Jung Yeonshin intended to keep Namgoong Mi alive. If she had cunningly secured the moral high ground, he and Namgoong Hwashin could employ a little cunning of their own. Had subduing her proved difficult, he would have beheaded her in a single stroke. But having captured her like this, he could arrange the best possible outcome.

He would leave the final blow to Namgoong Hwashin. He wanted Hwashin to overcome his emotional wounds, while also earning merit himself. He intended to create circumstances in which the Desolate Fortress could behead the Namgoong clan's blood relations without reproach. Namgoong Mi was completely subdued. Of all the scenarios he and Hwashin had envisioned, this was among the best.

“What should I do with you?”

He spoke as the demon-masked figure in the pure-blood robe. Perhaps it was the destructive, erratic qi waves of the Demonic Asura Blood Art. The veins standing out on the back of the hand that held Namgoong Mi aloft by her throat looked sinister.

“Namgoong, a lowly name among the orthodox martial houses. Yet it has long been widely known. Through you, I might announce that our Cult remains strong.”

His words revealed why this Blood Flame Cult noble had intruded upon the gathering.

“Good heavens!”

“So that affair has led to this...”

The Wuchang martial artists who had been watching the fight between the Namgoong clan and the sinister cult's master sighed. Though they lacked the courage and strength to side with the utterly defeated Namgoong Mi now, they had enough discernment to understand the situation.

Many of those who had attacked the Blood Flame Cult's headquarters were local martial artists from around Southern Zhili. In sheer numbers, they had outnumbered the Desolate Fortress warriors present. News of the headquarters' destruction was hardly a secret.

Martial artists made their way in the world through martial prowess and reputation. The Blood Flame Cult was no different. A noble blood relation from headquarters had personally stepped forward to demonstrate the remaining strength of his disgraced order? Anyone could understand that.

“I could snap your neck right now. But that would be a waste. There must be ways to make use of you for a long time to come.”

A trace of laughter colored his quiet voice. Masters who attained great heights were said to seem no longer human. To third-rate martial artists, the Nine Sects and Eight Families and the Thirteen Skies were such beings. The crackle of core energy enveloping the boy's clear voice only heightened that impression.

“Shall I make you my servant? Have you wash my feet?”

“...”

The demon face on the mask seemed to stare fixedly at Namgoong Mi. Its mouth was split wide like a dragon's open jaws. It looked as though it were considering what to do with its prey.

Namgoong Mi opened her mouth, her face strained. She seemed barely able to part her lips.

“You... just called me defiant...”

“I did.”

“How dare a... base wretch hiding behind a mask.”

The demon mask laughed.

“Does my assessment offend you? You fallen Namgoong cur, hiding behind the mask of orthodoxy. ‘Base’ suits you better. You branded even innocents as unorthodox martial artists and used them as fertilizer for your reputation. Not even our Cult would stoop to that.”

“What nonsense—augh!”

Her curse became a gasp of pain. The instant Namgoong Mi opened her mouth again, the demon-masked figure's left hand blurred. Waves of force struck her body with several dull detonations. It sounded as though drums were bursting one after another. Anyone could tell this was no ordinary pressure-point sealing.

As Namgoong Mi hung limp from his grip on her throat, the strange young noble of the Blood Flame Cult spoke.

“Did you think I was joking about making you a servant?”

“Wh-what...!”

“You will need my permission to circulate your core energy. Such is the wondrous power of the Blood Art.”

He meant that he had imposed a restriction on her internal energy. The Desolate Fortress's Lightning Genius had once suffered the same at the hands of the Blood Flame Cult's Seventh Apostle. Having experienced the puncturing technique himself, he had little difficulty inflicting its effects on another. He needed only to apply the same method of core-energy circulation through the Demonic Asura Blood Art.

“How dare you! How dare you!”

Her voice rose sharply. Her delicate brow twisted viciously. This was not despair, but furious indignation. Something that should never have happened in her life had come to pass.

'I'll kill you! I'll make you kneel at my feet and kill you!'

He had subdued her and even robbed her of the freedom to wield her power. She stared wide-eyed, as though to burn him into her memory. Her gaze swept down the demon-masked figure, lingering near his sleeves where his skin showed.

A master's eye technique could surpass all imagination. The pulsing movement of internal energy near his acupoints might offer clues to his identity.

“An admirable spirit.”

“Ghh...!”

Just as the demon-masked figure tightened his grip on her throat, the Profound Truth Sect's main gates swung wide amid the deathly silence. A refreshing gust swept in. Its qi flowed in an exceedingly straight line.

“A blood fiend has taken up residence where an unorthodox sect was destroyed.”

The newcomer was a young man whom blue martial robes suited perfectly. His expression grew grave as he faced the demon-masked figure and Namgoong Mi.

“And here I came to raise a toast to my sister.”

