“You mad bastard!”

“Kill him!”

They were the man's companions nearby. They charged, their faces contorted with rage, but the boy did not move or withdraw his embedded sword. He simply stared at the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord.

'Whether I die now or later.'

Today, he had learned the shocking truth that his days were numbered. One of the pillars supporting his reason had shattered completely. It seemed it would never be restored.

“Stop.”

The deep voice seemed to rumble from the bottom of a cavern. The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord sounded exactly as imposing as his presence felt. The charging warriors halted.

“Your spirit...”

The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord gazed steadily at the boy with abyssal eyes. Jung Yeonshin faced him with his chest thrust out, as though daring the man to slit him open.

“Surpasses that of everyone in this estate combined.”

The Tyrant Sword Tribe warriors were visibly shaken. It was immediately clear that praise from this man was a rare thing.

“We need only kill him to silence him! Even the Desolate Fortress cannot ask a puddle of blood who its murderer was!”

He was advocating murder to silence a witness. The man appeared to be a companion of the red-haired woman who had died last. He had the same roughly cropped scarlet hair and red martial robes. Apparently, he was a Blood Flame Cult warrior who had accompanied the Tyrant Sword Tribe.

'Please, just don't know that we've had no contact.'

At that moment, Jung Yeonshin truly understood how fearsome the Thirteen skies were. Every factor had been considered before this surprise attack. This was how organizations with a reach spanning the world operated. They even knew that a son of an insignificant household like the Jeong Clan Estate had ties to the Desolate Fortress.

“Chief Steward!”

Jung Yeonshin shouted. Far away, a man sprawled across a doorway twitched. He had been playing dead.

“Y-yes, young master.”

The Chief Steward was no ordinary man himself, answering as he staggered to his feet. Jung Yeonshin spoke again.

“You said our network of informants throughout Xinye was nearly complete. These men were arrogant enough to try to slaughter the estate with a mere fifteen or so men, without even establishing a perimeter. Surely the Jeong family's eyes and ears can reach as far as Xiangyang?”

“Of course. Xiangyang... Xiangyang is close at hand.”

At the northern edge of Huguang Province, Xiangyang bordered Nanyang, to which Xinye County belonged. Vast as the Central Plains were, that much distance was still close. An informant trained in martial arts could reach it without major mishap if they ran with all their might.

'Though I don't even know whether anyone actually went to the Desolate Fortress for help.'

He had no way of knowing whether the family's plans for a crisis accounted for his maternal relatives. But even the Tyrant Sword Tribe was unlikely to know the domestic affairs of a family as insignificant as the Jeongs beyond their blood ties.

“If you can't kill me...”

Jung Yeonshin tightened his grip on his sword.

“Don't lay another hand on anyone.”

He drew the sword from the dead man's back. The long trail of blood brought silence over the estate. A boy who looked barely fifteen had taken command of a place occupied by the head of a vast organization and his followers.

The Blood Flame cultist screamed.

“We've already earned your hatred! You're bound to talk, so why should we spare you?”

Though his words were directed at Jung Yeonshin, he seemed to be protesting to the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord.

This moment mattered. Somehow, the atmosphere suggested that the positions of the strong and the weak had reversed. Jung Yeonshin spoke scathingly.

“You fool. Even if the Desolate Fortress is the greatest power in the martial world, would it attack the Thirteen skies outright? To avenge a grievance voiced by one former squad leader's grandson? Do you think that makes sense?”

It might have been possible had he been the Desolate Fortress Master's grandson. Personally acknowledged by the emperor as equal in rank to a royal prince, the Desolate Fortress Master guarded the enormous world tree and kept its fruit, said to grant eternal youth and life to those who ate it.

But Jung Yeonshin was not her blood relative. Had he been, the Jeong household would never have dared let superstitious unease sway them, whatever the circumstances of his birth.

“The maternal grandson of the Desolate Fortress's former Divine Sword Squad Leader?”

Cliff Sword of the Zhongnan Sect murmured as he examined Yeo Il-Shin's condition.

The boy's maternal grandfather was the retired leader of one of the Desolate Fortress's martial forces. The consequences of killing someone of that standing were harder to predict than the trouble he might cause if left alive.

The Thirteen skies were mighty powers that proclaimed themselves overlords across the land. Yet harming the grandson of a Desolate Fortress elder was another matter. It was as fraught an undertaking as taking the family of a Hanlin Academy grand academician in the imperial capital hostage.

