Chapter 1

Turan awakened his magical powers eight years ago, in the winter when he turned ten.

While his mother was out with the sheep, he thought about lighting a fire, and suddenly flames burst forth from the stove.

Before long, Turan discovered he could do many things just by thinking about them.

Lifting objects, starting fires, making wind blow, and even creating invisible walls…

'Mom, look at this! The firewood is flying!'

That evening, Turan showed off his abilities to his mother when she returned home with the sheep and sheepdog.

His mother neither marveled at nor rejoiced in her son's abilities.

She simply caught the floating firewood with an expression mixing resignation and despair.

'Turan, let's make a promise. That you won't use that power recklessly from now on. Especially never in front of others.'

'Why?'

Though Turan was always an obedient child who listened well to his mother, he couldn't help but protest at being asked to suppress such fascinating and fun powers.

His mother gave him a cup of warm sheep's milk and for the first time told him about the world far below.

'Down below the hills, there are people called nobles.'

According to his mother, nobles were descendants of the Prea divine race who descended to the world long ago to save humanity.

Born with powerful magical powers inherited from their ancestors, they ruled as both rulers and protectors of humans.

And those born from several generations of mixing with ordinary humans were called knights, who also inherited magical powers like nobles but were used as servants because their powers were weaker.

His mother said Turan had inherited a knight's power from his father, and that if he went down below the mountains, evil nobles would capture him and use him however they pleased.

'If nobles are like shepherds like us, knights are like the dogs shepherds raise. Sometimes they might treat them like family and cherish them… but they can sell them off or sacrifice them whenever needed.'

Though nobles had everything, they constantly fought among themselves wanting even more, and in the process, it was mostly their subordinate knights who were sacrificed.

Just like how shepherds send their sheepdogs to fight wolves instead of facing them directly, while they just throw stones from behind.

Her face as she explained this held a hopelessness Turan had never seen before in his life.

'Don't you want to live with mom for a long, long time, Turan?'

'Yes.'

'Then you must hide that power. Otherwise, bad nobles will come and take you away. You'll never be able to see mom again.'

'I understand, I'll absolutely never use it in front of others!'

It had been 8 years since making that proud promise.

Even after his mother fell ill and died, Turan continued living as a shepherd on one side of the Hisaril hills.

To avoid the nobles who might come looking for him someday, to avoid becoming their sheepdog.

* * *

"What idiots."

Turan frowned as he closed the door of his cottage.

Early in the morning before sunrise, village youths had come in a group to interrogate him about Labus's death from a few days ago.

Though it was clearly evident he had been attacked by a leopard masu, they tried to pin an unfounded accusation on Turan, claiming he must have killed the old man and thrown him to the masu as food.

It wasn't hard to guess why they were doing this.

After all, an elderly man had gone out and been sacrificed while young men stayed behind.

Before being criticized that the old man died because of their laziness and cowardice, they were clearly trying to use Turan to distribute the blame that would fall on them.

Of course, Turan had thoroughly beaten up the village youths who came to pick a fight and drove them away.

They would probably try to get revenge the next time he went down to the village for bartering, either by cutting prices or tampering with goods.

Then Turan would beat some sense into a few more villagers before making them trade fairly.

It was a tiresome cycle that had already happened several times and would likely continue.

Lost in such thoughts, suddenly someone knocked loudly on the door from outside.

Turan heaved a deep sigh before opening the door with a growl.

"Who the hell is it now? You really want to die?"

Had they become so stupid in the meantime that they'd already forgotten the lesson from earlier?

But unexpectedly, it wasn't one of the village youths from before beyond the door.

A man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties, wearing a dust-covered cloak, spoke with an awkward expression.

"Ah… excuse me, young friend. I'm traveling and was wondering if I could impose on you briefly, but it seems I've come at a bad time."

A traveler – Turan's mind briefly stopped working at encountering something he'd never seen in his eighteen years of life.

To think there would be someone leisurely enough to travel to such a rural place with nothing to see.

After freezing stiffly for a moment, Turan immediately stepped aside from the door to make way.

"No, not at all. Please come in. Some unpleasant people just left earlier."

The polite speech he had learned long ago from his mother for addressing elders felt very awkward on his tongue.

When was the last time he had spoken like this?

It had been quite a while, before he learned that Labus and all the village elders were bastards.

"Then excuse me."

Though it would have been more appropriate to chase away an unknown visitor if he wanted to hide his identity, Turan decided to accept him.

He wanted to have a conversation without hostility with anyone, for the first time in a long while.

Besides, if the other person turned out to be a villain with bad intentions, he was confident he could deal with them.

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not yet."

"I haven't either, so let's eat together."

Turan sat the traveler at the table and laid out freshly squeezed sheep's milk, cheese, porridge made from dried grain from the village, a chunk of rock salt, and dried mutton jerky.

Unless starving to death, one should treat guests generously, and then guests won't dare think of harming the host.

This too was manners learned from his mother.

"We're in such a poor place, so I don't have much to offer."

"What are you saying! This is quite a feast. I'm grateful to eat it."

It seemed sincere, as the man ate the food Turan had laid out as if he hadn't eaten for days.

Even while doing so, unlike the villagers, he showed proper table manners.

Such as not talking while chewing and turning his head slightly when drinking something…

The traveler seemed to have a similar impression, as he put down a cup of sheep's milk and gave Turan a compliment.

"You know basic table manners. You must have been properly taught by your parents."

"I learned from my mother."

Sensing something from his not mentioning his father, the traveler hesitated briefly before continuing.

"Is she in the village then? Looking at the house, it doesn't seem like anyone else lives here."

He seemed to have already noticed there was only one set of bedding in the house.

Turan nodded and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"She passed away from illness a few years ago."

The traveler briefly showed a dismayed expression, then made the sign of the cross with one hand while bowing his head.

It was a gesture Turan had never seen in his life.

"I offer my condolences. Having raised such a fine young man, she must surely be dwelling in the celestial palace with the gods."

"I hope so as well."

Around when he lost his mother, just thinking about it would make him lose his appetite and cry all day.

Was being able to mention it with an outward smile now a sign of becoming an adult, or had his mother's presence in his heart faded with time?

Trying to change the subject to dispel his rapidly darkening mood, Turan forcibly shifted topics.

"By the way, what brings you to travel to such a remote place?"

"I happened to be passing through a nearby city when an old man was looking for a magician to defeat a leopard masu that had appeared in his village. After hearing the story, I came to eliminate it. I'm quite confident in fighting."

"By yourself?"

For a middle-aged man who would soon be stooped with age, not even in his prime, to try to face it without weapons?

The traveler gave an awkward smile at Turan's surprised expression.

"I am a knight. I served the Arabion family for sixty years. I can handle ordinary masu well enough."

At the mention of 'knight,' Turan's eyes widened and his whole body tensed.

An existence he had only heard about from his mother, a noble's underling…

The tension lasted only briefly, as Turan slowly relaxed upon seeing no hostility in the other's gaze.

"Why the reaction?"

"It's my first time seeing a magician… besides, you don't look like someone who's worked for sixty years."

"Magicians age more slowly and live longer than ordinary people. I'm seventy-five this year. This is just because I'm a knight – strong nobles are said to easily live two to three hundred years."

Turan marveled at this new information and carefully observed one of his own kind.

Outwardly, it was hard to find differences from ordinary people.

If forced to compare, perhaps that he was well-built and looked healthy with good color in his face…

In other words, just looking at someone wouldn't reveal whether they were a magician.

This was extremely important information.

Even if Turan stood in the middle of a city full of people, no one would know his identity as long as he didn't use noticeable magic.

Just learning this fact made him feel like a chain around his chest had loosened one loop.

"Magicians really are amazing."

"Amazing? Not at all! I think people like you are more amazing. Living in such dangerous places where masu appear without even using magical powers? I wouldn't have dared attempt it."

Contrary to his thinking, this was the first time a masu threatening to humans had appeared in this area.

That is, since Turan was born.

If that hadn't been the case, no matter how extraordinary his mother was, she couldn't have worked as a shepherd alone here.

In fact, the woman who raised a child alone in these desolate hills without even magical powers truly deserved praise.

"Come to think of it, we haven't properly introduced ourselves. My name is Keorn. Keorn of Arabion- no, I suppose I shouldn't call myself that anymore. I'm Wanderer Keorn. And you?"

"I'm Turan. The only shepherd of the Hisaril hills."

"A fine name."

"But you said earlier you 'served' the family – does that mean you're not with them now?"

"I formally ended my vassal contract a month ago. The family offered to care for me until I died of old age if I wanted… but in my later years, I wanted to travel here and there. I've been bound to one family since I was hired at fifteen, after all."

