“Is that all?”

“…Should there be more than this?”

“It seems there should be… so you’re saying there isn’t.”

Jang Icheong no longer wore a strained expression.

It was the face of a man who had clearly made up his mind.

He spoke.

“As it happens, I too—as Heavenly Commissioner (Cheonsusa) of Gangbuk Province—now have much to set in order. I doubt I can spare attention elsewhere.”

“I see.”

“As Heavenly Commissioner of Seongjak Province, have you anything further to say to me?”

Unhwi stared at Jang Icheong for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“I had hoped I would have nothing to say. Unfortunately, because of what you just said, I do.”

A cold current ran down Jang Icheong’s spine.

“A secret realm will open at Seongrim Mountain one month from now.”

At that, a twitch ran across Jang Icheong’s brow.

A secret realm…

It was an unwritten law of the martial world.

What happens inside a secret realm is buried inside a secret realm.

In other words, no matter who dies within, the “truth” is decided by the mouths of those who emerge.

“Shall we raid that secret realm together?”

“……”

Unhwi stepped quietly forward—and whispered in a voice no one else could hear.

“Watching you act… truly pains the heart.”

Jang Icheong thought to himself:

‘This little bastard…’

Unhwi went on.

“Your stratagem failed, and your Sect Lord will do nothing but rebuke you. If you are a warrior who has attained the Cheonin Realm, shouldn’t you at least struggle?”

Unhwi’s whisper drove in like a blade.

“One month from now—let’s meet in the secret realm at Seongrim Mountain. In there, far too many unpredictable things occur; there are times when one must make decisions that truly cannot be helped, are there not?”

A chill gleam lit Jang Icheong’s eyes.

“Bluntly put—Muksehoe or Cheonrim, in the end all of you want to test me. If I die in there and only my corpse comes out, then I was only ever worth that much, and no one will scold you, Senior.”

Taken the other way, it meant Jang Icheong might also die.

No—that wasn’t it.

Jang Icheong was certain.

This arrogant whelp intended to kill him inside the secret realm.

A mere upstart of five gathered banners, daring to—

To a Cheonin Realm warrior before whom he should normally not even meet eyes—such insolence!

“I think I’ve said enough for you to understand.”

“……”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t catch my meaning? Even those idiot Green Forest thugs would understand if told this much. Must I say more?”

Killing intent surged through Jang Icheong’s whole body.

“Are you confident?”

“I am. But rein in your killing intent, please. Others might get a strange feeling.”

The killing intent subsided, but the cold expression remained.

“Bear this well in mind. Everything that happens from here on—happens because you, Senior Jang, did not say what you ought to have said to me today. Do not forget it.”

Jang Icheong ground his teeth.

“Mind yourself. Or you’ll grind those teeth down.”

“……”

“Then I’ll see you there, Senior Jang.”

Unhwi brushed past him.

And—

Watching Unhwi’s retreating back, Jang Icheong thought,

‘A month from now, a secret realm? That’s only if you live that long.’

With an unreadable smile, Jang Icheong turned away.

The first plan had fallen through.

But the second plan was still in motion.

You arrogant little wretch.

***

Deep within Bongguk Mountain stood an old mountain stronghold, long disused and ownerless.

Nokwang Im Cheongsan, total chief of the Green Forest strongholds, lifted his cup and laughed in boisterous delight.

“Hahaha! This time, everything truly went well!”

His core officers of the Green Forest were gathered around him, all drinking with elated faces.

The stronghold itself was shabby, but these were men who made a habit of sleeping on bare floors. Such things did not bother them.

“Nokwang, joining hands with the Ihwa Sword-Heaven Sect was a stroke of genius!”

“That’s right! And not with just anyone, but with the Ihwa Sword-Heaven Sect’s Manhwa Sword Sovereign, Jang Icheong. As if that could fail!”

Im Cheongsan nodded, satisfied.

Yes. This time was different.

Jang Icheong had promised: he would put national pressure on Seol Unhwi, and Unhwi would soon become a puppet.

Whether he possessed that much power wasn’t the point. Im Cheongsan wasn’t so stupid—he understood the current situation.

From the moment Jang Icheong approached him, the two became a single community of interest.

For a simple reason.

The Ihwa Sword-Heaven Sect, which revered the orthodox way, had joined hands with bandits despised not only by the common folk, but by warriors as well.

That situation itself was a double-edged sword for the Ihwa Sword-Heaven Sect.

There was a reason he ruled no fewer than eighteen Green Forest strongholds.

As a warrior who had reached the Mythic Realm, Im Cheongsan had experience—he was certain this would succeed.

There had been some bickering with Jang Icheong along the way, but nothing bad.

He had accepted Im Cheongsan’s demand, after all.

The demand was nothing special: if Seol Unhwi became a puppet, then the Seongjak Union seated in Seongjak Province would be swept aside, and that role would be handed to the Green Forest.

He would seize the chance to change the Green Forest’s public image, and monopolize the vast profits flowing out of Seongjak Province—and Jang Icheong had agreed.

One way or another, it would end well.

“The fertile lands and abundant resources of Seongjak Province will all be ours. Just thinking of it puts me in a fine mood! Keh-heh-heh!”

