A day passed.

The boy who had returned leading three four-horse carriages became the talk of the fortress. The procession alone had been extraordinary.

As captain of the supposedly provisional Wing-Returning Unit, he had rescued numerous masters of the Radiant Demon Squad. Rumor held that the former Divine Sword Squad Leader and the Elder Council Leader lay exhausted inside the carriages.

If the rumors were true, he had rendered tremendous service.

“I'd like to know exactly what happened. The Command Bureau is dragging its feet on announcing his merits. Granted, it's only been a day...”

Warriors gathered in small groups all along the main avenues inside the fortress. Beneath the summer sun, as the Mid-Autumn Festival approached, they talked, some leaning lightly against walls and others standing straight.

“I came back from a mission to find my juniors gone. This Wing-Returning Unit had better have achievements to justify those temporary transfers. Our captain is waiting for his chance to take issue with it. He looked absolutely furious.”

“Wouldn't rescuing the Radiant Demon Squad be more than enough? There's even talk that he all but annihilated two of the Thirteen Skies. They say the Pure Demon Alliance and the Ten Perfections Sect have been holding one funeral after another.”

“I hear the Lightning Genius killed the Sword Scorpion Demon and the Pure Demon Divine Hand. If that's true, he's certainly worth considering for captain's rank. I've heard plenty about prodigies and geniuses, but I truly can't comprehend how quickly he's grown. I watched that boy's white-rank examination...”

“Sichuan is so damned far away. And our White Qilin and Shin Binbin won't say a word. Hasn't anyone gotten a proper account out of the others?”

The Young Sword Empress and her companions, who had entered with him, received only a small share of the attention.

Jung Yeonshin, the Lightning Genius, had left an overwhelming impression in his black robe with one sleeve cut away. Even a rising disciple of the Nine Great Sects could not find room in the conversation—despite being called an immortal by ordinary people, alongside the noble-race elders who had cultivated their martial arts for long years.

“Let's go,” the Young Sword Empress said.

She had been surveying the blue- and white-robed warriors. Sa Doryeong and the Dancing Sword of Diancang attended her on either side.

Only then did many of the Desolate Fortress's masters cast sharp glances their way.

They were treated this leniently because they belonged to the Nine Great Sects. Had they come from a noble clan or the evil and unorthodox paths, covert surveillance would not have been the end of it.

“You can feel the military discipline. To bind so many masters together... Truly frightening.”

The young swordsman in blue martial robes who had argued with the Supreme Flame Dragon the other day murmured the words. He was Sa Doryeong of the Diancang Sect, famed as the Sun-Piercing Sword.

“It's the strongest single martial organization. Not even the world's most inveterate gossip would deny that. If its purpose weren't to maintain order throughout the Central Plains, even we might have to go about bowing our heads to it. Thank heavens its strength is scattered. That's what the Alliance and the Thirteen Skies are counting on, too,” the Dancing Sword of Diancang said in a near whisper.

After walking the streets they were permitted to use inside the fortress, the Diancang party returned to their quarters—an annex attached to the Command Bureau.

They might have been little better than prisoners among Jung Yeonshin's party, but they were disciples of the Nine Great Sects. They had been given fine accommodations.

Sunlight draped a small pavilion on a pond fed with water drawn from the river. Yet the three Diancang disciples sat on rocks beside the water without so much as glancing at the scenery.

“All unbeknownst to the world, a towering presence was taking shape within the Desolate Fortress. Jung Yeonshin, the Lightning Genius...”

Dressed in white Daoist robes, the Dancing Sword of Diancang trailed off as she addressed the Young Sword Empress.

Her calm disposition was well known throughout Diancang. When her fellow disciples ventured into the martial world together, she served as their strategist. Of those capable of keeping their eldest martial sister, Chwi So-ok, in check, she was the only member of the younger generation.