“An imperially founded sect established by the imperial household's noble race to prevent rebellion within Murim. Troublesome indeed.”

The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord spoke.

“But that is not why I am letting you live.”

“Tribe Lord!”

CRUNCH!

The shouting Blood Flame cultist's head burst. An invisible blast of sword qi had erupted before Jung Yeonshin could even sense an attack.

“Blood Flame Cult. I told you to stop.”

The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord addressed the corpse. The one remaining red-haired warrior trembled, but the lord's pitch-black eyes returned to Jung Yeonshin.

“I like you. Your talent and your spirit. You have the makings of a martial artist who will reach the summit of the world. Were it not for your ties to the Desolate Fortress, I would have taken you as my disciple.”

“Gasp!”

“The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord himself...”

Shocked gasps erupted all around. Not only his subordinates, but even the Zhongnan masters could not conceal their astonishment. Unperturbed, the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord continued.

“I will accept a match whenever you wish. Come avenge your dead.”

“...”

Jung Yeonshin sheathed his sword. Then he turned his back and walked toward the household members who were still alive, though their breathing was faint.

After watching the boy with an odd expression, the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord turned to the Zhongnan warriors.

“I will no longer permit another sect to establish itself on this land. You have one day.”

He looked at Yeo Il-Shin's contorted face.

“Leave.”

* * *

“Young master.”

“Chief Steward.”

There was no time to exchange greetings with the approaching steward. Even tending to the bodies would have to wait. The estate had physicians, but no miraculous healer comparable to Hua Tuo. For those gravely wounded, all they could do was lay them down comfortably and let them pass.

He found his eldest brother, Jung Namsan, and his sister-in-law. Both were dead. Carefully, he moved them aside and stamped hard on the floor where the couple had fallen.

CLUNK.

An underground chamber opened—the secret room where the brothers used to hide together and giggle when they were very young. As expected, a five-year-old girl lay curled up inside, her eyes closed.

Her pressure point had been struck. A hand infused with core energy had pressed the sleep point at the back of her neck, forcing her into slumber.

“Hye-Ah.”

Jung Yeonshin lifted his niece into his arms and left the room.

A young man talking with the Chief Steward turned his head. It was Jung Joongsan, the Jeong family's second son, who had been selected to become a formally registered disciple of Zhongnan. The way he averted his eyes when their gazes met suggested that he had been hiding somewhere.

Jung Yeonshin approached without a word and deposited Hye-Ah in his arms.

“Have her raised at Zhongnan. Whatever it takes.”

“W-what about you?”

“I'll have my hands full looking after myself,” Jung Yeonshin said firmly.

“Raised at Zhongnan? That couldn't possibly...”

Unlike before, he floundered, unable even to meet Yeonshin's eyes. Apparently, he had hidden near the main residence and watched his half brother's entire fight.

Pathetic. Only then did Jung Yeonshin notice the foreign sensation on his cheek and wipe away the blood with the back of his hand.

“Do you know less about the Nine Great Sects than I do? Children raised as disciples from five or six become the backbone of their sects. Beg them however you must. Hye-Ah is brighter than you are. They'll take her.”

“A-all right.”

Biting his lip, Jung Joongsan looked down at his niece. Jung Yeonshin studied him for a moment. Fortunately, he seemed to feel responsibility more than humiliation.

Then the Zhongnan masters approached. As always, Yeo Il-Shin led, with Cliff Sword and the warrior called Neutral Spirit Fist following half a step behind. Pale as though suffering internal injuries and stained with blood, they had still helped tend to the aftermath. They were indeed warriors of the righteous path.

“Young Master.”

The form of address had changed. Only yesterday, she had called him merely the family head's son.

Yeo Il-Shin's expression was complicated. Alongside her self-reproach, she regarded Jung Yeonshin with wonder, as though beholding a talent beyond anything she could have imagined.

“Will you go to the Desolate Fortress?”

“I suppose I must. There is nowhere else I can take shelter and grow stronger.”

“Xiangyang is not your only path.”

“...?”

“Why not ascend Mount Zhongnan with us? I offer you a sincere invitation.”

“Gasp!”

