The stench rising from some hundred and twenty corpses filled West Peak Road like fog.

Every one of them had become a restless ghost after turning a blade on him. Some had been bringing captives back with them—children, women, and men alike. Powerless common folk.

The boy's long robe had darkened to an even deeper black. Blood had soaked into it with every successive battle.

THUNK!

The young captain of the Radiant Demon Squad drove his sword into the ground. He had just finished another fight. The gazes directed at him were varied.

Alongside fear, there was awe and gratitude. The captives rescued from those men's clutches bowed again and again.

“Thank you, thank you...!”

A woman in shabby hemp clothing took Jung Yeonshin's hand. Her dirt-covered palms enclosed the bloodstained back of his hand.

“Have a safe journey home. They won't be able to attack you again,” Jung Yeonshin said.

A small smile blossomed on the aging woman's face. Consideration gathered in the wrinkles around her lips.

It was a smile offered despite the relatives she had lost and the devastated homeland she was leaving behind. Though unschooled, she possessed deep wisdom. She wanted to show only a cheerful face to the young gallant hero who had saved her life.

“May fortune favor you in battle as well, warrior.”

Jung Yeonshin watched her receding figure in silence. His mother would have been about her age had she lived.

He hoped this ordeal had exhausted all the misfortune allotted to her life. May her remaining days be peaceful.

“Isn't that quite a change in attitude?”

SCUFF.

Ak Yerim stepped up beside him and tossed out the question.

Jung Yeonshin glanced at her briefly. The treasured daughter of a noble clan wore a peculiar expression, one that gave little hint of her thoughts. He made no particular effort to fathom her feelings.

Nothing would change the fact that the Blue Qilin, Namgoong Sejin, had died by his hand.

The Spear Phoenix, Ak Yerim. One of the Nine Dragons and Nine Phoenixes, renowned for their outstanding martial prowess and looks. A late-born niece of the Desolate Divine Spear, Ak Surim.

The boy turned away again.

She hated him. He understood her, but that did not mean he wanted to strive to win her favor. His life afforded him too little leisure to waste his strength on things beyond his control.

Instead, his interest lay with the Fan Dragon, Zhuge Hyeon. There was much to learn from him.

“There should be about thirty left,” Zhuge Hyeon said from his seat at the center of the camp. He was perched on a rock sliced smoothly across the top.

It was an unnatural chair. All three of them suspected the stone seat was the work of the Sky-Swimming Sword Demon's blade. Only a swordsman of extraordinary attainment could have made such a cut.

A Go board stood before it. The Sky-Swimming Sword Demon seemed to have left a game there as well. Who could indulge in games at the center of a great faction's heavily guarded camp? It made no sense unless they held an elder's standing.

The white and black stones wound around one another. Since all the fighting thus far had taken place on the camp's outskirts, they remained undisturbed.

“You said you were the Zhuge Clan's young clan head,” the boy said.

“These days, I'm known as the legitimate eldest son of the real power behind the Martial Alliance. One hears quite often that the Zhuge clan head is the true foremost figure of the orthodox factions.”

Zhuge Hyeon welcomed him with an open palm and a somewhat self-mocking smile. After spending two nights together, the three no longer felt awkward exchanging a few words.

“Is it true the Sword Star is a figurehead?”

“His prowess and renown are immense, yet he has no other ties. He was ideal for the Alliance Leader's seat. With the clan heads constantly forming and dissolving alliances among themselves, the man they put forward as their nominal leader had to possess no political power. Certain clan heads took the lead in arranging that... but I'd rather not discuss them.”

Having answered indirectly, Zhuge Hyeon changed the subject. He seemed deeply averse to speaking of his own father.

“The remaining troops should all return by tomorrow. It's fortunate we managed to reduce their strength so drastically. We were lucky to eliminate this many before facing the Sky-Swimming Sword Demon...”

He was right. Of a hundred and fifty men, they had disposed of some hundred and twenty corpses.

Many had died in those two days, yet Zhuge Hyeon and Ak Yerim's expressions had hardly changed. This was what it meant to exterminate demons and destroy evil. Orthodox martial artists could be as cruel as they pleased to those of the evil and unorthodox paths.

“Does he really control his sword with qi?” the boy asked, settling opposite him. He meant the hostile Martial Alliance's Sky-Swimming Sword Demon.

As Ak Yerim raised her eyebrows at being utterly ignored, a faint smile touched Zhuge Hyeon's lips.

