The Blood Flame Cult was exactly as the imperial court had declared it to be: a heretical sect. Its members were unpredictable in speech and thought.

Despite the cult’s size, its teachings were not commonly understood. Even the imperial court, after many years, had failed to fully uncover its doctrines.

Jeong Yeon-shin asked calmly, “Did you summon me?”

“Yes, Taesa (Grand Master),” the Blood Swordmaster replied, kneeling and bowing deeply.

“...”

In Xinye County, the Jeong Clan was unrivaled. Maintaining dignity required refinement, and even abandoned sons were expected to master the classics.

Thus, Jeong Yeon-shin had learned the basics of the Four Books and Five Classics, as well as the Book of Changes.

All things in the world, it was said, followed a clear cause and effect. The affairs of the martial world were no different. Behind every inexplicable outcome lay a similarly incomprehensible cause.

The Blood Flame Cult was said to be a gathering of the inscrutable. Jeong Yeon-shin, with his extraordinary talents, seemed to embody the same enigma.

He had created the Heaven-Severing Sound Art, a technique that harnessed resonance to bring widespread devastation. The Sword Song, which caused immense destruction on a vast scale, was another invention of his—a technique entirely without precedent.

It was an accomplishment that far exceeded his martial arts rank.

Thus, his abduction was unsurprising. Both Cheong Myeong and Baek Mi-ryeo had warned him early on:
“If other sects learn of your talents, they will either try to recruit you or kill you.”

The Blood Flame Cult had chosen the former.

“I’ve already informed the main sect about you,” the Seven Apostle said, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her expression was beautiful, yet unnerving, with madness simmering beneath the surface.

Her lone crimson eye roamed over Jeong Yeon-shin. She murmured slowly, “Your extraordinary achievements, your unparalleled creativity, and your unwavering heart that refuses to be swayed by malevolence... What would happen if I infused you with Blood Arts? Our cult might see the birth of a new Young Cult Master for the first time in over a hundred years.”

The Blood Arts were said to belong to the realm of sorcery. Practicing them twisted the pathways of qi, altering the body’s meridians from the crown to the brain. It also created a mental state conducive to absorbing the cult’s doctrines—a hallmark of the martial world’s most fanatical religion.

A religion of madness.

Its extremism extended to bestowing the title of Grand Master upon its enemies without hesitation.

Jeong Yeon-shin responded evenly, “Isn’t it laughable to speak of a Young Cult Master to someone who’s slain so many of your members?”

“The children who faithfully shed their blood for our doctrine have shed their flesh and ascended to paradise,” the Seven Apostle replied, her smile unfazed. “Our vengeance is not mere retribution. It is a sacred act to sanctify the heavens with blood. We wish for paradise to overflow with bliss.”

“History shows that rulers who long for eternity rarely welcome successors,” Jeong Yeon-shin remarked.

“That, dear Taesa, is mere anxiety,” the Seven Apostle said, her singular red eye curving into a playful smile. “The throne belongs solely to our Cult Leader, eternally.”

The crowd around them began to grow, drawn by the sight of the Blood Swordmaster bowing in the middle of the street.

Soon, Jeong Yeon-shin found himself encircled by a throng of crimson-haired cultists.

The Seven Apostle’s voice took on a more commanding tone, carrying traces of inner qi. “I spoke of your talents before. Our doctrine has an ancient tenet recorded in the Scroll of the Flaming Lotus. The third verse reads:

‘Endure and overcome!’”

The Blood Swordmaster who had referred to Jeong Yeon-shin as Taesa cried out solemnly, “Endure and overcome!”

The Seven Apostle gave him a slight nod, and he immediately bowed his head in reverence.

“Crimson hair,” the Seven Apostle continued, her gaze fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin. “When one practices the Blood Arts, one inherits this divine mark—a stigma of heaven, as it is known in the martial world. All manner of creatures seek to kill our disciples at the sight of it.”

“Do you not slaughter civilians indiscriminately?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked bluntly, his voice cutting through the reverence like a blade.

His words caused no reaction. Even the Seven Apostle remained unperturbed, her expression unwavering.

In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt as though he had been cast into an entirely different world.

The Seven Apostle gave him a faint, conspiratorial smile. “Once, that might have been natural. But the divine mark of Blood Arts turned into a stigma because of two groups: the so-called righteous sects and the imperial court, which calls us heretics.”

“...”

“You will help us overcome it,” she said with quiet conviction. “With your talent, you can rewrite the Qi Manipulation Formula of the Blood Arts to suppress its visible effects. You can turn the red hair of our disciples into black.”

Jeong Yeon-shin stared at her, unflinching. “You want me to make it impossible to distinguish your cultists by appearance alone.”

The moment her words ended, several cultists stood up, raising their voices in unison.

“Endure and overcome!”

“Make the sacred Blood Arts complete!”

“Taesa! Oh, Taesa!”

These madmen, Jeong Yeon-shin thought bitterly.

They called the Blood Arts sacred and demanded their improvement. They spoke of endurance yet begged for cosmetic changes. The contradictions were staggering.

The Seven Apostle, seemingly amused by the chaos, laughed. Her laughter carried a hint of madness as it echoed across the gathering.

“Oh, young Grandmaster. You will pave the future of our cult.”

Jeong Yeon-shin did not reply. He simply lowered his gaze, silent and contemplative.

The commotion eventually subsided, and the cultists dispersed.

The Seven Apostle extended her hand again. Jeong Yeon-shin felt the weight of her fingers against his sleeve, her qi resonating subtly through her touch.

Her voice was soft yet commanding. “Come, my Young Cult Master. Our Taesa.”

Jeong Yeon-shin followed her without a word.

For a fleeting moment, as the wind brushed against his face, he felt strangely at peace. Perhaps it was because he had long accepted his short lifespan. Or perhaps it was simply the resilience of his heart.

The Blood Flame Cult was an entirely different world. His thoughts inevitably turned to their strange martial arts.

The Qi Accumulation Techniques were said to be extraordinary.

Could there be a chance, no matter how slim? Could martial arts, not divine fruits, change his fate?

The young Grandmaster walked on in silence.

As they passed several halls, a grand palace came into view.

Jeong Yeon-shin counted the steps of the wide staircase leading up to it. Thirty-six. A number laden with significance.

Thirty-six stars of the Daoist heavenly fiends. Thirty-six afflictions of Buddhist doctrine.

Sects grounded in religion often incorporated symbolic architecture. Such elements were sometimes clues to deciphering their martial arts.

Jeong Yeon-shin ascended the steps carefully, mindful to conceal his observations from the Seven Apostle.

At the top, a blood-red door swung open on its own.

“Approach.”

The voice was smooth and commanding.

At the center of the grand hall, a white-haired man sat alone on a high throne. His features were noble and elegant, akin to those of royalty, yet he lounged with one leg draped lazily over the armrest.

Though his demeanor was unassuming, Jeong Yeon-shin felt no less wary.

This was the Cult Leader of the Blood Flame Cult, one of the most powerful martial artists in the world.

Surely not.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s thoughts drifted to the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, who had once enjoyed the wind with a serene smile.

It was during his duel with Ma Sein, a relative on his mother’s side. Only much later did he notice the sword hanging at her waist.

“The Cult Leader has spoken. Did you not hear?”

One of the individuals flanking the Cult Leader spoke in a stern tone.

The man was middle-aged, with jet-black hair. Unlike the Cult Leader, he exuded an overwhelming aura of qi, so much so that it was immediately apparent he was another Apostle.

“Are Apostles ranked above the Taesa?”

Jeong Yeon-shin asked without altering his tone, asserting his title as Taesa.

The Seven Apostle, standing nearby, burst into laughter.

Her laughter reverberated through the grand hall, creating an eerie echo that conveyed an unsettling delight.

Even in the Cult Leader’s presence, her laughter did not abate.

“Your question is fair. The ranks of Taesa and Apostle are not so different,” she replied, her radiant face alight with amusement.

“An Ipwang Fortress stray dares to call himself the Taesa of our cult? Such presumption is repulsive, especially when your place within the cult has yet to be decided,” the middle-aged Apostle said calmly.

The Apostles exhibited a remarkable degree of freedom, displaying their personalities even in the presence of the Cult Leader.

This was a stark contrast to the strict discipline of the Blood Swordmasters and other cult members.

The Apostle continued slowly, “I have already obtained the Cult Leader’s permission. If the rumors of your talents prove true, then even if the Blood Arts are bestowed upon you, it is unlikely that your mind and body will conform to our ways. You will face countless trials ahead.”

“Third Apostle, heed my words,” the Seven Apostle said, her face devoid of expression as an intense wave of qi emanated from her.

“Your child is unfit to become the Young Cult Master. Do not let envy cloud your judgment.”

“How trite,” the Third Apostle replied, his tone unchanged.

The Cult Leader’s voice rang out, calm yet commanding.

“Enough.”

The Cult Leader raised a hand, and the strands of his white hair swayed ever so slightly, moving as though imbued with life.

Whoosh.

A cold breeze swept through the hall.

In an instant, the overwhelming qi that had filled the chamber dissipated, including the Seven Apostle’s uniquely sharp and sinister aura.

The technique was so refined that it was impossible to deduce the underlying principles.

Jeong Yeon-shin felt the tension in his wrist, the grip of the Seven Apostle tightening around his sleeve.

“First,” the Third Apostle said deliberately, his voice steady under the Cult Leader’s protection.

“I must test your martial arts. The rumors are rampant, and the Seven Apostle is infatuated with you. It is only right that I witness your capabilities myself. This is a fundamental matter.”

“Your issues seem needlessly complex. Let’s just get it over with,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied without hesitation.

No one reacted with anger.

The leaders of the Blood Flame Cult remained as serene as a still lake.

No matter how twisted their path, each had cultivated a staggering level of inner discipline.

