The Seventh Apostle had lost her left eye. Jung Yeonshin had unthinkingly mocked her halved field of vision.

He exhaled, his gaze flicking briefly to one side. Chung Myung, wearing his old-fashioned eyepatch, was holding off five Blood Master Swordsmen alone. He was quite far away. Surely he hadn't heard.

Beside him, Ma Jin stammered, a rare occurrence.

“Th-that. What was that?”

“Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike. A martial art for splitting blood fiends' skulls open.”

Jung Yeonshin answered offhandedly. The Seventh Apostle was glaring at him with her one remaining red eye. More than twenty paces separated them, yet her terrifying presence bore down on him as though to pierce him.

It felt as if a knife were slicing his skin. Sinister was certainly the word for it.

“Lightning Genius, was it?”

She suddenly smiled. A crimson, silken smile steeped in madness.

She was different from the Blood Master Swordsmen. Was she simply ignoring all the pain assailing her? She had regained her composure astonishingly quickly.

“You're remarkable. Where did you obtain such a divine technique? It looks like a martial art designed to eradicate our cult. It's impressive that you've mastered it to that extent. At your age, no less.”

“...”

“Even beginning to learn a martial art is difficult if it contains the slightest Dharma power. Would Shaolin have left us alone if it were easy? A technique of that caliber would require a talent unparalleled through the ages to cultivate. You...”

The Seventh Apostle's smile deepened. She looked utterly mad.

“I want you. Your neck looks lovelier still.”

“Shut up!”

The earth boomed with Ma Jin's roar. He charged in a single rush, beginning to overwhelm the Seventh Apostle with a force incomparable to before.

She no longer seemed inclined to fight. Ma Jin had been right about the unfavorable matchup between their movement techniques.

Her mobility arts resembled a bat's wingbeats. Her disjointed shifts in every direction seemed to have reached a transcendent level. Ma Jin could fend her off when she came at him, but he could not pin her down.

The same held true for Jung Yeonshin, who stood motionless. Simply landing a strike on the Seventh Apostle had already exceeded his abilities.

It was a miracle wrought by her carelessness, the Blood Master Swordsmen's assistance, and the overwhelmingly favorable matchup of Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike.

He had already done his part. He had completely reversed a situation that could have ended in defeat—something his actual martial prowess would have struggled to accomplish.

“Until next time.”

Her voice was lilting. Jung Yeonshin ignored her.

Her long hair streamed behind her. With a smile, the Seventh Apostle left the battlefield using extraordinary lightness skill. She seemed utterly unconcerned about the subordinates she was leaving behind. Her retreat revealed a speed he had never witnessed before.

Was that, too, the realm of the Desolate Fortress's Black rank? Jung Yeonshin approached Ma Jin, whose saber hung at his side.

They stood in the midst of a battlefield that was already being cleared. The Apostle had fled. Fanatics though they were, the cultists' morale could hardly survive that. As the Blood Master Swordsmen were subdued one after another, the Blood Flame cultists knelt or took their own lives.

“You alone failed to do your part, Captain.”

Jung Yeonshin spoke calmly. Ma Jin gave a slight nod.

“I know.”

“In martial strength, you seemed half a step above the Seventh Apostle. Are my mother's family's mobility arts always like that?”

“... I'm considered quite proficient in them.”

“I see.”

“... Yes.”

Ma Jin did not know his nephew's circumstances—that merit was his very lifeline.

Jung Yeonshin forced a smile. It was just uncle and nephew here. Was his first failure making him impatient?

Without meaning to, he had acted his age. It was the first time since he had entered the Desolate Fortress.

“So this mission was a failure. Even if I fulfilled my share, the merit I receive will be reduced. At least it'll give me a reason to push myself harder. I'll have to grow stronger.”

While Ma Jin remained silent, all the warriors set about restoring order to the Heavenly Sword Clan, now a battlefield.

Disposing of the bodies alone took an enormous amount of manpower and time. The stench of death already seemed to be rising amid the smell of blood.

The captured Blood Flame cultists were confined in the clan's prison. Apparently, a distinguished clan of this stature was bound to have a jail of its own.

Amid it all, Master won jong approached. His reddened eyes held profound emotion.

“You have shown us. That martial arts imbued with Dharma power at its ultimate heights truly exist...”

“Thanks to you, Master.”

“The martial art that took the Seventh Apostle's eye, those wondrous waves of force... I shall remember them until my dying breath. Heavenly talent! Excellent, truly excellent.”

He praised Yeonshin's talent and spoke of how good it was. Had some of the master's long-held anguish eased?

If he survived, Jung Yeonshin intended to take the Blood Flame Cult Leader's head as well.

He hoped that, when that day came, all the old monk's lingering regrets would fade.

“Whenever you come to Shaolin, I shall serve you Longjing tea. There will be many bald monks eager to discuss Dharma power with you. My senior martial brother, the abbot, will hardly be able to hide his curiosity either.”

Master won jong spoke with a smile covering his face. He looked gentler than ever before.

So much so that Gak jung, the little divine monk trudging toward them, stared wide-eyed in surprise.

“Did you just mention Longjing tea, Martial Uncle? You always avoided it like liquor, calling it nothing but a luxury.”

“What nonsense. Taking refuge in Buddhism does not mean we should shun worldly customs. It is not monks who fill the temple's storehouses. Distinguished guests must be treated as they deserve.”

“Well...”

The little divine monk sighed as though at a loss for words, then looked at Jung Yeonshin.

“Not that I disagree. I've never met anyone like you, Young Master. The very fact that you harbor such a martial art is astonishing. You are indeed worthy of being Shaolin's honored guest.”

“I believe I'll be remembering your sermons for a long time as well.”

At Jung Yeonshin's words, he laughed heartily. He was a wonderfully jovial monk.

“Do visit Mount Song sometime. As my martial uncle says, my master will welcome you.”

“The abbot of Shaolin himself...”

Jung Yeonshin murmured quietly. It felt strange to speak of the supreme master of an orthodox sect.

He was from Henan. He had grown up hearing of Shaolin's renown from the moment he was born.

Slowly, he clasped his hands in a martial salute.

“Someday, I imagine I'll have occasion to climb Mount Song. I hope you'll welcome me then.”

“Amitabha.”

Master won jong and Gak jung, the little divine monk, returned his salute with a palm raised.

Jung Yeonshin had now forged ties with three of the Nine Great Sects. Sunlight poured down that day through the thick scent of blood.

* * *

Hyeon Yuryang, the Heavenly Sword Clan's young clan head, refused to give up to the very end.

He seemed determined to bring his younger sister and Jung Yeonshin together by any means necessary. This time, even the clan head joined in. Turning them down proved quite a struggle.

Jung Yeonshin went nowhere but between the training ground and his guest room until the day the Radiant Demon Squad departed.

“I heard the Desolate Fortress Master presided over your coming-of-age ceremony, Young Master.”

“I shall arrange a date to send a matchmaker to the fortress. Do give it serious thought.”

The young clan head Hyeon Yuryang and the clan head Hyeon Muk saw the Radiant Demon Squad off. Several of the Heavenly Sword Clan's masters who had fought beside them against the Blood Flame Cult were there as well.

Among them, a girl wearing a veil over the lower half of her face gazed steadily at Jung Yeonshin. Her eyes were beautiful.

But they were not meant to be. He quietly raised his clasped hands in salute and spoke.

“Thank you for your hospitality. Please take care, all of you.”

“I wish you every success.”

The clan head, whose skin was fair and whose eyes were large like his heir's, received Jung Yeonshin's salute.

The Radiant Demon Squad rode out, every member mounted on a fine horse. Both Radiant Demon Team One and Team Two had survived intact.

Some members' wounds were slow to stop bleeding after being struck by Blood Art core energy, but they said it was a small price for a pitched battle against one of the Thirteen skies.

“The Heavenly Sword Clan would make a truly incredible marriage connection.”

“Few could compare outside the Eight Great Families. It's not as if he'd marry into the Thirteen skies.”

Heon Wonchang and Chung Myung got along splendidly. They even teased Jung Yeonshin from time to time on the journey home. Discussing Lightning Genius's marriage prospects seemed to have become their new amusement.

'They should find partners of their own.'

So Jung Yeonshin thought.

The time came to part with the two Shaolin monks as well, for their paths diverged.

Master won jong repeatedly urged him to visit Shaolin without fail, while Gak jung, the little divine monk, remained especially curious and reluctant to leave.

“Amitabha. There are still endless sermons for you to hear, Young Master...”

“I've already heard quite enough. I appreciate the thought, though.”

“Who knows? You certainly qualify as one of the rising generation, don't you? You might come to the Dragon-Phoenix Summit as the Desolate Fortress's representative. I'll attend too if I have the time, so let us finish our conversation then.”

“Did you say the Dragon-Phoenix Summit?”

“You haven't heard of it? It's a gathering where the rising generation of orthodox martial schools and sects between the orthodox and unorthodox paths mingle. Promising young martial artists gather to test their skills and build friendships.”

“That much I know.”

“Some even find romance and become devoted pairs. They discuss martial prowess and chivalry, and love blossoms. After all, it brings together young men and women hailed as exceptional talents throughout the land. It would be no exaggeration to say the Dragon-Phoenix Summit holds all the romance of the martial world. Even a half-baked monk like me feels his heart race, so imagine how it is for others!”

The little divine monk grinned.

Jung Yeonshin felt little interest. Practicing martial arts and chivalry himself was enough. Romance, too, was a trivial matter to him at present.

Their failed mission had cast a dark cloud over his promotion to blue robe. He barely had enough time to badger his uncle Ma Jin and think about his next mission as it was.

“Aren't you one of the Eighteen Arhats? Can you still be called a member of the rising generation? You look at least ten years older than me.”

At the casual remark meant to change the subject, Gak jung's face stiffened.

“I'm certainly still of the younger generation. I haven't even reached thirty, the age of standing firm. Of course I am. If you attend the Dragon-Phoenix Summit, Young Master, I shall be sure to show you the skills of a young Shaolin monk. I'll show you that Drunken Fist isn't the only thing a cup of liquor can bring out...”

“You're single-handedly disgracing the monastery.”

Master won jong seized Gak jung's arm and pulled him away.

After raising a palm once more in farewell and promising to meet again, the two monks receded into the distance.

The party rode on peacefully. Once again, they passed through the ruined Xinye County.

Jung Yeonshin rode past without expression. The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord and the Blood Flame Cult Leader.

He dwelled only on the names of those he must behead. For now, those supreme masters remained far beyond his reach.

'The Chief Steward should do well, too.'

The Jeong Clan Estate's Chief Steward had remained in Pingdingshan. With Shaolin close by, he said, it would be a good place to establish a new merchant company.

Several days later, the party reached Xiangyang.

The sight of the Desolate Fortress, its magnificent fortifications rising in the distance, stirred complicated feelings within him.

'Blue robe...'

It was his first failure in three missions. Jung Yeonshin did not doubt himself.

He had envisioned an unbroken string of victories. He had believed that if he put in the effort and endured the hardships, he could reach his goal faster than anyone.

Indeed, that had seemed to be the case.

'Doing well myself isn't enough. That's the martial world.'

His thoughts branched outward. The young Grandmaster wrestled with them.

What could he do? How could he make use of his own peculiar gifts?

Lost in thought, he passed through the Desolate Fortress's main gate.

Reporting the mission's progress and outcome was Ma Jin's responsibility. Jung Yeonshin was about to return with his seniors and Heon Wonchang when the Command Bureau scholar he had met at the Martial Transcending Ground called out to him.

