The moment Jeong Yeon-shin, the young Taesa, snapped Go Jong-hak's neck, silence fell.

The Third Apostle showed no reaction to his son’s death. He had likely departed to the fragrant fields of paradise, as the cult believed.

The Blood Flame Cult harbored no concern for the deceased. It was the trivialities of this world that stoked their anger.

“A wretched brat.”

The impudent scum from Ipwang Fortress dared act out of line. His potential might have been remarkable, but his strength wasn’t yet worthy of the world’s recognition.

At best, he was still an insect displaying reckless behavior.

“Bring him to me.”

The Blood Flame Cult Leader spoke softly.

Seated regally on the Taesa Throne, his silver-white hair glimmered as it cascaded over his shoulders. His expression betrayed no hint of his thoughts. At the very least, he didn’t seem to be contemplating Jeong Yeon-shin’s immediate execution.

This must not happen, the Third Apostle thought.

The insignificant brat from Ipwang Fortress was dangerously unpredictable. His innate talent was unfathomable, and his nature defied control.

A mere handful of individuals in the world could display such audacity before the Cult Leader, combined with such prodigious capability. He would be difficult to subdue as he grew.

The sprout must be cut before it matures.

He sent a silent transmission via the Voice of the Qi, a subtle technique for delivering secret messages.

In an instant, enraged elders charged at the young upstart. But the Bloodblade Guards wouldn’t suffice to handle him.

Jeong Yeon-shin had mastered techniques blending spiritual force and the sinister Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique. Against this, the Elementary Blood Art practitioners were no match.

“Sixth Apostle, step in.”

“Do not command me.”

A raw, guttural voice rose from the depths of the Sixth Apostle’s chest.

The Third Apostle glanced at the emaciated, stern-faced Sixth Apostle with disdain.

Of the four Apostles present at the Blood Flame Cult’s main base, two had gone on reconnaissance missions: the Seventh and Tenth Apostles.

The Sixth Apostle might as well be absent too, a delusional fool who pursued martial extremes even after mastering the Blood Art.

If Jeong Yeon-shin’s limbs were to be broken without disgrace to the Cult, the Third Apostle would have to act himself.

He rose from his seat.

Drawing upon Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique, he infused his body with a potent, fiery energy that coursed through every vein.

Whoosh!

With a focused thought, the Apostle released a fiery burst of energy forward.

The net of oppressive force enveloped Jeong Yeon-shin, who stood motionless and calm.

This was a supreme technique, often likened to the Imperial Sword Formation of the Namgung Clan. To the victim, it would feel like an invisible prison.

Would this upstart dare to parry even one strike? The boy, drunk on his own talent, had recklessly flaunted his defiance.

I’ll tear off his limbs, the Apostle thought, his pale blue eyes piercing into Jeong Yeon-shin’s.

Through the Art of the Apostle’s Eye, he scanned the boy’s strange gaze. His movements were peculiar, as though preoccupied with some internal contemplation.

Ridiculous. His mind wandered even in the face of such a dire situation.

“I know of your family. A pathetic, third-rate clan.”

The Apostle began descending the steps slowly, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Shinya County of Hanam Province. The Jeong family.”

His memory was clear.

“An undeservedly fertile land for such a useless lineage.”

Due to the complexities of the Thirteen Heavens of the Martial Underworld, the Blood Flame Cult had collaborated with the Blade Specters to subdue troublesome families like Jeong’s and seize their lands.

“Your father, the Jeong Clan Lord, was nothing more than a lecherous playboy known for his scandals with noblewomen. With his striking looks, he even seduced your mother. And yet, the world praises the narrow-minded former master of the Divine Sword Corps as a gentleman for taking his disowned daughter as a concubine.”

A smirk curled on the Apostle’s lips, his tone brimming with mockery.

“Your father’s lowly status makes you a bastard. Even if you are Mar-yeon-jeok’s grandson, that decrepit old man’s plea to avenge himself against the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress led to your survival. But how have you repaid the Cult’s mercy? With betrayal.”

When the Seventh Apostle lost his left eye, the entire cult’s covert network had been activated. Even the underworld messenger guilds were threatened to uncover everything about the Servant of Ipwang Fortress.

How laughable. The brat they spared for fear of reprisal from the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress had become a new source of retribution. Such were the ironies of martial vendettas.

“Your Elementary Blood Art was generously exchanged, yet—”

The Apostle’s voice grew rough, the immense force of his cultivated energy burning in his throat.

“Your pathetic limbs are no longer needed. Your mouth will suffice. Starting with your fingertips, I will carve you apart. Your insolent words will turn meek once I’ve flayed your skin.”

Clang!

Despite the cultists’ combined assault, the brat moved with unnerving composure.

