Jung Yeonshin was bluffing.

Even he thought he had made a fairly impressive showing, but that was all. He had accomplished something far beyond his level of martial mastery. He was already at his limit.

'This is exhausting.'

It felt as though bundles of waterlogged cloth had been crammed inside him. His once-light body sagged so heavily that it felt out of sorts.

The sword song exacted a heavy price. It brought stark exhaustion to his upper dantian. The same thing had happened at the Hwangbo branch family in Pingyin County.

Could he properly execute the sword form he had prepared? He was not sure.

When he charged onto the battlefield, he had given little thought to what would follow the sword song. He had more than done his part. Unless the Namgoong clan's masters were mere scarecrows, he had expected them to do something. It was only natural.

This was a clan that had hosted the Dragon-Phoenix Summit with the recognition of the world's orthodox factions.

He had thought they would be different from the Hwangbo clan. That owed much to the profound impression left by the upright character of White Qilin Namgoong Hwashin, whom he had met during the desolate fortress trial.

Yet they did not step forward.

'Are they just going to watch?'

Were they wary of the Blood Flame Cult's leaders? He could not guess their reason.

He was in a difficult position. That remained true even if facing an enemy in peak condition was a rare thing in the martial world.

One of the Blood Master Swordsmen spoke.

"Worthless. Die."

The other did not even speak. Both swordsmen's arms flickered. Their right hands seemed to vanish momentarily with the Thunderclap Bombs before reappearing. It was a proper throwing technique.

WHOOSH!

In the hands of masters, the Thunderclap Bombs had entered the realm of martial arts. They hurtled toward him, cleaving the air like lightning.

Just as he tightened his grip on the Desolate Sword's hilt—

SWISH!

Jet-black hair streamed before his eyes. For an instant, Jung Yeonshin thought it was wiji myohwa.

It was not.

This person radiated an energy utterly opposed to the clear, upright qi of the Zhongnan Sect. Crimson sleeves fluttered with a strange elegance.

He had not even heard her approach. With a gently stirring breeze, she displayed a supreme technique for redirecting an opponent's force.

The two Thunderclap Bombs brushed her snow-white hand and abruptly shot upward. She had diverted their momentum perfectly. Despite the sudden change of direction, it looked entirely natural.

With her back still to him, the woman who had intervened thrust her palm upward. At the same time, tremendous energy rose from its center and surged explosively into the sky.

BOOOOM!

The Thunderclap Bombs burst in midair. It had all happened in an instant.

"Your Excellency."

The Blood Master Swordsmen backed away in the middle of the battlefield. Though she had blocked their attack, they showed no sign of questioning her.

The woman turned without answering.

"Just as I thought."

She smiled.

Her hair, tossed by the blast, was intensely black. Her eerily pale and beautiful face was not what mattered.

A black patch covered one eye. The other was red as a pomegranate.

An Apostle. It was said that at that realm, profound mastery of the Blood Art manifested in the eyes.

"I sensed it last time, when your Dharma-powered martial arts struck me."

Her black hair fell like the night sky, and her lone red eye shone with core energy. The Blood Flame Cult's Seventh Apostle continued.

"My energy detection reached it. There was something raw about it, something born on the spot. I thought it couldn't be possible. But then I received reports of your exploits and saw that strange sound technique."

Her lips, seemingly steeped in blood, curled upward.

"You were born with the makings of an extraordinary Grandmaster, weren't you? To an impossible degree."

Her manner was as casual as ever. Her words were anything but trivial.

An Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult.

She was a supreme master who had fought a Desolate Fortress captain head-on. She had surely embodied throughout her entire being the internal-energy attainments called Three Flowers Gather at the Crown and Five Qi Return to the Origin.

He could not imagine how sensitive her energy detection must be.

The smile on her lips sent a chill through him.

At last.

A formidable enemy had noticed. She had fully deduced Jung Yeonshin's talent.

Someone among the Thirteen skies had finally recognized exactly what made Lightning Genius special.

'This is dangerous.'

A chill ran down the back of his neck. For the first time since entering the martial world, Jung Yeonshin broke into a cold sweat.

Murim was a world built on martial arts.

It was said that all the wealth under heaven was worthless beside the formula for an advanced martial art.

There was a reason the tombs of peerless masters who had dominated their eras were dug open amid great upheavals. Such was the world of those obsessed with martial learning.

STEP.

The Seventh Apostle approached with supple grace. Enormous waves of qi spread in layers from her light footsteps.

The presence enveloping her was terrifyingly sinister. Her lone red eye, like jade formed from congealed blood, stared straight at Jung Yeonshin.

He could feel her madness with stark clarity.

He could not fight her.

Even the Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike could only work when the gap in martial prowess was manageable. Without exploiting the chaos of a melee, he could not hope for another miracle like the last one.

Jung Yeonshin understood instinctively.

Swept along by her waves of qi, the wind brushing his body felt as though it had honed itself to a sharp edge. His innate senses whispered that his life was already in this supreme master's hands.