He remembered the man's name: Do Yoowon.

“I've been waiting for you.”

“You have, Scholar Do...?”

Do Yoowon smiled at Jung Yeonshin's puzzled question.

“I have, but the fortress's warriors have been looking forward to your arrival even more. A white-robed warrior took a Blood Flame Cult Apostle's eye... Messenger pigeons' wings are more tireless and swifter than a warrior's lightness skill. The news has spread everywhere. We'd dispatched the remaining Radiant Demon Squad masters and the Annihilation Squad after hearing you'd been ambushed, but they all returned when this astonishing news reached us.”

“Ah.”

“You diminished the fighting strength of an Apostle capable of facing one of the few Black-rank masters. That very day, an event involving the entire Desolate Fortress was scheduled. The blue-robe Promotion Exam! Every white robe who has earned sufficient merit may challenge it. The summons went out the moment Captain Ma and the rest of you entered Xiangyang.”

Do Yoowon led him toward the fortress's center. Not only Heon Wonchang but the Radiant Demon Squad seniors followed as well. Their faces had shed every trace of travel fatigue, as though something thoroughly entertaining had come along.

Jung Yeonshin drew alongside Ma Jin and lightly touched his arm.

“I went too far with what I said before.”

“...”

Meanwhile, Baek Miryeo muttered,

“They won't even give them time to rest?”

“It is the fortress master's wish.”

Do Yoowon shook his head slightly, as though he did not understand it either.

Jung Yeonshin, however, considered it an act of consideration on the fortress master's part. He had heard that blue-robed masters enjoyed a different scope of authority. Many undertook missions alone right from the start.

'I'll be able to earn merit without stopping. I'm looking forward to this.'

They soon reached their destination.

It was as Do Yoowon had said. Many white-robed warriors had gathered, easily several dozen. There were plenty of faces he had never seen in the vast Desolate Fortress. Every one of them was a competitor.

Seniors from other combat units stood in a great circle as well. They seemed to have come to cheer on their juniors' promotions.

The Radiant Demon Squad seniors who had remained behind rather than joining the mission waved at Jung Yeonshin.

A single great tree grew on the central dais.

Feathery clouds flowed like waves across the clear sky, brilliant white. Beneath sunlight shimmering radiantly below the fortress walls, a beautiful woman reclined languidly, lending nobility to the entire scene.

The hem of her light green fighting attire fluttered in the breeze.

Beneath the shade of an arborvitae whose trunk measured three arm spans around, the Desolate Fortress Master opened her eyes, her body resting against its dark brown wood.

Deep green eyes slowly emerged beneath her pale green bangs.

Jung Yeonshin was gazing up at her.

Their gazes met for an instant. In that fleeting moment, he thought he saw her smile.

“From this moment forth.”

The Desolate Fortress Master parted her pale rose lips. Her clear, resonant voice brought silence.

“I shall test your worthiness to wear blue.”

As cheers erupted, Jung Yeonshin approached the center, then paused.

Imposing presences were bearing down on him from every direction. Were they trying to intimidate him from the outset?

Frost-sharp energies were openly directed at him. He glanced around.

They were all white-robed warriors—his competitors.

'This is interesting.'

Blade-sharp presences poured ceaselessly toward Jung Yeonshin, even from those who had not bothered turning their heads.

Some merely smirked when their eyes met his. It seemed to be their competitive spirit showing.

This was the Desolate Fortress. So long as they obeyed the fortress master's commands, they spoke of everything else through martial prowess.

Even their chivalry in service of the common people was realized through martial arts.

“Having felt the presence of so many seniors...”

The corners of Jung Yeonshin's mouth lifted slightly.

“I believe our fortress has a bright future.”

He spread his five fingers and slowly wrapped them around the Desolate Sword's scabbard. The flow of the Movement Art stirred.

At the same time, he began proudly receiving and turning aside every force directed at him. They felt exceedingly light.

He could feel it himself. He had already stepped fully into the realm of the blue robe.