After rescuing the commoners, Jung Yeonshin and his companions proceeded straight into Hanzhong. The soldiers at the checkpoint stared wide-eyed at their martial robes bearing the character for “desolate” and their Desolate Fortress plaques.

The warriors of the Desolate Fortress needed to travel freely throughout the martial world. Naturally, their identification tags could not tie them to a fixed residence, but neither could they live outside the citizenry as other martial artists did. The state's tacit support and their mandate to safeguard the people's livelihoods were what sustained the fortress.

The Desolate Fortress plaques, engraved with golden tree designs, therefore doubled as identification. Even so, inspections sometimes took longer than they should. Such plaques were rare in the world at large.

“We greet the renowned masters of the Desolate Fortress.”

Hanzhong was different. Perhaps because it was such a large city, the guards waved them through the moment they saw the character and the plaques. Most never took their eyes off Jung Yeonshin. Their gazes held something closer to awe than wariness. They seemed to understand the fortress rank his clothing signified.

“To have become a captain of the Desolate Fortress at such a young age, you must possess talents ordinary men like us can scarcely imagine. But Hanzhong has long since become the Martial Alliance's stronghold. The Zhuge Clan spent decades laying the groundwork in secret, then used the Desolate Fortress as their justification to establish the Alliance this time. I hope you will take particular care.”

Even the gate captain offered advice. He was a well-informed man. Jung Yeonshin thought of Zhenping County in Shaanxi, where he had undertaken his first mission.

'The magistrate there thought little of the Desolate Fortress. Here in Hanzhong, even the soldiers are different.'

He returned the courtesy with a clasped-hands salute and passed through the city gate. At once, the bustling, boisterous atmosphere washed over his skin.

“Fine pottery for sale!”

“Potatoes from the Western Regions!”

“Sample the finest delicacies under heaven at the Great Fortune Inn!”

Long rows of market stalls lined both sides of the broad main road. The place was extraordinarily prosperous. Even a cursory glance revealed hundreds of commoners and martial artists, bargaining at their chosen stalls or roaming about. It brought to mind the streets of Xiangyang, home to the Desolate Fortress.

That had considerable implications.

“The Martial Alliance has quite a foundation, doesn't it? It looks strong enough to rival the fortress's.”

The Supreme Flame Dragon spoke from his right, walking beside his horse with the reins held low.

“If the city housing their headquarters is already this lively, it's hard to imagine how much more it'll grow by supplying everything an alliance of orthodox sects consumes. The larger Hanzhong becomes, the greater the Martial Alliance's symbolic significance, wouldn't you say? A bad harvest is only hell for those who have nothing to begin with. The world's wealth and food always gravitate toward the powerful.”

He spoke like the former young head of a distinguished clan. Beneath his glib, languid manner lay keen insight.

“Are you talking to me?” Jung Yeonshin asked.

The Supreme Flame Dragon swiftly turned his head.

“How could I be? I must address my captain respectfully, of course. I was merely talking to myself.”

“Watch how you conduct yourself.”

The boy had taken a roundabout way of saying he appreciated the explanation. Unless he was speaking to commoners, he found such embarrassing sentiments difficult to express. Lately, that had become even more pronounced.

Heon Wonchang chuckled, and the corners of Namgoong Hwashin's mouth lifted slightly. Only the Diancang disciples followed awkwardly, unable to join the conversation. The Young Sword Empress alone wore a somewhat vacant smile.

They were walking along the avenue that ran straight from Hanzhong's gate. The party had dismounted and were leading their horses when people nearby began recognizing the Desolate Fortress's colors and stopping one after another. A few even ran farther into the city.

Heon Wonchang spoke.

“There will be no end of provocations. They won't have invited schools of the evil and unorthodox paths, so we'll be the real thorn in their side.”

“I'm bored already. How many barbs will they hide beneath all that orthodox-school decorum? I can feel that stuffy air seeping into my bones.”

