When a martial artist of Supreme Mastery or higher deploys their martial arts, the most crucial aspect is their mental imagery.
Not just the imagery held in one's own heart, but the mental imagery inherent in the martial art itself profoundly influences its effectiveness.
Qi, after all, is a paradoxical existence that is both real and unreal. It’s somewhat like a quantum particle, existing probabilistically, and mental imagery lends it certainty.
Boom—!
A rotating bullet whirls at Seo-jun’s fingertips. The surrounding air is swept up in the rotation, amplifying its power.
Materialized internal energy encounters some air resistance, but it can bypass most resistance if the mind wills it.
Tang—!
The bullet pierces through a tree, and the wind surges around it, gouging out a massive hole.
Crack—!
The tree, hollowed out in the middle, falls over.
After firing a few more bullets, Seo-jun felt sure.
‘The speed doesn’t change.’
Whether it’s rotating or not, the speed remains the same. The accuracy isn’t significantly affected, though the rotation does consume more energy while increasing power.
The enhanced speed of the bullets is largely due to the image of a gun in Seo-jun’s mind.
It also benefited from the insight he gained from the idiot who had used bow techniques.
Now it was time for Azure Sky Pressure Step. The technique had been inefficient and discarded during the monster flood, but he hadn’t given up on its potential.
Thud—!
As Seo-jun stomped down, the ground far away compressed, and dust rose.
The efficiency was still lacking. It felt like trying to press down on something far away with a ridiculously long stick.
‘I’ll need to reach the Flower Realm to make proper use of it.’
Once he could manipulate the energy of nature, as in the Flower Realm, it would likely gain considerable power.
The imagery for Azure Sky Pressure Step was inspired by the Heavenly Demon’s Dominance Steps, a technique he’d read about in novels back on Earth.
Upon reaching the Flower Realm, he should be able to make thousands of troops kneel with a single step.
Next, he tried the Tenfold Yin-Yang Reversal.
Papapapapap—!
Yin and Yang rapidly alternated at Seo-jun’s fingertips.
After some contemplation, he nodded.
‘It’s good.’
The downside was the considerable energy consumption, though this was mainly an issue for other martial artists.
In fact, it was uncertain if others could even use it. Perhaps he’d teach it to Chun-bong later.
While it did require some attention, Seo-jun wasn’t significantly drained.
He could punch an opponent and unleash Tenfold Yin-Yang Reversal within a confined space, or he could deploy it as a wide-area attack like during the monster flood.
As a wide-area attack, it wouldn’t significantly affect opponents on par with him, but it would be devastating to moderately strong enemies.
After roughly evaluating his martial arts, Seo-jun stood amidst the ravaged training field, gazing up at the sky.
His martial arts grew stronger by the day, yet the heavens remained far out of reach.
He needed one decisive move to bring down the sky.
As Seo-jun pondered, demonic energy flared across his body.
‘The technique with the most powerful single strike is probably Heaven-Reversing Sun and Moon Art.’
The Taiji disperses. Taiji generates Yang, Yang generates the four images, the four images generate the Eight Trigrams, and the Sixty-Four Hexagrams derived from the Eight Trigrams ultimately form all things.
Conversely, Reverse Taiji converges. All things converge into Taiji, and ultimately transform into the original chaos.
While the exact reason was unclear, Heaven-Reversing Sun and Moon Art’s power doubled when infused with demonic energy.
Swish──────────
Heaven-Reversing Sun and Moon Art carved a dark hole in the sky. Seo-jun watched the slowly dissipating spot, his eyes glimmering with strange heat.
‘I need a martial art to contend with martial artists above my level.’
Something that would let him topple a stronger opponent, even if it meant breaking his own body. Essentially, a finishing move.
Visualizing the technique in his mind, Seo-jun’s eyes flashed.
The picture was clear; now all that remained was experimentation.
But given the likely side effects, there was no need to test it right now. He could always try it in actual combat.
People might call it madness, but Seo-jun was confident.
He didn’t expect to fail—not when it came to martial arts and manipulating qi.
And so, another day passed.
“Oh…”
He’d become rich in an instant. His wallet was practically bursting after completing the Grand Overseer’s request.
But there was nowhere to spend it. With Chun-bong in seclusion training, the Chun-bong Cheek Maintenance Fund was gone, and he had no expenses.
He considered buying a new sword since he’d worn his out a bit, but the Namgung family provided him with one without hesitation.
It was even a fine sword—a famous blade. It was incomparable to the cheap iron swords he’d used before, or even the sword he’d won at the Huashan Martial Tournament.
“Nothing to do.”
Wandering around the estate absentmindedly, Seo-jun naturally drifted toward the Golden Wine Hall. It was the building where the Grand Overseer worked.
Entering thoughtlessly, he found the interior busier than expected.
