A moment of silence spread.
There was no sound of collision.
The flames raging in all directions distorted the air into a haze of colorless waves.
An immense pressure pressed down on his ears, dulling his hearing, while the silk of internal energy, flowing with a faint radiance, enveloped Jung Yeonshin's entire body, endlessly absorbing the flames.
Protective Energy, Precious Radiant Starry Heaven.
Woooooong—!
The breath exhaled by the shadow of the Flood Dragon could not spread outward.
The writhing inferno was forcibly drawn into the swirling starry cluster, spinning like beams of light, unleashing an unfathomable shockwave.
'Faster…!'
Jung Yeonshin's gaze sharpened.
His mind was burning.
It was the heat surging from his upper dantian.
In this moment, the profound mysteries and mental images of the newly born divine arts intertwined in a single stream, locking together with relentless intensity.
A momentary disassembly of the radiance, full-body force projection, the absorption formula of Full Sky Flower Rain, the time witnessed from Ghost Roar Tyrant King, and the siblings who once stood beneath the faint mist of night.
Kwaaaaaah—!
The flames were shredded into faint particles of light. It was the defensive maneuver of his Protective Energy, capable of withstanding wide-area ultimate techniques.
Not a single ember reached the siblings standing behind him.
The surroundings trembled violently. The ground itself let out a deep rumble as it slowly caved in.
The hundreds of people stationed behind Jung Yeonshin hesitated.
"That…?!"
"The leader of the Radiant Demon Squad…!"
Veteran warriors of the past who had been swallowed up one by one by the unseen formation's gateway, the short-statured blacksmith clan, the commoners paralyzed with fear.
For a brief moment, many of them bore witness to Jung Yeonshin's Protective Energy.
It was as if an ancient legend had been brought to life in the present age. The onlookers, regardless of background, could hardly believe their eyes.
A lifesaving grace.
Some, even in their shock, sought to express their gratitude, raising their hands in a gesture of baoquan as they opened their mouths to speak—only to vanish in that very instant.
Among them, only the Divine Hand King let out a faint chuckle and left behind final words.
"I'll repay this debt when we meet again outside."
With astonishing swiftness, he performed the Art of Lip Synchronization and, like the others, disappeared from sight.
He had safely entrusted himself to the formation's function.
"You…?"
At that moment, the very one who had completed the earth-shattering formation technique paused mid-fade, halting in place. His body shimmered faintly, half-transparent like a ghost.
The Young Lord of the Ming Cult.
The Invincible Laughing Heaven, Yelu Zhen, and his spiritual scarf were violently billowing white under the aftermath of the firestorm.
'Heavenly Demon Armor…?'
The Young Lord of the Ming Cult raised an eyebrow beneath his silver mask.
As the rightful heir to the cult, one who had honed his divine arts to their peak, he sensed an uncanny resemblance.
There was a trace of familiarity in the structure of this technique's energy control.
The loose yet perfectly interwoven fabric of its flow, the sheer level of mastery required to maintain such dominance over internal energy vibrations, the seamless harmonization of escalating mysteries—as if they had been a singular entity from the start.
The composition and imagery were fundamentally different.
The mere appearance of it confirmed as much, and the loneliness felt through the upper dantian was distant from the Heavenly Demon Armor.
Only the sheer grandeur, the overwhelming might inherent to divine arts, bore some resemblance.
'There are many questions worth asking.'
Behind the silver mask, his eyes curved into crescent moons.
The Young Lord of the Ming Cult muttered to himself. The man looked unwell—it wouldn't do to let him perish the moment he left.
Woom—
Tracing an enigmatic pattern with his long fingers, he turned away, then suddenly vanished. The last thing left behind was the fluttering end of his white scarf.
"Lightning Genius, that divine art…!"
"Are you alright?"
By then, the figures of Xiahou Wei-Jin and Cheon So-So, who had landed at Jung Yeonshin's sides, also began to fade.
It was just after the commoners lined up behind them had disappeared entirely.
It was the ability of the Young Lord of the Ming Cult. He had fully opened the gateway of the formation created by the Flood Dragon and departed.
Kwahhhhh—!
The inferno of the Flood Dragon, still obstructing visibility, flicked its tongue ominously. Jung Yeonshin spoke without turning back.
"Let's go."
A heavy nod could be felt in response.
Xiahou Wei-Jin and Cheon So-So. Both had been resisting the pull of the formation with the immense accumulation of power unique to masters of noble lineages. His seniors had always been reliable.
"Alright, see you outside."
"If we get separated, meet at the Tang Clan."
In unison, the presence of both disappeared. The waves of energy they had been emitting dissipated entirely in an instant.
A strong gust of wind followed, filling the space they had vacated.
This was the ever-familiar mystery of the martial world.
Jung Yeonshin slowly turned and bowed his waist.
Swish.