The Supreme Flame Dragon's eyes drooped as he spoke. The slight furrow between his brows looked languid. He continued.

“Isn't it simple enough? Get through the founding ceremony safely and impress our fortress's might upon their little celebration... They can't openly harm us, so we need only watch out for ambushes, surely? The Alliance might even prevent those for us. A host is responsible for an envoy's safety. All we need worry about is appearances.”

“I'm saying appearances are the lifeblood of this mission, you Nameless fool. By our current estimates, well over a hundred sects have signed the Alliance's joint declaration. An extraordinary number of eyes will be watching us.”

Heon Wonchang, too, had a knack for treating the Supreme Flame Dragon roughly. Though he sometimes shrank before the bearing of a young clan head that surfaced on rare occasions, the great hero of Desolate Fortress fundamentally loathed the great sects and factions. He often used the difference between his White rank and the other's Nameless status to scold the Supreme Flame Dragon on Jung Yeonshin's behalf.

“It's only because we had no time. That Sichuan mission would've taken me straight to White.”

The Supreme Flame Dragon smacked his lips.

“I'll have to earn some substantial merit at this founding ceremony. I'll show you a two-rank promotion unlike anything in the fortress's history. I'll aim straight for Blue.”

As they talked, the Alliance headquarters came into view. Its sheer presence made it seem impregnable. A single enormous wall, as sturdy-looking as a city fortification, enclosed grounds too vast to take in at a glance. Hanzhong was a major transport hub of the Central Plains. How had they acquired so much land here?

It reminded him of the Desolate Fortress. Even the moat was similar: a broad band of water encircled the Martial Alliance headquarters. It meant little to martial artists accomplished in advanced Mobility Arts, so it seemed intended to display the Alliance's grandeur.

“This... however I look at it, it reminds me of our fortress. Isn't it a little too similar?” Heon Wonchang muttered.

The bridge across the moat to the entrance was tremendously wide, enough for dozens of people to pass at once. Escorts transporting goods safely, merchant caravans arriving to trade supplies, warriors belonging to Alliance sects... It was quieter than the city entrance, which only emphasized its stern atmosphere.

“Desolate...? The Desolate Fortress...!”

Someone stopped at the sight of them. Jung Yeonshin's black robe and its golden character were striking as he led the party. Any martial artist of the Alliance would recognize them immediately.

The atmosphere changed in an instant. Everyone crossing the moat came to a halt. Amid the whispers came the predictable names: Desolate Fortress, black robe, Lightning Genius, White Qilin, Supreme Flame Dragon...

“We've arrived at a place to spread my heroic name.”

Heon Wonchang spoke with a deliberately hearty laugh. Xuzhou in Southern Zhili, where he had made his name, was a considerable distance from Hanzhong. No one recognized the great hero of Desolate Fortress.

No one moved until the party had crossed the bridge. The guards at the entrance wore stiff expressions. Only when Heon Wonchang stepped forward from Jung Yeonshin's side did they straighten their postures. One warrior faced him.

“Where are you from...?”

Was he merely observing the formalities? He asked even though everyone must have known.

“We come from the Desolate Fortress. The Radiant Demon Squad.”

“... Bring the register.”

The warrior addressing Heon Wonchang glanced behind him as he spoke. A gate guard who appeared to be his subordinate immediately approached, carrying an ink-dipped brush and a book. They apparently recorded the identities of everyone entering and leaving headquarters.

“See you inside.”

The Diancang disciples entered first, accompanied by that farewell and a wink from the Young Sword Empress.

“I am Heon Wonchang, a white-robed warrior of the Radiant Demon Squad under the Desolate Fortress's Divine Sword Squad. I am known as the great hero of Desolate Fortress. Here is my plaque.”

Heon Wonchang, the Supreme Flame Dragon, and Namgoong Hwashin proved their identities in turn. A considerable stir arose when the latter two gave their names. It felt as though “Could it be?” had turned into “It really is them.” They were widely renowned as the strongest talents of the Eight Families' rising generation.