Im Cheongsan raised his cup and shouted,

“Raise your cups for our brethren hiding quietly inside the governor’s office and for all of us here! To the glorious future of our Green Forest!”

“To the future!”

As thunderous cheers shook the stronghold—

KWA-A-AANG—!

The stronghold gate exploded, and black silhouettes poured in.

It was the men of Cheonrakbu.

They wasted no words. The slaughter began at once.

“Wh— who goes there!!”

“An attack… we’re under attack!”

As screams filled the stronghold, Im Cheongsan leapt to his feet.

“W-what—what is this!”

Then, a man walked in at an unhurried pace.

Seol Unhwi.

“Nokwang Im Cheongsan.”

At that cold voice, Im Cheongsan felt not fear, but fury.

“You dogshit bastard—what a foul face you’ve got.”

In that brief instant, Unhwi recalled the past.

—…Keh-heh-heh, I’ve grown abominably big, haven’t I. For a Blood Fiend of the Original Blood Sect to come calling. More than that, what a savage mug you’ve got. What do you eat to end up like that, eh?

At the unchanged Im Cheongsan—then and now—Unhwi let out a dry chuckle, and Im Cheongsan shouted,

“Who told you I was here! If you don’t say it this instant, I’ll take your head—”

“Jang Icheong told me.”

Unhwi answered evenly, and though slaughter raged around them, Im Cheongsan froze where he stood.

Stupefied.

His head tangled.

“Jang Icheong…? Impossible…!”

Flustered, Im Cheongsan shook his head sharply.

“…You dogshit bastard. Fine—then I’ll kill you here and now, and run straight outside to make the Ihwa Sword-Heaven Sect look like utter fools!”

He ripped out his weapon and charged.

Unhwi, too, went to draw the Heavenshaking Spiritblade—

“Heavenly Commissioner.”

Pung Muhwi caught Unhwi’s wrist—and whipped the sword he held in a powerful arc.

KWO-O-OOM—!!

Natural qi surged like a storm, hurling the onrushing Im Cheongsan back.

“I will take this one.”

Unhwi was briefly surprised at Pung Muhwi’s ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ bearing.

“Your reason?”

“…My heart is itching.”

“Is that so.”

“Let me do it.”

Unhwi flicked a glance at Commander Seong, then looked back to Pung Muhwi.

There was a strange energy in his eyes. Something was surely coming.

Whether it would become the realization that carried him into the Cheonin Realm, or a momentary stall—no one could say. But the chance had to be given.

“Very well. But do not exceed half a ke.”

Pung Muhwi grinned.

“That’s plenty.”

Already, the realization Unhwi had once spoken of—the “Wind-God Intent Realm”—had taken root in Pung Muhwi’s heart.

Wind. It is not merely something that flows.

At times gentle, at times fierce, changing freely and embracing all.

Yes.

Embrace.

That is the essence of wind.

Pung Muhwi leveled his tip at Im Cheongsan’s face.

Im Cheongsan furrowed his brow and muttered,

“…You wield wind. I’ve heard of it. They say the Pavilion Master of Wind-Sword Pavilion, head of the Seongjak Union, is a true adept at mastering wind. Today, you will pay first for the kin you killed.”

“Come. Enough talk.”

“Damn it, why are you bastards all so ill-bred? I am the Nokwang! You cur!”

Im Cheongsan charged, slashing his blade.

But Pung Muhwi did not move.

He merely raised his sword.

Wind-Sword Pavilion’s secret art: Wind-God As-You-Will Sword.

In that instant, the air within the stronghold changed.

Wind rose.

What began as a soft breeze grew steadily more violent. At the center of that wind, Pung Muhwi’s sword moved—

Free as wind, unpredictable as wind.

And at times, swift as a cut that severed the very moment.

Pung Muhwi’s eyes flashed.

His blade traced a line through empty air.

SLAASH—!

Im Cheongsan’s left arm spun through the air.

“U—uwaaagh!!”

As Im Cheongsan shrieked and stumbled back, Pung Muhwi kicked off the ground.

Im Cheongsan, snapping his mind back into focus, swung his sword in a brutal arc.

Green Forest Eighteen Strikes.

From his blade burst a massive sword-qi: eighteen blades of energy writhed like living serpents, darting at Pung Muhwi.

Pung Muhwi at once unfolded Wind-Shadow Step.

Each arc of Im Cheongsan’s sword-qi carved a different trajectory through the air—a technique worthy of a Mythic Realm master.

Attacks impossible to predict—but Pung Muhwi slipped between them with featherlight movement.

He thrust his sword.

Clear Wind Sword.

Clear wind arose; riding that wind, Pung Muhwi’s sword-qi streaked toward Im Cheongsan. Transparent, razor-edged sword-qi split the air and reached him in an instant.

Im Cheongsan hastily brought his blade across to block.

KWAANG—!

Metal screamed; Im Cheongsan was driven back several steps.

He lifted his chin. Murder bled from both eyes.

Green Mountain Blood-Flame Art.

Im Cheongsan’s blade flushed red. It was the Green Forest’s tradition, a topmost Heavenly-Earth class art transmitted only to the total chiefs.

The instant he unleashed it, a crimson aura roared from his sword.

Viscous like blood, hot like flame—the air around them seemed to sear in moments.

“Die!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep