Chapter 192 : Xinjiang
Xinjiang
Xinjiang Fortress was a land located very far from Hanyang Prefecture, where the Heavenly Martial Hall was.
Just looking at the distance traveled, it was no exaggeration to say it was almost twice as far as the regions he had shuttled between during previous missions.
Despite that, he had not borrowed a horse because he had that much confidence in himself.
Already, the speed of a single step pushing off the ground with the tip of his foot was difficult for ordinary eyes to even follow.
Even though it was a light use of lightness skill that barely took any strength, that was how fast he was.
The higher his level of martial arts became, the more tremendous the efficacy granted by internal energy. There simply seemed to be no end to it.
"They say that experts who've reached the peak even return their body to its youth."
It was called 'Returning to Youth and Rejuvenation'. Immortality was nothing more than a superstition, but doubling one's lifespan was a reality for martial artists.
That Divine Physician, said to have been the world's finest in the past, reportedly lived a hundred and fifty years.
"To live, you must not grow old."
Jeong-un believed that as he raced forward.
Was there such a thing as a good death?
As long as he didn't die by the sword, that was a good death.
As it was, if even a small thing went wrong in this battle, he could lose his life in an instant.
Having already suffered the humiliation of losing one arm, that bastard would no longer make ridiculous proposals, and that meant he would now do his utmost to sacrifice Jeong-un's life for his formation.
Whoosh—
The thick undergrowth deep in the mountains was pressed to the side in an instant.
It wasn't because something stepped on it.
It was because the ki wave created by an ultimate use of the lightness skill stirred up a sudden gale.
Soon, as if nothing had happened, the vegetation stood upright again—proof of the feat.
Not even the leaves he trampled showed a trace of damage. He had reached the pinnacle of Grass-Stepping Flight.
Jeong-un had been running like this for several days now.
Rest was simply closing his eyes on a tree branch for a short time after dusk.
In any case, this was a path no human would take: he was sprinting in a straight line, crossing mountains all the way to Xinjiang.
At times, he sensed presences along the way.
Still, he ignored them and ran past. He had no leisure to pay mind to each one now.
All that replayed in his head was facing that man again.
Clink.
The black sword at his waist clattered as he sprinted, swinging to and fro.
The familiar weight, felt for the first time in a while, was oddly welcome.
"Is there anything else to prepare?"
This would do. Mumbling so, before he knew it, he had arrived at Xinjiang Fortress.
* * *
Hami.
A village situated at the gateway where the Great Ming met the Western Regions.
Meltwater from the eternal snows of the nearby eastern side of Mount Tian formed a lake and created fertile land, upon which this large village had grown.
It was originally a place where the Great Ming's troops had been stationed at all times.
The imperial clan had conferred a government post to the local ruler long ago, to administer the area, but as military strength weakened, it had become a hollow formality.
In fact, even that power further declined, and now it was an entirely freewheeling place.
Rumor had it that when a group of martial artists showed up and started interfering, it became this way.
That was all Jeong-un had learned since arriving here.
"Here's your thin noodles!"
The servant briskly placed a shallow dish on the table and hurriedly turned away.
Without even glancing at Jeong-un, who quietly nodded. The mood was oddly different from a typical guesthouse in the Central Plains.
The other patrons seated nearby were the same. They talked loudly, showing no sign of being conscious of their surroundings.
Almost all of them wore some sort of weapon at their waists.
Jeong-un was observing these details to gauge the public order of this place.
"Damn it, what sort of damn war is this supposed to be?"
"Do you need to ask? It's that time again. This isn't the first time the people from the borders have harassed us who just want to live quietly."
"But isn't there something strange about this? Why are groups of jianghu people gathering here, not the government troops?"
"Hmph, maybe they're short-handed. Thanks to the drought, crops failed. They're branding us as the Demonic Cult and looking to squeeze whatever they can out of us. Enough, pour another drink. Can't you see the flies swarming on my bone-dry empty cup?"
Jeong-un sat quietly, eyes on his thin noodles, ears open to all the talk around him.
Of course, not all of it was the truth.
Some even dismissed the idea that the Demonic Cult's stronghold was in their midst as mere nonsense.
"Maybe it's because this place is so far from the Central Plains."
But in Jeong-un's eyes, the words of the Demonic Cult Leader had not been idle talk.
Somewhere in the eastern part of these mountains, surely, was their stronghold. The man would be waiting for him there.
"He can't just search the entire mountain range recklessly."
The Tian Mountain of Xinjiang, true to its name, was incredibly high.
Its peaks soared as if to pierce the sky, and it stretched east to west—a vast mountain range.
Of course, if one searched the mountains thoroughly without regard for time, it would eventually be found.
But Jeong-un didn't have that time to waste.
Before long, the orthodox alliance was scheduled to converge here.
Though the locals seemed unconcerned, a truly large war was coming.
They would have brought all their elite forces, so the Murim Alliance would quickly pinpoint the stronghold here in Xinjiang and begin a search, and a major battle would surely erupt at once.
