* * *
A village bathed in gentle sunlight.
The terrain was vast. A clear stream divided the village generously in half as it flowed through.
On the banks of the creek, intermittently soaked in a crimson dusk, dozens of corpses lay scattered.
The waterway, once called Blue Creek Water, was no longer blue.
Among the hundreds of hoofbeats, bloodstains mixed with muddy water. The incessant sounds of warhorses snorting and stamping the ground echoed throughout.
"It's already this late. The Radiant Demon Squad's leader must be dead by now."
A refreshing voice drifted across the blue sky.
It belonged to a noble young man with sharp and well-defined features.
From atop a white horse adorned with an antique saddle, he gazed toward the village's interior. His upright posture in the saddle exuded unparalleled stability among the mounted warriors around him.
"What a pity."
Though he merely muttered to himself, the hero's headband, black with golden embroidery, fluttered behind him.
His internal energy was immense, so much so that his voice carried the weight of his martial prowess.
Grand Blossom Duke, Gun Yuchun. He was the heir of the Profound Martial Alliance.
"Blade Sovereign, surely we can afford a little leisure, can't we?"
His resonant inquiry carried an undertone of inner strength.
The voice swept past the heads of many steeds, reaching the far side, where a woman's composed response came. It was as if she were speaking right beside him.
"You jest, Grand Heir. This is not a situation where empty bravado will get us through."
"..."
Gun Yuchun's gaze flickered. His foot pressed firmly into the stirrup at the white horse's side.
'Not lifting a single finger, yet…'
He made a conscious effort not to turn toward Radiance Blade Sovereign.
His pride wouldn't allow it.
He had been entrusted with a major task by the main sect. The northern military supply. The uprising of the fierce Yo Tribes had intensified, taking advantage of the famine.
Even just delivering their martial forces to the border was a contribution significant enough to be recognized. It was also a chance to showcase the might of the Profound Martial Alliance.
Originally, a force of five hundred had been deemed sufficient. Even that alone was an overwhelming force.
But Gun Yuchun, wanting to ensure success, had brought an additional five hundred. Only a martial powerhouse ranked among the greatest in the world could afford such a luxury.
'A thousand was necessary.'
A famine that drove people to grasp swords for plunder rather than sacks of grain.
The Shaanxi martial world reduced to a wasteland.
A rising master who had taken the head of Zhuge Clan's leader.
The sudden emergence of the Murong Clan's leader and the Profound Martial Alliance's leader.
The surrounding landscape was shifting, and there was no telling what unexpected variables might interfere with the military supply expedition.
There was even the possibility that supreme martial masters, known as Terrifying Deities of Chaos, were wandering the nearby martial world.
Unlike great sects, these individuals had no fixed stronghold. Each was an independent powerhouse, traversing the martial world as they pleased.
To handle unforeseen circumstances, an army of a thousand was required.
'It was hardly even foresight.'
Five days ago, when their rear formation was suddenly ambushed, Gun Yuchun had no time to admire his own preparedness, he was too busy assessing the enemy.
Before famine, there was no distinction between righteous and demonic factions. He needed to identify them.
It was the Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult.
An infuriating development, he had been on the verge of taking vengeance upon Radiant Demon Squad's leader, the one who had taken the lives of his betrothed and the Twin-Winged Blood Sovereign.
But seeing the Seventh Apostle in person changed his mind.
'I want her.'
A thought he couldn't utter aloud even to his subordinates surfaced from within him.
Just as rumored, she possessed a beauty that could ensnare men's hearts and a talent so astonishing it defied belief.
If properly recruited, she would not be an opium poppy, but rather, the most exquisite divine sword the world had ever seen.
—If we are to conquer the martial world, such a supreme master is indispensable. Even if we lose five hundred men here, capturing her would not only make up for the losses, it would be a profit beyond measure.
That was how he justified himself to Blade Sovereign.
And it was an irrefutable argument. The Blood Flame Cult's main sect had already been annihilated.
As one of the Thirteen Celestial Demons, the Profound Martial Alliance had the presence to embrace outsiders into its ranks.
It was a fortunate turn of events. Even when a hundred of their cavalry had fallen, his thoughts had remained unchanged. The value of a supreme master could not be measured in mere soldiers.
"Indeed, she must have trained in an incomplete technique. Whether it's arrogance or foolishness…"
Blade Sovereign's murmur had played a significant role in his decision.
They had encircled the Seventh Apostle in the now-deserted village.
At a glance, her appearance was far from intact. Her eyes were unfocused, and standing alone in the desolate village, she seemed perilously unstable.
Her balance shifted unpredictably. Strands of her ebony hair clung with bits of flesh and dried blood.
It was the result of five days spent using the Graceful Body Technique of the Blood Flame Cult, leading the martial forces in a chase.
"How many days has it been now? Are we just going to stand by and watch? It might be better for you to personally intervene…"
"The worth of a noble from the Blood Flame Cult turned rogue cannot be measured in mere gold. And this is no ordinary noble, but the Seventh Apostle—a true heir of the bloodline. She would be a great asset to our sect. Her talent and martial prowess are unmatched."
"Then…?"
"The Grand Heir's decision is not wrong. Even if we were to feed her Gu Poison, she could more than fill the Twin-Winged Blood Sovereign's vacancy. No, she might even surpass that."
"Yes."
"I had hoped to conserve my strength for the northern campaign… If I had known, I would have faced her one-on-one from the start."
Blade Sovereign, who had been conversing with her direct subordinate, clicked her tongue.
"Stay put."
She stroked the neck of her horse before dismounting.
Step.
A footstep rang out, strangely dreamlike.
But it wasn't hers.
Blade Sovereign, who had descended without even using the stirrup, caught an eerie sight, as if in a dream.
A constellation-like halo of light imprinted itself onto her retinas.
A young man, his forearms notably lean and sinewy from lack of flesh, passed through the formation of martial forces, his short black robe fluttering behind him.
A pale glow trailed at his feet.
His movements were so swift that only Blade Sovereign's eyes could catch his presence.
Passing through the encirclement as if it were nothing, the young man stood before the Seventh Apostle in the very next instant.
"Stop."
Blade Sovereign commanded the mounted warriors. She paid no attention to Gun Yuchun, who had raised his head in bewilderment.
Even as the Grand Heir shouted something, she simply raised a hand to hold the forces back.
At the same time, she channeled the Flickering Layered Energy, the very technique that had earned her the name Radiant Blade Sovereign.
'A master.'
The moment true energy flooded her ocular veins, a suffocating pressure—something rarely felt even in the north—settled upon her.
She hesitated to strike first. Instinct warned her: this was no ordinary opponent.
Even Gun Yuchun, who stood at the head of the formation, had closed his mouth, narrowing his gaze.
They say a tiger's cub must be like its father. As the blood of the Profound Martial Alliance's leader, he could not deny the presence of the master before them.
It was only right to take a moment to observe this sudden intruder.
"Where did you just come from?"
"Blade Sovereign ordered a halt. Are you one of our martial artists?"
"What manner of Protective Energy Technique is this…!"
Among the mounted experts, murmurs of confusion spread.
But there was no major commotion.
A pulse of energy had rippled from Blade Sovereign's hand, pressing down on them momentarily.
Rather than outright panic, they merely displayed confusion, curiosity, interest, and a hint of fear.
"How can he move so freely? Is he ignoring the blood-formed energy waves?"
"That demon seems drained of strength, but… letting her face him alone is another matter."
"Grand Heir, is that man truly an ally?"
But soon, they fell silent.
A martial artist must maintain a learning posture, even in the face of an enemy. To grow stronger, one must observe.
The situation before them was not something low-level warriors could meddle in.
A sudden event had occurred, but since both the Grand Heir and Blade Sovereign remained silent, the others, needing to survive in the north, instinctively took on the role of observers.
At the center of the encirclement, in a village abandoned by its people, a man and a woman stood face to face.
At a glance, their ages did not seem too far apart.
Both had jet-black hair, their features shaded by the sunlight as if beneath a curtain. Both appeared slightly emaciated, perhaps from long periods without food.
"I've never seen you before."
The young man murmured.
No answer came. The Seventh Apostle merely lowered her head slightly and let her arms hang loosely to her sides. It was a posture allowing ease in using fist techniques and kicking arts.
She seemed to recognize him, yet did not acknowledge him. Energy Deviation.
From beneath her blindfold, her exposed eye gleamed crimson.
She was still trapped in madness.
To her, he was merely another master who had breached her striking distance.
As the Seventh Apostle's bloodstained aura thickened—
Hwaaah—!
Suddenly, an invisible surge of energy erupted chaotically from the young man's entire body. The previously calm atmosphere vanished in an instant.
The force rippled like tangled threads, clawing into the ground. A demonic energy enveloped his figure, as if devouring souls.
The military forces stirred uneasily.
His very presence seemed to distort their perceptions.
His hands, held gracefully beneath his sleeves just moments ago, now carried an air of decadence.
Each time the unseen energies collided, a hissing noise, like a serpent's tongue flicking, resonated.
The young man stepped forward.
Step.
The aura surrounding the Seventh Apostle wavered. It did nothing to impede his advance, as if acknowledging one of its own.
"...?"
Their presence felt eerily similar. Both carried an unstable, flickering energy.
A sinister yet noble form of true energy. The term aristocratic seemed fitting.
Through some inexplicable Protective Energy Technique, the young man now seemed like the Seventh Apostle's senior disciple.
It would not have been strange for him to call her junior sister or younger apprentice.
The Seventh Apostle wore a peculiar expression.
Unlike earlier, when she had struggled to hold herself up, her ruby-like eyes now scanned upward, as if recalling the past.
"Ma… Ra, True Blood Energy?"
She muttered in broken syllables. Then, with a slow curve of her crimson lips, she formed a smooth arc.
At the same time, her figure blurred.
Zzeoong—!
In the next instant, their palms clashed. A translucent ripple burst outward in all directions.
The shockwave of their exchange was immense. The stream behind them erupted with a deafening roar, water shooting skyward in an explosive torrent.
It did not end with a single strike.
Their limbs intertwined as they exchanged blows, a storm of refined force surging between them.
The upper half of a thick tree shattered into splinters, the ceaselessly surging stream descending as rain.
Yet the young man did not draw the sword at his waist.
With Barehanded Red-Hand Combat, he extended and retracted long and short trajectories freely, his fists and kicks tracing seamless lines and curves.
Each time the fragments of compressed force burst like sparks, it was the martial army that flinched. Though the ground cracked violently, their movements remained imperceptible.
Hundreds of trajectories were etched into the air before vanishing, until the edges of the setting sun stained the hems of the young man and the Seventh Apostle's robes in a deep crimson hue.
Thud!
The base of an ancient tree, as tall as a person, was brutally struck. The impact landed just above the young man's shoulder as he stood with his back to the tree.
As brittle bark crumbled and fell, the Seventh Apostle, who had driven him back, smiled red. The madness of Energy Deviation was evident in her expression.
"Young Taesa."
She gazed at him steadily, her stare like a gentle tickle on his skin. Their distance was close. Her crimson eyes filled with his reflection.
But her focus was unfixed. She was sensing him not through sight, but through energy waves.
The white of her face, the piercing gleam in her eyes, and the peculiar heat wavering within them, her mind was drifting through the past.
Like the moment when the Blood Flame Cult's main sect had honored the young Taesa, the Seventh Apostle exhaled smoothly and whispered,
"You are mine. You belong to me. You will forge my martial arts, and exist only in my eyes. Until your talent is burned to ashes and vanishes."
"..."
"No, that's not right, is it? What if you didn't vanish?"
She wavered, her words faltering despite the noble tone of a Blood Flame Cult aristocrat.
Her pale face changed expressions several times in the span of a single breath.
One moment, it was full of possessiveness, then, suddenly, she seemed afraid of something, stepping back. But then, sabak—she moved forward again, gently brushing her fingers through the young man's hair.
"You must also train your kicking techniques in the dead of night."
The young man spoke evenly.
Rustle.
The Seventh Apostle's long fingers brushed against his collar, then softly encircled his neck.
Her lips parted.
"I'll show you everything. The flow of true energy, the pulse of force, the movement of every muscle that forms my techniques."
She was entirely lost in some moment from the past, playing the role of a superior, as she always had.
Hoo.
Beneath her feet, the red mist of Blood Energy Waves surged once more, layering upon itself dozens of times.
It was a method meant to entrap an opponent who had entered her striking range.
At that moment, the young man's fingers twitched.
A deafening crash followed. It was as if dozens of mirrors had shattered at once.
The red mist was torn apart, scattering in all directions.
The energy structure of her technique had been completely dismantled, her internal energy techniques shattered at their very foundation.
Such a feat was impossible unless one had complete insight into the origin of the opponent's martial arts.
Simultaneously—
Rustle.
It happened in an instant.
For a brief moment, muscles and fibers collided, and a colorless Energy Wave of Harmonious Balance rose in streaks from the folds of their clothing as they contended for dominance.
In the blink of an eye, their positions reversed.
The Seventh Apostle's back was against the tree.
As Jung Yeonshin lowered his head slightly, his lips hovered by her ear.
The breath that brushed against her fine hairs carried no hint of Aura Manifestation.
"You are the inferior one."
The young man murmured lowly.