Shaolin fist arts possessed a grandeur and discipline that seemed to carry even the strength of the soul. They looked simple at first glance, but were anything but. The principles behind each strike were profound and complex.

Still, he had seen enough of Gak jung’s punches and kicks.

Jung Yeonshin did not wait for an answer. He twisted, beginning at his heel, and felt the flow extend from his waist into his right arm. It was free and powerful.

WHOOSH!

Simple as it looked, that small movement generated tremendous force. He had independently brought forth the principle of four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds.

Originally, it was a martial principle for meeting a mighty blow with very little strength. This was different. With a short stamping step, he drove a powerful straight punch forward.

THUD!

Gak jung twisted and took the blow toward the back of his flank. He staggered, eyes widening in shock. Even Jung Yeonshin, who had thrown it, could feel the considerable weight of that punch. Gak jung must have found it strange that he could sense no wave of qi.

A furious exchange began. Complex trajectories tangled with the afterimages of hands and feet. Jung Yeonshin took more blows as they traded attacks. Their experience and depth of martial mastery had never been comparable.

But he was enjoying himself. Throwing punches and kicks without the radiant demon arts guiding his combat paths felt entirely new. Meanwhile, the impact of his opponent’s fists and feet failed to penetrate deeply. There was no pain, only the pleasure of landing blows.

His body, at least, had already surpassed even the little divine monk’s.

FLAP! THUMP!

Jung Yeonshin feinted with his loose left sleeve. At the same time, his right knuckles crushed the fabric over Gak jung’s shoulder. He distinctly felt the coarse texture of the monk’s robe. Every short punch he landed sent Gak jung reeling.

An elderly voice reached them from a distance.

“Has he taken the patterns and forms of the Shaolin Five Fist Strikes? No, no. Only the principles are the same. His are a level higher, if anything. He has broadened the applications of Burst Discharge in fist arts. How is that possible? It is almost as though he were creating a new martial art...”

Heon Wonchang glanced at Master won jong, who was muttering incessantly beside him. Not every Shaolin master made a name for himself. There were many monks besides the warrior monks: monks who studied martial theory, for instance, and scholarly monks devoted to Buddhist teachings.

Master won jong. Unlike the little divine monk Gak jung, his was a Dharma name Heon Wonchang had never heard before.

“I suppose devoting yourself single-mindedly to a field up in the mountains can make you like that. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmm? Hmm...”

Heon Wonchang leaned toward the magistrate beside him and whispered with a show of familiarity. The Xinye County magistrate drew his head away, unable to hide his discomfort, but Heon Wonchang paid him no mind.

“Those in the know are well aware of Young Master Jung’s physique. Even in our Radiant Demon Squad, he’s considered a supernatural abomination. Something like this happened once. Young Master Jung was taking a bath. The maids who look after our quarters drew his water, but would you believe it? After leaving, they sneaked back to steal a look. They certainly lived up to their status as people of the Desolate Fortress—utterly fearless. And what happened next was... Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not particularly interested.”

“Why, everyone else found it quite fascinating.”

While they talked, the contest came to an end. Gak jung and Jung Yeonshin stepped back simultaneously, like reflections of each other in a bronze mirror.

“If we continue, one of us really will have to use that Pill of Luminous Rectitude.”

“Thank you for the lesson. I will listen to your sermon.”

Gak jung laughed heartily at Jung Yeonshin’s composed reply.

“You truly have a straightforward nature. How wonderful it would be to have a junior brother like you, Young Master Jung. In reality, mine are all so arrogant that neither martial discipline nor Buddhist teachings can get through to them. At any rate, I failed to defeat you as well. To be honest...”

Gak jung, who resembled Skanda, the martial deity of Indian Buddhism, wore a strangely stiff smile. He continued slowly.

“I was frightened, too. My fist forms were becoming less and less effective. I thought you would soon counter them one by one. In that sense, this is my defeat as well. If you listen to my sermon, I shall also grant you a request whenever you wish.”

“Very well.”

Jung Yeonshin nodded readily.

He had gained three things today, all substantial. Experiencing Shaolin’s punches and kicks firsthand would greatly nourish his martial learning. The Pill of Luminous Rectitude, a renowned supreme healing medicine, could save a life once. The right to ask the little divine monk for help with an affair of the martial world was another considerable asset.

‘The Xinye White Martial Sect. So this is how one connection leads to another.’

Reflecting on the strange ways of the martial world, he walked off with Gak jung. Beyond the faint glow of sunset, a white moon was rising. It seemed he would not be returning to his room tonight.

With a jerk of his chin, he put the Underworld underlings, who were now staring at them in terror, to work. They decided to hear the sermon and spend the night in a hall that was tidied in moments.

The Xinye County magistrate fled, white-faced. He seemed to have pocketed a considerable fortune from the Xinye White Martial Sect. Jung Yeonshin hoped Ma Jin would do his part.

