The Blood Flame Cult Leader, gazing down, erupted into laughter. It didn’t stop.

The euphoria emanating from him grew deeper and more intense, soon escalating into maniacal laughter.

He swept his white hair aside, laughing uncontrollably, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.

Amid this chaos, Jeong Yeon-shin stood straight, his gaze locked onto Go Jong-hak.

The latter’s complexion was pale, his posture uneasy, as though he had no clue what to do next.

“You ignore my command.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke softly.

He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, exuding the raw, sinister aura of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique.

No one dared to stop him. At this moment, Jeong Yeon-shin was shrouded in authority—at least, within the Blood Flame Cult.

He was Taesa, the one who had achieved their long-cherished wish.

Only the Cult Leader stood above Jeong Yeon-shin, who had manifested miracles through his own hands.

The Cult Leader’s echoing laughter in the silence testified to this.

Facing Go Jong-hak, Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head ever so slightly to look up at him.

“I gave you an order.”

“...”

“Offer it.”

Go Jong-hak didn’t respond. His trembling hands clutched the necklace around his neck as if reluctant to let go.

The cult’s entire leadership silently watched the scene unfold.

It was a surreal sight: the son of the Third Apostle, one of the Blood Flame Cult’s elite, offering a treasure to a mere servant of Ipwang Fortress.

“A fine tribute.”

Jeong Yeon-shin reached out and grasped it.

The smooth texture of the jade wrapped around his fingers, a sensation foreign and new. Poison was said to be deadlier than the sharpest blade, and the value of this Antidote Pearl was immeasurable. It was the most precious object he had ever owned.

“Taesa!”

The Blood Flame Cult Leader’s booming voice resonated, his face radiating with an unrestrained grin.

It was the first time Jeong Yeon-shin had seen him in such high spirits since his capture. Even the Cult’s high-ranking members seemed equally astonished, their faces betraying their disbelief.

As their eyes met, the Cult Leader’s lips curled into a crimson smile, his expression exuding delight.

“Come here! I grant you the privilege to stand by my side!”

Gasps broke out across the hall. Even the most stoic cultists, known for their composure, couldn’t mask their shock.

This was a groundbreaking development. The power Jeong Yeon-shin demonstrated through his reinterpretation of martial techniques was undeniable.

“What a bizarre turn of events...”

“Indeed, a miracle in itself.”

The cultists whispered among themselves, their gazes divided between Jeong Yeon-shin and the Cult Leader.

“...Then,”

Jeong Yeon-shin ascended the thirty-six steps leading to the dais as Taesa.

Attendants, their red hair flowing behind them as they moved briskly, arranged a place for him beside the Cult Leader.

Their faces betrayed a mix of envy and longing as they cast sidelong glances at Jeong Yeon-shin. They, too, yearned for the status of having black hair—a mark of favor.

“Come quickly!”

The Cult Leader, his smile stretching wide with an edge of madness, gestured elegantly. He opened his arms wide in a theatrical display.

“Strike up the music! Let the festivities begin!”

What began as a purge transformed into a grand celebratory banquet.

The Cult had no celestial rituals, yet music remained an effective tool of governance, one that struck the human spirit with its rhythm and melody.

Performers carrying a variety of instruments, from golden flutes to zithers, filed in, setting the stage for a feast of unparalleled grandeur.

“Take this.”

The Cult Leader picked up a jade bottle of Du Kang Wine with an almost delicate touch, offering it with a grin.

Even as Jeong Yeon-shin barely touched his cup, the Cult Leader responded with only an amused smile.

“You will now learn the doctrines of our Cult. To instruct the Taesa, ordinary measures won’t suffice. I will assign you an elder as your tutor.”

“...”

“But as the Cult Leader, I wish to personally impart the first and most essential principle to you. Listen well: the essence of our doctrine can be summarized in one phrase.”

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t respond, and the Cult Leader continued, speaking as though to himself.

“Our Cult burns away the chaos (bunran) and suffering (pipnoi) of this mortal world.”

“Suffering.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s quiet utterance brought a satisfied smile to the Cult Leader’s face. His white hair swayed slightly as he tilted his head.

“Indeed. The monks of the Buddhist path call it bunnoe when the two are combined. These thirty-six steps carry great meaning.”