"Don't other families try to catch you?"

"Why would they? I'm neither an accomplished knight with great achievements nor a talented youth. What use would they have for an old dog like me except wasting food?"

Though he put himself down as an old dog, his face couldn't hide an underlying pride and composure.

He'd only heard that nobles were arrogant and cruel predators and knights were their emotionless hunting dogs.

Yet Keorn seemed more relaxed and cheerful than any adult he had ever met.

After finishing the pleasant meal, Keorn stood up and placed a small silver coin on the table.

The face of some handsome unknown man was engraved on the top.

"This is an Arabion silver coin. It has the highest purity among silver coins. It should be more than enough for a meal when trading in the village. Though prices seem quite high in this area."

Keorn grumbled that this damn village tries to squeeze even people who come to help them, but given the villagers' character that he had experienced, it wasn't particularly surprising.

Turan pocketed the coin and bowed politely.

"I hope your hunt goes smoothly."

"Don't act like you'll never see me again. I might come back for more meals!”

Chapter 1: The Taoist and the Boy

The mountains stretched endlessly, their peaks rising and falling like waves upon a restless sea. Along a narrow path that wound between these stone surges, twenty Taoists made their way forward.

It was early spring, and the cold wind still bit at their flesh, cutting through their robes like invisible blades. Shivering, the Taoists drew their Daoist robes tighter about their shoulders and tucked their chins against the chill.

At the head of the procession, a middle-aged Taoist suddenly raised his head. He appeared to be in his late forties, his jaw clenched tight as iron.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his shoulders trembled with ceaseless tremors.

"Mount Hua sacrificed so much in the war against the Demonic Cult, and this is our reward—nothing but the world's cold shoulders? How fickle the hearts of men truly are."

"Senior Brother."

"We shall grow strong. So strong that no one under heaven will ever dare look down upon Mount Hua again."

The middle-aged Taoist's mutter carried a fierce, resonant weight. The disciples who followed behind him hung their heads and clenched their fists until their knuckles cracked.

They felt the same as he did.

But there was one exception—a slender, refined-looking middle-aged Taoist who simply closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Amitabha! Senior Brother has swallowed poison."

The Taoist at the head of the group, who radiated an unsettling aura, bore the Taoist name Hyeon-cheon. He held the exalted position of Grandmaster of the Great Mount Hua Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects.

And Sage Hyeon-cheon was wrathful. Where his fury pointed, Mount Hua would follow.

"Where will Mount Hua go from here?"

As the refined-looking Taoist, Sage Hyeon-so, let out a quiet sigh—

"There is smoke ahead."

A voice suddenly broke through, pulling both Sage Hyeon-cheon and Sage Hyeon-so from their thoughts.

Beyond the hill just ahead, smoke was rising into the sky. The acrid, coppery smell carried on the wind made the Taoists' faces contort instinctively.

"The scent of blood?"

"Let us investigate."

Sage Hyeon-cheon shook off his fury, stimulated by the metallic odor, and spoke.

The Taoists hurried over the crest of the hill. What they found was a scene beyond comprehension.

A small village lay engulfed in flames. Roughly thirty houses had been burned or reduced to rubble, and the bodies of men, women, and children lay scattered across the streets like discarded dolls.

"Amitabha! What in heaven's name—"

"It appears to be a bandit raid. I had heard rumors that bandits had been running rampant everywhere of late."

"How can this be!"

Sage Hyeon-so's expression turned ghastly pale.

"Amitabha! The Demonic Cult falls, and now bandits run amok. What is to become of this world?"

The Taoists spread out and searched the village thoroughly, but they found no survivors. From the youngest to the eldest, over a hundred souls from thirty-odd households had been massacred.

"Barbaric wretches. How could they slaughter innocent villagers down to the last child?"

"Primordial Celestial Lord, please watch over these departed souls."

As the Taoists murmured prayers for the dead, Sage Hyeon-so heard a faint moan. The sound was so weak that at first he thought he had imagined it.

"Mmm!"

But the instant he heard it again, Sage Hyeon-so realized it was no hallucination.

"Where?"

Sage Hyeon-so turned, searching for the source of the sound.

From within the ruins of what had once been a family's cherished home—now nothing but charred beams and ash—came the faintest sound of moaning.

