They were traveling with the Young Sword Empress's party, but only four people from the Desolate Fortress had been assigned to the mission. Jung Yeonshin led the way, with the Supreme Flame Dragon and his domineering martial arts riding on his right, and Heon Wonchang, his adviser on matters of conduct, on his left. Namgoong Hwashin brought up the rear, chosen for his naturally composed disposition and the steady swordsmanship he had cultivated.

“Every day is a feast for the eyes. Does the Desolate Fortress value good looks as highly as martial talent?”

That was what Chwi So-ok, the Young Sword Empress, had said when they set out. No one answered. Even the Dancing Sword of Diancang and the Sun-Piercing Sword turned away from their eldest martial sister. Relations between them and Jung Yeonshin's party were still awkward. They were traveling companions rather than comrades.

'They said another Black-ranked warrior would follow us. I wonder if it'll be Senior Ak.'

The Martial Alliance was a tiger's den, extraordinary though the three men's prowess was, Heon Wonchang excepted. In sheer size, the coalition would surpass the Desolate Fortress. The mission was diplomatic in nature, so they could not mobilize an entire combat unit, but the Command Bureau would hardly leave a promising new captain to fend for himself. He had been told there would be support, following at a distance.

The Radiant Demon Squad would presumably be excluded. Few of his seniors were uninjured. He had left Chung Myung, who had at least recovered considerably, as acting captain. Their conversation before his departure was still clear in his ears.

[“Feels like only yesterday I lent you my robe. Anyway, the Radiant Demon Squad needs rebuilding too. We're only sending a few people this time because you're going as an envoy, but once you're back, you'll have to do something—even if it means poaching people from other combat units.”]

There had been laughter in his voice. It was a private conversation, and Jung Yeonshin listened closely to his senior's advice.

[“The Lightning Genius martial lineage has spread through all sorts of combat units. You've got enough goodwill. Next comes fame. How big a name the captain has made in Murim matters more than you'd think. Take martial arts and fame away from men who live by the blade, and what's left? The name Lightning Genius needs to grow before the other captains will be convinced.”]

The noble-race swordsman, a close friend ever since Yeonshin entered the fortress, had an innocent air but a somewhat cynical streak. In other words, he did not mince words.

[“You're up against people who've spent a dozen years, or decades, fighting as Black-ranked warriors. The captain of the Suncheon Wing alone is called the Monster of Maling River Grand Canyon. Every one of them built a reputation by wielding Black-realm prowess for years. Their names carry the weight of time and trust.”]

The captain of the Suncheon Wing drew a clear distinction between personal and official matters. He had fully acknowledged Jung Yeonshin's achievements and strength, yet remained adamant about Namgoong Hwashin's transfer. That was likely why Chung Myung had brought up the weight of a name.

[“Have you ever seen anyone with a name in the martial world fail to recognize our former captain? Desolate Fortress captains have tremendous standing out there. They've been involved in too many incidents and accomplished too much for it to be otherwise.”]

He was explaining the world Jung Yeonshin would have to live in.

[“Normally, it'd be hard to catch up, but this mission might close the gap considerably. Depending on what you do, of course.”]

He had called the Martial Alliance's founding ceremony a major opportunity.

'With all sorts of orthodox sects gathered in the coalition, a single achievement would have twice its usual impact...'

SWISH

An autumn breeze suddenly brushed his face. His thoughts dissolved into that clear gust of autumn air. Jung Yeonshin gripped the reins and spurred his fine horse onward. The party rode on without pause.

There was a post station at their destination, Hanzhong, but no post road connected it to Xiangyang, where the Desolate Fortress stood. The road beneath their horses' hooves could not run straight to their destination. Three days, four, five... They had no choice but to take a considerable detour. Again and again, they passed ruined villages.

“This one's beyond saving too.”

“So many people in need...”

“Senior White Robe, hand out any more silver and you'll have no salary left. Getting people to stop clinging to you is a job in itself.”

These were indeed troubled times. Famine already drove people to plunder, and food was scarce. Jung Yeonshin had never truly felt it before. Whatever his family's ways, he had grown up on the Jeong Clan Estate, in a major landowning household. Nor had he worried about food after joining the Desolate Fortress. The effects of the poor harvest had yet to reach the greatest martial organization under heaven. Money could still buy food. It was simply expensive.

Besides, fortress warriors on missions visited only a limited range of places: respectable inns and government offices, or completely deserted fields and forests. Jung Yeonshin was no exception. Sleeping outdoors, fine inns, the Desolate Fortress's Kuizhou branch, the Sichuan Tang Clan...

The effects of failed harvests had not been conspicuous in the places he visited before his Black-rank promotion. Sichuan, isolated within its basin, was a prime example. It was among the most fertile lands under heaven. Hadn't enormous crowds watched his fight even in Kuizhou? But the west, which he was visiting for the first time in a while, seemed different.

Rumors spoke of mountains teeming with bandits and local sects behaving like warlords. The sights Jung Yeonshin encountered from horseback bore them out. People without even a single copper coin, or unable to make a living by hunting, turned to plunder. He could see with his own eyes that the effects of the failed harvest were spreading across the land.

