A nearby martial artist tilted his head.

“Why is the Soul Demon Flame Palace’s Hwa Muryeong absent…?”

“They say contact with her was suddenly cut off.”

Uneasy voices murmured among the gathered warriors.

The Soul Demon Flame Palace was unquestionably one of the core factions within the Ihwa Union. For them to be missing at the very moment of final confrontation was an oddity that no one could overlook.

Was something happening to them—or had they defected?

The reason could be learned later.

For now, what mattered was the total annihilation of the Seongjak Union before their eyes.

Hang Ryeo stepped forward and shouted.

“Pung Muhwi!”

Her voice rang across the entirety of Cheongpa Port.

“I’ll offer you one last chance. Surrender!”

“……”

“If you dissolve the Seongjak Union right now and scatter to your own paths, I’ll spare your lives!”

Murmurs rippled through the Seongjak Union’s ranks. A few visibly wavered.

But Pung Muhwi didn’t move an inch.

“Surrender?”

A cold smile curved his lips.

“Since when have I ever surrendered?”

“……What?”

“When I killed the Green King, when I built the Cheonrak Division, and when I chose to follow the great Seol Unhwi—I neither retreated nor surrendered once.”

“……”

“As a martial man, if I am to surrender, I’ll choose instead to die fighting.”

Hang Ryeo’s face hardened.

“Then… so be it.”

Her hand moved to her sword.

“Nearly eight hundred against two hundred. How do you intend to overcome such an overwhelming difference? Seol Unhwi is fighting for his life against the Sword Emperor of Myriad Transformations in the Secret Realm. Whether he even survives is uncertain, yet you dare show bravado?”

Her tone carried perfect conviction.

“I’ll be plain. You have no hope. Even Seong Yangho, who always stood by Seol Unhwi’s side, has vanished. What’s left for you to gain by this empty loyalty?”

Pung Muhwi slowly drew his sword.

The energy surging from the Divine Transformation master’s blade distorted the air itself. The oppressive aura made even the Ihwa Union warriors stiffen in alarm.

“What’s left, you ask?”

Pung Muhwi raised his sword high.

“The spirit of a martial man remains.”

He had met Seol Unhwi in private many times—talking, debating, discussing the essence of the martial path.

Among those talks, one phrase of Unhwi’s still lingered in his memory.

The spirit of a martial man.

What did that truly mean?

What was martial spirit?

It was simple and clear.

To fill oneself entirely with one’s heart for the martial path—that was martial spirit.

And any martial artist worthy of the name must possess it, must cultivate it further.

Pung Muhwi was such a man—a warrior who carried martial spirit.

Hang Ryeo frowned, muttering,

“…Crazy bastard.”

Both sides began to draw their blades.

The killing intent released by hundreds of martial artists stretched the air of Cheongpa Port taut. The atmosphere trembled, ready to explode into bloodshed at any moment.

Then—

A faint shadow appeared beyond the lake.

Everyone turned to look.

The harbor had been sealed tight for days; what ship could that possibly be?

Before long, the vessel reached the shallow edge of the inlet.

One by one, people began to disembark.

The first was a woman.

She looked to be in her late twenties, a long sword at her hip, her gaze sharp and glacial.

Joo Soa, master of the Bright Cloud Band.

She smiled faintly.

Then two figures followed behind her—one man, one woman.

Namgung Wonyang and Han Murin.

Captains of the Bright Cloud Band’s First and Second Divisions.

Dozens of their members disembarked after them, and last of all—

“White Spirit Ghostblade…?”

He had been mentioned only a few times, but Seong Yangho was famous under that epithet.

The man who served the Snow Mountain Demon King Seol Unhwi as his aide—and whom Unhwi trusted more than anyone.

Jin So-cheon and Hang Ryeo were dumbfounded.

How could Seong Yangho be here?

Wasn’t he supposed to have entered the Secret Realm alongside Unhwi? Then… had Unhwi entered alone?

Their jaws dropped.

These two from the Snow Mountain Palace defied all reason.

Were there ever such lunatics in history?

“…Truly insane,” Hang Ryeo muttered.

It was understandable.

Regardless of numbers, those were Unhwi’s direct subordinates—his hands and feet within the Bright Spirit Domain.

Summoning them here was tantamount to tightening a noose around one’s own neck.

Whatever the outcome, this would give the Five Great Sword Sects and the Sima Outer Branch ample pretext to mobilize their main disciples.

Yet the Ihwa Union commanders still did not imagine defeat.

Joo Soa stepped forward.

“Warriors of the Ihwa Union.”

Her voice cut clearly through the driving rain.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Go back to where you belong.”

“I don’t know what gutter you crawled out of,” one sneered, “but you think you have the right to speak here?”

Joo Soa gave a soft laugh and nodded as though she understood.

“If my mouth carries no weight, then what about his?”

She pointed somewhere behind her.

The Ihwa Union warriors turned—and froze.

Roughly twenty men and women were approaching, as if on cue.

Each wore long robes emblazoned with at least five Flame sigils. In all the vast martial world, only one sect bore such robes.

The Soul Demon Flame Palace.

“…Hwa Muryeong, that insane woman… So that’s why she disappeared. She defected.”

Hwa Muryeong let out a faint laugh.

“I didn’t intend for it to come to this.”

She paused, glancing sideways at Han Murin.

“But I found a reason I couldn’t ignore.”

“……”

“Let’s not bear grudges. This is the martial world, isn’t it?”

“Shameless woman. Do you think you can handle the consequences of this?”

“Whether I can or not, I’ll decide that myself. Why worry for me?”

“……”

“Whether I join the Ihwa Sword Heaven Sect or the Snow Mountain Palace, all that matters is that I claim the results.”

“Absurd,” Jin So-cheon shouted.

“If you kill us all here, you’ll make enemies of our parent sects! Can you afford that?”

Joo Soa murmured under her breath.

They always talk more when they’re scared.

Pretending not to hear, Jin So-cheon shouted again.

“And besides—how could Seol Unhwi possibly survive a battle against Jang Icheong inside the Secret Realm?!”

At his words, voices of agreement rose among the Ihwa Union ranks.

“That’s right! A boy barely past twenty defeating the Sword Emperor of Myriad Transformations? Ridiculous!”

“No matter how much of a genius he is, there’s a limit! Even if we fight to the death here, in the end, whoever survives that Secret Realm decides it all!”

Then Seong Yangho spoke quietly.

“Trust…”

Though his tone was low, his voice carried clearly through the storm.

“…means not doubting.”

He drew his dagger slowly.

“If my young master says he can do it, then he can.”

A cold gleam ran down the blade.

“And if my young master tells me to do something, I do it.”

Seong Yangho’s eyes shone like ice.

“That is what trust is.”

In that instant, murderous intent exploded from the entire Bright Cloud Band.

Joo Soa drew her sword.

Woooom…

Gentle swordlight unfurled from her blade—

the Heavenly Flower Ten-Thousand Radiance Sword Art.

Like petals scattering from the sky, graceful yet containing terrifying destructive force.

Namgung Wonyang drew her blade as well.

Huuuuh…

A strange sound vibrated from her sword.

The Azure String Phantom Sword Art—

a tone like a plucked string of a zither, the boundary between reality and illusion collapsing around her.

Han Murin drew his sword.

Craaaash!!

Lightning split the heavens—no, not lightning, but demonic fire erupting from his blade. Crimson flames pierced upward, the air itself twisting from the destructive surge.

The Demonfire Sky-Piercing Sword Art.

Jin So-cheon gasped.

“Th-these martial arts…!”

All three were ultimate techniques he had never once witnessed.

But what truly shocked him was Han Murin’s art.

That was unmistakably a demonic art.

“These lunatics…” Hang Ryeo muttered.

The tide of power had completely reversed.

Rain poured harder.

“Shall we begin?” Joo Soa asked.

Hang Ryeo opened her mouth to reply—

—but before she could, Seong Yangho hurled his dagger with all his strength.

Hang Ryeo barely deflected it, frowning—

—and Pung Muhwi roared.

“Kill—!”

The blood-soaked battle erupted across the shallows.

***

The moment Unhwi stepped beyond the next gate, his feet stopped.

“This is…”

The sight before him was breathtaking.

The cavern was filled with skulls.

Not ordinary ones—each still leaked faint traces of demonic miasma, some even glimmering black.

Among the Blood Origin Cult’s higher masters, those who reached a certain level often found their very bones turning crimson. That “certain level” meant at least the Realm of Martial Divinity.

It was similar with demonic energy.

True demons who had cultivated magi to the Realm of Martial Divinity transformed, their bones shifting in color just as the blood disciples’ did.

The skulls before him were exactly that.

There were hundreds—

and among them, roughly ten glowed black.

Before each of those ten stood a name tablet, and beside it, a manual inscribed with the practitioner’s unique martial art.

Unhwi looked at the first stele.

[Demon Blood Divine Lord, Jeok Cheonhyeol]

Even the name was extraordinary. Beneath it lay the manual titled Demon Blood Grand Art.

Unhwi opened it and let out a low sound of awe.

It was a Divine-grade mid-tier art.

He moved to the next.

[Phantom Soul Demon Emperor, Heuk Musang]

His manual was the Ten-Thousand Soul Phantom Dream ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Technique—an illusion art that manipulated thousands of spirits to twist an opponent’s mind.

Its rank was Divine-grade high-tier, nearly identical in nature to the forbidden arts pursued by the Heaven Demon Spirit Sect of the Sima Outer Branch.

This was a demonic art among demonic arts—one of the truly forbidden.

Next—

[Iron-Bone Demon King, Kang Cheolsan]

His manual bore the title Demon Bone Vajra Technique, an external art that hardened one’s bones beyond steel itself.

If mastered to completion and enlightenment, it promised an indestructible body like diamond.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep