Immediately after beginning their strange wager with the Seventh Apostle, they sought to reach their destination as quickly as possible.

Jung Yeonshin and Namgoong Hwashin drove their fine horses onward in silence for a long time. Only the pounding of hooves and the fierce wind against their faces rang in their ears.

"... Young Master Jung. You seem to have little appetite."

"You seem much the same, Young Master Namgoong."

Even when they paused to rest their horses and tear into some jerky, the tension persisted. They kept their energy detection constantly on alert.

Whenever they glanced back, they caught sight of the Seventh Apostle smiling in the distance. Her beautiful smile sent chills through them.

The energy detection of a Desolate Fortress blue-robed expert was keen. That was true of both of them. But not keen enough to let them relax with a supreme master lurking three hundred zhang away.

At night, they took turns keeping watch.

On a cloudy night, Jung Yeonshin drew the Desolate Sword.

It was the dead of night, steeped in silence. The countless stars overhead lay shrouded in darkness, and the moon had pulled a veil of translucent gray clouds over its head. Only a faint, dreamlike moonlight settled over the quiet clearing amid the undergrowth.

The boy thought of Chung Myung.

Jung Yeonshin's body swayed briefly beneath the moonlight diffused through the clouds. A small breeze stirred at his lightly planted toes. The next instant, he broke into a sprint, suppressing his presence.

He ran without a sound, as though dissolving into the night air.

'She's asleep.'

He found the Seventh Apostle immediately. She had taken off her loose red pure-blood robe and draped it over herself from the shoulders down, curled up asleep on a thick branch.

Jung Yeonshin's gaze grew intent. She would notice at once, however clumsily he tried to imitate an assassin.

Without hesitation, he stamped his foot. Once was enough. Core energy exploded silently from the Yongquan point in his sole, sending out a powerful wave.

His body shot upward, raising a gale in its wake.

WHOOOSH!

In an instant, he was at the Seventh Apostle's eye level, close enough to feel her long breath against his cheek.

Their eyes had already met. Her red eye had slipped open, its upper and lower edges hidden by a little smiling squint.

He had expected as much. As he slashed down with his swift sword in his right hand, he stirred the core energy in his left arm.

His fourth fist-and-palm form, which he had not even named yet. The simultaneous operation of the Demonic Asura Blood Art and the Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike.

He could feel himself gradually growing accustomed to the strenuous deployment of power. With just one small insight, he felt he could truly cross its threshold.

SWISH!

The Seventh Apostle's foot flew at him. Though she kicked upward while lying on her side, it was astonishingly fast.

Her right foot thrust out as though crushing the air, first pushing aside his blade. The cold edge of the Desolate Sword, which had been striking toward her neck, was driven outside Jung Yeonshin's guard.

WHOOOSH!

Undeterred, he thrust out his left hand. The palm technique was primed like an explosive shell. He drove it straight toward the Seventh Apostle's face and unleashed it.

BOOM!

The tree splintered with a crack. The recoil was so great that a sharp ache reached his shoulder blade.

Jung Yeonshin was still airborne. The instant he discharged the palm technique, he was flung back like a leaf caught in a typhoon. He landed softly and brought his sword back, the Desolate Sword tracing a blurred arc into its sheath.

"Your form grows more refined by the day. Remarkable, my Grand Preceptor."

A languid voice, as though its owner were still half asleep, came from above. It was the Seventh Apostle. She had evaded even his palm technique.

Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.

"... The core energy surges forth from the Zhongfu point as though rising in revolt, then lingers at the Huozhong point with the intent of a storm."

He recited the fifth and sixth formulas of the Demonic Asura Blood Art. These were words he owed her.

Then he turned away.

One form for each opening attack was the unwritten rule of the agreement between Jung Yeonshin and the Seventh Apostle. In the world of masters, a surprise attack came down entirely to the first move. Anyone who allowed a second attack was no master of internal martial arts.

'Following up the swift sword worked well. It can cover the palm technique's weakness.'

Reviewing his attack, Jung Yeonshin glanced back.

The Seventh Apostle was already reclining on another branch, waving at him. She looked perfectly at ease, lying on her side with her head propped on one arm. Brushing aside a stray lock of hair, she smiled brightly.

"You must come back soon."

"..."

He turned away without answering.

In the distance, Namgoong Hwashin stood atop a tree with his arms folded. Beneath the hazy moonlight, his silent, watchful figure looked like a painting.

He was on guard in case the Seventh Apostle broke her promise and attacked. If necessary, they would fight her together.

TAP!

Namgoong Hwashin descended with his superb Mobility Arts and spoke.

"Your form is certainly becoming more precise. It feels as though I am witnessing the birth of a divine technique."

"A divine technique..."

Trailing off in slight embarrassment, Jung Yeonshin shook his head a little.

"I don't know whether I can complete it in the fourteen moves I have left."

"She is a supreme master capable of contending with our fortress's Black ranks. Every day, you exchange a strike with her, setting life and death aside. Whatever the outcome, you will gain no small amount from this."

"I'm simply grateful that you keep watching over me. You've been caught up in my debts and grudges."

"You give me too much credit. This rare experience is opening my eyes."

Namgoong Hwashin gave him an amiable smile. Sweat glistened on the palms that had been tucked beneath his folded arms.

He had been holding his sword hilt while watching the Seventh Apostle's response. Over the past few days, the two had forged a bond to rival those of the Radiant Demon Squad.

As always, Jung Yeonshin gave a small, silent bow. The loyalty shown by Namgoong Hwashin, the White Qilin, meant a great deal. He was nothing like the other members of the Namgoong clan Yeonshin had encountered.

"You look unlike your usual self. Speak freely. One wrong turn, and we may both become wandering souls at the Seventh Apostle's hands."

Namgoong Hwashin spoke with a smile.

Jung Yeonshin nodded and spoke.

"Earlier today, you suggested spending a day in Wuchang. I'm curious about the sister you mentioned. Namgoong Mi, the Lord of Changling Blossoms."

"Ah..."

Namgoong Hwashin let out a quiet exclamation and smiled bitterly.

"There isn't much to it, really. The problem was that my mother was an assassin raised by our house."

The damp breeze peculiar to summer woods brushed against their skin and crept upward. Overhead, the moon slowly poked its face through the clearing clouds, seeming to sneer.

"An assassin...?"

They were walking slowly toward their campsite. Jung Yeonshin echoed the word without thinking, then closed his mouth.

"You heard correctly. Many sects claim to walk the righteous path, but in practice, a body that wields power can hardly embody chivalry. Wealth, vested interests, land, military might. How could a force encompassing all these pursue chivalry alone? The facade of orthodoxy is merely a means of protecting its interests. Behind the scenes, it cultivates unseen swords."

Namgoong Hwashin continued with a composed expression.

"It is called Sword Night. It handles the work that our house's renowned Azure Heavenly Sword Corps cannot easily undertake. Assassinations and abductions, for instance. My mother was one of Sword Night's assassins. One day, she caught the clan head's eye."

"..."

"And so I was born. I had some talent. The clan head intended to make this bastard son the leader of Sword Night. I wasn't discarded like the other children born outside marriage—my half siblings, in other words. He even had spirit medicine given to a concubine-born son. That earned me the hatred of my legitimate sister. She said there wasn't enough internal energy for her to take as it was."

"You mean the Lord of Changling Blossoms, your opponent in the upcoming duel?"

"Yes. Sword Night serves as both swords and personal servants to the direct line of the Namgoong noble clan. She subjected my mother to every manner of humiliation before my eyes. Though Mother didn't even seem to see it that way. She was an assassin to her very bones."

"..."

"At the Mid-Autumn Festival two years ago, I received word of Mother's death. Not even her body returned from the mission. It was commonplace in Sword Night, but not to me. Assassinate a direct blood relative of one of the Lords of the Thirteen Skies... She had been sent on an absurd mission. As it turned out, it was the work of the Lord of Changling Blossoms, who often visited the young clan head's Azure Sky Palace. She had secretly affixed the acting clan head's official seal."

"Forging documents? Wouldn't even a third-rate gang balk at that?"

"The clan was turned upside down. Less because several Sword Night assassins had died than because she had used our house's swords for her own ends. The Lord of Changling Blossoms received a punishment of one hundred days of closed-door training. For an all-powerful member of the direct line, it was indeed a severe punishment. Yet she went in smiling, as though she'd enjoyed what she'd done."

"..."

"I left the clan then and entered the fortress. Escaping was arduous. I couldn't even dream of revenge. I was too weak and worthless. Sword Night's methods of conditioning the collateral lines to obey the direct line verge on sorcery. Like the Blood Flame Cult's blood fiends, we cannot bring ourselves to raise a sword against our masters. Look."

Namgoong Hwashin raised his hand. It was trembling violently.

"All I did was imagine cutting off my sister's head."

A life battered by years of oppression revealed itself in that shaking hand. Even his lower lip quivered pitifully. Gone was the spirit of a rising young martial artist whom anyone would have acknowledged as promising.

Yet the plain way he recounted his past was worthy of the White Qilin. He had spoken of what he needed to overcome. That alone was enough.

Jung Yeonshin said nothing.

He did not know that kind of pain. His own life had been different from birth. Hadn't he been hated in a village rife with superstition for killing his mother by being born?

But he knew loneliness. In silence, he offered his understanding.

Perhaps that was enough. Namgoong Hwashin gave a faint, seemingly grateful smile and leaned against a tree.

They had reached their campsite. The two fine horses tethered together watched them, their gazes passing over the pair in the firelight.

"Rest first."

"All right."

Their exchange was quiet and matter-of-fact.

Namgoong Hwashin volunteered for the first watch. Without declining, Jung Yeonshin lay down on the ground. Using his pack as a pillow and his long robe as a blanket, he closed his eyes.

"..."

The campfire crackled as it burned. An acrid smell rose with the snapping flames, seemingly because the firewood was damp.

'I should have dried it with True Samadhi Fire.'

With that tiny regret, Jung Yeonshin fell asleep.

The snorts of horses that sometimes settled late, the Seventh Apostle's gaze watching from concealment in the moonlight, the aching sensation of a palm technique taking clearer shape by the day.

Such was the boy's journey, until they reached Wuchang, where the second post station stood.

* * *

Jung Yeonshin and Namgoong Hwashin spent a day at Wuchang Post Station. Ming post stations also offered lodging, allowing them to enjoy decent beds while saving on expenses.

Few cities along their mission route had post stations. Namgoong Hwashin had anticipated that Namgoong Mi, unconventional in everything she did, would stray from the plan. Jung Yeonshin accepted his assessment, and they decided to rest for a day.

"What is that?"

Namgoong Hwashin asked. Reclining at an angle on the opposite bed, Jung Yeonshin raised his head.

"The Diamond Sutra."

He lifted the bound Buddhist scripture a little. He had brought it to study mental cultivation methods.

Namgoong Hwashin nodded, accepting the explanation without further interest.

'Adorning the Pure Land.'

Jung Yeonshin turned his eyes back to the scripture.

The Demon-Slaying Gentle Flowing Strike he had created after hearing the Shaolin monks' teachings had proven tremendously useful. Having acquired Dharma power, he was looking for a way to incorporate it into a new internal martial art together with the Desolate Fortress Master's Moon Spirit Harmonization Art.

If he succeeded, the palm technique he was developing would also advance a step. He could greatly shorten the time needed to execute it. If internal energy imbued with Dharma power could operate constantly, like the effects of the Movement Art that always filled his body, activating the Blood Art alone would suffice.

It would bring an improvement to his martial attainment itself.

—Let the mind arise without abiding anywhere.

As Jung Yeonshin scanned the passage, he suddenly raised his head. Across from him, Namgoong Hwashin did the same.

They had sensed the commotion outside. The voices were loud.

Profound Truth Sect, a fight, Namgoong, the Namgoong clan...

"She's here. Let's go."

Namgoong Hwashin spoke. He and Jung Yeonshin were already wearing gray hemp clothes. They had temporarily packed away their Desolate Fortress uniforms, which attracted attention wherever they went, in anticipation of something like this.

The two went straight outside.

A voice infused with core energy rang through the marketplace.

"Here, the Namgoong clan's Lord of Changling Blossoms has beheaded the unorthodox leader! A Namgoong branch will be established where the Profound Truth Sect once stood, so you may all pursue your livelihoods with peace of mind!"

What followed happened in a flash: Jung Yeonshin diminished their achievement by bringing up the servants, then returned to the post station with Namgoong Hwashin.

While they were discussing how to proceed over the next two days, more news reached them.

Namgoong Mi, the Lord of Changling Blossoms, had responded boldly.

She had destroyed the energy cores of every Profound Truth Sect servant they had previously spared. She had also damaged their mute points, rendering them unable to speak.

Then, they were told, she had taken the platform once more.

"They say those who keep company with ink are stained black. They were all in it together. They, too, were learning the Profound Truth Sect's wicked martial arts."

A post-station servant, paid ten copper coins, relayed her words in detail. He was a boy whose eyes alone marked him as very bright.

He said Namgoong Mi had shed sorrowful tears, her face like that of a heavenly maiden, and not a soul had failed to listen closely.

"They were the servants of those who acted as masters of this city. There was no distinguishing them from the disciples. They were not ordinary people like yourselves, but unorthodox scoundrels who shared in the Profound Truth Sect's spoils. Yet they must have been your children, your friends, your fathers. With a grieving heart, I punished them. Even if you point accusing fingers at me for showing no mercy, I shall willingly bear it."

But the Profound Truth Sect had been so vicious an unorthodox sect that no one blamed her. Her sweet, disarming manner and words had played no small part as well.

If anything, the servants' relatives and friends had been left anxiously watching the cheering crowd's reactions.

Neither the prefect nor the other authorities intervened, even though she had reduced the labor force within their administrative jurisdiction. It was evidence that the Namgoong noble clan's influence extended beyond the martial world.

Instead, word came that Namgoong Mi's fame as a chivalrous heroine was spreading.

Namgoong Hwashin's expression grew grave.

"This will be a problem even if our fortress wins the duels."

"If we take their heads in life-and-death duels, the Desolate Fortress will earn the people's resentment, at least around here."

Jung Yeonshin answered.

Namgoong Mi had begun acting as both a heavenly maiden and a king in Wuchang. In a short time, her local fame was soaring without limit. Her characteristic, confident smile was still vivid in his mind.

'The Desolate Fortress must always win the people's support.'

Though it had had justification, the fortress had annihilated the Hwangbo clan, a prestigious orthodox family. Now it intended to behead the Namgoong clan's leadership as well. Given that record, it could hardly complain if the orthodox martial world tried to unite against it.

According to the Chief Administrator, the Desolate Fortress leadership was concerned about a Martial Alliance.

To avoid giving the martial world grounds to form a vast alliance and attack the fortress, they had to prevail in every mission with fair, unimpeachable justification.

"There's no reason to rush into a struggle over justification. The Divine Sword Squad Leader, the Elder Council Leader, the head of the Desolate's Ma clan... That is for our elders to handle. We will receive credit simply for doing what we can."

"Young Master Jung...?"

"In any conflict, isn't it common to speak of using one enemy against another?"

Jung Yeonshin rummaged through his pack. What immediately met his hand was unnervingly soft.

It was the texture of the extraordinarily precious Thousand-year Silk. Slowly, he drew out a long robe as red as blood.

It was the pure-blood robe of a Blood Flame Cult Apostle.

"All we need is a mask. A demon mask would be good."

"You can't mean...?"

"Tell me, Young Master Namgoong. May I show no mercy?"