The Seventh Apostle lost her left eye. Jung Yeonshin casually mocked her compromised vision.
His gaze shifted momentarily as he exhaled.
Chung Myung, wearing an antique eyepatch, was holding off five Blood Master Swordsmen alone. It was a considerable distance away. She probably hadn't heard him.
Ma Jin, who stood beside him, uncharacteristically stammered.
"What, what is that?"
"Demon-Slaying Azure Steel Palm, a martial technique that will open the crowns of blood demons."
Jung Yeonshin answered indifferently. The Seventh Apostle, glaring at him with her remaining crimson eye, was present.
They were more than twenty steps apart. Yet, her terrifying aura pressed down as if piercing through the space.
It felt like a blade slicing through his skin, fittingly sinister.
"You said you're Lightning Genius."
She suddenly laughed.
Her laughter, steeped in madness, rang smooth and crimson.
It was different from the Blood Master Swordsmen. Was she ignoring the searing pain completely? Her ability to regain composure was astonishingly swift.
"You're impressive. Where did you learn such divine martial arts? It seems tailored to destroy my sect, and the fact that you mastered it is even more remarkable—especially at your age."
"······."
"Even the slightest touch of divine power makes martial arts difficult to learn. If it were easy, would Shaolin have left us alone? To cultivate techniques of that caliber, you must possess extraordinary talent. You······"
The Seventh Apostle's smile deepened. She resembled a madwoman entirely.
"I desire you. Your neck looks even lovelier."
"Silence—!"
Ma Jin's roar shook the ground as he charged forward, his overwhelming force now dominating the Apostle.
She no longer seemed inclined to fight. Ma Jin's earlier assessment of incompatible techniques proved accurate.
Her movements resembled the fluttering of bat wings.
Even as she danced through fragmented movements, seemingly transcending the mortal realm, Ma Jin couldn't pin her down, he could only parry.
Jung Yeonshin, standing still, fared no better. Just managing to strike the Seventh Apostle once was a display of immense skill.
Her momentary lapse, the support of the Blood Master Swordsmen, and the overwhelmingly effective Demon-Slaying Azure Steel Palm had orchestrated a miracle.
He had already fulfilled his role. What could have been a defeat had been completely reversed.
It was not something achievable through ordinary martial prowess.
"See you again."
Her voice dripped with amusement. Jung Yeonshin ignored the Apostle's words.
Her long hair swayed as she smiled faintly and retreated from the battlefield with astonishing lightness.
She didn't seem to care about the subordinates left behind. Her vanishing figure moved with unprecedented speed.
Was that also the realm of the Black Arts of Desolate Fortress? Jung Yeonshin approached Ma Jin, whose sword dangled loosely.
They stood in the middle of the battlefield, now being cleared. The Apostle had fled.
The morale of the fanatical cultists was utterly broken. Blood Master Swordsmen were swiftly subdued, while the Blood Flame Cultists either surrendered or took their own lives.
"The captain alone couldn't fulfill his role."
Jung Yeonshin spoke calmly. Ma Jin gave a slight nod.
"I know."
"Judging by martial prowess alone, you seemed superior to the Seventh Apostle. Is my maternal family's defensive technique originally like that?"
"···I've mastered it well."
"I see."
"···Yeah."
Ma Jin was well aware of his nephew's precarious circumstances, where achievements equaled survival.
Jung Yeonshin forced a smile. It was an exchange between an uncle and nephew. Was it anxiety after their first failure?
He unintentionally reverted to his youthful demeanor. It was the first time since entering Desolate Fortress.
"This mission was a failure. Even if I fulfilled my role, my merit will be downgraded. It'll serve as a reminder to push myself harder. I must grow stronger."
While Ma Jin remained silent, the warriors began clearing the battlefield at the Yitian Manor.
It took an enormous amount of manpower and time just to handle the bodies. Already, the smell of blood mixed with rising stench hinted at decay.
Captured Blood Flame Cultists were imprisoned in the manor's dungeons. It was said that any renowned clan possessed at least one prison.
Amidst the commotion, Elder Monk Won Jong approached. His reddened eyes carried deep sentiment.
"You have shown it, the existence of martial arts imbued with divine power at the extreme."
"It is thanks to you, Elder Monk."
"The martial art that took the Seventh Apostle's eye, that sacred surge······ it is something I will never forget, even in death. Excellent, truly excellent."
