Shadow Stand
"Haahhh! So this is the air of the mundane world! Fragrant beyond compare! Khahaha!"
Yuk Jangwon, once a warrior of the Eleventh Squadron of the Flying Dragon Unit, drew a deep breath and burst into hearty laughter.
Though he had not yet even left Yunnan Province, and the dense jungle paths were the same as always, everything felt strangely new to him.
All because he had left the Flying Dragon Unit.
And not just on leave—he was fully discharged.
He had survived five years of service and was now leaving the unit for good.
Of course, there were those who, after five years, chose to serve again at the frontlines.
But Yuk Jangwon had no intention of living like them.
Most of them were madmen obsessed with sect vengeance, like the disciples of Jeomchang Sect.
Shaking his head, Yuk Jangwon muttered:
"That's pure madness. Complete madness."
To endure another five years in that hellish place—full of death, with no fame to gain—what lunacy was that?
If he had made any mistake in his life, it was volunteering for the Flying Dragon Unit out of naïve chivalry. And if he had done anything right, it was surviving those five years and leaving alive.
Of course, he had not left entirely empty-handed.
When he had entered the front, he was in his early thirties, a second-rate warrior. Now, in his mid-to-late thirties, he was emerging as a top first-rate warrior.
With the right elixir to push his internal energy past the final threshold, he could even aim for the supreme realm.
The Eleventh Squadron's chief, already supreme, had assured him that he was but a single step away from crossing over himself. So there could be no doubt.
Now the path before him could only be a road of blossoms.
'If I push a little further and become a supreme master, I'll seize some remote territory and rule as its absolute lord.'
He would grasp wealth and fame, marry, and reclaim the five years he had lost—plus interest.
Such was his firm resolve.
Just then—
Fwish!
His ears caught the faint tearing of air.
A concealed weapon.
"Haap!"
Tap-tap!
Yuk Jangwon, carefree moments ago, suddenly leapt and evaded the strike with ease.
His sharp eyes scanned the direction and surroundings from which the weapon had flown.
Fwish! Fwish!
Another volley followed, striking where he had landed.
But that hesitation had been a feint—he accelerated, circling through the trees toward the source of the attack.
Judging by the speed of the projectiles, the opponent was at least high first-rate. Perhaps even his equal: a top first-rate.
But it didn't matter.
If they weren't supreme, he would not lose.
Why he was being attacked was a question for later.
Fwish! Ting! Ting!
Darting through the forest, dodging and deflecting, he quickly closed the distance. From behind a tree, he suddenly tossed his outer robe.
Thwip-thwip-thwip!
Dozens of hidden weapons pierced the robe.
A ruse to disrupt the enemy's focus.
The masked man in black realized too late it was only clothing.
He spun around, wary of where Yuk Jangwon might emerge.
But the attack came from where he least expected.
Whoosh!
While out of sight, Yuk Jangwon had scaled the tree and now pounced from above.
"!"
The masked man looked up in shock.
Too late.
All he saw was Yuk Jangwon's confident grin and the downward slash of his blade.
"Haap!"
Shaaak!
Yuk Jangwon had no doubt of victory.
Even if the opponent matched him in realm, there was no contest against one who had survived countless brushes with death.
He planned to hack off an arm, then interrogate him.
But then—
From the shadow at the masked man's feet, another figure suddenly burst forth.
An ambush completely beyond expectation.
"Guh?!"
Yuk Jangwon's eyes bulged.
But he was a veteran who had endured five years at the front.
Having seen the blue gleam of sword energy—sword qi—he twisted his body to dodge.
The assailant was supreme.
Shaaak!
"Guhhh!"
His desperate turn saved him from being cleaved in two. But his blocking blade and one arm were severed all the same.
Even so, he coolly assessed.
To cut through his blade infused with saber force and his arm at once—this was no ordinary supreme beginner.
This was at least someone with seventy years of internal energy.
Rolling on the ground in agony, Yuk Jangwon knew victory was impossible.
Escape was his only hope.
But as he rolled and prepared to dash into the forest, he froze.
Rustle—
Masked figures emerged from all directions.
Eight of them.
The fact that so many had hidden without his notice sent chills down his spine.
Behind him, the supreme masked man who had severed his arm strolled forward at leisure.
Grinding his teeth, Yuk Jangwon searched desperately for an escape route.
None.
Checkmate.
A hollow laugh escaped him.
He had braced for death ever since five years ago, but to die here, just as he was about to begin living anew…
Sensing the end, he glared at the masked man and demanded:
"Are you lackeys of the Blood Sect?!"
The man paused, then looked at him with strangely heavy eyes.
He sighed.
"You've endured much."
Endured much?
The reply stunned Yuk Jangwon.
So they weren't Blood Sect lackeys?
Then who…?
A face flashed in his mind—an older comrade, discharged before him, who had sworn to visit once he settled outside.
But he never had.
Yuk Jangwon had dismissed him as a man without loyalty.
But could this be the reason?
Eyes wide, Yuk Jangwon shouted:
"Don't tell me—you're of the Alliance…?!"
In that instant, the masked man's sword qi sliced across his throat.
Shaaak!
A sharp line opened on his neck, and blood spurted like a blade.
Psshhhhh!
Yuk Jangwon's consciousness faded away.
The masked man who ended his life, Sak Muhun—captain of the Fourth Squad of the Martial Alliance's Shadow Corps—silently prayed for his soul.
'It would have been better had you never left the front.'
