CHAPTER 125

It is a world where swords run rampant.

The main gate of the Desolate Fortress branch office was always bustling. Visitors came from all walks of life.

Merchants sought to trade supplies securely with martial artists. Commoners came to appeal grievances, bypassing the authorities. Drifters lingered, hoping to learn even a fraction of exceptional martial arts.

The wide streets flanking and facing the gate were never quiet.

Today was no different. Only the nature of the crowd had shifted.

The usual passersby had stepped aside, casting wary and excited glances at unfamiliar figures.

"That's the Ten Perfection Sect, isn't it?"

A spectator murmured.

The speaker was a dignified merchant dressed in yellow silk.

Merchants, clad in fine attire and seasoned with experience, often knew the affairs of the martial world well. Martial sects were akin to veins of commerce, channeling large volumes of goods.

Weapons, armor, food supplies, and wealth were constantly consumed—either in acts of chivalry or banditry.

Merchants couldn't afford to be indifferent to martial matters, especially in times of famine.

"Starting with the one in the lead… truly impressive. The Malevolent Sword himself is here. Light green armor, dual swords, thin arm guards... and that bold face—it must be him."

"You mean the younger brother of Sword-Thirst Demon from Ten Perfection Sect?"

A man beside the merchant asked. The merchant nodded.

"Indeed. They're sworn brothers, not related by blood. Still, their swordsmanship is said to be equally matched."

"That's high praise."

"Of course, Sword-Thirst Demon Dokgo Gwang likely said so to boost his sworn brother's reputation..."

"But at this point, isn't the Malevolent Sword second only to the Sword-Thirst Demon in fame? Wasn't there an incident involving the Tang clan and Emei sect? The story about him showing off Ten Perfection Sect's blade techniques? Splitting the cups they were holding in half?"

"That was just posturing in front of juniors. It wouldn't have worked against the mid-level experts of the Tang Clan."

"Do you have ties to the Tang Clan?"

The inquiry was lighthearted, but the masked Tang Clan master didn't respond.

He simply observed the approaching group across the street.

They walked directly toward the Desolate Fortress branch office.

A young man's voice broke the silence first.

"Commander Bong, I believe caution is warranted. Given the experts from our sect and Pure Demon Alliance who entered the City of Master Craftsmen…"

It was the western entrance of the branch office.

Around twenty men.

They carried swords, maces, and whips.

People on the roadside quickly dispersed with frightened faces, as if they recognized the sight all too well.

Their footsteps exuded calm but solid determination. Every single one of them.

The young man who had spoken earlier continued. He carried a crescent-bladed guandao on his back and a sword at his waist, his appearance natural and composed.

"There were Dokgo Gwang and Ha Yul-geuk. The branch office here is insignificant, but we should consider the reinforcements from the main fortress. They matched the Radiant Demon Squad in strength. Escaping City of Master Craftsmen must have involved an unknown master."

"…"

The man addressed as Bong did not reply. He was a middle-aged figure cloaked in composure.

He wore a sleeveless, light-green martial robe that exposed his muscular arms.

Twin swords hung at his sides, and the hilts of three daggers protruded from behind his waist.

Despite the elaborate weaponry, he exuded an air of precision and discipline.

"I won't underestimate them."

Bong of Ten Perfection Sect, the Malevolent Sword Gal Sa-ryang, spoke slowly.

"It's enough to fulfill one's duty. The sect leader has entrusted me with full authority, and I have honed my energy in gratitude. I'll trust my training and let my martial skill speak for itself."

At that moment—

"Hey—!"

A brash voice rang out, vibrating through the air like the roar of a lion.

It carried a weighty force, laden with immense internal energy.

Directly across the way.

Unlike Ten Perfection Sect's larger force, it was a group of just ten. Yet their presence was overwhelming.

They strode forward as though they would smash through walls rather than go around them. Their domineering aura struck the air like a physical blow.

Pure Demon Alliance.

The man at the forefront stood out vividly.

His hair, wild and flowing like a lion's mane, was unkempt. He wore no inner garments, only a black shoulder cloak draped loosely, exposing a torso covered in scars.

His massive muscles looked as if they had been carved from stone, and his towering frame stood nearly eight feet tall.

On his back rested a colossal sword—more like a pillar in size.

It was clear to anyone that he had mastered both internal and external martial arts.

He was the Blade Fist Demon of Thirteen Celestial Demons.

His blue eyes, characteristic of Pure Demon Alliance's western descent, gleamed sharply. His hair was a pale brown.

"Aren't you the swords of the Pipmun?"

He smirked as he greeted them. It was a deliberate insult, mocking their name, which meant "Ten Perfections".

Even the highest experts hesitated to utter such an affront.

Malevolent Sword Gal Sa-ryang nodded calmly.

"Sword Fist Demon, you still seem vigorous. Is it thanks to the passing of the Ha Yul-geuk?"

"That was unfortunate."

"Truly?"

"I'm glad a rival for the Hall Master's position is gone, but I regret losing the chance to personally destroy his Fourteen Phantom Palms. How could I not feel conflicted? I just hope the one who broke his arm at Desolate Fortress isn't whimpering around. I'm curious—was it the Radiant Demon Squad?"

His voice brimmed with force. Gal Sa-ryang shook his head.

"Didn't you come here to build merit? If you truly thought the master who defeated both leading sects survived unscathed, you wouldn't have come."

"Such shallow insight amuses me. But it's oddly accurate."

Sword Fist Demon grinned, continuing.

"You know me well enough."

"It's an easy assumption. Unless it's one of the Purple-Rank masters, it's unlikely. But could Desolate Fortress muster such a force to reach Sichuan?"

The tone was enigmatic. Gal Sa-ryang fell silent after those words.

