A moment later, cheers erupted in the distance. Even the experts trained in the Nine Great Sects, who were usually reserved or mindful of their dignity, joined in. Most were young warriors who had befriended Jung Yeonshin, apparently led by those he had seen while protecting Jung Hye.

“His epithet was Lightning Genius, wasn't it? It suits him perfectly.”

“The Radiant Sword Art. Just as I heard.”

“What profound and dazzling swordsmanship. And powerful, too.”

“Wi muhyuk was a rising talent the Tyrant Sword Tribe had staked its very future on...!”

With the decisive battle before them, neither their masters nor even the elders stopped them. As morale soared without end, Jung Yeonshin focused his attention straight ahead.

'The Tyrant Sword Tribe.'

The scene before him was entirely different. A low murmur rose. The commotion was slight, but they could not conceal their bewilderment. Their sect leader's disciple had lost his head in just two exchanges—and to someone his own age.

“This is impossible.”

“How could Muhyuk fail to put up even a fight...?”

“Kill them all.”

Those final words came from the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord. His voice swept across the Guanzhong Plain, permitting no faltering of morale. An immense amount of core energy underlay it.

“Yeonshin! Get back here!”

Heon Wonchang must have been desperate to call his name as though they were close friends.

Yeonshin met the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord's eyes. The man remained motionless, his sword planted in the earth. His disciple's death seemed to have stirred little emotion in him. Jung Yeonshin mouthed his words exaggeratedly.

'I'll take one of your arms. One way or another.'

What absurd bravado. Yeonshin knew it himself. The man would find it no more than amusing. For the first time, a faint smile touched the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord's face. He even snickered.

At the same time, a tremor like that of a disciplined army spread through the Tyrant Sword Tribe's ranks. Jung Yeonshin's Radiant Sword Art had sparked a war between sects. Zhongnan, too, surged forward like a rising cloud, as though to protect its champion.

“Aaaah!”

Amid those silently folding the distance with tremendous lightness skills, others raised battle cries. Voices laden with core energy echoed in every direction, making the plain feel like a gorge. Amid the raging waves of qi, Jung Yeonshin struggled to collect himself.

'So this is a battle between groups of experts.'

He retreated without taking his eyes off the Tyrant Sword Tribe. The distance looked ready to vanish in an instant. At the forefront was an expert whose tremendous momentum made the ground rumble. His elegant beard streamed behind him; he was a large man, and even his waves of qi were domineering.

'He's no ordinary opponent.'

One glance told him this was an elder-level expert. A man of exceptional aptitude even within the Tyrant Sword Tribe, who had spent decades mastering advanced martial arts. A warrior Jung Yeonshin could not yet handle.

“I'll kill you!”

He looked as though he might be wi muhyuk's grandfather. His wide eyes blazed. An expert of the unorthodox Murim would never pull his blows simply because Jung Yeonshin was young.

“If you'd taught him properly, he would have lasted more than two exchanges.”

“You dare!”

Yeonshin's words were a flame set to a bomb's fuse. Tremendous killing intent washed over him. That was enough. He had deliberately provoked the man to focus his attention on himself.

'This is a battlefield now. Any tactic is fair game.'

He twisted sideways to make room. The Zhongnan Sword Immortal flew past from behind, brushing his robes.

“Thanks to you, we already have two tenths of this battle won.”

“Gah!”

As the Sword Immortal spoke, the Tyrant Sword Tribe elder flew backward. An immense wave of martial force erupted from the Sword Immortal's palm, sweeping through the surroundings. That monstrous collision heralded the start of the war between the sects. At last, the Tyrant Sword Tribe and Zhongnan had joined in a full-scale pitched battle.

Jung Yeonshin's eyes swept the front and both sides. To distinguish himself now, he needed enemies he could handle.

'Plenty of them.'

Fortunately, many young experts were charging in, unable to restrain their hot blood. Yeonshin immediately kicked off the ground toward the flank.