"Rigid-minded fools."

The Seventh Apostle suddenly sneered. Her scorn seemed directed at the Namgoong clan masters, who were only now beginning to act.

Jung Yeonshin sensed it without turning around. Blood Flame Cult masters had sprung from the peak and flown down to block the way behind him. They seemed to be confronting the Namgoong clan.

"You're mine."

The Seventh Apostle's smiling lips moved.

Calamity was said to visit Murim in every conceivable form.

Death and defeat were the most common things in the martial world. So common that even if they suddenly descended on someone who had known nothing but victory and strangled them, everyone would accept it.

Poor condition. An overwhelming supreme master. Too few allies.

He had learned these lessons well in the Radiant Demon Squad. Calamity took many forms, they had said, and now every one of them had arrived.

This was no chance misfortune that had come out of nowhere.

Jung Yeonshin had charged onto a battlefield where he knew an Apostle was likely to be present. He had done so despite suspecting the existence of an enemy far stronger than himself.

He had trusted his own talent, keener than anyone else's. He had trusted the Namgoong clan, renowned for its swords and chivalry.

It was something a martial artist should never do. All the more so if he wished to live long.

'I'm reaping what I sowed.'

Only now, faced with the consequences, did the sixteen-year-old master reflect on his actions.

Loyalty to his companion was good. His faith had been excessive.

"Come along."

The instant the Seventh Apostle's hand blurred, his vision turned pitch-black.

Her strike was impossibly fast. He thought he heard wiji myohwa and some young man shouting, but their voices rapidly receded from his consciousness.

* * *

He became aware of his five senses stirring sluggishly throughout his body. Even the warmth against his skin felt dull.

How long had he been lying here?

Jung Yeonshin immediately grasped his situation. The Seventh Apostle had captured him. He had been brought somewhere while unconscious.

There was one more thing. Hunger gnawed at him as though melting his stomach, but he had not starved to death.

A search within a radius of roughly a fortnight's travel from Huizhou would turn up this place.

'She sealed my paralysis points.'

His mouth seemed to be the only part of him he could move.

"I was just thinking of waking you."

Through his blurred vision, he saw an unfamiliar ceiling and the face of the wicked woman.

The Seventh Apostle wore a faint smile. Her long, hanging hair lightly brushed his cheek.

"You're the first Desolate Fortress whelp to set foot in our Cult's headquarters. I ought to welcome you, shouldn't I?"

"Water."

"What?"

"I'm thirsty."

The words he forced out were hoarse. Jung Yeonshin struggled to remain calm.

These people wanted something from him.

They would not kill him here, so he recalled what he had learned from his Radiant Demon Squad seniors and Heon Wonchang.

'They're unorthodox scum. They already hold my life in their hands. If I bow my head, there'll be no end to it.'

For a moment, the Seventh Apostle looked blank. Then she began laughing uproariously.

The black hair softly brushing Jung Yeonshin's face swept upward. He was glad the nuisance was gone.

"Aah..."

With a strange sigh, she stopped laughing.

Then she gazed steadily at him. Her lone red eye roved over his face, seeming to tickle his gaze where their eyes met.

"You."

The corners of the Seventh Apostle's mouth lifted.

"You think I can't do anything to you, don't you?"

"..."

"Finding inspiration, devising formulas... Torture would only poison your ability to create martial arts."

Seated on the edge of the bed, she lowered her upper body toward him.

Her ebony hair came with her. This time he had to feel it against his neck. It was chillingly smooth.

She whispered.

"You may not have known this."

Her red eye drew closer. The Seventh Apostle gently planted an elbow beside Jung Yeonshin's face.

The snow-white fingertips of her other hand touched his cheek. Her slender fingers slowly climbed his face until they rested on one eyelid. His eye closed naturally beneath them.

"I can make your eyes like mine. I can cut off your limbs without killing you, too. I'll give you our Cult's regenerative power. Your hand technique prevented my eye from healing, but I don't possess an opposing martial art like yours. You'll be whole again in no time."

Her breath, laden with madness, lightly brushed the bridge of Jung Yeonshin's nose.

The one who had taken her eye. Talent unlike anything she had ever seen. An unbelievably young age. A fanatic's sinister nature.

At this moment, a dreadful possessiveness was taking root. Jung Yeonshin felt it fully, through her gaze and her breath.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, pulling out your fingers."

"..."

"Until you make a martial art for me."

Her madness felt horribly real. So much so that her crimson smile seemed deathly white.

Straightening up and drawing her face away, the Seventh Apostle rose from the bed.

No longer whispering, she said,

"I'll teach you the Blood Art. You'll gain the power to regenerate."

Her crimson robes stirred slightly, as though she could not contain her excitement.

"What ordinary cultists or Swordsmen learn wouldn't suit someone of your caliber. What sort of martial art will be born if I give you an Apostle's secret teachings? My heart's racing so much I could go mad!"

"You won't have time to torture me."

