“What are Seomye’s movements?”

“He remains secluded in Ma Gwang-ik’s main estate,” reported a swordsman adorned with a blade, seated opposite Ju Yeon-jeong in a position of deference.

This exchange unfolded in a remote annex of the Ipwang Fortress, one that had previously served as the main quarters. Under Ju Yeon-jeong’s orders, it had been converted into a personal office.

“His internal injuries are said to be severe. Do you think he’d accept medicinal aid if I sent it?”

Her words were directed at no one in particular, a mere murmur as she drummed her fingers against the table, lost in thought.

A loyal retainer, kneeling before her, remained silent. He had served her faithfully since childhood, but Ju Yeon-jeong paid him no mind, consumed instead by her inner contemplations.

She was royalty. Calling Seomye’s origins lowly would have been acceptable. It had always been so.

“There are rumors he has earned favor from the Ipwang Fortress Lord.”

The situation had shifted. The difference between passing on a few basic techniques and imparting an entire martial cultivation method was monumental.

Seomye’s value increased by the day.

Recently, it was said that he had played a critical role in dismantling the Bloodflame Cult’s headquarters. His achievements seemed too grand to be true, particularly for someone of his age.

“To fully absorb the Ma Clan, I cannot discard Seomye. No matter how much I deliberate, I can’t find a way to reconcile this. I’ve spent days pondering… Do you think the same?”

“Yes, my lady,” the loyal retainer replied. His voice carried the weight of someone whose martial training had been honed to steel-like precision.

He was a warrior whose skills rivaled those of most seasoned Blue Rank masters. Together, he and Ju Yeon-jeong had survived numerous political and martial conflicts.

Ju Yeon-jeong traced her fingers along the desk, closing her eyes briefly.

“Seomye... Is he someone worth embracing?”

The imperial family of Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang was said to be unprecedented in scale throughout Chinese history. The founding emperor had fathered twenty-six sons.

Aside from those recognized as crown princes or heirs, all his sons had concubines, leading to an endless expansion of the royal lineage.

By the present day, thousands bore the Zhu family name, tracing their ancestry to the emperor.

But few achieved titles of significance, such as Prince, Duke, or Marquess.

For most, even ruling over a provincial city was an unattainable dream. There were simply too many of them.

Most resided in various estates near Beijing, content with hollow titles. Ju Yeon-jeong’s father was no exception. His rank held little substance.

Thus, Ju Yeon-jeong’s status was simultaneously noble and insignificant. She was neither the daughter of a prince nor a duke, preventing her from claiming the titles of Princess or Duchess.

In her youth, she had come to Ipwang Fortress, marrying a cousin within the Ma family. Her husband’s lack of physical capability had enabled her to hear the former Sword Corps Captain call her his daughter-in-law.

And she, in turn, devoted herself to venerating Ma Yeon-jeok.

“I told Seomye before: soon, I won’t be able to conceal my lineage from other factions. The succession is shaky, but that’s to my advantage. Revealing the truth during such turmoil is a way to overcome this crisis, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

“But it’s merely a stopgap. That boy, Seomye, possesses both legitimacy and martial strength. Ma Se-in will hound him to his grave. It’ll happen, whether intended or not.”

Her musings were not meant to elicit opinions from her retainer. Speaking her thoughts aloud helped her refine them.

Lacking a formal title, she could never be a warlord.

From a young age, she had understood her predicament and desired only one thing: proof of her identity and worth.

To truly ascend as a member of the imperial family, she sought a path elsewhere.

The royal family's blade aimed at the martial world—one that she sought to wield—was forged at Ipwang Fortress, with its edge sharpened within the Ma Clan.

She spoke again.

“I heard a life-or-death duel with the Namgung Clan’s leadership is a current topic. They say it will take the form of a sparring match. Do you think Seomye could overcome the internal competition to be assigned such a mission?”

“It’s hard to estimate his true skill. From what I’ve seen, he’s capable of exchanging twenty moves with me. However, I’ve heard that the aura he displayed previously wasn’t his full strength.”

“You see it as I do. To perform at such a level even while injured… He’s truly enigmatic.”

“Perhaps deploying an assassin—”

“You’d quickly realize how absurd that notion is. To secretly assassinate the lord’s former direct disciple…? That’s the kind of idea suited to short-sighted martial fanatics. I’d sooner live quietly than face the consequences of provoking the Imperial Sword.”

She laughed softly at the suggestion.

“Killing him or discarding him isn’t an option. There’s no alternative.”

“...”

“We must gauge Seomye’s potential. How much effort should I pour into nurturing him?”

Her decision was made. Becoming his guardian would be the better choice. Embracing him and controlling his behavior was far superior to making him an enemy.

