Dang Mujin watched as Manryeok Song emerged alone from the mountain trail. Without Gwang Yeomra by his side, it was clear that Gwang Yeomra had met his end.

There was something different about Manryeok Song’s demeanor. His expression was beyond serious, almost to the point of being solemn. A chaotic mix of emotions—anger, despair, regret—seemed to swirl around him, though his eyes remained calm and deep, almost dizzyingly so.

“Has he had some kind of revelation?”

In the small clearing, time seemed to stretch. What had Manryeok Song realized in such a short span?

The blood dripping from his clenched fists felt ominously significant.

“Surely he didn’t take out his frustrations on the dying Gwang Yeomra to sever his own turmoil. Even if he is a monk…”

Dang Mujin watched Manryeok Song with a hint of unease. Manryeok Song, fists still tightly clenched, charged forward to join the fray with the others battling the master.

Since it seemed Manryeok Song hadn’t lost his mind, Dang Mujin decided not to dwell on him further.

He turned his attention back to the battle.

Manryeok Song hadn’t unveiled any new martial arts or extraordinary techniques. Yet, there was a newfound weight to his movements. Still, like the others, he wasn’t strong enough to overpower the master.

When Manryeok Song’s fist was blocked by the master’s iron defense, Sam Anbul launched a powerful strike at the master.

“Haah!”

Sam Anbul was already covered in blood. Though he bore no deep wounds, the amount of blood he had lost was alarming. Yet, he showed no signs of retreat, especially with Hwayon Shinnyeo by his side.

“How noisy.”

The master deftly parried Sam Anbul’s strike and, before Sam Anbul could retract his fist, slashed his sword, cutting deeply into Sam Anbul’s right armpit.

Dang Mujin cried out in alarm.

“Sam Anbul, sir!”

Even if the wound wasn’t in a vital organ, it was still dangerous. Major meridians and blood vessels ran through the armpit, and a deep cut there could be fatal. To Dang Mujin, the strike Sam Anbul had just taken was a critical hit.

Yet, Sam Anbul quickly retreated, performing a strange technique. His massive muscles swelled, and soon the bleeding stopped.

The master watched this with a smile.

Dang Mujin observed the precarious battle, waiting for the right moment to act. Before the fight began, Hwayon Shinnyeo had given him a warning.

“Dang Mujin, don’t get involved until I give you the signal.”

So, Dang Mujin suppressed his impatience and watched the battle unfold.

Not far from him, another person was also observing the fight. It was the Grand Protector, Yeom Soeul.

However, unlike Dang Mujin, Yeom Soeul wasn’t waiting for the right moment to join the fray. He was simply watching, half-dazed.

As the second-in-command of the demonic cult, Yeom Soeul had once believed that no one could surpass him.

He had absorbed the master’s teachings, which often drove others mad, without issue and quickly rose to become the cult’s second-in-command. He feared nothing in the world and thought no one could match his martial prowess.

But now, his perspective had changed.

”…I was just lucky.”

After achieving explosive success with the master’s martial arts, Yeom Soeul had stagnated. He assumed others would face the same limitations.

But that was a blissful misconception.

When he first faced Jang Il-nam, Yeom Soeul was confident. He believed that with a little more time, he could defeat Jang Il-nam. It wasn’t arrogance; Yeom Soeul had lost two fingers, but Jang Il-nam had suffered six life-threatening injuries.

However, when they met again, Yeom Soeul could no longer be sure of victory. At best, it was an even match.

And now, watching Jang Il-nam, Yeom Soeul was certain he could no longer win.

It wasn’t just Jang Il-nam. Hyun Gong and Namgung Young were the same.

Yeom Soeul hadn’t been complacent. He had trained diligently, yet they had effortlessly surpassed him. Now, all he could see were their backs.

As Yeom Soeul pondered this, Jang Il-nam’s aura shifted dramatically.

A sharp, murderous intent seemed to envelop the world. Yeom Soeul knew what was happening.

He shouted involuntarily.

“Johae-gyeong…!”

Using the life-and-death battle as a stepping stone, Jang Il-nam had ascended to the next level.

And it didn’t stop there.

Like a chain reaction, Namgung Young followed Jang Il-nam, and then Hyun Gong’s aura also transformed.

Watching their growth, Yeom Soeul felt an indescribable sense of loss. He was certain he could never catch up to them, no matter how hard he tried.

