BOOM!

The recoil from the palm technique's shock wave was tremendous. Jung Yeonshin immediately channeled another surge of power into the meridians of his right arm. The Hand Yangming Large Intestine Meridian, the long channel among the twelve primary meridians running from inside his shoulder to his index finger, took on the Movement Art's resilience. It was a measure to prevent the powerful backlash from dislocating his joints.

SCRAAAPE!

Even so, he was driven backward. The ground felt rough beneath his feet as they plowed furrows through the earth. The storm of palm force scattering in every direction raised clouds of yellow dust, obscuring his vision.

'As expected.'

The blow had barely connected. An instant earlier, the Seventh Apostle's qi waves had suddenly swelled before she sped away with a swift movement technique. She had evaded the strike Jung Yeonshin unleashed at point-blank range. Her response suggested she had anticipated it. Just what he would expect of the cunning witch.

The Seventh Apostle was certainly weaker than when she was uninjured. Her evasion had been a fraction late. But she was not as weak as she had appeared. Her seemingly extreme frailty had been an exaggerated act. She remained powerful. Had she been trying to arouse his pity?

"What are you after?"

Jung Yeonshin spoke as he stared through the dust. The Seventh Apostle's figure stood five paces away. With a single wave of her hand, a gust of hot summer wind swept past, clearing his view. Her flowing black hair, red eye, and curved lips came into sight.

"You've created another martial art that never existed before, haven't you?"

The Seventh Apostle lightly stroked her abdomen. Her red Thousand-year Silk robes were indented there, clinging as though wet. She had failed to fully deflect Jung Yeonshin's palm force. That meant her sublime Protective Aura, which should have been constantly active, had been pierced for an instant.

The implications were enormous. He now possessed a strike that could work even against those in the realm of Black rank. Someday, it would serve as a secret life-saving technique.

'Landing it is another matter. Connecting is the problem.'

It was difficult to give it speed and precision. The signs preceding the form's execution were too conspicuous, and the flow of power too great.

Jung Yeonshin forced down his sense of accomplishment and watched the Seventh Apostle. The madwoman was opening her mouth.

"This much, when it wasn't even a direct hit..."

An innocent smile formed on her lips.

"If that had hit me squarely, I doubt I'd have escaped unscathed. Amazing!"

She gazed at him with considerable excitement. Even the eye opposite her black eyepatch seemed to sparkle red.

"I asked you a question. What are you planning?"

"Why ask something so obvious? I came to fetch my Grand Preceptor..."

She lowered her sole eye slightly, letting her words trail off.

Her attitude had changed. In that moment, Jung Yeonshin felt the laws of the martial world keenly. There was no reason to think otherwise. It was because he had grown stronger. Because Namgoong Hwashin was with him.

Freedom to do as one pleased belonged to masters alone. The stronger one became, the more dignity one commanded. The laws of the martial world were clear.

The Lightning Genius, whose martial attainment had risen. The White Qilin, who exuded a mighty presence. With her internal injuries, the Seventh Apostle would struggle to subdue such a force without suffering wounds herself. She could no longer casually attempt to abduct him as she had before.

Jung Yeonshin made up his mind.

'I'll end this on this journey.'

He would rarely get another chance to see the Seventh Apostle in such a state. He had to execute her while she was even slightly weakened. Apart from the Tyrant Sword Tribe Lord, she was plainly the greatest threat to his future.

"My Grand Preceptor. Come with me. Please?"

The Seventh Apostle spoke with an earnest expression. It was outright pleading. It was laughable to see her do so with the very mouth she used to drain people's vital essence. Where was the supreme master of the evil cult who had captured him in a single move at Azure Wild Valley in Southern Zhili, without a word of explanation?

Jung Yeonshin studied her expression. The center of her scarlet lips was turned slightly upward. She seemed to consider this a situation she could neither profit from nor bear to abandon. She could not easily subdue him, yet had no intention of leaving. Did she plan to cling to him as she had during his stay at headquarters?

"Your Blood Art."

As he spoke, the Seventh Apostle's face immediately brightened.

