Swish!
As Bu Eunseol darted through the pavilion’s surroundings with his movement technique, he spotted Nobong walking leisurely ahead.
“Heh heh heh,” Nobong chuckled, extending a hand as if he’d been waiting for Bu Eunseol’s pursuit. “The Namgung boy alone can’t handle the puppets”
Slash!
No need for words. Bu Eunseol unleashed the Supreme Heavenly Flow, sealing Nobong’s escape route.
“Fine swordsmanship,” Nobong remarked, casually waving his hand. The cross-shaped sword energy dissipated like melting snow. “But such sword energy is mere child’s play before the Eternal Vortex Lightning.”
As Nobong extended his right hand, an invisible swirling force surged toward Bu Eunseol’s face.
‘Tch.’ Bu Eunseol tried to neutralize it with the Meteor Chasing the Moon, but the sword energy couldn’t dispel the vortex. He swiftly flipped his body to evade.
Hiss!
As the force grazed him, a sound like evaporating liquid rang out, and Bu Eunseol’s face paled. Even a light brush had vaporized blood in his body.
‘This is the Blood Emperor’s martial art.’
The Blood Emperor was a master among both righteous and demonic factions, unhesitant to kill. His unique technique, the Eternal Vortex Lightning, wielded through the Goat Horn Art, was invisible and could evaporate blood with a mere touch.
‘He’s refined it.’ In the past, the Blood Emperor’s techniques required a direct hit to be effective. Now, a graze was enough to vaporize blood.
‘Perhaps that’s only natural.’
The Eight Emperors and Three Stars were masters from four hundred years ago. If their descendants had continuously inherited and refined their arts, they would have evolved significantly. Hadn’t So Okrim, the Celestial Emperor’s heir, also improved the Dual-Severed Galaxy Strike?
Hiss! Hiss!
Each time Nobong’s force grazed him, white mist rose from Bu Eunseol’s body.
‘This won’t do.’
Buzz.
Bu Eunseol’s eyes glowed blue as he summoned his inner energy, unleashing the Heavenly Glacial Secret from the North Sea Ice Palace. A chilling aura spread, freezing the area around Nobong.
“You’ve even mastered the Glacial Emperor’s techniques,” Nobong said with a low exclamation, suddenly employing an elusive movement technique.
Swish. Swish.
Like a ghost appearing and vanishing in the air, Nobong effortlessly dodged the cold aura. “Your ice technique training is short. The projection speed is too slow.”
Nobong, easily reading Bu Eunseol’s ice technique level, unleashed another Eternal Vortex Lightning.
Hiss.
Bu Eunseol, pouring out the Heavenly Glacial Secret, was pushed back two steps, white mist rising from his body. He couldn’t measure how much blood had evaporated, but it felt like a handful was gone.
“Heh heh heh,” Nobong sneered, looking at Bu Eunseol’s rigid face. “Now do you see you’re a frog in a well?”
Bu Eunseol had to acknowledge it. The heirs of the Eight Emperors and Three Stars wielded unique techniques that transcended conventional martial arts, ignoring even the gaps in skill levels. The Blood Emperor’s art, an incomprehensible force that evaporated blood within its range, was unstoppable.
‘The martial world still has masters you don’t know, and techniques that transcend stages you must pass,’ Bu Eunseol recalled Cheon Ungwang’s words from his visit to the Hwa Wu Sword Sect. Were the techniques Cheon Ungwang mentioned those of the Eight Emperors and Three Stars? Had he clashed with their heirs?
“The Vortex Lightning’s power can’t be blocked,” Nobong said, raising both palms as Bu Eunseol pondered. Though invisible, swirling lightning formed in his hands, evaporating blood with each graze.
“Try taking it again.” Nobong unleashed another Eternal Vortex Lightning. Unable to confront it directly, Bu Eunseol dodged with his movement technique.
“Huff. Huff.” As the exchange continued, Bu Eunseol’s breathing grew ragged.
The Vortex Lightning’s range was so vast he had to push his movement technique to its limit to create distance. Unable to counter even once, he was helplessly on the defensive.
Hiss.
His blood was evaporating at an alarming rate.
Clank.
Struggling to breathe, Bu Eunseol sheathed his dark sword.
“The demonic path’s heir, famed across the land, amounts to this?” Nobong said with a sinister smile. “The martial world has techniques that transcend skill levels. Regret your ignorance in the afterlife.”
Whoosh!
As Nobong extended both arms, Bu Eunseol’s hair shot upward. The powerful Vortex Lightning spread wide, aiming to boil and evaporate his blood in an instant.
Clang.
Then something strange happened. As Bu Eunseol drew his sword, the swirling Vortex Lightning reversed direction.
‘I was waiting for this moment.’
Bu Eunseol knew he couldn’t defeat Nobong, heir to the Blood Emperor’s techniques, in a short fight. But there was a flaw: Nobong’s overconfidence in his unbeatable Vortex Lightning.
