No more screams or the clash of weapons could be heard from outside.

They were all dead.

Unwi picked up the liquor and poured it into a cup.

Then he handed it to Heuk Yeonggweol.

“It’s the last one. Will you have a drink before you go?”

“...If I beg for my life... will you spare me?”

Unwi let out a short laugh.

“As if.”

Unwi placed the cup down just as it was and spoke briefly.

“Chief Seong.”

“Yes, young master.”

“Kill him.”

“As you command.”

Thuck—!

Seong Yangho’s dagger pierced straight through Heuk Yeonggweol’s throat.

***

He opened the door and stepped outside.

The front of the Bunta quarters was littered with corpses.

Surveying the surroundings quietly, he asked,

“What’s the casualty report?”

As if waiting for the question, Wonyang rushed over and replied.

“Four seriously injured, fifteen lightly wounded. No deaths.”

That was satisfactory.

The number of delegation members had been forty, and the martial artists stationed here numbered one hundred.

More than twice their number, yet a sword knows no eyes.

He had expected there would be losses—but the fact that there were no deaths was immensely encouraging.

Naturally, among the Bunta personnel, aside from Cheonpung and Han Murin sustaining minor injuries, there were no casualties.

That’s how it should be, considering the vast combat experience they’d accumulated by following him.

He turned his head and looked toward Song Euigyeong.

Perhaps because massacring dozens had become such a rare occurrence in recent times, the man was wearing an intensely exhilarated expression.

“Song Euigyeong.”

“...Yes, my lord.”

“I want to ask—do you regret becoming my sword?”

Song Euigyeong shook his head.

“I do not regret it at all.”

The sincerity in his eyes was clear. That was enough.

“Cut off the heads of the ones lying dead here and send them to Lee Jagyeom.”

Song Euigyeong’s eyes sparkled.

“No letter?”

“No. Just send the bodies.”

With a martial salute, he shouted,

“As you command!”

It was rare to command a grandmaster of Jo Hwakyung like a mere limb.

And it felt very satisfying.

He turned his head.

At quite a distance away, a man was visibly trembling.

The Bunta’s medicine depot had been completed recently, and all the medicinal supplies had arrived.

They had posted a recruitment notice to find a steward to take charge of it. Four applicants had come forward.

He had personally selected one of them—that man now standing there.

His name was Lee Myeonghwa.

Age: forty.

A native of Sambongju in the distant Gye-guk. A descendant of the prestigious Taewon Lee clan of physicians.

With nearly twenty years of extensive experience, he possessed outstanding medical skills in treating wounds and internal injuries, and was especially well-versed in antidotes for poisons.

His martial cultivation level: Juchun Boundary.

Amusingly, he even had a sobriquet:

The Poison Master (Doksa).

He had an exceptional grasp of rare medicinal properties and proper storage techniques. Among the four applicants, there were those technically more skilled than Lee Myeonghwa—but he had chosen this man without a moment’s hesitation.

Because of one reason.

When he beckoned him over, the man approached, legs trembling.

The way he walked, his eyes, the motion of his shoulders and waist.

Above all, the way the soles of his feet pushed against the earth—

Truly.

Utterly impressive.

“...You called for me... my lord?”

“Were you very startled?”

Lee Myeonghwa blinked.

Unwi simply extended his hand and patted the man’s shoulder.

“No need to worry. In the world of martial artists, such confrontations and battles are everyday matters, aren’t they?”

“...Even so... of the many things I’ve experienced, nothing like this has ever happened...”

Unwi let out a small laugh.

“For someone of your skill, your nerve seems quite weak.”

“...My apologies.”

“No need to apologize. As long as we each do our part properly, that’s enough, isn’t it?”

“...Yes. You’re right. We just have to do our jobs properly.”

“As the medicine depot steward, treat the wounded and assign appropriate herbs. Also, distribute the pills stored in the warehouse evenly to the martial artists present here.”

At that, one man looked especially delighted—it was Yangso, who had stayed behind and faithfully followed his orders instead of going to Seolap.

“Lee Myeonghwa.”

“...Yes, my lord.”

Unwi stared at him and threw his words like a rock.

“Keep this in mind. Just do your job. Understood?”

“I understand.”

Lee Myeonghwa showed only the image of a frightened apothecary.

But that was only what ordinary people would see.

Not Unwi.

He turned his head—and saw Chief Seong.

The moment their eyes met, Chief Seong immediately ran over.

Unwi said in a low voice,

“There’s something I need you to do.”

“Please, command me.”

After instructing Chief Seong on something, Unwi turned and walked back inside his residence.

He was going to cultivate.

***

Deep into the night.

Unwi, who had been cultivating in his quarters, opened his eyes.

Across from him stood a middle-aged man with arms crossed, watching him—he didn’t know when the man had arrived.

That gaze radiated tremendous pressure.

Unwi smiled faintly.

“Are you angry, by any chance?”

“Of course not.”

“I told you to come in secret—are you perhaps angry about that?”

“That’s not it either.”

Unwi rose to his feet and offered a martial salute.

“I greet the Lord of Seolgung.”

Seol Jungcheon waved his hand with a slight laugh.

“No need for that. This isn’t an official place. It’s just a private meeting between father and son. No need for formality.”

Unwi looked around. The flow of qi within a certain radius was different from that of the outside.

“You erected a qi barrier.”

