“... The Desolate Fortress?”

The young gentleman who had admonished the wandering warrior broke the silence with a murmur. His leisurely manner as he chatted with the two women at his table had changed. He seemed intrigued, if a little taken aback.

The wandering warrior's eyes darted up and down.

“Are you truly a warrior of the Desolate Fortress?”

Jung Yeonshin did not answer.

“You've insulted our order with that mouth of yours. Don't expect our patience to last.”

Heon Wonchang spoke with a rare look of gravity. The moment he drew his sword, his killing intent would show.

Having witnessed him fight, Jung Yeonshin had no wish to waste time. Without a word, he twirled his remaining chopstick between his index and middle fingers. The wandering warrior's expression changed drastically.

“I-I had no intention of insulting the Desolate Fortress. I was only...”

“I'm not interested in you. You said the azure-eyed demonic swordsman lost an eye. Tell me about that.”

With a hand resting on his sword hilt, Jung Yeonshin regarded him with clear eyes.

“The Phantom Thief! They say the Blood Flame Cult is behind the Phantom Thief! Several Blood Master Swordsmen and one of the cult's Apostles clashed with the Radiant Demon Squad. He was injured protecting a family of commoners...”

“...”

It sounded just like Chung Myung, who was exceptionally kind even among the Radiant Demon Squad.

“The Blood Flame Cult after the Tyrant Sword Tribe?”

Heon Wonchang muttered with a sickened expression. Jung Yeonshin nodded slowly.

He had not caught so much as a glimpse of the other eleven of the Thirteen Skies. Yet he kept getting tangled up with these two. It seemed to be because Henan and Shaanxi were their main spheres of activity.

“I trust you were staking your life on those words.”

The wandering warrior froze at Jung Yeonshin's words. Was it the force of spirit carried in his voice?

From the Mantis Sect to the battles between Zhongnan and the Tyrant Sword Tribe, he had fought one bloody mass battle after another. His disposition could hardly remain unchanged. Jung Yeonshin was gradually becoming a man of Murim.

“M-my deepest apologies!”

The man bowed low, behaving as though he faced a reaper. The Desolate Fortress's name and Jung Yeonshin's demonstration seemed to have had that effect.

“This is the first time I've felt that drawing my Desolate Sword would be such a waste.”

Unlike Heon Wonchang, Jung Yeonshin felt as though he were looking in a mirror.

Throwing away pride to preserve one's life. That was how precious one's own neck was.

The sight of the wandering warrior did not feel like someone else's affair. That was him: Lightning Genius of the Radiant Demon Squad, who had to bargain with the Desolate Fortress Master over his merits.

“Just eat. And pay the innkeeper for the table.”

The words slipped out. He did not understand himself. Was he hoping fate would show him the same leniency?

“With that much martial power at his age, you could hardly blame him for being unruly...”

“A master of a great, prestigious order truly does have dignity.”

They seemed to take Jung Yeonshin's attitude as the generosity of the strong. It was probably because the wave of force he had released through a mere chopstick offered a glimpse of his prowess.

Not only the other wandering warriors but even the young men and women who appeared to come from distinguished martial families expressed admiration for his magnanimity.

The wandering warrior rose, called over the innkeeper, and paid for the table Jung Yeonshin had broken. He plainly wanted to leave but was too frightened of him to do so.

The young gentleman got up and approached Jung Yeonshin.

“Might your epithet be Lightning Genius?”

When Yeonshin nodded, the interest on his face seemed to deepen.

“Then I am looking at someone who will shine for the Desolate Fortress after the White Qilin, Namgoong Hwashin. A pleasure indeed. I am Jin Yul of the Jin Clan Estate in Shaanxi.”

“Jung Yeonshin, of the Desolate Fortress's Radiant Demon Squad.”

Heon Wonchang and Jin Yul's companions exchanged greetings as well. The women said they were daughters of a nearby martial academy.

Those who had originally been sharing the table left awkwardly. Jin Yul had pressed coins into their hands.

“I have long admired the warriors of the Desolate Fortress. Those of us in small families must live close to the world of ordinary people, not just Murim. Whenever I see the Desolate Fortress bring its blade down on the martial world, it does my heart good.”

He smiled as he spoke.

“A rising talent of the Desolate Fortress... Lately, I've heard there is a master whose prowess far exceeds his age. They said he was active in Shaanxi. I suspect that must be you, young master.”

“You are remarkably well informed, my friend!”

Embarrassed, Jung Yeonshin merely bowed his head in acknowledgment, but Heon Wonchang smiled and praised Jin Yul. He looked thoroughly pleased.

