Yeokluseong.
Built by the northern Yozoku.
Like their massive physiques, its outer and inner fortresses were mainly populated by two groups—monsters of the North and refugees from the South. The world within and without the colossal fortress walls belonged to them.
Perhaps because of that...
The wind from outside frequently scraped against the massive stone walls and bodies, and the friction gave rise to an unusually heavy sound.
It was quite literal—the air was weighed down by all kinds of forceful energy currents.
There were Han Chinese vagabonds making a living with their sword skills while calling Yeokluseong their ho.
There were martial artists of noble descent who, for one reason or another, could no longer proudly stand beside their clans.
There were Jurchen tribes of Liaodong, whose entire bloodlines had been absorbed into the Yozoku, leaving no trace of their original identities.
There were remnants of the once-mighty Yuan dynasty.
And there were the Yozoku warriors of the northern land, who silently watched the southern refugees ascend into their ranks, sotis dragging a few away into the shadows, never to be seen again.
Even among them were prodigies—born with extraordinary talent.
Yeokluseong was a frozen crucible.
A winter of famine. A fortress erected upon the cold northern earth, where powerful clans tangled in a chaotic mix.
“What in the world is this...?”
“The Fla King! How could His Majesty...!”
The most secretive place among them all was the inner fortress of Yeokluseong.
Naturally vast and imposing.
The ceiling stretched over ten jang high, with wide drapes linking the pillars to the roof interior in a tangled ss.
On their surfaces were thickly brushed phrases: “Gold,” “Great Qing,” and so forth. Each inscribed in bold calligraphy, bearing unique signs of aging.
All of it written in Chinese characters.
The Lord of Yeokluseong was a half-blood of Yozoku and Han descent, and the fortress itself was a haven built to absorb southern refugees into its strength.
In this place, traditions, customs, and philosophies from every corner had to unify as one.
This was the dwelling of the one who had to press down upon all clans equally.
Outside, masters known for their expertise in internal defense arts peeked in through gaps in the windows at the inner sanctum.
Even as they wrote down their reports, sothing significant was unfolding inside the chamber.
“...His pulse is gone.”
“He is dead. The King has passed away.”
Blunt words rang out.
Surrounding the corpse of a massive man.
Just like the body lying on the cold stone floor, all of those standing around it stood at least seven cheok tall.
Northern Yozoku warriors. Each one built like they were clad in interlocking steel plates.
Then, it happened.
Exactly three steps above, seated and looking down at the scene, was the one called Taesa.
“Does that man still look like a king to you?”
An outsider wearing a silver mask spoke, seated carelessly on a tiger pelt like it was a floor cushion. His form hidden under thick leather furs, making it hard to gauge his physique.
It was Jeong Yeon-shin.
Drip, drip.
Blood dripped eerily from both of his arms.
The skin of his knuckles was mangled, torn from half-clenched fists, and blood had pooled thickly between his sleeves and forearms, soaking into the folds and leaving a sticky, oozing ss.
“......”
The Yozoku warriors fell silent.
Not one of them looked directly at Jeong Yeon-shin.
It wasn’t disregard. Everyone here knew.
They were simply hesitant to turn their bodies toward him. Their senses, sharper than even the finest noble-born warriors, had picked up sothing primal and dangerous.
Sssss—
Pale smoke shimred around the outer hem of Jeong Yeon-shin’s garnts. The heat left behind by the Fla King, now a corpse, still lingered in his clothes.
The entire spectacle made Jeong Yeon-shin’s seated form on the Taesa throne seem utterly overwhelming.
Even as he looked down at warriors larger than himself, his presence felt natural—dominant.
“From this mont forward,”
The man in the silver mask spoke.
“I am the Lord of Yeokluseong, and the King of this land.”
He declared it, arms stained dark red to the cuffs. In that instant, a heavy silence blanketed the chamber.
For no other reason.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
It was simply because the one who had slain the Fla King and now sat on the Taesa throne fit the northern land so perfectly—his words, his posture, all of it.
This was a land where even status was determined by martial strength.
A man in fine but tattered silk, far off to the side—the Gatekeeper of the North—remained equally speechless.
‘One of his parents must be Yozoku...?’
While he was still pondering that thought—
Jeong Yeon-shin looked toward one of the n gathered around the dead Fla King.
