CHAPTER 139

"Can't use the body anymore? It's completely burned up."

It was during the dim light of dawn. A person and a mass cast shadows together, accompanied by the dense trees of the wooded hills.

The Seventh Apostle, draped in crimson blood silk, stood at an angle on a gently sloping hillside.

Below her feet, a silk bundle dragging along loosely came to a halt, once the form of the Blood Flame Cult Leader.

Under the summer sky, approaching the Mid-Autumn Festival, the air around the hills where she stood was unusually cold.

It was a place where Yin energy flowed as if a massive glacier lay within the mountains.

This was the border ridge connecting Sichuan and Huguang, a sacred mountain discovered by the Blood Flame Cult while roaming the Central Plains.

The bright orange dawn air slowly spread. It was daybreak.

Haa—

White breath escaped the lips of the Seventh Apostle. She wore a rare, refreshing smile.

It was the kind of expression she had when observing the young Grand Master, but this time it was due to enjoying the cold Yin energy while transporting an unpleasant cargo.

"Feels good."

She wasn't talking to herself.

—It's a rare sacred mountain.

The reply came from the corpse-like mass. It wasn't a normal voice but a telepathic message.

—If it's this place, I can recover over time. I've been scorched by dreadful spiritual power, so it'll take at least a few years. Seventh Apostle, you'll need to offer tributes to shorten the time.

The Blood Flame Cult Leader used the mental speech technique, typically employed by high monks skilled in Buddhist martial arts.

But this was different from the profound truth of returning all things to their origin. He had spent over a hundred years studying Buddhist doctrines to expand the cult's influence, mastering the mysteries of mental voice.

Instead of enlightenment, he approached it as a systematic martial art, establishing his authority as the Blood Grand Master.

The Cult Leader's lineage claimed superiority over both Han and Ming dynasties, declaring themselves greater than the Ming.

Monstrous spirits. By infusing their essence into blood crystals, they enabled the embodiment of thought. That body was both a divine vessel and the Blood Flame Cult Leader.

"Tributes, my ass. Disgusting."

—Such a charming one.

A drop of blood, imbued with spirit, seeped from the Cult Leader's body, viscous like slime.

One of the mysteries of the martial world revealed itself in its most grotesque form. A serpent-like crystal of blood—this was the true Cult Leader.

—The first step is to determine the cult's future course of action. From this incident, one thing is clear—there is someone who poses the greatest threat to the cult's grand plan.

"I'm listening."

—It's not the Lord of Desolate Fortress we need to worry about. She rarely leaves her domain. From what I deduce, she can't stay away from the World Tree for long. Handle matters discreetly, and even if we provoke her fury, we can scatter and evade her pursuit over time.

"I'd like to cross swords with her once. She irritates me. A lot."

—Forget it. In any case, the remnants of Desolate Fortress' women are no longer a threat. All we need to do is track the movements of the Divine Sword Squad Leader. As for the Head of the Zhuge, though he is cunning and powerful, he's not worth our concern.

The Cult Leader's mental voice carried a strange tone of amusement.

—The Sword Saint under him is also insignificant. And the leaders of the various orthodox sects are mere idlers, indulging in seclusion within their mountain retreats. Watching the nine mountain formations will suffice.

"...."

—Rather, the young Sect Leader in Xinjiang is worth noting. His ambitions are excessive. Furthermore, I've never seen anyone with such talent in sorcery and martial arts. But he's only just stretching his wings as a sect leader—

After a pause, the Cult Leader declared.

—He still falls short of the influence wielded by the Grand Master at the heart of the martial world.

"I figured you'd say that."

The Seventh Apostle leaned slightly against an old tree.

Adjusting the sleeve of her crimson robe, she feigned indifference, but the Cult Leader continued speaking.

—The massive spiritual power shown by Ma Yeonjeok was indeed formidable. For any martial art to manifest such power, its foundation must be solid from the moment of creation.

The Cult Leader, little more than a handful of blood, paused briefly.

—I can now say with certainty. The Grand Master possesses the talent of a founder, on par with Bodhidharma and Zhang Sanfeng. His divine potential is immeasurable.

"So?"

The Seventh Apostle merely mouthed the question without changing her expression.

—Unlike the other two, the Grand Master is no ascetic refining mind and body. He'll show no restraint in creating martial arts designed to destroy. He's a truly dangerous seed. And just as the downfall of Desolate Fortress has begun to stir in the martial world—

"Isn't it good if he creates more martial arts? The Grand Master's techniques are dazzling."

—Unfortunately, as long as the Lord of Desolate Fortress exists, we cannot take the Grand Master under our wing. If we cannot possess him, then we must kill him. Use every assassin in the land, hide our involvement through multiple layers, and pour funds into it. With the Grand Master's many enemies, there's no need to hesitate.

"Kill him? The Grand Master?"

—The First Apostle is in the Murim Alliance of Han. He holds a significant position. He must be seeking an opportunity to pit the Martial Alliance against Desolate Fortress. Ask for his assistance. With your noble bloodline tied to the True Blood, he'll treat you with utmost respect.

The Cult Leader's mental voice carried authority. Even without a body, the majesty of a grandmaster resonated.

The Yin energy around the sacred mountain seemed to deepen momentarily.

But the Seventh Apostle didn't respond.

She admired the young Grand Master, seeing him as the only comet that could guide her to the ultimate martial realm.

Unlike the demanding and troublesome Cult Leader, the Grand Master's indecision after inheriting Bodhidharma's relic aroused her twisted excitement.

More.

She wanted to give more. All the rare treasures scattered across the world, anything that could aid the Grand Master—she wanted to see what he would become.

What expression would the young grandmaster make? How would the martial arts emanating from his fingertips evolve?

"Ah."

She wanted to reach the pinnacle of martial arts with him. The Absolute Limit.

At the brilliant end of that life, she wished to caress his cheek and tell him that his life was radiant, that she revered him.

The Seventh Apostle slowly parted her lips.

"Cult Leader, I owe you, but…"

—Hmm?

"I've put up with a lot. I've repaid enough. Didn't you tell me to live as I wished?"

—Apostle.

"You want me to kill the Grand Master?"

—I thought you were joking before.

The conversation between lunatics began.

"I was serious. I'll become the True Blood Cult Leader. I know where the seal is."

—Heh, heh. Will you consume me? That too is amusing. I'm curious to see the martial world through your eyes.

"Disgusting. My talent surpasses yours."

Some time ago, the Grand Master, dressed in a black robe, had handed her a secret scripture when he was still clad in blue.

The Seventh Apostle was born to master the Demon Roaring Blood Art and rival the Cult Leader's strength.

Even the Flame Dragon, who fawned over the young Grand Master, was older than her. She had barely stepped out of youth.

As the Blood Flame Cult's most powerful successor, her growth potential was limitless.

"So,"

The Seventh Apostle smiled, crimson and radiant.

"Die. Thanks for everything, and goodbye."

—Hahahaha!

The Cult Leader laughed maniacally.

—You're already the True Blood Cult Leader! It's a shame I won't see the cult's glory grow further…

Crackle.

A sleek crimson blade crushed the blood crystal.

With a cracking sound, crimson flames flared to either side of the ground.

Only two types of energy could completely destroy Blood Arts—either another Blood Art or divine spiritual power.

In that moment, the demonic blood energy newly formed through the young Grand Master's teachings tore the ground apart with spiral flames.

It was a strike that completely burned away the blood fiend who had ruled the martial world for centuries.

The sacred mountain quickly regained its eerie stillness.

The Seventh Apostle slowly raised her head. Once again, she wore a crimson, refreshing smile.

"Hanzhong, the Murim Alliance?"

She foresaw another encounter with the young Grand Master.

This time, it would be different.

* * *

The Lightning Genius, Jung Yeonshin.

A peculiar air surrounded him, an aura of harmony that transcended his years.

It wasn't just his energy that conveyed this—it was his entire demeanor. Clad in the mysterious black long coat of the Desolate Fortress and carrying an extraordinary sword, he exuded an aura far from ordinary.

Despite his youthful appearance, his words urging surrender didn't feel out of place.

From a nearby carriage, Chung Myung had leaned out through an open window, whistling softly.

"Miryeo, did you hear that? 'Will you resist?' Honestly, he's starting to sound like a seasoned officer capturing vagabonds in the martial world. When did he grow up like this?"

"Don't say such nonsense. He's wearing black, isn't he?"

"True enough. Still, wasn't it just last year I lent him my blue robe in Shaanxi? Maybe it's his age, but he really feels like a younger brother, doesn't he?"

Chung Myung's lips curved into an arc, a refreshing smile spreading across his face.

"Master, what will happen to us?"

He glanced inside the carriage as he asked, and a heavy voice replied immediately.

"Continue practicing the Radiant Demon Arts without rest. That alone is enough. Even if I must leave the main fortress, the Radiant Demon Squad will endure. I will make sure there is no disruption to its legacy."

"Master, you don't have hands, though."

At the front, Jung Yeonshin let Ma Jin's silence slide. It was a carefree joke typical of Chung Myung, a member of the Ming clan.

He merely fixed his gaze on Little Sword Queen, the youngest sword successor, giving him a pointed look.

Until the journey ends, it is only right to detain your senior brothers. The boy was compelled to respond with silence.

What happened when they trusted the righteousness of the orthodox Namgoong clan?

Jung Yeonshin would not repeat the same mistake.

The sharp gaze of his eyes, imbued with the white lightning of the Radiant Wheel, revealed his firm resolve.

Her soft, smiling lips stiffened slightly. She bore the status of a successor to one of the Nine Sects, renowned for her noble swordsmanship and her exalted reputation as a chivalrous hero.

She was often compared to Wei-Ji Myohwa, the Sword Dragon of the Zhongnan Sect. Such comparisons reflected her revered status as a young prodigy in the martial world.

The Little Sword Queen looked at Jung Yeonshin silently for a moment.

The boy met her gaze, attempting to pierce through her martial arts foundation by analyzing her entire presence.

To prevent the waves of internal energy from reaching his grandfather and the elder council leader inside the carriage, he needed to completely overpower Little Sword Queen. Overwhelmingly so.

'They said she's a master of dual swords. Her sword techniques and movements are fluid. I should assume she's trained in sword techniques like blade arts rather than thrust-focused attacks typical of Mount Dianqing Sect's sword style.'

He studied her eyes.

Her expression made it hard to read her emotions.

Like the sword aura she was known for, her features were flawlessly beautiful. Yet, what struck the boy most were her hands.

Calloused palms, thick with training—a swordswoman who had poured her life into her craft.

Although she had never crossed blades with the Cloud Sword Dragon due to the distance between Yunan and Shaanxi, her dedication did not seem any less than his.

'She's probably trained in hand techniques too. I'll need to account for unarmed combat.'

The boy didn't wait any longer. Standing at the head of the halted procession, dressed in the black robes of Desolate Fortress, he stepped forward.

Thud.

With that single step, Little Sword Queen's gaze sharpened.

The blank expression in her eyes vanished, replaced by the piercing focus of a martial master measuring the distance between herself and her opponent. It was as sharp as lightning.

He felt her will manifest into a blade. The atmosphere shifted.

The tense air foreshadowed the clash to come.

A faint, distorted space formed between them—a sword domain.

It was the territory of the sword, defining the reach of their attacks and the range of their techniques. The tug-of-war began.

This was a contest to dominate the opponent's zone, breaking their sphere of influence by flooding it with their own energy.

Jung Yeonshin took the initiative, ensuring that any shockwaves from their clash would not reach the carriage behind him, where his grandfather and the elder council leader sat.

Thud.

Only the boy moved. With each deliberate step, the invisible energy field around them rippled.

A grayish wind stirred between the two swordsmen.

Thud.

His steps rang louder than usual. He advanced confidently, shrinking the gap between them.

It was not something one could do without absolute faith in their swordsmanship.

With his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword and the hem of his black robe fluttering, the boy embodied the authority of a leader within the Divine Sword Squad.

Little Sword Queen lowered her stance slightly, preparing for a draw technique. A bead of sweat trickled down her cheek.

It was then that she fully recognized the authenticity of the black robes from Desolate Fortress and the aura radiating from Jung Yeonshin.

The distance had closed to five steps.

The tension between them grew taut. The resonant hum of colliding energy intensified.

The trembling air signaled the imminent clash between the two swordsmen.

And then—

Suddenly, Little Sword Queen withdrew her energy, straightened her back, and lowered her head. Her long, black hair swayed wildly in the wind stirred by the dissipating sword domain.

As Jung Yeonshin silently watched, Little Sword Queen slowly straightened and spoke.

"Ah… I'll follow you."

She wore a slightly dazed expression.