The thud sounded desolate.

The silent prefect collapsed, bearing a sword wound that had killed her in a single stroke.

Was it because the convictions she had held in life were hypocritical?

There was something strangely natural about the way her crumpled navy official robes darkened with blood.

The commoners certainly seemed to think so.

"Great hero, thank you...!"

"The Desolate Fortress and Mount Hua! Now we've truly seen something worth seeing."

They were the people Heon Wonchang had moved swiftly to free. Some bowed their heads; others offered deep, formal bows.

Fervent praise continued throughout, with many speaking of the debt they owed.

Yet these were not thanks one could receive gladly. Grief stained the faces of those who had lost their property and families.

It was a glimpse of the world as it stood.

"Let's go."

The boy in the long black robe spoke. Yoo Hyun, who had been watching him cautiously, sidled up beside him.

"We can go to the Martial Alliance together. Not that you'd have trouble finding it. It's incredibly crowded there right now."

"All right."

With that brief reply, Jung Yeonshin took the lead. The commoners who appeared to have been used to subdue gallant martial artists accompanied them.

Heon Wonchang guided them, occasionally cracking jokes.

Now that the Desolate Fortress had paid a visit, he said, lawless martial artists wouldn't dare run rampant here. He even offered the hero's headband he was wearing to any child who didn't cry.

The Double Yang Gang had several boats, one of them enormous—large enough to carry fifty people with ease.

Jung Yeonshin's party and the commoners boarded together.

The Supreme Flame Dragon and Heon Wonchang took the oars in place of the village men, who were too malnourished to manage them.

Standing beside the Supreme Flame Dragon, Jung Yeonshin urged him to move faster.

"Your hands are slow. You aren't planning to sleep out here, are you?"

"I'm getting promoted to Blue the moment we return. This is downright miserable."

When they set foot in the village they had first visited, the Diancang disciples greeted them with expressions of haunted disbelief.

"The child has disappeared," said Chwi So-ok, the Young Sword Empress.

She meant the village boy who had brought Yoo Hyun and Jung Yeonshin's party news of the village's tragedy.

In effect, he had been driving martial artists into a tiger's den, without a single word about the government soldiers led by the prefect or the hostages.

He had been delivering prey.

Martial artists generally possessed more than commoners did.

In the world today, a forest bandit was simply a martial master encountered on a deserted mountain road.

A robber no one could resist. Such were these troubled times.

The Double Yang Gang leader, who had robbed even martial artists, had merely met a predator called the Radiant Demon Squad and fallen victim in turn.

That village boy, too, was evidence of the world's chaos. But vanishing without the Diancang masters noticing was another matter.

"He must have been a martial artist. He'd have learned an art specializing in concealing qi fluctuations, and been born with considerable martial talent."

Jung Yeonshin dismissed the matter in a few words, gazing at the mountain range stretching toward Hanzhong.

Rather than the village boy, he thought of those he had slain. Some had not been people of the martial world.

They had helped plunder the commoners, but they were government soldiers and an official.

The prefect had even accepted her death willingly and given him the Martial Alliance's letter.

In another sense, this was his first killing. Just as it had been when he killed the Tyrant Sword Tribe warrior at the Jeong Clan Estate.

From the time he buried the prefect and the other enemies until now, Jung Yeonshin had kept what troubled him isolated in a corner of his mind.

It was familiar work. He had done it ever since entering the martial world in pursuit of the Fruit of the World Tree.

'I'm the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.'

The boy closed his eyes once and opened them. The blue light that had flashed in them settled into calm once more.

"Nameless, bring me paper, brush, and ink."

The Supreme Flame Dragon twisted his lips as he laid out the four treasures of the study. Jung Yeonshin wrote a letter on the spot.

〈 For Myeong Yeo's Eyes Only, from the Captain of the Desolate Fortress's Radiant Demon Squad 〉

It was a letter to the Eastern Depot.

"Your sword paths have seeped into your handwriting. A truly martial hand."

Watching the brush sweep across the page without pause, the Supreme Flame Dragon murmured in admiration.

"I knew it when I heard all that talk about the Lightning Genius martial lineage. You must have written a few secret manuals in your youth. Ah, but this is your youth—your younger days."

"I'm counting on you."

Rather than answering the Supreme Flame Dragon, Jung Yeonshin addressed the bird.

The white swallow tilted its head once, then took flight from the boy's hand. The densely written letter was already tied to its leg.

"Let's go," Jung Yeonshin said after sending the white swallow aloft.

The villagers surrounding the party had been staring blankly up at the spirit beast. They abruptly lowered their heads and burst into a clamor.

"Great hero, give us a chance to repay you!"

"At least let us offer you a meal... No..."

The woman in a shabby skirt trailed off. There was no way they could serve him lunch.

The noble boy in black had given them the Double Yang Gang's food and supplies, but their devastated village did not have so much as a proper hearth.

Rebuilding had to come first.

"I'll stop by on my way back. If the village is standing again by then, I'll gladly accept a meal, with the satisfaction of seeing it restored for a side dish."

Jung Yeonshin spoke gently. Tears welled in the villagers' eyes as the woman and the others each took his hand in turn.

It was a small point of warmth in troubled times. Heon Wonchang, too, found himself surrounded by men and women, young and old. It took them quite a while to extricate themselves.

"Once we reach the Alliance, you'll have to see the Alliance Leader first."

The Young Sword Empress spoke as she regarded Jung Yeonshin with a peculiar look.

He nodded silently and mounted his fine horse. The Supreme Flame Dragon, Heon Wonchang, and Namgoong Hwashin took their places to his sides and rear.

Behind them, the villagers bowed with their thumbs enclosed in their hands, or respectfully pressed their palms together.

These were Taoist and Buddhist forms of courtesy, respectively. They seemed to be treating him not as a person, but as a divine being.

A strange feeling stirred in the boy. He had done something commonplace for a Desolate Fortress warrior.

Yet this was his first time hearing the commoners praise him in person. Until now, he had only ever completed his missions and moved on at once.

How fortunate that the Fruit of the World Tree was in the Desolate Fortress. He could earn merit while experiencing warmth like this.

Jung Yeonshin waved once toward the village and turned his horse.

'They said the Martial Alliance Leader is called the Sword Star.'

The boy considered it. Now he had to carry out his original mission.

'A person with a star for an epithet. Just how good is he with a sword?'

He thought of his Radiant Sword Art, its sword forms originating at the cliffs of Mount Zhongnan. Many martial artists had witnessed his matches against the Namgoong clan.

Now that the art's forms were known to the world, he needed to reinforce it without anyone knowing.

The martial world was full of mysteries. He was not so overconfident as to take victory at the founding ceremony for granted.

Even if he won, he could not afford to be humiliated in the Alliance Leader's instructional spar as the Desolate Fortress's representative.

'The Law Enforcement Squad Captain did help. Let's apply every inspiration that comes to mind to my swordsmanship, from now until the founding ceremony ends.'

* * *

The Martial Alliance headquarters in Hanzhong was entering its most splendid season.

The heat that had clung thickly to summer blades of grass had been overlaid with clear air.

It suited the atmosphere radiating from the majestic halls and the throngs of people.

"Master Zhuge, have you returned those things to the Namgoong clan?"

"Yes. They were borrowed to begin with. We have gathered everything we needed."

"Were the traces clearly preserved?"

"Mount Mao is in Southern Zhili, is it not? The Maoshan Sect sorcerers whom the Namgoong clan summoned immediately at the time seem to have done their part. Their arts kept every corpse from decaying, so examining the sword marks on the bodies was child's play."

"Hmm..."

"The Divine Sword Squad Leader's swordsmanship truly is an unparalleled divine art. Even the cut surfaces were in the realm of secret manuals. Without our clan's secret teachings, they would have been difficult to decipher. And the forms of Lightning Genius, the Radiant Demon Squad captain... Once analyzed, they proved to be far from ordinary secret techniques. I suppose that is what it takes to become the youngest captain in the Desolate Fortress."

"... They said the Namgoong Council of Elders Leader was the only direct-line member who did not enter the matches. What a chilling thirst for vengeance. Even willingly sending over the bodies of his son and grandson."

"Hasn't the collateral line already swallowed up the Namgoong clan? It must have been his last desperate struggle."

Middle-aged men with treasured swords at their waists strode confidently along.

