The waters flowing out from the lakeshore rippled, cradling the sun.

The boat carrying the Martial Alliance's young talents continued on without stopping. Only its master had changed.

Meanwhile, Jung Yeonshin listened to Master won jong's story. It meandered like a current of wind following the waves.

“I was about your age. An immature boy, round as a piglet. Nothing like you, already standing tall as a martial artist.”

An early spring breeze blew past. The old monk's voice seemed to seep into even the trees lining the riverbank.

“My family was influential. My late father served in the Forbidden City. That was before he was falsely accused and exiled. Thanks to the emperor's mercy toward a loyal subject, his life alone was spared. Even that was nothing short of a miracle.”

“Then, in the place he was exiled to...?”

“Our family became a martial house without connections. Yes, a fitting target for the Blood Flame Cult, with its hunger for core energy. I came home from playing leader with other boys my age to find no one alive. Rumor said the Blood Flame Cult Leader had come in person. I... wept before my father's shriveled corpse.”

His voice ached. Yeonshin could feel a hatred that the long years had failed to weather away.

“By good fortune, I caught the eye of my master while he was out begging for alms, and followed him up Mount Song. Yet even after becoming a monk, my affliction would not subside. I knew my own lack of talent. So I took a different approach.”

“Create a natural enemy through martial arts...”

Master won jong nodded at Jung Yeonshin's murmur.

“Restore a martial art meant solely to destroy the Blood Flame Cult, an art imbued with the Buddha's Dharma power. Then have my fellow disciples learn it. Shaolin's gifted warrior monks would surely welcome it. But there, too, I found anguish. Even if I created it, a problem remained. Would I not be sending my fellow disciples to their deaths? At the hands of the Blood Flame Cult Leader.”

Jung Yeonshin understood.

He had heard the Blood Flame Cult Leader was a supernatural abomination. Though the lords of the Thirteen skies were said to rival the sect leaders of the Nine Great Sects, the vast world held certain absolute masters of exceptional power.

The Blood Flame Cult Leader, Shaolin's abbot, and the Desolate Fortress's Divine Sword Squad Leader were said to be among them. The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord likewise ranked among the world's foremost in martial might.

'Even creating such a martial art would leave problems.'

Shaolin's abbot could hardly learn it himself and go seeking the Blood Flame Cult Leader. Such was the burden borne by one who led the orthodox martial world from its pinnacle. Should he lose, the repercussions would be irreversible.

“That's how life seems to be. However hard you run, the end remains out of reach. All you can do is climb one step at a time.”

Jung Yeonshin, who had turned sixteen this year, spoke earnestly. Master won jong gazed at him for a moment, then turned away again.

“You haven't lived even a quarter as long as I have, yet your understanding surpasses mine.”

“My family was destroyed by the Blood Flame Cult as well. The Tyrant Sword Tribe and its lord came with them.”

“... You showed me the martial art of which I had barely begun to grasp a hint. I won't ask how. They say a martial artist's secrets are not to be pried into. Now there is only one thing I wish to know.”

This time, Jung Yeonshin turned to study Master won jong's profile.

There was no end in sight to the nameless river flowing into the Yellow River. The old monk's gaze upon the distant horizon seemed to speak of the life he had led. He was both a monk and a martial artist, unable to let go of the single affliction he had clung to his entire life.

Master won jong spoke.

“Will you tell me how I can help? All I ask is that a martial art to destroy evil and uphold justice come into the world. Such attainment at your age... With your talent, you will surely reach the realm of absolute masters one day.”

“Thank you for your kind words.”

Jung Yeonshin brightened. He had been feeling the limits of his knowledge. The brief Buddhist teachings he had received from the little divine monk, Gak jung, were not enough to refine the formula.

A martial formula ordinarily defined the nature of the intent to be imbued in one's core energy as well. Even Three Powers Swordsmanship manuals sold in marketplaces included passages such as, “When cutting horizontally, envision cleaving heaven and earth.”

In the practice of internal energy arts, this was generally what martial artists meant by enlightenment: finding an intent better suited than before to employing their accumulated internal power.

Jung Yeonshin could derive a method of circulating core energy after seeing most subtle principles just once, but delving deeper into intent was bound to change its power.

He eagerly moved to sit close beside Master won jong.

“I believe you said it was the tenth section of the Diamond Sutra. That passage in ‘Adorning the Pure Land.’”

“...?”

“‘Let the mind arise without abiding anywhere,’ was it?”

“What?”

“I'm asking you to teach me the Dharma.”

* * *

The ornate flower-viewing boat drifted down the river, carried along with time.

The Martial Alliance's young talents did not actually row. Jung Yeonshin had gathered them off to one side. This time, he had not crippled their energy cores, because ordinary people were involved. Killing Sword Flower had been enough. The boatmen and women aboard already faced a considerable risk of retribution.