'It's particularly bad here.'

Jung Yeonshin abruptly pulled on the reins and halted his horse. The others drew up behind the boy who led them.

They were at the western edge of Yunyang Prefecture in Huguang Province. Thick smoke rose from scattered points in a village beside a small lake. Here and there, they heard weeping. It was more devastated than anywhere they had passed, though Hanzhong, home to the Martial Alliance, was close at hand. A suffocating silence hung over it—the aftermath of plunder.

“...”

CLOP

Jung Yeonshin urged his horse forward again, keeping it at a slow walk toward the village entrance.

“What has the Wudang Sect been doing? They're the closest of the Nine Great Sects.”

The Young Sword Empress spoke, and Heon Wonchang answered at once.

“It's a problem in itself that we look to martial sects first when discussing public order. What are the authorities doing?”

His tone disapproved of both sides. Come to think of it, Heon Wonchang had always harbored a peculiar dislike of great sects. Jung Yeonshin hoped he would someday hear the story of this older friend's life. Before he himself died.

For a while, only hoofbeats sounded, until they approached the brutally shattered palisade. As everyone else remained silent, the Supreme Flame Dragon pointed to one side.

“That's the mark of a wave of force, isn't it? That gouge over there. Martial types did this.”

Was he trying to lighten the mood? His tone was rather breezy. He was said to have roamed far and wide as the Hwangbo clan's wastrel young clan head; experiences like this seemed familiar to him. Jung Yeonshin did not answer. These bandits had run rampant in a village not far from the Martial Alliance and Wudang. That took more than ordinary martial arts and nerve.

Just as they passed the fallen fence, a boy came running toward them. He was about Jung Yeonshin's age. With the half-ruined village behind him, he raced over, determination visible in his eyes despite his ragged clothes.

“Great hero! You're a warrior of the Desolate Fortress, aren't you?!”

Even amid all this, Jung Yeonshin felt a tiny flicker of satisfaction. The character for “desolate” embroidered along his shoulder seemed to have served its purpose. Now anyone could recognize him even from the front. Unless he had to change into Ma Jin's robe, Heon Wonchang would have no further reason to put his hands to work. Hearing a disappointed smack of the lips behind him gave him a faint sense of triumph as well. It was his robe.

“What happened here?”

Putting those brief thoughts aside, Jung Yeonshin asked gently. It was a stark contrast to how he treated martial artists. The Diancang disciples and the Supreme Flame Dragon drew audible breaths, seemingly a little surprised.

“... He's certainly unusual, in both martial arts and temperament.”

The Supreme Flame Dragon murmured with affected nonchalance.

“Had this young master been born a commoner, I might have enjoyed our young captain's care. A short life, and my family slaughtered to boot—how pitiable I am.”

There was a hint of teasing in his tone. Though his words verged on self-mockery, he delivered them with an easy grace. Jung Yeonshin ignored him and looked down at the boy. As the village boy stared up at the black-robed youth on horseback, anger and sorrow showed plainly on his face. There was no need to ask further. He had lost his home and family.

“Tell me about those who wronged you,” Jung Yeonshin said.

They were almost at Hanzhong. With time to spare, surely it was only right for a captain of the Desolate Fortress to hear a commoner's grievance. Anyone could see that martial artists had attacked this village. He could not leave it be.

* * *

Mount Hua's successor-disciple recalled a certain curse, an expression supposedly used by the Namsadang traveling performers of Haedong.

'I've been screwed.'

After careful consideration, Yoo Hyun, Mount Hua's Hidden Dragon, reached that conclusion. To screw someone over meant to thwart them, he had been told. By that definition, he had been thoroughly screwed.

He had arrived early at the Martial Alliance headquarters. Staying in his assigned quarters had become dreadfully boring. None of the rising talents his age he had seen there measured up to his standards. The slightly older ones had their attention fixed on a blind beauty called Lady Ye, as though bewitched by the nine-tailed fox of the Classic of Mountains and Seas.

'The noble-clan bastards are disgusting, and those so-called ascetics from the Nine Great Sects haven't even dragged themselves here yet.'

He had considered slipping away. Better to roam about practicing his Mobility Arts. So he had taken his martial nephews—older than himself—out for a stroll, meaning to practice Mount Hua's secret Drifting Hidden Fragrance technique along the way. That was how he had reached the border of Shaanxi.

He had seen a half-ruined village. It had begun with the plea of a village boy left there all alone. They had heard his tearful grievance: a sect established on an island in the lake had plundered them.

“They weren't a sect of the Primordial Heavenly Lord or the Buddha. They built an estate on the island and came to raid us regularly. Whenever our pigs, calves, or crops were grown, they'd come and take everything. If anyone resisted, they'd beat them to death...”

“What?”

The high-spirited Mount Hua disciples were incensed. Chivalrous indignation rose in their hearts.

“Not long ago, they took all the food we had left. They said they were entertaining martial artists whose horses wore iron armor...”

“How did you know they were martial artists? They could have been soldiers.”

Yoo Hyun's martial nephew asked, and the village boy answered immediately.

