Silken robes brushed lightly over the grass blades, a sound distinct in the silence.
The young disciples, who had been examining the traces left by the martial arts of the Nine Great Sects, momentarily doubted their own ears.
Even those who had been glaring at the Five Guardians of Passion as if ready to kill turned their heads.
"Did you just say… Radiant Demon Squad's leader of Desolate Fortress?"
"I've seen Lightning Genius at the Hanzhong Murim Alliance, but that guy's physique is completely different."
"He was much younger."
"Of all people to deceive, did he really think he could fool the two elders of Qingcheng and Emei?"
A group of young disciples accompanied the martial masters of the Nine Great Sects.
All twelve of them had properly learned and mastered their internal cultivation techniques.
This meant they had built a stable foundation in sensory techniques—something that vagrant martial artists without a proper sect could never compare to.
Even while focusing on other matters, they never let their senses wane. They had the skill, and they had survived through battlefields where such vigilance was necessary.
Naturally, they had been observing every move of the young man in the black robe.
A sense of unease spread among them.
The two elders of the Nine Great Sects could not be treated disrespectfully. That would disgrace those who had placed Qingcheng and Emei's esteemed masters as the representatives of their group.
"Fellow disciples, please exercise patience. This benefactor's martial aura is no ordinary one, so we should not dismiss his words outright."
"I concur."
Those who would one day lead the Nine Great Sects—
The Golden Staff Divine Lady of Emei and the Red Cloud Dragon of Qingcheng did not react impulsively to the young man's words.
Instead, they restrained their companions with mere words and, with serene expressions, observed Jung Yeonshin from behind their elders.
"Radiant Demon Squad's leader, you say?"
Qingcheng's elder, standing with his back to Red Cloud Dragon, repeated Jung Yeonshin's words, his eyes filled with doubt.
"Can you take responsibility for that claim?"
He spoke cautiously.
Earlier, when Jung Yeonshin had demonstrated his movement technique, the elder had sensed a faint yet immense wave of energy. He couldn't help but be wary of the young man's words.
"Must I?"
Jung Yeonshin's head tilted slightly.
Did he really need to drag this conversation out? It wasn't as if they were going to travel together.
Sensing his disinterest, a middle-aged nun, who had earlier been striking the ground with an iron staff in an almost brutish manner, pressed her palms together and spoke.
"They say even a fleeting brush of sleeves forms a bond in this life, yet it seems you have no particular business with us, benefactor."
"Our sleeves did not even brush."
Jung Yeonshin replied absentmindedly.
At that moment—
"The Twin Venoms of the Tang Clan…? What in the world!"
"There's no life in them! They're already dead!"
Commotion erupted from behind.
The young disciples from Sichuan, whom the Nine Great Sects' members had practically been babysitting, were causing a stir.
From a distance, they had recognized the lifeless Tang Clan siblings. Some of the disciples, seemingly trained in medical techniques, murmured about the absence of life force.
"I knew it! As if someone from Desolate Fortress would be here!"
"But he could really be the Radiant Demon Squad's leader. The imperial sword has cut down martial artists before, it wouldn't be the first time."
The sound of swift footsteps echoed.
Their movements were alarmingly fast, those were martial artists using movement techniques, attempting to take the corpses of the Twin Venoms back to the Tang Clan.
Jung Yeonshin thought, that cannot happen.
The world was already descending into chaos, and those who would fall at the mere flick of a monkey's chopsticks could not possibly protect the Twin Venoms' remains.
"Stop."
He spoke without turning around.
The young disciples responded immediately.
"We do not know by what right you act so brazenly, but even if your words are true, we cannot allow this."
"Entrusting the direct bloodline of one of the Eight Great Clans to a warrior of Desolate Fortress?"
"If anything, you should be the one being questioned. Who's to say you weren't the one who killed them?"
The disciples sprinted toward the Tang siblings' corpses with large strides.
Yet, those who had truly sensed Jung Yeonshin's martial prowess—the Qingcheng elder and Emei elder—remained rooted in place, merely watching him with caution.
Caught between the young disciples and the two great elders, the Golden Staff Divine Lady and Red Cloud Dragon hesitated, looking troubled.
Then, it happened.
Jung Yeonshin did not utter another word.
He merely took a single step forward, his face indifferent.
His movements were unhurried, like a casual stroll—as if he had anticipated this moment all along.
An illusion?
For an instant, it seemed as though a faint starlight glowed at his toes.
And behind that light, afterimages trailed.
In a blink, Jung Yeonshin's figure blurred, distorting like a mirage. At the same time, the trees, which had been leaning toward him, suddenly bent in the opposite direction.
Hwaaaah!
The eyes of four members from the Nine Great Sects widened.
The gentle rush of displaced air brushed past their ears.
Only then did they realize—
Jung Yeonshin's figure had already passed them.
'A master… no, more than that.'
Red Cloud Dragon instinctively turned his head.
But before his gaze could fully shift, a dull thud echoed first.
There—reaching out toward the corpses of the Tang siblings—were the young disciples.
Yet, among them, three had already lost balance, their bodies toppling in slow motion.
And in that same moment, the young man in the black robe glided past, scattering a subtle radiance.
Like a constellation, his movement fragmented, vanishing and reappearing in flashes.
From his fingertips, a pale white light shimmered and dispersed like an illusion.
'When…?!'
It was a divine technique.
A dance across space in the blink of an eye, a realm beyond ordinary comprehension.
The residual energy from his strike scattered like a cluster of stars, carving through the air.
As if watching a grand spectacle unfold, every young disciple surrounding the Tang siblings was hurled backward, tumbling across the ground.
The moment the final thud faded, silence spread.
Red Cloud Dragon had failed to see even the form of Jung Yeonshin's technique.
His movements had seemed simple. Yet, they had left no imprint in the mind—so bizarre that it was impossible to process.
Then, he realized the reason why.
'Impossible… Yuan Shi An Zhen?!'
The technique embedded in his movements contained an overwhelming depth.
Even the tiniest twitch of his muscles, the minuscule bursts of internal energy flaring into the air—all carried purpose.
Despite lasting only an instant.
Red Cloud Dragon glanced sideways.
The Golden Staff Divine Lady stood with her lips slightly parted.
She was no less talented than Red Cloud Dragon. She must have felt the same overwhelming sense of vastness that he had just experienced.
'That level of martial prowess at that age… Sword Marquis of Peng Clan? No, even he would struggle against this. There's no one else but the Young Lord of the Ming Cult…'
The Little Sword Queen of Mount Dianqing, the Golden Staff Divine Lady of Emei, and the Red Cloud Dragon of Qingcheng.
The three had formed bonds in their childhood and were each hailed as prodigies meant to lead the next generation of Jianghu, yet they had all encountered their own walls.
The Little Sword Queen, when she crossed paths with Lightning Genius of Desolate Fortress. The Golden Staff Divine Lady and the Red Cloud Dragon, at this very moment.
As the two young disciples of the Nine Great Sects felt their gazes grow heavy—
Sssk.
Jung Yeonshin slowly turned his body. At the same time, the energy of Radiant Wheel that had lingered on his hands vanished without a trace.
"This is the divine sword crafted by the Twin Venoms of the Tang Clan."
He slowly rested his hand on the silver sword aura hanging at his waist.
"Do not interfere. My repayment comes first."
The eyes of the Nine Great Sects' martial artists, along with those of the young disciples who had not lost consciousness, momentarily fell upon the hilt of the divine sword.
Jung Yeonshin paid them no mind and continued speaking.
"Where exactly is this place?"
"…It is the Chodan Road of Dugyang."
It was Zewei Star Divine Nun, who had been silently watching him, who answered.
She was the senior nun of the Golden Staff Divine Lady's sect.
Jung Yeonshin's gaze briefly swept across the iron staff she held before he inwardly shook his head, thinking it was fortunate.
Dugyang was not far from the Tang Clan.
He knew there was a fairly large village just down the road. He could purchase coffins and a cart there to transport the corpses.
He couldn't keep carrying the siblings' bodies around forever. It would not be proper respect for the deceased.
"To the Tang Clan…?"
Qingcheng's elder asked.