“You're now the forr Lord of Yeokluseong.”
“......”
“Your king is dead. I intend to take the Northern Throne. If you're not satisfied with that—speak now.”
The man who had once ruled Yeokluseong.
A towering figure, even among giants, did not reply to those words. He only twisted his already malford face further.
In the end—
He didn’t move.
The dry northern wind howled, slamming again and again into the massive window fras. Only that sound echoed clearly through the chamber.
***
In any case, things had turned out well. That’s what Jeong Yeon-shin thought.
‘It’s a relief.’
The inner fortress of Yeokluseong.
Though countless people ca and went, this was still the most sacred hall in the city—the Grand Hall.
“......”
The expanse beneath the Taesa throne was a picture of luxury. Everything was enormous. It truly resembled a throne room where a monarch governed state affairs with his officials.
‘Northern King... The title of king is fitting indeed.’
At this mont, Jeong Yeon-shin hid all thoughts behind his silver mask, enduring the pain that burned through both arms like fire.
It was the aftermath of defeating a Northern supre master who wielded the blazing True Heat Yang Energy reinforced by Heavenly Protective Steel Qi.
She had been known as the Fla King among the Northern Kings.
—So, you killed a Han official? Remove your mask and beco my trusted aide. If you won’t obey, then prove yourself to be stronger.
Those were the first words Jeong Yeon-shin heard upon eting her—utterly ridiculous.
Even a Village Elder might be granted a respectful nod from the Commander of the Divine Sword Sect, but never would he serve under another. Even under covert identity, the sa principle held.
If such conduct were ever revealed later, the entire prestige of Ipwang Fortress would be diminished.
Both Yong Hui-myeong and Jeong Yeon-shin were figures of that caliber.
The most revered Divine Sword of the world—donning a mask didn’t change the essence.
—I’ll prove it, then.
In the end, Jeong Yeon-shin beat her to death barehanded after an intense fight.
Truly barehanded—not a single technique of Seomye, the Fla Lotus Phantom, known throughout the world, was displayed.
Given the wounds he received today, that alone had been a fair exchange.
Now, her forr subordinates were clearing the hall at a re glance from Jeong Yeon-shin.
—It turned out... well, right? If it got ssy, I was going to step in too. Oh, your hand! Are your hands okay? Using golden ointnt might ruin the image a bit, but if it hurts a lot, you have to tell .
Shin So-bin’s sound transmission tickled his ear. She was currently standing beside the Taesa throne where he was seated.
Jeong Yeon-shin responded with a serious tone.
—Don’t say such things, even in jest. If I falter, you need to run.
—Huh? No way. I have my own pride, you know.
—This is why kids are...
—You do know we’re the sa age, right? I’ve always been curious what you think about that.
Jeong Yeon-shin made up his mind—to make sure Shin So-bin never pulled sothing foolish.
According to Great Marshal Jeon U-rip, every Northern King was a supre master.
The reason the Ming Empire’s imperial martial artists and military generals all stayed behind the Great Wall.
In southern terms, they were on par with feudal lords like the Prince of Gungmyeong, the Thirteen Heavens, or the heads of the Nine Great Martial Sects.
Even the Fist King couldn’t unify the North because of them. So followed him; others resisted.
Thus, Jeong Yeon-shin had no choice but to embed himself among them, even at so risk.
Fortunately, the Northern martial world was a place that even absorbed Han and Ming refugees to expand /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ its martial landscape.
It was no easy feat.
To preserve his dignity while blending into the North.
To fight monsters on the level of Northern Kings barehanded.
And yet, Jeong Yeon-shin had to conceal his true identity—for now. At least until the rest of the Divine Sword Corps arrived.
‘I wonder if Senior Bukgung and Senior Wei Ji got out safely.’
As he dwelled on questions with no imdiate answers—
The blood had been wiped away. The corpse was gone.
Jeong Yeon-shin had silently dominated that stretch of ti and naturally beco the new head of Yeokluseong. No one opposed the result of that life-or-death duel.
That was the nature of the North.
—That na “Yeoklu” ans the act of our clan lording over the pathetic humans of your land.
Words once spoken by Bukdo.
Now, Jeong Yeon-shin stood at the forefront under the na Yaryul. Of course, he had no intention of acting as Bukdo had suggested.