“I told you to keep quiet, didn’t I?”

“Then, please lift the barrier for a moment.”

“I shall.”

The flows aligned.

Unwi spoke.

“Chief Seong, are you out there?”

A response came immediately.

“Yes, young master. I’m here.”

“I’ll be resting for about two shichen. Don’t let anyone in.”

“What about that ‘thing’ you mentioned before?”

“Inform me when it’s ready.”

“Understood.”

The presence moved away. After confirming that, Seol Jungcheon looked at Unwi.

“Seong Yangho is clearly your man... and yet you’re even hiding this from him?”

“Yes.”

The day he treated Seol Muryeon, Unwi had summoned his father through Hyunshim.

It might sound odd to phrase it that way—but it was literally a summon.

Whether it was Hyunshim or Seol Jungcheon, it was a situation no one could remain calm in. How could the youngest son dare to summon the head of Seolgung?

But Seol Jungcheon had been intrigued.

Because Unwi wasn’t the type to do anything without reason.

And now, knowing that Unwi had regressed, Seol Jungcheon was—frankly—burning with curiosity.

The two sat across from each other at a table in the corner of the room.

“Well then. Speak.”

Unwi nodded—and skipped the preamble entirely.

“I intend to raise Father to the level of Honwondokjon.”

Seol Jungcheon was a man known for maintaining a calm face no matter what.

He had smiled more often and shown more surprise since dealing with Unwi, yes—but still, this—

This was an expression no one had ever seen on him before.

Mouth agape, Seol Jungcheon was, perhaps in his entire life, more shocked than ever.

“...Me...?”

“Yes.”

“...Is that even possible?”

“It’s not impossible. You heard it too, Father—didn’t you?”

“I heard. Wang Muha of the Martial Alliance, the Golden Path Chess Hero. Jang Mujin, the Hidden Sword from Golosan. And even Shim Munryong, the new Twelve Cold Orders of Mount Hua—all had their cultivation realms raised recently.”

When Unwi nodded, Seol Jungcheon continued.

“But even for me... could it be done?”

“It won’t be easy. No matter how much enlightenment is offered through the medium of Go, this is the Five Canons of the Martial God we’re talking about.”

Unwi’s gaze was cold, and wholly serious.

It was not the gaze of the youngest son of a great sect—but the eyes of a man who once ruled Zhongyuan as Blood Heaven's Neutral Arbiter of the Honwon Blood Sect.

“Tell no one. Come find me every full moon. If you reach Honwondokjon, no one must know.”

“You’re telling me to act a role.”

“Yes. Especially Yang Seoljin must never know.”

“Hmmm...”

“It will be difficult. But please maintain your appearance as someone still at the Grand Void Formless stage.”

Unwi then drew out three sheets of paper from his sleeve and placed them before Seol Jungcheon.

Silently reading through them, Seol Jungcheon’s eyes grew wide.

“...I was told. That a list of Blood Sect spies had been obtained...”

“Yes.”

“That list identified twenty sects. Shim Munryong eliminated them all in one sweep... but there are more?”

“There are.”

“And I judged that now is not the time to reveal them.”

Seol Jungcheon closed his eyes.

“...My heart aches.”

“I thought I should show it to you, and you alone.”

“...”

“And I believe... you already understand why.”

“Of course. If we strike now, Seolgung will be weakened—and the Honwon Blood Sect, the Sichuan Alliance, even the Martial Alliance would take the opportunity to press in.”

Unwi simply stared silently at his father.

“So that’s why... I must rise to Honwondokjon?”

“Yes. Once you ascend, we can root out not only those sects, but also the spies within Seolgung itself. What was once a ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) castle of sand... will become an iron fortress.”

At that moment, Seol Jungcheon was truly consumed by a single question.

Just who—

“...Who is our true enemy?”

Unwi closed his eyes for a moment, arranging his thoughts. Then he answered clearly.

“The Vice Lord of the Honwon Blood Sect—Yu Cheong.”

“...Not the Celestial Path Seeker?”

“Not just him. Not Gun Mugyeol of the Martial Alliance. Not Kang Cheonwoo of the Sichuan Alliance. It’s Yu Cheong. He harbors ambitions to revive the Thousand-Year Demonic Sect—and he covets the ‘legend’ of Seolgung.”

That was Unwi’s conclusion.

Because nothing else made sense.

The reason Unwi had been able to regress was because of a treasure within the snowy mountains. But was that treasure simply an object that turned back time?

Most likely not.

It must have been a fragment of the Law-Reversing Truth, a rare force that could shatter the laws of this world.

Whether Yu Cheong knew of it or not, he had tried to find it. But he failed.

Perhaps because he lacked the freedom to move.

But more likely, because it lay in a place no sane person would ever consider.

After all, no one but a madman would cleave through the entire snowy mountain.

And even if they wanted to—very few could.

At that time, Unwi’s cultivation had been near the peak of Honwondokjon.

Only at that level... was such a thing possible.

“So what you’re saying is... let’s take it slowly. One step at a time.”

“That’s right. We’ll solve it piece by piece.”

Seol Jungcheon stared at Unwi in silence for a long time—then asked:

“What do you plan to do about Jeokan?”

“I’ll devour them.”

“Hmmm... Saryang?”

“The same.”

“Three Valleys?”

“There is a powerful neutral faction inside them called Paemun, but... it’ll be fine.”