A late cold snap froze the dawn air on the mountain behind the Jeong Clan Estate.

Jung Yeonshin thought that if the wind blowing through the valley had a color, it would be ashen gray.

The people of the Jeong Clan Estate, who had once held sway over the county, now lay beneath seeds that would stir to life next year.

They had spent the entire night carrying and burying bodies. Jung Yeonshin, the Chief Steward, the few surviving workers, Jung Joongsan, and the Zhongnan masters were all a sorry sight, covered in dirt.

His niece huddled off to one side, alternately crying and falling asleep. Glancing at Hye-Ah, Jung Yeonshin spoke.

"It's over."

"Indeed. This will be a sorrowful mountain. It never even had a name."

The Chief Steward agreed, but Jung Yeonshin shook his head.

"No. I mean the Jeong Clan Estate is finished."

"..."

"Master Cliff Sword, Master Neutral Spirit Fist. Thank you once again for your help."

Leaving the bitter-faced Chief Steward behind, he saluted the Zhongnan warriors. Though covered in dirt, their eyes shone with vitality. They returned his cupped-fist salute with earnest courtesy, visibly showing respect even to a mere boy.

"No thanks are needed. This is our junior brother's family now."

"And... we can hardly deny our share of responsibility for failing to stop this."

Neutral Spirit Fist, who spoke after Cliff Sword, wore a somber furrow between his thick brows.

Ready to leave with them, Jung Joongsan held his niece Jung Hye in his arms and gazed gloomily at his youngest brother. The bloodshed seemed to have changed him a little.

"How could a few words of apology make amends for everything that has piled up over the years?"

His expression was strained.

"When we meet again, I'll show you I can be a brother to you. I'll work hard, so please stay alive."

"You're beginning Zhongnan's martial arts late, and your talent isn't exceptional. That's how I see it."

For the first time in his life, Jung Yeonshin spoke the unvarnished truth to someone older than him. It felt so liberating that he wondered why he had never done it before.

"You'll have to train yourself half to death. And keep Hye-Ah safe."

"... I will."

With that, the Zhongnan masters, his second brother, and his young niece departed.

When he turned around, the Chief Steward stood with the workers, a bundle slung over his back.

"Where will you go?"

"I mentioned establishing sources of information. The estate has small branches throughout Nanyang. Since members of the Jeong bloodline still live, it is only right to support them with the remaining family assets."

"But the estate is ruined, isn't it?"

The Chief Steward smiled faintly.

"This is a family of great landowners. Its farmland is not confined to Xinye."

He had never realized the man was so loyal. The Chief Steward was remarkable enough to make him think the Jeong Clan Estate had never deserved him.

"As you know, I'm going to the Desolate Fortress. I hope we can see each other now and then."

"Of course."

The Chief Steward had trained in martial arts as well. He would be able to look after himself.

"I hope at least you get to live out your natural lifespan. Take care of yourself."

"I wish you every success, young master."

It was farewell to both the Chief Steward and the Jeong Clan Estate. The steward silently watched the boy walk away without looking back.

'He hopes I live out my natural lifespan...? Since the former master showed me kindness, has anyone of the Jeong bloodline ever said such a thing to me?'

Jung Yeonshin sensed him watching, but did not turn his head. A new air surrounded his steady footsteps as he pushed through the grass.

* * *

It was his first time outside Xinye County.

The Chief Steward's detailed directions allowed him to follow the main road, but he could not help attracting attention. Dawn had broken, and the broad dirt road was beginning to welcome the sunlight.

The official road between Nanyang and Xiangyang also linked Henan and Huguang Provinces. With another major road leading toward Shaanxi nearby, he had to check every so often that the pack on his back was still intact. That was how many people he encountered.

"Unusual clothes for a beggar."

"Isn't that silk? Who uses silk for martial robes?"

"Silk? But look at the state he's in..."

The porters of a passing escort agency whispered among themselves.

He had heard that merchant caravans and escort parties encountered on the road sometimes turned into bandits. Jung Yeonshin walked silently on, keeping his hand near his sword hilt.

'What a nuisance.'

Yet he could not take deserted mountain paths instead. Newly ventured into the martial world, he lacked experience. Losing his way would be disastrous.

Vigilance alone was not enough, however. Jackals coveting his clothes and money were everywhere. Robbery and murder were commonplace in this world.

Eventually, he became embroiled in a quarrel with sword-bearing drifters, and those wandering warriors paid with their heads for underestimating the boy swordsman. They were so absurdly weak compared with the warriors of the Thirteen skies that he was bewildered.

'What makes them think they can attack me?'

Wandering warriors they might be called, but among the martial artists commonly seen along the roads, few had even properly begun cultivating internal energy.

In this world, instruction was precious.

From Xinye to Xiangyang.

For masters whose lightness skills carried them as though flying, it was a short journey. But Jung Yeonshin, whose lightness skills were rudimentary, experienced the troubles of the martial world and the bloodshed of real combat.

Not one opponent could block a single form of his swift sword. As he cut down the wandering warriors, the Movement Art began to merge with his swordsmanship.

It was different from training his body alone. By employing the Movement Art while wielding his sword in actual combat, he was transforming his body once again.

The muscles throughout his body adapted to instantaneous bursts of power, and his flexibility increased further.

Swift sword, swift sword, and swift sword again.

His Swift Sword Formula had already been fast; now even his own eyes could not follow it when he unleashed it. With his body—the foundation of martial prowess—changing so actively, the effectiveness of his core energy could only grow as well.

'He called it a divine technique, didn't he?'

Perhaps because he had practiced the Movement Art all his life, short though that life had been, and attained Great Completion, the transformation of his body was visible even to his eyes.

One week.

A week of sleeping outdoors for the first time, enduring hard ground and biting night air.

"Whew."

The boy entered an inn with a sigh and set down his pack. He had reached Xiangyang.

Since the founding of the Desolate Fortress, the city had prospered without pause. Every day, tens of thousands of people passed through it, and thousands of kinds of goods changed hands. In trade and cultural sophistication, it ranked among the great cities of the Central Plains.

"It's even busier now! That fellow Xing has struck it rich! He says he can't keep enough liquor in stock to sell."

The speakers appeared to be merchants. After securing a room, Jung Yeonshin had come downstairs and ordered a meal from the waiter. He listened.

"They're gathering from all over the Central Plains, dreaming of making their fortunes. I hear some martial artists are throwing silver around."

"The wine houses don't close day or night these days. Warriors who claim they've come for the entrance examination are drowning themselves in liquor!"

"The Desolate Fortress really is something."

"Of course! It grabbed hold of a dying Xiangyang and is feeding it so well its belly might burst!"

"What a comparison! Hahaha!"

Whatever else he thought, Jung Yeonshin agreed with that last remark. His room rate alone had shown him how exorbitant prices were. Another month here would plainly empty his purse.

And he had thought he had brought plenty of money away without the Tyrant Sword Tribe noticing.

Just then, someone spoke.

"Have you come to join the Desolate Fortress too, young brother?"

A young man sat down across from him with an easy smile. Even at a glance, the sword at his waist was no ordinary famed sword, but what stood out most was the blue band around his head.

It was what people called a hero's headband. These days, only someone determined to cut a dashing figure would wear such an accessory, and his even bore a dragon embroidered in gold thread.

"And you are?"

"Ah! I haven't introduced myself. I was so surprised to see a challenger younger than me that I forgot."

Still smiling, the young man continued.

"I'm Heon Wonchang. I've come all the way from Shanxi."

"Jung Yeonshin, from Xinye."

"Xinye? Where's that?"

"A county in Nanyang, Hebei."

"So you've come from nearby! Your journey must have been easy. I crossed blades with forest bandits and raced river pirates through the water! Those river stronghold fellows had fearsome aquatic arts!"

"Well... I suppose mine was easy."

Jung Yeonshin gave a vague reply.

"At any rate, it seems we are indeed comrades preparing to enter the Desolate Fortress."

"What do you want?"

"To get acquainted! And exchange information, if we have any. Almost no one passes the Desolate Fortress examination on the first try. Perhaps one in a thousand, if that, and even those are rising generation disciples from prestigious martial families seeking fame and success. As I understand it, most pass after two, three, or even ten attempts."

"There's an examination?"

His eyes widened as if to ask whether Yeonshin truly hadn't known. The exaggerated expression suited him remarkably well.