In a state of transcendence, Jeong Yeon-shin’s fluid movements deflected their strikes.

His mastery of internal energy, utilized with shocking precision, sent out waves of Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique with the clarity of a spiritual art, breaking through the cultists’ defenses effortlessly.

The Apostle was stunned. This boy could not be allowed to grow any further.

“Stand down!”

At his command, the cultists retreated instantly, clearing a path. The Apostle advanced toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

“The mastery of martial arts encompasses years of experience. Strength grows with time, yet your insignificant talents remain unrefined. You’re still in the infantile stages of development.”

Though he knew the boy wasn’t listening, the Apostle continued, driven by a macabre fascination at the prospect of dismembering such a prodigy.

“One move. The moment you attempt to block it, you’ll be crushed. Behave as befits a bastard’s place.”

And then—

Boom!

The heavens trembled. For a moment, the Apostle doubted his senses.

Even at his level of mastery, the phenomenon seemed otherworldly.

Crash!

The second tremor shattered the air. It felt as though the world itself was splitting apart.

It’s the Dual Blood Spirit Array—the thought struck him immediately.

The sacred formation that had shielded the Cult’s main base for centuries was unraveling.

“Moon Spirit Divine Art!”

The Cult Leader, who had been watching idly, leapt to his feet, his composure as a supreme ruler utterly shattered.

Whirl!

A blinding white storm surged, scattering debris from the crumbling formation.

The Apostle felt it immediately—the wind carrying the overwhelming force of the outside world crashing into the Cult’s stronghold.

From all directions, the roar of intruding martial artists filled the air.

What had the Seventh and Tenth Apostles been doing? They had left long ago with elite guards. Their fate was now irrelevant.

Panic overtook the Apostle. Even the Cult’s supreme masters, who should have sensed the array’s collapse, were frozen, their gazes fixed on the sky.

Descending from the heavens was a figure.

She moved as though merging with the wind, her form materializing on the ground with transcendent grace.

Her jade-green hair and flowing robes radiated an ethereal brilliance, as if untouched by the world.

She seemed like a celestial being, but the weight of her presence was anything but heavenly.

The bodies of the Cult’s masters stiffened. The higher their martial mastery, the greater the terror they felt.

She wasn’t an angel; she was the Reaper herself.

Her steps were serene, her jade-green robes brushing softly against the ground.

At her side, a sword gleamed with an otherworldly light, its brilliance reflecting in her luminous eyes and fair skin.

The sunlight seemed to burn brighter around her.

“Im... Impossible...”

The Cult Leader muttered, his voice trembling.

The world’s greatest figures had etched her face into their memories: the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress.

“The Sovereign...?”

The Third Apostle’s whisper held disbelief, struggling to reconcile the reality before him.

The situation defied comprehension, her transcendent beauty rendering the moment surreal.

It didn’t matter. Her face wasn’t the issue.

As the Sovereign took another deliberate step forward, the Apostle felt an icy terror grip his soul.

This is the Cult’s downfall!

The oppressive aura radiating from her seemed to press down on reality itself.

Her martial strength was unfathomable.

“Take her down!”

The Apostle’s command rang out.

And then—

Swish.

The Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress moved.

She allowed the enemies no more time or space to act.

The instant the Third Apostle widened his eyes and let out a battle cry, she was already striking directly in front of him.

Was it the legendary Shrinking Earth Technique, where distances were collapsed? Her movement was as unreal as if she had become the wind itself.

Her pure white blade shimmered like a transparent breeze.

Thunk.

The Third Apostle’s head fell.

His death was unworthy of his fearsome reputation as a master of the martial world.

A name that once traversed the vast cities and strongholds of the central plains vanished in an instant.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened. He suddenly snapped out of his trance-like state.

The alignment between his upper dantian's qi sense and the spectacle before him was perfect.

“I didn’t see her technique.”

He speculated silently. The Third Apostle had likely experienced the same. He hadn’t perceived her movements, only the certainty of his impending death.

He must have seen only her raised hand, not the trajectory of her sword.

An absolute master. Or perhaps a transcendent master.

The terms held different connotations, but the feeling was the same.

Against anyone, she would hold the upper hand. There was no equal in the world.

“The legend of the Celestial Tree was true—it is not something to be seized by force.”

The stories of the idle martial artists were correct.

The sacred tree, said to bear the most divine elixirs under heaven, would remain eternally under her protection.

“...”

A deathly silence fell over the cult’s grand hall.

An invader had barged into the banquet and slain the Third Apostle—one of the most powerful figures in the cult.

But fury and indignation depended on whom one faced. Silence reigned deeper still.

