The warriors whispered among themselves.

“Desolate... the Desolate Fortress...?”

“Impossible. What would the Desolate Fortress be doing here?”

“Shaolin’s eminent monks were with that bastard magistrate! Why couldn’t the Desolate Fortress come here too?”

They were a perfect illustration of the Underworld’s disorder. Back-alley thugs who learned inferior martial arts and became warriors were called the Underworld. They were men who had failed even to become proper unorthodox martial artists.

Just then, a hulking, fleshy bald man pulled the axe embedded in the table free. He seemed to have learned martial arts suited to his natural strength. His eyes gleamed red with drink as he glared at Jung Yeonshin.

“That greenhorn, a Desolate Fortress master? And I call you lot my brothers!”

Gripping the axe handle, he hurled it without warning. The sound of it tearing through the air was tremendous.

Heon Wonchang did not so much as stir, his arms folded. He even smiled.

BANG!

In the literal blink of an eye, Jung Yeonshin drew his sword and struck. The axe shattered at once. Martial force gathered momentarily in his sword hand, and its aftermath whipped up a gale strong enough to send some of the axe fragments flying.

“A fist art’s martial force in a sword strike...!”

Heon Wonchang, who had been smiling calmly beside him, exclaimed in admiration. He seemed to recognize a movement from Formidable Wall, the second move of Infinite Blossom Fist Strike. Was it because he created the martial arts he used? Jung Yeonshin was readily reaching a level where he could freely apply martial force intended for different purposes.

‘The Desolate Fortress, the Nine Great Sects, and the Thirteen skies really do stand above the clouds.’

At that moment, he truly felt that his martial arts belonged to a different world from those of most local warriors. Compared with the Tyrant Sword Tribe’s Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman, this man felt like a gnat. There was no need even to layer his core energy with the Classic of Initiating Transcendence. The thrown axe had felt utterly light.

“Was throwing an axe your way of talking?”

The Underworld men recoiled as he advanced with his sword held low. Ignoring them, Jung Yeonshin strode closer.

Whatever he did with the others, he could not let the bald giant off lightly. That throw had plainly been a killing move. It had flowed so naturally that one had to wonder how casually he had used violence all this time. This was different from the Mantis Sect, which had been forced to receive Jung Yeonshin within its own grounds. More than a few ordinary people must have fallen victim to him.

“Wait, wait! Let’s talk!”

He waved his hands as though the sight of Formidable Wall’s martial force had robbed him of all will to resist. At the same instant, the Desolate Sword flashed. White radiance spreading along its long blade illuminated his despairing face.

SLASH!

The spray of blood traced a vivid, distorted arc, as though demanding an answer. The remaining men’s faces changed.

* * *

The account began with how bloodshed had swept through the marketplace after the Jeong Clan Estate’s destruction. Underworld gangs had waged war over control of local commerce.

He listened.

Amid the chaos, the Jeong Clan Estate’s Chief Steward had established a merchant company and expanded it with remarkable skill. He dealt mainly in crops. Their quality was excellent, but his adept bargaining and distribution had soon taken the business beyond Xinye County.

Yet the company’s foundation lay in the destroyed estate’s woodlands and wealth. There was no way the Underworld warriors would leave it alone. They had reportedly bribed the magistrate heavily to turn a blind eye, then attacked the company and dismantled it piece by piece.

That was how the Xinye White Martial Sect had been founded.

“Rotten bastards!”

Heon Wonchang was enraged.

The courtesans who had been accompanying the Xinye White Martial Sect’s warriors quietly returned to their establishment. They had not even screamed, seemingly accustomed to bloodshed. What on earth was the magistrate doing?

“I trust you to handle this properly.”

“A day should be enough, yes?”

“Your family’s land is at stake. I can help if you ask.”

To the Radiant Demon Squad’s masters, it was a trivial matter. His seniors ruffled their youngest member’s hair or patted his shoulder before heading to their rooms.

A calm temperament and dependable martial strength. After only two missions, Lightning Genius had already earned the squad’s trust.

“May I punish the magistrate?”

“Once you become a Black robe.”

Ma Jin answered Jung Yeonshin’s question, then continued.

“You have already destroyed the Mantis Sect single-handedly. You are clearly stronger now than you were then. An Underworld sect in Xinye County should pose no difficulty. Do you need more hands?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll manage.”

“I’ll investigate this magistrate when I return. I suspect there will be plenty to uncover.”

Jung Yeonshin thanked him with a martial salute. When he turned, Heon Wonchang was grinning.

“I’m coming with you. Let Young Master Jung, who isn’t even twenty, undertake a chivalrous deed alone? The name Desolate Fortress Sacred Warrior would weep.”

“This isn’t a chivalrous deed.”

“How is wiping out an Underworld gang not a hero’s work? Other men dare not do it for fear of so much as a scratch.”

“Shall I put your name in the Jeong Clan Estate’s Fish-Scale Registers too, Young Master Heon?”

The Fish-Scale Registers were the Ming’s land registers. He was joking about giving him a parcel of land, but Heon Wonchang shook his head solemnly.