"It's called the desolate fortress trial! The Desolate Fortress is different from ordinary sects, after all. Just as you take the military or civil examinations to enter government service, there's a separate examination to join the Fortress."

"So that's why there are so many people..."

"Whether you have a foundation or not, once you enter, a world of learning and opportunity opens up. It would be stranger if martial artists from all over the land didn't flock here. There must be thousands honing all sorts of martial arts just to pass."

The Desolate Fortress.

If you wish to command the world with a single weapon, go to the Desolate Fortress; even officials will tread carefully around you.

It was a common saying. This cradle of martial prowess could set anyone's heart pounding.

The imperial house that ruled the entire Central Plains had acted directly to suppress the martial sects. As such, the Fortress was said to abound in spiritual medicines and advanced martial arts gathered from across the Nine Provinces.

"Some people rate the great traditional sects more highly. They truly know nothing. Sects founded by mere commoners, stronger than the Desolate Fortress? If that were true, those bastards would found an empire and play emperor themselves. How else could the Great Ming Empire endure? They collect protection taxes and accept donations in their own territories, and people worship them like kings."

"I see."

Jung Yeonshin offered a perfunctory response. He wondered whether the man bore some grudge against the great sects.

"Anyway, coming for the desolate fortress trial was an excellent choice. ... Provided you can pass."

His expression abruptly turned gloomy.

Jung Yeonshin found this Heon Wonchang rather curious. He had never met such a chatterbox whose spirits rose and fell so wildly.

"If you pass, you'll instantly gain a reputation as a rising talent, one of the finest among your younger peers! A Desolate Fortress warrior your age would obviously be an outstanding young master, wouldn't he?"

Heon Wonchang had been smiling as he spoke, but his voice lost its vigor again.

"... Though the Fortress's walls are as dizzyingly high as its prestige."

"Yes. I see."

Just as Jung Yeonshin was beginning to tire of him, the food arrived: kung pao chicken and assorted vegetable dishes. After days without a proper meal, even the aroma was welcome.

Watching him eat with a complicated expression, Heon Wonchang spoke.

"On that note, how about we go take the examination together tomorrow?"

"Certainly."

Jung Yeonshin answered casually. In truth, he was pleased to learn he could gain admission through an examination alone. He had no desire to ask a maternal relative for help when he did not even know where that person lived or what they looked like.

It was resolve, and youthful pride as well: even with his life at stake, he would not stoop to begging.

* * *

The next day.

"I've come to the right place."

Standing before the Desolate Fortress, Jung Yeonshin was no longer the third son of the Jeong Clan Estate. He was a swordsman who had weathered a week particularly harsh on a child carrying wealth. The boy had become a martial artist.

'It's enormous.'

He gazed up at the main gate in wonder. He had never even heard of anything on this scale.

The fortress stretched alongside the blue of the clear sky, displaying its immense majesty.

"Impregnable."

Beside him, Heon Wonchang murmured as if entranced. Jung Yeonshin silently agreed.

The towering double walls looked solid, enclosing a vast tract of land whose edges lay far apart. A moat encircled them as well, forming a broad belt of water.

The enormous main gate stood wide open—a fitting display of confidence for a place that proclaimed itself supreme in the martial world.

Jung Yeonshin stepped forward slowly. Ahead lay a fenced training ground, presumably the site of the first test Heon Wonchang had mentioned.

"Let's go."

"Let's."

They approached the registration desk at the very front and gave their personal details. The clerk, dressed as a scholar, wrote them down and asked for confirmation.

"Jung Yeonshin of Xinye County, Nanyang, Henan Province. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Enter the training ground."

He accepted one of the round tokens piled high on one side of the sizable desk and turned away. The token bore the inscription "Thirteen."

'It's noisy here.'

Examiners and applicants were not the only people around. Besides young martial artists dreaming of passing the gateway to greatness and soaring into the heavens, there were crowds of spectators, merchants, and gamblers. The Desolate Fortress made no effort to restrain them, as though inviting them to watch and enjoy themselves.

"Over here."

As he and Heon Wonchang passed through the gate in the fence, the warrior overseeing the test called to them. His martial robes were immaculate, his presence tightly condensed. He felt no less formidable than the masters of the Thirteen skies.

The examiner spoke.

"The first test is the Swift Sword Style."

"Pardon?"