This marriage—

A strategic exchange.

A transaction in which the Northern Royal Bloodline of the Blood King Clan is wholly secured as an ally, in exchange for surrendering half the life of a man whose spirit was already threadbare.

There could be no showing that there was any defect in the item called Shin Hyeol-hwan-seong—the New Blood Returning Star.

Jin Myeong-jo moved his throat very slowly. Having spoken in monosyllables for so long, it was right to be careful with his voice.

“...Thank you.”

He said it smoothly.

Fortunately, it didn’t come out in a shrill squeak.

Slip.

Jeok I-seo took a single step back and tilted her head slightly to the side. It seemed she found his polite manner puzzling.

Her lips parted softly.

“Please speak freely, my husband.”

“If the Crown Princess is willing to do so.”

He managed to speak, though with difficulty, but Jeok I-seo only shook her head slowly and said calmly,

“My lady.”

“My lady.”

He echoed it like a formless technique—Mu-chosik—and she smiled gently at that.

In that moment, Jin Myeong-jo found himself staring, almost involuntarily, into Jeok I-seo’s reddish eyes. Reflected in that crimson hue was the pale face of a man.

That pitiful man—

Was he some mongrel bloodline crushed under the weight of his noble wife’s lineage, as always subdued in life?

Or was he a desperate officer of the Divine Sword Corps, clinging to anything to survive?

Or maybe just a fool who’d taken on one more burden?

“......”

The man gave no answer.

Only those crimson pupils flickered with a faint warmth, like misty dew. And the man, swept about in the storm, wavered within them.

Then her eyelashes gently veiled her gaze.

It was because Jeok I-seo softly lowered her snow-pale eyelids.

Coming to his senses, Jin Myeong-jo quickly opened his mouth with a stiff expression. He regretted that he may have seemed disrespectful.

“Let us depart.”

“...Yes.”

The place where the two headed was a secluded annex.

Waiting there was the Lord of the Blood King Clan—the Blood King himself—with his daughter and new son-in-law. He did not dwell within the palace of the main fortress; he claimed the scent of the late Bloodflame Cult Leader lingered there. The enmity between him and Baek Rak, now long dead, had been deep.

“You’ve come.”

A voice naturally cold in tone drifted like shadow across the chamber, cavernous and dark.

Not a single lantern lit the space. It was an environment ideally suited for cultivating yin energy. The completely sealed chamber was cool regardless of season.

In the dim, a figure sat faintly defined.

A beautiful man with long, snow-white hair hanging down his back like strands of silk. It was even whiter than Jin Myeong-jo’s own hair.

“I pay my respects to the Blood King.”

Jin Myeong-jo respectfully brought his hands together and lifted them, and a voice as sharp as broken icicles answered.

“Father-in-law.”

“Father-in-law.”

Jin Myeong-jo repeated it as if performing a formal rite, then lowered his hands. His wide, crimson sleeves draped down long, and the Blood King’s eyes gleamed when he saw them.

“It suits you well.”

“This ceremonial robe is far too grand for me.”

“Ceremonial robe? No—that’s a weapon.”

“Then I shall treat it as one.”

Words devoid of soul, once spoken aloud, became declarations without tone or weight. One corner of the Blood King’s mouth curved up.

He spoke.

“You’re going to use Baek Rak’s treasured armor so casually? You’ve got nerve. Have you learned how to use it?”

“My wife taught me.”

“To our bloodline, to Baek Rak, it was merely symbolic regalia. But on you, it’s like the Tenfold Perfect Form. You shall not be defeated now.”

The Blood King declared, like a true father-in-law.

Jin Myeong-jo only nodded silently.

He had just learned that a child was on the way. It was natural that he would be a little dazed.

But the royal bloodlines were not ones to be swayed by sentiment. They seemed to accept Jin Myeong-jo’s vacant manner as a dignified composure.

“The Undefeated Blood Demon...!”

The Blood King echoed his own words and chuckled.

“It is fortunate my daughter has claimed you. The nobility of our blood stems from immortal honor. For the next three hundred years, the spirit of our clan will not fade.”

“My bloodline is meager... I do not know if I’ll live that long.”

“My grandchildren.”

“My... grandchildren...”

Jin Myeong-jo suddenly shifted his neck. Someone beside him had tugged at his sleeve. When he turned, he saw Jeok I-seo nodding faintly—barely noticeable. He didn’t know why.

The Blood King brushed off his robes.

“Let’s depart. To Ho-gwang Yang-yang, was it?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it well already, of course, but it’s truly the very center of the Central Plains... Its location alone is impressive. I like it.”

Jeok I-seo, who had at some point firmly grasped Jin Myeong-jo’s sleeve, now interjected.

“It has remained the sovereign land since the founding of the nation. They say even martial artists loathe it, yet yearn desperately to go.”

“They’re just like us.”

The Blood King’s voice came, tinged with amusement, as he passed between the couple and took the lead.