“A sacred warrior accepts no payment.”

Only within the Desolate Fortress did he seem frivolous. Jung Yeonshin had found himself thinking that increasingly often lately. Wasn’t Heon Wonchang precisely the sort of great hero one found in stories?

He was handsome too, with an open, spirited air. The hero’s headband tied around his brow suited him perfectly.

‘It just doesn’t quite feel real.’

The two headed straight for the Xinye White Martial Sect. It was nearby, and they arrived quickly without even needing the Desolate Fortress’s lightness skill.

The place appeared to be the former small estate of a local notable. Its antique main gate was firmly shut.

“Almost a shame to cut it down.”

Despite his words, Heon Wonchang had already drawn his Desolate Sword. With a single step of his footwork, he whirled like the north wind. Refined waves of martial force gathered on his blade, producing a sharp sword resonance. As his strike, driven by Silk-Reeling Force, slashed the gate apart, Jung Yeonshin kicked off the ground.

CRACK!

Wood splinters scattered in all directions on the currents of wind surrounding Jung Yeonshin. Through the newly opened view, he saw warriors carrying all manner of weapons. They had already prepared for them.

It was the great sects, he had been told, that hesitated to clash with the Desolate Fortress. Small and middling gangs were poorly informed and rarely grasped the reality behind the rumors. They lacked the ability to judge their enemies’ strength against their own.

He recalled Chung Myung saying that such people were the very definition of ignorant fools.

The Xinye White Martial Sect certainly looked full of confidence.

“Just two fearless fools, coming here alone! I’ll turn you into fertilizer for the woodlands too!”

The man who stepped forward arrogantly was large and imposing. He appeared to be the sect leader of the Xinye White Martial Sect, whom they also called their chief.

“What are you waiting for? Kill them!”

Jung Yeonshin did not halt his charge. The Radiant Sword Art rose with a hazy streak of light and swept past the sect leader’s throat first.

* * *

He had shattered the underlings’ energy cores and gathered the documents relating to the Jeong Clan Estate when four people crossed the Xinye White Martial Sect’s threshold. Their eyes swept the surroundings, filled with astonishment and horror, seemingly at the many Underworld warriors lying on the ground groaning.

“Ah, we are too late.”

“What... what in the world...?”

There were two monks, a middle-aged man approaching old age, and Xinye County’s magistrate in official robes. They seemed to have already heard the news from the tavern.

“You... aren’t you a son of the Jeong Clan Estate?”

The thick-cheeked magistrate recognized Jung Yeonshin. They had known one another by sight, though they seldom met.

Martial sects and local magistrates did not exist independently of one another. It was common for sects to help maintain order when manpower was short. In return, the magistrate granted concessions in tribute payments and business. The relationship was symbiotic.

“The D-Desolate Fortress? You?”

“Young master!”

Leaving the stammering magistrate behind, someone rushed over to stand before him.

“You truly became a Desolate Fortress warrior! And blue robes, heavens! This is like a dream!”

It was the Jeong Clan Estate’s Chief Steward, his face suddenly alight. The rumors about the Radiant Demon Squad’s Lightning Genius that had begun spreading through Shaanxi apparently had yet to reach Henan.

“I heard things hadn’t been going well for you.”

“I lacked the strength.”

The Chief Steward smiled bitterly. Jung Yeonshin narrowed his eyes. The qi emanating from him felt different now. It was quite pure and carried weight—a change difficult to achieve without studying proper orthodox martial arts.

“Have you joined an orthodox sect?”

“Yes. At my age, I have become a lay disciple of Shaolin Temple. Heaven smiled upon me. I am truly grateful.”

It was extraordinary. How long would it take to recount all the twists and turns between losing his merchant company and becoming a Shaolin disciple? The complex emotions on his face were eloquent enough.

The Chief Steward apparently intended to borrow Shaolin’s strength to defeat Xinye’s Underworld gangs. Jung Yeonshin had sensed his exceptional qualities even during the estate’s destruction. To think such a remarkable man had been languishing at the Jeong Clan Estate.

He introduced the elderly monk standing quietly beside him.

“This is my master.”

“I am won jong.”

The old monk in yellow vestments raised his right hand before his chest. It was called the half-palm salute, a greeting distinctive to Shaolin. The face studying Jung Yeonshin was lined with age.

“So you are Master won jong. I am Jung Yeonshin of the Desolate Fortress.”

As Jung Yeonshin offered a martial salute, a voice spoke up.

“Your handiwork is truly impressive, Young Master! I am Gak jung!”

The young warrior monk who had been strolling about inspecting the scene approached.

He was exceedingly handsome. His well-shaped head and long ears, which suggested great virtue, were striking. A warrior monk of the noble race from Shaolin.

It was difficult to judge the seniority of someone of the noble race before speaking with them, but Jung Yeonshin knew at once that he was not of the elders’ generation.

Gak jung, the little divine monk. His name was already famous. He was said to be one of the great Shaolin Temple’s Eighteen Arhats and a master of Shaolin fist arts. He was no ordinary rising disciple.

“Martial Uncle, may I speak with him?”