'Purify the six faculties, and let the mind abide nowhere.'

Jung Yeonshin stood still. Except when listening to Master won jong's sermons, he kept his eyes closed in meditation.

His silence alone inspired fear. He had beheaded Sword Flower, famous throughout the area, in a single stroke. To the Martial Alliance's youths, it apparently looked like the arrogance and confidence of someone destined to lead the Desolate Fortress's next generation.

He heard them whisper that he was a genius Heaven had bestowed by mistake. Inwardly, he smiled bitterly. It did not strike him as wrong.

“We'll disembark here.”

He addressed the boatmen. After glancing at Master won jong, who had already stepped ashore, he looked back.

Were they trying to see him off? The young Martial Alliance disciples stood in a hesitant line. It was behavior he had never seen before. The teachings of the distinguished schools he knew did not produce such pathetic specimens.

'They aren't rising talents. That means the finest of the younger generation, not a title to hand out to just anyone.'

The Martial Alliance was also one of the Thirteen skies. Its true rising talents must be elsewhere. Someone like the Alliance Leader's heir would be on an entirely different level from these fools.

Jung Yeonshin spoke.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You scum think I'll leave you here with people earning an honest living? Ridiculous. Get off.”

“...”

“You're coming with us to the Heavenly Sword Clan. The Desolate Fortress will decide your punishment. You're lucky. You won't be dying just yet.”

Jung Yeonshin decided to claim credit for their capture. He wondered why it had not occurred to him sooner.

They had attempted to kill a Desolate Fortress warrior, a Shaolin monk, and innocent commoners. Together with their affiliation with the Thirteen skies, that was more than enough to warrant an official record of merit.

He bound their arms behind their backs with prisoner ropes. He did not have enough, so he braided thick straw ropes on the spot. Called straw cordage, it was a technique he had learned as a Desolate Fortress warrior. On missions, there were some men one had to bring back alive.

With Master won jong watching in warm approval, Jung Yeonshin set off, driving the prisoners ahead of him.

Eventually they reached an official road, where passing travelers tilted their heads at the sight. Some of the prisoners faltered, as though the humiliation was unbearable.

“Keep moving.”

He sharply projected his readiness to cut down anyone the instant they tried to flee. That was enough. They resumed walking to his curt instructions.

Then it happened.

“Why, aren't you the young gentlemen of the Martial Alliance!”

It was an escort agency's caravan. Such people transported goods and passengers safely through the perilous Central Plains.

A middle-aged man at the head approached with an ingratiating smile, then stopped short. He appeared to be in charge of the convoy.

'An escort captain?'

He seemed acquainted with the Martial Alliance's brats. The prisoners had been enjoying a pleasure cruise nearby under the pretense of laying an ambush. It was hardly strange for them to know the people of a local escort agency.

“What... what is all this...?”

“They committed crimes and were arrested by the Desolate Fortress. They are now in custody. We require no assistance, so please go on your way.”

Jung Yeonshin stepped forward as he spoke. A peculiar expression crossed the middle-aged man's face. Understandably so, given the strange spectacle this young boy presented.

“Are you saying you belong to the Desolate Fortress, young sir?”

Rather than answering, Jung Yeonshin took an identification plaque from inside his robes. It was known as a Desolate Fortress plaque. The tree engraved in gold plating caught the brilliant sunlight.

The man's expression grew odd when he saw it. Jung Yeonshin understood at once.

What mattered to this man was freeing the Martial Alliance's young gentlemen. Was he hoping to pick up some scraps of favor? His sympathies seemed to lie with the nearby Martial Alliance rather than the distant Desolate Fortress in Huguang.

'Not everyone who associates with the unorthodox factions can be like him.'

Some, he had heard, had no choice but to maintain such ties. Few could hold to their convictions before a razor-sharp blade.

But someone who immediately drew his sword, as this middle-aged man had? He was simply another unorthodox thug. The man spoke.

“I don't believe it. Some fairly powerful elders must have acted on their pathetic sense of chivalry and left you to clean up. Ignorant fools. They would never have done this if they truly understood the Martial Alliance.”

Had this country bumpkin badly misunderstood something? It had been the same at the Xinye White Martial Sect. The gap between institutions like the Nine Great Sects and lesser factions seemed greater in judgment than in martial strength.

Just as Jung Yeonshin reached for his sword hilt, a voice called out.

“Escort Geum! What's going on?”

A young man opened a carriage door and emerged from the middle of the halted caravan.

“Ah, young clan head. You're our guest. You needn't have left your seat.”

Despite having Jung Yeonshin before him, the middle-aged man turned away with an ingratiating smile. A trace of dismay crossed his face. Yeonshin could guess why.