He placed a hand on each shoulder of the Tang siblings, standing there with their eyes closed. Their skin felt cold to the touch.
The breath of the Flood Dragon's Nascent Spirit crashed against his back with enough force to make him sway backward, yet it was still bearable.
Only the heat now searing his skin had become slightly more intense.
Jung Yeonshin slowly parted his lips.
I'll take you home.
And at that moment—
"Stop chasing me, you damn Malco! Where is the leader of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad, where did the leader of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad go?! Leave the sapling behind and go!"
A frivolous yet aged voice rang out.
As Jung Yeonshin lifted his gaze slightly, he caught sight of an old beggar rushing forward, utilizing his lightness skill.
At first, he was nothing more than a tiny dot, but he rapidly grew larger in an instant.
Jung Yeonshin's eyes met his.
Ghost Lord, Man Hu-gae, one of the Three Lords and Twin Kings.
A man infamous for stealing the secret techniques of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique and Drunken Eight Immortal Steps, martial arts passed down only to the leader of the Beggars' Sect and Hu-gae himself.
He was still as ragged as ever, but his face was grotesquely contorted like that of a fiend.
"You can't leave here until you break through my True Dragon Celestial Scales Technique, the technique of the Golden Wings Sect! The sapling—oh!"
Man Hu-gae, who had been sprinting from afar, suddenly curved his wrinkled lips into a sinister grin.
His gaze had landed on a certain spot.
The untouched corpses of the Tang siblings.
"Oh-ho!"
A sly smile spread across Man Hu-gae's face as he surged forward with greater speed.
His eyes darted between Jung Yeonshin, who was standing alone against the raging inferno, and the siblings. The more he observed, the deeper his grin grew.
"I heard the leader of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad cherishes you, considering you a worthy junior! If I capture you alive, you'll be worth far more than a mere sapling!"
His intentions were clear.
The madness of a man driven to a corner, the stubbornness that might have been forged over time, and his deep-seated fear of the leader of the Beggars' Sect and the leader of the Golden Wings Sect.
With the imminent collapse of the formation before him, he had lost all reason. Even after witnessing Jung Yeonshin's martial prowess, he had turned his back out of fear of mutual destruction.
Now, it was a deadlock on all sides.
To entrust himself to the spell formation, Jung Yeonshin needed to suppress the power of the Radiant Wheel of Transcendent Law, but before a master like Ghost Lord, lowering his energy would only invite disaster.
'I can kill him.'
Jung Yeonshin thought.
But no matter how the battle unfolded, the corpses of the Tang siblings would inevitably be desecrated.
Man Hu-gae's expression was twisted with ruthless intent as he charged in without a care for spacing or positioning.
He was prepared to use any means necessary to crush Jung Yeonshin, as if he had abandoned all reason.
Thud!
With a stomp on the ground, Man Hu-gae propelled himself forward, his cudgel in hand. The air around him erupted with violent waves of semi-transparent energy.
He truly intended to fight to the death.
Why was he like this?
Just how desperate had he been to live this way?
"You're choosing to die."
A sharp glint flickered in Jung Yeonshin's eyes.
—Taoist friend, you may leave now.
An archaic tone.
Suddenly, flowing robes fluttered into Jung Yeonshin's view.
His movements were as smooth as if he were swimming through water—the Cloud Dragon Eight Styles, once a famed technique of the Kunlun Sect, before its destruction.
It was none other than Shadow Lord, the True Immortal of the Void.
—I came to observe the Flood Dragon's movements. Regardless of the fate of this formation, my duty as a monk remains unchanged, even if this place disappears.
The aged Taoist's voice resonated with an almost sacred clarity. There was an undeniable spirituality within it, absent of any deceit.
Jung Yeonshin furrowed his brows.
"I can take him down in a single exchange. Let's go together."
—A spirit beast that has failed to ascend harbors innate savagery. One day, it may escape into the world and bring catastrophe. I must witness it with my own eyes and report it. That was the divine decree given to me when I first crossed the gates of Kunlun Sect, hand in hand with my master.
The demeanor of a transcendent martial artist.
Jung Yeonshin recalled the Sword Immortal of the Zhongnan Sect, whom he had once met in the past. The resemblance was striking.
Perhaps, this was how the elders of the Nine Great Sects had been maintaining order in the world. From the Gate of Heaven, which had supposedly opened at the founding of the Ming Dynasty.
Chyeojeojeong—!
Beyond the shoulder of the Taoist, who now stood with his back to Jung Yeonshin, a massive shockwave erupted.
It seemed the Ghost Lord, Man Hu-gae, had clashed with him. The old beggar was cursing incomprehensibly.
—Leader of the Radiant Demon Squad, you will soon discuss the matters of the world.
Despite the chaos, the voice of the True Immortal of the Void remained serene.
—There is one thing I ask of you, a supreme master of Desolate Fortress.
"What do you mean?"
—One day, you may have to cut down the World Tree. Or perhaps, you will not…
"…?"
—Now go. It was a pleasure.
Fwaaaah!
Just as the old Taoist's words faded—having witnessed the supreme divine arts of the younger generation—his voice grew distant in an instant.
Darkness swallowed Jung Yeonshin's vision.
He had unintentionally released his control over the Radiant Wheel's power upon hearing the words about the World Tree.
Boom!
Man Hu-gae screamed as his cudgel was blocked by the palm of the True Immortal of the Void.
"Brat, stop right there! I'll give you the Drunken Eight Immortal Steps if you bring me the leader of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad! Are you listening, you damned—!"
"You're lucky, old man."
Jung Yeonshin stated calmly.
"What?"
"If you had reached me, I wouldn't have left even your corpse behind."
Had Man Hu-gae made it to him, even his body would not have remained intact.
Suddenly, his energy wavered. A harsh cough followed.
Was it because of Jung Yeonshin's simple, factual statement?
The aura of self-reflection was something only a veteran martial artist could exude.
'A few words can be more effective than a sword.'
Jung Yeonshin had unintentionally realized the way of a noble warrior.
Thanks to the Tang siblings, he was gaining much from the Flood Dragon's formation.
Even in a dire moment, he upheld the dignity of a high-ranking master of Desolate Fortress.
Finally, he fully entrusted himself to the spell formation's power.
Kuwoong!
A thunderous roar echoed inside his head.
Even the pressure lightly pressing down on his entire body was palpable, yet it could not reach the flesh of Jung Yeonshin, who was shrouded in Precious Radiant Starry Heaven. It merely buzzed around him.
He was passing through the Gate of Life.
He gripped the shoulders of Tang Yeohwa and Tang Ryeo-ryeo tightly. He must never let go.
'It's different from when we entered.'
It was intense. His whole body felt as if it were bouncing around inside the belly of some enormous creature.
The incredibly dense spiritual energy erupted into countless waves outside his body, cooling his upper dantian with an eerie chill.
With nothing visible, what felt like an eternity flowed down his spine, a profoundly weighty sensation.
How much time had passed?
Shaaaa—
A refreshing breeze began to brush against his face. Even the natural energy in the air was different—light, relaxed.
'I made it out.'
Finally, he had returned.
Something hissed softly at his feet. The chirping of insects.
When he opened his eyes, an entirely different landscape unfolded before him.
A vast expanse of mountains bathed in mist stretched before him.
Dense, towering vegetation swayed gently under the sunlight, and the crisp sound of a waterfall crashing against thin ice flowed through the pristine air.
It was not the Golden Wings Sect.
How much time had passed?
He recalled the words of the Young Lord of the Ming Cult, who had clicked his tongue when Jung Yeonshin had been lost in meditation.
—The Golden Wings Sect isn't the only one that can open the Flood Dragon's formation. There's a good chance you'll end up somewhere completely different. Since there wasn't just one entrance, the exits are scattered as well. Well, I'll try to keep you away from the Golden Wings Sect, so don't worry.
Still holding onto the shoulders of the Tang siblings, Jung Yeonshin scanned his surroundings.
It was a broad mountain path. The ground was sparsely covered in grass, and the terrain was smooth, it was close to a main road.
'A place where many pass through.'
He would need to descend into the nearest city. He had no idea how the political state of the martial world had shifted.
But first, there was something he had to do.
He couldn't just carry the siblings' corpses around like this. He needed to build coffins.
Jung Yeonshin slowly opened his mouth.
"Come out."
Silence.
There were few people around. Yet, he cast a brief glance at his shadow before speaking again.
"How long do you think the Young Lord's spell will last?"
"...."
It was then—
Beyond the hill, a group of men came charging through the dust.
Five individuals wielding oversized sabers and swords in an undisciplined manner. Their ragged breathing indicated they lacked the internal strength to sustain their pace.
"That bastard! Get him!"
"Huff, huff…! He looks like he knows how to use a sword! Look at his stance!"
"Shut up!"
"Boss, I have an eye for these things…"
"You fool! Would you rather be skewered by those Qingcheng brutes?!"
"No, but look at that guy! He's a martial artist—wait, what? The Yellow Mark! The Yellow Mark! Black!"
"What did you say?"
"Boss, you crazy bastard! We need to turn back!"
Jung Yeonshin quietly observed the low-tier martial artists, whom he had never encountered before, then gently laid the siblings on the ground.
Step.
He moved forward slowly.
From the distance, two powerful energy signatures were racing toward him.
Alongside them, he sensed the distinct energy of young righteous sect disciples, their internal strength still immature.
Among them, only the two at the front were worth acknowledging.
Yet, when he fully expanded his spiritual perception, he realized this was not happening in just one place.
The entire region was in turmoil.
The once clear air now carried the scent of blood.
It was a time of chaos.