The unity of these four sects was solid as steel.

They had already ruled Yangnyeong County for decades—not just a year or two, but for generations.

“The county magistrate says he wants nothing to do with this.”

“…After all the bribes he’s taken? If he won’t back us on this, there’s no reason to treat him with any respect.”

“What can we do? He is the magistrate.”

Tsk.

Jang Muhwi clicked his tongue and rose from his seat.

That was the end of their meeting.

There was only one response to the letter from the Snow Compression Branch.

Rejection.

And they all fully intended to watch Seol Unwi kneel before them and beg.

Arrogant little bastard.

****

The training grounds of the Snow Compression Branch reeked of sweat, as five members moved in perfect sync across the drill field.

Seol Unwi, watching from the side with faint dissatisfaction, finally spoke.

“The Fivefold Snowflake Formation only works if the five of you move as one. At this pace, your heads will be rolling before the formation is even deployed.”

The Fivefold Snowflake Formation.

It was a formation Seol Unwi had devised himself.

In his past life, during his time with the Central Blood Sect, he had created a technique known as the Blood Lotus Formation. The Fivefold Snowflake Formation was its refined evolution—tailored for five users instead of one.

Originally, it was a highly complex formation, requiring six or more seamless transitions. Those who had once used it in the Central Blood Sect had known no defeat.

Its original incantation was simple but ominous:

A path forged in blood, the blood road stains heaven crimson.

The Fivefold Snowflake Formation altered that verse into something new:

Five snowflakes become a blizzard.

Five streams of cold become a glacier.

From the start, Unwi had no plans to drastically increase their numbers.

What he needed was a formation that could be executed with just five—and that could draw out maximum efficiency from only five.

That was the Fivefold Snowflake Formation.

It consisted of three distinct patterns.

The first was the Snow Compression Formation, a fundamental pentagonal shape that allowed for both omnidirectional offense and defense.

The second was the Ice Peak Formation, designed to break through enemy lines with concentrated force—perfect for piercing dense clusters.

The third was the Snowfall Cascade Formation. Built for swift movement and relentless assault, it had existed even in the original Blood Lotus Formation.

The names were different, but the intent was the same.

This third pattern was the heart of the entire formation. In truth, Unwi had likely created the whole system just to legitimize this final move.

“Stop.”

At his word, the five warriors halted instantly.

Unwi watched them regain their breath before slowly drawing his sword.

“You’ve memorized the movements, but you still aren’t flowing together. It’s disjointed.”

There was only one way to fix that.

Drill it in with real combat.

He gave a single command.

“Compression.”

They had already learned the cue words for each formation: Compression for the Snow Compression Formation, Peak for the Ice Peak Formation, and Cascade for the Snowfall Cascade Formation.

The moment they heard “Compression,” the five warriors’ eyes lit up as they sprang into motion, forming a perfect pentagon in a flash.

At the center stood the towering Cheonpung. Around him moved Wonyang, Han Murin, Jin Sohyeop, and Baek Myeonggaek, each focusing their internal energy in place.

“Don’t wait to channel your energy until after forming the shape—start gathering it from the beginning. You need to be ready to deploy this formation at any time.”

Unwi’s sword flashed as he spoke. A streak of pale blue light cut through the air like lightning, slamming into Cheonpung’s forehead, then whipping down to strike Han Murin’s thigh.

Their groans hadn’t even finished echoing before he spoke again.

“The key to this formation is to be as natural as a blooming snowflake. Your movements are stiff—like metal grinding.”

His blade spun like a storm, cutting through the formation. Wonyang’s sword flew at him in response.

Pointless.

Unwi’s sword flipped and deflected it with the back of the blade.

Clang!

Metal rang out. Wonyang stumbled from the impact.

Without hesitation, Unwi twisted and struck Jin Sohyeop’s shoulder.

Crack!

“Agh!”

He’d used the flat of the blade. If it had been the edge, Wonyang’s head would’ve flown and Jin Sohyeop’s arm with it.

“When Wonyang attacked, Jin Sohyeop—why didn’t you move?”

Unwi lifted his blade high and slammed it down toward Jin Sohyeop’s other shoulder.

Boom.

The boy nearly dropped to the ground—but Wonyang moved in to fill the gap.

Too slow.

Clang! Thud!

A blow to Wonyang’s face. Cheonpung took a strike to the gut. Baek Myeonggaek caught one on the thigh. Han Murin was kicked in the side.

Unwi’s blade never stopped. It howled through ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ them like a snowstorm.

“React.”

He kept moving. None of them were stupid—they knew he was holding back.

He hit hard, but not to kill. He struck just enough to let them respond.

Their eyes sharpened. Despite the pain, they swung their swords.

But Cheonpung’s massive frame was useless before the flat of Unwi’s blade. Han Murin, with his upbeat nature and erratic swordplay, managed to deflect a single strike.

Jin Sohyeop, precise and analytical, did something strange—he used the sole of his foot to kick Unwi’s sword flat away. Baek Myeonggaek, trained in traditional swordsmanship, blocked just once.

They were adjusting. Bit by bit.

Finally, Cheonpung’s blade knocked Unwi’s to the side.

In that instant, Wonyang lunged—his sword streaking toward Unwi’s throat.

Good.

In a blink, Unwi vanished.

Whoosh—!

Wonyang’s blade slashed empty air.

All five warriors looked up.

Unwi stood some distance away, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Peak,” he said.

They rushed to reform—this time into a spearhead shape. A charge formation meant to focus everything on one devastating point.

But Unwi’s blade was already in motion.

Cheonpung, leading the front, had his head snapped back from the blow. The others—four in a line—were cut down the middle, slammed in the gut or ribs before they could react.

In an instant, the formation collapsed.

Tsk.

“Even a moment’s lapse when shifting formation is enough to get you killed.”

Seol Unwi lowered his sword.

“The enemy will be waiting for that one opening. Get up.”

The branch members, drenched in sweat, nodded and slowly rose to their feet.

“Cascade.”

It was the final formation. The five warriors charged forward like a crashing waterfall, attempting a chain assault. Blades blurred through the air, shadows weaving fast and tight. They were better than before.

But still not good enough.

With a single sweeping strike, Seol Unwi blocked all of their attacks at once.

“…Hmph.”

Lowering his sword, he muttered,

“It’s not good enough to be satisfied with…”

His gaze landed on the five, panting and shaking.

“But it’s good enough to be useful.”

A faint smile spread across their exhausted faces.

They understood what that meant.

To hear even that much praise from Seol Unwi—it meant something fundamental had shifted.

“Train until it’s flawless.”

With a brief command, Unwi’s eyes moved to Wonyang.

He hadn’t noticed it at first.

But now, watching her fight and move, it was obvious.

He hadn’t asked why she was disguised as a man, but he could guess.

It wasn’t about talent.

That much surprised him.

This Snow Compression Branch was remote. The edge of the world.

Far from the Central Plains, yet not completely severed from them either.

It was… what should he call it?

A place for those who had fled the Central Plains but couldn’t fully let it go.

“Rest for half a quarter-hour. Wonyang, you’re coming with me.”

Still catching her breath, she nodded without a word.

****

They walked to a secluded corner of the training grounds—silent, tucked away, almost forgotten.

There were a few small chairs and a low table, likely meant for breaks. He dragged one over and sat down casually.

Wonyang followed, her expression blank with confusion. She truly didn’t seem to know why she’d been called out alone.

He asked bluntly,

“How long did you plan to keep hiding your identity?”

At his words, she swallowed hard and answered in a small voice.

“…I wasn’t planning to hide it forever. I’m sorry—for deceiving you about my gender.”

He shook his head.

That wasn’t the point.

In a quiet voice, he began reciting the incantation of a martial technique:

“Observe the sword and see the heart clearly;

Under the clear sky, reflection shines.”

The moment the incantation ended, Wonyang pointed a sword straight at his neck.

It had to be addressed—he didn’t fail to react. He simply chose not to.

“…How do you know that…?”

Her blade trembled, and her eyes were filled with one thing: fear.

What he had just spoken was the mantra of a long-destroyed noble household—one of the Five Great Martial Families.

The Namgung Clan’s inner technique.

What kind of family was the Namgung?

In the ancient era, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Nine Sects and One School. Arguably the foremost among the Five Great Families.

The name of that technique was the Clear Sky Sword-Heart Mantra.

He stared at her quietly, then raised a hand and gently touched the blade at his neck.

“Your sword is shaking.”

“…”

“When you drew it just now, that was the sharpest movement I’ve ever seen from you. And yet now, it trembles. That means your heart has lost its anchor.”

“…I…”

“Put it away. You won’t use it anyway.”

As he quietly lowered his hand, Wonyang withdrew her sword as well.

He had known for a while that she was a woman. Not once had he referred to her as one, though.

Because she clearly wanted to be seen as a man.

But it was all too clumsy.

Cheonpung’s talent was decent, but the potential before him—Wonyang’s—was something else entirely.

And that potential was being suffocated by something as intangible as fear.

What a waste.

“…How did you… know?”

“I saw traces of the Namgung style in your movements.”

“…What?”

It would sound ridiculous to most people. But that only proved how far removed they were.

To him, it wasn’t just plausible—it was the truth, pure and simple.

Back when he was in the Central Blood Sect, there was a madman.

“What’s your relation to Namgung Ho?”

“…He’s my uncle.”

“And your parents?”

“…They’re dead.”

“So you came all the way out to these remote snowy mountains to escape his reach?”

“…Yes.”

That explained a lot.

He’d wondered why she bothered with the awkward male disguise.

Namgung.

Of course.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep