The Saber-Fist Demon, who had received the insult, and many of the Thirteen Skies warriors either laughed incredulously or maintained indifferent expressions.

Jung Yeonshin's words were outrageous in themselves. No one in all the vast expanse of Sichuan would dare say such a thing to the Saber-Fist Demon. Even among the countless martial artists of the region, one would be hard-pressed to find anyone who would. Taunts about being a corpse were the sort of thing one might hear only among the warriors of the Pure Demon Alliance.

That sentiment permeated the murmurs spreading like clouds through the crowd, mostly merchants well versed in the affairs of the martial world and local martial artists.

"He does look rather extraordinary... but his words go too far."

"Isn't he from the Desolate Fortress? No wonder he thinks so little of Sichuan's sky."

Much of the commentary was sarcastic. It was characteristic of the martial community in an isolated region like Sichuan. Orthodox, unorthodox, or demonic, they were said to be insular, often eager to prove themselves against the martial artists of the Central Plains beyond the roads of Shu.

The boy thought, So what?

It was then that voices rang out.

"His words go too far? After all the atrocities those Thirteen Skies bastards have committed!"

"Did you lose both your parents to the Emotion-Absorbing Demonic Art? No, of course not. If you had, you wouldn't be spouting such deplorable nonsense. You can't even tell right from wrong."

The voices belonged to a boy and a girl—the Tang siblings, clinging to the wall of the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch. Apparently hoping to watch Jung Yeonshin fight, they had been peeking over the top, but they could not stand by while Sichuan's common folk defended the Thirteen Skies.

The siblings had lately gained renown as talents rarely seen in an age. Anyone whose life was closely tied to Sichuan's martial community made certain to acquire likenesses of the Tang Clan's direct descendants, much as one learned in advance which lands were prone to landslides or earthquakes.

Naturally, some recognized them.

"The Twin Poisons of Dragon and Phoenix...?"

"That's them. I've seen them before."

"What are those precious young heirs doing at the Desolate Fortress?"

Whispers arose. Frightening though the Tang Clan was, it was one of the Eight Great Families, renowned as an orthodox clan. Its name alone had the power to make people reconsider the very same circumstances.

The shift in the atmosphere after the Tang siblings shouted was almost palpable. Many in the crowd seemed to have changed their stance from rejection to watchful neutrality. Indeed, interest now filled the faces all around him. Their thoughts were plain to see.

What could that boy accomplish? How far would the young swordsman's audacity take him?

Jung Yeonshin did not bother looking back. He thought he caught a faint sigh from the siblings behind him, but he had been measuring the distance to the supreme masters since before he mentioned corpses.

'Two leaders.'

He counted the men he needed to kill: the Ten Perfections Sect's Fell Sword and the Pure Demon Alliance's Saber-Fist Demon.

Their pride was as lofty as their martial attainments. They were not the sort to begin with a joint attack in front of so many witnesses. For masters, a warrior's honor could sometimes take the place of practical gain. This was a world where one's epithet was one's reputation.

Now that a lone boy had stepped forward and asserted his presence, they could not pass through the gates without first overcoming Jung Yeonshin in single combat.

It was a fine opportunity.

'The Martial Alliance, the Eight Families, famine, the Thirteen Skies...'

Jung Yeonshin recalled the names of the threats lying in wait for the Desolate Fortress. If he cut down the vanguards of the Ten Perfections Sect and the Pure Demon Alliance here, he could deal them a blow from which recovery would be all but impossible.

His martial prowess now allowed him to consider such things. Before he knew it, he had reached that position.

"The young swordsman has made himself a Changban Bridge. He's Zhang Fei, Yide himself."

The voice held a note of laughter. It came from the left. The Halberd-Surpassing Sword was smiling in amusement—the young man attending the Ten Perfections Sect's Fell Sword. The crescent-bladed polearm on his back and the sword scabbard at his waist gleamed ostentatiously, yet his bearing was as tranquil as the Fell Sword's.

They said men like that were the truly frightening ones.

Jung Yeonshin glanced at him, then turned away as though dismissing something insignificant. His gaze settled entirely on the Pure Demon Alliance's Saber-Fist Demon, who stood with both arms lowered.

The boy regarded him steadily.

'The Saber-Fist Demon. He'd certainly be Black rank in the Desolate Fortress. I heard he's one of the Pure Demon Alliance's foremost masters.'

There was something peculiar about his expression. Had he sensed the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel?

Unconcerned, Jung Yeonshin stepped forward. Even without Bodhidharma's spiritual nature, the radiant wheel continued to turn. The light pouring from his heart was warm.

TAP.

The ground gave a faint sound beneath his firm step. Grains of sand scattered underfoot. He had roused his energy. The core energy beginning to spread from his Yongquan points was creating ripples—the energy waves of the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art.

He had already examined everything. The shape of the Saber-Fist Demon's and Fell Sword's muscles, their postures, their energy waves—all were firmly imprinted in his mind. He could picture how they would move their bodies.

His upper dantian, drawn ever closer to death, harmonized with the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art to produce an unparalleled faculty.

CRACK!

"Get back."

In that brief instant, the Saber-Fist Demon spoke to his subordinates.

WHOOOOSH!

The distance closed at an extreme speed. The movement technique that had carried Jung Yeonshin forward in fury at the City of Master Artisans had now become a swift sword drawn with his entire body. The gale warped almost visibly.

"...!"

HUM.

Amid everyone's shock, sword resonance rang out. The Desolate Sword emerged from its scabbard in the boy's hand. Light accompanied the draw, and the upward slash flashed diagonally.

CLAAANG!

The Saber-Fist Demon's elbow hammered down on the flat of the blade. Its edge grazed his abdomen, tracing a line of blood as it passed.

Jung Yeonshin's eyes sharpened. The response was astonishing.

'He's strong.'

He had heard all about him. A demon wielding a saber, he was called the Saber Demon. An evil spirit equally skilled with his fists, he was also called the Fist Demon. Thus came the epithet Saber-Fist Demon. A mainstay of the Pure Demon Alliance of the Thirteen Skies, his fame reached across the world.

Jung Yeonshin paid it no heed. He had appeared before the martial world in a black robe. This was no place for defeat.

TAP.

He brought his supporting rear foot forward. The gale still roared in his ears. As he fearlessly drove into close quarters, the step naturally became a forceful martial stomp.

His foot landed true. It felt as though the force rising from the earth pierced his ankle. After the right-handed strike came a left-handed fist technique. With the formula of the Infinite Blossom Hand, the wheel in his heart poured forth a halo of light.

'Formidable Wall.'

His fist shot out from beneath his field of vision. The wave of force from that powerful, straight punch shook even the front of his own robe.

CRUNCH!

He felt resistance against his knuckles. The auspicious core energy of the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel unraveled his opponent's armor of internal energy and penetrated it. The sensation was unmistakable. His punch broke ribs as it skimmed the man's flank.

At the same time, he heard it beside his ear: the man's breath faltered in inevitable shock. For someone who cultivated demonic arts to gain the upper hand against Jung Yeonshin in close combat, that master would have to be worthy of discussing martial arts with the Pure Demon Alliance Leader.

'I'll finish this here.'

Perhaps because he had been born to a short life, Jung Yeonshin preferred swift, decisive battles. Or perhaps it was because of his gift for analyzing and predicting his opponents' forms.

His hand slid smoothly.

"Ngh...!"

It was impossible to tell whether it was a groan or a battle cry.

As the Saber-Fist Demon brought his left fist down, the fingertips of the boy's right hand were sliding along the Desolate Sword's hilt. He changed his ready stance as naturally as flowing water. It took only an instant.

Leaving the Desolate Sword suspended in the air, he took its hilt in a full reverse grip, its point still facing forward. This was the reverse sword grip—the method of holding the weapon backward.

Even as he caught it, he slashed upward. His martial stomp had carried him so close that he was almost nestled against his opponent's chest. The Saber-Fist Demon's arm met the rising blade. In a single instant, Jung Yeonshin drove it upward, bearing a wave of sword force.

SPLASH! CLANG!

A left arm fell amid an explosive spray of blood, and a fist struck Jung Yeonshin's shoulder as though to shatter it.

WHOOOM!

The wave of force behind the punch was tremendous. Jung Yeonshin's steadily lengthening hair streamed backward. It felt as though a cutting wind struck his eyes.

Yet there was no great impact. The demonic art's wave of force dwindled before the pale shield of core energy formed by the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art, despite his still-rudimentary training in bodily protection.

The Saber-Fist Demon's eyes widened almost to bursting.

It was his final expression.

Destroy evil and uphold justice. The energy that shattered the evil and unorthodox paths and revealed the proper order surged backward along his punch. The Saber-Fist Demon's body abruptly faltered. He had been seized by rigidity.

By then, Jung Yeonshin had already let the hilt rise slightly and taken it in a proper grip again. The Saber-Fist Demon's pupils shifted sideways. He seemed to have detected the change of grip precisely.

But he was too late.

SLASH!

A horizontal line was carved across his neck. A pure-white trajectory blazed like lightning. Blood scattered from the tip of the Desolate Sword after its instantaneous passage.

The Saber-Fist Demon had failed to overcome a divine technique that was his natural counter.

Jung Yeonshin turned away to the sound of something dropping. When the corpse threatened to fall against his back, he nudged it aside with the back of his hand. A heavier vibration soon traveled up through his feet.

"..."

The street fell silent. The eyes of the Halberd-Surpassing Sword, who had spoken of Changban Bridge, shook violently.

The Saber-Fist Demon had never even drawn his saber. His body, said to have been tempered through external cultivation taken to its limits, had failed to endure three sword strikes. It was a battle that demanded silence.

Only the boy considered the outcome natural.

'Good. I could start by removing one of their leaders.'

Jung Yeonshin thought this as he flicked the hilt lightly, shaking the blood from his blade. He had intended to break the Pure Demon Alliance's vanguard first. Since he alone knew the capabilities of the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art, he had expected to claim one life-and-death duel for nothing.

And he had succeeded. In that instant, he had reduced the enemy's strength by nearly thirty percent.

'Wiping them out would be best.'

They were followers of evil and unorthodox paths. For the future of the Desolate Fortress, with its many enemies, it was right to at least cut off the limbs of the great opposing sects.

The finest elite masters of both sects had already died in the City of Master Artisans—the men led by the Pure Demon Divine Hand and the Sword Scorpion Demon. The enemies here now had to be regarded as replacement forces.

If these, too, disappeared, the Thirteen Skies would no longer number thirteen.

'So this is what it means.'

Jung Yeonshin suddenly grasped the symbolism and role of the Desolate Fortress's Black rank. They were decisive combatants capable of facing the leaders of great sects' elite forces alone and, on a fortunate day, dealing a fatal blow.

It meant directly influencing the vast organizations that held sway as regional noble clans throughout the world.

"What in the..."

"A supernatural abomination."

"The Saber-Fist Demon, in a single exchange...!"

They said exchanges between supreme masters looked like a single form to ordinary eyes. The place was so crowded that hundreds of inhalations and exhalations could be felt in the span of one breath.

The gazes upon Jung Yeonshin had changed completely. Fear mingled with awe. The very temperature of their regard had shifted.

Off to one side, the Pure Demon Alliance's masters were revealing energy like an abyss. The smiles had vanished from many faces, but they did not retreat.

Slowly, they advanced on Jung Yeonshin one step at a time. Their oppressive energy flowed as one, as though they were employing an Enchantment. They were demonic warriors in the truest sense. The air itself seemed to have erected a wall.

"So he was destined to become a divine sword of the Desolate Fortress. You've seen it yourselves, but do not treat him as a boy. Whoever said it was right. That is a supernatural abomination."

The Ten Perfections Sect's Fell Sword murmured. The Halberd-Surpassing Sword kept his mouth shut.

Jung Yeonshin's eyes moved between them and the Pure Demon Alliance. He could handle one of the two groups here. Even with the Fell Sword remaining, he could manage something if he was prepared to die. He was wearing Ma Jin's robe now, after all.

But he could not handle both at once. His attainment was still at the stage of consolidating his place within the Black rank. He lacked the strength to face a joint assault.

The Ten Perfections Sect.

Blade-sharp energy was beginning to rise from their side as well. Preparing to charge immediately after the Pure Demon Alliance, they seemed to have come to regard Jung Yeonshin as a formidable enemy. They no longer considered this a situation in which they could afford to save face.

His bedridden seniors from the Radiant Demon Squad might employ their Mobility Arts and rush outside.

'I can't let that happen.'

The Radiant Demon Squad was already close to being beyond recovery. Its strength had been reduced by roughly half. That made it all the more important for the remaining seniors to circulate their energy and heal.

And so he had to find another way.

THUD! HUUUM!

The sounds rang out all around him. The vibrations of martial stomps and sword resonance tickled the hem of his robe.

Jung Yeonshin swiftly turned, surveying every direction. As his head swept around, the light in his eyes flashed in white streaks. A line born in his mind etched itself into his vision—the sword path he needed to follow.

The demonic warriors charging with all manner of weapons gripped tightly had lost every trace of dignity in their movements. Before their eyes, they had lost the Pure Demon Alliance's Saber-Fist Demon, a supreme master who would have been their master or senior martial uncle. The remnants of the Pure Demon Alliance were now spirits of vengeance.

'One sword strike.'

He gripped the hilt firmly. The moment he imagined imbuing the sword with his consciousness, his mind traveled along the blade with his core energy. The Desolate Sword was calling to him.

With the sword force that had blossomed alongside the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art, he planted his feet firmly, turned half a circle, and swung. A horizontal strike. A stream of pure-white light traced a curve.

Though he himself had unleashed it, it felt astonishingly solid.

CLAAAAANG!

It smashed every weapon in the demonic warriors' hands. The sabers, swords, spears, and blades thrust out by the Pure Demon Alliance's masters shattered into fragments. The crescent-shaped sword strike warped into white light.

He distinctly sensed their shocked gasps. Turning with the Desolate Sword, Jung Yeonshin extended his other hand. It was not over yet. Many enemies remained, and the boy had a means of breaking through the situation.

WHOOOM!

The sound came from within. The radiant wheel in his heart was spinning keenly. He applied different formulas to the Lesser Mansion point and Palace of Toil point at the center of his left palm: attraction and emission.

As he drew in and expelled core energy, the radiant wheel's vortex poured out through the pressure points of his left hand. His arm tingled for an instant. It was an immense surge of internal power.

'There.'

The fragments of weapons shattered by the Desolate Sword were caught up in that small gesture. Bits of iron soared through the clear sky, moving as though to trace a Milky Way in the distant blue.

Cold petals bloomed, each etched into the azure sky. They scattered the sunlight overhead. Through the gaps in the net of hidden weapons, rays of sunlight speared downward.

Blossoms Raining Across the Sky.

Without even a secret manual, he brought to life at his fingertips a divine technique he had heard only through oral instruction. The pinnacle of complex, ever-changing martial learning became art.

In that moment, the crowd closed their mouths rather than speak. It was a silence filled with wonder. Within that utterly frozen stillness, the iron fragments swept around him, as though defending the boy.

Groans began to rise from every direction. The fragments descended, smashing the crowns, shoulders, bridges of noses, and arms of those standing close to Jung Yeonshin. Jets of blood spurted amid a shower of light.

At its center, the boy thought:

'The Sichuan Tang Clan.'

They were a cagey lot. Even after arriving in Kuizhou, they remained hidden by concealment arts, watching. Had they only half believed the Tang siblings' letter? If that was truly the case, he need only show them before their very eyes.

So he had revealed it.

The effect was immediate. Powerful energy waves reached him from buildings scattered along the broad streets running north, east, and west. They belonged to those who had previously remained faint and concealed.

"Tang Clan. I know you're here."

Jung Yeonshin spoke quietly. He now knew the worth of the Desolate Fortress's Black rank. He had reached a stage where his public words and actions carried weight.

"As a martial clan of the orthodox path, you would do well to keep those Ten Perfections Sect bastards in check."

The boy spoke slowly from the center of the whirling rain of steel blossoms. With the pitch-black hem of his black robe fluttering about him, Jung Yeonshin leisurely concluded:

"Pure Demon Alliance, come to me."

His tranquil voice rang out alone, clear and distinct.