By then, Ten Perfection Sect and Pure Demon Alliance had closed the distance. They stood facing each other near the branch office gate.

It seemed almost coordinated, the way they arrived together, adjusting their pace.

"The Tang Clan is here too. I wonder what those schemers are after."

Sword Fist Demon's lips curled into a menacing smile.

He sensed the hidden presences along the street facing the gate. It was the Tang Clan's famed stealth technique.

It was highly refined, but neither Gal Sa-ryang nor Sword Fist Demon could be fooled.

Only the Tang Clan leader himself might evade their detection.

Gal Sa-ryang spoke.

"I doubt there's any danger. The Tang Clan is already compromised. I hear they're licking the feet of the Blood Flame Cult Leader. If it comes to it, they might aid us. The destruction of Desolate Fortress isn't what the martial world wants."

"Unless it's the monks or priests of the Nine Sects."

The young man escorting Malevolent Sword Gal Sa-ryang replied. His cynical tone carried confidence.

The domineering aura of Thirteen Heavens wasn't unique to Pure Demon Alliance or the Blood Flame Cult.

Their pride in their martial arts was immense.

"..."

The spectators, awed by the intensity, had fallen silent.

Commoners clung to the walls as if glued to them, drifters stood tall on the rooftops of various buildings, and some martial artists clung to railings like spiders using the Wall-Crawling Technique.

The only ones making their presence known were the experts of the Thirteen Heavens.

They stood at the pinnacle of martial arts, rivaling the Nine Great Sects, their status as martial masters unmatched.

Their presence alone was enough to suppress the gathered crowd.

The Pure Demon Alliance warriors in black shoulder cloaks smirked, savoring the stillness.

This was the essence of martial artists—the pursuit of mastery, to elevate themselves and feel their own presence, to seek power and influence so overwhelming it affected others.

To that end, the Thirteen Heavens spared no means, earning them the label of Demonic Outsiders.

Meanwhile, the Ten Perfection Sect warriors wore calm expressions, as if they were merely out for a stroll.

"Let's begin."

Gal Sa-ryang said. The air around the young man beside him began to ripple. With a surge of immense internal energy, he shouted:

—Hounds of the Imperial family, show yourselves!

A brief silence followed.

The experts waited without moving.

Rather than storming in and killing indiscriminately, they intended to disgrace the Desolate Fortress in front of the crowd.

They had lost elite members of their sects. To maintain the prestige of being one of the Thirteen Heavens, they had to trample Desolate Fortress.

"I wonder if anyone's still intact. If they're too weak, this won't be any fun."

Sword Fist Demon said. The young Ten Perfection Sect warrior smirked inwardly, scoffing at his pretense of dignity despite coming here for bloodshed.

'What a shallow man.'

At that moment—

Creak—

The gate of the Desolate Fortress branch office began to move. The harsh sound oddly matched the tranquil tension in the air.

The massive door opened slightly, and a single boy emerged from the gap.

In the overwhelming silence pressing down on the street, a young swordsman clad in a black long robe stepped forward.

The sleeves of the robe were mismatched—one side had been torn away.

Two swords hung at his waist, and the unusual sight suited him somehow.

Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.

"You."

His gaze landed squarely on Sword Fist Demon of Pure Demon Alliance. The man's towering frame made him unmistakable.

The boy spoke calmly.

"Your aura feels the same as the underlings I saw below. There was someone called the Ha Yul-geuk too. Are you here for revenge?"

"Boy, do you think you're worthy of mentioning the Yul-geuk's name?"

Sword Fist Demon asked, his lips curling into a sneer.

Yet his posture betrayed no carelessness. His right foot had already shifted forward—a stance.

It was the instinctive response of a top-level expert sensing something unusual about the boy before him.

"Worthy?"

Jung Yeonshin tilted his head slightly, his expression ambiguous, his lips forming a faint smile.

It was an obvious provocation.

Sword Fist Demon's lips curled higher.

"Looks like Desolate Fortress is running out of people. Your energy feels extraordinary, so you must be a promising young martial artist. But qualifications are another matter. Can you, alone, stand here and speak on behalf of your sect? Wearing that absurdly black robe?"

He said this after already spotting the rough 'Desolate' character embroidered on the robe. It was the vision of a martial master.

It was ridiculous. The martial world was filled with strange tales, yet all remained bound by the laws of balance.

Even if the boy were a Blue-Rank martial artist, it would be astonishing.

But Black-Rank? Impossible. It was as absurd as expecting an object to float of its own accord.

"Speak on behalf of my sect? Weren't you here for war?"

Jung Yeonshin asked quietly.

Laughter erupted from the Pure Demon Alliance's side, intoxicated by their demonic energy.

However, Sword Fist Demon's expression darkened.

The boy's breathing steadily revealed the flow of advanced internal energy.

It was something only top-level experts could sense—a resonance of profound martial skill.

The Sword Fist Demon spoke calmly.

"You must not understand how the great sects of the world operate. If we fought all-out wars constantly, even a thousand years wouldn't be enough to build this kind of power. That's why duels exist in the martial world."

"If I defeat you, will the Pure Demon Alliance retreat?"

Jung Yeonshin asked. Sword Fist Demon's lips curved into a faint smile.

"Do you think that's your place to say? So you really are from the sect the Imperial family keeps as its lapdogs. They must be desperate for talent."

He taunted, his words intended to provoke.

This was the way of warriors—doing whatever it took to seize victory and end their opponent's life.

A dry, chilling wind swept through the street.

The breath of the spectators, already hushed, seemed to stop completely.

Jung Yeonshin spoke again, brushing the edge of his tattered black sleeve with the opposite hand.

"I told Ha Yul-geuk something once."

"Still daring to speak of Yul-Geuk? Go on, let's hear it."

"That you speak too much for a corpse."

The boy said.