The Martial Alliance's founding ceremony opened in grand style.

To secure food supplies while opposing the Desolate Fortress, it needed a formidable reputation. The worse the harvest, the greater that need became.

With the age of turmoil deepening little by little, public sentiment and prestige mattered more than ever. The Alliance sought the symbolic standing of the greatest coalition in the martial world.

It opened its main gates.

A scale surpassing the Desolate Fortress. A banner of chivalry. These were the impressions the Martial Alliance wished to leave.

The founding ceremony made its presence felt. A master from a mysterious sect that passed its teachings to a single successor came knocking, and a swordsman of Mount Hua descended from the mountain.

Masters from powerful noble clans appeared in great numbers as well.

A fist practitioner of the Eon clan donned fighting gloves. One illustrious master after another revealed themselves.

The Alliance had spent a long time preparing for this.

Beggars of the Beggars' Sect spread rumors about the Martial Alliance through every sort of marketplace and put up notices. People could hardly help taking an interest.

This, they were told, would be an occasion for martial artists of the righteous path to display their prowess.

Countless people flocked to the event.

Across the vast reaches of Hanzhong, scarcely a village was not crowded. The lights never went out in the taverns and inns lining the main roads.

“What a feast for the eyes. The Murong clan's River-Severing Sword Forms truly live up to their name. What must Mount Hua's Sword Saint's Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword be like? They say it's the most magnificent swordsmanship in the world. My heart is racing just thinking about it. I'll regret arriving late for the rest of my life.”

“I couldn't make out a thing myself. Your family's eye technique must be better than I thought. Or are you simply boasting?”

“Boasting? How could an inferior fighter fathom what a master sees?”

Laughter mingled with the clamor. On the broad road stretching before the main gates, there was scarcely room to set a foot.

On days when word spread that a fairly renowned master would take part in a match, five li of streets became a marketplace.

Commoners sold pancakes and sweets. Even the serving boys from shabby inns came out to pester passersby.

Crowds.

A tide of people was the right expression. Today was no different.

“I never knew halls like those existed. So tall, so vast, so elegant. It really was another world. It seems the Martial Alliance truly is the greatest under heaven.”

“The Eon Clan's Foremost Fist's martial arts were what truly belonged to another world. Was that not a human body shaking heaven and earth? Now I understand why those regional noble clans carry themselves as loftily as royalty. A single one of them could stand against an army.”

The attention focused on the event was immense. Ordinary commoners would never get another chance to tour Martial Alliance headquarters.

Even once admitted, their movements were restricted and their identities thoroughly checked, but it was worth enduring questions about their status and background.

Commoners and merchants, warriors from minor sects, and escort guards protecting the goods moving to and fro.

The surging sea of people was a spectacle even for the Martial Alliance's own warriors.

In this world, opportunities to take in so many people at a glance were rare. The same held true for the man and woman atop a seven-story hall just inside Alliance headquarters.

Their perch offered an unobstructed view of the main road outside the gates.

“I really don't think the Sword Star is the Martial Alliance Leader. The Zhuge clan head decides everything.”

The woman spoke from where she lay almost reclining across a roof beam. She was the Ye family's “Lady Ye.”

A soft white cloth covered her eyes, yet she cast a sidelong glance below as though she could see through it.

“Why are there so many? They're like feilian—cockroaches.”

“Compared with the exalted True Blood Lineage, indeed they are.”

A middle-aged man in immaculate pure-white martial robes answered. He stood straight beneath Lady Ye's perch.

Even in the fierce wind, his posture looked perfectly secure. Martial mastery suffused his everyday bearing.

“The Zhuge clan head's unchecked dominance was foreseen. He established an orthodox coalition where his own clan resides. One could call it the reward for all the efforts they have made behind the scenes. They have placed themselves at the forefront of governing Murim.”

“At least the Sword Star is on my side. That's a relief.”

Lady Ye ran her long fingers over her pure-white blindfold as she spoke.

“I wasn't sure, you know. Who knew it would work even on a human of his caliber? He hasn't the slightest idea. Those supposedly peerless masters are all so eccentric that they have their blind spots. The late Cult Leader was the same. Why do you suppose that is?”

“... There are realms one reaches by surrendering one's sanity. All the supreme figures who dominate this era are likely the same. They say the realm of peerless mastery is a world of madmen. The Desolate Fortress's Divine Sword Squad Leader reportedly said as much.”

“Hmm. Still, the Indomitable Hero was a little different. You should have seen the technique he used to burn the Cult Leader, First Apostle. Perhaps it's because he's our Grand Preceptor's grandfather, but he recognized the divine technique's worth and learned it so well. I was terribly envious.”

“You must not simply dismiss the Sword Star. The moment your bearing reveals even a trace of our Cult's martial arts, all will be lost. This unworthy Apostle has offered that counsel time and again, but no amount of caution can be excessive.”

“Is this thing unreliable?”

Lady Ye brushed a fingertip lightly upward over the blindfold near her eye. The middle-aged man's eyes flashed.

“It is unquestionably an enchanted artifact of our Cult. A sacred relic of the Cult Leaders, handed down through the generations, it was woven as a ritual implement to protect their direct descendants from the lowly. True Blood, spiritual from birth, became the target of all manner of insignificant clans even without practicing the Blood Art.”

“So it did keep our bloodline alive?”

“When one of the exalted bloodline veils their own eyes, no one can recognize them. Its sorcery distorts perception. So long as you do not reveal your own Blood Art, the deception endures. With that single restriction, it truly deserves to be called a sacred relic.”

“Didn't you just tell me not to let my guard down?”

“Even if it disguises your disposition, voice, and appearance, your conduct is another matter.”

“I've heard that enough to be sick of it. I'm getting a little nervous. Our Grand Preceptor will be here soon. He's a divine being who has cultivated the power to dispel evil through internal energy. Are you sure he won't notice?”

The hand stroking her blindfold moved to the hair falling below her shoulders. She lightly twisted its ebony ends.

The middle-aged man standing in attendance answered expressionlessly, as though he had not seen.

“You have purged all your former habits. Your talent surpasses that of the previous Cult Leader. With reverence, I would advise that you need only mind your words and actions. That, of course, will be the hardest task of all.”

“Well, that is what it is. Anyway, I can hardly wait. I don't even know how long it's been since I last got to stay right by his side.”

“... Please cherish the sacred relic. It is a treasure without equal under heaven.”

“But there's only one thing precious to me.”

The corners of Lady Ye's mouth lifted into a smooth smile.

* * *

Jung Yeonshin entered Martial Alliance headquarters with his companions. The vitality that washed over him the instant he stepped through the main gates was tremendous.

Qi waves emanating from countless people stimulated his Baihui point without cease.

At the same time, something felt wrong.

“The character for ‘desolate’? Embroidered in gold thread, no less. What a young lord, in such ostentatious martial robes.”

“Wait. At that age, with the Desolate character and a black robe... Isn't that Lightning Genius, captain of the Radiant Demon Squad? The Desolate Fortress's supreme master!”

“What? He actually exists?”

“Stop advertising that you're a country bumpkin from Guangdong. You'll offend him. Let's pass quietly.”

It was different from before. There were no gazes mingling hostility with the desire for a challenge.

While those unconnected to the Martial Alliance looked curiously at Jung Yeonshin's party, the Alliance's own warriors passed with their eyes turned elsewhere.

“So they do have some sense of shame. Invite envoys, then hold the founding ceremony all by themselves?”

Heon Wonchang's sarcasm was blatant. No answer came. Beside them, Gongsun Min and the Young Sword Empress wore unusually awkward expressions.

“Could there have been some mistake?”

The Gongsun clan's young master spoke.

Young though he was, he was heir to a great regional noble clan. Black sparks flickered ceaselessly in his dark eyes.

That gleam was produced by the Gongsun clan's internal martial power.

He had just witnessed the return of the Radiant Demon Squad captain he admired after settling matters with Henan Province's Sword Exalted.

Shame and turmoil clouded Gongsun Min's face.

“We're supposed to be orthodox... Even if the noble clans pursue worldly fame, this is too much. My family wouldn't have agreed to it. It's an utter disgrace to orthodox martial lineages.”

“Who knows? They must already have received word that the Martial Alliance has withdrawn. It's not as though there's any shortage of Beggars' Sect members here in Hanzhong. If a member of a noble clan had single-handedly accomplished what Young Master Jung did, wouldn't they have come out to welcome him long ago...?”

The Young Sword Empress, Chwi So-ok, spoke as she made an effort to lift her sleepy brows. Together with Gongsun Min, she watched Jung Yeonshin's reaction.

It seemed to weigh on her. That was unlike her usual absentminded indifference to everything—a sign that this was no trivial matter.

Jung Yeonshin gave them a calm glance.

“Go get some rest.”

It was praise from the captain of the Radiant Demon Squad, a gracious word from the black-robed expert who had single-handedly resolved the Alliance's problem.

Gongsun Min's eyes widened before he muttered without thinking, “I need to get that sword from Murong Mingjun first.”

The party split up.

Jung Yeonshin felt no particular need to report the outcome to the Sword Star. His first priority was checking on Namgoong Hwashin, whom they had left alone.

If events in the Alliance had moved so rapidly that the founding ceremony had already taken place, the White Qilin's temperament made it impossible to believe he had stood idly by.

Among the countless people, he saw figures scattering in every direction. They had moved as soon as they spotted him.

They appeared to be warriors from the Alliance's constituent sects, hurrying to report to their leaders.

TAP.

The young captain of the Radiant Demon Squad walked slowly onward.

