"Isn''t he going to take the rank promotion test later?"Tae Yeom-ryong muttered indifferently.


    From the moment the sparring match began, he had been lounging around lazily.


    He chewed on a poppy pod, drawing sharp glances from the masters of Cheonjuji Gate, but he only smacked his lips nonchalantly, as if it was none of his concern.


    His shadowed eyes alternated between Jeong Yeon-shin''s condition and Shin So-bin’s techniques.


    "This is a duel with the lord''s health on the line. If he loses here, he''ll be buried underground—just like Ma Gwang-ik tradition dictates."


    Tae Yeom-ryong murmured in a tone of disgust.


    Standing next to him, Hyeon Won-chang couldn''t hide his surprise.


    "Shihwa Muguk Fist! That junior from the Shin family has honed his blade through rigorous training! The precision of his Stonewall Form… the speed at which he refines and extends his energy waves is leaps and bounds beyond what it used to be."


    "Ma Gwang-ik only takes on missions involving the upper echelons of Jianghu, but among the swordsmen of the world, even those in Ipwang Fortress’s White Rank rarely find an equal."


    "That much…?"


    "This land is vast, filled with lowly bandits and martial artists whose achievements barely scratch the surface. The warriors of Ipwang Fortress, sent on assassination missions to meet only select targets, can hardly grasp the true scale of it. Meanwhile, Jianghu wanderers gallop through the renowned scenic sites on horses rented from waystations."


    Tae Yeom-ryong spoke with an apathetic tone.


    Ever since donning his blue long robe, he had stopped addressing most of his comrades with honorifics.


    No one of the same rank imposed etiquette upon a young master swordsman gradually approaching death.


    The widely known Grand Prince of the Solar Divine Veins.


    Whenever he teetered on the brink of rampaging in a drunken or opium-induced haze, even the senior Blue Rank members took a step back first.


    Hyeon Won-chang glanced down at him before speaking.


    "The opponent isn''t some minor sect. This is Cheonjuji Gate, a prestigious school possessing one of the Five Great Jianghu Arts. Surely the Hwangbo Clan has done their research on Bowol Heavenly Technique."


    "The problem isn''t the martial art, but the martial artists. This backwater sect shuns outside influences—how much real combat have they experienced? Meanwhile, the White Qilin painted Shaanxi red with blood, all while chanting ‘Our Lord, Our Lord,’ as he went."


    "Lower your voice! There are plenty of people here with sharp ears…!"


    Hyeon Won-chang tightened his grip on Tae Yeom-ryong’s collar, warily eyeing their surroundings.


    At this moment, Cheongmyeong''s disciple had been bested by the White Qilin, Shin So-bin.


    Yet, the energy waves silently coiling through the valley remained undisturbed.


    Dozens of men and women perched elegantly on towering ancient trees, radiating their transparent internal energy without a change in expression.


    Cheonjuji Gate’s signature energy waves swayed like a gentle breeze, rustling the forest leaves into a soft, rhythmic dance.


    The dignified masters of this noble lineage exchanged glances or moved their lips slightly, seemingly discussing the martial arts they had just witnessed through transmitted speech.


    Meanwhile, the warriors from Cheonjuji Gate carried away the unconscious Jeong Nan-song.


    Soon after, their sect leader, Cheong Bohwa, spoke, her gaze shifting to Tae Yeom-ryong past Shin So-bin’s relaxed stance.


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