“I don't know what sort of unpredictable factor he'll become in the martial world. He's an emerging master beyond anything we anticipated. If he attends the Alliance's founding ceremony, he'll finally be appearing at the center of the martial world... How will the orthodox factions react?”

“Isn't he already beyond being called an emerging talent? It's arrogant to call him that just because our mountain sects haven't made his acquaintance. What are you worried about?”

The Young Sword Empress asked absently, stroking the rock.

The Dancing Sword of Diancang swallowed.

“It's hard to predict the stance the Alliance will take. I suspect the Lightning Genius, who's made such a name for himself lately, will be going to the Martial Alliance.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because the nature of the founding ceremony will change depending on which master serves as chief envoy.”

“That's Murim for you. Orthodox, underworld, evil and unorthodox alike.”

The Young Sword Empress's words came in a lilting cadence. The Dancing Sword of Diancang sighed.

“We were the ones who started the trouble, and the Lightning Genius wasn't in the wrong. It would be unreasonable to turn against him rashly. The problem is that the Alliance will see things differently.”

“Since it was formed because of the Hwangbo clan's destruction and the extermination of the Namgoong direct line.”

Sa Doryeong chimed in with studied nonchalance. Ever since his defeat at the Supreme Flame Dragon's hands, the young man had been striving to display a magnanimous air.

The Young Sword Empress chuckled, as though she found her junior brother endearing.

“Yes. For the sake of their justification alone, they'll have trouble being friendly with the Desolate Fortress.”

“If they followed public sentiment and moral principle, they'd have to side with the Desolate Fortress. But another problem is that the Lightning Genius is a hotheaded young master.”

“Oh.”

The Young Sword Empress suddenly gave a vacant smile, running her hand down the length of the hair spilling beside her shoulder.

“That's what you're worried about? True enough. He hurled such abuse even at the Pure Demon Alliance Leader. If he spoke and acted that way toward the elders of the orthodox sects...?”

Her lips curved, then parted slightly.

“Haah.”

A peculiar breath escaped her, somewhere between a disbelieving laugh and an exclamation of wonder. Her manner was positively carefree.

Sa Doryeong abruptly blushed for no apparent reason and turned away, while the Dancing Sword of Diancang heaved an unmistakable sigh.

“If something serious happens at the founding ceremony... what stance should our Nine Great Sects take?”

“Who knows? Doesn't he have to rise to Black rank first, though? To represent the fortress at the Martial Alliance's founding ceremony, I mean. From what I've heard, that Lightning Genius boy hasn't officially become a captain yet.”

“That is not your concern.”

A man in blue martial robes approached from across the way, his bearing upright. He seemed extraordinary from head to toe, beginning with his slender, finely shaped jaw. His skin was so fair that he hardly looked like a warrior, yet his high nose suggested a swordsman's spirit.

“Every one of that party is so good-looking. Once the Lightning Genius grows a little more, I think he'll be even more handsome than Young Master Namgoong. Shouldn't they call it the Flower Bag instead of the Wing-Returning Unit? Their swordsmanship is exceptional, too.”

The Young Sword Empress murmured with somewhat dreamy eyes. Beside her, the Dancing Sword of Diancang lowered her head, half covering her face with a hand.

Biting his lip lightly, Sa Doryeong stepped down from the rock. He immediately moved forward and asked,

“Namgoong Hwashin, the White Qilin. What brings you here?”

“I've come to fetch you. The Black-rank promotion examination will begin shortly.”

The force in his voice alone revealed the bearing of a powerful master. Namgoong Hwashin's jet-black eyes fixed on the Diancang party.

His words seized their attention at once. A curious light entered the Diancang masters' eyes.

“You're allowing outsiders to watch such a thing?”

The Dancing Sword of Diancang stepped beside Sa Doryeong as she spoke. Namgoong Hwashin silently nodded.

“The captain mentioned it during a certain discussion. I came of my own accord, but I have certainly obtained the Command Bureau's permission.”

