“Now… now you’re saying the Lord is arriving...?”

Hyeon Won-chang stammered over his words.

Even on Wei Ji Myo-hwa’s face, a ripple of disturbance broke through her composed expression.

The shock was profound enough to pierce through the cultivation she had refined at the sacred grounds of Zhongnan Mountain.

“The Lord of Ipwang Fortress is personally…”

“It’s been a long time since the Lord last ventured into the martial world,” Cheongmyeong remarked slowly. “Fifteen years, I believe, since the destruction of the Dali Kingdom.”

Fifteen years in the martial world was enough for a generation of young masters to rise and fall. It signified that the Lord had not revealed their divine presence in all that time.

As with many young practitioners, some of the later-generation experts who had built their profound internal energy with elixirs tended to look down on the elders.

Martial arts, after all, evolved with time. No disciple of a renowned orthodox lineage would fear a supreme technique from centuries past.

However, the Lord of Ipwang Fortress was an exception.

“The divine power that annihilated the royal family of Yunnan’s Dali Kingdom…”

Wei Ji Myo-hwa murmured, absently running her hand over her sword hilt. The shock shook her so deeply that her concern for Jeong Yeon-shin wavered, if only briefly.

Cheongmyeong, catching her distracted state, gave a slight gesture toward Hyeon Won-chang.

“There’s no way to predict the speed of the Lord’s movement techniques. It wouldn’t be surprising if they’ve already arrived in Nanjili. Inform Ji-hyeon to prepare the reception. Summon the prefecture branch in Huizhou as well. We must receive them with all due honor, as befits a king.”

“Even the Prefecture Branch Master!”

Hyeon Won-chang exclaimed as he hurried out of the room, unable to hide his flustered demeanor.

Even the phrase “an army of a thousand strong” seemed insufficient to describe the arrival of a being akin to a deity in human form.

The Prefecture Branch Master, who oversaw all of Huizhou, was three ranks above Ji-hyeon. Their authority rivaled even that of the Namgung Clan’s patriarch. Yet even they would have to offer humble respect before the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

She was, after all, a monarch recognized by the Emperor himself.

“The Lord is arriving. Prepare yourselves.”

“…What did you say?”

Hyeon Won-chang relayed Cheongmyeong’s words to Ji-hyeon, and he took great satisfaction in watching the man’s face contort in sheer panic.

This Ji-hyeon was closely tied to the Namgung Clan, one of the influential families in Nanjili.

The indifference he had shown toward the conscription requests from the military authorities vanished entirely.

As they stepped out of the government office’s hall, a middle-aged swordsman dressed in azure martial robes was waiting in the central courtyard.

The sharp gaze he leveled at Hyeon Won-chang was anything but ordinary.

He didn’t appear to be consciously radiating energy, yet the qi permeating the air around him was oppressively heavy.

‘The Infinite Sky Sword Technique (창궁무애검)…!’

Hyeon Won-chang immediately recognized the hallmark technique of the Namgung Clan. Even the man’s attire was unmistakably that of those damned Namgung scoundrels.

“You people from Ipwang Fortress,” the swordsman said, his voice deep and resonant, his long, jet-black beard neatly combed.

“You’re scheming something utterly audacious. Gathering martial artists in Nanjili while ignoring the local aristocracy? Such lack of respect for the native gentry makes you no different from a rogue sect.”

“And who might you be?”

“They call me Namgung Wi.” The swordsman spat the words with disdain. “A rogue from Ipwang Fortress, no less.”

Hyeon Won-chang remained silent for a moment.

He knew the name. Namgung Wi was the vice-leader of the esteemed Infinite Sky Sword Squadron (창궁검천단), one of the most prominent swordsmen in Nanjili. Even experienced high-level practitioners would struggle to claim victory against him.

‘I could lose my head at any moment.’

The Namgung Clan was known to stand above even the Hwangbo Clan in terms of influence. Judging by Ji-hyeon’s servile attitude, their ties with the local government were undoubtedly immense.

In fact, their authority was so great that they could cover up a murder in the middle of a government office without consequence.

Hyeon Won-chang spoke cautiously.

“You hypocritical wretch. Knowing the disgraceful deeds of your clan, do you still speak of respect? What twisted version of the Confucian classics did you study to spout such shameful, inhuman rhetoric? Don’t you feel any shame toward your deceased parents for the filth coming out of your mouth?”

The accumulated resentment poured out in measured tones.

A quiet yet commanding aura radiated from Hyeon Won-chang’s body.

Namgung Wi’s response came a beat late.

“What did you say?”