“You bastard!”

Having already drawn enormous attention, he was a prime target for the Tyrant Sword Tribe. More than a few enemies drew their swords and rushed him.

'I can handle them.'

Every one of them was young. Naturally. The elders and seasoned experts had apparently sensed each other's qi and clashed among themselves. Letting even one slip through could mean the slaughter of their disciples.

WHOOOSH!

As he circulated the Movement Art's core energy, a fairly powerful wave of qi rose around him. His robes fluttered, as though attesting to his ceaseless growth. He had not worn his Desolate Fortress uniform today, since he was fighting as Zhongnan's guest. If there was a second pitched battle, he would wear it then.

The first attacker wielded a spear. The energy gathered on its blade even contained Silk-Reeling Force. He was on an entirely different level from the Mantis Sect warriors.

CLANG!

The Desolate Sword's strike severed the spinning wave of force around the spearhead. The instant bewilderment appeared in the man's eyes, the Radiant Sword Art's hazy light swept across his throat.

'Two.'

Once immersed in battle, Jung Yeonshin no longer regarded his enemies as people. Merits were counted in numbers. He could not survive here if he let morality and compassion bind him.

CLANG! SPLURT!

Amid the dust-laden gusts, white sword light flashed in every direction. His upper dantian, shedding formless light at the crown of his head, allowed no blind spots. Even when a swift sword thrust came from behind, he immediately deflected it and cut the attacker's throat. It felt as though he could survey the space all around him. The sense he had gained at the Mantis Sect was proving invaluable in this group battle.

“Coordinate your attacks! Don't rush in recklessly!”

“Even his footwork is uncanny! Watch his legs closely!”

The Tyrant Sword Tribe disciples finally resorted to coordinated assaults against him. The synergy between Evading Swift Step and the Radiant Sword Art was tremendous. Lightning Genius of the Radiant Demon Squad was coming into his own as a warrior, acquiring his own unique martial arts one by one. At some point, Heon Wonchang had taken his rear and begun supporting him. Among Zhongnan's young disciples, Jung Yeonshin's battle record was overwhelmingly superior. The Desolate Sword never stopped spilling blood, until the pitched battle between the two sects finally reached a lull.

* * *

The first pitched battle ended in Zhongnan's victory. They said seizing the momentum at the outset had made an enormous difference. Jung Yeonshin was now a celebrity on Mount Zhongnan. Every warrior of the sect treated him with goodwill and courtesy.

“I've hidden some liquor from my master and senior martial uncles. Care for a drink?”

“You have that many sparring matches lined up? I'm too late, then.”

“The junior martial sisters at the Poetry Pavilion seemed interested in you, Young Master, but I firmly put a stop to that. Surely our discussions of swordsmanship come first? Hahaha!”

Simply responding to them all was exhausting. Walking down a narrow path, Yeonshin recalled his conversation with Yeo Il-Shin. She had answered that she would tell him why the Jeong Clan Estate had been destroyed right then, if he wished. She had also said his second elder brother had already heard the reason. There was a reason Jung Joongsan had not gone out of his way to tell his younger brother, and why she herself hesitated to broach it. It would be better to hear it after the major fighting was over.

'I doubt it'll shock me much.'

He thought their concern was needless. He was racing desperately to escape his approaching death, but those who knew no better often treated him like a child. His enemies did, too. At least he could take satisfaction in having easily killed a formidable foe like the Blood Master Swordsman and earned the credit.

“Still, you never know.”

He dispelled his musings with that murmur. He decided not to create an unnecessary distraction that might cost him his focus in a split-second clash. Revenge yet to come mattered more than the destruction already wrought. They said inner demons could strike without warning. Hearing the truth when he left Mount Zhongnan would be soon enough.

“Young Master Jung!”

Heon Wonchang waved from a distance. Jung Yeonshin approached with a small smile.

“Do you happen to be acquainted with Zhongnan's seasoned experts as well?”

“Has something happened?”