With the conspicuous character for “desolate” emblazoned near his shoulder, he radiated an unrestrained presence. His straight nose and tightly closed lips resembled Namgoong Mi's, enough that everyone present was bound to think of a blood connection.

“Desolate...! The Desolate Fortress!”

“He called her his sister. Could he be...?”

“The White Qilin! The White Qilin of Namgoong!”

Their faces brightened. Namgoong Mi had fallen, leaving the rest of them uncertain of their fate.

The White Qilin, Namgoong Hwashin. He had made his name even before joining the Desolate Fortress. A young man widely acknowledged by the Nine Sects and Eight Families was already beyond the level of the rising generation in Wuchang's martial community. It was hard to imagine such a master being inadequate to face a Blood Flame Cult noble who had just fought a fierce battle.

'These are the people who were denouncing our fortress.'

Namgoong Hwashin had arrived with Jung Yeonshin as the banquet began. He had heard every word exalting the Namgoong clan and insulting the Desolate Fortress. Seeing the true faces of these local martial artists as they changed their tune disgusted him. He forced himself to ignore it and stepped forward.

He had already been regretting not investigating the Profound Truth Sect sooner, all because of Namgoong Mi's conduct. He had thought she would be satisfied with the servants she had already branded as unorthodox martial artists and deprived of their energy cores. He had been wrong. He had not expected her to implicate even the attendants.

'Yes. You were always that vicious.'

He saw Namgoong Mi being throttled by the Lightning Genius. Perhaps because her paralysis point had been sealed, she could not even turn her gaze.

'Has he completely immobilized her?'

Suddenly, Hwashin surprised himself. It seemed he, too, was merely another humble soldier walking the path of the sword. He had checked on the safety of his close companion before that of his half sister.

Jung Yeonshin, the Radiant Demon Squad's Lightning Genius. His calm breathing was unchanged from usual.

'Truly remarkable.'

Hwashin could hardly have brought about such a scene himself at present. He had no means of dealing with her cold energy. Even if he had, it would not have been easy. The Lightning Genius's martial power was exceptionally stable. Such a thing was impossible without complete command of his own realm of attainment.

His instincts were innate. His martial talent was clearly greater than Hwashin's.

'He has created an opportunity for me. I owe him. I must succeed.'

With that firm resolve, Namgoong Hwashin spoke.

“Blood fiend. Step away.”

“Another Namgoong mongrel? Step away? How amusing you are.”

The masked Lightning Genius spoke in a grotesque voice. For a moment, Hwashin thought that, had he not known the circumstances, those words and that tone would have wounded him. Something in that dispassionate delivery got under one's skin.

He made an effort to infuse his reply with spirit.

“Namgoong Mi, Lord of Changling Blossoms, is a designated opponent in our fortress's duels. The Divine Sword Squad Leader is coming in person to oversee the mission.”

“The Divine Sword Squad Leader...?”

Silence settled over the Profound Truth Sect's training ground. It was a name that demanded it. The fame of that peerless master, said to look down upon the world alongside the abbot of Shaolin, the Central Plains' foremost temple, transcended distance. Unlike the Desolate Fortress Master, who was said to walk above the clouds, he represented a very tangible danger that was almost impossible to resist.

“Release my sister, unless you wish to be hunted until your dying day by our fortress's supreme purple-ranked master.”

“Is a member of the Namgoong clan threatening me?”

The demon-masked figure reacted immediately. He flung Namgoong Mi, whose acupoints and internal energy he had sealed, to the ground like refuse. Ignoring her sprawled form—a sight no one could have imagined when the banquet began—he stepped toward Namgoong Hwashin by the main gates.

SHING.

Once more, he drew the sword from the scarlet waist of his pure-blood robe. The presence unleashed with the blade was chilling. At the same instant, Namgoong Hwashin drew his Desolate Sword. Sweat gathered in the onlookers' palms.

STEP. STEP.

The air between them seemed to have stopped moving. Not a breath of wind stirred. In that dry, rigid tension, only the two masters moved, striding toward one another. The way they walked as though taking a stroll, longswords held low, was strangely similar.

The air seemed to compress around them. A tension that felt eternal mounted as the distance dwindled. Ten paces, eight, five... Then—

THOOM!

The sounds rang out together. Their stamping feet and sword hands blurred first. Following the brief thunder of their forceful steps, both blades caught the sunlight. As the white sword light warped into two streaks, scarlet and blue hems swept past one another.

CLAAANG!

Namgoong Hwashin stopped. The sword resonance ringing as though his blade might break made him do so. He had intended to stop like this from the outset. Yet the trajectory and sword force, so different from their match at the Desolate Fortress, were another matter. He felt an astonishing degree of improvement.

'He has fully integrated his increased core energy into his sword path. The concentrated force was different.'

A sword path was precisely that: the course a sword followed. It was the flow that determined a strike's power and effectiveness.