Only the Chief Steward and Jung Joongsan were surprised. Behind her, Cliff Sword and Neutral Spirit Fist watched Jung Yeonshin without the slightest change in expression, as though the invitation were only natural. Their faces were filled with the desire to claim a prodigy. This young swordsman was extraordinary enough for their sect's grand elder to invite him personally.

“For a grand elder of one of the Nine Great Sects to offer this... I am truly overwhelmed.”

Despite his words, Jung Yeonshin remained calm. He had already decided where to go. Seemingly growing anxious, Yeo Il-Shin added,

“I intend to recommend you as the sect leader's disciple. With your abilities, it is possible.”

“...!”

This time, no one could hide their surprise. As the Zhongnan Sect Leader's direct successor-disciple, he could learn peerless divine techniques, not to mention gain the immense backing of one of the Nine Great Sects.

Moreover, the current Zhongnan Sect Leader was invariably named among the world's ten greatest swordsmen. Fond of undertaking chivalrous deeds, he had displayed his powerful sword arts before the world on numerous occasions.

'The people of Shaanxi hail him as one of the Central Plains' Five Greatest Masters!'

The Chief Steward screamed inwardly. Yeonshin had to go. However vast and powerful the Desolate Fortress might be, he was only the grandson of a retired warrior there. The steward could not know which path offered the higher ceiling, but surely becoming the Zhongnan Sect Leader's disciple offered the higher floor.

It was the Jeong Clan Estate's characteristic way of thinking: better the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon.

'Young master! Please!'

His silent cries did not reach Jung Yeonshin. The boy clasped his hands in a martial salute.

“I will always remember your offer, honored senior.”

A courteous refusal.

Resignation touched Yeo Il-Shin's elegant face. She gave up quickly, as though she had expected it.

“You are confident, then. Confident that you can rise through the Desolate Fortress.”

“...”

“I coveted your potential. The Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord must have felt the same.”

“I am sorry.”

“No need. Just remember that Zhongnan's doors are always open to you.”

Jung Yeonshin gazed at Yeo Il-Shin for a moment before speaking.

“I understand that you are advanced in years even among the noble race, Grand Elder. Might you know a way to obtain the Fruit of the World Tree?”

“The Fruit of the World Tree! Then you truly are...!”

Realization crossed Yeo Il-Shin's face. Then she spoke with regret.

“I have not lived even half my allotted lifespan. Nor do I have any authority over the world tree. Only the Desolate Fortress Master may bestow its fruit upon another.”

“Then I must go to the Desolate Fortress after all.”

“It will not be easy. That fruit is sacred even among our noble race.”

“I know no other way, so I have no choice. I'll have to become the Divine Sword Squad Leader and render some great service.”

“I will wish you well, even from afar.”

Yeo Il-Shin returned his martial salute. Jung Yeonshin felt he would long remember her upright character, if nothing else.

“Until we meet again.”

Their exchange of courtesies was a farewell.

Mount Zhongnan in Xi'an, Shaanxi Province, lay in a completely different direction from Xiangyang. She wanted to depart quickly to bring word to her sect, even if she had to go alone. Cliff Sword and Neutral Spirit Fist's lightness skills fell short of the grand elder's.

Jung Joongsan would leave with the remaining two the next day. For now, he had to attend a deathbed. The family head was still alive, though on the verge of closing his eyes forever.

“It's me. Your third son.”

Kneeling on one knee, he supported the back of his father's neck. Jung Yeonshin's eyes trembled slightly. The sword wound in the unfeeling family head's abdomen was beyond saving.

If he was going to die like this, he could at least have treated him better.

“Why are you so... so strong? How could you...”

His lips quivered, as though his strength had run out. Jung Yeonshin knew there was little time. It was almost a premonition. Jung Daemyung, the family head, would die after only a few more words.

“The art I created and trained in is called the Movement Art.”

Instead of pouring out resentment and grief, he boasted of his achievement. How the family head received it was up to him. Long since sick of his family, Jung Yeonshin had decided to leave it to his father's heart whether this was a gift or an act of filial disrespect.

“The Movement Art. I see.”

The family head opened his trembling mouth.

“A divine technique created by a Jeong. This foolish, witless... Jung Daemyung... the son I fathered... A divine technique founded by a Jeong, the third son of this worthless family head.”

“...”

The boy listened in silence. His father spoke for the last time.

“You have... the makings... of a Grandmaster...”