What Jeong-un aimed for was the split-second when battle broke out.
The moment both sides' attention centered on the battlefield, he would plunge deep into their stronghold.
His goal was to cut down the Demonic Cult Leader, take his head, and end the war swiftly.
"......"
Jeong-un glanced at the weapons worn by those around him.
Even people who didn't have an ounce of internal energy in their bodies wore a sword at their waist.
Not all of them could be martial artists or government soldiers, but compared to the Central Plains, it was certainly peculiar.
"No, calling them martial artists is wrong. This isn't even the Central Plains."
Thinking that, he calmly raised some noodles with his chopsticks and brought them to his mouth.
It was a perfectly ordinary gesture. Some glanced his way, seeing him eat quietly alone, but soon looked away with uninterested expressions.
This was a trade route connecting the West with the Great Ming.
A young man sitting alone with a sword—normally people might stare, but here, no one paid him much mind.
All the more so since he wore a brown bamboo hat pulled down low. There was nothing about his appearance worth staring at.
More importantly, this region was not under the direct control of the Great Ming.
The imperial clan had bestowed the title "Duke of Loyalty and Obedience" on the local ruler, to keep him beneath their feet.
Given the area's distance from the Central Plains but also its accessibility for mobilizing forces if necessary, conferring a title was just a convenient measure.
Jeong-un saw that as a strong geographical advantage for the place.
If someone did seize hold of this region, it would be the perfect base to quietly amass power, free from interference from the Central Plains.
Seeing it himself, he understood. If he were an unorthodox villain hiding his identity, there could be no better place to put down roots.
Just then—
"Oh, you have arrived, sir!"
The servant, who had placed the noodles in front of Jeong-un without a glance, now bowed hastily.
The once-rowdy guesthouse fell silent at once.
As if prearranged, everyone lowered their gaze. One couldn't even hear the clink of utensils anymore.
"Lead him to the best seat."
"Yes, yes. This way, sir."
Judging by the servant's reaction, it didn't seem to be a prearranged visit.
Face filled with fear, the servant couldn't meet the man's eyes as he led him to a corner of the guesthouse.
Seated by the window, Jeong-un quietly watched the scene.
"... How absurd."
He had only entered the biggest guesthouse he saw since coming here. It wasn't because anything in particular had seemed off.
As Baek Il-gang had once advised, he was just trying to get a quick read on the local atmosphere.
It hadn't taken long to overhear bits and pieces of conversation thanks to that.
Should he call himself lucky? Jeong-un suppressed a hollow laugh. He felt a familiar energy from the man who had just entered.
That unique, sinister aura of the Demonic Cult.
"So that's what it is."
A servant who'd been indifferent even to a young man with a sword was now stammering from awe of this man's identity.
The noisy crowd, uncaring of looks before, instantly fell silent.
The implication was clear.
He couldn't help but recall the group of martial artists said to have stretched their influence to the local nobility here.
"They're truly skilled at hiding their true colors."
To overtake a region's ruling class, their name ought to be known even in the wider jianghu.
Yet not only in the martial world—even the villagers here simply referred to them as a group of martial artists. Their true identity hadn't been revealed.
And this was all just at the sight of them.
In this rough town, even those who hadn't learned martial arts carried swords.
If all of them averted their eyes and went silent, it meant the takeover was near complete.
Some series of events must have taken place.
"They must be the ones."
The sinister energy unique to the Demonic Cult pressed upon his skin with a whoosh.
They had disguised their presence well again, but Jeong-un's keen sensitivity made it obvious.
Not even the Demonic Cult Leader had ever deceived him.
If those who seized a stronghold somewhere in Mount Tian were manipulating this nearby region from the shadows, it all fit.
They were likely using Hami to build a base and expand their strength.
"The question is—just what is this man's status?"
There were three of them. One in silk clothes, two more seeming to act as guards.
Judging by their appearance, the first looked like some noble's young master.
Perhaps the local aristocrats had received martial arts instruction from the Demonic Cult.
Careful not to lift his head, Jeong-un watched them with his eyes alone. He wanted to learn a bit more before acting.
If he attacked now, there'd be no chance for a proper interrogation. Worse, it would only arouse suspicion in the stronghold.
So, with a calm look, he stood and fished a few coins from his robe, placing them on the table.
More than enough to pay for the noodles.
Several others, having caught on, quietly slipped out of the guesthouse. Jeong-un blended into the crowd and headed outside.
"Let's not overthink this."
He intended to wait outside and act as soon as they emerged. There was no need for an elaborate plan.
All he needed was to rough up the ones stationed here and learn the location of the main headquarters in Mount Tian.
Some time passed thus.
At last, he saw them exit through the entrance.
Jeong-un, who had been sitting atop the roof of the building opposite, tracked them with his eyes.
Without moving his body, he gazed steadily at their backs. When they turned and entered a remote alley,
At last, Jeong-un's body's form disappeared.