CHAPTER 87

"..."

Wearing the crimson robe and the ghost mask, Jung Yeonshin stepped forward slowly.

At this moment, he had to act as one of the most promising prodigies of the Blood Flame Cult. He had heard from the Seventh Apostle.

The crimson robe was a treasure bestowed upon the apostles.

'My skills haven't reached the level of an Apostle yet. I'll have to act like Go Jonghak.'

Even the Blood Flame Cult had nobles. Families as old as the sect's history naturally formed an aristocracy.

Go Jonghak, the son of the Third Apostle, was one of them. He had constantly tried to suppress Jung Yeonshin in the main sect.

He had forced a martial arts novice to absorb vital energy and died for it. Jung Yeonshin remembered breaking his neck.

He decided to impersonate him.

Step.

His strides were relaxed, his posture upright.

He carried himself as if he owned the world. He planted the idea in his own mind.

No one outside the main sect was more noble than he was. They were all insignificant insects.

He strode directly toward Namgoong Mi, who sat in the seat of honor, gauging the distance without drawing attention.

"Hmm..."

"He doesn't seem ordinary..."

The so-called righteous martial artists in attendance couldn't move. They must have recognized the Blood Flame Cult, yet they froze.

They were overwhelmed by Jung Yeonshin's appearance and aura.

Few in the local martial world could oppose such pressure. He was utilizing Demon Roaring Blood Art at the level of Desolate Fortress's blue rank.

Eyes lowered in fear. These were people who had cowered under Virtuous Teacher Sect's tyranny for years.

They no longer displayed the boldness they had shown when denouncing Virtuous Teacher Sect earlier. There was scarcely anyone brave enough to confront Jung Yeonshin.

Namgoong's forces were different.

"A blood demon dares come here?"

"Is he of the Apostles' bloodline?"

Namgoong's martial artists immediately rose, drawing their swords, but Namgoong Mi raised her hand slightly with a subtle smile.

Her slender, white fingers—delicate enough to be called jade-like—halted them.

"The color of the fruit pleases me."

Jung Yeonshin spoke, his voice still infused with energy directed at the heaven's edge pressure point near his throat.

His deliberately distorted voice carried a deep, eerie resonance.

He approached her with unhurried steps, stopping diagonally to her left.

Swipe.

He picked up a peach from the table. Rather than attacking immediately, he aimed to distance his assumed identity from his real self.

Even if his aura was different, he couldn't change his physique. He had to avoid reminding them of Desolate Fortress's elite.

'I need to act unlike myself.'

For the first time, Jung Yeonshin tried to provoke someone. He wasn't confident. Could he pull it off?

"These worthless worms don't deserve such fruit."

He raised his tone slightly, speaking arrogantly. It felt surprisingly natural.

"..."

Aside from Namgoong's elite warriors, no one dared lift their heads. It seemed to be working better than expected.

Wearing the crimson robe and ghost mask while using the Demon Roaring Blood Art, he wondered how he appeared to them.

Did they truly see him as an aristocrat of the Blood Flame Cult?

At that moment, Namgoong Mi's lips parted.

"I was about to pick that up. Doesn't white peach flesh suit me better?"

She slowly crossed her legs, her smiling eyes meeting his.

Her words flowed smoothly.

"A blood demon plays noble in front of me. Do you perhaps feel inferior to your main family? Know your place."

"You talk too much."

"What?"

"Your head runs loose because it's about to be cut off."

Jung Yeonshin replied lazily through the ghost mask.

Then he moved.

He tossed the peach in his hand toward Namgoong Mi's neck. He ignored the sharp gasps that filled the hall.

She didn't dodge. Instead, she stood up. The fruit rolled to the floor and was crushed beneath her elegant shoes.

"You must have come to suck the energy out of me after hearing the rumors."

She spoke with a smile.

"Kill him."

As Namgoong Mi finished her words, she unleashed her full energy.

She recalled the aura exuded by this crimson-robed demon.

He wasn't someone to underestimate. She planned to gauge his strength using the Flourishing Spirit Flower martial artists as her tools.

'But first...'

She intended to slow his movements with her energy technique.

The chilling force of Ice Soul Jinseng surged from her dantian, spreading frost through her veins.

Enduring the burning pain, she raised her hand. Ice crystals formed around her body, radiating iridescent light.

It suited her noble bearing, and she trusted in its effectiveness.

Boom!

In an instant, white mist burst from Namgoong Mi's body, causing the ghost-masked figure to momentarily freeze.

Her internal cold energy moved faster than any sword strike. She smirked and retreated lightly.

Flourishing Spirit Flower's martial artists swarmed in. Chaos erupted in the hall.

Dishes and drinks scattered everywhere as the sound of swords clashing echoed.

Clang!

Jung Yeonshin felt the vibration travel up his right hand as he blocked an attack with the flat side of his sword.

One enemy had moved swiftly, but he had intercepted it despite slowed movements.

The chill infiltrating his body was no ordinary cold—it resembled the traits of internal energy disruption techniques.

Even so, his strength remained intact.

"Your swordplay is pathetic."

Jung Yeonshin spoke calmly from behind the mask.

His defense remained steady. The moment his opponent flinched, he struck with the back of his left hand.

Smack!

The loud impact sent the opponent flying, unconscious, with a groan.

Jung Yeonshin immediately realized something. He could handle this without revealing his signature techniques.

He had grown much stronger—far beyond the level of a blue-ranked martial artist.

He pressed forward, prepared to clear any stray attacks.

Namgoong Mi's decision to sacrifice her subordinates as pawns was a boon.

'I must keep fighting like this.'

He surged his Demon Roaring Blood Art to the limit.

"Formation!"

Another Namgoong martial artist shouted urgently.

Formation—a strategy where multiple swordsmen synchronized their movements to overwhelm opponents.

Seeing Jung Yeonshin's strikes, they had chosen joint attacks.

The hall transformed into a battlefield, with five Flourishing Spirit Flower martial artists facing the ghost-masked figure.

Jung Yeonshin narrowed his eyes.

The opponents surrounded him, blades flashing in sync.

He countered with swift slashes, his sword movements matching their speed.

Gradually, icy energy gnawed at his meridians. The freezing infiltration was intense.

'I've slowed down a lot.'

It didn't matter.

He dodged and countered, measuring their distances with precision.

Despite the numbing cold, his instincts sharpened.

One by one, he knocked the opponents, delivering fatal blows.

Raising his blood-soaked sword from the last fallen enemy, he stood amidst the silence.

The crimson robe, drenched in blood, radiated a menacing aura.

Namgoong Mi remained motionless, observing quietly.

This was a battle of experts. Interfering carelessly could disrupt her flow.

She was the Leader of Flourishing Spirit Flower. It didn't matter how she used her subordinates.

She finally stepped forward.

"Your energy control doesn't seem that deep."

She approached slowly, speaking.

"But your sense of distance is remarkable. Were you born with it?"

Her tone was relaxed.

She had noticed his slowing movements and trusted in the overwhelming power of her cold energy technique.

She had completely grasped his internal energy, precisely analyzing Jung Yeonshin's condition as his body began to falter.

"Shall we see?"

She approached as if they were lovers, reaching out her snow-white hand. Her fingers lightly touched the ghost mask covering Jung Yeonshin's face.

"Let's start with that ugly face."

Her lips curved into a thin, mocking arc. It was an utterly defenseless gesture.

Her vicious nature was laid bare.

It was a blatant attempt to humiliate a martial artist.

'Perfect.'

Jung Yeonshin thought. The concept of counting seconds belonged to formal duels.

He had no intention of treating this as a formal match. He wanted to lure her in by revealing an opening—and he hadn't expected her to come this close.

His martial world was different from hers. It was a struggle for survival.

He wanted to crush an opponent like her—one he had never faced before.

'I can do this. Lazy Flame Dragon was stronger.'

The internal energy density of Hwangbo's young master, who trained with the innate heat of the Solar Divine Meridian, was even greater.

Jung Yeonshin recalled a technique inspired by observing him.

It turned out many of the so-called masters in the martial world could perform it.

'Three Samadhi True Fire.'

He had begun using it the moment she stepped forward. It was a method that vibrated the smallest units of internal energy.

Movements naturally generated heat. Unlike Lazy Flame Dragon's instantaneous bursts of heat through the Solar Divine Meridian, this required delicate control over internal energy.

Buzz.

A low hum resonated within his body.

He felt it clearly. The cold energy in his meridians crackled and began to burn.

His body, hardened like steel through Rigid Core Technique, endured the heat and vibrations, while the Demon Roaring Blood Art coursed through him in a destructive flow.

His twelve meridians, eight extraordinary vessels, and vital points all vibrated intensely.

He could maintain this all day. The internal thawing remained undetected by his opponent.

Jung Yeonshin immediately activated Radiant Demon Arts.

When his upper dantian flared with light, the unique martial art absorbed every detail—her posture, her breath laced with amusement, and her gaze locked onto his mask.

Within this moment.

A streak of invisible trajectory appeared—visible only to Jung Yeonshin's mind.

It was the form of Radiant Demon Arts.

He followed it exactly. It began with a motion from his right elbow, finishing with the slightest movement of his shoulder.

Swipe.

Just as Namgoong Mi was about to pull off his mask, Jung Yeonshin grabbed her neck.

It was an incredibly fluid motion.

Namgoong Mi's firm confidence, the seamless strike guided by Radiant Demon Arts, the measured distance converging to nothing, and his sudden surge of speed after breaking through the chilling energy—all wove together into a single, explosive moment.

The Demon Roaring Blood Art was the art of a brawler.

"...!"

Her smooth neck was suddenly trapped in his iron grip. Namgoong Mi's eyes widened in disbelief.

Had she ever been subdued so absurdly in her life? She had neither seen nor heard of such a thing.

Jung Yeonshin slowly spoke.

"The noble blood of the martial world commands you."

"Guh...!"

"You, wretched seed of Namgoong."

As his words fell, his blood art responded. His body, tempered through Rigid Core Technique, felt like it had opened entirely.

The imagery in his mind synchronized with the flow of the martial art's internal energy.

'They said she disgraced Namgoong Hwashin's mother.'

She had acted with cruelty, despite lacking nothing. Jung Yeonshin thought.

Wasn't he more dignified than someone like Namgoong Mi? It was a thought he had never entertained before.

Arrogance bloomed within his mind.

He spoke.

"Kneel."

It was in front of everyone present. The moment he poured genuine intent into his words, he felt a strange sensation.

The flow of his Demon Roaring Blood Art slightly amplified the incoming energy. His energy reserves had grown.

The fierce current of internal energy seemed to mock him, as if saying—this is how blood arts should be wielded.

'This too is a realization.'

Jung Yeonshin opened his mouth again, this time pouring contempt into his words.

"What are you waiting for, wretch?"

"Y-you..."

Namgoong Mi could barely form words. She showed no signs of movement.

His grip had sealed her pressure points, paralyzing her body.

Even if she wanted to kneel, she couldn't. Her body was completely under Jung Yeonshin's control.

"You're not moving. Quite impressive."

"Kh... kuh..."

Jung Yeonshin, still wearing the ghost mask, laughed softly as he lifted her by the neck.

The hem of his crimson robe, soaked in blood, fluttered like flowing crimson waves.

It was a grotesque yet mesmerizing sight.