Seomye was a promising talent who had caught the attention of the Ipwang Fortress Lord. Overwhelming him with support to the point of disorientation was the solution.

Her path was clear.

“Let’s measure his worth.”

She would determine how much wealth and manpower were needed to secure him in her grasp.

After dismissing her retainer, she lay down on her bed. Her office also served as her bedroom.

As the de facto lady of the Ipwang Ma Clan, she already oversaw numerous internal and external affairs.

“I should visit him personally when morning comes.”

But sleep eluded her. A strange sound reached her ears. For the first time in her life, the ambitious royal doubted her senses.

“Yeon-jeong-ah─!”

The voice was deafening, both in volume and implication.

For a moment, Ju Yeon-jeong hesitated. Were there others named Yeon-jeong nearby?

“Yeon-jeong-ah! Yeon-jeong-ah─!”

The shout rang out again and again, as if intent on waking the entire fortress.

The voice, reckless as it was, seemed to belong to someone with immense internal energy.

“What lunatic…?”

Uncharacteristically coarse words slipped from her refined lips.

She rose, draping herself in a light robe over her sleepwear.

Though she often spoke of royal dignity, Ju Yeon-jeong was a true martial artist. The imperial family’s techniques were synonymous with royal martial arts, and she had practiced them diligently since childhood.

Even her revered father-in-law had once praised her as a formidable warrior.

“Who dares?”

“A fool dares to disrupt the main estate…”

“Ma Gwang-ik? Could it truly be Ma Gwang-ik?”

The scene outside was chaos.

Several lower-ranked warriors stumbled over one another in a futile attempt to subdue a single figure clad in white.

“Such arrogance…”

“Should we intervene?”

“Wait. Let’s see what unfolds. More eyes are gathering.”

“That’s wise. Even if the elders support Lady Ju, engaging with a youngster here in the main estate would tarnish her dignity. This is no place for reckless actions.”

The divided elders of the Ma Clan hesitated to act. Neither Ma Se-in’s supporters nor Ju Yeon-jeong’s own dared to intervene recklessly.

The commotion continued. The Ma Clan warriors weren’t incompetent; the problem lay in their opponent.

The figure moved with startling agility, his every motion seamless and soundless, as if he had mastered the assassin’s arts.

“Seomye?”

Ju Yeon-jeong muttered under her breath as her gaze fell upon a boy crouched some distance away.

Standing beside him were two familiar figures—Cheongmyeong, the “Azure Divine Sword,” and Baek Mi-ryeo, the “One Lotus Sword.”

They were vanguards of the Ma Clan, renowned as some of the strongest martial artists among the 17th generation of the Ipwang Fortress’s Sword Corps.

Ju Yeon-jeong’s delicate brow furrowed.

“Where is Yeon-jeong!”

The bellow of a crude voice echoed, drawing onlookers. The Ipwang Fortress was a sprawling cluster of pavilions and courtyards, home to a multitude of people.

Such a commotion in the dead of night was bound to become a spectacle.

“They’re trying to escalate this.”

Ju Yeon-jeong discerned their intentions with ease. It was clear they intended to blow the matter out of proportion.

The story of Seomye and the Ma Clan, if examined deeply, would inevitably place the latter in a poor light. Even fabricating a convincing lie to shift blame would be challenging with so many discerning eyes and ears in the main estate.

The solution was simple.

“Subdue them first.”

They had called her out directly, providing a clear justification for her to act.

With a powerful stomp, Ju Yeon-jeong launched herself forward. The energy gathered at the Yongcheon Point of her soles erupted, propelling her through the air.

The royal martial art Golden Immortal Eight Steps (금선팔법) closed the distance in an instant.

With a deafening roar and a trail of dust left in her wake, she arrived at the heart of the chaos.

The white-clad youth, Ma Gwang-ik’s advance scout, flashed a mischievous smile as he watched her approach.

Tall and striking in appearance, his demeanor was infuriatingly composed.

Without taking her eyes off him, Ju Yeon-jeong spoke in a low, melodic voice.

“Come out.”

The Ma Clan warriors withdrew in unison, their movements disciplined and precise. Their cohesion was evident—a testament to their effectiveness in group combat.

Ju Yeon-jeong gathered her internal energy into her right arm. It was a technique of the Golden Immortal Eight Steps, harnessing the flow of energy along the Yangming Large Intestine Meridian (수양명대장경) from her shoulder to her forefinger.

Her internal energy surged, filling her body in an instant.

Kwaaa!

A storm-like force coalesced in her extended palm.

The technique utilized the full extent of her meridians, generating a massive yet meticulously controlled surge of energy.

It was a blow capable of killing the disrespectful white-clad youth in a single strike—a decisive punishment for insulting the imperial family.

But at that moment—

Whoosh!

Her vision was suddenly filled with a fluttering blue robe. Her eyes widened.

A calm-eyed boy had stepped in front of her.

“Seomye?”

She had misjudged his approach—not due to negligence, but because his movement was reminiscent of the noble families’ fluid and refined footwork.

The distance between them was too close. If she struck now, it would ruin everything.

Desperately, she tried to withdraw her energy. It was no small feat to dissipate such a powerful force.

If the rumors about Seomye’s talent were true, he could withstand what little remained of her attack.

“That should do it.”

Yet, she couldn’t retract all of the energy. A faint trace lingered.

To initiate and halt energy simultaneously required mastery beyond her current level. She had yet to reach the peak state of Three Flowers Converging at the Crown (삼화취정).

Thud!

As a result, her palm struck Seomye squarely in the chest.

The cool texture of the Ipwang Fortress’s blue combat uniform pressed against her palm.

In that fleeting moment, Ju Yeon-jeong’s eyes widened further.

The Golden Immortal Eight Steps was a martial art that honed all the meridians of the body. It was as effective for prolonging life and warding off ambushes as it was for combat.

When exchanging blows, it granted an acute awareness of the opponent’s qi and blood flow.

Her heightened senses allowed her to perceive the qi radiating from Seomye’s chest—specifically his middle dantian.

The internal energy circulating within him gently pressed against the Feng’an Point (俸按穴) near the edge of his lungs.

He was expelling blood without harming his organs, utilizing a technique of breathtaking precision and speed.

An unparalleled genius, she thought. Truly born with the capacity for martial excellence.

But Ju Yeon-jeong couldn’t admire his skill for long.

As she withdrew her hand, she felt blood rise in his throat—a clear sign he was about to cough it out.

Cough!

Seomye’s body shook as he coughed up blood, the crimson droplets scattering in the air.

He staggered, then collapsed to the ground.

To the onlookers, it appeared as though Ju Yeon-jeong had recklessly overexerted her strength.

Her brow furrowed in frustration.

“This brazen child…”

“Please, restrain yourself.”

Baek Mi-ryeo, the One Lotus Sword, stepped forward.

Her entire body was shrouded in a dark, ominous aura—an enigmatic energy that defied immediate classification. It wasn’t common to see such a highly refined manifestation of internal power.

“Is that… demonic energy?”

“No, the flow is too pure.”

“Do you not recognize the One Lotus Sword?” murmured the onlookers.

A crowd of Ipwang Fortress warriors had gathered at the Ma Clan’s pavilion, drawn by the commotion. Their numbers had swelled into the dozens.

But even Baek Mi-ryeo’s presence couldn’t eclipse that of the other master present.

Cheongmyeong, the Azure Divine Sword, had already drawn his blade.

The one-eyed nobleman’s sword exuded a faint, malevolent wind before he even made a strike.

Though he hadn’t yet released an attack, the gust that followed carried an eerie sharpness.

“Stand down,” he commanded.

Cheongmyeong was heralded as a swordsman who could one day contend for supremacy over the martial world.

He had fully integrated his clan’s techniques into his own martial prowess, earning renown second only to the Ma Clan Lord himself.

“Are you two out of your minds?” Hyeon Won-chang scolded his seniors.

Despite his reproachful tone, his expression and demeanor betrayed none of the tension.

The malice of a practiced killer emanated from him, his presence unnerving even without action.

Anyone watching would mistake him for a warrior avenging the death of a comrade.

“The moral principles of the martial world have fallen to dust—!”

Hyeon Won-chang took a step forward, his voice booming as though infused with his internal energy. It tore through the air with the force of a lion’s roar.

“To treat Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye, a hero celebrated for his achievements, in this manner? You shameless wretches bring disgrace upon yourselves! Is there anyone among the Ma Clan who dares to discuss righteousness with this Ipwang swordsman? Step forward!”

The sheer intensity of his presence momentarily silenced the crowd.

Ju Yeon-jeong glanced at the boy at her feet, then took a step back.

“Seomye? The Ma Clan’s future prospect?”

“I heard he was already injured…” murmured the onlookers, inching closer to get a better look.

The sight of Seomye hunched over and trembling wasn’t particularly dignified.

Still, his bravery in shielding a comrade from a superior martial technique commanded respect.

“Parents in heaven?”

Ju Yeon-jeong’s voice turned icy.

“Royalty looks down from the heavens above, not the earthly plane,” she retorted sarcastically.

Feigning indignation, Hyeon Won-chang knelt beside Jeong Yeon-shin, inspecting his chest for several breaths before letting out a dramatic wail.

“Oh, woe is me!”

The spectacle was absurd.

Ju Yeon-jeong let her hand fall to her side, stunned by the theatrics. It felt as though she were witnessing a grand Beijing opera rather than the events unfolding before her.