From the start, Bu Eunseol feigned helplessness, knowing Nobong would eventually unleash a strike to evaporate his blood in one blow. When that moment came, Bu Eunseol used the Shifting Heaven’s Force, redirecting the Vortex Lightning’s unstoppable force.
“Not a chance!” Nobong said, unfazed, unleashing another Vortex Lightning to neutralize his own redirected force.
‘Now!’
A fleeting gap appeared. Bu Eunseol seized it.
Flash!
A point of light soared into the sky. The eighth form of the Supreme Heavenly Flow, the ultimate counterattack, Lament of the River, was unleashed.
“No chance!” Nobong cried, rapidly crossing his hands. Astonishingly, he aimed to block the dark sword’s light-speed thrust with Vortex Lightning.
Buzz!
As the Vortex Lightning clashed with the sword, the blade bent as if it would break.
“Hmph, is this your trump card—”
Nobong’s scoff was cut short.
Swish!
A sharp whistle rang out. The stalled dark sword twisted like a living creature, moving in an uncanny arc.
It was the final killing sword form of Cheon Ungwang, the Nine Dragons Flashing Thunder, adapting to the enemy’s movements.
Swish! Swish!
Once, twice, thrice… On the fourth twist, Nobong lost track of the sword’s trajectory.
And losing it meant death.
Spurt!
As the dark sword grazed his throat, blood sprayed from Nobong’s neck.
“Magnificent swordsmanship!” Nobong exclaimed, clutching his bleeding throat, eyes wide. “Blending righteous and demonic sword forms!”
He discerned that Bu Eunseol’s strike combined the pinnacle of both factions’ sword arts: the Shifting Heaven’s Force, Lament of the River, and Nine Dragons Flashing Thunder. In one move, Bu Eunseol had unleashed the essence of both.
“If you hadn’t been so proud of your Vortex Lightning, I wouldn’t have won,” Bu Eunseol said.
Nobong gave a faint smile. “At this level, you can’t help but take pride in your martial arts. I’ve felled countless formidable foes.”
Spurt!
With those words, blood sprayed again from his neck.
“You might even surpass him…” Nobong trailed off, unable to finish.
Thud.
His head, severed diagonally, rolled to the ground. The living sword art, Nine Dragons Flashing Thunder, had cut through his carotid artery and neck entirely.
“Huff. Huff.”
Panting heavily, Bu Eunseol had no time to recover before launching himself in the opposite direction. By his calculations, Namgung Un could hold out for an hour. Slightly over that time had passed, meaning Namgung Un’s life was in danger.
Swish!
Unleashing Swift Beyond Shadow, Bu Eunseol raced to the pavilion.
Boom! Crash!
There, Namgung Un, surrounded by puppets, was relentlessly unleashing sword techniques. His body was covered in wounds, his blue robes dyed red. Yet he shouted battle cries, blending the third form of the Emperor Sword Form with the Sky-Soaring Sword.
A death struggle.
Namgung Un’s spirit and body had fused into one. It wasn’t a fight for victory or survival but a sword dance on the boundary of life and death.
“He’s advanced another step,” Bu Eunseol noted.
Sect heirs rarely risked their lives in the martial world, believing rigorous training from youth could replace experience. Direct descendants, as potential Palace Masters, never ventured alone.
But Namgung Un was different.
Beneath his gentle demeanor lay an indomitable spirit unafraid of death. Thus, he undertook this journey alone, surpassing barriers that ordinary clan warriors needed decades to overcome.
“Brother Bu!” Namgung Un, swinging his sword in a trance, finally noticed Bu Eunseol watching from a distance. “Did you deal with Sect Leader Nobong?”
“Yes,” Bu Eunseol replied.
Namgung Un grinned brightly. He was saved! No need to fight for his life anymore!
But Bu Eunseol’s unexpected words followed. “You’re doing well.”
“Huh?”
“Keep going,” Bu Eunseol said, nodding. “You haven’t reached your limit yet.”
Namgung Un jumped in shock. “What are you saying, Brother Bu? I’m on the verge of death!”
“If you were truly on the verge, you wouldn’t be talking.” Surveying the surroundings, Bu Eunseol added, “As you said, I’ll return when you’re truly about to die.”
With that cold remark, he vanished.
“…” Namgung Un’s face paled.
Bu Eunseol wasn’t one to jest, especially about martial arts, where he staked his life. If he said that, he truly wouldn’t help until Namgung Un was at death’s door.
“Brother Bu? Brother Bu!” Namgung Un called, looking around, but Bu Eunseol’s presence was gone.
The puppets, sensing Bu Eunseol’s departure, surged toward him with sharper killing intent.
“Damn it!” Namgung Un spat, a rare curse escaping him. “Fine, die once or twice, what’s the difference!”
Spit.
Rubbing saliva on his hands, he gripped his Golden Needle Sword and roared at the warriors. “Come at me, you bastards!”
***
The Beggars’ Sect sealed its gates.
A pillar of the Nine Great Sects had declared seclusion, for an unbelievable reason: Haepung and Mak Hong’s clash over the leadership had led to a martial conflict. Over eighty percent of the sect’s elite Beggar Corps perished, wiping out its core strength in a meaningless battle.
