Jung Yeonshin thought this was not good. The martial world was a dangerous place. Arrogance was an emotion that hastened an early death. It was not something he could afford to harbor before he had even eaten the fruit. Just because others hailed him as a genius did not mean he should truly think of himself that way.

'Just give me the fruit. I'll do anything.'

He repeated the suggestion to himself, recalling the deep green eyes within the Desolate Fortress Master's smiling crescents. It felt like falling into a bottomless abyss. While he silently repeated his plea for the Fruit of the World Tree, the doors to the hall opened.

* * *

Apparently, this had not originally been planned. Word was that the imperial grandson had personally requested it. Some of the more perceptive seniors said he had no grounds to summon Lightning Genius for a private audience, so he had used the pretext of commending the swords of Great Ming.

“So you are the newly promoted blue-robed warriors.”

Jung Yeonshin met the third heaven of the Ming Dynasty. Do Yoowon's warning had hardly been necessary. The man was already famous for his capriciousness.

“I am this nation's imperial grandson and heir.”

He was a young nobleman of astonishing beauty. His ears, shaped like the tips of treasured swords, looked familiar. Was he five and a half feet tall? He seemed about the same height as Jung Yeonshin, who had been growing rapidly of late.

Beneath thick, jet-black eyebrows, his flashing eyes held ink-dark lightning. He seemed to exist alone within the brilliant sunlight streaming in from the side. Innate majesty suffused his gaze as it swept over the bowing blue-robed warriors. Was this the presence of someone born to rule all under heaven?

He had already given them permission to raise their heads, but Jung Yeonshin was the only one who actually had.

'It's not as though he'll earn merit for me.'

Even the emperor, who already possessed martial arts of extraordinary attainment, accorded the Desolate Fortress Master the honors due a sovereign. She was said to have taught martial arts to both the current emperor and the crown prince. Great Ming's long-serving Grand Preceptor. Even the imperial grandson's power could do nothing about the Fruit of the World Tree, so this meeting meant little to Jung Yeonshin. The same went for loyalty. He had to survive before he could develop any.

'It's about time I asked the Fortress Master for instruction. Should I ask for an internal martial art after all?'

As he was lost in thought, their eyes suddenly met. That pitch-black gaze held a curious interest.

“So it's you.”

The imperial grandson of the Great Ming Empire spoke.

“Can you play music with a sword?”

“...?”

“Many renowned swordsmen can make a blade resonate. A sword song is different. It lies in the realm of core energy control. I am told it takes an innate sense to turn sword resonance into song.”

While Yeonshin remained silent at the seemingly unrelated question, the imperial grandson suddenly laughed heartily.

“I asked because I heard your talent was exceptional. We are the same age, are we not?”

His words and conduct were unconventional. Immense self-assurance radiated from his speech and bearing, as though he were declaring that no one under heaven could do anything to him.

“It is rare for me to lose something I possess. Rarer still when it comes to someone's attention. Yet I hear the Grand Preceptor has taken an interest in you. Even I felt it while studying under her. Jealousy stirred in my heart.”

“... I am humbled, Your Highness.”

“No. It is my own failing. Something that should never befall the grandson and heir of the Son of Heaven. A lack of virtue, an imperfection. I wished to see your talent for myself, hoping it might lessen my shame, however slightly.”

The imperial grandson's gaze was utterly forthright. As expected, the gleam characteristic of masters shone in his eyes, suggesting he had learned a peerless divine art. Yet he seemed to possess something beyond even that.

'Spirit.'

Jung Yeonshin thought that while Wiji Myohwa of the Zhongnan Sect was called the Sword Dragon, the word “dragon” alone would suffice for this man.

There was a reason both the imperial grandson and the crown prince were addressed as “Your Highness” in Ming. He had never understood before. So this was what a bloodline that held all under heaven looked like.

“But it seems I expected too much. Among all the arts under heaven, the sword song is the most lavish entertainment. It is something only imperial royalty would know, so why should I ask you? Even I know only what my father, the crown prince, has told me. I am both sorry and ashamed.”

With a faint smile, the imperial grandson clasped his hands behind his back and turned away.

“You may all leave. It was a pleasant meeting.”

* * *

“What was His Highness like? I've only ever seen him from a distance.”

Yeonshin had just returned after completing the day's engagements. Shin Sobin leaned her small face toward him. The entire Radiant Demon Squad had stayed up waiting instead of retiring to their quarters. They had set up a banquet in the main training ground. Was this the resourcefulness of the Desolate Fortress's Radiant Demon Squad?

“Hard to say. We were dismissed so quickly.”

Jung Yeonshin gave a vague answer. The fragrant smell of the feast seemed to stimulate even his energy core. Going through ceremonies unlike anything he had experienced in his life had only sharpened his hunger.

