Just after the young Grand Preceptor snapped Go Jonghak's neck, the Third Apostle gave no thought to his son's death. He would have gone to paradise.

Blood Flame cultists did not worry for the welfare of the departed. It was the petty affairs of this world that enraged them.

"Lowborn wretch."

That Desolate Fortress scum had acted as he pleased. His talent might be unprecedented, but his martial strength was nowhere near the pinnacle of the world.

For now, he was nothing but a worm, and this was how he behaved.

"Bring him to me," the Blood Flame Cult Leader said quietly.

Seated in his grand chair, he propped his chin on one hand. His white hair spilled down, its sheen making it look silver.

His expression was inscrutable. At least, he did not seem to be considering the Grand Preceptor's immediate execution.

'That will not do,' the Third Apostle thought.

That lowborn brat from the Desolate Fortress was exceedingly dangerous. There was no fathoming his innate talent, and his temperament was just as unrestrained.

He dared commit violence in the Cult Leader's presence, and possessed talent rivaled by few under heaven. He would grow into someone difficult to control.

"We must nip this in the bud."

He spoke through Qi-Guided Voice Transmission, a method of sending an exceedingly discreet sound transmission to several people at once.

All this happened in an instant. The enraged senior members were rushing the young scum, but Blood Master Swordsmen would struggle to handle him.

He possessed Dharma-powered martial arts and had even learned the Demonic Asura Blood Art. Swordsmen who practiced the Blood-Surpassing Art could not possibly match him.

"Sixth Apostle. Act."

"Do not order me around."

The reply sounded as though it had risen raw from deep in his lungs.

The Third Apostle glanced at the Sixth Apostle, a gaunt man with a harsh countenance.

There were four Apostles at the Blood Flame Cult headquarters. With the Seventh and Fourteenth Apostles out scouting, that left two.

The Sixth Apostle might as well have been absent too. He was a degenerate who pursued the ultimate principles of martial learning despite having mastered Blood Art.

To break that Desolate Fortress scum's limbs without making an unsightly spectacle, the Third Apostle would have to act himself.

He rose from his seat and activated the Demonic Asura Blood Art. Divine energy immediately sprang from the fine meridians throughout his body, filling him to the brim.

WHOOSH!

The Third Apostle projected his core energy forward, blazing with his intent.

A net of martial pressure ensnared the entire body of that so-called Grand Preceptor, who stood there affecting composure.

It was an advanced discipline praised as comparable to the Namgoong clan's king-style sword arts. It would feel like an invisible prison.

Would the brat dare withstand even a single move? Drunk on his own talent, the whelp had rashly flaunted his mettle. Even a fraction of a move would be wasted on him.

'I should tear off his limbs.'

He studied the brat, whose eyes had turned a pale sky blue. The Apostle's eye technique pierced the light in the young lowborn's eyes.

His pupils moved strangely. Even as he blocked the swordsmen's attacks, he was looking elsewhere. He seemed submerged within himself.

What a spectacle. His mind was elsewhere.

"I knew your family well. An insignificant, third-rate martial house."

The Third Apostle spoke as he slowly descended the stairs.

"The Jeong Clan Estate. Xinye County, Henan."

He remembered it clearly.

"They enjoyed fertile land far above their station."

The tangled relationships among the unorthodox Thirteen skies had forced him to cooperate with the sword fiends of the Tyrant Sword Tribe.

Their task was to weaken that monstrous world tree. He had ordered them to remove the troublesome third-rate family and burn its land.

The Cult Leader had approved it too. In short, that lowborn brat had been playing Great Master before his own sworn enemies.

"Did you know that your late father, the Master of the Jeong Clan, was a notorious womanizer in Henan? They say he had countless affairs with all manner of young ladies. With his rather handsome face, he even seduced your mother. Everyone under heaven knows how petty the former Divine Sword Squad Leader is, yet that affair made me wonder whether he was a gentleman after all. He let that wastrel live, even after he took his daughter as a second wife—a daughter who had severed her ties with the family."

Laughter colored his tone. Mockery.

"You are lowborn because your father was a scoundrel. Being Ma Yeonjeok's grandson changes nothing. I ordered them to spare you alone, lest that washed-up old man beg the Desolate Fortress Master for revenge. And you repay our Cult's kindness with enmity."

The moment the Seventh Apostle lost her left eye, every covert intelligence channel of the Blood Flame Cult had been mobilized.

They had even threatened the Hao Faction, through which the lower classes traded information, demanding everything there was to know about the Desolate Fortress's Lightning Genius.

It was laughable. The boy they had spared to avoid future trouble had become another source of it. Such were the strange intricacies of debts and grudges in the martial world.

"You did well revising the Blood-Surpassing Art."

The Third Apostle's voice grew harsh. Martial power worthy of an Apostle boiled up into his throat and windpipe.

"Now I have no need of your worthless hands and feet. Your mouth will suffice. I shall slice beneath your fingernails with a thick needle. Flay your skin into thin strips, and that insolent tongue and manner will turn courteous."

CLANG!