With every step, the crowd parted. Uneasy and curious expressions spread in all directions.

The response of the Desolate Fortress's Black-rank envoy instantly became everyone's most pressing concern. Would the founding ceremony end in catastrophe?

Or would the festive vitality blanketing Hanzhong become a testament to the Martial Alliance's presence and spread across the entire Central Plains?

'The Martial Alliance is vast, yet closed off. What happened here?'

Accompanied by the Supreme Flame Dragon and Heon Wonchang, the boy walked on in silence.

He was thinking of Namgoong Hwashin, his most dependable companion and subordinate. He must certainly have voiced his opposition.

Debates between martial artists usually came with clashes of force. The evil and unorthodox paths were no different in that respect from the righteous orthodox factions.

When their positions could not be reconciled, important matters were often decided by whose martial arts were superior. In this world, a master's word was law.

The Alliance had disregarded Namgoong Hwashin's objections.

If they had threatened him in the process, Jung Yeonshin was willing to use the halls in the Martial Alliance's inner courtyard as a testing ground for his new swordsmanship.

'If they thought I'd hesitate to draw my sword just because they're orthodox martial artists, they were wrong.'

Heon Wonchang would make their justification clear. As for the sword wound the Sky-Swimming Sword Demon had inflicted, he could deal with it by taking the Supreme Flame Dragon's opium poppy and eating it.

SWISH.His left hand moved unconsciously, sliding around the hilt of the divine sword Northern Radiance. At once, sharp gasps rose from scattered points in the crowd.

The Alliance warriors were aghast. Did they think they were about to witness a supreme master strike without warning?

It happened then.

TAP.

A soft, light footfall suddenly sounded. It was unusually distinct.

'Hmm?'

Someone was approaching swiftly, with a dreamlike movement technique that suggested walking on clouds.

Within a few steps, the figure was close enough for him to catch her scent.

She wore pure white. Her trailing white sleeves were broad and loose, her attire poised somewhere between martial robes and court dress.

The woman came straight toward Jung Yeonshin. The white silk covering her eyes bound a strand of hair that hung down behind her.

She seemed to have taken care with her appearance, but what stood out was her long, unhesitating stride.

He could not tell whether she was blind or a martial artist training in the Way of Perception.

“...”

The surroundings fell quiet.

Was it because the woman's status was so high? Or perhaps it was her looks.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves clothing the trees. The dappled light accentuated the exquisite bridge of her nose.

Her pale skin glowed smoothly like white porcelain. Her hair, swaying with her buoyant steps, held a peculiar air of mystery.

'She's training her internal martial arts and footwork at the same time. What remarkable perception.'

Jung Yeonshin sensed qi waves in her delicate breathing. The same was true of her steps.

Near the big toe of her pink silk shoe, he discerned directions embodying the principles of the Eight Trigrams.

Subtle martial power rippled with her buoyant gait.

The autumn wind seemed to touch her with an unusual clarity, as though she had mastered some timeless sorcery.

The elegance suffusing her approach.

The grace of someone who seemed to breathe martial arts.

If one were to speak of kingdom-toppling beauty as a martial artist, this would be its form.

Jung Yeonshin felt something foreign in his heart. It was the radiant wheel moving. For an instant, it unmistakably pulsed.

Somewhere between repulsion and resonance, portions of the qi inherent in the Dharma-Surpassing Radiant Wheel Art had stirred in unison.

He did not know why. Was it the woman's peculiar presence?

'What is this?'

As Jung Yeonshin wondered, the woman reached him and spoke.

Her manner suggested that the surrounding warriors did not exist in her eyes.

“He says it doesn't have to be right now. A message from the Sword Star.”

“What?”

“Oh, you don't mind if I speak casually, do you? I know you're a captain of the Desolate Fortress. But I'm an acting leader myself. An acting merchant company head, to be precise, but the owner of a very, very large company. Why don't we drop the formalities with each other? I speak as an equal even to the chief strategist.”

“State your affiliation and name.”

The young captain of the Radiant Demon Squad was curt.

Then it happened.

For an instant, Jung Yeonshin felt as though their eyes had met. It was profoundly strange that his upper dantian's energy detection registered no hostility.

Was this what it would feel like to have the night sky looking back at him? Silence passed between them.

Now directly before him, the woman's faint smile lent her an entrancing, demonic allure.

“This is a secret... but since the honored captain of the Radiant Demon Squad has come all this way and commands it, I'll tell you.”

She extended her elegant fingers, her poppy-red lips stirring.

“The Ye Sword School. The Ye Merchant Company.”

Snow-white fingertips settled on Jung Yeonshin's fist where it gripped the sword hilt above his waist. An unfamiliar fragrance spread softly.

Gently laying her hand over his as he held the opening posture for drawing his sword, the woman lowered her head a little.

A tiny breath scattered near the boy's collarbone.

“My name is Ye Harin.”

She whispered.