Now they had appeared at the Martial Alliance as swords of the Desolate Fortress. Inevitably, the looks directed at the two young masters were peculiar, seemingly mingling bitterness and hostility.

“Next...”

The gatekeeper began, then hesitated. Tension hung in the air for a moment. The identity of the last person he meant to call was obvious. A black-robed boy accompanied by a dragon and a qilin could only be Lightning Genius Jung Yeonshin, the emerging supreme master whose formidable reputation had recently spread at astonishing speed.

The more people knew about Murim, the less freely they spoke of the Desolate Fortress's black-robed experts. Each had to be regarded as an army housed in a single body, with the authority to slaughter even orthodox martial artists in the name of protecting the people. Their very existence verged on a taboo in the orthodox martial world.

Lightning Genius, captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.

He had played a pivotal role in bringing three fortress combat units down upon the Hwangbo clan. He had also personally fought life-and-death matches against the Namgoong direct line. Quite the coincidence: this was a master deeply involved in the very events the Martial Alliance had cited to justify its formation.

“...”

Silence settled over the bridge.

WHOOSH—THUD.

A young man in green scholar's robes landed between the fortress masters and the gatekeepers. He carried a fan reinforced with steel ribs, and an unusual elegance accompanied his scholarly bearing.

He smoothly turned toward Jung Yeonshin. Holding his fan upside down, the young man offered a clasped-hands salute.

“My name is Zhuge Hyeon. Though I commit a grave discourtesy at our first meeting, I have long heard of your martial renown and admired you, Captain. I humbly request a sparring match with the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.”

His words deepened the surrounding stillness. Now the passersby turned fully toward them. Rather than stealing glances at the fortress masters, they hoped to witness whatever interesting incident might unfold.

“That's awfully sudden. He wasn't like this before...?” the Supreme Flame Dragon muttered.

He seemed to know Zhuge Hyeon from his days as the Hwangbo young clan head.

“Here?”

Jung Yeonshin asked quietly. At the same time, he sensed Zhuge Hyeon's gaze sweep over Northern Radiance at his waist. His senses, sharpened by his upper dantian, caught the glance clearly. A peculiar power dwelled in Zhuge Hyeon's eyes.

'Look at those eyes,' the boy thought.

Among the world's countless martial arts were eye techniques: disciplines that cultivated the way one saw. A well-developed eye technique was said to grant vision beyond one's level of martial attainment, pushing the ability to track movement to its utmost limits.

'Something doesn't feel right.'

Fan Dragon Zhuge Hyeon.

Victory was not his purpose. Rather than daring to hope he could win, he seemed to have some ulterior aim. It felt less like an isolated challenge than part of a larger design.

Jung Yeonshin tilted his head slightly. Had he stepped into some scheme the moment he reached the Alliance entrance? The feeling was not much different from what he had sensed when dealing with Ju Yeonjeong of desolate’s ma clan.

“If it's only a few light exchanges.”

For now, he accepted the match.

A faint smile curved Zhuge Hyeon's lips. There was something strange about it.

“I shall gratefully oblige.”

A space for the unexpected match formed atop the unusually broad bridge. Word spread in an instant, and a crowd surrounded the headquarters' main gate. People flocked from Hanzhong's markets and from inside the headquarters itself. Encircling the pair, they spoke with curiosity written across their faces.

“The Desolate Fortress really does bring turmoil wherever it goes!”

“To think Fan Dragon himself would request a match. But isn't he being too respectful? High status or not, that boy isn't even twenty.”

“Keep your mouth shut. You couldn't be more ignorant of the world. If you truly understood what that black robe meant, you'd never say such a thing.”

“We'll witness the sword arts of a Divine Sword Squad captain...! What a blessed day!”

After the young man and the boy had watched each other for a brief moment, their match began without warning.

WHOOSH!

Facing Jung Yeonshin, Zhuge Hyeon planted his right foot. The exceedingly light stomp embodied profound principles. Dust spread from the gap between his sole and the ground. At the same time, the discharged force spiraling up his leg was almost visible.

