CHAPTER 85

Shortly after starting the peculiar bet with the Seventh Apostle, they pushed their steeds forward, aiming to reach their destination as quickly as possible.

Jung Yeonshin rode silently with Namgoong Hwashin for a long time.

Only the sound of hooves and the fierce wind against their faces filled the air.

"…Young Hero Jung, you seem to have lost your appetite."

"You too, Young Hero Namgoong."

Even as they paused occasionally to rest their horses and chew on dried meat, the tension lingered. Their senses remained sharp at all times.

Whenever they glanced back, they saw the Seventh Apostle smiling in the distance. Beautiful smiles that felt ominous.

The energy perception of the blue-rank masters of Desolate Fortress was sharp. Both were the same.

But neither was careless enough to underestimate the high-level Apostle lurking three hundred zhangs away.

By evening, they took turns keeping watch.

Under the cloudy night, Jung Yeonshin drew his Desolate Sword.

It was a midnight drenched in silence.

The stars scattered across the sky rested in the darkness, and the moon was veiled by translucent gray clouds.

Only the dreamy moonlight faintly descended. The clearing through the bushes remained still.

The boy recalled clarity.

Swoosh.

With the moonlight diffused by the clouds, Jung Yeonshin's body wavered briefly.

A faint breeze rose at the tip of his light step. The next moment, his silent sprint began.

He ran soundlessly, blending into the night air.

'Sleeping.'

He found her immediately—the Seventh Apostle. Dressed in a loose red silk robe draped over her shoulders, she was curled up, asleep, on a thick branch.

Jung Yeonshin's gaze grew cold. Even a poor imitation of an assassin would be detected instantly.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward with full speed. Once was enough.

A wave erupted silently from the bubbling well acupoint in his sole.

Riding the explosive surge, his body soared upward.

Whoosh!

In an instant, he was level with the Apostle's eyes. Close enough to feel her breath.

At that moment, their eyes met. A faint smile curled under the half-open red eye.

As expected. While slashing his right sword strike, he gathered energy in his left arm.

An unnamed fourth technique—simultaneously deploying Demon Roaring Blood Art and Demon-Slaying Azure Steel Palm.

The reckless spread of internal energy was slowly becoming familiar. He felt as though he was on the verge of grasping enlightenment.

Swish!

The Apostle's foot shot out. Despite lying on her side, her upward kick was astonishingly fast.

The right foot stretched out as if crushing the air, pushing back the sword blade.

The icy edge of the Desolate Sword, aimed at her neck, slipped out of Jung Yeonshin's range.

Ssshh─!

Unbothered, he thrust his left hand forward. The palm strike, loaded like a fireball, rushed toward the Apostle's face.

Boom!

A tree shattered with a crack. The recoil was so intense that it stung his shoulder blade.

Jung Yeonshin's body remained airborne. Like a leaf caught in a typhoon, he bounced back with the impact of the palm strike.

He landed softly, reversing his sword. With a faint arc, the Desolate Sword slid back into its sheath.

"Your techniques are becoming more refined. Impressive, our Grandmaster."

A languid voice echoed from above, as if still half-asleep. It was the Apostle. She had evaded even the palm strike.

Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.

"…Energy rising from the Central Mansion Point remains in the Meeting Point, embodying the will of a storm."

He recited the fifth and sixth mantras of the Demon Roaring Blood Art. It had to be said.

Then, he turned away.

A single attack was the unwritten rule between him and the Apostle.

In the world of masters, an ambush was everything in the first second. Allowing a second strike meant forfeiting one's status as a master.

'The quick sword combination worked well. It covered the palm strike's weaknesses.'

Reflecting on his moves, Jung Yeonshin glanced back.

The Apostle was already leaning against another branch, waving her hand.

Lying sideways with one arm supporting her head, she looked completely at ease.

As her hair slipped down, she tucked it behind her ear and smiled brightly.

"Hurry back again."

"…"

Without responding, he turned his head.

From a distance, Namgoong Hwashin stood at the treetop with his arms crossed.

Under the dim moonlight, he silently watched like a painting.

He was wary of the Apostle breaking the rule and launching an attack. Ready to join forces if needed.

Tap!

Namgoong Hwashin descended with graceful footwork and spoke.

"Indeed, your techniques are becoming more precise. It feels like witnessing the birth of a divine art."

"Divine art is…"

Jung Yeonshin trailed off with slight embarrassment and shook his head.

"I'm not sure if I can complete it within the next fourteen moves."

"To face a high-level expert embodying the black essence of their core—you exchange deadly blows daily. Regardless of the outcome, what you gain will not be small."

"I'm always grateful for your support. You've been dragged into my vendetta."