“As you wish. But first...”

Master won jong gazed straight at Jung Yeonshin with weary-looking eyes.

“Do you have some connection to our temple?”

“Today is my first time meeting any Shaolin masters.”

“And yet your body is quite remarkable. It is as well honed as though you had practiced the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic.”

Bodhidharma’s Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic. Few martial artists had never heard of it, and its origins were widely known. Bodhidharma was said to have created it to cultivate the monks’ bodies and internal energy. Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Supreme Arts supposedly began with that classic and ultimately returned to it.

Both the Chief Steward’s and Gak jung’s eyes widened.

“Now that you mention it...”

Gak jung trailed off as he studied Jung Yeonshin’s physique. The Chief Steward merely stood there in wonder, even though he must have known that Jung Yeonshin had created the Movement Art and spent nearly ten years honing his body with it. Becoming a Shaolin lay disciple had not made him careless with his tongue.

“Young Master Jung, I do not believe you stole our temple’s supreme arts. That would be impossible.”

Gak jung spoke.

“But a good idea has occurred to me. I know your actions are entirely reasonable by worldly standards. Still, to someone like me, who has spent his life in a mountain temple cultivating only martial arts and the Buddhist path, they seem a little excessive. You will clearly become one of the world’s foremost masters one day, and this unworthy monk cannot help worrying.”

“What are you proposing?”

“Warriors speak through martial arts. Among the external arts of the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts, I have learned Iron Sand Palm and the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic. Though the latter also cultivates internal qi, you too seem to have trained your body through a movement art. Why not compare our physical attainments and have the loser grant the winner a request? If you agree, I will give you this.”

Gak jung took a wooden box from inside his vestments and opened it. A small pill came into view as a sharp, grassy fragrance spread.

“A Pill of Luminous Rectitude. It was made after I shared my clan’s secret art with our temple’s Medicine King Hall.”

“A Pill of Luminous Rectitude!”

Heon Wonchang, who had been watching with a sulky expression, made a fuss. He had just emerged from searching a hall for wealth to distribute among the common people.

Though the Great Restoration Pills and Lesser Restoration Pills were renowned throughout the world, medicines such as Shaolin’s Pill of Luminous Rectitude had also begun making names for themselves lately. It was said to heal injuries to qi and blood in an instant, thanks to the combination of Medicine King Hall’s medical arts and the noble race’s secret lore.

‘I heard it was quite precious.’

Even after suffering internal injuries, one could fight again immediately. Was this Shaolin’s fairness? The way he cautiously offered medicine first, despite seeking to admonish him, was impressive. Such a thing would be rare in other martial sects.

Jung Yeonshin gazed into Gak jung’s clear eyes, then nodded. As he accepted the wooden box, Gak jung grinned.

“Since you have given me a gift, Master Gak jung, I will do my utmost.”

“Haha! Thank you for tolerating my meddling. And who knows? You may have to take that medicine straightaway.”

It was an amusing provocation. He meant that Jung Yeonshin might suffer internal injuries while competing with him in external arts. Given Shaolin’s formidable martial arts and the little divine monk’s reputation, that was entirely possible.

“What is your request, Master?”

“If I win, listen to me expound on Buddhist teachings for one double-hour.”

“...?”

“What, did you think I would ask you to shave your head and join our temple?”

As Gak jung began loosening his limbs, Jung Yeonshin found him a curious character. A warrior’s competitive spirit and a Buddhist disciple’s detachment seemed intertwined in his unusual temperament. It was not an unpleasant impression.

“Let us begin.”

“Very well.”

As Jung Yeonshin took his stance, he knew instinctively that if they both used internal energy, he would still fall far short of Gak jung, the little divine monk. But physical conditioning was another matter. He had spent years practicing the Movement Art alone and had brought it to great mastery.

He felt he had a chance.

THUD!

The moment the spar began, a dazzling flurry of punches and kicks rained down. Fists and legs traced every imaginable trajectory, pounding his entire body.

Only Jung Yeonshin’s eyes moved as he intended. He took in every detail of the essence of Shaolin’s fist and kicking arts.

SWISH! THUD!

The fist striking his shoulder was far from light. Even without core energy, powerful martial arts poured from Gak jung’s body. For twenty exchanges, Jung Yeonshin did not even make an effective counterattack.

Then Gak jung suddenly sank low, his robes fluttering with crisp precision. An instant later, he stamped both feet and drove diagonally forward. It appeared to be Dragon Fist Strike, one of the renowned Shaolin Five Fist Strikes.

THUMP!

His rising fist unleashed a Burst Discharge that exploded against Jung Yeonshin’s solar plexus. Was this a fist art that embodied a waterspout in the human body?

Though no internal energy powered it, dust surged into the air. The blow was so fierce one might have thought he meant to kill.

“Hm?”

Instead, it was Gak jung who was pushed two steps back. His feet left deep impressions in the dirt.

Jung Yeonshin stood quietly, his face serene, in exactly the same place where he had planted his feet at the start of the spar.

“...”

“Are you finished, Master?”

He asked quietly.