He praised Jung Yeonshin's talent and expressed admiration. Perhaps his long-held grievances had eased somewhat.
Jung Yeonshin resolved to claim the head of the Blood Flame Cult leader if he survived, hoping it would finally extinguish the old monk's regrets.
"If you ever visit Shaolin, I'll treat you to Longjing tea. Many monks would wish to discuss martial arts with you. Even the Abbot would likely be curious."
Elder Monk Won Jong smiled warmly, an expression seldom seen before.
The young monk Gak Jeong, who approached wearily, widened his eyes in disbelief.
"Did you just mention Longjing tea? You've always dismissed it as a luxury and avoided it like alcohol."
"Your words amuse me. Just because we are monks doesn't mean we should forsake worldly manners. After all, it's not monks who fill the temple's coffers. Honored guests deserve proper hospitality."
"Ha······."
The younger monk sighed in disbelief and looked at Jung Yeonshin.
"I cannot disagree. I've never seen someone like you. It's astonishing to have such martial prowess within you. Truly, you are worthy of being a guest of Shaolin."
"Your teachings will linger in my memory as well."
Jung Yeonshin's response drew hearty laughter from the younger monk, who was uncommonly jovial.
"Visit Mount Song someday. As the Elder Monk said, my master would certainly welcome you."
"The Abbot of Shaolin Temple······."
Jung Yeonshin murmured softly.
Hearing the title of the righteous sect's supreme leader felt surreal.
Jung Yeonshin, born in Henan, had grown up hearing tales of Shaolin's prestige.
He slowly clasped his fists in salute.
"Someday, I will climb Mount Song. I look forward to that day."
"Amitabha."
Elder Monk Won Jong and Monk Gak Jeong returned the gesture.
Thus, Jung Yeonshin had formed ties with three of the Nine Great Sects. Amid the thick scent of blood, sunlight poured down.
* * *
Yitian Manor's young master, Hyun Yoo-ryang, couldn't give up his lingering hopes.
He seemed intent on marrying off his sister to Jung Yeonshin.
Even the family head got involved this time, making rejection particularly troublesome.
Jung Yeonshin spent his time alternating between the training grounds and guest rooms until Radiant Demon Squad's departure.
"I heard the Lord of Desolate Fortress presided over your coming-of-age ceremony."
"We'll send a matchmaker to the fortress soon. Please give it serious thought."
The manor's leader, Hyun Mu , and Hyun Yoo-ryang saw the Radiant Demon Squad off.
Among the warriors who had fought in the Blood Flame Cult battle, a veiled girl with striking eyes quietly watched Jung Yeonshin.
But there was no connection between them. Jung Yeonshin merely saluted silently.
"Thank you for your hospitality. I wish you all well."
"We wish you success."
The fair-skinned family head with large eyes accepted Jung Yeonshin's bow.
As Radiant Demon Squad and its entourage rode off, the warriors discussed Jung Yeonshin's prospects.
Jung Yeonshin, however, brushed off their teasing thoughts.
"Some find fate, like a pair of mandarin ducks, bound by love. They discuss martial arts and chivalry, and affection blossoms. After all, when men and women hailed as the best across the world gather in one place, how could it not happen? It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that all the romance of the martial world is found at the Yongbong Gathering. Even a half-baked monk like me feels his heart race, so imagine what it would be like for you."
The young monk grinned.
Jung Yeonshin felt no interest. Martial arts and chivalry were things he preferred to act upon, not discuss. As for romance, it was the least of his concerns at the moment.
A dark cloud had settled over the blue robe warriors following his mission's failure.
He had no time to spare, already busy driving his uncle Ma Jin and planning the next task.
"Aren't you one of the Eighteen Arhats? Can someone like you be called a rising talent? You seem at least ten years older than me."
Jung Yeonshin deflected the topic with an offhand remark, causing Gak Jeong's face to stiffen.
"I'm still considered young. I'm not even thirty yet, so of course. If you attend the Yongbong Gathering, I'll make sure to show you the skills of a young Shaolin monk. And not just Drunken Fist fueled by a cup of wine..."
"You're bringing shame to the temple."
Elder Monk Won Jong pulled Gak Jeong away by the arm.
The two monks clasped their hands one last time before parting, promising to meet again.
The group rode onward peacefully, passing through the ruins of Xinye County once more.
Jung Yeonshin gazed indifferently from horseback, his mind preoccupied with the names he still needed to cut down—leader of the Tyrant Sword Tribe and leader of the Blood Flame Cult.
