The man was perceptive.

He instinctively understood that when Hwa Munyeom said “the one who comes out of here,” he meant Seol Unhwi.

“...It seems you hold that man, Seol Unhwi, in high regard.”

“I don’t hold him in high regard,” Hwa Munyeom replied evenly. “You—and many others—simply underrate him.”

“......”

“Watch carefully. It won’t happen, but if by some miracle the two of them come out together, do not intervene. Observe the outcome to the end.”

“...Understood.”

“Then go.”

As Hwa Munyeom turned to leave, the man asked,

“Will you not report this to the Lord?”

“Should I?”

“......”

“This much can be handled on our own. Reporting it will only invite needless trouble.”

The man swallowed hard.

“...You’re not thinking of escalating the board, are you?”

“N-no, sir. I misspoke.”

Hwa Munyeom’s eyes narrowed.

“Even if I don’t report it, he already knows.”

“...Yes, sir.”

Hwa Munyeom nodded once, then vanished from sight.

The instant Unhwi crossed the threshold of the Secret Realm, he stepped into another world entirely.

Crimson light bathed everything around him.

The walls looked as if blood had poured down their surface, and the fires burning in every direction drove the temperature sharply upward.

The ceiling soared high above, supported by massive pillars that loomed out of the gloom. Each pillar was carved with the sigils of the Thousand-Year Demon Cult—coiling dragons and serpents, inverted taegeuk marks, and between them, letters scrawled in blood-red: Hall of Bloodflame.

He released his qi.

No presence. Not a breath of life. It seemed Jang Icheong had already advanced to the next gate.

As Unhwi stood there, lost briefly in thought—

KRRAAA-BOOM!

The ground erupted where his foot had just touched, a crimson spear of pure fire shooting upward.

He tilted his head; the spear sliced past his cheek.

That was only the signal.

Tuk, tuk-tuk, tuk.

From the walls, volleys of black needles burst forth—hundreds of them, each as long as a finger, shrieking through the air toward him.

Unhwi inclined his head slightly, stepped back once, and turned his body with fluid precision.

The storm of needles only grazed the tips of his hair and brushed the hem of his robe.

A perilous instant—but his expression did not change. He immediately sprang backward.

Exactly five jang of distance.

He glanced over his shoulder: more than ten flame-spears and countless needles scorched the ground where he’d stood moments before.

Then came a grinding roar from above.

A massive slab of granite, as large as a man, plunged from the ceiling toward him.

Unhwi stepped forward once—

Crash!

The boulder slammed down just behind him, shaking the entire hall. Unhwi continued walking as though nothing had happened.

Whip! Whip! Whip!

This time, arrows shot from both walls at once—arrows tipped with a shimmering black gleam.

He could tell their nature immediately.

This was the Bone-Melting Qi-Dissolving Poison—a mixture of San Gong Poison and Hwagol Powder, a trademark of the Thousand-Year Demon Cult.

The smell alone gave it away, as did the way the arrows melted into the walls on impact.

A single scratch would end one’s expedition here. To encounter such a toxin so early meant only one thing:

If you couldn’t handle this much, you weren’t worthy to go deeper.

Unhwi swept his hair back, eyes flashing.

Dozens of arrows crossed paths in midair, converging on him.

His hand touched his sword’s hilt.

Shrring.

The moment the blade left its sheath, a blast of freezing air surged outward.

Absolute Ice Ghost Blade.

Chzzzzkkk!

The arrows froze midair, every last one—then the fifty that followed were caught in the swirling current of cold and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Unhwi moved forward again.

After five steps—

Rrrumble.

The floor split beneath him, yawning open into a pit that seemed to have no bottom. Its inner walls bristled with razor-sharp spikes.

He looked up.

Mist was spreading through the chamber—clearly demonic miasma.

How laughable.

The design of a Secret Realm revealed its creator’s nature, just as one could read an opponent’s temperament from his first move on the board.

Even now, it was obvious:

The next gate lay below.

He was meant to fall.

Unhwi didn’t hesitate.

He leapt.

The spikes lunged upward like living things, and a new storm of needles rained down from every direction.

He twisted midair, planting a foot on the side of a spike to propel himself forward.

His speed surged; not a single dart touched him.

He spun once in midair, landed softly—

Tak.

A human landing, yet light as a feather—no sound at all.

