A method of suppressing the energy wave originating from the Supreme Demon of Sacred Blood.
It is not solely used for concealing one's presence. It is also highly effective in duels between masters.
Deceiving an opponent's energy perception is akin to feinting in itself.
The reason why a distinguished martial artist can evade an incoming strike from behind, because the internal energy embedded within their body constantly surpasses their five senses, allowing them to perceive the outside world.
The same applied now.
The veteran masters standing guard at the main gate of the manor.
The two elders blocking Jung Yeonshin's path could not fully perceive the rotation of the Radiant Wheel.
They merely raised their white eyebrows, as if reacting to a martial technique with an exceptionally turbulent aura.
At this moment, they perceived the spiraling energy currents in Jung Yeonshin's palms as nothing more than an empty shell.
Such a display could easily be imitated by veteran masters of their caliber.
Pararak—
The swirling vortex made the robes of the elders, who stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, flutter. Their appearance, akin to carefree immortals, befitted those who had come to capture the Flood Dragon.
The two elders leisurely exchanged words while observing Jung Yeonshin.
"That old man… he still hasn't learned restraint."
"It's as if he still belongs in the world of those children outside, rather than the martial world of the Twin Kings and Three Lords."
"With that temperament and that turbulent aura, he must have mastered tyrannical martial arts. I wonder how many attendants he's had outside, waiting on him."
"But who is he?"
"How many have secluded themselves upon arrival here? Taemo Mountain Fortress has never united us. It merely opened its gates."
They regarded Jung Yeonshin as one of the previous-generation masters who had arrived with them, someone who had traveled not by the techniques of the Golden Wings Sect but by the martial arts of Taemo Mountain Fortress.
With the leisure characteristic of elders who had practiced martial arts for many years.
The elders standing directly in front of Jung Yeonshin did not seem to notice the rough 'Desolate' character on his shoulder at face value.
"Listen, I offer you advice out of concern. If you don't wish to end up like the slaves below, you should reveal your identity…"
The elder on the left was in the middle of referring to the Iron Tribe artisans among the villagers as slaves when he suddenly fell silent.
The attitude and speech of an old master, one who had no envy for rejuvenation, turned into a slight discomfiture the moment he met Jung Yeonshin's indifferent gaze.
'They speak like the nobles of the Eight Great Clans, despite practicing Taoist martial arts.'
Jung Yeonshin stepped forward silently, contemplating.
In the Ming Empire, no citizen could own slaves. The strict wage labor system required that people be compensated for their work.
The Ming imperial family had, for generations, strictly forbidden the ownership of slaves, servants, or bondsmen.
The Yuan Dynasty, which they had overthrown, had a law stating, "Slaves are equivalent to objects". The Ming imperial house had shown an almost obsessive aversion to such traditions of the previous dynasty.
During the early days of the dynasty, they had even exterminated an entire martial sect near South Zhili that had kidnapped and enslaved Ming men and women, setting an example.
Thus, when the Hwangbo Clan was annihilated for privately using commoners as laborers, the only ones who protested the excessive force of Desolate Fortress were the martial artists.
This was how the imperial family had governed. They strictly enforced the Great Ming Code, using rebels who defied it by exploiting laborers without fair wages as examples.
Beyond the elders, the manor of the Ghost Roar Tyrant King came into view.
It was grand.
The elegant slopes of the rooftops did not merely seem like structural elements but rather resembled carved sculptures, undoubtedly the craftsmanship of Iron Tribe artisans.
"Did you compensate the artisans?"
When Jung Yeonshin asked, the elder on the right subtly raised both arms into the posture of a martial salute before responding with a question of his own.
"What nonsense is this?"
"Secluded deep in the mountains, having reversed the course of your aging, you must believe the world lies beneath your feet, unaware of the heavens above."
The elder on the left chimed in.
The speech of those who impose their will upon others through martial prowess.
It was an attitude Jung Yeonshin had encountered frequently in his duties as a warrior of Desolate Fortress.
With his heart ignited by witnessing the fate of the Tang siblings, he had asked out of consideration, fearing he might harm the innocent. But such an effort had been in vain.
He extended both hands forward.
The two elders reacted swiftly. Without moving from their spots, they each thrust out a hand to intercept Jung Yeonshin's right and left palms, pushing against them in turn.
A dual-palm technique. A hollow energy wave spread from the elders' bodies.
Reversing one's aging was not something achieved solely through advanced martial arts. It required enlightenment, fortune, and extraordinary internal techniques.
Since restoring the youth of one's physical body did not equate to invincibility, the elders did not yield.
A translucent shockwave emanated from their palms as they intercepted Jung Yeonshin's hands, a testament to their long-standing confidence.
Their palms met.
Kwoooaang—!
In an instant, the ground trembled, and the massive gate behind them was utterly obliterated.
A terrifying shockwave.
The plaque inscribed with Secret Realm Peng Clan shattered into countless pieces, soaring into the sky, while the two veteran masters were flung in opposite directions, piercing through the cloud of dust in a fleeting instant.