Sage Hyeon-so hurriedly began pulling at the debris. He shoved aside a half-burned pillar and dug through the ashes with his bare hands.

"Junior Brother, what are you doing?"

"Martial Uncle! There is—"

"Someone is alive in here."

At Sage Hyeon-so's words, the younger Taoists joined in to clear the wreckage.

When they had cleared perhaps half the debris, the body of a man, half-burned, emerged from the ashes.

The man wore a sword at his hip and a tunic of animal hide—garments that did not belong in this village. The calluses on his knuckles told the rest of the story.

"A bandit?"

The man's attire and bearing were wholly out of place here. Sage Hyeon-so frowned and reached out to touch the body. There was no warmth of life left.

"It seems the Junior Brother was mistaken. This man has been dead for some time."

"But why would a bandit be dead? Was there someone in the village who knew martial arts?"

Sage Hyeon-cheon and the other senior brothers each offered a word, but no one could solve the puzzle.

Then—

"Mmm!"

Once more, the faint moan sounded. This time, not only Sage Hyeon-so but everyone present heard it.

"Could it be—?"

Sage Hyeon-so hastily flipped the bandit's body over.

Unlike the back, which had been exposed to the flames and burned, the bandit's front was relatively intact. The eyes of the surrounding Taoists wavered.

The bandit's throat had been torn open as though by a wild beast, the flesh ripped away to expose the windpipe. The wound to his neck appeared to be the cause of death. But what shocked the Taoists was not the bandit's wound.

Beneath where the bandit had been lying, a small, thin boy lay pinned. He had been hidden from view by the bandit's massive body.

Whether the boy had been born that way or whether the bandits had done it to him, his arms and legs were twisted at grotesque angles. The horrific injuries spoke volumes about the nightmare the boy had endured.

"Amitabha!"

The Taoists averted their eyes or coughed into their fists, unable to bear the sight.

The boy, who had lain as though dead with eyes closed, suddenly snapped them open.

"…"

His eyes were hollow—all that he had lost reflected in their depths—and within them burned a savage, desperate killing intent that made even Sage Hyeon-so flinch.

"Child!"

Sage Hyeon-so reached out with a compassionate heart, but the boy painfully turned his head and spat out the object he had been clutching between his teeth.

Thud!

Something the size of a fist tumbled across the ground. The crimson, crushed object was unmistakably a piece of human flesh.

"Th-that—?"

A terrible silence descended upon the Mount Hua disciples.

***

A boy who appeared to be sixteen or seventeen years old was laboriously climbing the mountain. Beneath the cloth tied tightly across his forehead lay thick eyebrows, and beneath those, cold, piercing eyes and firmly set lips that spoke of an iron will.

The boy raised his head to gaze at the mountain's summit.

Rising toward the heavens like swords thrust point-down into the earth, the rocky peaks came into view. They spread outward like a lotus in full bloom—and it was for this shape that the highest peak had been named Lotus Peak.

Lotus Peak—this was where the Mount Hua Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects, had established itself. More precisely, it was where the sect's symbolic sites, the Jade Spring and the Upper Palace, could be found, though the common folk identified Lotus Peak with the Mount Hua Sect as a whole.

Unlike the Wudang Sect, which was concentrated at the summit of Wudang Mountain, the Mount Hua Sect was spread across the entirety of Mount Hua.

True Martial Palace, the symbol of Mount Hua's martial might, sat upon the summit of Cloud Peak, while Golden Heaven Palace, Manifest Treasure Palace, and Spirit Treasure Palace—their locations hidden from the outside world—nested in places unseen.

The sites most widely known to the world were Jade Spring Garden at the foot of Mount Hua and Peace Palace halfway up. Even Jade Spring Garden was the limit of where common folk could approach. For this reason, the world never knew the true face of the Mount Hua Sect.

"Hah!"

A harsh breath escaped the boy's lips.

The stone stairway he was climbing was a narrow path carved into the cliff face known as Hundred Fathom Cliff. So narrow that only a single adult could squeeze through at a time, and nearly vertical, the cliff was perilously dangerous. And the path extended for nearly a hundred fathoms—hence its name.

To ascend Hundred Fathom Cliff, one first had to climb the three hundred and seventy stone steps known as Thousand Fathom Hall. This near-vertical passage was infamous throughout the world for its brutal difficulty.

Even martial artists who had cultivated their skills to the peak found this path agonizing, yet the boy climbed with his teeth clenched, step by agonizing step. His legs felt as though they were bound to iron weights.