"Yes?"

"I've completed the formula. It's embodied within me."

WHOOSH!

A sinister presence arose as he put the formula into practice. He had activated the Demonic Asura Blood Art. Formless waves of core energy began erupting sporadically from his entire body. His usual quiet air transformed into an explosive, uncanny aura that enveloped him. A noise like a snake's hiss made it all the more eerie.

HISSS...

Jung Yeonshin's face remained calm. There was not a trace of the base madness peculiar to Blood Arts. The qi waves that had been called pure-blood energy at the Blood Flame Cult's headquarters surrounded him. For an instant, even his blue Desolate Fortress uniform looked like a pure-blood robe.

While studying his fourth form, he had finished revising the formula completely. He had retained only the Blood Art's characteristic killing intent and explosiveness. Any master familiar with the Demonic Asura Blood Art would recognize the change.

"Ah...!"

The Seventh Apostle's exclamation bordered on rapture. Just as she opened her mouth, her face flushed with excitement, he spoke.

"It's a hundred-character formula. Each time you block one of my surprise attacks, I'll give you four characters."

Jung Yeonshin spoke quietly. He was proposing a wager with a martial formula as the stakes. He had spoken of surprise attacks to an Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult.

"Young Master Namgoong and I will continue on our way. From now on, stay at least three hundred zhang away. Come no closer. Only I may close the distance. Break that rule, and I'll take one of your arms. Even if I die, I should be able to tear off one of your limbs."

With the Blood Art active, Jung Yeonshin's voice had become harsh and distorted. Standing beside him, Namgoong Hwashin thought it sounded like the voice of a demon risen from Buddhism's Eight Hot and Eight Cold Hells.

'Young Master Namgoong is remarkably circumspect. He never acts rashly.'

Jung Yeonshin admired the White Qilin's breadth of character. Even if they had no other option, he was silently accepting Yeonshin's outrageous declaration. He did so even after witnessing a Blood Art, despite being an orthodox martial artist. Yeonshin was deeply grateful.

"What was that?"

The Seventh Apostle smiled in amusement.

He had declared that he would attack her unilaterally. It was an offer anyone would be strange to accept. Four characters out of a hundred. He meant to claim twenty-five opportunities to deliver a killing blow against a master several levels above him.

Even if he ambushed her, she could not kill Jung Yeonshin. Her mad obsession and her actions thus far attested to that. But if she made a clumsy attempt to capture him instead, she would have to withstand a combined assault from the Lightning Genius and White Qilin, both heedless of their lives.

That was something even she now dreaded. With her internal injuries, she might lose an arm. She was a viper trying to approach a hedgehog curled into a ball. The initiative had changed hands.

"If you accept, move away now," Jung Yeonshin said.

A faint smile formed on the Seventh Apostle's lips.

"You could give me a false formula, couldn't you?"

"I have no intention of trying such a clumsy trick. Wouldn't a supreme master of your caliber notice something amiss?"

"What if you never attack me?"

"You're no different from those noble clans. There are people who understand nothing of others' debts and grudges. You created this grudge. You'll die by my hand."

His answer was calm.

In a martial world where life was lived on a knife's edge, he had been deprived of his freedom. Forced into a position he did not want, he had been made to live in constant tension. He had spent over a month that way. He had no intention of forgiving her.

She did not answer immediately. After gazing steadily at Jung Yeonshin, she parted her lips very slowly.

"Four characters is too few. Six."

She abruptly began bargaining, her tone light. The atmosphere shifted. A trace of bewilderment appeared on Namgoong Hwashin's face. Standing beside Jung Yeonshin, he tightened the hand resting on his sword hilt.

"Just what one would expect of a cult lunatic."

As he muttered, Jung Yeonshin spoke.

"I'm not a merchant."

"Six characters."

"Five."

"Good. I'll get to savor my Grand Preceptor's blade to my heart's content, won't I?"

The Seventh Apostle smiled. Suddenly, a breeze blew between the three of them.

