The scene unfolding in the manor defied natural order.
It was a spectacle conjured by True Energy.
Inside the paper-screened room, a shimmering outline of light depicted a seated figure with both hands gathered at the lower abdomen.
Protective Energy Manifestation.
The radiance diffusing from the faintly glowing robe did not blend with the lantern lights of the banquet hall.
Instead, it formed a subtle fan-shaped domain that repelled them. Its aura carried a strangely domineering essence.
Haa—
A quiet exhale escaped from beneath the silver mask of the Young Lord.
"If he stays like that, this could be troublesome…"
A murmur, deep and resonant from internal breathing, slipped out just as—
Suddenly, as if it had been a lie, the radiance vanished. In an instant, darkness surged forward, swallowing the light as though it had never existed.
A technique never before witnessed in Murim.
"..."
Silence lingered. Though the lanterns regained their glow and once more illuminated the surroundings, the rowdy atmosphere did not return.
The Young Lord swept back a stray lock of hair that had slipped past the silver mask, brushing against his cheek.
For a brief moment, hesitation surfaced at the touch of their pale fingertips. From beneath the mask, dark blue eyes gleamed coldly.
'His energy waves were unstable. Has he not perfected it yet?'
Gazing intently at Jung Yeonshin's room, the Young Lord then softened his gaze. A flicker of self-awareness dawned upon him, he was being uncharacteristically impatient.
Perhaps it was because, in a world shrouded in gray, something neither black nor white had finally emerged.
Foolish.
Scoffing at himself, the Invincible Laughing Heaven of Ming Cult turned away from Jung Yeonshin's quarters.
His eyes roamed the surroundings.
"…This isn't the Spring and Autumn period of the Sixteen Kingdoms."
The Young Lord scoffed under his breath, lips curling wryly. His twisted smirk contained derision, scorn, and a tinge of self-mockery.
"A burial ground for the living dead, clinging to life despite themselves."
At that moment—
The gaze of Wind Lord Lee Shi-myung, seated in the place of honor at the outdoor banquet, slowly shifted. Simultaneously, the Young Lord, lowering his smirk, flickered like smoke and disappeared without a trace.
Only the shaggy old guardian tree pointing toward Jung Yeonshin's room remained in place.
"Hm…?"
A hint of doubt clouded Lee Shi-myung's eyes.
When an old woman beside him inquired about the oddity, he merely shook his head and stared at the separate quarters where Jung Yeonshin resided.
"No one is to go near."
Lee Shi-myung spoke slowly.
"The one using such strange sorcery, I must observe him carefully."
"…Didn't you call him a lapdog of the imperial family? That light from earlier was most unnatural. It would be best to root out the problem now…"
The one who spoke was an elderly woman with a long diagonal scar across her face.
She was Pang Moran, known as the Broken Sect Ghost Sword.
Once, in her youth, she was among the highest ranks of Peng Clan, yet never stepped into the clan estate. Instead, she roamed Murim, reigning as the King of Northern Vagabonds.
Her incomplete inheritance of the Five Tiger Gate-Cleaving Sword stemmed from her birth circumstances.
Years later, she had followed Lee Shi-myung into this manor, but he had only ever regarded her as a formidable force within the Peng Clan.
His attention was always fixed on Peng Yuran, the Ghost Roar Tyrant King.
"Root him out? Tomorrow is the wedding day."
A quiet warning not to speak of such crude matters.
Marriage was a grand affair, entangled with the future of the Ghost Roar Tyrant King.
On an auspicious day, there could be no scent of blood.
"…Understood."
Silenced, Pang Moran fell quiet as Lee Shi-myung's gaze darkened.
That young Radiant Demon Squad's leader inside that room would be powerless during the grand ceremony.
The Tyrant King and Wind Lord would be present, and Ice Soul, Cheon So-so was an unpredictable element.
Considering his youthful appearance, it would be fortunate if he did not fall into shock at Immortal Spirit Wood Squad's leader's betrayal.
Such a dangerously skilled fledgling could lash out unpredictably. It would be better to keep him within sight.
After all, once the wedding was over, his Wind-Blossom Four-Wheel Kick would shatter the young Radiant Demon Squad's leader's neck.
'That boy will undoubtedly become the leader's enemy.'
Contrary to common belief, he did not see the Tyrant King as a woman.
That had been the case ever since she defeated him in a duel at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering in their youth.
That night, after she had spent the hours with him, dawn arrived, and he witnessed her whispering sweet nothings into another woman's ear amidst the golden hues of morning.
It was then that Lee Shi-myung awakened to the true essence of the Sixteen Strikes of the Wind-Blossom Four-Wheel Kick, the technique flowing like an unbound gale.
A wind free from restraints.
This scene had repeated countless times over the years.
To Lee Shi-myung, Peng Yuran was not a woman but the incarnation of martial enlightenment, a presence he must protect until he reached the pinnacle of martial arts.
He revered her overwhelming Five Tiger Gate-Cleaving Sword, and he adored her boundless freedom.
Even on the day Golden Wings Sect's leader appeared before them, seizing the sacred artifact that could summon the Flood Dragon, Peng Yuran remained dazzling.
With her Dragon's Thunderclap Cannon, she swallowed her fury and, at last, created a supreme strike that embodied the breath of the Flood Dragon, a technique once passed down only by word of mouth.
On that day, Lee Shi-myung's martial prowess ascended to another level.
"Raise your cups, all of you!"
Rising to his feet, Lee Shi-myung acted as though he had seen nothing of Radiant Demon Squad's leader's display of power earlier.
'No clan in Murim, no sect under the heavens, stands as mighty as this.'
Before him, beneath the platform, were the warriors of Peng Yuran and himself.
The aged guardians of Secret Realm Peng Clan, their eyes gleaming with eerie light, seemed, to Lee Shi-myung, the ultimate Protective Energy Manifestation.
They were warriors who had achieved so much that they dared to intrude upon celestial formations, seeking to subdue a Flood Dragon.
"Tomorrow is the day! The leader of Secret Realm Peng Clan shall take the Immortal Spirit Wood Squad's leader as their spouse, and this mystic realm of the Flood Dragon shall become our own paradise!"
There was little response.
As always, the elder guardians of Secret Realm Peng Clan placed immense value on decorum.
The only thing that truly pleased Wind Lord Lee Shi-myung was the intense, colorless gleam flashing in the eyes of those gathered.
* * *
An open forge on all sides.
Chiiiiiik!
Thick steam billowed up in curling wisps.
A long piece of metal was being tempered and refined under the hammers of a short boy and girl.
Both had stripped down to thin sleeveless undershirts, their outer garments tied around their waists.
The distinctive green hems of Sichuan's Tang Clan attire were covered in ash, slipping lower with each movement.
Heat roared from the furnace, the flames swirling wildly. Their constantly flexing upper bodies, despite their small frames, were tightly packed with compact muscles.
The forge never ceased breathing fire.
To the left, next to the anvil, mallets, hammers, and tongs were neatly hung on the stone wall, adding to the rugged, metallic scent characteristic of a blacksmith's workshop.
It had been five days.
Birth, refining, and tempering—the intensity of forging had accompanied them all throughout.
At some point, a faint azure smoke had begun to drift from the Tang siblings' noses and mouths, yet the village's smiths, entranced, could only stare blankly at them.
The small boy worked the bellows with sweeping, exaggerated movements, while the girl, who bore an uncanny resemblance to him, hammered away at the sword-shaped metal with sharp, sky-blue light flickering in her eyes.
From time to time, they switched roles and positions, ensuring their honed senses remained razor-sharp, as if blades themselves.
Around them, over a hundred onlookers stood in silence.
Among them was Xiahou Wei-Jin, the village chief who had long protected his people.
"…Are my eyes deceiving me?"
He muttered, staring at the Tang siblings, their chins glistening with transparent beads of sweat.
Tang Yeohwa and Tang Ryeo-ryeo.
Their features seemed to shift as though mirages of the Great Desert.
For a fleeting moment, Tang Yeohwa's striking facial contours made him resemble Jung Yeonshin, while Tang Ryeo-ryeo's features were so exquisite that the furnace's firelight seemed like a mere adornment to her.
If Jung Yeonshin had been born a woman, he would look like this Venomous Phoenix.