He had heard that Jung Yeonshin, the Lightning Genius, had taken a spirit pill. He had also watched him exchange blows with the Seventh Apostle several times. But experiencing his sword strike firsthand was something else entirely.

Hwashin thought of his elder half brother.

'Perhaps he really does have a chance of winning.'

Just then, the sound of a sword being sheathed behind him scattered his wandering thoughts. It was Jung Yeonshin in his demon mask. Having sheathed his sword with a posture as unbending as the temperament he had displayed here, he spoke.

“You are worthy of invoking the Divine Sword Squad Leader's name.”

“...”

“Desolate Fortress. Wait for us. We have many branches to replace our headquarters. The nobles of the World of Blood shall return.”

Without so much as turning back, he strode arrogantly onward, straight toward the main gates through which Hwashin had entered. Having witnessed that overwhelming exchange of sword moves, the Wuchang martial artists never opened their mouths.

“Vermin.”

The Blood Flame Cult noble departed with a low laugh.

“...”

After a long silence, dealing with the aftermath fell to Namgoong Hwashin. Only then did he turn his gaze toward his half sister, the enemy who had always regarded him with contempt and loathing.

Yet a reunion with her blood relation seemed to be the last thing on Namgoong Mi's mind. She stood haughtily, as though she had never been thrown to the ground. Her upturned eyes were fixed on the main gates, where the demon-masked figure had departed. Resentment seemed to blaze in her gaze. It was an obsession even Hwashin had never seen before.

After watching her quietly, Hwashin spoke.

“We will take you into our protection. Your safety is guaranteed until the duel.”

“What...?”

“The Radiant Demon Squad's Lightning Genius is with me. Between Young Master Jung and myself, we should be able to keep you safe until you reach Southern Zhili.”

As Namgoong Mi finally turned her head, the Wuchang martial artists' faces came into view behind her. Their varied expressions betrayed complicated feelings.

“This is serious. Wasn't that man an extraordinarily powerful master? To think a blood fiend of that caliber is roaming Wuchang.”

“We should worry more about repercussions from the Namgoong clan...”

They swallowed whatever tasted sweet and spat out whatever was bitter. Inwardly frowning, Hwashin ignored their opportunism. The struggle for the moral high ground was bearing fruit.

“Protecting someone they've agreed to fight to the death?”

“How... scrupulously fair.”

“The Desolate Fortress. They did say they cared about the people's welfare...”

This was exactly what Jung Yeonshin and Namgoong Hwashin had intended. Most of those assembled here were people of standing: escort-agency owners, martial academy heads, sect leaders, and even the dean of Wuchang's prefectural school. Their words would become local public opinion.

It was done. Now they could behead the Namgoong clan's leadership without worrying about how the people would view it.

* * *

The old tree rising from one corner of Wuchang's marketplace was the tallest in the vicinity. A woman sat sideways on one of its thick branches. Her hair, falling like jet-black silk, fluttered in the breeze. Her red eyes, like rubies treasured by a monster, remained fixed below.

A boy moving away like a drifting leaf entered her sight. His movements resembled the noble race's movement technique. Though he should have made almost no sound, she could hear his footsteps clearly.

The Seventh Apostle's lips moved.

“My little Grand Preceptor.”

She had begun talking to herself more. Was it because she had spent so long walking the martial world alone? No. She must always have been this way. She had, after all, been born noble and solitary.

She chuckled, an unintended nasal lilt entering her voice.

“You are so sweet.”

Jung Yeonshin, the Lightning Genius. She had distinctly imprinted on her ears that voice carrying the core energy of the Demonic Asura Blood Art. The sight of him donning the pure-blood robe once more had been entrancing. His brilliant gifts and resolute temperament made it suit him better than anyone else.

The impression was as vivid as the brands burned into unorthodox slaves.

That voice, that appearance, that bearing of absolute supremacy. The whole time she watched and listened, she had felt as though her entire body might melt. Even her inner world had grown soft as clouds in the night sky.

The Seventh Apostle's right eye swept over every part of Jung Yeonshin in a luminous red glow.

The Blood Flame Cult's young Grand Preceptor, its noble little Cult Leader. He was already removing his mask and pure-blood robe in a deserted clearing.

Suddenly, a pain like tearing filled her heart. Those things truly belong to you, my little Grand Preceptor.

Even his choice of location seemed to account for the Seventh Apostle. He was not far from Namgoong Hwashin.

“Ah...”

She released a sweet sigh and murmured in a near whisper.

“What must I do for you to accept me?”

If it meant the boy would look only at her, might she not cut off all his limbs and take him away?

The Seventh Apostle immediately shook her head. He had to create a divine technique that would illuminate the world like a comet. She must not ruin such a being with her wicked desires.

“Show me an opening...”

She lightly licked her lips.