Paths paved with smooth stone, halls stretching in every direction like an imperial palace, sand glittering gold where the paths crossed in all directions...

There was even a hermitage built to welcome Shaolin monks. At present, young martial artists had taken it over.

"To be frank, I had never heard of the slow sword until I came to the Alliance. No such principle exists in our region. If it means moving later and arriving first, I can't help wondering whether it's merely affectation."

"I agree. If you can subdue an opponent by striking late, why bother waiting for them to attack first? You would already be a master far beyond them. If your sword cannot be stopped even when they know it is coming, then your attainment is on an entirely different plane. The two cannot be compared on equal terms."

Men and women brimming with spirit sat wherever they pleased, discussing martial arts.

They had drawn their weapons, which gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, and laid them out on the ground.

Every one of them wore colorful martial robes woven from silk.

Their lofty status meant they always kept themselves clean, and their cultivation of orthodox arts had given their skin an exceptional texture as well.

Men and women alike looked fair and noble.

"Some people speak of martial arts that don't exist. Take the Thousand-Catty Weight. How can a human body gain weight that isn't there?"

"That seems a matter of naming. In the Guangxi martial world, it refers to a secret technique for properly centering the lower body. It combines an opening stance, a foot stamp, and the circulation of core energy into a single action. I've heard Wudang's Tai Chi Fist is also an art of anchoring one's own balance while manipulating an opponent's center of gravity. Am I wrong?"

All the men and women chatting together were remarkably good-looking. They seemed utterly untouched by the crop failures outside.

The Martial Alliance was an unprecedented forum for exchange—a banquet for especially exalted people of the martial world.

The world was immense, and warriors from distinguished martial houses rarely gathered from across the Central Plains.

They had been too busy playing royalty in their own vast homelands.

Until now.

Here, they had met people worthy of their standing. How could they not be excited?

It was then that someone spoke.

"Isn't it about time we went? The elders gave us a task."

The speaker was Murong Mingjun, a handsome young man from the Murong clan north of the Yangtze, renowned throughout that region for his exquisite swordsmanship.

Within his clan, he was also the young clan head.

"We received word a shichen ago that those people of the 'Desolate' character had entered Hanzhong. Let us be on our feet."

"I was the one given the orders."

A scholarly young man with a delicate appearance rose. His bearing suited his green scholar's robe exceptionally well.

His peerless looks seemed to bring spring into the autumn air, drawing the gazes of several women who had been discussing martial theory with him.

Fan Dragon, Zhuge Hyeon.

"They told me to go and ascertain Lightning Genius's swordsmanship. I never imagined I would become a sacrificial stone on a Go board," Zhuge Hyeon murmured.

A boy with extraordinary eyes smiled.

"Well, if an established master were to exchange blows with Lightning Genius and lose, the Alliance would lose face. That's probably part of it... But above all, it's because your fan techniques and eye technique are so outstanding, Brother Zhuge. Who knows? You might put up a decent fight."

"Who knows indeed."

A bitter smile touched Zhuge Hyeon's lips.

"Age aside, my opponent is a Desolate Fortress captain. Between the rumors and the rigor of that great organization, they would hardly have appointed a weakling. In any event, I will lose, so come at least a quarter-shichen later. I'd rather you didn't watch me make a disgrace of myself."

As he spoke, he placed a foot on the hermitage's second-floor railing.

STEP.

Wind rose with that single step. In an instant, his figure swept away as though in flight.

His mobility arts were picturesque. Men and women alike exclaimed in admiration.

"He's broken down the boundary between movement techniques and lightness skill. Truly worthy of the name Fan Dragon. No matter how I look at it, he doesn't seem likely to lose easily..."

"He's been honing himself for revenge ever since conceding to the king-style sword arts. His closed-door training must have borne fruit."

Some watched him sullenly. Murong Mingjun, too, muttered inwardly. Insufferable bastard.

'So he's an important figure with a direct line to the Alliance elders. I need to earn Father's trust as well.'

However their private thoughts differed, they belonged to an alliance of orthodox factions.

The young warriors decided to honor Fan Dragon Zhuge Hyeon's request. It was a gesture of respect for a fellow martial artist on the orthodox righteous path.

