At dawn on the day the One-Branch Gathering opened,

nothing was different.

As always, before first light Soyak rose and, in the dim practice ground of the Third-Generation Hall, faced Cheonjeong.

“Let’s call it off for today.”

“...Yes.”

But Soyak drew her sword.

Before Cheonjeong’s tilted head, she took it in a straight grip and raised it.

A plum branch shaking in a snowstorm.

It was the banner-form of the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.

“...Soyak.”

“Please watch me, Head Senior.”

Her toes slowly swept the ground, tracing a circle.

The black qilin curled in her dantian lifted its body.

Inner power coursed along her meridians—an unprecedented force.

Along the blade ran a low cry; the sword’s voice rang and fell still.

At the stillness, what bloomed was light.

Sword Light.

For his sake, Cheon Soyak willingly unfolded the first three forms of the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.

And at nearly a third the normal speed.

Even so, the flow of qi stirring on all sides was cold and sunken.

As if time itself had been wound down, even hems and hair stirred sluggishly in the air.

Only once.

Just once, but Cheonjeong could not forget that sight.

The shining tip traced a perfect arc.

Her mournful eyes looked far into the black distance.

An instant pressed forward like eternity, and eternity passed like an instant.

For the first time, Cheonjeong thought martial arts were beautiful.

What those small hands gripped was a weapon that pierces the human heart.

A monstrosity forged as a tool for killing.

And yet gooseflesh rose over every inch of skin.

When all of it ended, Cheonjeong could no longer take his eyes off Soyak.

Even the way she lowered the halted blade and slid it back into the scabbard.

“Head Senior?”

A small, delicate voice struck his awareness like a hammer.

Only then did Cheonjeong come to himself.

“...Yes.”

“I went slowly for Head Senior’s sake. So please remember it well, and win.”

“Thank... you.”

Soon, the sun showed a pale face over the ridgeline.

The black sky faded back into a cold indigo.

When the red sunlight filled the eastern half, the morning of the Third-Generation Hall began as well.

Rustling, the sound of clothes pulled on in a hurry, steps along the corridor...

But only today, the current of gravitas was different.

****

CRACK.

SNAP.

CRRRAACK.

The sound of bones breaking and twisting.

The maid waiting outside the door had to clap a hand over her mouth.

At the Transformation Realm, rebirth and renewal occur naturally.

Here it was being forcibly induced by external means.

Even then it fell short of true rebirth and renewal and had to be repeated at intervals...

Hair-Cutting and Marrow-Washing was, without question, the greatest “benefit” a young martial artist could receive.

Only—one had to endure the pain of remolding flesh and bone.

Cheonju’s arms and legs bent; his muscles were crushed and spasmed.

His master, Eun Byeok, sat quietly on his knees and watched.

The one performing it was Myungjeok.

First-Generation Senior, foremost among the Great Mount Hua Sect’s seniors and a leading candidate for the next Sect Leader.

Also called the Plum Blossom Sword Lord—Eun Byeok’s master and the grandmaster to Cheonju and Cheonhwa.

Light gathered at the tips of the fingers enacting Hair-Cutting and Marrow-Washing.

He was performing, by hand, what belonged to the realm of Sword Light.

A marvel possible only because, at the end of Transcendent Apex, he stood before the wall of Transformation.

But Cheonhwa was terrified.

She trembled as she watched Cheonju, unable even to scream.

Lips gone blue, eyelids twitching as she failed to endure the pain...

Because that was the horrific future about to befall her.

While all kept silent, the Hair-Cutting and Marrow-Washing soon ended.

At the same time Myungjeok’s fingers withdrew, Cheonju slammed his forehead to the floor.

Only then did he begin to vomit out the screams he had been holding down.

“Ugh—AAAGH—HAA—AGH, AGH, AGH—GRAAAH!”

He was the senior who had been as mischievous as she.

The senior who always smiled and comforted her.

But none of that was there now.

He pressed his head to the floor and writhed, convulsing in pain...

In the end, foam gathered at his lips and his body went limp.

“Come here.”

Today was not even the appointed day for Hair-Cutting and Marrow-Washing.

Once a month should have sufficed.

But it was the day the One-Branch Gathering began.

So Eun Byeok bowed and begged his own master, Myungjeok.

Myungjeok consented.

He was the Sect Leader’s disciple, and Eun Byeok was his disciple, and those two were his great-grand-disciples.

Cheonhwa and Cheonju had to cut down all Third Generation and reign at the summit.

The Sect Leader’s seat had been obtained after Elder Jeonggang’s passing.

It was not wrong, and yet the lords of the martial world mocked that Sect Leader Jeongyang was a step below Jeonggang.

Even learning the Sect Leader-only art—the Purple Mist Divine Sword—which even Jeonggang himself had not learned, changed nothing.

He could endure up to there.

But when Eunsong brought in Cheongak...

When all mouths agreed he was Mount Hua’s prodigy and most praised talent—

Rumor spread in the world.

That the Sect Leader and his disciples even lacked the eye for disciples compared to Jeonggang and his disciples.

Sect Leader Jeongyang and Senior Myungjeok lost their reason.

Jeongyang sent a secret directive, ordering every branch family across the Central Plains:

Find the child with the finest qualities.

And by any means necessary, bring them.

That was the shadow of this Great Mount Hua Sect.

A dark secret.

“Didn’t I tell you to come here!”

The fell shout dropped like a blow.

Cheonhwa staggered forward at last.

A massive hand seized her wrist and twisted.

And then—

A pain one never grows used to.

There was only pain.

****

The Red-Tile Pavilion.

A place only the Great Mount Hua Sect’s leader may enter.

Jeongyang sat at a table carved from yew into the shape of a plum tree.

What he looked at was the sacred relic across the table.

The Sky-Night Searing Sword, permitted by tradition only to the Sect Leader of the Great Mount Hua Sect.

A sword that sears the night sky.

The Sect Leader-only Purple Mist Divine Power signifies the afterglow.

The afterglow is the last sunlight that sets the sky aflame.

The sacred relic that receives and amplifies that intense yang energy was precisely the Sky-Night Searing Sword.

“...Why will you not draw.”

Because he was not the heir to the Great Radiant Ten-Thousand-Plum Sword?

No.

It had been exquisitely exacting from the start.

Since the Great Patriarch of Mount Hua, only one had understood, learned, and used it.

A man three hundred years past.

Only the Mount Hua Sword Patriarch—born with the Heaven-Forged Body.

But every Sect Leader of Mount Hua through the generations, without exception, had drawn and wielded the Sky-Night Searing Sword.

Only he alone—

Only the current Sect Leader, Elder Jeongyang—could not pull it from its scabbard.

“Presumptuous trinket.”

With a gesture, Jeongyang shut the open cabinet doors.

It was the subtle art of drawing things through the air.

Rising from his seat, he took another Sky-Night Searing Sword from a wooden rack and fastened it at his waist.

It was a replica.

So precise the eye alone could not tell.

Knock, knock, knock.

Soon a disciple outside the door knocked.

“Everyone has gathered, Sect Leader.”

It meant every Third Generation participant in the One-Branch Gathering had arrived.

Instead of answering, Jeongyang opened the Red-Tile Pavilion’s doors.

Tents packed tight ringed the vast practice ground of the Red-Tile Pavilion.

“Have you all gathered.”

An offhand remark, but inner power rode his voice.

Contrary to the low, even tone, the sound filled the entire ground.

The First Generation seniors bowed their heads.

The Second and Third Generations had been prostrate even before the doors opened.

It was solemn.

No trumpets, no gongs.

Only those seated in the outermost tents did not bow.

They were representatives of other sects and of great merchant houses.

“Lords of the martial world, comrades, and merchant houses who support the Central Plains: I can only be grateful that you have come so far over difficult roads to see our insignificant young disciples of Mount Hua.”

His diction, contrary to the content, was arrogant.

A deep, weighty voice as if he looked down upon the world.

In perfect silence without a note of music, only his voice was heard.

“From of old, the One-Branch Gathering has been the place to choose, from among Mount Hua’s young disciples, those pillars who will support the future. To the one most like the main beam among them, we confer this Purple Firmament Pellet...”

He drew something from his robe.

In his aged grasp was a violet box.

When he opened it, an elixir like gathered plum petals showed itself.

A pure fragrance swept the assembly for a moment.

“Ohh, that is...”

“An elixir said to rival Shaolin’s Great Rejuvenation Pill.”

“The Purple Firmament Pellet...!”

Mount Hua was a great sect.

A place that moved by drawing in overwhelming capital.

And yet only twelve of these were produced in a year.

That was precisely this Purple Firmament Pellet.

“Raise your heads.”

At Jeongyang’s single word, all raised their heads.

All of them stared at the pellet in his hand.

Everyone but one.

Everyone but Cheon Soyak.

Her black eyes were looking into Jeongyang’s eyes.

— ...Amusing. Do you intend to pretend you are without desire.

A transmitted voice.

A secret art used only by those who had reached Transcendent Apex.

Naturally, no answer returned.

Yet her gaze did not quiver either.

“This One-Branch Gathering, too, will follow tradition, and this Purple Firmament Pellet will be bestowed as the victor’s prize. Third Generation disciples, spare nothing and show your gifts, and prove that you yourselves are Mount Hua’s main beam. That is all.”

Chapter 16

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