“The great master Bodhidharma, the founding patriarch of Chan Buddhism in the Central Plains, once said...”

The day drew to a close as Gak jung expounded on Buddhist teachings. He told the story of Bodhidharma explaining to Huike that an anxious mind had no substance.

The many bloody battles Jung Yeonshin had survived at his young age were honing his spirit like a blade. Yet his heart, grown numb to the lives of others, mingled with his own limited lifespan to give rise to killing intent.

Chan Buddhism was said to transmit its teachings orally. A single sermon did not immediately dispel his anxiety.

But he could learn the intent that ran through Buddhist martial arts. It was a new world. For an instant, a sky-blue light flashed through his eyes.

All the while, Master won jong watched him strangely from one side of the bed.

* * *

Everyone rose while dawn could still have passed for dusk. Over breakfast, they witnessed an argument between won jong and Gak jung.

Jung Yeonshin and Heon Wonchang ate and silently listened to the two monks’ debate. It seemed to be a regular occurrence, but the Chief Steward was pale, as though he could scarcely breathe.

“‘Destroy evil and uphold justice’ is not merely an abstract phrase from a sermon. It was a real power. Dharma power that annihilated the strength amassed by wicked groups like the Blood Flame Cult! Mystical arts and martial arts were originally one. The endlessly transforming skills of our predecessors came to be called by two different names!”

“He’s developing a martial art to kill the Blood Flame Cult Leader. A man who has taken refuge in the Buddha’s teachings.”

Gak jung leaned over and whispered to Jung Yeonshin, quite clearly intending to be overheard. Jung Yeonshin himself had no idea when they had become this close.

‘Not close enough to air his sect’s dirty laundry, surely.’

The two monks, who could have passed for grandfather and grandson, behaved quite childishly—enough to shatter his vague impressions of Shaolin.

“And what is wrong with that? It must be done for the sake of all living beings under heaven!”

“Fine. Given the opportunity, of course we should set aside the prohibition against killing! But you are pouring your entire life into killing someone, Martial Uncle! That is a life already in hell. Why will you not consider the feelings of your senior brother and martial nephews?”

“My torment cannot be resolved through contemplation. More than ten years of wall-facing meditation taught me that. The Blood Flame Cult Leader must die for me to live.”

Jung Yeonshin was mildly surprised. Wall-facing meditation was a renowned practice. It involved meditating while looking only at a wall, and originated in the story of Bodhidharma attaining enlightenment after sitting before one for nine years.

‘Did the Blood Flame Cult slaughter his family? Like mine?’

Gak jung, however, appeared unperturbed. He spoke as though he had heard the same thing dozens of times.

“Our sect’s Great Power of Prajna and Supreme Great Power are already sufficient to oppose the Blood Art. Shaolin martial arts have always been strong against it. There could be no greater natural counter.”

“If they were sufficient, would the Blood Flame Cult Leader still be alive?”

“What you want is to create an entirely new branch of martial arts, Martial Uncle. Even a hundred years would not suffice.”

“Martial arts imbued with Dharma power were originally part of Shaolin’s teachings. How many times must I tell you? The lost Bodhisattva Gentle Flowing Strike could easily smash the skulls of those blood fiends from that evil cult!”

“Martial Uncle, please mind your language... And how could you possibly recover an art whose secret manual was burned... No, never mind.”

Only after Gak jung shook his head did the meal end. The five of them rose amid an awkward silence. Only Jung Yeonshin wore a curious expression.

‘Bodhisattva Gentle Flowing Strike.’

From the sound of it, the art would display overwhelming power in a fierce battle against the Blood Flame Cult. A martial art imbued with the Buddha’s Dharma power. It interested him. He had also learned that martial arts could inherently counter one another. There were fundamental differences in their nature, distinct from finding a way to neutralize a technique.

‘A martial art specialized for one particular purpose. Interesting.’

There were many powerful warriors, including blue and black robes. For Jung Yeonshin, whose martial mastery still fell short, this was a new lead. Simply knowing such things existed made him feel he could create something.

The principles contained in the patterns and forms of Shaolin fist arts. The meaning that ran through Shaolin’s Chan philosophy.

He now knew the shapes of the forms and the intent that imbued core energy. To Jung Yeonshin, it was as good as being handed everything.

It was then that it happened.

“I wondered what was keeping you out until morning. It wasn’t as though some Underworld scum could have beaten you.”

Ma Jin approached in a single burst of astonishing movement technique. Behind him, the Radiant Demon Squad’s experts crossed through the Xinye White Martial Sect’s main gate. His gaze swept over won jong, Gak jung, and the Chief Steward before he spoke again.

“So there are Shaolin monks here. We are surrounded, so there is no time for greetings.”

“Did you say surrounded?” Jung Yeonshin asked.