Sweat poured down his body as though from a downpour, his face had long since gone pale, and his heart hammered so wildly it seemed it might burst from his chest.

Each step felt more painful than death itself. Yet the boy never complained of exhaustion, never once stopped to rest.

In the midst of that stubborn ascent, his left leg suddenly seized with a cramp.

The boy paused and looked down at his left leg. It was thinner than his right, slightly bent where the knee should have been straight. Below the knee, the deformity rendered the leg nearly useless—he could neither put proper weight on it nor walk normally.

And so the boy was forced to limp. In common parlance, he was a cripple.

For everyday life, it was no great hindrance. But for a martial artist, it was a fatal flaw.

Yet despite this缺陷, the boy climbed the path between the foot of Mount Hua and its summit every single day.

A path that even masters found exhausting.

'You can do this. I can do this.'

The boy clenched his teeth and resumed his climb.

His body was spent, his legs trembling without end, but his gaze remained fixed upon the summit of Mount Hua.

Step by step, the boy continued upward. And so, one painstaking step at a time, he finally cleared Hundred Fathom Cliff.

But clearing the cliff did not mean he had reached the summit. He was, at best, only halfway to his destination.

The boy paused to catch his breath and looked around. In the far distance, beyond Dragon Ridge, Lotus Peak was visible—the symbolic heart of the Mount Hua Sect where the Jade Spring and Upper Palace stood. But that was not his destination.

The boy turned and headed toward Cloud Peak on the opposite side. Lotus Peak to the west, along with Dawn Cliff to the east and Peace Peak to the south, clustered together—but Cloud Peak stood alone, isolated from the rest. Perhaps because of this, it gave him a sense of solitude.

Sweat dripped ceaselessly from the boy's forehead. His legs felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds. His left leg, the one that was not right, especially ached.

The muscles in his waist and thighs swelled as though they might burst, and his joints screamed as though being driven by chisel. His lungs expanded to their limit in a desperate bid for more air, and his heart pounded furiously to pump fresh blood through his veins.

After what felt like an eternity, the boy entered a thicket near Cloud Peak. Beyond the undergrowth lay a narrow footpath—so concealed that anyone passing by on the outside would never have noticed it.

He followed the path for some time before a small pavilion came into view, perched precariously at the edge of a cliff. Before the weathered pavilion sat a simple wooden platform, and upon it sat a middle-aged Taoist.

The Taoist wore a Daoist robe so tattered it appeared to have been mended countless times beyond counting.

The Taoist had been gazing at the scenery of Mount Hua for some time when he seemed to sense a presence and turned to look toward the boy.

A deep furrow carved itself between the Taoist's brows.

"Have you been down the mountain again?"

"Master."

"It will not heal your leg properly, so why do you persist? No—I need not ask, for you would not listen even if I spoke. If you would, you would have stopped long ago."

For the past five years, the boy had climbed Mount Hua every single day without exception. For a healthy person, the climb alone took the better part of a day.

The boy, moreover, had a damaged leg. He could only move more slowly than ordinary people.

Everyone said he was mad. Yet the boy kept climbing.

At first, the climb had taken him three full days. His heart had already reached the summit, but his legs refused to follow his will.

His left leg, twisted and damaged, caused him even greater pain. Yet the boy never once complained, never once stopped to rest.

One step at a time, without pause, he climbed slowly—and when at last he reached the summit, he was on the verge of death.

Had the Taoist not administered emergency treatment, the boy would have lost his life. His condition had been that precarious.

An ordinary person would have stopped there. But the moment his body recovered, the boy climbed again. His will was so unyielding that the Taoist could do nothing but watch.

Through the daily climb, the boy gradually recovered his vitality. Muscles began to form upon his once-emaciated frame. After five years, he now possessed the leg strength and cardiovascular endurance to climb Mount Hua at a reasonable pace.

"Come here, boy."

"Master, I am fine now."

"I am not fine. Come here."

At the Taoist's words, the boy sat on the platform with a resigned expression. The Taoist then extended his thin, bony hands and began to massage both of the boy's legs.

"Mmm!"

A groan escaped the boy's lips unbidden.

The Taoist's hands were relentless. Under that rough, firm pressure, the boy's legs ached.

But the pain passed in an instant. In its place came a cool, soothing sensation.