Today, even Jung Yeonshin had no choice but to drink, regardless of his concerns about regulated breathing and circulation. Heon Wonchang said he had chosen the liquor after much deliberation. Shaoxing wine. A precious vintage brought to Xiangyang from faraway Zhejiang, apparently. Heon Wonchang had run all the way to Xiangyang's Finest Tavern to procure it.

'People think this tastes good?'

His comrade's thoughtfulness and the taste of the wine were separate matters. Taking a sip as Ma Jin offered his congratulations, Jung Yeonshin involuntarily furrowed his brow. His seniors snickered. Even his junior, Shin Sobin, looked at him as though he were a little child.

“Lightning Genius, a blue robe.”

“It's been far too short a time to say it feels like another age.”

“His achievements have been substantial, haven't they? The Vicious Rakshasa Swordsman was shocking enough, but the Seventh Apostle's eye...”

Everyone talked boisterously. Even the Desolate Fortress masters, revered throughout the world, were no different from ordinary folk once they had some wine in them.

Amid them, Jung Yeonshin recalled the challenge the imperial grandson had posed. Calling it a challenge was entirely his own interpretation. A spark of inspiration seemed to have crossed his mind, piquing his interest.

'He called it a sword song. Playing music through sword resonance.'

He had heard many stories since coming to the Desolate Fortress. Once, he had heard about sound techniques. There was apparently a famous martial-world tale of an internal arts master who had faced a hundred men by playing a seven-stringed zither. A few plucks of its strings had burst his enemies' eardrums. It was not difficult to guess the underlying principle.

'Core energy.'

In the end, it came down to internal energy. The question was how much effectiveness one could draw from core energy carried through the air. That was what separated advanced martial arts from third-rate ones.

'I might be able to produce a sound technique with a sword.'

If he succeeded, facing multiple enemies would become easier.

“Drink!”

“We're out of food over here!”

Were all drinking parties like this? The banquet was no longer a celebration of Lightning Genius. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves in their own way, and that actually put him more at ease. Jung Yeonshin began devising a sound technique while indulging Heon Wonchang's drunken antics just enough. And so the boisterous day drew to a close. The moonlit night felt warm and gentle.

* * *

More engagements awaited him the next day. This time, he was told, it was his reward for promotion to blue robe.

“Hurry up and choose. They're all famed swords.”

The man barely reached above Jung Yeonshin's waist. He had a thick beard and short limbs, but his arms were tremendously thick. His visible muscles alone looked sturdier than those of Jung Yeonshin, who practiced the Movement Art.

“Still, wouldn't some fit my hand better than others?”

“I made them to suit anyone under heaven. Well enough that any fool would have to examine his own martial arts before blaming his weapon.”

Yeonshin felt as though he could see the man's mouth beneath his beard. He imagined it wore an expression of immense pride.

This was the armory of the Desolate Fortress smithy, whose smithcraft was said to contend for supremacy under heaven. Here, Jung Yeonshin met a member of the iron race for the first time in his life. They had helped found the nation alongside the noble race and settled in the Central Plains. They received entirely different treatment from the colored-eyed people of the Western Regions. The imperial court kept them closely hidden within the Central Plains, as did martial artists. People were said to look not at the iron race's short stature, but at their skills.

'They do say they can even forge divine swords.'

Jung Yeonshin surveyed the armory with Chung Myung. Every weapon looked extraordinary. It truly seemed he could choose anything.

Still smiling, Chung Myung spoke.

“You should still choose carefully. You only get one promotion reward. Though they say you can take something else once you become a black robe.”

“Tell me, Azure-Eyed Demonic Swordsman. Is this stripling truly a blue robe? I can hardly believe it. I've never heard of such a thing, indifferent as our clan may be to the outside world.”

“Can't you tell from his clothes?”

The iron-race man fell silent when Chung Myung's expression hardened. It seemed true that others regarded the epithet Azure-Eyed Demonic Swordsman with dread. This was a side of him Jung Yeonshin was unaccustomed to seeing. He tapped Chung Myung's arm.

“Hm?”

“What do you think of that one?”

Jung Yeonshin pointed at a sword hanging on a rack. Its hilt and scabbard were both pure white. It would contrast with the Desolate Sword at his waist, which was black everywhere except its blade.

“Northern Radiance. A fine fellow.”

The iron-race man spoke as though he were treating the sword like a person.

After asking the man's permission, Jung Yeonshin went straight over and took hold of the sword. Only after feeling the hilt for a while did he draw it.

SHING.

A rippling pattern shimmered across the dazzling, pure-white blade. Jung Yeonshin infused core energy through his right hand. He immediately felt its exceptional quality. His energy flowed unimpeded and played along the edge. Bringing the blade close to his body, he stroked it with his left hand. Pale-blue lightning flashed in his eyes.