The stomp was followed by a strike. His steel fan snapped open and swept horizontally toward Jung Yeonshin. Iron fans were normally kept closed and wielded like clubs, but the Zhuge Clan's fan arts seemed different. The martial force gathered between the ribs appeared to raise separate whirlwinds.

'Interesting.'

The corners of the boy's mouth rose slightly. Just as Zhuge Hyeon unleashed his form—

Jung Yeonshin's black trouser cuffs swept upward. He sprang as though stepping on empty air, then planted his leather shoes atop the steel fan ribs and stood tall.

TAP.

His hands remained clasped behind his back. He had not drawn his sword. Zhuge Hyeon's earlier glance had been peculiar, and he clearly remembered the mission Divine Spear Ak Surim had given him. He need only humiliate them by whatever means he chose. Whatever the Martial Alliance was plotting did not matter.

'Movement technique: Wind Body.'

He employed the Mobility Art he had recently devised. Emitting minute waves of force from his entire body, he remained upon the fan like a weightless feather. The sensation of riding a cloud spread upward from beneath his feet. It was quite entertaining. The feeling of his body swaying along with his robes was wonderfully new.

He adjusted the tiny Burst Discharges throughout his body to match Zhuge Hyeon's hand movements and the fan's waves of force. By shifting his center of gravity from moment to moment, he drifted through the air along with the fan ribs.

“What... is this...!”

Zhuge Hyeon seemed utterly flustered. His straight brows twisted.

“...”

The onlookers, who had been quivering with anticipation of a clash between young masters, froze.

Someone murmured, almost groaning, “Crossing the river on a single reed.” It referred to the tale of Bodhidharma crossing the Yangtze atop one reed. The fan of the Zhuge young clan head, renowned for his fan arts, was indeed comparable to a reed leaf riding the Yangtze's waves.

“Captain of the Radiant Demon Squad! What do you think you're doing...!”

Only then did a seasoned master of the Yue clan of Shandong shout.

“A junior of your Alliance requested a match with me...”

The boy's bearing was utterly lofty. Standing at the tip of the fan, he looked down impassively. His hands clasped behind his back lent him an uncanny air.

“So I am giving him instruction.”

Jung Yeonshin did not consider it mockery. This was a contest between martial arts they had each cultivated earnestly and uprightly. Bringing supreme arts against one another and savoring the mental images, histories, and subtle principles within them was the boy's sole pleasure.

The boy deliberately remained a little longer before stepping down. His timing was exquisite: it was just before the Yue master thrust his spear. Having stolen the spearman's moment to act, Jung Yeonshin calmly unclasped his hands. Now he looked like a boy his age.

“Weapon forms are important, but you should master your footwork and movement first.”

Silence lingered. Spellbound by the overwhelming display, the onlookers could not tear their eyes from the black-robed boy. Commoners and martial artists, men and women, young and old alike wore expressions of having witnessed a feat without equal. To everyone, it seemed a rare spectacle.

“Just what I'd expect of the genius I chose. Truly sound advice.”

The Supreme Flame Dragon broke the silence by applauding alone. He even nodded. Jung Yeonshin could see straight through him. Whether his admiration was genuine was unclear, but flattery plainly accounted for a considerable share. Yeonshin had heard that a captain's assessment contributed greatly toward erasing his status as the young head of a traitorous clan.

“It's wrong to cover incompetence with flattery. That's the conduct of a treacherous courtier.”

“...”

Jung Yeonshin turned toward the gatekeeper.

“I will enter headquarters. Show me the way.”

“... Please follow me.”

The chief gate guard turned, looking bewildered. Zhuge Hyeon remained standing in a daze, while the seasoned Yue master seemed reluctant to risk crossing hands with the fortress's young captain. With a rigid expression, he merely jerked his chin at the Alliance warriors, ordering them to disperse the spectators.