Had it only been this, the martial world wouldn’t have been shocked. But rumors spread: Nobong had used sect disciples and forbidden methods to create illicit substances, even cultivating numerous puppets
The Southern Palace’s forces stormed Cheonhwa Villa, where Nobong was hiding, exposing his misdeeds and presenting evidence to the Martial Alliance. They also uncovered proof that Haepung had abetted the creation of puppets
“It’s over for the sect,” Haepung said as he was escorted to the Martial Alliance’s prison.
The sect’s unity stemmed from its adherence to justice, integrity, and strict rules. For it to commit such heinous acts, unthinkable even in the demonic path, meant it would take ages to cleanse its tarnished name and rise again.
In contrast, the Southern Palace celebrated. Namgung Un, once called a wastrel, had single-handedly thwarted the sect’s conspiracy and recovered over three hundred illicit substances from Cheonhwa Villa. His feats earned the palace many treasures from the Martial Alliance and reaffirmed its influence, proving it surpassed even the Nine Great Sects as the leader of the Eight Great Families.
Southern Palace, Virtue Acquisition Hall.
The office was lined with shelves packed with books. At a desk by the window, a refined middle-aged man wrote a letter with a brush. His face was jade-like, his chin adorned with a lush beard, but his eyes were icy, and an unapproachable aura emanated from him.
This was Namgung Jeong, the palace master.
Knock, knock.
A maid’s soft voice came with the sound of knocking. “The youngest master has arrived.”
“Let him in,” Namgung Jeong said.
The door opened, and Namgung Un entered in blue robes, his expression tense. Fearless in the world, he shrank like a mouse before his father.
“Palace Master,” Namgung Un said, bowing deeply.
Namgung Jeong didn’t glance at him, continuing to write. The room was so quiet that only the sound of the brush on paper was audible.
‘Palace Master,’ Namgung Un thought, biting his lip.
Though father and son, Namgung Jeong was uniquely harsh and cold toward him, blaming him for his mother’s death in childbirth.
‘They say his personality changed after that day,’ Namgung Un recalled. Devastated by his wife’s death, Namgung Jeong had withdrawn from external affairs, becoming reclusive. Unlike with his other siblings, he treated Namgung Un with unrelenting severity, never offering a warm glance.
Namgung Un’s childhood rebellion as a wastrel was defiance against his cold father.
‘The Palace Master lost his wife, but I lost a mother’s warm embrace!’ he thought, clenching his fists to suppress the words he wanted to shout.
“Haha,” he laughed instead, scratching his head and clasping his hands, playing the fool as always. “If you have no orders, I’ll take my leave.”
As he turned to go, Namgung Jeong spoke. “It seems your skills have improved.”
His voice, belying his lean frame, was deep and commanding, befitting a Palace Master who had mastered heavy sword techniques to their peak. “You faced over a hundred puppets alone.”
“Just luck,” Namgung Un said, scratching his head.
“Ascending a level comes from new experiences and insights,” Namgung Jeong said, his eyes flashing like daggers. “Tell me about the new things you encountered on this journey.”
Namgung Un scratched his head. New experiences? Following Bu Eunseol and living as a beggar, mostly. “I… ate food scraps from the waterways.”
“Waterways?”
“It was necessary to infiltrate the sect. And I wore filthy clothes. They smelled awful, but I managed. Haha.”
In truth, his most valuable experiences were the truths Bu Eunseol shared and the insights gained. If anyone else had asked, he’d have explained calmly. But facing his father’s stern gaze, his mind blanked, and he babbled with forced laughter.
“Hm,” Namgung Jeong grunted in dissatisfaction, causing sweat to bead on Namgung Un’s forehead.
Virtue Acquisition Hall was a place of terror for him. As a child, major mistakes led to being dragged here for severe punishment. Filled with bad memories, it was no place for good stories.
Click.
Namgung Jeong placed something from his robe on the desk—an old coin with intricate patterns.
“The Boeun Coin from the Divine Sage,” he said in a low voice, looking at it. “The Divine Sage sent this to our clan discreetly, likely for resolving this matter well.”
“That’s great,” Namgung Un said, laughing lightly.
“I’ll give you this coin,” Namgung Jeong said.
Namgung Un’s eyes widened. The Boeun Coin was priceless, granting a question to the martial world’s wisest sage. With it, becoming Palace Master wasn’t a dream.
“Will you take it?”
Namgung Un initially meant to refuse. He had no ambition for leadership or plans to use the coin for personal gain.
‘Ah.’ But a refined face flashed in his mind. Unlike him, that person needed the coin.
“You’ll really give it to me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Namgung Jeong confirmed.
“Can I use it as I see fit?”
Namgung Jeong nodded, and Namgung Un did too. “I’ll take it.”
“What will you use it for?” Namgung Jeong asked, a hint of expectation in his eyes.
But Namgung Un’s response was unexpected. “I’ll give it to my sworn brother.”