Now that he’d obtained a status with which he could actively interfere in Northern affairs, it was ti to stir things from within—to orchestrate a collapse.
He just had to make sure the other Northern Kings didn’t discover his identity.
‘But more pressing for now...’
His thoughts returned to the unsatisfying feeling he’d had while fighting the Fla King.
At first, he had intended to use his sword.
First, because his instincts told him it wouldn’t be easy to fight the Fla King without sword arts and Inner River Strength.
Second, because he didn’t want to treat a practitioner of blazing Yang energy like the Great Sun Dragon lightly.
But even after reassessing his situation in that split second, he couldn’t draw his blade. He had to fight using only unard techniques without Inner River Strength.
‘And...’
He would have to keep doing so.
At least until the Divine Sword Corps ascended into this land.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly opened his mouth, addressing the raggedly elegant man—the Northern Gatekeeper—who had been staring blankly at him.
“Your Protective Steel Qi.”
“Huh? Uh...”
The man reflexively mumbled in response.
He had personally handed Jeong Yeon-shin over to the Lord of Hocheonseong, the Demon Annihilation Blade. Then, upon hearing that the guest he’d let through was now fighting the Fla King, he had rushed into the inner fortress.
Jeong Yeon-shin asked in a quiet voice.
“Does Heavenly Steel Armor respond differently depending on the energy thod you cultivate? Your Protective Steel Qi and the Fla God Corpse’s technique weren’t the sa. Hers was so aggressive, it barely resembled a defensive art.”
He hadn’t wanted to refer to the Fla King as “King,” so he called her a corpse instead. It rolled off the tongue surprisingly well.
Countless Wudang disciples and southern martial artists had perished to these overpowering entities. If he could begin calling all those who claid the title “king” by the term “corpse,” perhaps there would be fewer grieving masters like Hyun Gong Zhenin.
Shhh.
He lifted one arm slightly, then let it fall.
The intense heat had invaded through layered techniques. Even with the Protective Steel Qi—the True Female Radiance Heavenly Body—forged by the Tang siblings tightly wrapped around him, it was this bad. Pain tingled through every tiny grain of skin.
anwhile, the Gatekeeper looked utterly flustered.
“...You could’ve just asked to teach you the incantation.”
“That would be sothing a tactless man would do. I’m not soone who abuses force.”
Just then, Jeong Yeon-shin felt Shin So-bin’s small toe curl beside him. He couldn’t quite guess why.
After a brief pause, the Northern Gatekeeper spoke again.
“You’re right. Heavenly Steel Armor is a martial art that harmonizes naturally with one’s internal energy technique. No matter what art you practice, it sharpens into a deadly Form. It’s without question the greatest battlefield martial art in the world.”
“And the Fist King created it?”
“Who else could it be? No one else in history was so consud by battle. He’s a man born to go beyond the martial world and even found a nation.”
And thus, little by little—
Northern martial arts began revealing their true form.
It seed they were all echoes of the Fist King.
“Ordinary unard techniques won’t be enough... not if I’m forced into back-to-back fights.”
Jeong Yeon-shin muttered to himself.
The Gatekeeper wiped away his surprise and smiled faintly. Whatever his origins, his spirit was unmistakably unrestrained.
“A wise thought. The warriors here in the inner fortress accept you now because of your fight with the Fla King. But the other Northern Kings... they’ll view you differently. The King of Ultimate Sha and the Dragon Chant King nearby have already requested an audience. Who knows what judgnt they’ll make.”
“Which brings to this.”
“...?”
“Does Yeokluseong’s full military force belong to now?”
Northern King Yaryul.
A man who had penetrated the Yozoku traditions and made himself king, now asked that question.
And at that mont—
The Gatekeeper, for so reason, responded with enthusiasm and nodded without hesitation. Then, he added another comnt.
“So... what I ant was, you’ll need to govern well. You’ll have to walk a tightrope with both words and bearing. That applies to commanding Yeokluseong’s forces too. Looking at you now... you seem like one of those peerless martial titans—like the Sword Saint or the Wandering Sage. But I imagine you don’t have much experience as a ruler...”
“I’ll manage just fine.”
Jeong Yeon-shin answered without doubt.
After all, unlike acting as Commander of the Divine Sword Corps, being Northern King Yaryul carried no real burden.
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