"How reckless you are. Is it truly worth it to push yourself this hard for the sake of higher martial arts?"

"I am sorry, Master."

"Amitabha! What have you to be sorry for? It is this useless master who should apologize to you."

"No."

At the Taoist's self-reproach, the boy waved his hands in hasty denial.

To the boy, the Taoist was his savior. He had rescued him from the brink of death, nursed him back to health, and taken him as a disciple. Without the Taoist, the boy could not exist.

"Ho-ya!"

"Yes!"

"You are… No, never mind."

The Taoist trailed off.

The Taoist's name was Hyeon-so, and he was one of the Elders of the Mount Hua Sect. The boy he was massaging was named Dam Ho—the sole survivor he had rescued five years ago from a village destroyed by bandits.

Everyone had taken one look at Dam Ho's injuries and given up. But Sage Hyeon-so was different.

He had never abandoned Dam Ho, whose limbs were shattered and whose life hung by a thread. Though he was no physician, he had done everything in his power to save the boy.

Whether by heaven's grace or by fortune, Dam Ho had survived. But as a result of his injuries, he now limped on his left leg. That, at least, was beyond even Sage Hyeon-so's ability to remedy.

'Our poor Ho-ya… what am I to do about you?'

As Sage Hyeon-so massaged Dam Ho's legs, a look of anguish flickered across his eyes.

The talent he had seen in Dam Ho was extraordinary. But what surpassed even that talent was his will.

Whether it was because of the great tragedy he had suffered at such a young age, Dam Ho possessed a will far firmer than any boy his age.

Had his body been whole, he would surely have become a formidable martial artist.

But Dam Ho's left leg was crippled. It posed no problem in daily life, but for a martial artist, it was a fatal weakness.

In any sect, footwork was paramount—and for the Mount Hua Sect above all. When a disciple became a Main Mountain Disciple and received the Lesser Clarity Heart Method, they were required to master the Nine Palace Step as well.

The Nine Palace Step, with its dazzling array of variations, was a supreme footwork technique so demanding that even geniuses of extraordinary talent struggled to learn it. For Dam Ho, with his crippled leg, it was far too intricate. It would have been understandable if he had given up—yet Dam Ho climbed the mountain daily to strengthen his leg muscles.

Whether such effort would ever enable him to master the Nine Palace Step remained uncertain, but Dam Ho never missed a single day of training. Before such devotion, Sage Hyeon-so could only redden at the eyes.

"Master, I am fine now. You can stop."

"Let me do a little more."

"But—"

"I want to do this. A little more."

"Master."

Dam Ho lowered his gaze.

For the past five years, Sage Hyeon-so had been utterly consistent. As though possessed by the desperate need to give the boy everything he could, he had cared for Dam Ho with tireless devotion.

Without that care, the Dam Ho who existed today would not be here. Sage Hyeon-so carefully massaged Dam Ho's foot and spoke.

"The only thing a man needs is an unyielding heart. If your heart is firm and unshaken, heaven will open the way for the rest. So do not be too impatient, Ho-ya."

The words were quintessentially those of Sage Hyeon-so—a Taoist to his very roots.

'Master, I do not believe in heaven.'

Dam Ho's reply echoed only within the silent chambers of his heart.

Prologue

After the death of Emperor Taejo, during the most chaotic four years of Jianwen…

 in Jiangxi Province, Nanchang region.

To the north is Mount Gugung, with Mount Yongcheon and Mount Baekun on either side, and to the south is Mount Zhang. Between these towering peaks, the Martial Arts Alliance had made its nest.

[TL Note- Mount Gugung (구궁산), Mount Yongcheon (용천산) and Mount Baekun (백운산) doesn’t seem to exist irl. If anyone has any knowledge about these three terms, please let me know.]

As if to prove it was the most powerful organization in the martial arts world, dozens of flags from member sects fluttered on every wall, and numerous magnificent three and four-story pavilions displayed their grandeur.

The main gate was made of double iron doors that seemed difficult for one person to open, and even after passing through the main gate, one had to go through several more gates to enter the inner courtyard.

Right in front of the inner courtyard.

The great training ground, which could easily accommodate ten thousand people, was filled with the heroes of the age, packed so tightly that there was no room even for a needle to fall.

Dong, dudong!

As the heavy drum beats reverberated through their chests, the crowd’s gaze turned toward the platform at the front.