The Cult Leader lightly tapped the floor with his foot, a gesture unbefitting a supreme ruler of the martial world.

“They represent our transcendence over the thirty-six burdens of this life. It signifies that our teachings are no different from the salvation of Maitreya.”

“Is death salvation?”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s question cut through the atmosphere, prompting the Cult Leader’s grin to deepen.

“To fully grasp its profundity would take witnessing countless dawns. Do you know the flaws inherent in the Ming Dynasty’s foundation? The world is already in ruins, and I’m certain the Taesa is aware of the famine spreading across the central plains.”

The Cult Leader’s long fingers traced his cup as though drawing a map.

“Famine breeds chaos. The martial world isn’t an immortal realm; those who live in it still need food. When hunger strikes, the strong won’t endure silently. Next comes plunder. The lines between the martial world and the governing bodies will blur beyond recognition.”

His words carried an air of eerie wisdom, underscored by the insights of someone who had cultivated their martial prowess to its zenith.

“Things will grow dire for Ipwang Fortress.”

“Yes, your sect is formidable. But compared to the vast central plains, it’s small. The day will come when martial prowess eclipses the rule of law. You’ve already witnessed the excesses of the Hwangbo Clan, haven’t you?”

“...”

“When Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang and his descendants built their empire, I saw it with my own eyes. The state of the central plains was laughable. People decry the horrors of blood techniques, yet even the Cult’s practices pale in comparison to the carnage wrought by the wars between Yuan and Ming.”

“They say you’ve lived as long as the elders of the Nine Sects.”

“I guarantee it: the coming chaos will rival those times. There will be no heroes in this era. Can starving men hold aloft the banner of righteousness? It’s a ridiculous notion.”

The Cult Leader emptied his cup and declared,

“The coexistence of martial arts and chivalry, as romanticized by storytellers, is a myth. Only martial strength will remain, and that’s why our Cult must rise. With blood techniques curbing hunger and the sacrifices of the righteous empowering our warriors, we will rebuild order in the world.”

“You claimed to burn chaos and suffering.”

“Our mission is to trample ignorance and move forward. To eradicate suffering, one must first endure it.”

The words, accompanied by a sharp exhale, hit Jeong Yeon-shin like a solid wall.

For a moment, he almost found himself respecting the logic. But he couldn’t. The sinister aura woven into those words betrayed the Cult’s twisted nature.

The Cult Leader embodied both the transcendent wisdom of the martial world’s supreme leaders and the malevolent essence of a sect master.

Jeong Yeon-shin grasped only fragments of the distorted ideology for convenience’s sake. However, there was no time to reflect deeply on the looming chaos.

“Time’s up.”

He sensed the fading hues of the sunset and calculated the timing.

The period granted by the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress had elapsed. Her appearance was imminent.

It was then that a voice, laced with outrage, rang out.

“Oh, almighty Cult Leader!”

Looking down, Jeong Yeon-shin saw Go Jong-hak dragging a scrawny boy by the scruff of his neck. One glance was enough to discern his origins—a commoner, captured from outside.

The boy’s face was swollen and battered, showing no unbruised skin.

“The Taesa has proven his extraordinary talents! The aura of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique he wields is awe-inspiring. Yet, he has not yet demonstrated the subtleties of Star-Absorbing Techniques. As a humble servant of the Cult, I wish to present this tribute to the Taesa and humbly seek your permission!”

“Hmm.”

The Cult Leader’s lips curled into an intrigued smile as he turned to Jeong Yeon-shin.

“Indeed, I, too, am curious.”

“...”

"Descend and add the feeble strength of that boy to your vitality," the Cult Leader ordered, his voice tinged with a murderous glee. "You are already familiar with the intricacies of the Star-Absorbing Technique embedded in the Blood Art. Go and demonstrate it. Step into a new world."

His words, laced with amusement, carried a chilling intent.

Star-Absorbing. To devour the stars. It was common for fanatics to sanctify their actions, and in the Blood Flame Cult, this term referred to their predatory technique for siphoning energy.

Jeong Yeon-shin felt that the moment had arrived. An inexplicable sense told him the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress was watching.

He rose slowly, beginning his descent down the thirty-six steps of Bunnoe with deliberate calm.

Woong.

His internal energy stirred, enveloped by the Purifying Azure Subjugation Energy and infused with the sinister power of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique. This was a den of devils, the very heart of the Blood Flame Cult.