Yuk Jangwon died simply because he was a wandering warrior without sect affiliation.
If a warrior belonging to a Martial Alliance sect violated the secret oath, the Alliance would exterminate the entire sect.
Thus, sect-affiliated warriors had no choice but to keep the oath—for the survival of their sect, if nothing else.
In fact, they often went further, betraying other sects that violated the oath, since they could inherit the fallen sect's interests.
But unaffiliated warriors like Yuk Jangwon, or those from unorthodox sects, could not be trusted to keep the secret.
So the Alliance had decided to root them out entirely, cutting the weed at its root.
It was a deed so insidious that it was hard to believe it came from the Martial Alliance, the pillar of the orthodox path.
Sak Muhun had entered the Alliance in his late twenties. For nine years now, he had repeated this same grim task.
Even after so long, he could neither grow accustomed to nor understand assassinating orthodox warriors who had held back the Blood Sect at the front.
This was not why he had joined the Alliance.
But he had no choice.
For warriors of humble origins, not disciples of great sects, serving ten years in the Shadow Corps was mandatory before they could stand proudly as full warriors of the Alliance.
His only solace was that with one year left, he would soon be free to return honorably.
When he turned, he saw his squadmates mocking the new recruit who had just bungled his ambush.
"What's that? You said you could handle a top first-rate alone? Looked more like you were the one handled."
"Didn't we tell you not to underestimate veterans of the front, you fool?"
It was common for new recruits to brim with overconfidence.
Having the skill to join the Martial Alliance at all, they often looked down on the frontline survivors.
So, it had become tradition in the Shadow Corps to make new recruits ambush discharged veterans alone—to humble them and give them firsthand experience.
Sak Muhun watched his squad tease the recruit, then glanced upward.
A messenger hawk descended from the sky.
He read the letter it bore, his face turning grim.
"Another veteran?" one squad member asked. "There have been a lot this month."
But Sak Muhun shook his head.
"No. This time, the order is different. We are to kill someone still serving at the front. A woman."
The squad members scowled.
"Why? Kill a woman still serving at the front? That has never been ordered before."
Sak Muhun's cold eyes fixed on the questioning man.
"We follow orders. Did you forget?"
The man fell silent, cowed.
After a moment's icy gaze, Sak Muhun leapt forward.
"Move out!"
The nine members of the Fourth Squad of the Shadow Corps followed, two supreme experts and seven top first-rates—grim reapers, marching toward the Shiplidae.
Ma Yugyeom wandered aimlessly from his quarters.
Passersby asked several times if something was wrong, but he didn't even hear them. His mind was lost.
His tangled thoughts circled endlessly around the Blood Demon's transmitted words and the letter placed on his bed.
— "Fortunate you resemble Huigeum, not that wretch Ma Wonil."
That had been the message whispered into his mind when the Blood Demon suppressed him with invisible force, preventing him from drawing his sword.
At first, he had no idea what it meant.
He wanted to shout, What trickery is this?!
Huigeum? Who—?
Then he remembered.
His mother's name had been Jeon Huigeum.
Unlike his cold father, she had always been warm, always embraced him with love.
Realization struck—and Ma Yugyeom stared at the Blood Demon in shock.
Then, as if through the Blood Demon's eyes, a vision came to him.
The unforgettable image of his mother.
Standing at the Blood Demon's side, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Yugyeom, my precious son. This man is your grandfather."
…What?
Strength drained from Ma Yugyeom's body.
He told himself it was illusion, trickery. Yet the vision of his mother was too vivid to look away from.
It was the Blood Demon who finally looked away.
Having shown him only that much, the Blood Demon withdrew the vision and spoke again.
— "I'll leave Huigeum's letter in your quarters."
That was all.
But Ma Yugyeom's turmoil began there.
A letter from Huigeum—did that mean his mother had written to him?
Could it be… she was still alive?
His mother—alive?!
Ma Yugyeom could not follow the conference, nor feel time passing.
He only wanted to rush back and see.
Two forces warred within him: the desperate need to confirm the letter, and the rational conviction that it was the Blood Demon's trick.
He wanted to read it, yet feared what it might reveal.
But when he returned, there it was—on his bed.
The letter.
And the handwriting was unmistakable.
It was hers. His mother's.
The hand that had taught him to write.
And its contents struck him even harder.
The first half overflowed with her longing, her aching love. Enough to redden even Ma Yugyeom's cold eyes.
But the second half told of why the Blood Demon could only be his maternal grandfather.
It recounted the hidden history of the Jeon Clan and the Ma Clan.
How the Jeon Clan was destroyed by the greed of the Ma Clan and Jeomchang Sect.
How Jeon Mugwang, the clan lord who became the Blood Demon, was cast adrift, his daughter taken from him.
His mother was that daughter.
And Ma Wonung—son of the Ma Clan's lord and disciple of Jeomchang Sect—had not only destroyed the Jeon Clan but forced Jeon Huigeum into marriage after violating her.
At last, Ma Yugyeom understood the hatred in his mother's eyes when she looked at his father.
The sorrow when she was asked of her family.
He could no longer deny it.
It was the truth.
He recalled what Sagunil had once asked him:
"Does Jeomchang deserve to rise again?"
He had thought it absurd, a petty question compared to the great cause of Jeomchang's revival.
But now…
"Huuhuhuhu… Hahahahahahaha!"
Deep in the jungle, Ma Yugyeom burst into wild laughter, tears streaming down his face.