Chapter 175
Chapter 175. Nobles of the North Sea
The island where the North Sea Ice Palace was located resembled the crater of a volcano.
Cliffs surrounded it, so from afar, it looked almost like a black lotus blooming on the sea.
Someone had carved an entrance into the rocky walls encircling the island, and that gate led directly into the Ice Palace.
Unlike the natural fortress that the terrain provided, the walls surrounding the palace itself were rather low—barely the height of a grown man, closer to a fence than a fortification.
Once one passed through the cliffs, a single path led straight to the palace gates.
Once, only members of the Seven Seats of the North Sea were allowed to tread that road.
The people of the North Sea called it the Seven Path.
There were not many occasions when the Seven Path was used.
The palace only opened when the Seven Seats had each found their rightful masters, and whenever a seat was left vacant, the search for a successor continued through endless cultivation.
The Seven Seats would yield their entire lives until one among them achieved mastery over the Five Absolute Arts.
That was why so many legends surrounded the North Sea Ice Palace. The periods when its gates were closed lasted far longer than the days they were open, giving rise to countless myths.
What was strange was that even though the masters of the Ice Palace secluded themselves, no outsiders had ever invaded the island—at least, not until the Blood Demon appeared.
Whenever the island was endangered, the Ice Palace disciples who lived outside would climb the mountains and hang red cloths. When that happened, the palace gates opened, and the Seven Seats would strike down the intruders who dared to enter the North Sea.
That was when the Seven Path served its true purpose.
The one who stood at the forefront in the most perilous moments was always the strongest among them—the First Seat, the pride of the Ice Palace.
Thus, when the Three Clans who had lived under the protection of the palace themselves opened the gates and handed over the bloodline of the palace lord to the Blood Demon, the shock and betrayal the disciples suffered were beyond imagination.
The Three Clans of the North Sea knew that rage all too well.
For that reason, they feared more than anything that the surviving bloodline of the Ice Palace, who had escaped the Blood Sect, might one day return to the island.
An old man in silk robes, his bloodshot eyes wide with sleeplessness, asked in a trembling voice,
"... So you mean to say you found not a single ship?"
The middle-aged man bowing before him wore a similar garment—both the embroidered patterns on their silk and their facial features bore the same resemblance.
Sweating profusely, the man lowered his head.
"Yes, Father. It seems all of them sank."
Unable to compose himself, the old man bit at his fingernails. The grinding sound of his teeth filled the sealed chamber.
The son, unable to endure the suffocating tension, finally spoke.
"Please don't worry too much. Once the sun rises tomorrow, I'll request aid from the Han Clan and the Dong Clan to search the coastline."
"Foolish talk!"
The old man hurled the teacup on the table.
Crash!
The fine porcelain imported from the Central Plains shattered into worthless shards.
The son realized his father's temper was different from usual and closed his mouth at once.
"You don’t understand what you’re saying! If the Seven Seats have truly appeared, even rallying every force on the island wouldn’t make a difference—we wouldn’t last half a day against them!"
The Yan Clan Head cursed inwardly.
'Here we go again, with the Seven Seats nonsense.'
His father feared the Seven Seats more than anything in the world—so much so that he would foam at the mouth whenever the subject came up.
‘The Seven Seats isn’t some mutt’s name you can just toss around. You don’t forge such a title overnight—it must be those Ice Palace brats starving and running wild.’
While the son regarded his father's panic as pathetic, the old man suddenly leapt to his feet.
"T-this isn't the time to sit around! We must summon the Red Blood Hall Lord immediately! At dawn, gather the men and find a way to send a message to Jin Yin Mountain!"
The son, alarmed by his words, hastily spoke up.
"Father! They say the seats of the Seven Seats are not easily filled—how can you speak so certainly without proof? You're worrying too much! If you contact the Red Blood Hall Lord over something like this and anger him, what will you do?"
Thanks only to the Hall Lord's absence, they had been able to breathe in peace—yet his father now wanted to bring him back. Sweat poured down the Yan Clan Head like rain.
When the Red Blood Hall Lord lost his temper, it took three days just to clean up the corpses.
He surely knew that, yet the old man muttered as if he'd gone mad.
"You don't understand. The Ice Palace never strikes first. If they've made a move, it means the Seven Seats have acted. And if the Seven Seats have shown themselves..."
The old man's bloodshot eyes trembled violently.
"It means all Seven Seats have been filled."
The son swallowed a sigh.
He had never seen the Seven Seats himself—
But he had seen the bloodline of the Ice Palace.
The Blood Sect had once paraded them around, and before sending them to the Central Plains, they would often leave them in the hot springs run by the Yan Clan to be groomed.
Those barely-grown children had looked pitiful—beaten when struck, silent when mocked, enduring quietly when harassed.
To him, the Ice Palace bloodline was nothing more than a bunch of weak, neglected dogs.
So he couldn't understand his father's trembling fear.
As the old man muttered to himself, something seemed to strike his mind, and he suddenly stood.
"H-how long has it been since the ships left the harbor?!"