On the left side of the platform stood the sect leaders of the Nine Great Sects, the pillars of the righteous martial arts world, stroking their white beards as they looked down at those below. On the right side of the platform stood the heads of the Eight Great Martial Families who wielded influence across the “Nine Provinces and Four Seas.”

And in the center stood a middle-aged man with an imposing physique, exuding a particularly intense presence.

His hair was tied in a topknot, and he wore a red robe decorated with gold threads, with an ancient sword emitting a cold light strapped to his waist.

As he looked upon the gathered heroes with a dignified appearance, his gaze was like that of a lion, making even these heroes feel intimidated.

He was Baek Li-jung, known as “Indestructible Heavenly Sword,” the Alliance Chief of the Martial Arts Alliance, considered the greatest martial artist and hero since the Alliance’s founding.

When Baek Li-jung raised his hand, the drum beats stopped.

Everyone’s attention focused on him once more.

Baek Li-jung shouted loudly to the gathered heroes:

“Brothers!”

The crowd responded to the Alliance Head’s opening words with passionate cheers.

“Waaaah!”

“Waaaaaaah!”

Baek Li-jung shouted once more, making a grand fist-palm salute.

“Since my brothers have gathered here with righteous intentions, I, Baek, on behalf of the Martial Arts Alliance, extend my gratitude to you all!”

The crowd returned the salute and shouted:

“Righteousness never travels far, evil and demons shall be destroyed!”

“The martial world shall be peaceful, the great way shall pierce through to the blue heavens!”

Baek Li-jung saluted forcefully again and shouted:

“Today, we have gathered to face perhaps the most unprecedented single enemy in the history of the martial arts world! Though our individual strength may be insignificant, if we all unite our forces, even if he is the greatest harbinger of death since ancient times, we will surely be able to vanquish him!”

“Waaaaaaah!”

Baek Li-jung lowered his salute amid the cheers of the crowd.

He waited for the cheers to subside, then took out three palm-sized flags of three different colors from his sleeve.

“This morning, all brothers should have received three flags like these. These were designed by our Chief Military Advisor to deal with him within our net of heaven and earth, and each flag carries a specific meaning.”

The crowd listened attentively with sharp eyes.

Baek Li-jung held up the blue flag.

“First, the blue flag indicates an area where mild poison has been spread and only martial artists of second rank or higher may enter.”

Next, Baek Li-jung showed the green flag.

“Second, this green flag means that until the flag is retrieved, martial artists of first rank or lower must not approach within ten zhang. And finally…”

Baek Li-jung paused briefly, then held up the red flag.

“The red flag. The meaning of this red flag is ‘poison cannot be removed.’ If you see this red flag, even a special-class martial artist must not approach within one hundred zhang.”

The laughter disappeared from the lips of the crowd.

Baek Li-jung spoke in a solemn tone:

“Even if you are melted into a puddle of poisoned water by his toxins, if you have even the slightest bit of strength left, you must leave this flag for the next person. Otherwise, we cannot guarantee a righteous tomorrow for our martial world.”

A heavy silence swept over the training ground.

So fearsome and powerful was the enemy they were facing.

At that moment.

A flash of light, swift as lightning, flew toward Baek Li-jung on the platform.

Pak!

With a sharp sound, the light embedded itself at Baek Li-jung’s feet.

The sect leaders of the Nine Great Sects and the heads of the Eight Great Martial Families all began to summon their internal energy.

But Baek Li-jung, truly worthy of being the greatest hero of the age, did not move even a single step and roared:

“Who goes there!”

But as soon as he identified the object that had landed in front of him, his eyes widened.

Though he tried to remain calm, he couldn’t hide the twitch in his face.

What had flown toward him was none other than a red flag.

Then came a single sentence:

“There, is that good enough?”

The blood drained from the faces of the crowd when they heard that voice.

A red flag.

The meaning of the red flag was an area where poison could not be removed.

Hadn’t it been said that even special-class martial artists must not approach within one hundred zhang?

The crowd’s gaze naturally turned to where the red flag had come from.

At the entrance to the training ground, on top of the three-zhang-high wall on either side.

He was standing there.

Somewhat pale, white skin.

An ordinary appearance with nothing particularly striking about him.

He appeared to be a young man who had just passed his coming-of-age, but it was clear that he had spoken that single sentence just now.

The crowd shuddered at the gloomy atmosphere emanating from the young man.