“As members of the Radiant Demon Squad, I imagine you are headed for Lantian. Might we accompany you? I know it is presumptuous on a first meeting, but I would dearly like to befriend masters of the Desolate Fortress.”

“What do you think, Young Master Jung?”

Heon Wonchang did not agree outright. Though he seemed to treat Jung Yeonshin like a younger brother, he never overstepped the hierarchy. The blue robe, backed by Chung Myung and Baek Miryeo's recognition, stood above every white robe.

Jung Yeonshin spoke.

“You can guess our destination? Do you know the circumstances in detail?”

“Since the fighting between Zhongnan and the Tyrant Sword Tribe, the Radiant Demon Squad and Mount Hua have become the biggest topic in Xi'an's Murim. With everyone's eyes on them, even those of us from small and medium martial families cannot help hearing about the great affairs of the martial world.”

Jin Yul answered without losing his smile. Jung Yeonshin regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

* * *

Xi'an was one of the foremost cities in the Central Plains. Lantian was a county on its eastern edge, so the ride from the inn near Mount Zhongnan was a long one.

In that time, Jin Yul and Heon Wonchang grew quite close.

“That was when I shouted, ‘Jung Yeonshin, Lightning Genius of the Desolate Fortress, has beheaded an elder of the Tyrant Sword Tribe!’ ... My shout then must have rivaled Shaolin's Lion's Roar. Every warrior from Zhongnan and the Tyrant Sword Tribe whipped his head around. You should have seen it.”

“Would a warrior of the Desolate Fortress speak falsely? How could I not believe you?”

Both men were naturally affable. They soon dropped their formalities and chatted freely.

In many ways, Jin Yul seemed unlike a man from a minor martial family. He was extraordinarily knowledgeable and knew how to flatter others. With the refinement of a noble young gentleman, he had an air that drew people in.

Before long, Heon Wonchang was grinning from ear to ear, conversing with a face full of warmth.

“Did you truly behead the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman, Young Master Jung?”

One of the martial academy's daughters riding alongside him asked. Her sun-bronzed face, suggesting long hours of dedicated training, was full of curiosity.

Jung Yeonshin shook his head.

“It was only a battle of successive opponents. My seniors—the Sword Dragon, Neutral Spirit Fist, and Cliff Sword—and Young Master Heon had already worn him down. An elder of the Thirteen Skies is a master of an entirely different order.”

“I did hold off one of his moves! Though Young Master Jung's dazzling sword strike was the finishing touch!”

Heon Wonchang laughed heartily. He seemed delighted by Jung Yeonshin's praise.

“Let's take a short rest.”

Jin Yul made the suggestion with a smile. The sun was high overhead. It was time to eat, and the stream flowing near the road would let them water the horses as well.

Jung Yeonshin nodded. Heon Wonchang volunteered to look after the horses. Leaving him gathering the reins one by one, Yeonshin headed for the stream.

As he bent to fill the gourd he had taken from inside his robe, Jin Yul sat close on his left, glanced at him, and spoke.

“Do you happen to use your left hand as well, Young Master Jung?”

“I practice swordsmanship with my right hand. Though I've learned a little of the fist and palm arts.”

“I see. Then your left side would be your weakness.”

His tone was as ordinary as everyday conversation. It was so casual that the meaning registered a moment late.

A blade slipped forward.

The dagger thrust out at astonishing speed without even stirring martial force. Jin Yul's sneak attack was incredibly stealthy. It was what Yeonshin imagined swift swordsmanship performed with a dagger would look like.

The Movement Art's core energy rose within him. The internal energy filling the fine meridians throughout his body was heavier than before.

Jung Yeonshin had been on guard ever since he agreed to let them come along. Jin Yul was far too extraordinary to be an ordinary acquaintance—especially someone met at the very first inn he visited after leaving Mount Zhongnan.

'As though he'd been waiting.'

Just as he applied the Infinite Blossom Fist Strike's formula to his left arm, a chilling gleam of swordlight flashed diagonally toward them. Its brilliant trajectory cleaved through Jin Yul's neck in an instant.

SPLAT!

“I knew it.”

Heon Wonchang stood over the corpse, its upper body pitched into a puddle. Lifting a fold of Jin Yul's robe, he wiped his Desolate Sword clean.

His face was calm, as though he had never been friendly with the dead man. Jung Yeonshin gazed at him.

“I was going to do that.”

“At least when it comes to reading people, I'm your equal, Young Master Jung.”