Jung Yeonshin gave a slight nod before carefully lifting the siblings and securing them under his arms.
The scattered disciples blankly stared at the sight.
Step.
As he turned and began to walk away, a faint sunset glow settled on the 'Desolate' character on his shoulder.
From a distance, the Golden Staff Divine Lady and Red Cloud Dragon watched his retreating figure before speaking.
"We should follow."
"We must at least confirm."
The middle-aged elders sensed the mingling of both determination and fervor in their voices.
A martial artist's competitive spirit, the drive to surpass their peers.
Zewei Star Divine Nun and Qingcheng's elder nodded silently.
As the leaders of their sects, they could not blame their juniors for harboring such ambition.
Besides, they needed to visit the Tang Clan at least once. A great incident had occurred there.
* * *
A vast manor stretched endlessly to the left and right, surrounded by towering walls.
The sunlight poured down over the fortress-like structures, symbols of rare power and wealth in Sichuan. Yet, the relentless thunder of explosions echoed ceaselessly.
Heavy, resounding crashes shook the ground, upturning earth and sending it soaring high.
This was the Tang Clan.
The sanctuary of Sichuan's foremost aristocratic martial clan had long since turned into a battlefield due to a large-scale conflict between sects.
"That area is open!"
"Prepare for poison attacks! Don't focus only on movement techniques, reinforce your body with protective energy!"
"The flank is breached! Hold them back!"
Countless martial artists darted through the air in every direction.
Their forms clashed and fell, too many to count with the naked eye.
Amidst the chaos, fierce collisions of internal energy erupted sporadically, sending heavy shockwaves through the air. Below, shattered roof tiles rained down like a storm.
The Tang Clan was built against a towering cliffside.
At the edge of that very cliff, a man clung like a spider, cold sweat dripping down his face—Su Ilsu, a white-robed warrior of the Sichuan branch of Desolate Fortress.
Even after clinging to the wall for over a day and a half, thanks to his mastery of Wall-Climbing Gecko Technique, the sheer scale of the battlefield below left his soul feeling as if it were slipping away.
Blade-like auras surged, residual energy pressing against his skin with an oppressive force.
Figures of absolute speed flashed across the battlefield, moving through the manor at speeds that left even their forms barely visible.
Su Ilsu swallowed hard, sweat forming on the palm that adhered his energy to the cliffside.
'The Ten Perfection Sect, the Pure Demon Alliance, the Yeoryeong Sect, and even sects that surrendered to them… This is insane. The branch leader should have come personally!'
Though conflicts had erupted sporadically throughout Jianghu in recent days, an all-out attack on one of the Eight Great Clans was a completely different matter.
This was not just another battle between martial forces.
This was the Tang Clan.
Of all the Eight Clans, the Sichuan Tang Clan had maintained one of the closest relationships with Desolate Fortress, primarily due to its role in maintaining order in Sichuan's martial world.
Despite their great power, they refrained from reckless plundering, choosing instead to cooperate appropriately with Desolate Fortress.
A large sect maintaining both order and discipline.
Such places were rare in Jianghu, especially in Sichuan.
For Desolate Fortress, which was always in need of capable allies, the Tang Clan was like a godsend.
It could not be allowed to fall.
Yet, from Su Ilsu's perspective, it was on the brink of annihilation.
"Go in! It's safe now!"
"The poison fog has already been inhaled by the dead! No need to waste energy on detoxification techniques!"
At the Tang Clan's main gate—
Figures stepped over the pale, lifeless corpses strewn about.
The Nine Poison Formation, meant to turn the Tang Clan's entrance into a death trap, had long since lost its effectiveness, its poisoned fog reduced to mere phantoms against the invaders.
The path leading into the vast training courtyard was no different.
The Silent Dragon Fear Formation, an intricate trap of hidden poison-tipped needles, had impaled dozens of martial artists.
Yet, the warriors of the demonic faction merely used the corpses as stepping stones, traversing the Tang Clan's grounds as if they owned the place.
But the most overwhelming presence was yet to come.
[Still bedridden, Tang Clan's leader? Even after all these years of acquaintance?]