The lowborn brat was holding up quite well against the Blood Master Swordsmen's combined assault.

Lost in a state of selfless absorption, he spun and lashed out with his hands. His movement technique was supple.

Internal energy moving with astonishing delicacy through the pressure points of his entire body reached the Third Apostle as calm ripples of qi.

He was emitting waves of force from the Demonic Asura Blood Art, yet crushing the swordsmen's heads without resistance, as though using Dharma-powered martial arts.

It was shocking all over again. This brat could not be allowed to grow any further.

"Withdraw."

At his quiet command, the swordsmen pulled away. A path opened in an instant, and the Third Apostle stepped toward the lowborn brat.

"Martial attainment includes experience in the martial world. Such is human nature. We grow stronger with the years. Those paltry senses of yours have yet to blossom. In other words, you are an opponent I can finish in one move."

He prattled on despite knowing the boy was not listening.

He was about to sever the limbs of a rising talent who could have left a great mark on Murim. Inevitably, it stirred a peculiar feeling.

"One move. The moment you try to block it, you will be slain. Conduct yourself as befits your low birth."

It happened then.

BOOOM!

For an instant, the sky heaved. The Third Apostle doubted his senses.

Even having reached such a supreme realm, he wondered whether his eyes had deceived him.

They had not.

CRAAASH!

The second reverberation was different. Something broke. For an instant, it felt as though heaven and earth were being remade.

He immediately thought of the Twin Flame Blood Spirit Enchantment. If his intuition was right, then heaven and earth truly had been overturned.

It was an age-old barrier that had protected headquarters for centuries. Its destruction meant the collapse of the Blood Flame Cult's very world.

"Moon Spirit Divine Technique!"

The cry came from behind him. The Cult Leader, who had been watching at ease, sprang to his feet. All the dignity of an absolute ruler had vanished from his bearing.

ROOOAR!

A pure-white tempest struck in an instant. Fragments of the shattered, ruined barrier whirled around them.

The Third Apostle immediately sensed it through his far-reaching energy detection.

The qi scattering in every direction swept over headquarters, pressing down alongside the winds of the outside world.

RAAAH!

It was the sound of martial-world mongrels charging in from every direction.

What had the Seventh and Fourteenth Apostles been doing? They had gone scouting earlier with several elite swordsmen. There was no telling what had happened to them.

It did not matter now.

The Third Apostle panicked. So did the other supreme masters at headquarters who could sense that the sorcerous formation had been broken.

Men who could command respect as powerful warriors anywhere under heaven all stared overhead.

Someone was descending from the distant sky.

It happened in a flash. The figure vanished as though dissolving into the wind, then appeared on the ground.

Pale-green hair and flowing robes shone with an otherworldly clarity, as though removed from reality.

"..."

The woman stood lightly upon the ground, like a celestial maiden descended to earth.

The presence rising from her entire body was nothing of the sort. The Blood Flame Cult masters froze.

The greater their martial attainment, the greater the terror they had to endure.

She was no celestial maiden. She was the king of the underworld.

PAT.

She took a step as calmly as if out for a stroll. The soft hem of her grass-green martial robes brushed the ground.

When had she drawn it? Radiance flowed down the treasured sword raised at her side, seeping into her luminous eyes and white skin.

The sunlight seemed suddenly brighter.

"Mad... ness..."

The Blood Flame Cult Leader muttered.

Those who aspired to contend for all under heaven memorized likenesses of its absolute masters.

Hers was the first face. It was said to be the same for regional warlords and great Murim sects alike.

Even the royal houses of small kingdoms were no different.

"The Desolate Fortress Master...?"

The Third Apostle's low murmur held a question.

None of this felt real. Not the situation.

Nor her appearance, which no single likeness could capture. Her beauty was so consummate that recognition had come late.

No.

Her face did not matter.

Only when the Desolate Fortress Master slowly took another step did an icy shock pierce the Third Apostle, as though an icicle had been driven into the back of his neck.

'The Cult is in danger!'

A pressure that seemed to push space silently aside sliced through his skin layer by layer.

The martial might before him was beyond even his ability to measure.

"Attack!"

Just as he issued the command to the Cult's senior members—

The Desolate Fortress Master glided into motion.

She allowed the scum no more time.

The moment the wide-eyed Third Apostle let out a battle cry, she was already directly before him, striking with her sword.

Was this the distance-shrinking art by which immortals were said to shorten the earth? Her movement technique was unreal, as though she had become the wind.

Her snow-white sword shimmered like a transparent breeze.

THUD.

The Third Apostle's head fell. It was an end unworthy of such a notorious supreme master.

A name that had traveled between the vast provinces of the Central Plains faded into nothing.

Jung Yeonshin's eyes widened. He abruptly emerged from his state of selfless absorption.

The energy detection of his upper dantian had aligned with the sight before his eyes.

'I couldn't see the move.'

He surmised that the Third Apostle had been no different. He had departed this world without perceiving her attack.

He would only have been certain of the death bearing down on him.

Yeonshin had seen only her raised hand. The sword's path had escaped his eyes.

An absolute master. Or a peerless master.

