Over the next several days, Jung Yeonshin devoted himself to training. Chung Myung sometimes gave him peculiar looks, but he thought little of it. The man was so free-spirited and detached from worldly concerns. Besides, the noble race’s movement technique, which he was mastering day by day, was too captivating for him to devote his attention elsewhere.

Lightness skill was the art of running swiftly. Inevitably, it depended on one’s attainment in movement techniques that made the body light and nimble. It did not take long for the inspiration he had gained from Chung Myung’s movements to become a formula. He had only established the framework for circulating core energy, leaving considerable room for improvement. Yet the founder of a martial lineage necessarily understood the essence of that martial art.

“A practitioner who learns what others teach, and a Grandmaster who masters what he creates. Even at the initial stage of one-tenth mastery, their attainments cannot possibly be the same,” Baek Miryeo said.

While tracking the Blood Flame cultist and guarding against his return, the Radiant Demon Squad members could feel Jung Yeonshin’s movements changing by the day. Though he did not mind who watched, they did not go out of their way to spy on his training. They merely inferred his progress from the principle that studying a high-level martial art also changed the way a warrior carried himself.

“The makings of a Grandmaster. I can’t deny it, but I can hardly believe it even as I watch. Even our captain chose to focus on his own Mobility Arts instead.”

Since seeing Jung Yeonshin from beneath his hammock, Chung Myung had taken to sleeping inside the government office.

A month had passed since their encounter with the Blood Flame cultist. Their efforts had yielded nothing—not because they had never seen him again. The village’s cattle, horses, pigs, and chickens continued to die a few at a time. It was painfully clear that the cultist’s aim was not to slaughter the village’s livestock, but to slash away at the people’s nerves.

Yet he stayed away from the cultivated fields, for Chung Myung was keeping a sharp watch there. Unconcerned by how many animals died, Chung Myung was content to serve as a menacing scarecrow. This led to arguments. Whenever Baek Miryeo planned their tracking and patrol routes, he would climb into his hammock, saying he needed to drink in the sunlight. Left to fume alone, she took Heon Wonchang and Jung Yeonshin with her in turns.

“That fellow... I don’t think he’s alone after all. He knows our patrol routes inside out. This time, a horse was killed.”

The problem was that the government stables stood some distance away because the local magistrate disliked the smell. A horse was no small asset. Here in Zhenping County, at least, it would be worth more than any other resource.

Heon Wonchang had come over and was looking up at the hammock. His expression was far from pleasant. Receiving instruction in the fundamentals of martial arts had gradually made him more comfortable around Chung Myung.

“How can you be so calm? Are you really one of the noble race? A horse is dead.”

“Yesterday it was a pig,” Jung Yeonshin said as he passed.

“We of the noble race are friends of the forest, not friends of horses and pigs.” Chung Myung added, “Now, if you were to die, that would be different. Then I’d find a way to wipe out three generations of his family.”

Jung Yeonshin chuckled and headed off to wash. Apparently, most members of the noble race who grew up in the Desolate Fortress were as free-spirited as Chung Myung, and not reluctant to use their blades. They were unlike the immortal sages people generally imagined. As a Desolate Fortress warrior, Jung Yeonshin was learning more about the world with every passing day.

When he returned from washing, a feast had been laid out. The plump magistrate rubbed his palms together, watching their reactions. Jung Yeonshin thought he looked like the sort who would become a treacherous courtier if he rose high enough to reach the imperial capital. Still, having watched martial artists race across the fields as though flying for an entire month, the man’s behavior was understandable.

“P-please, eat.”

The magistrate smiled awkwardly. After avoiding them for some time, he seemed to have reached some sort of decision.

Paying him little mind, Jung Yeonshin sat with the other Radiant Demon Squad members and joined their discussion. How should they change their watch network? How many accomplices might there be? Even if the surrounding mountain ranges were vast, shouldn’t they go out to search and eliminate the enemy?

A month of such discussions had taught him something. There were many kinds of battles in the world, and the swift, decisive clashes most masters preferred were not so easily brought about in reality.