“They despise us as Blood Demons, and are bewitched by our beauty.”

And so, the departure began.

The Blood King and Jin Myeong-jo, with his wife, stepped into the blinding sunlight. All around the fortress, members of the Blood King Clan joined one by one, leaving behind afterimages of red eyes. In the end, over two hundred northern Blood Demons followed.

Their destination: Ipwang Fortress in Yangyang.

It was a long journey.

***

Not one of them used Grass-Stepping Flight, yet no footsteps could be heard. Like ghosts of Shanhaijing, they passed over mountains and fields. Even dried riverbanks, empty like dead gorges, were crossed.

Day and night, without end.

At night, their speed increased even more.

Even the youngest servant needed no steed. The weak had all perished in the North, they said.

Within that silent flow, the Blood King’s voice would sometimes seep through like smoke—filling the group, then fading again.

“I hear the Head of the Divine Sword Corps also commands the Subdivision. If you’re a Subdivision Officer, you must be one of his most trusted. How did you endure the spiritual law?”

“I didn’t endure it.”

“Your mental fortitude is extraordinary. It would be good for my eldest granddaughter to inherit that from you. Did Baek Rak’s divine spirit taste pleasant?”

“Other than the feeling of bursting Il Sa-do’s skull...”

“Then the second child should inherit that fighting spirit. That way, they’ll have more than enough strength to support the eldest. Let’s test it now. Of the seventeen divisions of the Divine Sword Corps, which do you think suits my grandchildren best? As a father, you must have some thoughts.”

“So-yeon Corps would be ideal.”

To Jin Myeong-jo’s thoughtless reply, Jeok I-seo added that the masters of So-yeon Corps were known for their speed—they vanish in an instant.

The Blood King shook his head.

“For the royal bloodlines,” the Blood King said, “what matters is not lightness of step, but the will to struggle. Transcendent regenerative abilities outstrip any preservation technique.”

“That’s why the Pureblood Crimson Flame Robe suits my husband,” Jeok I-seo added.

Even now, that deep crimson robe glistened on Jin Myeong-jo’s body like spilled blood. One could just as well call it the true commander’s mantle of the Bloodflame Cult. Baek Rak had hidden it deep within the palace.

...I wonder how it performs in actual combat.

No one from the Blood King’s Clan had yet managed to injure Jin Myeong-jo—so no one knew. He felt he’d only understand after a real battle, and opened his mouth to speak.

“If the Bloodflame Cult Leader had worn it...”

“He had no need for it,” the Blood King dismissed with a curled lip. “Like a royal seal he never used, he tucked it away.”

That was when the one who had retrieved the Pureblood Crimson Flame Robe from the ruins made her entrance. A smooth voice ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) from a woman of mysterious youth.

“The important thing right now is lightness of step. You’re all so slow, you might end up back in the past.”

The voice fell from the air.

“How envious. If you meet little Yeon-shin, bring him to me—just once—I’d love to take a bite.”

A soft madness rippled through the air like a spring breeze.

Jin Myeong-jo didn’t bother lifting his head to look at the Seventh Apostle who flew through the sky like a bat.

Even as her shadow flirted across the open plains, he marched silently on. The Blood King’s own qinggong suddenly accelerated, indifferent even as the clan’s retainers began to fall behind.

Running beside him, Jeok I-seo leaned in and whispered,

“When did the youngest... and the Northern Emperor...?”

“I believe it was before the Northern Emperor ever met me,” he replied. “They were enemies.”

Their quiet conversation continued, full of seemingly idle chatter. Yet their destination steadily approached—the northern shores of the Bei River within Hokwang Province’s Deokan region.

The sound of water trickled nearby.

Traveling south from Hanam or Namjikrye, one would almost certainly pass one of four main riverbanks. There, a poorly dressed woman and a couple of herbalists were drawing water. The peace of rural life hung quiet and undisturbed, like the sky at sunset—even though it was early morning.

Slam!

The Blood Demons did not stop their flight. Neither did Jin Myeong-jo. Those of noble blood could tell friend from foe by instinct alone. And Jin Myeong-jo—whose divine awareness matched that of the Divine Sword Corps leaders—was no exception.

— A whole group of Blood Demons? There must be... a hundred, no—two hundred?

— And that’s Jin Myeong-jo, the Subdivision Officer of the Divine Sword Corps. This is madness.

— Let’s stay quiet and report this. The Lord is in Namjikrye, right? This intel is worth a reward—especially now that the God of War has disappeared.

Lord, Namjikrye, God of War...

These “villagers” were Haomun operatives—spies of the Haomun intelligence network. Martial experts disguised as peasants, skilled in breath concealment and sound transmission arts. Only someone like the Haomun Lord could command talents like this.

Such was the brutal reality of intelligence warfare in times of chaos.

Splatter—!

Without hesitation, the Blood King stomped through the woman’s skull and moved on. The man disguised as a herb gatherer took a piercing finger strike from Jeok I-seo, straight to the temple.