"They left around the hour of the rabbit (5-7 a.m.)—so in two more hours, a full day will have passed."
"What? Then doesn't that mean the sea's already frozen over?!"
"Yes, but it's fine. We can send armed men along the coast even without ships—"
"Y-you... you mad fool!"
The old man swept everything off the table.
"Ah! Father! I was wrong! Once the sun rises tomorrow, I'll go to the Dong and Han Clans and beg them to lend us their icebreakers! All our ships have sunk, so we can't sail now!"
The son fell to his knees, pleading.
The Three Clans of the North Sea took turns breaking the ice throughout the year, each handling a third of the seasons.
Though they could have borrowed a ship from another clan earlier, shame made it difficult to ask.
Just recently, when the Han Clan reported that one of their ships' prows had been damaged and suggested searching the island for intruders, they had ignored the warning.
The Yan Clan Head hadn't thought much of it.
After all, even a day without food made one's stomach ache—and they had already cut off the coastal food supply for months.
He believed the Ice Palace bloodline, unable to endure hunger, was simply thrashing in desperation to return to the island.
In truth, he even hoped a few might come crawling back on their own.
'If they do, all the better. We'll hand them over to the Red Blood Hall and enjoy some peace.'
But his father thought differently.
The Elder Patriarch came stomping down the stairs himself.
"Out of the way! I'll go to the Han Clan myself and tell them to launch a ship this instant!"
"F-Father, now is not the right time!"
When the old man lifted a flower vase from the corridor, the son raised his arms to protect his head. Though it hadn't even hit him yet, he screamed preemptively.
"W-wait! I heard news—someone from the Central Plains is coming!"
Realizing there was no blow, the son cautiously opened one eye.
The old man, surprisingly strong for his age, stood frozen, vase still raised.
The son quickly explained.
"Th-the merchants who brought grain from the Central Plains said so. The Murim Alliance has sent envoys to the North Sea Branch. The Central Plains can't find Extreme Ice Grass anywhere, so they sent members of the Four Directions Hall to seek medicines with Yin energy!"
"... You mean the Murim Alliance is sending people here?"
"Y-yes! They should be arriving any time now. The Han Clan heard the news first—they're already cleaning up the Ice Palace, placing servants to look like Central Plains nobles! Still, as you said, the situation is urgent, so I'll borrow the ships tomorrow."
"Why, of all people, would the Han Clan dare act as if they're the masters of the Ice Palace?"
Setting the vase down, the old man's face twisted in displeasure.
He feared the bloodline of the Ice Palace—yet he coveted the palace itself.
His son, who considered the Ice Palace worthless, found his father's greed utterly pitiful.
"Still, the Han Clan speaks the Central Plains tongue best, don't they? They've traded often with Hubei, so they're the ones most familiar with Murim Alliance culture..."
"I told you countless times to learn the Central Plains tongue properly! How could you let those Han bastards take the opportunity!"
"My apologies."
They had been forced to learn the Central Plains language to curry favor with the Blood Sect. To prove their usefulness was the only way to preserve their clan's status.
He knew well how the Murim martial artists who had once shared their culture and language with the Blood Sect had met their end, so he had always worked hard to prove his worth to those monsters.
The Central Plains was the place the Blood Demon coveted most.
He already held dominion over the Outer Regions, so it was only natural he'd set his sights on new lands to conquer.
Even so, the old man seemed to fear the Blood Demon more than the Seven Seats of the North Sea. He calmed himself quickly, straightened his garments, and let out a long breath.
"Let's head to the Ice Palace."
"... Right now?"
"If they're coming from the Murim Alliance headquarters, they'll surely bring valuable information. We can't let those Han bastards have it all to themselves."
"You don't mean for us to pretend to be Central Plains people, do you?"
The son had practiced speaking the Central Plains dialect ever since his father had berated him for not learning it properly—but it still came out awkwardly.
The old man clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"I've long since given up expecting anything from you!"
"My apologies."
"The Ice Palace isn't suited for hosting outsiders. I'll tell them that guests will be received at our Yan Clan estate instead. I'll visit the palace myself, while you prepare the hot springs to receive them."
The hot spring pavilions were luxurious, but they weren't inns—they were pleasure houses.
"F-Father, they say the Four Directions Hall Master is a woman."
The old man let out a long sigh, as if exasperated by his son's stupidity.
"Then what do you think we should do?"
"Hmm... Should we gather some good-looking male attendants, perhaps?"
The old man's face twisted with disgust.
"You fool! Must I spell out everything for you?!"
Cursing under his breath, the Elder Patriarch raised his hand as if to strike him, but instead stormed out.
What he meant was not to prepare courtesans. He had simply wanted his son to prepare things that would please Central Plains nobles—but the Yan Clan Head misunderstood completely.
"Anyone out there?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Find twenty presentable young attendants and bring them here. If we don't have enough, hire them from outside. They'll be sent to the hot springs, so make haste."
"Yes, I'll see to it immediately."
And while the Yan Clan Head busied himself causing trouble, the ice of the North Sea grew ever harder, sealing tighter than before.