The head of the Namgung family, one of the Eight Great Martial Families, shouted:

“You! Do you dare to know where you are appearing!”

The corner of the young man’s mouth twitched.

The young man looked at the head of the Namgung family with contempt and only answered after a long while:

“Would I have come if I didn’t know?”

“Y-you… evil b*st*rd!”

The head of the Namgung family, his face turning red, pointed his finger accusingly.

But soon he realized.

This training ground was located right in front of the inner courtyard.

To enter from the main gate, one would have to pass through three or four layers of security.

Yet the young man was standing on that wall without any concern.

He must have encountered obstacles on his way here, or more accurately, no one had been able to stop him from entering.

And during the time it took him to come from the main gate to here, no one had noticed!… The crowd soon realized this fact as well.

Silence naturally fell.

The young man took his gaze off the head of the Namgung family and began to scan the people on the platform.

His gaze stopped at Golden Steel Heavenly Sword Baek Li-jung.

“It’s been a while.”

Baek Li-jung did not answer.

But anyone could see that his face had hardened.

“Well then.”

The young man cracked his neck from side to side with a popping sound.

The atmosphere of the training ground, which had been heated with denunciations against the harbinger of death until just now, was now gone.

Only a heavy, cold air remained, settling desolately.

The ten thousand heroes each gripped their weapons tightly with tension as they glared at him.

The young man received the ten thousand pairs of eyes directed at him with a tired face, then put a blade of grass in his mouth and began to chew.

Crunch, crunch.

Except for the sound of chewing grass, not even the sound of wind could be heard in the silent atmosphere.

The young man soon spoke quietly with a murderous expression:

“Since you’ve gathered to kill me anyway, none of you should expect to return alive.”

Soon, a faint blue-green light flowed from deep within the young man’s eyes.

He was the one called the greatest harbinger of death in the current martial world.

The one who had caused the Martial Arts Alliance to host a gathering of ten thousand people just to catch this single person.

Poison Dragon Jin Ja-gang.

Chapter 1

Deep in the mountains, at the end of a winding mountain path, there was a valley blooming with beautiful flowers and herbs.

Even the simple thatched houses built at intervals among the beautiful flowers and grasses created a pastoral and peaceful scene.

But somehow, the atmosphere was deeply subdued.

Clunk.

An adult man came out of one of the thatched houses, opening the door.

But the man was clearly not in a normal state.

Both of his eyelids were swollen black, and blood flowed from his mouth. The skin on his face and neck was also mottled.

“I must… report this to the elder…”

The man, barely managing to speak in a bubbling, boiling voice, could not continue and collapsed.

Soon, a black centipede more than a handspan long crawled out from the doorway.

It wasn’t just that house. Thick, grotesque centipedes continued to crawl out of other houses as well.

“Kuk!”

“Kraak!”

Low, stifled screams also burst out intermittently.

Young Jin Ja-gang’s house was no exception.

A small, single-room thatched house.

Jin Ja-gang, who had just turned ten years old, woke up from his nap with a strange feeling.

But what he saw in the room with his half-sleepy eyes was a sight he could never have imagined.

His mother had collapsed with a blackened face.

Even though he was not yet mature, he instinctively knew that something terrible had happened.

“Mom?”

His mother looked at Jin Ja-gang with eyes so swollen they could barely open. Something dark, either tears or blood, flowed from her eyes.

Her lips, dried to a deep purple, moved slightly.

Run.

That’s what her lip movements were saying.

But Jin Ja-gang could not run away.

“Mom!”

The moment Jin Ja-gang rushed toward his mother’s embrace, he suddenly felt his breath cut off.

The room began to distort as his vision spun.

He collapsed to the floor before he could reach his mother.

He tumbled across the room with a thud.

His face itched and his eyes stung.

“Uh, uah. Uaaah.”

Through the tears streaming down and his blurry vision, he could see his mother reaching out her hand.

He could also see a huge centipede, nearly two handspans long, coiling and spinning above his fallen mother’s head.

‘Poison centipede!’

It was different from the centipedes he occasionally saw normally. The end, whether it was the tail or the head, was glowing with five brilliant colors.

Soon, the five-colored glowing part turned precisely in Jin Ja-gang’s direction. Only then did he realize that the glowing part was the head.

It was the five-colored centipede he had only heard about.

The most poisonous of all poisonous centipedes.

***

Read only at nineheavens.org

Translated by Nine Heavens!

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