Only the shouts and momentum of the martial artists attacking from outside broke the oppressive quiet.

Step.

The Blood Flame Cult Leader descended abruptly.

He approached the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress face to face.

His crimson robes, embroidered with a golden dragon, fluttered belatedly behind him. He brushed his snowy white hair back and spoke.

“This is our first meeting.”

“I have nothing to discuss with a sinner.”

Her tone was emotionless.

So was her sword.

Without warning, a faintly white sword light flashed, and blood sprayed from the Cult Leader’s neck.

The elite masters of the Blood Flame Cult gasped audibly.

The blood of an ancient martial overlord flowed as easily as in a dream.

Yet he did not die instantly. The Cult Leader had already stepped half a pace back.

The implications were profound.

He had reacted to her strike. His evasive footwork had been flawless.

Heh heh.

A raspy laugh gurgled from the Cult Leader’s throat. His crimson lips twisted into a grotesque grin, splitting unnaturally to both sides.

Jeong Yeon-shin saw it clearly.

The gash on his neck bubbled and regenerated rapidly, a sight more grotesque than his laughter.

He was a grandmaster of Blood Energy Techniques.

The Bloodblade Guards’ regenerative abilities paled in comparison.

In the next instant, both figures vanished, as if stepping into another realm.

Their martial accomplishments defied imagination.

Boom!

Though the sound came from far away, it nearly caused Jeong Yeon-shin to stagger. The shockwaves struck his eardrums with immense force.

Still, nothing was visible.

Jeong Yeon-shin quickly focused his energy. He didn’t need to examine his surroundings to act.

A barrier of internal energy wrapped around his auditory canals, a delicate yet swift maneuver.

Through refining the Purifying Azure Subjugation Energy and Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique, his internal energy control had reached a new level.

“Where is the Cult Leader?”

“He’s battling the enemy!”

The masters turned their heads toward the mountain behind the cult’s grand hall.

Another thunderous explosion echoed, as if hundreds of thunderclap grenades had detonated simultaneously.

A massive cloud of dust rose.

But it lasted only briefly.

The intervals between the explosions grew sporadic. The battle between the two supreme masters was no longer a clash of brute force.

“One breath.”

Jeong Yeon-shin assessed calmly. He had heard tales of battles at this level.

A single breath for an ordinary man could feel like an eternity in such conflicts. It seemed these masters spent more time evading and feinting than engaging directly.

Jeong Yeon-shin set aside his thoughts.

“Destroy the cult!”

“Exterminate evil! Uphold justice!”

The sounds of swords clashing and bursts of energy grew closer.

Martial artists had begun storming the cult’s main base.

Their weapons deflected attacks effortlessly as they surged forward, and Jeong Yeon-shin recognized many of them.

Cheongmyeong was at the forefront, followed by Wei Ji Myo-hwa and Baek Mi-ryeo.

The Shaolin monk So Shin-seung and the Plum Blossom Sword Masters from Mount Hua Sect were not far behind.

A sense of relief washed over Jeong Yeon-shin. It felt as though a long-awaited sanctuary was finally within reach.

“Jeong! Jeong So-hyeop!”

The voice was clear. At the rear of the vanguard was Hyeon Won-chang.

Despite his emaciated face, he ran toward Jeong Yeon-shin with remarkable agility, deftly dodging the cultists’ strikes.

Upon seeing Jeong Yeon-shin, he even managed a weary smile. He was the same steadfast comrade as always.

“He’s regained his martial skills.”

A wave of relief swept through Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind, even as his thoughts raced.

He envisioned the Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress emerging victorious.

Yet the Blood Flame Cult Leader was among the few supreme masters of the vast central plains.

It was hard to imagine him falling easily.

If this dragged on, the cost in lives would only grow. Jeong Yeon-shin knew that much from a single glance.

“So you were the calamity that plagued our cult.”

A cold voice drew his attention.

The Sixth Apostle was radiating murderous intent, his gaze shifting menacingly between Jeong Yeon-shin and the attacking martial artists.

The man’s aura was overwhelming, comparable to the Black Sovereign of Ipwang Fortress. Such individuals were rare.

“No one here can match the Apostles.”

Even with hundreds of martial artists pressing into the cult’s stronghold, the Apostles stood unmatched.

Not even dozens of Bloodblade Guards could compare. The cult’s elite fighters alone could dominate entire provinces, not just towns.

“The masters of Ipwang Fortress are coming!”

Cheongmyeong shouted as he dashed forward. It was clearly a bluff.

Jeong Yeon-shin had already sensed it through his upper dantian’s qi. There were no reinforcements from Ipwang Fortress.

This moment revealed one of the fortress’s chronic flaws—it lacked the manpower to dominate the vast central plains.