At the same time, blood erupted from their mouths, mixing with the dirt and debris.
Step.
The hem of Jung Yeonshin's pitch-black robes brushed through the dense dust.
He had no interest in the state of the elders, whose bodies had slammed through the walls flanking him, leaving behind enormous cracks.
Even the brief flicker of shock in their eyes left no impression on him.
Then—
"It seems the Zhang family's young ones have failed in their proper reception of an honored guest. Allow me to extend my sincerest apologies."
A crisp voice accompanied by a gentle breeze, settling the airborne dust.
A voice exuding a steady pressure, an undeniable testament to deep martial prowess.
Jung Yeonshin raised his head.
A man with ears as sharp as the tip of a leaf stood midair, hands clasped behind his back, looking down upon Jung Yeonshin.
A dignified Void Stepping.
The flowing, pale-green long robe swayed in the wind, suiting the atmosphere. He possessed the gentle energy unique to Ming-blooded warriors, yet no distinct aura could be read from him.
He appeared to have just passed his thirties. His facial features were quite human-like, but given that he was unmistakably of Ming descent, it was difficult to estimate his age.
"I am Lee Shi-myung."
The man smiled slightly and raised his fists in a martial salute.
A flicker of recognition crossed Jung Yeonshin's eyes.
It was a name he had heard from Xiahou Wei-Jin. One of the particularly formidable figures among those who arrived first, a warrior who had devoted himself to serving the Ghost Roar Tyrant King, Peng Yuran, out of admiration for her.
'Wind Lord Lee Shi-myung.'
He was said to be one of the Three Lords of the Twin Kings and Three Lords, the last inheritor of the now-extinct Wind Bath Sect.
Considering that the other two Lords were veteran masters from the Kunlun Sect and the Beggars' Sect, his sect's name might not carry the same prestige, but he was not one to be underestimated.
"It seems Desolate Fortress' treasured sword has arrived, meaning the Golden Wings Sect has successfully performed their great ritual for the second time. In any case, the gatekeepers here failed to even recognize the mark on your shoulder, so… they deserved such a fate."
The man continued speaking, still holding his smile.
"That free-spirited energy… I can faintly sense the Radiant Demon Arts from you. The waves of the Yangtze grow stronger, it seems."
Twin Kings and Three Lords. Wind Lord Lee Shi-myung.
A master from the previous generation.
Just how thick was the Ming blood in his veins? His bluish eyes, gazing steadily down at Jung Yeonshin, held an eerie quality.
He speaks of the Radiant Demon Arts he learned as soon as he entered Desolate Fortress?
It was a martial system that applied the most efficient techniques depending on the situation. It was the first time an enemy had identified it before Jung Yeonshin himself revealed it.
That noble lineage's infamous eyes, which could pierce through truth itself, had discerned one of the core elements of the Radiant Demon Style.
But Jung Yeonshin remained unfazed as he spoke.
"You know why I'm here, then."
"I can tell you are different from the warriors of this land who seek the Flood Dragon. Have you not come looking for the one who will become our leader's consort?"
"Mind your words. She is the leader of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad."
Jung Yeonshin firmly corrected the elder, who was likely much older than him.
After all, outside in the martial world, he was someone who had already washed his hands of worldly affairs. There was no need to adhere to conventional etiquette.
"Ah."
Lee Shi-myung chuckled slightly.
"It seems there is some misunderstanding. Perhaps you believe that the Ghost Roar Tyrant King forcibly took the Ice Soul, Cheon So-so?"
"You're trying to start a meaningless debate."
The hem of Jung Yeonshin's robe fluttered as his Transcending Law Radiant Wheel stirred from within his core.
"I speak only because the truth is different."
Lee Shi-myung slowly added.
"How could one force such a righteous and resolute supreme master clad in black? She could be overpowered through martial force, perhaps, but her will could never be bent."
"Keep talking."
"Cheon So-so willingly chose to become the consort of the Ghost Roar Tyrant King. If you doubt it, you may confirm it for yourself."
"..."
In an instant, the storm of wind raging around Jung Yeonshin died down.
A heavy silence descended in a blink.
The immense energy he had raised to confront a rare master of the world was withdrawn in a single breath.
The fusion of his internal energy with his mind was now complete. The Three Flowers Gathering at the Crown state, which had been naturally approaching ever since his Rebirth of Flesh and Bones, had finally settled within him.
A flicker of both intrigue and caution appeared in Lee Shi-myung's eyes.
'This is not someone to be dealt with rashly.'
He realized.
Peng Yuran's wedding was imminent. It would be unacceptable to engage in combat with a lone warrior and stain an auspicious day with an ominous omen.
"Follow me."
Lee Shi-myung turned in the air.
Jung Yeonshin, who had been silently staring up at him, finally moved forward, ever so slowly.
One by one, he took in the sight of the old masters of the Secret Realm Peng Clan, who had rushed to the crumbling walls after sensing the commotion.
This place was a den of demons. There was not a single weakling here.
* * *
—Do not think of causing a disturbance. Even if you hold the purple rank of Desolate Fortress, it will not matter here. It would be best if you remained quiet, spoke quietly, and left quietly. After the wedding is over.