They were still distant, unreachable powers.
'The steward should manage well.'
The steward of the Jung Family had remained in Peongjung Mountain, as it was conveniently close to Shaolin for establishing a new trade route.
Several days later, the group arrived in Yangyang.
Jung Yeonshin felt conflicted as Desolate Fortress revealed its grand walls in the distance.
'The blue robes…'
This was his first failure in three missions. Yet, he did not deny himself.
He envisioned triumph, believing that enduring hardships and investing effort would let him reach the peak faster than anyone.
So far, it seemed true.
'Excelling alone isn't enough. That's the martial world.'
His thoughts branched out. The young prodigy pondered.
What more could he do? How could he utilize his unique talents?
Lost in contemplation, Jung Yeonshin entered the main gate of Desolate Fortress.
Reporting the mission's progress and results fell to Ma Jin.
Jung Yeonshin was about to part ways with his seniors, including Heon Wonchang, when a familiar face called out.
It was Do Yu-won, a scribe he had met earlier at Martial Arena.
"I've been expecting you."
"Sir Do Yu-won?"
Jung Yeonshin's curious question drew a smile from Do Yu-won.
"Not just me, but the martial artists of the fortress have been eagerly waiting. Word of the white robe warrior who took the Seventh Apostle's eye has spread widely. Messenger pigeons are more persistent and faster than martial artists' light footwork. The news has traveled far. Given the ambush, we dispatched remaining experts and the Annihilation Squad, but the results you delivered were astounding. Everyone returned as soon as they heard."
"Ah."
"You managed to weaken the Apostle, one of the few elite masters capable of challenging our black robe warriors. That same day, an event was scheduled to encompass all of Desolate Fortress—the Blue Rank Promotion. It's a seat pursued by every accomplished white robe. The moment you and captain Ma Jin entered Yangyang, the summons were issued."
Do Yu-won led Jung Yeonshin toward the fortress's central hall, with Heon Wonchang and the other seniors following.
Their fatigue seemed erased, replaced by excitement for what lay ahead.
Jung Yeonshin approached Ma Jin and lightly touched his arm.
"My earlier words were too harsh."
"······."
Meanwhile, Baek Miryeo murmured.
"Not even a moment to rest?"
"It's the lord's command."
Do Yu-won shrugged, as if he didn't fully understand it himself.
Jung Yeonshin saw it differently, regarding it as the lord's consideration. Becoming a blue robe meant expanded authority.
Many carried out missions alone from that point on.
'I can build merit without pause. I look forward to it.'
They soon reached their destination.
Just as Do Yu-won had said, dozens of white robe warriors had gathered.
Many unfamiliar faces from across the vast fortress stood present. All were competitors.
Veterans of other martial squads formed a large circle, likely there to support their juniors.
Among them, the seniors of Radiant Demon Squad's group, who had remained behind, waved toward Jung Yeonshin.
In the center, under the shade of a cedar tree as thick as three arms, sat the lord of Desolate Fortress.
Her pale green attire fluttered lightly in the breeze.
Reclining against the dark trunk, the fortress lord opened her eyes.
Through the soft green fringe of her hair, emerald pupils gradually came into view.
Jung Yeonshin gazed at her quietly.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he thought he saw her smile.
"From this moment,"
The fortress lord parted her rose-colored lips. Her clear, resonant voice commanded silence.
"I shall test your worthiness for the blue robe."
Cheers erupted as Jung Yeonshin stepped forward and paused.
From all directions, overwhelming auras closed in on him.
Was this intimidation?
Like frost, the palpable pressure bore down on him. He glanced around.
All were competitors—white robe warriors.
'Interesting.'
The sharp energies continued pouring toward him, even from those who didn't bother to turn their heads.
Some who locked eyes with him smirked, a sign of their competitive spirit.
This was Desolate Fortress. As long as they obeyed the lord, everything else was decided through strength.
Their oath to protect the people was expressed through martial prowess.
"Seeing the aura of my seniors…"
Jung Yeonshin's lips curved into a slight smile.
"I feel assured of this fortress's bright future."
He spread his fingers and slowly gripped the scabbard of his Desolate Sword.
The flow of his Jung Clan's martial arts stirred.
At the same time, he effortlessly brushed aside the surrounding pressure.
It felt light.
He realized it himself.
He had already set foot fully into the realm of the Blue Rank.