"You overstate it. It's a rare experience, and I'm gaining insight."

Namgoong Hwashin smiled warmly. Sweat shimmered in his palms from gripping his sword earlier.

He had been ready to draw at any moment while observing the Apostle's responses. The bond they'd forged over the past few days was strong.

Jung Yeonshin bowed slightly, as always. The loyalty Namgoong Hwashin displayed was extraordinary. Unlike anyone he'd encountered from the Namgoong Clan.

"Your expression seems unusual today. Feel free to speak. At worst, we might end up as wandering spirits by the Apostle's hand."

Namgoong Hwashin joked.

Jung Yeonshin nodded and opened his lips.

"You mentioned earlier about staying in Wuchang for a day. I'm curious about the person you spoke of—Namgoong Mi, the Flourishing Spirit Flower Master."

"Ah…"

Namgoong Hwashin let out a small sigh, smiling bitterly.

"It's nothing special, really. My mother's status as a trained assassin in the clan is the issue."

The damp breeze of the summer forest brushed against their skin.

Above them, the slowly clearing clouds revealed the moon's mocking gaze.

"An assassin…?"

Jung Yeonshin instinctively asked but quickly fell silent.

"You heard right. Many sects claim to walk the righteous path, but it's hard for those wielding power to maintain pure ideals. Wealth, authority, land, and force—a group that encompasses all these cannot pursue only righteousness. The title of an orthodox sect is merely a way to protect interests. Behind the scenes, they nurture unseen blades."

Namgoong Hwashin continued with a calm expression.

"It's called 'Sword Night.' They handle tasks the Changgung Sword Sect can't dirty their hands with—assassinations, kidnappings. My mother was one such assassin until the clan leader took notice of her."

"…"

"And so I was born. My talent wasn't bad. The clan leader intended to raise this illegitimate child as the head of the Night Sword. Unlike other bastards who were abandoned, I was given elixirs. Naturally, I drew the hatred of my legitimate sister."

"The Flourishing Spirit Flower Master, your opponent in the duel?"

"Yes. Night Sword serves as both the blade and servants of the Namgoong Clan. I saw my mother humiliated before me countless times. She didn't seem to mind—she was a born assassin."

"…"

"Two years ago, I received news of my mother's death. She died on a mission, and her body never returned. Such things are common in Night Sword , but it wasn't for me. She was ordered to assassinate a direct descendant of the Thirteen Heavens—a ridiculous mission orchestrated by Flourishing Spirit Flower Master's schemes. She even forged the clan leader's seal."

"Document forgery? Even third-rate sects wouldn't stoop so low."

"The clan erupted. The deaths of a few assassins weren't the issue—it was the misuse of the clan's blade. She was sentenced to a hundred days of closed-door training. She smiled as if amused."

"…"

"So I left the clan and joined the Fortress. It was a difficult escape. Revenge wasn't even a dream. I was weak and pathetic. Night Sword 's methods of subjugating branch members border on sorcery. Like the blood demons of the Blood Flame Cult, they can't even raise a sword against their masters. Look at this."

Namgoong Hwashin raised his trembling hand.

"I've only imagined cutting my sister's throat."

Years of repression had left his life marked by trembling hands.

His lower lip trembled pitifully, and the commanding presence of a promising martial artist was nowhere to be found.

Yet, the way he recounted his past so plainly reflected the dignity of the White Qilin.

Naming the trials he had to endure was enough.

Jung Yeonshin said nothing.

He did not know such pain. He was born that way—hated from birth for killing his mother upon delivery, in a superstitious rural village.

But he knew solitude. Jung Yeonshin empathized in silence.

Was that enough? Namgoong Hwashin gave a faintly grateful smile and leaned against a tree.

They had arrived at the campsite. The two tethered steeds gazed at the fire along with them.

"Rest first."

"Then I will."

Simple words were exchanged.

Namgoong Hwashin volunteered for the first watch. Without hesitation, Jung Yeonshin lay down.

Using his pack as a pillow and his robe as a blanket, he closed his eyes.

"…"

The campfire crackled, its smoke rising with a sharp scent. The damp logs must have been the cause.

'I should've dried them with Three Samadhi True Fire.'

With a small tinge of regret, Jung Yeonshin fell asleep.

The occasional restless whinnies of the horses, the piercing gaze of the Seventh Apostle hidden in the moonlight, and the sharp sensations of his increasingly refined techniques.

This was the boy's journey.

Until they reached the second relay station in Wuchang.

* * *

Jung Yeonshin and Namgoong Hwashin stayed a day at the Wuchang relay station. Ming Dynasty relay stations doubled as inns.

It was a cost-effective way to find decent lodging.

Few cities along their route had such stations.