—You speak nonsense.
—Our sect leader's ultimate technique is called 'Dragon Emerges, Heavens Roar Cannon'. It was designed for no other reason than to kill the leader of the Golden Wings Sect. No human body can withstand it.
This was the conversation Jung Yeonshin had with Lee Shi-myung as he was escorted to the guest hall.
Peng Yuran and Cheon So-so were not in the manor.
Even with his Radiant Wheel Energy fully expanded, scouring the underground, he could not detect the unique ice-energy wave of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad's leader.
He could only sense the slight flinches of dozens of formidable old masters.
The warriors of the Secret Realm Peng Clan were all relics of the past.
They feared omens. The clan leader, the guests—everyone adhered to superstitions, divinations, and geomancy.
The Immortal Spirit Wood Squad's leader, who could draw out the mystical powers of the World Tree's sapling.
The First Seat of the Twin Kings, the Ghost Roar Tyrant King.
The Ice Soul, Cheon So-so, carried tremendous symbolism.
Whether summoning the Flood Dragon or breaking free from the formation, all the great rituals could be conducted using the World Tree's sapling.
At least, that was what the martial artists here believed.
The Ghost Roar Tyrant King must claim her.
The upcoming wedding was a ceremony to announce to the world that Cheon So-so had become subservient to Peng Yuran.
A declaration to all.
To the various Iron Tribe villages that still harbored resentment.
To the wanderers.
To the other Twin King who alone possessed the lakeshore where the Flood Dragon once submerged.
And to the Shadow Lord, Empty Void True One of the Kunlun Sect, and the Ghost Lord Man Hou-gai of the Beggars' Sect.
Both the Ice Lotus and the Ghost Roar Tyrant King were in seclusion.
Whether they were together or apart, no one knew.
They would not appear in the manor until the day of the ceremony, at the designated place for the grand wedding ritual.
Since learning all this, Jung Yeonshin had remained in the guest hall, not once stepping outside.
The old masters, having heard that the gate guards had been defeated by a new guest, loitered around his quarters. But Wind Lord Lee Shi-myung personally called them away, ensuring they did not act rashly.
And so, five days passed.
The vast manor of the Secret Realm Peng Clan had regained its lively atmosphere.
The scent of roasting meat and the fragrance of liquor spread in all directions, while faint moonlit clouds drifted slowly across the dark sky.
It was the eve of the wedding.
The aged veteran masters and some Ming-blooded warriors sat in the manor's courtyard or banquet hall, sharing drinks or playing Go.
Most did not bother suppressing their energy, so the invisible waves of internal energy filled the air, even thicker than the scent of alcohol.
It was as if an unseen mist had densely materialized upon the earth.
"Tomorrow, then."
"Our leader is truly an eccentric one. To insist on holding a wedding."
"This isn't the outside martial world. What does it matter what is done here?"
"But do you think they will stay quiet? The chosen auspicious date may turn out to be meaningless."
"The Shadow Lord is indifferent to all affairs. He won't come."
"It's the Divine Hand King and the Ghost Lord who are the real problem."
"As long as we hold out until our leader lifts the bridal veil of the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad's leader, won't that be enough? No matter how strong they are, we should at least be able to…"
"I'm also curious about the new guest. Isn't the Wind Lord too confident?"
"The aftershocks of his strikes were indeed unusual. It may be better to slit his throat now."
"That would be a wise move. The Golden Wings Sect has come, haven't they?"
At that moment—
Step.
From a corner of the courtyard, where the banquet was taking place, a figure in an elaborate white floating wind robe stepped onto the ground.
A silver mask covered the figure's face down to the tip of their sharp nose.
"Hm? You are…"
The elder who met eyes with the silver-masked stranger suddenly lost focus in his gaze.
It happened silently, without a trace of disturbance.
The masked figure's lips moved beneath the silver mask.
"I'm looking for the young guest."
A whisper, more like a command, drifted out.
A mouth curled into a slanted arc, exuding an eerily noble presence, tinged with a smirk as if mocking the old master.
The bearded elder's face brightened, like a man standing before the most beautiful being in the world.
As if enchanted, the old master slowly extended a finger.
The eyes of the Young Lord of the Ming Cult followed that fingertip and landed on an annex where the lanterns had been extinguished. It seemed to be the room of a sleeping guest.
"There?"
"Yes."
The Young Lord's lips curled slightly. He hadn't expected the guest to be asleep.
At that moment—
Wuuung—
All sound abruptly ceased.
Dozens of old masters, who had remained unresponsive to the Young Lord's concealed presence, simultaneously turned their gazes.
A room without a single trace of light.
Beyond the rice-paper window, the faint silhouette of a person seated in meditation suddenly appeared.
A pale glow flickered, forming the shape of a human figure.
Draped in moonlight, or so it seemed.
Hwaaak—!
The lunar radiance reflected on the paper window deepened.
Soon, the lantern lights scattered throughout the pavilion began to shift, pushed back in the opposite direction.