“They called them 'heroes of the Martial Alliance' among themselves. Isn't that Martial Alliance one of the Thirteen Skies?”

“... That's a major organization based in Henan. What is it doing at the edge of Huguang?”

From that point, the Mount Hua disciples had discussed it among themselves.

“The provinces meet at their edges, so it isn't far.”

“Even so, it's suspicious. Where do they find the nerve? The new Martial Alliance holding its founding ceremony is not far from here.”

Despite their misgivings, Yoo Hyun's party had crossed to the island. The village's plight was too horrific to do otherwise. A gallant hero of the martial world was, by nature, one who avenged the wronged. As disciples of the Nine Great Sects, they could hardly turn a blind eye. The appearance of the Thirteen Skies' Martial Alliance, as though timed to coincide with the new Alliance's founding, was another concern. It seemed to herald something ominous. They needed a lead.

'We trusted our strength too much.'

Yoo Hyun reflected with both hands bound behind his back. He sat on the training ground of a well-built estate, back-to-back with his three martial nephews.

More than twenty people surrounded them, looking down with sneers. A woman in dark blue official robes and a man holding an enormous saber stood out among them. They were husband and wife.

'A fairly strong martial sect teams up with the prefect and throws hostages at us. How are we supposed to win that? Political power and martial power, rotten together.'

He had not known the prefect of Yunyang was involved. They were in a dreadful predicament. These were not opponents to approach lightly, yet all four of them had been captured. The bastards had threatened them with villagers held hostage.

“What an awkward prize.”

The woman wearing an official's hat spoke. She was the most powerful person in Yunyang—the prefect herself.

The moment people began cultivating martial arts, they began escaping the body's limitations, including the differences they were born with as men and women. Female masters of evil and unorthodox paths who could easily slaughter a hundred able-bodied men were hardly rare. Aptitude for internal qi arts did not discriminate between the sexes. Most of the Lords of the Thirteen Skies were women, and the leader of the Emei Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects, was a Buddhist nun with standing to contend for supremacy under heaven.

In an age when the noble race was revered as a clan of immortals, the conventions of the Song dynasty had crumbled. Noble-race women had entered government office. The grand empress two generations back, a noble-race woman who had directly influenced imperial politics since the Ming dynasty's founding, had overturned the world's assumptions. She had permitted women to sit the civil service examinations.

The existence of the noble race and martial arts had played a tremendous part. The world had changed dramatically. Young ladies across the land passed the provincial examination to become qualified scholars, proceeded through the metropolitan examination, and competed for distinction in the palace examination. The current Grand Academician of the Hanlin Academy was the Zhuge clan head's sister. A female prefect was nothing remarkable. The only problem was that this couple consisted of an unorthodox thug and a corrupt official.

“You're right, my dear. An awkward prize indeed. Hand them over to the Martial Alliance experts who went home, and word will get out that we captured Mount Hua masters... Yet simply letting them go is out of the question.”

The man beside her spoke. He was the island's master and leader of the Double Yang Gang, as well as the villain who had directed the raids.

“Killing them to silence them is the answer after all. Even if someone comes investigating, you need only deny it, my dear. Who would doubt the prefect's word?”

“How many days have you been repeating that?”

Yoo Hyun answered indifferently, revealing the disposition that made him dismissive of everything on account of his extraordinary talent.

“Neither side can afford to start cutting off heads, can we? Honestly, would you have survived me if your wife weren't a powerful official? If she were just a county magistrate instead of a prefect, your head would've been steeped in plum fragrance. Ever heard of sword fragrance?”

“You little bastard, you don't even understand your position...!”

“Silence, Mount Hua disciple. I spared you because we are acquainted, yet your insolence knows no bounds.”

The prefect restrained her enraged husband as she spoke. Yoo Hyun gave a snort and lowered his head in a show of contempt for the corrupt official. It was the greatest defiance he could manage now, but it seemed to have no effect on a woman who had navigated treacherous political waters to become prefect.

“Famine recognizes no rank. Yet the authorities and the sword must perform their roles for the common people to live properly. I do understand your chivalrous impulses, but those who govern possess a broader outlook. Do not impose your shallow standards on me,” the prefect said.

The couple looked down utterly on the common people. Yoo Hyun did not answer.

Another day passed. With his core energy dispersed by qi-dispersing poison, his belly felt as though it were caving in. Even his Mount Hua robes had lost their dignity. The plum-blossom emblem, pitifully crumpled, bore witness to his plight. Then, at some point—

STEP

Pitch-black leather shoes entered his view, which until then had held only the ground.

“You've developed a bad habit. You were getting beaten by the Supreme Flame Dragon too.”

A boy's voice rang out.

“...?”

“You've made a habit of wandering around without your sect elders. You'll die far from home that way.”

The words were quiet and measured.

“...!”

Yoo Hyun jerked his head up. Before him stood someone whose appearance at this moment was almost impossible to believe: a boy with a single sword at his waist. Sunlight streamed down from behind his head, creating a halo along the black robe draped casually over him. At his shoulder, the character for “desolate” shimmered in ostentatious gold.