“The Blood Flame Cult. Word got out. It looks certain that the Hao Faction has betrayed us, but first we need to get out alive.”

There was no ease in his tone. He sounded tense, too—so much so that it was hard to believe these were the words of a Desolate Fortress black robe.

Jung Yeonshin glanced around. At last, it truly struck him that they were facing the Blood Flame Cult’s real strength. At some point, the birds in the surrounding woods had fallen silent.

“...”

A chill wind suddenly blew. It felt as though it were creeping into his cheeks, and its sound brushing past his ears was eerie.

Encirclements by martial forces were said to cover a wide area. There was even something called the Heaven-and-Earth Net, likened to a net spread across both heaven and earth.

“We break through the main gate,” Ma Jin said. A large saber was already in his hand.

The Radiant Demon Squad warriors drew their weapons. Jung Yeonshin could feel it. These experts, who had drawn their swords without a sound, were tense.

Chung Myung and Baek Miryeo drew close to him. Heon Wonchang joined them.

“If we become separated, rendezvous at the Heavenly Sword Clan. They are a martial family in Pingdingshan. They also serve as the Desolate Fortress’s Henan branch, so if you survive, you can expect a lavish welcome.”

“Was that meant to be a joke?”

Before anyone could even chuckle at Chung Myung’s offhand remark, it happened.

With a crash, a section of the perimeter wall shattered. Someone approached with distinct footfalls, as though anything blocking the way were no different from an open door.

STEP.

It was an uncannily beautiful woman. Black hair, red eyes. An appearance unlike any he had ever seen.

“Hello.”

Her manner was casual, without a trace of formality.

The hair fluttering in the breeze was pitch-black—not merely dark. Like the long black robe she wore, it seemed deeper than the night sky. Her lips, by contrast, were red as though perpetually wet with blood, standing out starkly against her white skin.

The presence enveloping her was sinister. Even the swaying hem of her robe seemed bewitching.

‘That is...’

Jung Yeonshin knew the instant he saw her. A Blood Flame Cult warrior’s red hair was said to turn black as their martial mastery grew. Hers was the very color of pitch.

An Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult. If it was a woman, she would be the Seventh Apostle. Her formidable prowess and vicious nature were already infamous.

“Seventh Apostle.”

Ma Jin’s voice sounded like a growl scraped up from deep in his belly.

“How stupid. You didn’t even notice the ambush.”

Her voice rang clear. The Blood Flame Cult’s Seventh Apostle approached with a crimson smile. Her steps were light, yet carried both an alluring elegance and terrifying waves of qi. There was something about her that called a mire to mind. She was on an entirely different level from the Blood Master Swordsmen.

“So you’re Lightning Genius. The future of the Desolate Fortress.”

She stopped ten paces away and turned her gaze on Jung Yeonshin. Her eyes looked like smooth jade fashioned from blood. Interest seemed to linger in those intensely crimson irises.

She smiled.

“What a pretty neck you have.”

“Look at me, Seventh Apostle.”

She glanced at Ma Jin as he stepped forward, then looked away indifferently. At a crook of her long finger, Blood Flame Cult members emerged on every side. Jung Yeonshin felt as though his vision had turned red.

There seemed to be at least a hundred redheads. He could also see twenty Blood Master Swordsmen.

“Right here...” The Seventh Apostle’s lips moved. “I’m going to kill the Radiant Demon Squad’s future and present.”

“...!”

At that same moment, her hand blurred. The Radiant Demon Squad and Shaolin experts were still assessing the enemy’s strength.

Something shot forward like blood-red lightning, accompanied by a sinister energy. In an instant, a crimson dagger flashed toward the space between Jung Yeonshin’s eyebrows.

WHAM!

Jung Yeonshin snatched it out of the air and twisted. His body seemed to have reacted to the wicked power before he consciously recognized it. The residual martial force was so immense that he retreated a step, but the energy lingering in his grasp felt unfamiliar.

It was dissipating the Blood Art’s core energy carried by the dagger. He thought he could hear the sermon Gak jung had delivered through the night ringing in his ears.

[“May the three poisons be forever extinguished, and the six sense faculties remain ever pure.”]

The meaning of the Buddhist scriptures and the forms of Shaolin fist arts were transforming into a formula. Had Bodhidharma created his arts this way, too? In that instant, an unfinished martial art had begun to sprout.

The Radiant Demon Squad experts turned in surprise, then flinched. The sky-blue light that occasionally shone in Lightning Genius’s eyes had taken on a strangely deeper blue.

“So even an Apostle uses the Blood Flame Cult’s martial arts,” Jung Yeonshin said.

The Seventh Apostle was smiling, as though amused. He watched her steadily, then spoke again, slowly.

“Your martial arts are easy to tamper with.”

His eyes flashed blue as he spoke.