“There's no knowing. It's true that the Sky-Swimming Sword Demon is renowned as an undefeated swordsman in Henan, and that his activities have been relatively public... but not even the heroes of the Beggars' Sect have managed to analyze his sword arts. Unfortunately, all we have are abundant rumors that his sword is like a streak of light. He is said to have boasted that one sword would suffice against any black-robed expert of the Desolate Fortress, though the truth of that claim is uncertain.”

“... Renowned as an undefeated master? I heard he was an elder.”

“It means he has lived as a supreme master for many years. That makes him an exceptionally formidable opponent, so it is worth bearing in mind. The internal qi art he practices is unlikely to be one of those evil and unorthodox arts that lead to rapid decline, either. He must be terrifyingly powerful, but doesn't simply knowing that your opponent is a seasoned swordsman help you prepare? All the more so for warriors of your sort, Captain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once-in-an-age prodigies. Though the extent of their potential may differ, I had two such men around me: the Supreme Flame Dragon and the Blue Qilin.”

“... I heard you were their age too.”

“Yes. The three of us... the young clan heads of Zhuge, Namgoong, and Hwangbo, are the same age. That is a rare occurrence, and rather amusing, so we maintained contact despite the distance. We met at the Dragon-Phoenix Summit and exchanged letters asking after one another.”

Zhuge Hyeon, who had been quietly studying the Go board, gave his iron fan a slight flick. Its snowy white ribs spread wide. The side bearing an engraved crane partly concealed his lips.

“Ah, these moves adhere very closely to the Ten Precepts of Go. Never... straying from the principles. He seems to have played both sides himself... The Sky-Swimming Sword Demon may be unexpectedly rigid in his thinking.”

After suddenly murmuring to himself, he addressed the boy again.

The Ten Precepts of Go. Ten widely known secrets of the game.

He had gone from talking about himself to offering advice about the Sword Demon. Zhuge Hyeon was no ordinary man, either. Despite his generally coherent words and actions, he was difficult to predict.

“Do you know? It isn't entirely an exaggeration to say that Go contains life itself. Even a prodigy's disposition can be expressed through the principles of the Ten Precepts. Whether it be the Supreme Flame Dragon or the Blue Qilin.”

Zhuge Hyeon's voice was calm.

Suddenly, Jung Yeonshin felt a bolt of lightning—a thrilling flash within his mind.

Something faint, close to inspiration, stirred in his thoughts. A treasured sword rose in his mind's eye.

The boy slowly parted his lips.

“Tell me more.”

Zhuge Hyeon's smile deepened above his fan.

“First, I would ask that you keep this from the Supreme Flame Dragon. I wasn't particularly close to him. I steer clear of debauchery.”

“Then?”

“The Blue Qilin associated with both of us, so we were obliged to spend time together. If I had to describe the Supreme Flame Dragon, the principle ‘Enter the opponent's territory cautiously’ would suit him. He may seem full of anger, but he respects boundaries and takes his time. You might say he knows when to withdraw and when to press forward. He is exceedingly good at assessing a position.”

“That doesn't strike a chord. Someone other than him.”

Jung Yeonshin swept the topic aside without mercy. After gazing at him for a moment, Zhuge Hyeon suddenly asked,

“How did the Blue Qilin die? I would need to know his final moments to speak of his true character.”

His expression betrayed no ulterior motive. Yeonshin merely sensed someone flinch behind him. It seemed to be Ak Yerim.

The Blue Qilin, Namgoong Sejin.

He had continued to haunt the boy ever since he entered the Martial Alliance as captain of the Radiant Demon Squad. Everywhere he went, he heard Namgoong Sejin's name. It was no less persistent than the pain that visited his knee each night.

Jung Yeonshin was human too. Every once in a while, he grew weary of it. Of the orthodox martial artists who hated him. Of the guilt of sending a good man across the River of Three Paths.

Even if their duel to the death had been just and proper for warriors, the fact that he had killed a gallant hero cut deep.

He simply did not show it. It wasn't as though he enjoyed this.

The boy spoke with a deliberate air of composure.

“He shouted at his household's men when they tried to do something to me. Told them not to sully his death.”

“... Then he departed this world in the spirit of ‘Sacrifice stones to seize the initiative.’”

Zhuge Hyeon nodded.

“The principle holds that you must gain the initiative even if it means abandoning a stone. Here, ‘initiative’ can also represent what truly matters. It teaches us to distinguish clearly between lesser and greater value. The Blue Qilin cast off the shell of Namgoong's young clan head and chose Namgoong Sejin the warrior. At the very end, he departed as a noble swordsman.”