Watching the people bustling about, he sidled up to the Grand Overseer.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, Warrior! It’s nothing serious, really. It seems those Green Forest scoundrels are heading north, dismantling minor sects along the way.”
“Sounds pretty serious, doesn’t it…?”
“While they do have several Peak Masters, they only have one Supreme Master—Chief Jang—so it’s not too critical. The bigger concern is the Black Lotus Sect moving south toward Hebei.”
“Ah, I see.”
Scratching his head, Seo-jun glanced at the large map on the wall.
The map marked the Green Forest’s path and the Black Lotus Sect’s route. Judging by the projected routes, it looked like the Green Forest was moving from Shandong, crossing the Yellow River, and heading toward Hebei.
It seemed like they were planning to join forces with the Black Lotus Sect…
“So who’s going to handle that? Are there any significant sects nearby?”
“The Huangbo family is nearby, but they’re short-staffed too, so they’re hoping for support from Namgung.”
“Ah, I see. So one Supreme Master from Huangbo, one from Namgung?”
“Yes, that’s likely how it will go.”
Wars in the martial arts world were different from modern wars.
There were two main factors that determined victory: the number of masters and the defense of their base.
Masters moved swiftly, required minimal maintenance, and could unleash tremendous firepower, making them the ultimate game-changers.
No matter how much territory you tried to hold, it was impossible to cover all of Zhongyuan, and a handful of masters could breach any front line and wreak havoc.
As a result, martial conflicts often resembled a chess game more than traditional territorial warfare, focusing on eliminating key pieces.
Naturally, the bases housing those key pieces were of utmost importance. Before discussing the Righteous and the Demonic, protecting one’s own home came first.
In this scenario, a Peak Master was the minimum threshold to qualify as a valuable piece.
In large-scale conflicts, martial artists below Peak Mastery were essentially non-combatants.
Therefore, the primary forces consisted of Peak and Supreme Masters, and in most cases, the victory of a battle depended on the Supreme Masters.
Flower Realm? That was beyond consideration.
Their presence alone could instantly decide a battle, and they rarely moved since they were preoccupied with countering enemy Flower Realm masters.
Thus, the strategists of each faction prioritized positioning their Flower Realm masters before deploying Supreme and Peak Masters to implement tactical maneuvers.
When both sides had comparable Flower Realm strength, victory often hinged on the effective deployment of Supreme Masters.
‘Father-in-law once told me not to worry about the Transcendents.’
They were constrained for various reasons.
Most Flower Realm martial artists didn’t concern themselves with worldly affairs.
Take Namgung’s former masters—they’d all vanished into seclusion.
They might not even move if their faction was on the verge of collapse.
“So it looks like this really is war.”
“You could say it’s already begun. This skirmish is just the beginning, and we’ll likely see full-scale war unfold.”
“Ah, man.”
Slapping my forehead, I asked.
“So, shall I go, then?”
“Oh, Warrior—! Hmm…”
The Grand Overseer seemed about to celebrate but then hesitated.
“But… this mission could be truly dangerous. The Chief of the Green Forest is only at early Supreme Mastery, but his raw power is quite formidable…”
Early Supreme Mastery was merely a categorization of levels.
If you could use strong energy, you were at the early stage.
If you could shape that energy, you were at the middle stage.
If you could launch it without any dispersion, you were at the late stage.
If you could wield it as if it were a part of your body, you were at the peak.
While power generally increased with each level, it wasn’t impossible for an early-stage Supreme Master to defeat a peak-stage one.
Didn’t Chun-bong mention the Fist King? Despite being of a lower rank, he was regarded as a top-tier Supreme Master.
Seo-jun, classified somewhere between mid- and late Supreme Master, had blown past his level, his raw talent inflating his rank. His rank was deceptive.
So, facing a prime Supreme Master, not an aged or declining one, was an uncertain outcome.
Still, he wasn’t unconfident. His endurance was extraordinary, allowing him to spam ultimate moves while others threw basic attacks.
As one rose through the ranks, the principles of martial arts mattered more than sheer power, but that was a minor detail.
“Actually, this is the perfect chance. The Huangbo family will also send a Supreme Master, so it’s a relatively safe opportunity for combat experience. It’s not like I can stay sheltered forever.”
Combat experience was essential for growth, and Seo-jun had made up his mind.
“Hmm… but Lady Sua…”
“Ahem! It’s fine! Consider it decided. I’ll be going, so it’s settled!”
Bam bam, I clapped as if sealing the decision, and the Grand Overseer wore a peculiar expression.
Neither happy nor sad, his face contorted awkwardly.
In the end, he bowed deeply.
“Thank you for aiding us once again.”
“Oh, come on. We’re family, aren’t we?”
At this point, wouldn’t Namgung Seo-jun suit me just fine?
Chuckling, I left the Golden Wine Hall.
‘Green Forest, huh.’
What kind of man was the Green Forest Chief?
I’d soon see whose Phantom Ghost Art reigned supreme.