The meanings differed, but the impression was the same.

She held the advantage against anyone she faced. No one in the world could compare.

'They said the Fruit of the World Tree was not something one could seize by force.'

The gossips had been right.

The tree said to bear the most divine spirit medicine in all creation would endure forever under her protection.

"..."

A deathlike stillness settled over the inner courtyard of the Cult Leader's Palace.

An unbeliever had invaded the banquet and beheaded the Third Apostle, a man beneath only one and above all others.

Yet even righteous indignation had to account for one's opponent. The silence was profound.

Only the cries and martial pressure of the warriors outside continued to rise.

STEP.

The Blood Flame Cult Leader suddenly alighted directly before the Desolate Fortress Master.

His blood-red robes, embroidered with golden dragons, billowed a moment later. Sweeping his white hair behind his back, he spoke.

"Our first meeting face-to-face."

"I have nothing to discuss with a criminal."

There was no emotion in the Desolate Fortress Master's tone.

Nor in her sword.

Without warning, a pale sword flash gleamed, and blood burst from the Blood Flame Cult Leader's neck.

The supreme masters of the Blood Flame Cult around them gasped.

The blood of their ancient, absolute ruler had spilled with dreamlike ease.

But he had not died on the spot. He had already retreated half a step.

That meant a great deal. He had reacted to the sword strike. He had properly executed evasive footwork.

"Heh heh."

The Cult Leader's mouth twisted around a phlegmy chuckle. His crimson lips split wide to either side.

In that instant, Jung Yeonshin saw it clearly.

The sword wound in his neck seethed and rapidly regenerated, a sight even more grotesque than his smile. He was a Grandmaster of Blood Art.

His regenerative ability was on an entirely different level from that of the Blood Master Swordsmen.

Both absolute masters vanished at once, as though they had entered another realm. Their attainment in internal energy was beyond anything Yeonshin had imagined.

KABOOOM!

Though the sound came from far away, he nearly staggered. The shock wave battering his ears was tremendous. The two were still nowhere to be seen.

Yeonshin swiftly roused his core energy. There was no need even to examine his inner body.

He formed barriers of internal energy inside his ear canals. The delicate work was completed in an instant.

His study of the Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike and the Demonic Asura Blood Art had advanced his command of internal energy another step.

"The Cult Leader—where is he?"

"He is fighting the villain!"

The masters turned their heads toward the mountain behind the Cult Leader's Palace.

Another blast seemed to shake heaven and earth. It sounded like hundreds of Thunderclap Bombs detonating at once.

An enormous cloud of dust rose.

That was all.

The thunderous blasts became intermittent. The clash between the absolute masters had been loud only at the beginning.

'One breath.'

Yeonshin assessed the situation dispassionately. He had heard of the realm of peerless masters.

A single breath of an ordinary person was no different from an eternity to them. As befitted masters beyond measure, they seemed to exchange more evasions and feints than direct clashes.

He soon put those thoughts aside.

"Destroy the evil cult!"

"Destroy evil and uphold justice! Exterminate the demons!"

The sounds of sword strikes and bursting waves of force drew closer. The martial artists had begun their assault on Blood Flame Cult headquarters.

Familiar figures raced toward him, casually deflecting enemy weapons.

Chung Myung was fastest. Wiji Myohwa and Baek Miryeo followed.

The Mobility Arts of Gak jung, the little divine monk, were no less impressive. Even Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Swordsmen were there.

He was glad to see them. It felt as though a bed on which he could rest his heart was drawing near.

"Y-Young Master Jung...!"

He heard the voice clearly. Heon Wonchang was at the rear of the leading group.

He came running, his face reduced to skin and bone. Using his lightness skill, he deftly evaded the sword strikes of several cultists.

Upon seeing Yeonshin, he even gave an exhausted smile. He was the same companion as ever.

'You've recovered your martial arts.'

Relief washed over Yeonshin even as his mind worked at a feverish pace.

He envisioned the Desolate Fortress Master's victory. Yet the Blood Flame Cult Leader was himself one of the foremost absolute masters in the vast Central Plains.

He could not imagine the man going down easily.

That would mean heavy casualties. A cursory glance had told him as much.

"So you were the calamity that would befall our Cult."

The Sixth Apostle, who had begun radiating killing intent off to one side, was a major problem.

The way he looked between Yeonshin and the incoming martial artists was profoundly threatening.

Warriors comparable to a Black Captain of the Desolate Fortress were rare.

'There's no supreme master here who can match an Apostle.'

That remained true even with hundreds of martial artists pouring in from every direction.

The dozens of Blood Master Swordsmen were another such problem. Swordsmen stationed at headquarters might be capable of dominating not merely a county, but an entire prefecture.

They were warriors seldom encountered in the martial world.

"The Desolate Fortress Captains are coming!"

Chung Myung shouted as he raced forward with his lightness skill. It was plainly a bluff.

Yeonshin had already checked when his upper dantian's energy detection awakened. There were no Black Captains among their allies.

Here was the Desolate Fortress's chronic problem laid bare. It lacked the manpower to cover the vast Central Plains.