They were fearsome not just as martial artists but as individuals.

“No need for lengthy words. Come,” the Third Apostle said, extending an arm.

Wooom!

A ripple of qi spread from his hand, signaling the start of their exchange.

The energy of Blood Arts rose from the palm of the Third Apostle. A faint red current began to layer upon itself, forming a circular barrier.

This was not the force of a physical strike, nor the harmonious blend of martial arts and internal energy. It was a pure manifestation of inner strength alone, shaping itself into a protective wall.

“Attack and defense united,” Jeong Yeon-shin discerned, his sharp gaze penetrating the technique.

A formidable storm of sharp energy swirled around him—a tempest born of expertly manipulated qi.

While it couldn’t compare to a combination of internal strength and physical strikes, it was still an awe-inspiring and seemingly supernatural feat.

“The level of your qi manipulation… It’s truly one that stands at the pinnacle of this world.”

“Isn’t this what we’d expect from a stray of Ipwang Fortress who surpasses even those clad in black?”

The onlookers whispered in awe, unable to suppress their exclamations.

Jeong Yeon-shin gazed at the wall of internal energy from a distance, his expression unreadable.

The Seven Apostle leaned in close, her voice a soft murmur in his ear.

“This is the trial our late-stage disciples face to ascend as Blood Swordmasters. Survive even one breath, and they’re rewarded with rare elixirs.”

“What happens if I break it?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked plainly.

He took a step forward, activating Demon-Slaying Blue River Palm. His right hand, raised to his chest, emanated a brilliant azure glow that spread outward.

There was no hesitation. He formed a palm strike and directed it straight at the barrier.

Crash!

The instant his palm connected, a vivid crimson gale erupted in all directions.

The azure light radiating from his hand pierced the barrier, spreading an icy brilliance across the dense wall of qi built with unparalleled mastery.

The barrier unraveled swiftly, breaking down into fragments and dissipating into the air.

For a moment, the hall was silent, save for the sound of scattered remnants of red wind.

“…If this truly is a martial art of your own creation,” the Third Apostle began, breaking the silence.

“You are a truly dangerous individual…”

He took a step back, his sharp features failing to conceal the shadow of unease.

Jeong Yeon-shin immediately perceived it—the sinister intent coiled in the Apostle’s heart like a venomous serpent.

At that moment, the Blood Flame Cult Leader finally spoke.

“That power… that method of qi manipulation…”

“…?”

“It seems there is no need for concern after all.”

As his voice resounded, the atmosphere of the hall shifted. Even the Apostles bowed their heads, transformed into devout listeners before their leader’s sermon.

“To master supreme martial arts through theory alone? If such a thing were possible, the great sects would have no reason to scrutinize the talents of their disciples.”

“…”

“And yet, your palm strikes are different. They carry within them a unique interpretation of divine martial law. The way your internal energy manifests certain properties isn’t merely a matter of differing qi pathways—it’s shaped by your will. That is why a master is essential.”

The Cult Leader smiled, as if he were Jeong Yeon-shin’s mentor himself.

“He’s not wrong,” Jeong Yeon-shin thought, conceding inwardly.

The Seven Apostle had once told him the same.

Even a trace of divine essence imbued within martial arts would make it extraordinarily difficult to learn. Only those born with unparalleled talent could refine it.

If Blood Flame Cult disciples could easily master Buddhist martial arts, their sect would have been annihilated long ago.

This was the reality. None had ever succeeded before.

Jeong Yeon-shin was no fool. Naturally, he had ensured that his scrolls were delivered to Ipwang Fortress’s martial treasury.

The Demon-Slaying Blue River Palm was a rare ascending martial art and had earned him great merit.

But the latest news he had heard had diminished that achievement—the elders themselves had struggled even to begin comprehending it.

“You were the only problem,” the Cult Leader said with a faint smile.

“And now, here you are, within our sect.”

“…”

“You’ve passed the trial with exceptional skill. The Taesa deserves a reward. Bring it forth.”

At his command, a servant stepped forward cautiously.

The servant carried a chest covered in golden silk, the weight of it balanced at head height. On top of the chest rested an ornate, ancient box.

The Cult Leader gestured lightly, and the servant knelt, presenting the box.

Opening it with deliberate care, the Cult Leader revealed a small, crimson pill within.

“What is this?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked evenly.

The Cult Leader’s aura shifted subtly, a peculiar tension emanating from him. His presence was not normal.

When he tilted his elegant chin upward, it was as if an explosive charm radiated from him, a strange allure impossible to resist.

Stories about the Blood Flame Cult Leader were countless—tales of him sinking his teeth into a victim’s neck to drain both qi and blood.

Even so, his victims often died with smiles on their faces.

“It is a poison that narrows the meridians,” the Cult Leader said, his lips curling into a beguiling smile.

“It is one of our sect’s most treasured secrets.”

There was a demonic allure to his grin, a charm that threatened to ensnare any who gazed upon it.