“Two experts renowned in Xi'an came looking for you. They asked whether you'd like to train together. They said they had an interesting training method.”

Yeonshin remembered the warriors who had accompanied Yeo Il-Shin to the Jeong Clan Estate. They had nodded as though it were only natural when she invited him to join Zhongnan. Those experts had even helped recover the bodies at the estate. He had caught a glimpse of them during the first pitched battle.

“Are their epithets Cliff Sword and Neutral Spirit Fist?”

“My, you really are well liked, Young Master. You certainly won't die a lonely death in some desolate wilderness. The Sword Immortal practically treats you like his own grandson, and even Mount Hua's Sword Saint spoke of making you an honored guest of Mount Hua...”

Heon Wonchang spoke with an envious expression. Come to think of it, this journey through the martial world was very different from Yeonshin's first venture. He had formed ties with so many experts of the Nine Great Sects—people ordinary folk rarely caught even a glimpse of.

“It's been a while since I last saw them.”

Jung Yeonshin set off at a seemingly leisurely pace. White clouds gleaming in the sunlight drifted gently toward him. So it remained, until the second pitched battle.

* * *

It was three days later. When they met again on the Guanzhong Plain, the Tyrant Sword Tribe had come prepared for vengeance. One look at their ranks was enough to tell. Unorthodox sect or not, it was striking how little expression most of their warriors showed.

“This won't be easy. Every last one of the few old men in their elder council has come.”

The Zhongnan Sword Immortal spoke gravely. ouyang shin nodded slowly.

“If we win here, it will be over.”

“Myohwa, look after the disciples.”

“Yes, Elder.”

wiji myohwa answered calmly, but her expression was different from before. Her pale face was radiant. As though she had cast off the anguish weighing upon her, power surged palpably throughout her body. Her waves of qi burned straight and true.

Standing among them thanks to his distinguished service, Jung Yeonshin met her eyes. The corners of her mouth lifted.

“May fortune favor you in battle, Young Master Jung.”

“I hope you remain safe as well, Sword Dragon.”

Yeonshin answered evenly and turned away. This was no time to worry about an expert whose martial prowess surpassed his own. Just then, the Zhongnan Sword Immortal placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Beware the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman. He's the grandfather of wi muhyuk, the one you killed.”

“The Tyrant Sword Tribe elder from last time?”

“Yes. I had to face their Elder Council Leader before I could finish him off. His stance broke down quickly enough, but even while receiving my sword, he seemed to be keeping an eye on you.”

“He's senior to the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord in martial generation, but on the battlefield he acts as his subordinate. People often call him his right arm,” wiji myohwa added worriedly.

“Thank you for your concern.”

As Jung Yeonshin nodded, the second pitched battle began. There was no vanguard duel this time. The Tyrant Sword Tribe charged with lightness skills, their momentum suggesting they meant to attack without regard for anything else.

A war with a sect's survival at stake was nothing like the romantic martial world idle storytellers described. A battle for interests, honor, and survival compressed the warriors' perception of time and space in an instant.

CLANG-CLANG! BOOM!

“Poetry Pavilion, rally! Form a sword formation here!”

“Aaargh!”

Before he knew it, Jung Yeonshin found himself unleashing the Radiant Sword Art in the thick of the fighting. The smell of blood had grown familiar. How many had he cut down amid the waves of qi surging from experts on all sides?

“There's no need for words!”

An old man approached, exuding tremendous force despite robes reduced to rags, as though he had fought his way through a desperate struggle. The Zhongnan Sword Immortal's warning had been right. It was the Tyrant Sword Tribe elder, the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman, his large eyes glaring.

“Are all unorthodox martial artists like this? You have no shame.”

“I'll slice you into strips.”

Jung Yeonshin knew instinctively: nothing worked better in a chaotic melee than provocation. An elder of the Thirteen skies should have possessed vast experience of the martial world, yet the man strode forward like a lion approaching its prey, seemingly intoxicated by his own prowess. His vision had narrowed completely.