For a while, only the footsteps of the Radiant Demon Squad's party and the gatekeepers rang out. Black, blue, White, and Nameless robes receded toward the wide-open entrance. Even as the warriors pushed them away, the spectators watched those retreating figures. There was something curiously tranquil and unhurried about their steps.

Summer had been long. Yet it had an end.

Now came autumn's colors.

Brilliant red leaves were falling from overhead. A breath of autumn wind blew behind Jung Yeonshin's party. Threading through the crimson leaves, it was as gentle as the brushwork of an unassuming painter, as though attesting to the boy's martial strength, so natural to him as captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.

* * *

The Alliance leadership had deliberately sent Fan Dragon, a member of the rising generation. Whether he won or lost was unimportant. No one had discussed Zhuge Hyeon's prospects of victory in the first place. It was enough to test the accuracy of what they had gleaned from the remains of Blue Qilin Namgoong Sejin.

Their lesser aim was to extract the Radiant Demon Squad captain's martial arts; ultimately, they sought the Divine Sword Squad Leader's sword arts.

The Martial Alliance had many keen-eyed people. The Zhuge Clan's eye techniques had long been famed for their profundity, alongside the Enchantments they wielded. The Murong clan was no less formidable, having acquired an eye technique from a Ming Cult lineage in the tomb of an unidentified Heavenly Demon.

“He didn't even draw his sword?”

A middle-aged man with exceptionally black, sword-like brows murmured the question. He was Zhuge Cheon, the Illustrious Master of Wind and Water, leader of the Zhuge Clan's Worthy Heaven Squad.

With the Alliance Leader and the Zhuge clan head away inspecting the reconstructed traces of the Divine Sword Squad Leader's swordsmanship, he sat in a grand armchair as acting chief strategist of the Alliance.

“Captain, the captain of the Desolate Fortress's Radiant Demon Squad requests an audience.”

A voice carefully trained to be pleasing sounded beyond the antique curtain. It belonged to a servant brought directly from the Zhuge Clan. Zhuge Cheon answered at once.

“Show him in.”

As he granted entry, he moved his arm. Picking up several go stones resting on the armrest, he tossed them here and there. Instantly, the air grew heavy.

A supreme art of the Zhuge Clan, said to rival the Blood Flame Cult in sorcerous formations, had activated.

The Layered Wind, Spreading Wall Formation. It had been installed when headquarters was built to protect the Alliance Leader's hall. This extraordinary formation erected a mystical wall outside and raised razor-sharp sword winds within.

This was the domain of sorcery. Pitch-black leather shoes appeared beneath the curtain. By now, the servant and the Radiant Demon Squad captain would be confronting a marvel. Where else would they have seen an invisible barrier preventing them from stepping into the space beyond? Sorcerous formations that exerted physical force were rare under heaven.

A martial artist could not break one by ordinary means. Ordinary knowledge would never suffice. An advanced sorcerer was someone who could establish a domain of mutual nonaggression even before a supreme master.

'Such blatant obstruction may be an inferior tactic, but...'

Zhuge Cheon considered his options. There were many ways to discover a person's character, but in his experience, nothing worked better than provoking anger. At least, that was true in the martial world. The Alliance's founding ceremony would be a lengthy affair. He needed to understand the young Radiant Demon Squad captain's temperament and probe for weaknesses.

Martial formulas drew power from mental imagery. Core energy was merely the means by which martial principles took tangible form. There was much to gain from repeatedly unsettling the Radiant Demon Squad captain. It would improve the chances of an Alliance warrior winning the founding ceremony's competition. They might even extract information about the Desolate Fortress.

If, in his youth, the captain failed to contain his mounting rage, he might disgrace himself before everyone. That would diminish the Desolate Fortress's standing.

“I said, show him in.”

Zhuge Cheon deliberately raised his voice.

THRUST!

A hand pierced the center of the green silk curtain. It was held straight in the shape of a knife-hand. In that instant, Zhuge Cheon felt a numinous chill.