Before him loomed a massive iron gate, and in front of it stood a stone stele and a single glass bottle.

He read the inscription.

***

I do not know who you are. But what you faced to reach this place is nothing compared to what awaits beyond.

Inevitably, you will die.

So I grant you a choice.

Within this glass vessel lies the pure, unrefined Bone-Melting Qi-Dissolving Poison.

If you have not reached the Realm of Martial Divinity, drink it now. The pain will be great, but it will not match what lies beyond.

If you believe you can endure, proceed through the gate.

***

He found himself wondering.

Who had built this Secret Realm?

And what reward could possibly lie within?

Without the slightest hesitation, Unhwi pushed the iron gate open.

Darkness swallowed everything.

He was about to step forward—then paused, turned back, and picked up the glass bottle.

He wasn’t fond of poison, but this was unrefined Bone-Melting Qi-Dissolving Poison—potent enough to kill even a master of the Heaven-Earth Apex.

All the more reason to keep it.

Tucking it away, Unhwi stepped into the darkness.

***

At that same moment, far away in Seongjak Province, vast change was unfolding.

The Ihwa Union, the mighty alliance Jang Icheong had built, was finally revealing its true purpose—

—to annihilate the Seongjak Union that ruled the province.

The preparations had been underway for half a month.

In Bogae County, ruled by the Heaven-Sound Sword Sect, dozens of mid-tier sects—Bright Moon Dojang, Iron Blood Hall, Black Tortoise Band, Long Moon Gate, and more—had already mobilized.

They obeyed the orders of Jin So-cheon, the county’s Heavenly Commander, without hesitation.

Juksan County, held by the Azure Cloud Sword Sect, was the same—only larger in scale.

Its fertile plains and thriving commerce provided immense wealth.

Hang Ryeo of the Azure Cloud Sect mobilized every armed group under his reach—Silver Moon Palace, Autumn Wind Sword Pavilion, White Cloud Hall—over two hundred fighters in total.

And the Heaven Demon Spirit Sect, one of the outer branches of the Sima Clan, had joined as well.

They clearly saw this as an opportunity.

Ten sects under So Ryeong-hwa of the Soul Flame Territory had been mobilized, even their own Heaven Demon martial artists joining the campaign.

Three Heavenly Commanders—each bringing their own troops and the forces of their respective domains—had gathered seven hundred warriors in all.

In the history of the murim, such a grand alliance had rarely moved at once.

Their objective: the total eradication of the Seongjak Union.

At the coastal border where Seongjak met the Celestial Sea lay Cheongpa Port—a bustling harbor city of trade and fishing, its vast docks and maze of warehouses linked by narrow, twisting alleys.

There, the warriors of the Seongjak Union stood in formation, grim-faced.

Only two hundred strong.

After the recent purges, two sects had been destroyed and many masters executed—this was all they could muster.

Even adding thirty elite fighters from the Cheonrak Division, they barely reached two hundred thirty.

It was hopeless.

Their enemies outnumbered them nearly three to one.

“...This isn’t going to work...”

One martial artist muttered, despair on his face.

“We can’t possibly hold ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ against that many.”

“Even if Lord Pung is at the Divine Transformation Stage—how can he stand against those numbers...?”

“Silence.”

It was Pung Muhwi.

A Divine Transformation master—the man who had taken the Green King’s head—radiating overwhelming pressure.

Behind him stood the Cheonrak elites, every one of them bearing the eyes of those who had already accepted death.

Pung Muhwi spoke slowly.

“Numbers don’t matter.”

“......”

“What matters is why we fight.”

His gaze turned toward the far horizon, toward the direction in which Unhwi had vanished.

“We have something worth protecting. And this land—belongs to us.”

The warriors looked up at him.

“Do not think of defeat. To fight for the honor of a martial artist—that alone gives this battle meaning.”

He drew his sword.

“I will take the lead. Follow behind me.”

All voices thundered as one.

““By your command!””

Three figures observed them from afar—Jin So-cheon, Hang Ryeo, and So Ryeong-hwa, all members of the Ihwa Union and Jang Icheong’s allies.

None of them doubted victory.

After all, they had three Divine Transformation masters on their side.

Losing would be absurd.

“...By the way,” Jin So-cheon murmured,

“Where’s Hwa Muryeong?”

Hang Ryeo frowned.

“Good question.”