Yeonshin sensed Heon Wonchang and Zhongnan experts rushing in from either side, apparently intending to help. He drove the internal energy throughout his body to its limit.

CLAAANG!

The sword force he barely managed to deflect was tremendous. The ground, untouched by the blade's tip, caved in with a boom. As though an elder of a great sect's forms could never be interrupted, the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman immediately followed with a palm technique. Unleashing Evading Swift Step, Jung Yeonshin presented his flank for a glancing blow.

“What's this?”

THUD!

The instant the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman's eyebrow twitched, the palm struck Yeonshin and hurled him far away. Tremendous martial force exploded from the oblique muscles beside his ribs. It was not even a puncturing technique, yet for a moment he could not summon his power. Jung Yeonshin's eyes flew wide.

'Movement Art!'

His slightly activated middle dantian supported his internal energy. The peerless Movement Art's core energy rose through the impact, instantly dissipating the wave of force that had threatened to spread throughout his body and restoring him.

In the meantime, wiji myohwa, Neutral Spirit Fist, and Cliff Sword arrived and blocked the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman. The clash between four high-ranking experts unfolded before Yeonshin's eyes. At that instant, his upper dantian blazed, beginning to engrave every form of the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman into his mind.

'He's furious. Easy to read.'

The way he gripped his sword and the way his muscles moved when he imbued it with sword force imprinted themselves on Yeonshin's vision. He did not stop there, but dissected every underlying principle in detail, down to the directions of his footwork and the tiniest habitual motion when he unleashed Burst Discharge.

After some fifty forms in which he seemed to be losing ground, the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman used a move that risked mutual destruction. He gave up his left arm to wiji myohwa's sword and struck her squarely in the abdomen. Neutral Spirit Fist and Cliff Sword, too, fell to strikes from the sword in his right hand.

The old man was a wreck. He had become a one-armed swordsman, and dark blood stained his lips. His internal injuries appeared severe. Even so, the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman was a renowned elder of the Tyrant Sword Tribe.

“Hah!”

Heon Wonchang charged in, only to be sent tumbling helplessly. Had something about him offended the elder? The man's sword surged forward with a stamping step. Just before it could sever Wonchang's neck, Jung Yeonshin was already standing at the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman's flank.

“I've been waiting!”

A murderous smile spread across the old man's lips. His sword's momentum changed abruptly. A tremendously swift strike sprang from his wrinkled hand. As the rising diagonal slash reached Jung Yeonshin's torso—

'I can feel it.'

This was not a sword strike his attainment in eye techniques could let him see. This was the realm of precognition. The crown of his head seemed to burn white-hot. Searing energy blazed in his upper dantian as though the sun had fallen into his skull.

He factored in every technique he had seen the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman use, entrusting everything to his talent and heaven-sent luck. Just one form. He believed the move the man would unleash from this stance, at this instant, would be no different from the one he had envisioned. Already, he was tracing the sword path that would shatter it.

The Desolate Sword in his hand extended in an undulating arc. It was a move martial artists called neutralization. The brilliant halo of sunlight pouring down warped along the blade, and its white trajectory let the Rakshasa's sword flow away like water before sweeping through the astonished old man's neck.

SPLURT!

“...”

Amid a battlefield swirling with every kind of energy and wind, only the place where Jung Yeonshin stood was silent. He caught sight of the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord locked in fierce combat with the Western Heaven Sword Supreme, ouyang shin. He had heard ouyang shin was half a move inferior, but things were different now. The Tribe Lord had unmistakably looked his way. Staring at the man, whose face showed bewilderment for the first time, Yeonshin seized the corpse's hair.

“Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord. I told you I'd take it.”

He raised the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman's head high and infused his voice with core energy. Experts from both sects turned toward his ringing voice. One by one, they began to stop moving.

Jung Yeonshin asked evenly,

“Does this count as your arm, too?”