Fwoooosh!
The flames in the furnace surged violently. This time, Tang Ryeo-ryeo took over the bellows.
They were completely in sync.
Their hammering never ceased, as if they had achieved Body-Sword Unification not with a sword, but with each other.
The scorching heat only intensified.
The forge, fueled by Sichuan's Ironwood, Yunnan's Fire Stones, and a mysterious dust that seemingly existed only in the mystic lair of the Flood Dragon, produced flames fierce enough to melt any metal in an instant.
The blade, glowing a brilliant red, rested on the anvil, enduring the relentless pounding of their hammers.
"This will ride the wind like a Swift Sword. There'll be almost no air resistance."
"We're imbuing spiritual essence into it, right? Do you remember the sacred technique?"
"I can only feel it, but if this sword can sense it too, that should be enough. It must not break when imbued with divine energy."
"I've never seen Sword Thunder Flash Art before. The balance of weight…"
"Let's gauge it through the benefactor's prayers."
"The force in his arms was like Feather-Light Steel, and his energy waves never faltered."
"His reaction speed is beyond ours, so we need to focus on joint articulation."
"Shoulder, elbow, wrist. Jianliao Acupoint, Crooked Pond Acupoint, Neiguan Acupoint… We don't need to worry about Tiger's Mouth Acupoint between the thumb and index finger. The benefactor's grip can handle even Radiant River, so making the joints as fluid as possible is the priority."
"Yeohwa, post-heavenly eight trigrams in sword polarization. Below Dui, precisely half a chi. Strike with Oneness Energy."
Thud—!
"Li. You don't need me to tell you where, right?"
Thud—!
"Are we sure our True Energy can be infused into it? What if it becomes impure?"
"We don't have any other choice."
"Qian. Dead center, slightly to the left."
Kwoooang—!
This was no ordinary hammering. With every strike, shockwaves radiated outward.
Each time a pale, circular force rippled through the air, at least one bystander collapsed.
"Looking at how he tenses his body, he'll either be adept at transformation techniques or end up using them frequently."
"I know."
"I've seen Sword Thunder Flash Art before. That counter-strike, where energy waves are stored and detonated, was particularly impressive."
Even the occasional interjection from Xiahou Wei-Jin proved invaluable.
"Elasticity. Add more earth. Reversed Origin Three Yang Art—set it at three-star alignment."
"Now!"
Fwoooosh—! Claaang—!
Without ever looking at Jung Yeonshin, they were forging to save him.
Etching his form into memory, emulating his nature, repaying his kindness—by breaking him down and dissecting his essence, the sword upon the anvil inched toward completion.
Just as martial arts imbued with spirit become divine techniques, the five-day forging of their hammers had breathed spirit into the steel.
Rather than the wielder adapting to the weapon, the weapon was being crafted to endlessly align with the wielder's will.
And then, on the sixth day.
As the distant ridgeline glowed blue with the approaching dawn—
"Just a little more… There! Right here, this is it!"
With his sister Tang Ryeo-ryeo's final cry, Tang Yeohwa struck the last hammer blow.
From the blood-soaked hilt, a faint, pale-blue radiance pulsed outward.
Wooooong—!
The hum was as clear as a temple bell, spreading outward from the anvil.
The quenched iron, having been seared at incomprehensible temperatures, suddenly shed its crimson glow and returned to a silver body.
Across the blade, where crossing currents had been etched, sunlight wove its golden patterns.
Xiahou Wei-Jin, who had not once looked away from the Tang siblings, swallowed hard, his thick Adam's apple twitching. Yet, he did not stare at the sword anew.
The siblings did not set their forged blade into its prepared hilt.
Instead, standing on either side of the anvil, they simply stared at each other.
Their lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
No more sky-blue radiance shone from them.
—Repay kindness twice over, and return hatred tenfold.
The Tang Clan's chivalry now converged upon a single person who was not present.
In that instant, the sunlight shattered, cascading down upon the blade in a pure white glow.
Venomous Dragon, Tang Yeohwa. Venomous Phoenix, Tang Ryeo-ryeo.
They had forged a divine sword, and standing, they breathed their last.
They were seventeen years old.