“When you say the captain...”

Chwi So-ok, the Young Sword Empress, slowly rose to her feet. Interest sparkled like a cluster of stars in her eyes.

“Do you mean the captain of the Suncheon Wing, or the Wing-Returning Unit?”

“... The next captain of the Radiant Demon Squad,” Namgoong Hwashin replied evenly.

* * *

Having changed into blue martial robes, the boy walked down a long corridor.

The antique flooring beneath his feet shone an inky black. Though paved with stone, it was smooth. There was no telling how meticulously it was maintained.

The corridor was exceedingly long. At an ordinary walking pace, its end seemed unlikely to come into view anytime soon. The servant guiding them hurried along ahead.

“Are you really sure I'm suitable?”

Heon Wonchang, walking beside him, asked abruptly. Jung Yeonshin nodded slightly and answered.

“The Supreme Flame Dragon is only an unranked disciple, so he doesn't have the proper standing. Shin Sobin comes from the distinguished Shin Clan, which might give the impression that I'm relying on powerful connections. I'd feel uncomfortable asking my other seniors precisely because they're my seniors. That leaves no one but you to stand beside me, Young Master Heon.”

“What about Young Master Namgoong?”

“He belongs to the Suncheon Wing.”

“Hmm.”

“The Wing-Returning Unit has officially disbanded. Naturally, since everyone has an original unit they belong to. I consider the help they gave me a debt I could scarcely repay in a lifetime.”

As the boy spoke, Heon Wonchang's lips curled into a broad grin.

“I'll support you better than anyone. Though, well, I did volunteer because I was told all I had to do was stand beside you.”

“I always have faith in you.”

Jung Yeonshin meant it.

There was something curious about Heon Wonchang, who had joined the fortress after taking the Desolate Fortress trial alongside him. Though his martial attainment was unremarkable, he simply did not seem like someone who would die in some distant place.

At times, even his talk of seventy percent of his true core energy sounded believable.

Heon Wonchang, the great hero of Desolate Fortress.

'His good character matters most.'

The boy reflected anew on how few of the masters he had met in the fortress had been unpleasant. Aside from a tiny handful, such as Ju Yeonjeong of the Desolate Fortress's Ma clan, they had all supported him.

Even saying he was blessed in the people he met seemed inadequate. He had been fortunate.

TAP.

At last, they reached the end of the corridor. A huge door blocked the wall ahead.

Its handle was adorned with a carved golden dragon's head. The door itself looked to measure a full zhang.

“Here we are.”

The servant stepped aside and bowed.

Jung Yeonshin paused involuntarily. The presence emanating from within had stopped his body of its own accord.

The qi waves spilling naturally through the gap in the door had many sources. It was not merely one or two.

A thought suddenly struck him. Would the people he was about to meet be like the masters he had encountered in the fortress thus far?

'No.'

He shook his head inwardly. They could not be the same.

Every sort of person could be found in the Central Plains of the Ming dynasty. It was difficult to judge each one's values, words, and deeds, even with the countless standards provided by the Four Books and Three Classics and the teachings of various religious traditions.

It was said that martial masters had the most distinctive personalities of all. They wielded transcendent principles and immense power in human bodies. That was only to be expected.

And if these were the seventeen greatest masters of the Desolate Fortress...

'They won't be outdone by anyone in that respect.'

He grasped the handle. Was it pure gold? Its cool surface quickly warmed, as though speaking of the authority of those within.

“...”

How thoroughly had they oiled it? The door made no sound as it opened.

Jung Yeonshin surveyed the view unfolding silently before him.

The enormous table, which looked as though several whole logs had been joined together, was secondary. A weighty pressure bore down on him.

Seats surrounded a round table large enough for well over ten people to lie upon. Each chair resembled the throne of a major sect leader.

Their gray-white backs rose higher than most people stood. Carved from marble, they well deserved the name of grand preceptor's chairs.

There were eighteen of them.

Seats for the Divine Sword Squad Leader, the Divine Sword Unit's deputy leader, and the other sixteen captains.

'So this is...'

The Hall of the Sword That Seeks Peace.

It was the highest echelon of the Desolate Fortress, where the captains held their meetings. He had heard that his and Namgoong Hwashin's assignments upon joining had been decided here as well.

“Mm.”

Heon Wonchang groaned behind him.

Jung Yeonshin knew why. The room was saturated with qi waves. It was unlike any place he had ever experienced, though only six of the eighteen seats were occupied.

Twelve pairs of eyes stared at the boy: those of the people seated in the grand stone chairs and the masters standing at their sides.

Their tremendous force swept toward him like a towering tidal wave.

'Six.'

No fewer than six jet-black robes imprinted themselves on his vision. Six Black Captains of the Desolate Fortress.

Three women and three men, with varied postures. A man reclining loosely, lowering only his eyes to look at the boy; a noble-race woman sitting perfectly straight and gazing steadily at him; a girl with one knee raised, her chin propped upon it...

The seventeen captains of the Divine Sword Squad.

The Radiant Demon Squad captain, the Annihilation Squad captain, and the Azure Heaven Squad captain alone had beheaded the Hwangbo clan head. They had accomplished it without losing a single one of their number.

Only recently had they impressed upon the martial world the might of Black—the color of robes denoting supreme combat power.

It was difficult even to imagine what six of them could do. Though they were comrades from his own fortress, their intimidating presence could hardly feel ordinary.

Then someone spoke.

“It's not that I look down on you as a mere stripling.”

It was a man with a snow-white sword resting across his knees. His thin, dark eyebrows looked like blades.

“But you seem intent on taking my valued subordinate. As though you've already been promoted to Black. Even for a captain, that would be discourteous,” he said.

Jung Yeonshin knew him. They had never met face-to-face; he knew him only from a likeness.

'Ha Doun, captain of the Suncheon Wing.'

Namgoong Hwashin's immediate superior. He was renowned for his White Thunderlight Sword Art, said to rival the Radiant Demon Squad captain's saber technique of the radiant demon arts.

He had slaughtered three hundred martial-trained soldiers of the Martial Alliance in half a day. In some corners of the martial world, he was called the White Thunder Sword Demon.

He regarded Jung Yeonshin sternly.

“I intend to teach our junior proper conduct. If any other captain wishes to step forward instead, please speak now.”

“...”

Two feelings stirred within the boy. Incredibly, they were contrition and irritation.

'Did Young Master Namgoong do something?'

There were emotions he had cut himself off from out of fear of death. His journey to Sichuan had begun uncovering them little by little.

Before he had fully composed his heart, he found himself facing something that was not even clearly his responsibility.

Suddenly, the radiant wheel stirred within his heart. As its qi waves revolved, a sword rose in his mind.

His feelings twisted of their own accord. If it worked, good. If not, so be it.

'A feint.'

It happened the instant Jung Yeonshin's eyes turned toward Ha Doun, captain of the Suncheon Wing.

SHING!

Ha Doun sprang to his feet, drawing his sword as though unleashing lightning.

“Hmm?”

“Isn't that excessive? You're going straight to swordplay?”

As the other captains frowned, Ha Doun swept a sharp gaze around the room, then slowly sheathed his sword.

His eyes came to rest on Jung Yeonshin last. He stared at him steadily until he had sat down again.

As though he suspected the boy had played some trick.

“What was that about?”

Heon Wonchang muttered beside him, looking bewildered.

His voice, not quite lowered enough, rang loudly through the meeting hall. Ha Doun's expression briefly shifted.

'Young Master Heon is more of a brother to me than my own brother.'

The boy, standing with his arms folded and feigning ignorance, marveled inwardly. He had learned something in that instant.

So this was how one provoked a man.