Namgoong Hwashin anticipated the unpredictable behavior of Namgoong Mi and suggested a day's rest, and Jung Yeonshin agreed.

"What's that?"

Namgoong Hwashin asked. Jung Yeonshin, reclining on the opposite bed, raised his head.

"The Diamond Sutra."

He held up a Buddhist scripture bound as a book. It was for his meditation studies.

Namgoong Hwashin gave a nod, accepting it as it was.

'The Section on Purifying the Land.'

Jung Yeonshin returned his gaze to the scripture.

Demon-Slaying Azure Steel Palm, developed after learning from Shaolin monks, had proven highly effective.

Now, he was exploring ways to fuse its principles with the Moonlight Harmony Technique of the Desolate Fortress.

If successful, the palm techniques he was refining would make a breakthrough.

It would drastically shorten the execution time for techniques.

Just like the internal energy of the Jung Family's Dynamic Art, if divine energy could be integrated into his core, one burst of blood energy would be enough.

It would mean a fundamental advancement in martial prowess.

─Abide nowhere, yet let the mind arise.

As he skimmed the passage, Jung Yeonshin suddenly lifted his head. Namgoong Hwashin did the same.

They sensed the commotion outside. The noise of raised voices.

Virtuous Teacher Sect, a fight, Namgoong, Namgoong Clan...

"They're here. Let's go."

Namgoong Hwashin spoke. Both were already wearing gray robes.

Their conspicuous Desolate Fortress uniforms had been packed away in anticipation of such an event.

They stepped outside.

A voice, infused with energy, rang through the streets.

"Here! The Flourishing Spirit Flower Master of Namgoong has severed the head of the heretic leader! The Virtuous Teacher Sect's grounds will soon house a Namgoong branch. Carry on your trades in peace!"

It wasn't long before Jung Yeonshin and Namgoong Hwashin returned to the station, brushing off comments about servants and downplaying achievements.

As they debated their next steps over the next two days, another piece of news arrived.

Namgoong Mi's actions were bold.

She had crippled the meridians of all Virtuous Teacher Sect's surviving servants, leaving them mute by damaging their pressure points.

Then, she stepped onto the stage once more.

"They were stained by association. Birds of a feather. Even the servants had practiced the Virtuous Teacher Sect's sinister martial arts."

The relay station's servant, paid ten copper coins, relayed the details vividly.

He was a sharp-looking boy with bright eyes.

Namgoong Mi, with the face of a celestial maiden, shed pitiful tears, and no one doubted her words.

"They acted like lords of the city. Their servants were no different from their disciples—part of the heretical clan. But these were also your children, friends, and fathers. I punished them with a heavy heart. Even if you point fingers and call me merciless, I will endure it."

But the Virtuous Teacher Sect's reputation as a ruthless heretical sect prevented anyone from condemning her.

Her sweet and persuasive speech had a strong effect.

Even the relatives of the crippled servants hesitated, fearing public judgment.

The local authorities remained silent.

Despite losing workers under their jurisdiction, they didn't intervene.

It was evidence of Namgoong Clan's influence beyond the martial world.

Rumors spread that Namgoong Mi's fame as a chivalrous heroine was growing rapidly.

Namgoong Hwashin's face grew heavy.

"This will be a problem even if we win the duel."

"If we behead them in a life-or-death match, Desolate Fortress will face resentment—at least in this region."

Jung Yeonshin replied.

Namgoong Mi had begun acting as the celestial queen of Wuchang.

Her reputation was soaring in an unbelievably short time. Her self-assured smile lingered in his mind.

'Desolate Fortress must always secure public sentiment.'

Even with justification, they had exterminated the Hwangbo Clan.

Now, they sought to decapitate a Namgoong leader. No one would defend their actions if the righteous martial world united against them.

The Chief Administrator had warned that Desolate Fortress' leadership feared the Martial Alliance might form and attack them.

To avoid giving such a pretext, every mission had to be justified with undeniable legitimacy.

"There's no reason to rush into this battle for justification. The Divine Sword Squad Leader, the Elder Council Leader, and the Desolate Ma Clan leader—let the elders handle it. Even what we accomplish will count as merit."

"Young Hero Jung…?"

"Any conflict can be resolved by pitting enemies against each other."

Jung Yeonshin rummaged through his pack.

His fingers brushed against a chillingly smooth texture.

The feel of the rare Celestial Silk.

Slowly, he pulled out a crimson robe that looked drenched in blood.

It was the Pure Blood robe of a Blood Flame Cult Apostle.

"All we need is a mask. A ghost mask would be ideal."

"You're not serious?"

"Young Hero Namgoong, will you permit me to show no mercy?"