Though a peculiar emotion filled his eyes, he finished each word distinctly.

“...”

Jung Yeonshin silently lowered his gaze to the Go board. One area caught his eye where the white stones were conspicuously sparse compared with the black.

Sacrifice stones to seize the initiative. A principle of gaining the initiative even at the cost of several stones.

“Something I once...”

The boy moved his lips slowly.

“Something I gained from the Blue Qilin. Would it be all right to use it for my own sake?”

WHOOSH!

Around that moment, a flurry of presences arose on every side.

There were about thirty of them. They were different from the men he had killed so far. Powerful qi waves closed in like a typhoon.

The remaining warriors of the hostile Martial Alliance were surrounding them. They seemed to have realized what had befallen their comrades. They had approached from afar and were only now revealing the fluctuations of their internal power.

“They're different from the others! I did hear there were experts personally trained by the Sky-Swimming Sword Demon...!”

As Ak Yerim unfastened the spear from her back, a brief silence fell.

Zhuge Hyeon quietly studied the young captain of the Radiant Demon Squad before him. He did not know exactly what this genius was talking about. Only one truth struck home.

Looking at Jung Yeonshin, the Zhuge prodigy thought that this boy held Namgoong Sejin the warrior in his heart more deeply than anyone.

The Fan Dragon, Zhuge Hyeon, parted his lips.

“You said at the banquet that even if you reached Purple rank, you would remain the Blue Qilin's equal.”

“I did.”

“You have taken a dead man as your worthy rival...? A truly harsh choice. Whatever you gain, Captain, the gap between you will remain the same. The Blue Qilin would surely welcome it. The higher you rise, the higher his own standing becomes, does it not?”

Those words.

Call it self-consolation if need be. They were enough to convince a boy with so little life to live.

The Fan Dragon was surely a true descendant of Zhuge Liang, the Marquis of Wu. The image of the Blue Qilin standing firm despite his missing flank came to mind.

He wanted to honor him, not be bound by him. That was how he felt now.

The boy slowly rose before the Go board.

The newly arrived enemy warriors saw him do so. No one could be that unhurried unless he was mad. Had he truly been playing Go amid all those corpses?

The newly appointed captain of the Radiant Demon Squad. His expression was so calm that he seemed to have lost his mind.

“Sword Flower's killer has struck first. A considerable loss. How shall we make up for it? A young Black rank of the Desolate Fortress might just suffice.”

A middle-aged man wearing black combat gloves on both hands stepped forward. An uncanny light gleamed in his narrow eyes.

Qi waves like heat haze coiled around his entire body. He was no ordinary expert. The irregular pulses spreading through the ground beneath his feet testified to the depth of his internal energy.

“Was the harvest good?”

Jung Yeonshin rested his hand on his sword hilt as he asked. He could sense the thirty men surrounding them in every direction with extraordinary clarity.

Here and there, he felt qi waves on par with Blue rank. Not merely one or two, either. They could well be called an assembly of elite experts.

“What?”

The middle-aged man questioned him. The corners of the boy's mouth rose slightly.

“Aren't you farmers who harvest people? The lowliest farmhands under heaven.”

“Quite a tongue on you, child.”

The man gave a short laugh. His composure did not waver. He seemed a deeply calculating sort.

“I've heard plenty about you. A young supreme master who employs raw swordsmanship and fist and palm arts, and practices a strange internal qi art. Our eldest young master was deeply grieved after losing Sword Flower... I never imagined we'd have this chance to repay you. How many nights have you gone without sleep? One? Or two?”

At that moment, Jung Yeonshin was thinking of his eternal rival.

'Let us meet again much later.'

Inwardly, the boy addressed him. He wanted to live a very long life.

Suddenly, a sword manifested in his mind. The dam holding back the insight he had consciously suppressed collapsed.

The breakwater he had erected to honor the dead burned brilliant white.

SWISH!

He pulled the divine sword Northern Radiance from the earth. Drawing it out of the ground, the boy raised his right hand.

A curve of dreamlike radiance swept through the air.

His feet were shoulder-width apart, their toes angled outward in a narrow V. Meanwhile, his right arm rose without hesitation.

It was an opening stance with the sword's tip touching the sky.

Sword arts of profound attainment generally had no such form.

It was a posture a swordsman assumed when he disregarded defense. The most offensive stance of all.