[Hah.]

Yoo Cheongil let out a helpless sigh after confirming the result of the bout.

[So he really has mastered Black Cloud.]

Black Cloud.

That martial art they called a black cloud. Yoo Cheongil was admiring it because he’d seen the Black-Grand Saber about to use it.

Back then I couldn’t tell what the hell it even was, and even now, after seeing it with my own eyes—

...I still didn’t know.

“I still don’t get it.”

I didn’t get it. Not what Black Cloud was, but how the hell what just happened even happened.

[The Blade God seemed lucky enough already, but I didn’t know his fortune ran this deep. It makes my stomach turn.]

Unlike me, Yoo Cheongil just kept spitting out admiration.

Was Black Cloud really that incredible?

I looked at him with a question in my eyes and asked,

“Is that martial art really that big a deal?”

[You’re asking if it’s a big deal?]

Yoo Cheongil gave a short, amused snort.

[It is. Do you know why the Peng Clan is called a tyrant-path martial house?]

“...Because they’re stupidly strong?”

[...No....... Uh...... Mm.]

Yoo Cheongil froze, going quiet.

He had the face of a man who couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

A tyrant-path martial house.

It sounded cool, but there was a more blunt way to put it.

Because they were stupidly strong.

If you wanted to sum up the Hebei Peng Clan, there was a phrase that fit perfectly.

They were strong—just stupidly strong.

They didn’t care what method the other side used. They crashed straight in.

There was no such thing as retreat, and with an overwhelming body and ferocious saber force at the front, they crushed their opponent down.

Pain, the enemy’s tactics—none of it mattered.

They fought by slamming their bodies into it.

A fighting style so violent it bordered on madness. That was why, after the Blade God died in the war, people called him a mad fiend and feared him.

In a clash with an Unorthodox master, he took a blow that would’ve sheared off half his arm—

—It didn’t come off, did it? Then we’re fine.

And he swung his martial art with that torn-open arm anyway.

That image had carved fear into people’s bones.

Stupid, and strong.

That was why the world talked about the Peng Clan the way it did.

[...No. Anyway....]

Yoo Cheongil couldn’t deny it, so he dodged. Even he seemed to think it was accurate.

[...Do you know that every martial art has a secret core?]

“Kind of.”

A secret core. Or the ultimate.

The power embedded inside a clan’s or sect’s martial arts.

More precisely, it was a branch of an internal art—people divided internal arts by whether their martial arts contained a secret core or not.

The Namgung Clan’s King’s Sword Forms and thunder energy, and the Thunder Armor derived from them, were part of that.

Every sect and clan among the Ten Great Sects and Five Great Clans had secret cores in their martial arts.

Only with a secret core did something get called an internal art.

Without it, it couldn’t be called one—so people clung to famous houses and great lineages like their lives depended on it.

Which meant...

“Black Cloud is a secret core?”

Was what Peng Dojun just used the Peng Clan’s secret core?

The question had barely formed when—

Wait. No.

A piece of remembered knowledge flashed through my head. I’d already finished studying and memorizing what I could about the Peng Clan.

And from what I remembered, the Peng Clan’s secret core wasn’t called Black Cloud.

“Ink Iron Defeat Saber.”

Ink Iron Defeat Saber.

The Peng Clan’s famous secret core. External and internal power trained to an extreme.

And mixed with it, the black hardened qi born from the Peng Clan’s internal art—so the Blade God could be stained pitch-black, and the form looked like ink being flung across empty air.

...But I’d never heard of a martial art called Black Cloud.

I didn’t know the martial art Yoo Cheongil had named.

Which meant—

It wasn’t publicly known.

Yeah.

Like Moon Heaven.

The secret core Yoo Cheongil claimed he’d refined within the Blue Moon Heart Art.

Was Black Cloud that kind of martial art—unknown to the world?

As if answering me, Yoo Cheongil spoke at once.

[That’s a martial art the Blade God created.]

“Ah.”

As expected.

I’d wondered how a secret core could exist without the world knowing about it.

...But if it was the Blade God’s.

The former Clan Head of the Peng Clan—known as a hero, already dead.

A secret core he left behind.

[He said it wasn’t finished, so he didn’t know if he could pass it down to his descendants. That annoying bastard—he’d already handed it over.]

The Blade God died during the Orthodox-Demonic War.

A long time ago.

If Peng Dojun was using it now, then the Blade God had left it behind inside the clan before he went.

[Gyeon burned his secret core and vanished because he refused to pass it on. This one’s the opposite.]

Yoo Cheongil compared him to the Poison Sovereign out of nowhere.

Well... yeah. That old man had {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} disappeared because he didn’t want to give up Myriad-Flowers Rain.

The Blade God, on the other hand, left his secret core behind in full—so Yoo Cheongil’s comparison wasn’t exactly unfair.

[He melted that bizarre thing into his body like it was his own. What a fascinating bastard.]

Still admiring Black Cloud.

Hearing that, I looked at Peng Dojun again.

He was still on the tournament stage.

He steadied his slightly ragged breathing and grinned right at me.

“.......”

Then—

“Senior Brother lost....”

Cheon Eujin muttered beside me, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“Yes.”

I answered while looking toward Do Hyeong. He was down, being moved on a stretcher. He was probably headed to the medical station.

I hesitated, considering whether I should head that way too—

“I’ll go. You should prepare for your bout, Young Lord Bang.”

Cheon Eujin moved first like it was nothing. The kid was injured and exhausted too, and he still just... went.

That’s when—

“Shame.”

A heavy voice hit my ear.

Peng Dojun had already come down, standing face-to-face with me.

“Originally, I should’ve kept it hidden a little longer.”

“...Was that your hidden card?”

“Aahaha.”

Peng Dojun laughed loud and free.

“Of course. You even knew that?”

“.......”

Of course, my ass.

I only guessed because Yoo Cheongil told me.

This bastard was misunderstanding something again.

“Originally, I was saving it for Sword Phoenix. Her. But...”

CRACK CRACK.

As the Black-Grand Saber shifted his body, a harsh sound came out of him.

DRIP. DRIP.

A wound opened somewhere—blood ran down. He looked like he should be in agony, but his expression didn’t even wobble.

“My mind changed. I wanted to use it on you no matter what—and even that’s gone sideways.”

“.......”

“Still, no regrets. That guy was worth it.”

He nodded, a crooked grin on his face, like he was acknowledging Do Hyeong.

“That place called the Blue Moon Sect. Not bad.”

[Wet-behind-the-ears little shit, trying to evaluate people. He’s exactly like his grandfather—no manners at all.]

Yoo Cheongil sounded annoyed, but unlike his words, the old man’s face was wearing the same kind of smile.

SWISH—!!

CLINK.

The Black-Grand Saber slid his saber into its scabbard.

“I’ll say this so you don’t end up feeling cheated—don’t get careless. You’ll regret it.”

“.......”

He was worried I’d get complacent just because I saw Black Cloud first.

What a joke.

If anything, I was full of alarms.

I didn’t know the principle.

I didn’t know the effect.

All I knew was black energy flooded everywhere—

—and then the space collapsed in an instant, and Do Hyeong dropped.

What kind of power was that?

I had no idea.

“Then... I’ll be looking forward to it.”

After that, the Black-Grand Saber brushed past me.

Blood dripped in his wake.

Meaning the wound Tang Cheon-il gave him last time was still there.

Maybe the real monster wasn’t Sword Phoenix.

Maybe the real monster was him.

As that thought crossed my mind—

—Next fighters, prepare!

My turn. The last bout of the day.

“Hoo....”

Black-Grand Saber, whatever.

Even what’s right in front of me is a problem.

I could lose here.

Jeong Cheol, was it?

A junior-generation martial artist from a pretty strong sect, if I remembered right.

There was plenty of known information: he used a spear, and despite how direct that weapon was, he fought with careful calculation.

I had the responses in my head.

But still—

Can I do this?

Worried, I stepped up onto the tournament stage—

“You’ve won.”

“...What?”

The referee declared my victory out of nowhere.

“...What the—”

We hadn’t even started. What victory?

I stared at him like he’d lost his mind, and the referee—wearing a face like he didn’t like it either—said,

“Your opponent forfeited.”

“...?”

“He said after seeing the fight the Black-Grand Saber showed, and the bout between Thunder Dragon and Young Hero... he can’t do it.”

“.......”

Which meant—

He got scared and ran.

A ridiculous win by forfeit.

*****

Far from Henan’s county seat, deep in a forest, a young man walked forward at a slow pace.

A twisted face, and killing intent leaking out in thick, creeping waves.

The aura was so vicious even the wild animals nearby bolted in fear.

Blood ran down from his bitten lip, like he was burning with rage.

He kept walking like that for a long while—

—and then someone appeared in front of him.

TAP—!

A figure in black martial clothes, face heavily covered.

And not just one.

More than ten of them appeared at once and dropped to their knees before him.

“We greet the Demon Cult’s Little Heaven.”

“We greet the Heaven—!”

Even with their echoing chant, the young man’s expression didn’t change.

If anything, his irritation deepened.

It couldn’t be helped.

They weren’t his subordinates.

“Where is he?”

At Baek Cheonin’s question, the one kneeling in front stood and answered.

“He is waiting inside.”

“...What?”

Strength poured into Baek Cheonin’s gaze.

In an instant, his eyes turned red, and his killing intent burst out like a dam breaking.

RRRRRUMBLE—!!!

“...!”

The man let out a muffled groan under the pressure.

“Waiting? For me?”

“Young Cult Leader...!”

“Instead of coming out to meet me himself, he’s sitting on his ass waiting?”

“Th-That is—!”

He tried to spit out an explanation, but Baek Cheonin’s hand was already moving.

Like he meant to rip the man’s throat out, a hand wrapped in monstrous killing intent shot forward—

—Enough.

HALT—!

WHOOOOSH—!!

With that voice, Baek Cheonin’s body went rigid.

He turned his head toward the darkness.

A darkness so deep you couldn’t see an inch ahead.

It felt like a shadow had fallen... but there was something artificial about it.

That was darkness someone had made.

It was ominous. Disgusting.

Baek Cheonin glared into it, and not long after—

STEP.

Footsteps sounded.

Slow. Leisurely, to an infuriating degree.

Soft steps drawing closer, closer—

—I had no intention of offending you. I offer my apology.

“.......”

Baek Cheonin looked at the owner of that revolting aura.

“You’d better explain yourself properly.”

He didn’t even try to hide the fury pouring out of him.

Red eye-light blazed, nauseatingly vivid.

But even at that, the figure’s pace didn’t change.

Seeing that only made Baek Cheonin’s aura surge higher.

“I won’t assume you stopped me for no reason. Unless you want to cut off your dealings with our cult. Isn’t that right?”

He growled the name at the man approaching.

“Heaven-Breaking Palace Lord.”

SSSS.

At Baek Cheonin’s words, the figure in front—

the Heaven-Breaking Palace Lord—

finally stopped and looked at Baek Cheonin from within the darkness.

“Kehehehe.”

A dry, withered laugh scraped out.

And the eye-light Baek Cheonin saw in that man’s eyes—

was shining strangely bright.

Blue.

Deep, deep blue.