Jung Yeonshin spoke slowly. She whipped her head around, her lone eye flashing scarlet.

"You can only be so brazen until you learn the Blood Art. I'll have you licking my feet."

"... Come back. Examine my Baihui point."

As he answered calmly, dozens of slender currents of air rushed toward him.

It was the Seventh Apostle's movement technique. Having subdued Jung Yeonshin once more, she touched her fingertips to the crown of his head.

The Seventh Apostle was an extraordinary master of internal arts. Once she touched his head directly, she would have no choice but to notice.

How ironic. A formidable enemy was stroking the crown of his head, which even his maternal uncle and grandfather had not been allowed to touch.

Her lone eye widened.

"You...!"

"With your mastery of internal energy, you should be able to feel it through your hand. Isn't it still growing?"

"To think such a constitution exists..."

The Seventh Apostle murmured in a daze.

"Torture me and heal me? When would you find the time?"

Jung Yeonshin asked with feigned composure. She had said this was the Blood Flame Cult headquarters. His situation was hopeless.

His chances of getting out might be vanishingly small, but he needed an intact body to develop his martial arts and at least attempt an escape.

Improving even one martial art required dozens of ways to circulate core energy. They would not destroy his energy core. He only needed to avoid torture.

Then it happened.

"You truly are radiant..."

She was close. The Seventh Apostle's eye filled his vision like a ruby.

He saw a strange heat writhe in her white face and in the piercing gaze unique to a supreme master.

Was this what it felt like to witness the birth of a monster from the Classic of Mountains and Seas?

This was no romantic affection between a man and a woman. It was the obsession of a fanatical master who breathed through her mental cultivation method and moved through martial arts.

The wicked woman whispered on a smooth breath.

"Mine. You're my possession. Create my martial arts, and let no eyes but mine behold you. Until you've burned through every last bit of your talent and faded away."

"Crazy bitch."

The curse slipped out unbidden. The hand stroking his crown no longer felt gentle.

Chilled to the bone, Jung Yeonshin racked his brains. How could he break out of this situation?

He had no idea how long he would have to ponder that question.

* * *

For two days, he had to be fed thin gruel made with finely minced meat.

In that time, Jung Yeonshin grew sick of the Blood Flame Cult headquarters without even having seen it.

'She's insane.'

The Seventh Apostle held the bowl and fed him herself. She would never leave it to a servant.

After confirming Jung Yeonshin's remaining lifespan, she had completely lost her mind. She treated him like a comet that could only be seen for a fleeting instant.

'Or perhaps...'

He had heard that the imperial family in Beijing kept animals they doted on. Was this what it felt like to become a pet spirit beast?

Only after recovering from prolonged hunger, pressure-point sealing, and the sword song's backlash was he granted freedom.

It was not complete freedom. He had been subjected to a technique like the Annihilation Squad captain's Seven Step Injury Acupressure Strike.

The Seventh Apostle's Blood Art core energy filled his vital acupoints. She said it would inflict fatal internal injuries unless removed periodically.

"Let's go pay our respects to the Cult Leader."

The Seventh Apostle spoke with a bright smile. Jung Yeonshin rose without a word. It was his first outing.

'The Blood Flame Cult Leader.'

The enemy of Master won jong, who had helped him create the Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike.

The ruler of the Blood Flame Cult, said to possess the broadest reach among the Unorthodox Thirteen Skies. A master counted among the martial world's absolute powers, alongside the Shaolin abbot and the Desolate Fortress's Divine Sword Squad Leader.

He had likely also been involved in the destruction of the Jeong Clan Estate, together with the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord.

He was someone Jung Yeonshin needed to see.

He opened the door and stepped outside. Walking side by side with the Seventh Apostle felt newly unfamiliar.

It was different again from being fed meat porridge like a cherished animal.

His view opened wide.

A well-developed town spread before him. Elegant old buildings stood in orderly rows. There seemed to be hundreds of people moving about in every direction, most of them red-haired.

"What..."

He could not help murmuring. Where in the world was this? Was it possible to build a town bordering on a city and keep it hidden in the Central Plains?

"Little one. The Cult Leader's Palace is quite far. Keep up."

The Seventh Apostle tugged his sleeve with a hand as careful as though handling a jewel.

As he walked, Jung Yeonshin committed the city's layout and the distribution of its masters to memory, one detail at a time.

Blood Master Swordsmen passed with their eyes lowered. Ordinary cultists did not dare even look at them.

"Great Master!"

One passing Blood Master Swordsman started in shock and dropped to one knee. He was one of the two men who had thrown Thunderclap Bombs in Huizhou.

Something was strange.

He did not seem to be paying his respects to the Seventh Apostle. Instead, she gave Jung Yeonshin a meaningful glance.

Her visible right eye curved slightly. Just as he had suspected, the Blood Master Swordsman was bowing his head toward him.

The man spoke again.

"This unworthy Swordsman humbly greets the Grand Preceptor."

Jung Yeonshin was silent for a moment.