin.”
At Gal Saryang's words, the air around the young man's throat began to seethe. With a tremendous surge of internal power, he shouted.
“Imperial watchdogs, show yourselves!”
A brief silence followed.
The masters waited quietly.
Rather than storm inside and cut down everyone in sight, they meant to disgrace the Desolate Fortress before an audience.
Both sects had lost their elite contingents. To preserve their standing as great sects of the evil and unorthodox paths, they had to trample the Fortress.
“I wonder if any of them are still in one piece. Too easy, and it won't be any fun.”
The Saber-Fist Demon spoke. The Ten Perfections Sect's young man inwardly scoffed. The great lumbering bear had come precisely for that, yet here he was trying to save face.
'Shallow bastard.'
Just then.
CREAK
The gates of the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch moved. Their loud groan sounded strangely composed.
The great doors opened only a little. A boy appeared through the gap.
As a vast silence weighed upon the avenue, a young swordsman walked out in a long robe of black silk.
Its sleeves were uneven. Part of one had been torn away.
Two swords hung together at his waist, a sight that suited him strangely well.
Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.
“You.”
There was no mistaking where he looked. It was the Pure Demon Alliance's Saber-Fist Demon. His immense size made that obvious to everyone.
The boy continued calmly.
“Your bearing is the same as the demonic foot soldiers I saw down below. There was a fellow called the Pure Demon Divine Hand, too. Have you come for revenge?”
“Child. Are you of a standing to speak the Divine Hand's title?”
The Saber-Fist Demon asked with a disbelieving smile caught on his lips.
Yet he was not unguarded. His right foot had already moved a step forward.
It was an opening stance. The body of a supreme master rarely seen in Sichuan had reacted. He had sensed something peculiar in the boy before him.
“Standing?”
Jung Yeonshin tilted his head slightly, his manner deliberately inscrutable. Even his lips curved into a faint arc.
Anyone could see it was a provocation.
The Saber-Fist Demon's lips curled upward.
“The Desolate Fortress must be sorely lacking in talent. Your presence is unusual, so I can tell you're an outstanding member of the rising generation. But qualifications are another matter. Can you come out alone to discuss your sect's affairs with us? Wearing that absurdly black robe, no less.”
As he spoke, he had already taken in the character for desolation embroidered on the black robe. Such was a supreme master's eye technique.
Ridiculous. Strange occurrences might abound in the martial world, but on closer examination, they all remained within the bounds of reason.
Even a blue-robed expert of the boy's age would be astonishing.
Black rank was out of the question. It merited no more consideration than the fantasy of an object roaming the air of its own accord.
“Discuss sect affairs? Did you not come to wage war?”
Jung Yeonshin asked quietly.
Raucous laughter erupted from the Pure Demon Alliance, its members intoxicated by demonic core energy.
The Saber-Fist Demon's expression, however, grew more subdued.
With each breath the boy before him released, the flow of his internal qi art became clearer.
It possessed a spiritual nature only a supreme master could sense. The aura of a divine technique.
The Saber-Fist Demon spoke calmly.
“You seem ignorant of how the world's great sects operate. If we waged all-out war at every turn, even a thousand years would not suffice to build this much strength. That is why the martial world has duels to settle its disputes.”
“Then if I defeat and kill you, the Pure Demon Alliance will withdraw?”
Jung Yeonshin asked. A faint smile formed on the Saber-Fist Demon's lips.
“Is this truly a matter you have the right to discuss? It seems your sect really is a kennel of imperial dogs. How bereft of talent you must be.”
He, too, offered a provocation. Those words were meant wholly for an enemy.
This was the world of warriors, who would do anything to sever an opponent's life with a blade.
A biting wind swept along the street and began to howl. It felt terribly dry.
The spectators, already holding their breath, seemed to stop breathing altogether.
Jung Yeonshin spoke again, smoothing the end of one pitch-black sleeve with his other hand.
“I said something to that Pure Demon Divine Hand fellow.”
“You speak of the Divine Hand again. Go on, then. Spit it out.”
“That he was a talkative corpse.”
The boy spoke.