After dinner and another session of training, he settled into his now-familiar bed. The calls of a scops owl, like brief notes from a bamboo flute, filled the peaceful night of his first venture into the martial world.

* * *

The next day, Jung Yeonshin set out alone. Permission from Baek Miryeo and Chung Myung was easily obtained. They held a low opinion of the abilities of any accomplices too frightened of the Desolate Fortress masters to come down. Both masters also rated his chances very highly in a head-on confrontation with the Blood Flame cultist. Someone whose only strength was speed would find it hard to defeat the Lightning Genius as he was now.

‘How strange.’

From the perspective of the Jeong Clan Estate, the Desolate Fortress had seemed nothing short of a realm of immortals. At times, being fully acknowledged by its blue-robed warriors felt decidedly strange.

‘Not that it feels bad.’

Whether it was thanks to his rapidly improving movement technique or simply his mood, his steps felt lighter as he climbed the mountain. Unlike Chung Myung, he could not afford to take his time. Until yesterday, he had devoted himself to advancing his movement technique, but he could not keep doing so indefinitely.

Frustrated, he intended to survey the entire county from the mountaintop. Thinking he could practice his movement technique along the way, he ranged along mountain paths the party had yet to search. Only when the sun hung over the western mountains did he discover a peculiar hut erected before a cave. It looked like a doorway, or perhaps a passage. Their month of effort had finally borne fruit.

‘So the smoke escapes through another opening. We said it made no sense unless they were living entirely on grain-abstention pills. This is why we couldn’t find them.’

Without dwelling on it, he turned away. If circumstances left him no choice, he would not hesitate to risk his life. But with time to spare, he had no intention of deliberately introducing complications. He had joined the Desolate Fortress and sought the world tree’s fruit to save his own life. If he died a meaningless death, the fruit and everything else would be pointless.

As he made his way down, treading lightly on the earth with a measure of tension and excitement, Jung Yeonshin decided to reverse his decision.

“Who are you?”

He had come face-to-face with a red-haired man climbing the path with his teeth sunk into the neck of a dead young boy. The face was unfamiliar and the clothes shabby, but the hair was unmistakably blood-red.

The Blood Flame Cult.

It was exactly as he had heard. Some of them stole children’s vitality to increase their martial power. Even after the empire had declared it a heretical cult, its influence had not diminished. The Blood Flame Cult’s Blood Art was said to be cultivated in all manner of ways—ways that made even the Desolate Fortress’s masters shudder. Confronted with the reality of those rumors, Jung Yeonshin studied the man’s build, stance, and emanations of qi.

‘An accomplice. A Blood Flame cultist who’s been backing him.’

He slowly brought his hand to his sword hilt.

“A sword-bearing brat. A presence sharp enough to cut, and the character for ‘desolation’ embroidered on white martial robes...”

Muttering as he looked Jung Yeonshin up and down, the man curled his lips into a smile.

“Just as I heard. Thanks to this Desolate Fortress whelp, I’ll be able to earn some merit. I’m not like the brother who fled from the likes of you. Curse your own rotten luck—!”

SHING!

The instant a brilliant white light flashed, his head flew off. The child dropped limply from his hand. After remaining upright for a moment, the headless body collapsed behind the young boy. Already standing beside the man, Jung Yeonshin flicked the blood from his sword.

“Let’s finish this now,” he murmured.

So little ability, yet he dared talk of rotten luck? There was no telling how many more there were. But if they could not even react to his sword’s speed, what did their numbers matter? Even if this was his first mission involving the Blood Flame Cult, one of the Thirteen skies, it hardly seemed like something that should consume an entire month. These men could not be allowed to live any longer.

He circulated the Classic of Initiating Transcendence and dug into the earth. After closing the child’s eyes, he buried him, covering him with only a shallow layer of soil. The boy seemed to have been taken from somewhere outside Zhenping County, but once this was over, he intended to demand that the magistrate find his parents.

Sword in hand, Jung Yeonshin turned toward the hut. As he circulated his core energy and moved, a cool breeze began to coil around his feet. His steps gradually rose off the ground. The undergrowth beneath him stood ever straighter, as though no longer bearing his weight. With the steps of the noble race, the sounds of his presence naturally faded away—until he reached the hut.

THUD!

His forceful stomp was another matter entirely. The grass that had stood peacefully was crushed all at once. Tremendous power filled the radiant demon arts’ Swift Sword Style. The Desolate Sword became a bolt of white lightning, tearing apart the entire hut along with the Blood Flame cultist inside.

CRASH!

“Aaagh!”

“Wh-what?!”

Amid the swirling dust and splintered wood, he saw one man gasping with his body cleaved in two, and another behind him wearing an appalled expression. Each was clutching a corpse. This was not merely a matter of what was happening in Zhenping County.

‘Classic of Initiating Transcendence.’

He had no intention of talking. His core energy, strengthened by the spirit pill, layered upon itself and swelled in power. That power raced through the fine meridians throughout his body, lending a keen edge to his grasslike movements.

CRUNCH! CRACK!

The hand wielding the Desolate Sword unleashed sword force more than sufficient for slaughter, smashing, hacking, then slicing through them. The sword’s vibrations traveled all the way to his elbow, speaking for a heart that no longer concealed its fury. In the bursting blood, he saw the scene at the Jeong Clan Estate.

“You worship the strong devouring the weak? Fine.”

They fell, reduced to the same state as the corpses they had been toying with. Beyond the demolished rear of the hut, he could see inside the cave, where torches hung at intervals. This was practically a branch of the Blood Flame Cult. The cultist in Zhenping County really had been nothing.

‘Can I handle this alone?’

Before entering, he calculated his chances. Boiling blood and survival were separate matters. But perhaps because he had made such a disturbance at the entrance, a wave of qi was already extending from deep within the cave, as though someone had noticed him. The core energy rippling through the air was sinister and powerful.

["Kill him!"]

A furious bellow rang out, seeming to pound against his heart. At the same time, footsteps echoed from every direction.

‘Two, three, ...five.’

Five underlings, and one man he presumed was the branch leader. He had heard that the Blood Flame Cult’s branch leaders were generally formidable masters known as Blood Master Swordsmen—swords that taught and guided. Yet before he could gauge whether he could face that man, the cultists charged.

“You dare come all the way here!”

“Pay your blood debt!”

Among the five red-haired heads was the man from Zhenping County. He looked startled for a moment, then charged with his blade at the ready as though welcoming the opportunity. His companions on either side seemed to have emboldened him. Rather than retreat, Jung Yeonshin took another step forward.

BOOM!

The reverberation of his stomp gouging the stone floor drowned out their footsteps. Ignoring the way the charging, murderous men flinched, he imbued the Desolate Sword with Energy Accumulation Discharge. He turned, feeling the noble race’s wind coil around his spinning body. His first kill at the Jeong Clan Estate had been a Blood Flame cultist, but the sword strike he unleashed now was on an entirely different level.

SWISH!

Amid torches dancing in the waves of force from Energy Accumulation Discharge, a long silver arc was etched into the air. A single sword path split three bodies. He felt the impact through the blade. The Blood Flame cultists, by contrast, fell with the same charging look in their eyes, as though they had not even perceived what happened. Horror was left to the two survivors.

The Zhenping County cultist hastily employed his footwork, but Jung Yeonshin had already become a leaf riding a typhoon, bringing down Accumulated Energy, Second strike. The crunch of the sword chewing through flesh marked the end of the man’s revenge.

“What in the—!”

The last man stumbled backward, failing to perceive the swift sword strike that followed. His chest was slashed open, and he fell.

Jung Yeonshin flicked his blade clean and glared into the depths of the darkness. What repercussions would follow if a Desolate Fortress white robe on his first venture into the world slew even a Blood Master Swordsman? At the moment, he was not particularly curious.

STEP.

Clear sword resonance accompanied his slow steps forward. The Desolate Sword hummed, wishing its sole companion fortune in battle.