An elderly man with flowing white hair, his beard swaying like that of an immortal.
He wore poison-infused dark-green gloves, yet paid no attention to the Tang Clan's martial artists surrounding him.
He merely stood in place, casually snapping his fingers.
With each snap, tendrils of jet-black smoke curled through the air.
This was Finger Wind Technique.
The Ghost King's Spirit, a formation of the Tang Clan's poison mist, burned away into nothingness, unable to withstand his attacks.
And those caught in the aftershock—Tang Clan martial artists—burst apart in gruesome explosions.
A power so vast it seemed beyond the realm of mortals.
This was the new leader of the Pure Demon Alliance.
The master of the previous leader, who had perished after a thousand-round battle against the Young Lord of the Ming Cult.
Once an elder who had stepped back due to the side effects of his demonic cultivation, he had recently emerged again, rumored to have reached the State of Demon Transcendence upon hearing of his disciple's death.
'The old monster still breathes… That man alone is already a catastrophe upon this world.'
Su Ilsu cautiously shifted his gaze. There was another individual below who warranted the highest level of attention.
A man clad in a thin, white set of armor.
Like the new leader of the Pure Demon Alliance, he too was surrounded by Tang Clan martial artists.
At first glance, he did not appear to be trained in martial arts.
His energy flow was utterly tranquil, despite being an unparalleled master who had refined more weapons to their peak than anyone else in the world.
'The leader of the Ten Perfection Sect…!'
Sword in his left hand, saber in his right.
Each thrust of his left-hand sword pierced through the air, while every sweep of his right-hand saber sent violent tremors rippling through the atmosphere.
The sheer force of his weapon-generated shockwaves was enough to shake space itself.
At last, with a single strike, he shattered the bodies of dozens of Tang Clan martial artists, who had been cloaked in crackling blue lightning from the Celestial Thunderstorm Formation.
Kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa-boom—!
The Taoists of Qingcheng and the monks of Emei hesitated and stepped back.
The battlefront, which had endured for several days with the support of the two sects, was now undergoing a dramatic shift.
'The Tang Clan won't be annihilated immediately.'
Su Ilsu thought to himself.
For some reason, the demonic faction of Sichuan had been slowly tightening its grip on the Tang Clan without delivering the final blow.
As if they were waiting for something.
Had that not been the case, the Tang Clan would have already been wiped out.
'Still, I need to report this immediately. The number of broken defensive formations alone is—'
Thud.
He carefully pressed his palm against the cliff face, making every effort to remain undetected.
"What are you?"
"Hhk…!"
In that instant, Su Ilsu's breath caught in his throat.
His body froze in place, still clinging to the cliff in the Wall-Climbing Gecko stance.
A chilling sensation spread along the back of his neck. He barely managed to shift his gaze.
An old man stood behind him, stepping onto thin air.
His stark-white beard was neatly gathered down to his sternum.
Over his navy-blue robe, embroidered with intricate landscapes, flickered pure-black sparks, crackling ceaselessly.
It suited the eerie grin on the old man's face all too well.
"Your meridians are quite well refined, yet here you are engaging in an absurd attempt at espionage… A spy from Desolate Fortress?"
The old leader of the Pure Demon Alliance asked languidly.
His pitch-black eyes gleamed like the infernal flames of the abyss, his presence unconcealed yet overwhelming.
Su Ilsu could not answer.
He merely trembled, as if the cold sweat on his nape had turned to ice.
The sheer weight of the presence bearing down on his skin was terrifying.
An opponent beyond confrontation. That was what made him a peerless martial master.
Internally, Su Ilsu cursed the leader of the Desolate Fortress branch in Sichuan, Jang Il-do, without pause.
'No matter how many world-shaking incidents arise, did you really have to send me here?'
The old leader of the Pure Demon Alliance chuckled.
His voice, low and resonant, sounded like that of Yama, the ruler of the underworld.
Then—
Creak—
A faint, yet unusually clear sound of wooden wheels rolling echoed.
Near the distant entrance of the Tang Clan.
A young man, clad in an old-fashioned black robe, slowly crossed the threshold, pulling a worn-out cart behind him.