Jin Myeong-jo glanced at the hand that had returned to his side. Blood misted from her fingers in pale white steam—and his own complexion grew just as pale.

Jeok I-seo averted her eyes with shy modesty.

“...They both reeked of human flesh. They probably killed a God of War or two. The Northern Emperor wouldn’t have tolerated them either.”

“Northern Emperor,” the Blood King echoed, cutting in.

“Picking up the pieces of a broken world isn’t easy. Only someone like Bodhidharma, who firmly planted Zen in the Central Plains, has truly succeeded. Aside from him—maybe a few saint-kings or founding emperors.”

To rebuild a shattered world.

That was the path Jeong Yeon-shin had chosen. Yet Jin Myeong-jo had only one thought:

I wish he’d just gather the pieces of his own life first.

“From what I’ve heard lately, it’s just as expected. If it ever comes to fighting the madmen around the Tree of the World, even the Northern Emperor would struggle to handle just one lord of Ipwang Fortress. He’ll be sorely short-handed.”

The Blood King’s words echoed the sentiments long carried by the masters of Ipwang Fortress.

Why choose such a path of hardship?

Why not use your immense potential to seek power more easily?

Why do those claiming to be the greatest in the world always end up bleeding and struggling?

Too vast...

Too vast for one hand to gather.

With that unsurprising conclusion, they reached Yangyang. From the rooftops of the city’s surrounding pavilions, Ipwang Fortress could be seen in full.

“Rice pancakes! Fresh rice pancakes! A once-a-year delicacy! Don’t even think about stealing at the edge of Lord Jeong’s shadow—just hand over a pouch full of salt and they’re yours!”

“They say Radiant Pen Mun Gok and Grand Commander Im are competing with calligraphy! The whole front gate’s signboard got blown off. They’re hanging a new one with the characters for ‘Ipwang Fortress’!”

“You mean that Yozoku bastard? Is he really walking around out in the open?”

“I heard Lord Jeong appointed him as the Divine Sword Strategist. Defended the city twice already... so shut it.”

The streets were packed.

As if this place were the safest land in the world, people from all walks of life surged like a river in a bountiful harvest. They twisted here, flowed there, crisscrossing from all directions.

For a moment, Jin Myeong-jo recalled the streets from three years ago. Before the famine truly struck. Before the gates turned grim. Back when fifteen-year-old Jeong Yeon-shin first knocked on Ipwang Fortress’s gates.

That’s how loud the city was now.

“Grand Commander Im lost! Lord Jeong didn’t choose his signboard!”

“Ha! Lost in battle and in calligraphy!”

“A top scorer from the local exams, huh? If that Yozoku freak got first place, then I’m a bloody scholar too!”

Amid the chaos, some martial artists glanced upward—seeing through concealment techniques to recognize the Blood Demons above.

“That Mungok... is the Divine Sword Strategist?”

Only then did the Blood King mutter blankly—at which point, everyone who had noticed them quickly scattered with horrified faces.

Everyone but two.

“So sometimes we run into each other like this, huh?”

A man in black robes with a dark hood laughed. It was Cheongmyeong, Lord Ma Gwang-ik’s strategist. His thin smile twisted the single blue eye on his face like a painting come to life.

“Embarrassing, bringing only one. Makes for a bad comparison.”

He murmured.

Beside him stood a lama monk dressed in a flowing robe of noble orange that brushed the ground. After casting a glance at the Blood King, he turned his gaze toward the walls of Ipwang Fortress. The Blood King, for his part, didn’t pay him any mind.

The lama spoke.

“...I came to the heart of the Central Plains, and yet this land is just as dry and dull as Cheongan’s emotionless face. Tell me—has the one who holds funerals with gleaming sword strikes truly dethroned his master, the Funeral Director of Light?”

He was referring to Seomye.

Cheongmyeong’s face grew cold as frost.

“Yes. Lord Jeong has become Lord of the Fortress. You should show proper courtesy when you meet him.”

The lama nodded.

“His master was a terrifying man. To the orphan he cast out—I shall show respect.”

Even the titles for Jeong Yeon-shin kept changing.

Northern King. Dharma King.

For a brief moment, Jin Myeong-jo exchanged glances with Cheongmyeong. Then, he followed the Seventh Apostle, who had flown ahead like a bat across the sky.

Whoooosh!

Even then, Jeok I-seo was still holding onto Jin Myeong-jo’s sleeve. As he caught a glimpse of her fingers, Jin Myeong-jo suddenly shook out the golden-embroidered hem of his Crimson Flame Robe and interlocked his hand with hers.

As if scooping everything up with a single hand.

“......!”

Just as they soared over the walls of Ipwang Fortress using movement techniques—

The Blood King pointed toward a spot.

“That land will do well for our estate. It’s completely collapsed. A perfect ruin.”

It was the former estate of the fallen Ipwang Ha-hu Clan.