“I tried so hard too…”

But even though the three had reached Johae-gyeong, the problem wasn’t solved.

Namgung Myung, his mind a blank slate, desperately wielded his sword to fend off the master’s attacks.

“If only we had a little more time. A month, no, just ten more days…”

The moment of enlightenment is like scattered beads. You can reach out and grasp new insights, but to fully absorb them, you need time to gather and string them together.

That’s why martial artists need time to consolidate their understanding after reaching a new level. After some time, they emerge completely transformed.

But Namgung Myung, Hyun Gong, and Jang Il-nam had no such luxury. They were floundering amidst scattered insights, unable to seize them or change the situation.

In that tense moment, Hwayon Shinnyeo shouted loudly.

“Dang Mujin!”

The moment his name was called, Dang Mujin flung the iron needles he had been holding into the air, scattering them above the master’s head.

Neither Yeom Soeul nor the master could predict what would happen next. But everyone else knew.

That’s why Hwayon Shinnyeo, Namgung Myung, Hyun Gong, and Jang Il-nam all leaped back, putting distance between themselves and the master. As if something more dangerous than the master was approaching.

“What on earth…?”

Yeom Soeul turned to look at Dang Mujin.

Just moments ago, Dang Mujin had been calmly observing the battle. But now, his eyes shone with a fierce light.

Yeom Soeul thought, “Those aren’t the eyes of a sane person. They’re the eyes of a madman, someone willing to risk everything.”

Dang Mujin raised his hands to shoulder height, palms facing the sky. At the same time, the thousand poisoned needles he had scattered above the master froze in mid-air.

The needles, bathed in the sunset, glowed red. It was a strange, beautiful, yet slightly eerie sight.

In a calm voice that belied his wild eyes, Dang Mujin murmured.

“Mancheon Hwa-u.”

A thousand needles whirled in a crimson storm. The sky filled with a dazzling display of steel petals, swirling brilliantly. It was as if a shower of red stars, a radiant galaxy, was descending upon the master.

Yeom Soeul watched, entranced. What could he call this? Too wondrous to be merely strange, too beautiful to be mere martial arts.

But the master wasn’t about to just stand there and take it.

He lifted his right foot and stepped down. It was a slow step, but heavier and deeper than any other.

Gunlimbo.

As the master’s heel touched the ground, an explosive wave of energy erupted, enveloping the surroundings.

The accumulated dust on the ground turned white in an instant, like a snowstorm blocking the red rain of flowers.

In the face of this surreal scene, Yeom Soeul raised his golden arm to shield his face and looked at Dang Mujin from afar. Dang Mujin seemed oblivious to the master’s presence, his hands moving intricately as he stared into the void.

As the snowstorm subsided, the figure of the cult leader emerged. He stood alone amidst the swirling snow and a shower of crimson petals, performing a sword dance that was both deceptively slow and lightning-fast, both weightless and heavy. It was the dance of a madman, wielding his sword with a frenzied grace.

With a single blade, the cult leader traced chaotic patterns in the air, shattering the formidable defenses of the Tang martial artist.

After a few moments, the cult leader’s dance came to a halt.

From all directions, poisoned darts flew towards him, some in quick succession, others with a slight delay. They aimed for his vital points, his hands, his feet. Yet not a single dart reached him.

A thousand darts lay scattered on the ground, each one snapped in half.

The cult leader, with a hint of admiration, spoke to the Tang martial artist.

“Impressive. Even I would struggle to replicate such a skill.”

The Tang martial artist, eyes bloodshot, looked at the cult leader and let out a dry laugh.

“I didn’t go through all that just to hear you say that.”

With those words, the Tang martial artist lost consciousness and collapsed.

The cult leader watched him for a moment, then turned his steps toward Tang Mujin. He felt it was right to eliminate him now, for the most dangerous person is not the strongest, but the one whose actions are unpredictable. However, before he could take more than a few steps, the Fire Lotus Priestess stood alone, blocking his path.

The cult leader spoke.

“It seems the head of the Tang clan was your last gambit. Why not accept defeat gracefully and withdraw?”

The Fire Lotus Priestess replied.

“I know we’ve lost. Even if the others don’t, I knew from the start we would.”

Then, with a smile, she raised her sword at the cult leader once more.

“But listen, young one. Not every defeat is the end.”