The sun overhead seemed to have lost its heat. The Blood Art he had unleashed so fully had left a considerable impact. The plants lining the government road were losing their green. Leaves scattered helplessly in a dry gust laden with qi waves.

"..."

Jung Yeonshin slowly withdrew the Demonic Asura Blood Art. Trading a martial formula for threats to one's life. This, too, was Murim.

"Go."

"See you later."

The Seventh Apostle's eerily casual farewell brought a belated surge of tension.

Three hundred zhang—approximately nine hundred and nine meters—was a delicate distance. It allowed them to react the moment a supreme master began approaching. Yet the Seventh Apostle, too, would be watching them with her exceptional eye technique. She would not permit them even to send a mounted courier or release a single messenger pigeon.

RUSTLE.

Her pure-blood robe fluttered crimson. With a faint footfall, she vanished into the distance in an instant, using elusive Mobility Arts. Namgoong Hwashin watched her retreating figure in silence before speaking.

"... A storm right from the start. If we try to return, she'll cross those three hundred zhang immediately."

"She will. She must have accepted because the distance suited her."

"Your nerve is remarkable, Young Master. I thought we'd have to fight to the death here."

"The unorthodox are selfish. They shy away from any fight they aren't more than ninety percent certain of winning. She probably went along because, even if we died, we could tear off one of that lunatic's limbs."

Jung Yeonshin had encountered many of the Thirteen Skies in a short time. Namgoong Hwashin nodded at his words.

"But do you truly intend to launch twenty attacks?"

"We mustn't let her recover. If we don't kill her now, she'll become a formidable enemy. We have to press the attack and finish her while her regenerative ability isn't functioning. Of course, when I make my move..."

"Naturally, I'll have to accompany you. Don't worry. I'll gain experience against an Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult."

Namgoong Hwashin smiled reassuringly. His eyes were clear as he faced Jung Yeonshin, the comrade with whom he had briefly shared the fate of his life.

Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.

"We'll make it back alive this time, too. And succeed in our mission."

"... Of course we will."

An unforeseen complication had arisen on the very first day of their mission. And so their peculiar journey through the martial world began.

* * *

Seven days and nights had passed since Namgoong Mi, the Lord of Changling Blossoms, left her clan's estate. She had given warriors from Changling Blossoms, a combat unit of the collateral lines, the opportunity to escort her. A small gesture and a single smile had sufficed. Six had followed her.

She had brought no servants, anticipating a rough journey through the martial world.

'They'd only get in the way.'

It hardly mattered. She had naturally turned the Changling Blossoms warriors into servants. The smile of a powerful, beautiful young lady of the direct line held great magic. The six elite warriors divided the journey's menial chores among themselves without being told.

They brought conviction to this expedition. They regarded it as a journey to punish the lawless Desolate Fortress warriors.

"A sparring match is one thing, but a duel to the death? Truly rude and deplorable."

"How were we supposed to know who that brat was and rush to his aid? It was a battlefield. Naturally, we had to assess the situation first."

"Ha! It's not as though the Great Ming Code says we must welcome Desolate Fortress warriors!"

Traveling on the clan's fine horses, they reached Wuchang in Huguang Province. It was a city with a post station. Two more prefectures beyond it lay Xiangyang, home to the Desolate Fortress.

Major factions with some of the finest intelligence networks in the world knew at least the broad outlines of Desolate Fortress warriors' habits. They were aware of their fondness for the post roads. As soon as the group entered the city, they moved according to plan.

CRASH!

The wooden signboard bearing the words "Wise Teacher Sect" shattered. The sect's name spoke of a virtuous master. The reality was different. It was an unorthodox sect that plundered commoners beneath a fine-sounding name.

"What insolent bastards dare—!"

The sect leader's head flew off with a single sword stroke as he bellowed. It was Namgoong Mi's strike, which froze even the roof ridge. Beneath sunlight falling like a curtain, the cold rising from her body became snow-white vapor.

"What..."

The enemies faltered. The fairy wreathed in icy qi seemed beyond the mortal world. None could oppose her. The Namgoong clan's Changling Blossoms warriors were no different. They were in an entirely different league from the local unorthodox sect.