“You, Namgung Wi, are the true rogue here. Did you not turn a blind eye to the deaths of the valiant warriors who sought to protect the common people by beheading cultists? Now, as the righteous martial artists gather to strike down the Bloodflame Cult, you hide behind your clan’s dignity while ignoring your own disgraceful conduct…”

As Hyeon Won-chang’s words continued, Namgung Wi’s internal energy flared, creating a powerful wave of qi.

Hyeon Won-chang remained unbothered.

“Your behavior is truly ridiculous.”

He finished his sentence with a look of satisfaction. Namgung Wi shook his head slowly.

“…Did you think I wouldn’t draw my sword just because we’re in a government office?”

Woong.

Namgung Wi’s sword began to emit a powerful hum.

As expected of a renowned swordsman, even the sound of his blade was extraordinary.

Hyeon Won-chang was about to call out to Cheongmyeong and Wei Ji Myo-hwa, focusing his qi to project his voice, when—

Thwack.

There was no sound of slicing.

In the blink of an eye, Namgung Wi’s head was severed from his neck. His head fell to the ground, almost absurdly weightless, like a leaf blown off its branch.

The celebrated swordsman’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his end so sudden it seemed unreal.

When had it begun?

A faint breeze, like a mirage, swirled around the area. It was an uncanny moment.

Though the wind had no distinct color, it carried a pale green hue, as if the air itself was shimmering.

Time within the government office seemed to freeze. Silence enveloped the scene as a gentle, transcendent presence began to bloom.

“The sins of Namgung…”

A melodic voice resonated from above, clear and commanding.

“…shall be buried with Seom-ye.”

The hem of a robe, tinged with the color of fresh grass, fluttered gracefully in the wind.

Hyeon Won-chang had already tilted his head upward, his eyes widening until they felt ready to tear.

He immediately dropped to his knees, his body trembling as a profound wave of emotion coursed through him.

***

“Are you awake?”

A sly whisper tickled Jeong Yeon-shin’s ears. The tone was thick with internal energy, a familiar sensation by now. It was the exhalation of the Seventh Apostle.

Jeong Yeon-shin opened his eyes immediately. His senses didn’t activate right away.

Though he could normally sharpen his entire body’s senses at will, his qi circulation was sluggish, even for a moment.

He realized it instantly: he had been subdued.

“I’ve been hit by blood manipulation again,” he thought grimly.

Half his vision was occupied by the face of the Seventh Apostle, her expression brimming with deep affection. Beneath that love, he could also sense desire.

Jeong Yeon-shin stared calmly at her crimson irises before speaking.

“What have you done?”

“I wanted to preserve your radiant body forever. I painted you,” she said, smiling brightly as she straightened her back.

Only then did Jeong Yeon-shin register the sharp smell of ink and pigments.

The Seventh Apostle’s talent in art was evident. On the large sheet of paper she held was a detailed depiction of his entire body.

It wasn’t just a portrait. It was an anatomical diagram.

The painting meticulously illustrated his eight extraordinary meridians, every blood point in his body, and all three of his dantians. One particularly striking detail was the crown of his head—his upper dantian—with its vividly open blood point. The level of precision was extraordinary.

It was a full-body diagram of his anatomy.

She had infused her qi into his body to observe and record his internal structure.

The Seventh Apostle was an expert in internal techniques; analyzing someone’s body was child’s play for her.

She raised the corners of her mouth in amusement.

“Did you know? Perhaps our cult can create someone who might match even a fraction of your talents.”

“…I’ve heard rumors,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied coldly. “The Bloodflame Cult is said to have miraculous techniques. They even use regenerative capabilities in their medicine. It’s no wonder the orthodox healers can’t keep up.”

“This will be a treasure.”

“You sacrifice your followers for it. Typical of unorthodox filth.”

Their conversation failed to align. Their relationship was inherently based on the brutal logic of survival within the martial world.

The Seventh Apostle’s cheerful demeanor and Jeong Yeon-shin’s composed detachment were worlds apart.

Closing his eyes again, Jeong Yeon-shin focused his thoughts on his lower dantian.

The Moon Spirit Harmony Technique, taught by the Lord of Ipwang Fortress, was said to be a peerless martial art in all under heaven.

He had spent a long time cultivating this new technique to accelerate qi condensation to an extreme.

Through careful study and practice of its formulas, his understanding had deepened significantly.

Indeed, Jeong Yeon-shin was already proficient in advanced qi condensation methods.

“So, this is how the Lord’s teachings come back around,” he mused.

The moment he received the manual for Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique from the cult leader, he had scrutinized its formulas as soon as he returned.

He had already begun categorizing the effects of qi condensation techniques and identified those that affected the brain.

“...What are you doing?”

The Seventh Apostle cautiously asked, as if she still harbored guilt over her outburst the previous day and the repeated apologies that followed.

Jeong Yeon-shin ignored her, focusing instead on mastering the circulation method of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique.