Heon Wonchang grinned at him, then kicked Jin Yul's head. The instant it fell into the stream, something like ink stained the clear water black. Bright red hair began to emerge from the ends.

Jung Yeonshin glanced at it and spoke.

“A Blood Flame Cult assassin, it seems.”

“You've become a target. They must have noticed your chivalrous deeds and reputation. Now you're an enemy of the Blood Flame Cult in both name and fact. It means you've truly established yourself in the martial world. I couldn't be more envious.”

“What about his other companions? The supposed martial academy daughters?”

“They'll be crossing the River of Three Paths.”

“They were the same sort,” Heon Wonchang muttered.

It seemed he had been ambushed as soon as Jung Yeonshin left to fetch water.

So this was how grudges were born in Murim. They called it mountains and forests made of blades. Mountains of Sabers, Forests of Swords. At last, he truly felt he had entered the martial world.

Jung Yeonshin's reaction was placid, much like Jin Yul's tone just before his assassination attempt.

“We should arrive in half a day.”

“Let's hurry.”

* * *

“Yeonshin. You've earned some unbelievable merits.”

Chung Myung smiled as he spoke. A strip of cotton cloth was wound around his head, covering his left eye. Even his disheveled state seemed unable to diminish his finely sculpted nose.

He was a senior Yeonshin appreciated, yet somehow found irritating. He had thought he and Heon Wonchang were the only ones likely to worry the Radiant Demon Squad.

Chung Myung simply kept beaming.

“Killing an elder of the Thirteen Skies. Even I haven't done that yet.”

“That was reckless. It's fortunate nothing serious happened.”

Baek Miryeo gripped Jung Yeonshin's shoulders with ice-cold hands, her gaze sweeping over his entire body. Beside him, Heon Wonchang's expression seemed to ask why she wasn't checking him too.

The four sat together in the guest room where they had first stayed when meeting Mount Hua.

“What happened? The captain doesn't seem to be here, either.”

Baek Miryeo parted her lips to answer Jung Yeonshin. He noticed that the fingers brushing back the hair by her ear were paler than usual. It seemed to be the aftermath of using some martial art to its utmost.

“Our captain went in pursuit with the Sword Saint and the other Mount Hua masters. The Blood Flame Cult has been exposed as the force behind this. That changes things. We don't know what they mean to do with the Purple Radiance Pill, but reinforcements from the fortress are likely now.”

“What about Chung Myung's eye?”

“The Phantom Thief used a hidden weapon while he was fighting three Blood Master Swordsmen. This fool could easily have dodged it, but there happened to be a house behind him. He had no choice but to knock it aside with his sword.”

“What sort of hidden weapon could do that...?”

“A trigger-fired hidden-weapon tube from the Sichuan Tang Clan. They call it the Flying Blast. Its power is tremendous.”

Though she answered softly, her intensity did not diminish. She seemed wound exceedingly tight, but Chung Myung smiled obliviously and cut in.

“I did take off his left wrist, too. Anyway, we ought to raid the Tang Clan at least once. There are rumors they're even making firebombs in secret. Shall we go there for our next mission?”

It happened then.

BOOM!

“There is no next time for you bastards.”

An explosion preceded the voice. Faster still, Chung Myung had seized Jung Yeonshin and Heon Wonchang by their necks and pulled them down.

“Captain's slacking,” he muttered.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

A devastating barrage of flashes tore through the window like rain driving sideways. They had nearly been skewered. In the Great Ming Empire, people sat on chairs rather than on the floor.

Baek Miryeo had already reacted like a beast, crouching as if poised to counterattack. Her eyes widened when Jung Yeonshin sprang up and vaulted through the window.

He had shaken off Chung Myung's arm at once. As he charged, his field of vision narrowed.

A small-framed, middle-aged man came into view.

'What? Wasn't the Purple Radiance Pill their objective?'

More than one powerful wave of qi had penetrated the inn. Baek Miryeo's sound transmission brushed his ear, saying she would handle the Blood Flame Cult.

“A blue robe over white. So you're Lightning Genius.”

The middle-aged man greeted Jung Yeonshin with a smile. His loose silk cuffs caught Yeonshin's eye. Killing intent spread from him as though slaying Desolate Fortress masters were his purpose in life.

“You wield light? An epithet far too grand for a brat.”

More and more people were beginning to recognize him. Was this how one built a reputation in the martial world?

“Are you the Phantom Thief?”

He advanced without hesitation, like a warrior who knew nothing of fighting distance. He did not even wait for an answer.

As he walked straight toward the man and drew his sword downward, the Radiant Sword Art's hazy ripples of light rose along the blade.