With flashes of sword light, the Wise Teacher Sect's disciples fell helplessly. In less than an hour, the sect was annihilated.

They immediately returned to Wuchang's market streets.

"Look here!"

Figures clad in martial robes of visibly fine quality emerged covered in blood. Fighting among martial artists was so noisy that word spread quickly. The people, at a loss amid fear and panic, widened their eyes. A Changling Blossoms warrior had raised the Wise Teacher Sect leader's severed head.

"Here! The Namgoong clan's Lord of Changling Blossoms has beheaded the unorthodox ringleader! A branch of the Namgoong clan will take the Wise Teacher Sect's place, so rest easy and go about your livelihoods!"

"The Namgoong... The Namgoong clan?"

"The Lord of Changling Blossoms... Isn't she one of the renowned Nine Phoenixes?"

"That beauty, those qi waves. No wonder...!"

The Wuchang martial artists who had been watching their movements murmured among themselves. The commoners, anxious about being caught in a struggle between martial factions, heard them too. People gathered. Their agitation did not last long. Exclamations of bewilderment soon turned to cheers.

The Namgoong, renowned as the foremost clan in orthodox Murim, had promised to protect them personally.

Repeated poor harvests had made meals precious. Now that the depredations of some martial artists, who possessed nothing but fighting strength, had begun to affect ordinary people's lives, the immediate safety before them mattered most.

"What's all this?"

"The Namgoong clan! Thank you, truly, thank you!"

"What a beautiful young lady. A fairy in the flesh..."

Men and women, young and old alike, praised the Namgoong clan. Namgoong Mi answered the cheers mingling with the white sunlight with a lovely smile. The cheering grew louder.

"My brother should have been here, too."

She murmured with a smile. The Blue Qilin, Namgoong Sejin, had been unable to come. The position of young clan head carried heavy responsibilities. Unable to leave on a whim, he had said he would wait for the formal schedule of the matches against the Desolate Fortress.

'Easy.'

Namgoong Mi smiled playfully to herself. While out to meet the imperial watchdogs, she had effortlessly won the hearts of Wuchang's people. It was a diversion that required little of her clan's strength.

She simply disliked the Desolate Fortress, which roamed the martial world proclaiming concern for the people's welfare as though its warriors alone were chivalrous heroes. Everyone would support her. That was only right.

It happened then.

"You vicious, lawless bastards! How could you kill innocent servants too!"

Someone shouted and disappeared into the distance. It was a boy. He ran exceptionally fast, yet there was a peculiar refinement to his bearing.

They had killed servants?

The crowd began to murmur. Public sentiment could change just that quickly. All the more so when a noble clan wielding worldly power was involved. Unless it was the Nine Great Sects, cultivating the Way in the mountains, or the Desolate Fortress, which flew the banner of relieving the people's suffering, suspicion followed.

'Worthless creatures.'

The corners of Namgoong Mi's mouth rose farther. Her smile was snow-white. She had cut down several fleeing third-rate warriors whose qi waves were difficult to sense. Had there been people among them who had never learned martial arts? Perhaps it was the Changling Blossoms warriors who had killed them, not her.

—Silence him.

She sent a brief sound transmission. Just as a Changling Blossoms warrior gave a slight nod and stepped forward, two people were whispering at the corner of an inn, already too far away for the group to hear.

"Young Master Namgoong."

"Well done. This is how you must deal with my sister. I've suffered at her hands often since childhood. I thought she wouldn't stay quietly at home, and waiting a day at the post station paid off. Buying spare clothes was a good decision, too. Traveling as though the Seventh Apostle were chasing us helped a great deal as well."

"I wonder whether there's any reason to put off the match."

"Her disposition seems to have become more difficult..."

"You sensed the uncontained yin qi, didn't you?"

"As I thought. Her attainment in qi arts couldn't have changed so abruptly, so I suspect she's eaten some potent snow ginseng. If she deliberately unleashes her power, even approaching her would be difficult... What's the matter?"

"Ten moves."

"Hm?"

"Ten moves might be enough," the boy said.