Here, demons thrived, their malevolence seeping into the air. Many of the cult's experts, capable of piercing through the guise of even formidable warriors, watched him closely.

The Cult Leader and Apostles were among these ultra-masters, scrutinizing him with unrelenting focus.

Jeong Yeon-shin could feel the scorching gaze of the Third Apostle bearing down on him like a consuming flame. Unlike those awestruck by his miracles, others—steadfast believers in bloodline superiority—looked on with undisguised disdain.

This was a den of madmen. He sensed their suppressed intentions, as if some were waiting for a chance to defy the Cult Leader and assassinate him.

Time to leave, Jeong Yeon-shin thought.

He had achieved enough. His contributions to Ipwang Fortress’ success would be significant, but his prolonged absence from its core presented complications.

His steps echoed as he approached Go Jong-hak. Beside him lay a boy, swollen and bruised, glaring defiantly upward despite his battered state.

A spark of determination flickered in the boy’s eyes, his presence strangely extraordinary despite his condition.

"You damned, vile demons... my father will never forgive..." the boy muttered in a slurred voice, blood dripping from his cracked lips. His gaze burned with unyielding defiance as he looked at Jeong Yeon-shin.

Go Jong-hak chuckled, opting not to strike the boy further. Instead, he turned to Jeong Yeon-shin with a smug grin.

"How about this? A fine offering, fed generously with elixirs, prepared especially for the Taesa. Should you wish to begin the Star-Absorbing Technique, I’ll gladly serve as your protector."

His expression questioned Jeong Yeon-shin’s resolve as if mocking his ability.

Jeong Yeon-shin said nothing. He raised his hand, and the irregular waves of Blood Energy emanated from his fingers.

But his technique wasn’t aimed at the boy.

Instead, it reached for Go Jong-hak’s neck.

Go Jong-hak smirked, activating his Qi Defense. A crimson mist, dense and tangible, enveloped his body. He made no move to dodge, treating Jeong Yeon-shin’s actions as little more than a childish tantrum.

"Nobles sacrifice their convictions for the greater good. Whether the Taesa possesses such nobility is another matter, but—gah!"

The essence of Jeong Yeon-shin’s strike lay in the Purifying Azure Subjugation Energy. In this moment, he mastered the art of deception within internal energy techniques.

The layered energy he unleashed was far beyond what it had been before.

A harmony of opposing forces—Blood Energy and spiritual power—flowed seamlessly, forming an overwhelming force.

Go Jong-hak’s Qi Defense dissipated like mist as Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand gripped his throat.

Crack.

The sound was chilling. Jeong Yeon-shin’s fingers crushed Go Jong-hak’s carotid arteries and neck bones with ruthless efficiency.

He let the body fall carelessly to the ground, discarding it like a broken stick.

The boy, who had been glaring defiantly moments ago, now stared wide-eyed, his expression frozen in shock.

"What horror!"

"You insolent wretch!"

The cultists’ reactions were instantaneous, their heightened senses picking up on the unfolding chaos. Even without context, they understood.

A storm of murderous intent surged toward Jeong Yeon-shin, the air thick with hostility, as if he had been locked in a prison of killing intent.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood calmly, shielding the innocent boy.

I just want to rest, he thought.

His journey through the martial world, starting with the Yongbong Gathering, had been an endless cycle of conflict.

The rewards for his actions would undoubtedly be immense, but at this moment, such considerations felt distant and irrelevant.

Would Hyeon Won-chang be safe? Had Ma-Jun and the expedition team avoided suffering at the hands of the Hwangbo Clan?

His thoughts burned hot, and the Baihui Point at the top of his head pulsed with warmth.

In that moment, he sensed something extraordinary. The Dual Blood Spirit Array’s boundary became clear in his mind—a vision brought by the influx of energy to his upper dantian.

Dozens of martial artists lay in ambush, their presence enveloping the area. Their aura was anything but ordinary.

The focal point, however, was in the air above the formation.

There stood the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress, her flowing green robes trailing like a celestial banner.

She floated effortlessly, her presence embodying absolute mastery.

Her movements were precise, her foot extending to shatter the boundary of the formation with a single step.

Boom!

The air itself seemed to ripple.

Time to go, Jeong Yeon-shin thought. It was time to return.