The wide-eyed youth's qi fluctuations were clear and upright.

'That disposition at his age, and in this area... He must be the Heavenly Sword Clan's young clan head.'

They were nearly there. The Heavenly Sword Clan also served as a branch of the Desolate Fortress. Enough time had passed for news of the chaos in Xinye County to reach them, so patrolling the area was only natural.

Jung Yeonshin stepped forward.

“I'm from the Desolate Fortress—”

“Good heavens! To think I'd be the first in our family to meet you, Young Master Lightning Genius!”

He seemed to have taken in Yeonshin's clothes and the plaque in his hand at a glance. His face alight with excitement, the Heavenly Sword Clan's young clan head even employed his lightness skill to approach.

They exchanged greetings, the youth saying he had heard much of Yeonshin's exploits through the fortress's informants. He seemed to have forgotten even to offer a martial salute. As the middle-aged man's face twisted, the young clan head continued to gush.

“I knew it when I read that you'd taken the Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman's head! Someone destined to become a dragon has appeared, I thought! And now that I see you, even the light in your eyes is extraordinary!”

“Are you the Heavenly Sword Clan's young clan head? Are there any others from the fortress at your residence?”

Jung Yeonshin asked without being swept up in his exuberance. This was a time to keep his priorities clear.

A different light immediately entered the young clan head's eyes. His demeanor grew composed in an instant, so much so that Yeonshin wondered if this was his true nature.

“That's right. I am Hyeon Yuryang of the Heavenly Sword Clan.”

Only then did he offer a martial salute with a faint smile.

“Many have already arrived and are waiting. They said your arrival would complete the Radiant Demon Squad contingent sent on this mission. A Shaolin monk is there as well. The Radiant Demon Squad, the little divine monk, and now Lightning Genius... Today must be the day my eyes are opened.”

“Thank you for the news. Now, excuse me a moment.”

Jung Yeonshin took a gourd flask from his robes. Holding it in his left hand, he poured water over his right.

As everyone watched in puzzlement, he walked straight up to the middle-aged man from the escort agency. The man posing as an escort spoke.

“I still don't believe it. You think a single identification plaque proves who you are? The Desolate Fortress isn't the only place with the iron race!”

“The moment Young Master Hyeon stepped forward, I felt your qi fluctuations. Very familiar ones. You people simply can't hide yourselves.”

Jung Yeonshin employed the Classic of Initiating Transcendence's core-energy layering at full power. He kicked off the ground and wheeled around, the last of his words sounding from behind the middle-aged man.

His fingertips stung with cold in the rushing wind. He reached out with his wet hand and smoothed down the man's hair. Black liquid stained his hand, revealing a bright crimson streak.

“This has serious implications.”

Jung Yeonshin murmured calmly. An uproar broke out among the escort agency's people, who had been watching anxiously.

The Blood Flame Cult's doctrine forbidding the concealment of hair was widely known. Apparently dyeing it was another matter. He had never heard of a dye so convincing.

Jin Yul, who had posed as a young nobleman, had been the same. He had served as a Blood Flame Cult assassin.

However it was made, the dye would prove as deadly a threat as a bald cultist. Progress through the initial stages of Blood Art was said to be particularly swift.

'If they can conceal their hair...'

It would be all too easy to plant large numbers of spies in all manner of sects and escort agencies.

Hyeon Yuryang reacted differently from the cultist, who stood frozen. Quick on the uptake, his face immediately hardened.

Jung Yeonshin glanced at Master won jong and spoke.

“You said you hoped to restore Shaolin's Bodhisattva Gentle Flowing Strike. Would you permit me to include ‘Gentle Flowing Strike’ in the name of my martial art?”

“Amitabha. It would be a great honor.”

He seemed to understand what Yeonshin meant. Master won jong raised one palm in Shaolin's customary one-handed salute. At some point, his manner toward Jung Yeonshin had become this deeply respectful.

His words and conduct had changed entirely. He called it the courtesy due a young Grandmaster.

“You worthless trash! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with...!”

The enraged cultist spun around. The moment his eyes met Jung Yeonshin's, sinister qi fluctuations stirred.

Yeonshin was pleased instead. He could feel considerable cultivation in that power. A Blood Master Swordsman, perhaps? There might be black strands beneath that dyed hair.

'It no longer matters how many there are.'

Surrounded by Pingdingshan's escort agency, the Heavenly Sword Clan's young clan head, Shaolin's monk of martial study, and the Martial Alliance's young talents, Jung Yeonshin slowly raised his hand.

The nature of his presence had changed. The qi fluctuations enveloping his body bore something of a Buddhist Dharma King. They were enough to let the cultist's erupting, sinister force wash harmlessly past.

“You're the scum here.”

As he spoke, his hand moved.