They spent the quarter-shichen in discussion and idle conversation.

"Where is Lady Ye?"

"I don't know either. It seems she won't be joining us today."

"Young Master Ak appears to be lovesick. Aren't you being rather obvious?"

"Don't speak as though I'm the only one!"

Talk of the most famous woman in Hanzhong, complaints about scheming elders, bold aspirations to roam freely across the martial world, budding affection between gifted young men and women, and conversation circling back once again to martial arts...

For these hot-blooded warriors, a quarter-shichen was very short. One after another, they rose.

"I've seen Lightning Genius's likeness. Do you suppose he's really that handsome?"

"The Alliance's warriors are hardly lacking in looks. I'm more curious about his martial prowess. Just how strong must he be for the elders to mobilize every covert contact to track his movements?"

"There was an odd rumor about the Hwangbo young clan head and White Qilin Namgoong Hwashin..."

As befitted the Alliance's promising talents, they moved very quickly. They reached the headquarters' main gate in no time.

'Hmm?'

Murong Mingjun instantly sensed that something momentous had happened. Spectators, perhaps? An enormous crowd blocked his view.

And this despite the Alliance's main gate being roughly ten times as wide as the entrance to an ordinary fortress.

Not only Alliance warriors but also commoners trading in Hanzhong and escort guards appeared to have gathered.

"How can that be?"

"Is he human...!"

The murmuring was quiet for so vast a crowd. It meant they were utterly absorbed in the sight before them.

Murong Mingjun pushed off the ground and leaped high.

WHOOSH!

He landed at once atop the wall flanking the entrance. Many other warriors must have had the same thought.

Dozens were already standing at the same height.

No one turned to look at the exalted swordsman of the Murong clan. That, too, was unprecedented.

Murong Mingjun looked down, and his eyes widened.

"...!"

A handsome boy stood upon the fan in Zhuge Hyeon's hand. He was utterly imperious, bearing himself like a supreme master.

It was hard to believe.

In the Desolate Fortress, rank took the place of generational standing, so Lightning Genius of the Radiant Demon Squad had risen far beyond the level of the rising generation.

Yet Fan Dragon's fan technique was considered among Hanzhong's finest: the Endless Gathering Winds Fan Art.

Rumor had once even held it capable of contending with Blue Qilin Namgoong Sejin's king-style sword arts.

'Until he lost to Blue Qilin in twenty exchanges at the Dragon-Phoenix Summit, at least...'

But Zhuge Hyeon was hardly that young. He was on familiar terms with the Supreme Flame Dragon of the Solar Divine Meridians and, according to their information, was nine years older than the Radiant Demon Squad captain.

Fan Dragon undoubtedly possessed the reputation and accumulated achievement to bear important responsibilities in the Alliance. He was among the foremost masters even among the young warriors of illustrious martial houses.

'But isn't he being toyed with outright?'

Murong Mingjun employed his clan's peerless secret eye technique. His vision blurred in an instant.

Only the black-robed boy's body stood out with exceptional clarity.

'What...!'

Jung Yeonshin, captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.

The fine muscles in his limbs were continually tightening and relaxing. He was invoking dozens of unfathomable, advanced martial principles.

A gentle breeze wrapped his body and fluttered his black robes, lending him a strangely mysterious air.

Tiny Burst Discharges throughout his body supported him and dispersed his weight.

Faint waves of force continuously sent out wind.

He looked like an immortal. What kind of movement technique was that?

"Radiant Demon Squad Captain! What do you think you're doing...!"

A middle-aged man shouted as he came running from afar, a spear strapped to his back.

He appeared to belong to the Yue clan of Shandong. An Alliance elder, unable to watch any longer, had stepped forward.

All the while, Zhuge Hyeon gritted his teeth and swung his iron fan from side to side, but the young captain's straight leg remained planted upon it like a crane's.

The sublime skill of a Desolate Fortress Black-ranked warrior surpassed imagination. Most striking were the pitch-black sleeves billowing behind his back, where his hands were clasped.

The movement technique was so difficult to believe even as one watched it that it took on an elegant grace.

"A member of your Alliance's rising generation challenged this captain to a spar..."

The young Radiant Demon Squad captain glanced down at him before continuing.

"So I am giving him instruction."