He followed her intentions, utilizing the qualities of her blood qi infused within his body.

“Done.”

Once he had dissected the formula, it happened swiftly. A new circulation path for his qi engraved itself into his mind.

He could now eliminate the Apostle’s qi, which was embedded in his meridians and controlling his life.

He also discovered something else.

“So the regenerative abilities of blood techniques stem from stealing qi…”

The cult leader’s words echoed in his mind: Do not tamper with the foundation.

The martial arts of the Bloodflame Cult were two sides of the same coin. Even if one learned their methods, they couldn’t use them openly outside the cult.

Jeong Yeon-shin was already formulating his escape plan.

Slowly, he parted his lips to speak.

“Your martial arts.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“I’ve begun refining Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique. Are you certain you want me to tailor it for myself? It belongs to all the Apostles.”

“Oh!”

The Seventh Apostle’s face lit up with pure delight. She nodded fervently.

“Those fools think they’re such high-level experts, clinging to their pathetic pride! They wouldn’t dare refine it! But you… you only need to look at me! The cult leader will focus on Blood Cultivation Core!”

She produced a neatly folded bundle and handed it to him. It was red.

Judging by its thickness and shape, it was a crimson robe. It resembled the clothing she often wore.

“This is the Pureblood Robe (순혈포). It’s woven with our cult’s techniques and celestial silkworm thread. Ordinary blades can’t even scratch it.”

“…Quite the artifact.”

“Indeed. Only a few exist within the cult, and only Apostles are granted them.”

Having already been stripped of his martial robes from Ipwang Fortress, Jeong Yeon-shin looked down at the bundle before speaking.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Still clinging to the fortress, are you?”

The Seventh Apostle tilted her head slightly, but Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t answer.

He had already formulated a plan after observing the formation yesterday.

He needed to infuse energy into various objects around the area.

How she interpreted his silence, he couldn’t tell. The Seventh Apostle’s expression shifted rapidly—confusion, possession, restrained anger—all swirling together.

Perhaps a hint of regret, too.

“This isn’t for me,” Jeong Yeon-shin thought. “It’s her own selfish desire.”

It was an emotion he had no reason to concern himself with. It was simply the pity of a Bloodflame Cultist.

Shaking his head inwardly, he flung the door open.

The voice that had been grating on his ears all day grew louder.

“…Thus, the new Taesa has descended upon our cult! Your hair now carries the honor of all Apostles! And so, we shall wield the blade of retribution against those vile hypocrites of the northern factions!”

“It’s that son of the Third Apostle—Go Jong-hak,” the Seventh Apostle said in an odd tone.

Everywhere, red hair swayed. There were easily hundreds of Bloodflame Cultists gathered.

On a central platform in the village, a man stood, passionately delivering his speech. He abruptly turned, locking eyes with Jeong Yeon-shin.

A twisted grin spread across his face.

“There! He is there! The one who graces us with his presence!”

At Go Jong-hak’s gesture, countless eyes turned toward Jeong Yeon-shin. Even the Seventh Apostle looked, her smile softening.

Go Jong-hak’s next words boomed, laced with qi.

“He will lead our cult to Beijing! Ah, look upon him! Witness the miracle that the Taesa shall bring! I humbly ask the Taesa to show the pitiful wretches trapped in the flames of blood a sign of divine intervention!”

The miracle he spoke of likely referred to altering the Blood Cultivation Core formulas. It was an absurd demand.

It had only been a single day since Jeong Yeon-shin regained consciousness in the cult’s main base.

“Even the cult leader hasn’t spoken of immediate results,” Jeong Yeon-shin mused.

He recalled that Go Jong-hak, son of the Third Apostle, had tested him with a wall of qi. It became clear that internal political struggles existed even within the cult.

Using his existing reputation, Go Jong-hak likely intended to humiliate him. Even a den of madmen, it seemed, was still a place inhabited by people.

Jeong Yeon-shin snapped open the bundle he had been holding.

The bright red robe unfurled, billowing like a banner.

Silently, he began to don the Pureblood Robe.

With a few measured movements, the crimson robe enveloped his body, fluttering with a blood-like sheen.

“…”

The crowd fell silent, Go Jong-hak included.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s appearance was that striking.

Woong.

Perhaps it was the influence of the Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique, now purged of madness.

For the first time, a qi aura never before seen in the Bloodflame Cult began to radiate.

Though unmistakably the cult’s qi, it possessed an eerie clarity.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Whispers of “cult leader,” “Taesa,” “Apostles,” and “Pureblood” spread.

The qi emanating from his entire body stirred the air. Black hair swayed at the edges of the crimson robe’s shoulders.

In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s figure was indistinguishable from the Bloodflame Cult’s rightful successor.

“Show us the miracle of the Taesa?”

He asked, his voice steady.