“... With a sword like this, I could even play music through sword resonance.”

“You?”

The iron-race man snorted. Perhaps because his clan supplied weapons to the imperial court, he seemed familiar with sword songs.

“It's a divine skill you cannot even dream of without considerable intimacy with your weapon. Even supreme masters cannot imitate it without innate talent. Need I say more about a sword you've only just picked up?”

“Quiet.”

Chung Myung spoke. Jung Yeonshin had already closed his eyes.

He knew without swinging it: how he should move the sword, how it could ride the air along subtly different sword paths. This was a realm separate from proficiency. It would take time to grow as familiar with it as he was with the Desolate Sword, but he had understood at once what sort of sword Northern Radiance was. It was an inborn sense.

Then a familiar wave of qi approached from quite far away. It had a lofty quality, as though it might soar into the heavens at any moment. Was it the imperial grandson he had met before?

A moment later, the iron-race man frowned.

“Didn't I tell you to hurry up and choose? I told you His Highness was coming.”

It was no coincidence. Imperial excursions were said to fall into extremes: either no one knew about them, or everyone did. The Desolate Fortress was a gathering of supreme masters. Unless the imperial grandson secluded himself deep inside or went out incognito, anyone could know his movements. Jung Yeonshin had yet to see imperial martial arts. He had chosen this time in hopes of gaining even a little inspiration.

“His Highness has been out and about quite often lately, hasn't he?”

Chung Myung asked in an odd tone. The man nodded.

“They say he turned to martial learning after the crown princess passed away. Having lost his mother, he seeks what comfort he can in the sword.”

“His mother...?”

Jung Yeonshin echoed the words without thinking. He examined Northern Radiance for a while, then asked Chung Myung as though it were of little consequence.

“If I gained His Highness's favor, could it help with appointments within the fortress? For instance, could I gain his support when challenging for the rank of Divine Sword Squad Leader?”

“Of course, it would be better than having no connection. It's not a position you can reach through martial strength alone.”

Jung Yeonshin nodded at Chung Myung's faintly smiling answer. In that case, good. He had already practiced with the Desolate Sword. He was trying to create a sound technique that could face a hundred men alone. Surely he could manage mere sword resonance. He stepped outside the armory.

HUMMM.

The moment he infused core energy again, Northern Radiance emitted a strange, vibrating hum. It sounded like the cry of a newborn flood dragon. Then came the sword's song, spreading straight outward.

“What...!”

Its cry drowned out even the iron-race man's astonished voice.

* * *

Great Ming was an empire born from the union of Ming's founding emperor and an empress of the noble race. The noble race was a clan revered as immortals, and the bloodline originating in the grand empress's body bestowed ageless longevity upon her descendants. Only war and assassins' blades brought changes to the throne.

The current emperor was powerful. He had ruled for a long time without incident. Thanks to the Desolate Fortress, peerless masters dared not covet the imperial throne, and the emperor grew more at ease with the passing years. He had even faced the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation alone to experience Shaolin's martial arts.

The crown prince had remained crown prince for decades. There was simply no justification for him to inherit the throne. The imperial grandson, Joo Yoonmyung, had been born late. As the crown prince's son, he had been forced to watch his father lose his brilliance. Whenever his father sought to calm his mind, he had performed the sword song with a single blade. At some point, Yoonmyung had ceased to see it.

“A sword song.”

The imperial grandson suddenly smiled as he made his way on foot toward the Desolate Fortress armory.

“Who else would practice so extravagant a pastime?”

Since losing his mother, the crown princess, at an early age, he had taken to speaking to himself more often. His attendants were so accustomed to it that they no longer reacted.

Then he saw him. Beneath the gathering dusk stood a boy in blue martial attire, his blue outer robe fluttering, a sword held low in his hand. He had seen him before. Lightning Genius, was it? The young swordsman whose deeds were reportedly relayed daily to the Desolate Fortress Master, whom the imperial grandson himself admired.

Was it intuition? An old story rose in the imperial grandson's mind. During the Spring and Autumn period, a master musician had called someone a “knower of music.” It meant a dear friend who understood his playing better than anyone else.

“Sword resonance...?”

The imperial grandson heard the vibrating sound ringing from the boy's sword. His steps quickened without his realizing it. Then he saw. It felt as though his ears were opening of their own accord.

HUMMMM.

The moan of a serpent dragon newly hatched from its egg gradually became a dragon's growl. Its resonance seemed to yearn for something far away, so much so that it sounded heartrending. The sword song, as though rising from a dragon's throat, soon drew up even the imperial grandson's oldest memories. His father, in the days when he had still been full of life. The song of a sword.

As his heart came to rest in those distant memories, he murmured with something like a sigh.

“So there was someone who could make me a knower of music...”